"And a good evening to you, my lord." Diana crisply brushed past him, allowing the footman to hand her into the coach. "Now that my cousin has been safely returned from his little adventure, I don't suppose we'll be seeing much of you anymore."
"On the contrary," Thane drawled, neatly jostling aside the footman to hand Laura into the coach himself. "With the duke back in residence at Devonbrooke Hall to stay, I plan to make a regular nuisance of myself."
"That shouldn't be too much of a challenge for you." Diana stared straight ahead while the footman secured the door. "I'm sure my cousin will be only too delighted to receive you."
Thane gazed up at her profile, smoothing his hat brim between forefinger and thumb. "What about you, Diana?" he asked softly. "Would you be delighted to receive me?"
Before she could answer him, the coach lurched into motion.
"Insufferable man," Diana muttered, jerking off her gloves and slapping them into her lap.
Intrigued as much by the hectic patches of color in Diana's cheeks as by that rare display of passion, Laura leaned out the window to find Thane still staring after them, hat in hands.
When they arrived back at Devonbrooke Hall, Addison was waiting for them in the foyer. "His Grace wishes to see you in the study," he informed Laura, handing her pelisse and muff to a footman.
Laura's heart leapt. Perhaps Sterling was finally willing to stop pretending last night had never happened, willing to admit that it was impossible for a man to take a woman so thoroughly, yet give nothing of himself in return. She smoothed her hair and started for the nearest corridor, hoping her pathetic eagerness didn't show.
Addison politely cleared his throat. "That way, Your Grace," he said, pointing in the opposite direction. "Seventh door on the left, just after the marble fountain."
She wheeled around, giving him a grateful smile.
Laura slipped into the study to find Sterling sitting behind a mahogany monster of a desk, surrounded by several towering stacks of ledgers and papers. She was relieved to find his dogs nowhere in sight. Despite his assurance that they were gentle giants, she still suspected them of harboring a secret desire to gnaw off one of her feet and bury it in the solarium.
Sterling had carelessly discarded his coat across a nearby stool, leaving him in a rumpled waistcoat and rolled-up shirtsleeves. Laura studied his unguarded face in the lamplight, thinking how very little she really knew of him. He wasn't a creature of her own invention but a complicated man molded by influences both cruel and kind. She only wished that could make her want him less instead of more.
Although she would have sworn she didn't make a sound, he suddenly looked up to catch her watching him. The pleasant mask she was coming to hate slid neatly into place. "So you're back from your shopping expedition, are you? I trust you found everything you needed?"
"Not everything," Laura said cryptically, gliding over to sit in the leather wing chair in front of the desk.
"Well, perhaps this will help to assuage your disappointment." Sterling leaned over the desk, handing her a folded piece of parchment. "Happy birthday."
Laura blinked at him, caught completely off guard.
"Surely you didn't think I'd forget, did you?"
"To be honest, I'm the one who forgot. I certainly didn't expect you to remember." She shyly lowered her eyes. "Or to get me a gift."
"Go on," he said, nodding toward the paper. "Open it."
She slowly unfolded the official-looking document and scanned the elegant script, not completely sure what she was looking at.
"It's the deed to Arden Manor," Sterling explained. "I found it yesterday morning when I was sifting through the papers in my father's study. I summoned a solicitor today while you were gone and had the house and lands entailed to your name. You'll never again have to worry about George and Lottie not having a roof over their heads. No one can ever take it away from you, not even my heirs."
His heirs. Laura continued to gaze blindly down at the paper, refusing to look up as long as there was any danger of him seeing her cry.
"I thought you'd be pleased," he said softly. "Would you have preferred a pair of emerald earbobs? A diamond necklace?"
Laura's fingernails dug into the paper. "No, thank you, my lord. You've been entirely too generous as it is."
He shrugged. "Nonsense. There are those who might even say you've earned it."
Laura jerked her head up. She glared at him disbelievingly, images tumbling through her mind of the past two nights she'd spent in his arms. In his bed.
"With your resourcefulness, of course," he added, the glint in his eye telling her that he knew exactly what she was thinking. "You did take a tremendous amount of risk for a run-down old manor house."
"A run-down old manor house you were only too eager to claim for yourself. Or have you forgotten what brought you back to Arden Manor in the first place? It certainly wasn't to pay your last respects to your mother."
Sterling leaned back in the chair, his polite mask showing signs of strain. "My mother is none of your concern."
Laura stood, crumpling the deed in her fist. "She certainly wasn't any of your concern, either. If she had been, you wouldn't have let her die without your forgiveness. But since it seems I'm to share her fate, I suppose it's only fitting that I inherit her house as well. Even if I do have to spend the rest of my life earning it." She strode to the door, then turned on her heel. "Oh, and I ran into one of your very dear friends today—a Lady Hewitt. She made it clear that she would be only too delighted to welcome you back into her bed after you become bored with me."
Although it took every ounce of strength in Laura's slender body, she still managed to slam the study door hard enough to rattle the candle sconces on each side of it.
"Not much chance of that, is there?" Sterling murmured, shaking his head ruefully as he listened to her angry footsteps fade away.
Laura lay flat on her back in her bed, glaring up at the canopy. Last night, she'd been angry. Tonight, she was livid. Her husband could play the benevolent nobleman all he liked, but she had recognized his gift for what it was—yet another reproach. A mocking reminder that no moldy old pile of bricks could compensate her for what her lies had cost them both.
Somewhere deep in the heart of the house, a clock chimed twelve times, heralding the end of her birthday.
Laura threw herself to her side. The clock could chime thirteen times and she still wouldn't go to him. Not that she could even find the west wing again. She supposed he'd be only too relieved if she took a tumble down a flight of stairs and broke her neck. She could just see him standing over her grave, his handsome face set in lines of mock grief as he accepted the sympathetic murmurs of Lady Hewitt.
He might not even be willing to wait for her untimely demise. What if she marched over to the west wing right now only to find his bed cold and empty? Perhaps he'd already gone to seek out his former mistress. Perhaps they had spent the evening sipping champagne and laughing together over his misfortune at being tricked into marriage by a penniless rector's daughter who couldn't possibly hope to satisfy his demands in bed. Perhaps at this very minute, he was tangled in the woman's silk bedsheets, doing to her voluptuous body all of those sweet, wicked things he had done to Laura's only last night.
Groaning, Laura dragged the counterpane over her head to blot out the image.
Which was exactly how Sterling found her when he parted the bed hangings and sat down on the bed next to her.
* * *
Chapter 23
« ^ »
…and that she will prove worthy
of your devotion.
Laura sat up, shaking her tousled hair out of her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Sterling rested his pewter candlestick on a small shelf that jutted out from the headboard, creating a cozy nest of light. "I didn't want to be accused of being derelict in my duties as a husband. I doubt my debauched reputation could withstand the blow."
She seemed to consider his wor
ds for a minute, then flopped to her back. "If your only aim is to get an heir on me, then you might as well dispense with the niceties and get on with it."
"The niceties?" Sterling echoed, fascinated by this new mood of hers.
"You know—the kissing… the touching." She waved a disdainful hand at him. "All of that silly bother."
"So you don't want me to kiss you?"
"I don't really see the point, do you?"
Sterling kept his expression deliberately innocent. "Not anywhere?"
He was near enough to see her convulsive swallow, hear the faint catch in her breath. She tossed back the bedclothes and lay staring up at the canopy. "Just cover me up when you're finished. There's a distinct chill in the air."
There most certainly was. But it had nothing to do with the ever-present drafts wafting through the cavernous old house and everything to do with his bride's sulky expression and rigid posture. She looked as if she were waiting for the apothecary to pull an abscessed tooth. Sterling had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"I'll have to lift your nightdress," he warned her. "That won't be too much of a bother, will it?"
She heaved a long-suffering sigh and turned her face away from him. "I suppose there's no getting around it."
Her eyes fluttered shut as he ran his warm hands up her long, silky legs, easing the nightdress up past her hips. His own breath caught. She looked like an angel in the candlelight—all silky dark curls and pale freckled skin.
"And it will probably make things easier for both of us if I touch you just… here."
Her lips parted in a soundless gasp. Sterling bit back a groan of his own. Although he'd done nothing to deserve such an indulgence, she was as ready for him as he was for her. He shrugged out of his satin dressing gown, thankful he hadn't bothered to don his trousers before making the long, lonely trek to her room.
"If it's too much of a nuisance for you to put your arms around me, it might be best if I held your hands just so." He gently laced his fingers through hers, bringing her hands up to rest on each side of her head until they were palm to palm.
She clutched at his hands as he slid over her and into her in one smooth motion. Sterling clenched his eyes shut against a savage rush of sensation. He'd never dreamed any woman could be so silky-sweet, so hot, so tight. As he began to move within her, she gloved him as if she'd been fashioned just for him. Only for him.
When he opened his eyes, she was gazing up at him through her lashes, her lips parted and her luminous eyes glazed with desire.
"Are you sure you don't want me to kiss you?" he whispered in a voice thick with passion.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "Well, perhaps just once…"
Sterling kissed her once, a single kiss that went on and on, its deep and primitive rhythms keeping time with the hypnotic tempo of his hips and each thundering beat of his heart. He didn't ever want it to end, not the loving and not the kiss. But his body couldn't be staved off forever. Determined to show Laura just what he could accomplish even without the niceties, he deliberately angled his hips so that each downward stroke brought him into contact with that priceless pearl nestled at the crux of her nether curls.
He felt her coming apart beneath him, knew he had no choice but to follow. As he collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath, the last thing he expected to hear was her small, determined voice in his ear. "You've done what you came for. You can go now."
He slowly lifted his head.
Laura was staring at a spot just over his right shoulder, trying to pretend that her luscious body wasn't still quaking in reaction to the earth-shattering pleasure they had just shared.
"Am I being dismissed?"
"No, you're being excused. Job well done and all that rot."
A part of Sterling wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and hold her until dawn came creeping into the chamber.
But he'd surrendered that right when he'd outlined the conditions of their marriage in such dispassionate terms. Silently cursing his own lack of foresight, he gently tugged down her nightdress and tucked the counterpane around her before donning his dressing gown and taking up the candle.
He slipped out of the bed, counted to ten, then poked his head back through the bed hangings. Laura lay on her back, eyes closed and arms outflung. Her sullen expression had melted to one of breathless, disbelieving rapture.
Sterling cleared his throat, causing her to sit up so fast she hit her head on the headboard. She rubbed her head, glaring up at him through a tumbled lock of hair. "I thought you'd gone."
He leaned against the bedpost. "I've been thinking that perhaps we shouldn't be so quick to dispense with the niceties. Upon further consideration, they're rather… nice."
Laura toyed with the ribbon at the throat of her nightdress. "Well, if you think it will make your task less burdensome…"
"Oh, I think it will make both of our tasks less burdensome. Why don't I show you?"
Her eyes widened as he slipped back out of his dressing gown and back into her bed.
Sterling Harlow might have the face of an angel, but by night he was a devil, stealing Laura's soul even as he scorned her heart. Although he had professed a fondness for the niceties, the things he did to Laura's eager young body when he slipped between her sheets each night weren't nice at all but deliciously naughty. Some of them were even downright wicked.
Laura took to languishing in bed every morning until ten or eleven, trying to put off the moment when she would have to face the remote stranger who bore no resemblance to the hot-blooded man who had coaxed her to shuddering delight only a few hours before. The more heated their couplings, the more cool and distant he became, until even his cousin grew frustrated with his aloof manner and noncommittal murmurs.
After he had excused himself from dinner one night to barricade himself back in the study, Diana tossed her napkin into her plate. "What was he like?" she demanded, turning her fierce gaze on Laura.
Laura froze, a forkful of curried salmon halfway to her mouth. "Who?"
"This Nicholas of yours. What was he like? What manner of man was he?"
Laura lowered her fork, her lips softening in a wistful smile. "He was kind and tender with a rather dry wit. He was a little suspicious in nature. But I suppose I can't really blame him for that," she admitted, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. "He had a bit of a temper as well. You should have seen him when he found out I'd arranged for him to be the new rector of the parish without consulting him first. He couldn't even speak for the longest time. He just kept shaking his head at me and running his hand through his hair, all the while turning redder and redder until I thought he was going to explode."
Diana abandoned her chair and slid into the one next to Laura. "Oh, do tell. Did he throw a proper tantrum? I always wished he would when my father was caning him, but he was far too proud. He would take the beating and I would cry."
For a minute, Laura thought she was going to. But instead she found herself reaching for Diana's hand and gently squeezing it. "If you wanted to see a proper tantrum, you should have been there the first time he met my little sister. Lottie let her kittens loose in his bed and he thought they were rats."
"That doesn't surprise me one bit. I've had my Snowball shut up in the north wing ever since he returned. Sterling never has been able to abide cats. He's just like my father in that respect."
"Ha! You should ask him about the kitten that used to follow him all over the farm. I actually caught him kissing its little pink nose and tucking it into the pocket of his coat one morning when he thought no one was looking. And you should have seen the two of them all curled up asleep in the…" Realizing that the underfootman standing at attention by the sideboard was craning his neck to hear their conversation, Laura leaned over to whisper in Diana's ear, eliciting a throaty burst of laughter.
The endless columns of numbers that had been copied in Diana's tidy hand were beginning to blur before Sterling's e
xhausted eyes when he heard a sound he'd never before heard within the thick stone walls of Devonbrooke Hall—musical peals of feminine laughter. He slowly stood, letting the ledger fall shut.
The sound was as irresistible as a siren's song. He followed it all the way back to the door of the dining room. His wife and his cousin were sitting with their heads together, laughing and whispering as if they'd been friends for years.
As his gaze traced Laura's lovely profile, he felt a peculiar ache low in his chest. He hadn't heard her laugh like that since they had stood on the steps of St. Michael's that sun-drenched morning an eternity ago.
He might have stood there watching her forever if the under-footman standing by the sideboard hadn't pointedly cleared his throat. Laura and Diana whipped their heads around, their smiles fading and their eyes growing wary.
"Forgive me for interrupting," he said stiffly. "I left the Times." He tucked the newspaper beneath his arm and strode back to the study, feeling more like an intruder in his own house than ever before.
A few days later on a chill and rainy afternoon, Sterling was headed for the study to spend more interminable hours reviewing his apparently infinite number of properties when he heard a most curious sound behind him.
Dead silence.
He halted, cocking his head to the side. There was no panting, no toenails clicking on the marble, no jostling for position.
He slowly turned.
No dogs.
Caliban and Cerberus had been his constant companions ever since he'd returned from Arden. They even napped patiently outside of Laura's door each night until their master emerged in the wee hours of the morning, flushed and sated. They were the only ones who knew that he never returned to his own cold, empty bed but spent what was left of the night smoking in the solarium, waiting for the sun to come up.