More than Passion Page 5

  “Becca,” he said hoarsely, both a warning and a plea.

  She turned in his arms and placed her hands behind his neck, leaning against him. She brushed her lips against his.

  “Only you,” she whispered.

  With a soft growl, he crushed his mouth down on hers. The kiss was hot, wild. Her tongue rubbed against his, setting him on fire. He fumbled with the hooks in the back of her dress, needing to touch her. She opened his shirt, her hands stealing inside to stroke his chest. He pushed her sleeves off her shoulders, tugging the bodice down.

  “My God, love,” he breathed against her ear.

  He laid her down on the blanket, trailing kisses on her throat, her breasts. His mouth closed over her nipple and she arched against him. His hand stole under her skirts, searching for the very center of her. He could feel her heat through her thin drawers and pulled them down, finding her wet and ready for him.

  Becca writhed beneath him, whispering his name. He pulled back just long enough to unbutton his breeches and, in one smooth thrust, he entered her.

  She cried out in pleasure, her nails raking his back. He drove into her, again and again. The pressure became almost too much to bear. With one final thrust, he climaxed. He shook with the power of his orgasm, bringing her release.

  Geoffrey rained kisses on her face, waiting for his breathing to slow. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in little puffs.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

  He laughed a bit shakily, leaning up on his elbows. “You make me forget myself, love.” He dropped a kiss on her parted lips. “I didn’t even remove my boots.”

  She smiled and hugged him tight.

  After a while, he helped her up and they straightened their clothes and climbed back into the trap.

  He turned to her, taking her hand in his. “Will you marry me?”

  She blinked, then a sweet smile curved her lips. “No.”

  What? His mind must be addled from his orgasm. But no. There she sat, shaking her pretty head.

  “But …. Why not?”

  She placed her hand on his cheek. “I can’t permit you to marry me.”

  “Permit me?”

  “I have no dowry, and I won’t be a burden to a man of such simple means.”

  He nearly choked. Simple means? He was an earl, for God’s sake! Wealthy and titled, but he couldn’t tell her. Not now. If he did, he’d never know if she only married him for his money. He wouldn’t be able to stand for that, not after Patricia’s machinations.

  “There could be a child.”

  That got him a reaction. Her lovely mouth fell open. “No.”

  “Yes. Twice we made love and twice I came inside you.”

  “If there’s a child ….” She shook her head. “There won’t be a child.”

  “My God! You’re the child if you think you can wish it away.” With a flick of the reins, he set off once again for the inn. They rode back in the same manner as earlier. In silence.

  * * * *

  That evening, Becca was pleasant enough to him, but she didn’t dally at his table. He watched her walk among the other diners, a scowl on his face. He’d have to watch her for more than her father’s plans now. If she began to increase, he’d have to know. What a bloody mess.

  Long after his meal was finished, he called Emmy over to his table. “More ale, Emmy,” he grumbled.

  She cocked her head to the side, regarding him closely. She filled his tankard and stood in front of him.

  He took a long sip, watching her over the rim. He slammed the tankard down. “What?”

  “That’s not goin’ to help ya.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The ale. It’s not what ya really want.”

  Geoffrey spied Becca as she escaped into the kitchen. He turned back to Emmy with a wicked smile. “And just what is it that I really want?”

  Emmy gave an easy laugh. “Don’t think ta use me that way, Kane. It’s Rebecca yer wantin’.”

  He blew out a breath. “Ah, Emmy, you’re right. But she doesn’t want me.”

  “What are ya, blind? The girl’s mad for ya.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “No. I asked her to marry me and she turned me down flat. Twice.”

  Emmy arched an eyebrow at that. “Did she, now? Well, if I know Rebecca, she thinks she’s doin’ what’s best for ya.”

  Geoffrey looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

  “The girl never thinks of herself,” she added.

  She left him then, clearing the remaining tables.

  Geoffrey sat drinking his ale, his mind on Becca. Her rejection stung. She’d told him she didn’t wish to be a burden. A burden? He’d never met anyone as giving. She gave of herself completely, body and soul. He thought back to her argument with her father. She’d said she’d never marry someone she didn’t love. That galled him. She didn’t love him? Well, she damned well better learn to love him!

  He shook his head and drained his tankard. He motioned for Emmy. He hadn’t seen Becca for a while and assumed she’d gone upstairs to bed. Emmy poured him another ale, clicking her tongue at him as she shook her head. He glared at her, warning her to keep silent. With a shrug of her shoulders, she left him blessedly alone.

  * * * *

  Becca tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Geoffrey and his proposal. She wished that she could have said yes. She cared very much for him. But she didn’t want to be a burden to him. So she’d have to let him leave, let him go back to the life he had in London or wherever.

  She could have loved him. She stroked her belly. There won’t be a child, no matter what Geoffrey said. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to make her bear a constant reminder of her shame. Or her weakness.

  She began to drift off to sleep when a strange sound woke her. She sat up in her bed, cocking her head to the side. It came again, a faint thump from out in the hall.

  “Becca?” came a hoarse whisper.

  It’s him! She scrambled out of bed and opened her door a crack. He stood, or rather leaned, in the hallway. He thumped on the door to the room next to hers. Thank God that room was unoccupied tonight.

  She opened her door. “Geoffrey, what are you doing?” she whispered.

  He turned then, a crooked smile on his face. “Becca.”

  She took in his appearance. His clothes were rumpled, his face red. She could smell the ale on his breath and wrinkled her nose. “You’re sotted!”

  “Just had me a bit of ale,” he said, still smiling.

  “Go to bed,” she said, her hands on her hips.

  His gaze wandered over her form, and she felt naked despite the nightgown she wore. “All right, love,” he drawled, making a move to step into her room.

  She placed her hand on his chest, halting his progress. “Your bed, Geoffrey.”

  His smile faded then, a look of pain on his features. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  He groaned, a mournful sound. “I need you, Becca. Please.”

  She couldn’t refuse him her help. She managed to get him into his room and sat him on the edge of his bed. His eyes were open now and he regarded her solemnly. She removed his coat and folded it neatly over the chair. She walked back to him and stood between his outstretched legs. She unbuttoned his shirt and had just removed it when he grabbed her by the waist. She sucked in a breath, surprised he could move so quickly. He pulled her to him and closed his mouth over one nipple. His mouth was hot and moist through the thin cloth and her body clenched. With a ragged breath, she pulled out of his grasp.

  She turned away from him and straddled his leg. She held his booted heel and pulled to no avail. He ran his hands over her bottom, gently kneading her flesh.

  She fought the feelings he aroused. “You know, I could use your assistance.”

  He removed his magic hands and braced them on the bed. He placed his other foot on
her backside and, with one shove, sent Becca and the boot halfway across the room. She recovered herself and favored him with a scowl. Much to her dismay he was grinning broadly at her. She flipped her hair back from her face and straddled the other leg. She’d just removed the second boot when he grabbed her waist again.

  He pulled her down on his lap, nuzzling the back of her neck. “So many ways, Becca,” he murmured, his breath hot on her skin. “So many ways for a man and woman to make love.”

  Her mind began to float in a sensual haze …. Could he take her from behind as Emmy had said men loved to do? Ease his shaft high inside her as she bent over and let him ...? She gave a shiver. Surely that would be impossible and scandalous!

  She quickly turned and pushed him back on the bed. He didn’t resist, all of his energy seemingly spent. He simply lay there, his long legs dangling off the side of the bed. She grabbed his legs and hauled them up on the bed, grunting from the strain.

  She looked down and saw he was nearly asleep. Gone was the sensual cast to his face, the teasing touch of his hands. She dropped a chaste kiss on his brow and turned to go. He grabbed her by the wrist as he had that first morning.

  His eyes flew open. “Don’t go. I need you.”

  She couldn’t leave him, not with him beseeching her with those beautiful eyes. Not with such tenderness in his voice. With a sigh of resignation, she stretched out beside him. He wrapped his arms around her and fell fast asleep. His loud snores told her he was dead to the world.

  She pulled up the covers and snuggled against him. She’d just rest for a while. She yawned.

  Just for a little while.

  Chapter 7

  The sunlight woke Geoffrey. He looked down at the sweet bundle cuddled up beside him. Becca. What happened last night? He brushed her hair away from her face, trailing a finger on her cheek. She let out a little sigh, and he couldn’t care less how she happened to be in his bed.

  He had to get her back to her room, though. “Becca, you—”

  The rattle of the doorknob stilled him. Before Geoffrey could say anything, the door swung open. In walked Mary, the upstairs maid. She set a stack of linens on the washstand and faced the bed.

  “Oh!” She knocked over the washstand. It fell with a loud crash.

  “What …?” Becca mumbled, sitting up and clutching the sheets to her bosom. She saw Mary. “Mary!”

  Mary fled the room.

  “No, Mary, don’t!” Becca buried her face in her hands. She turned to Geoffrey, who couldn’t hide his smile. “This isn’t funny!”

  He managed to wipe the smile from his face. “You’re right, love,” he said in a serious tone.

  She turned from him in exasperation. “Now, what am I going to do?”

  “Marry me.”

  She stiffened and looked at him again. She started crying then, big loud sobs.

  “Not precisely the response I was anticipating,” he said.

  She sniffed at him, wiping her eyes. “You don’t have to marry me.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her down to rest on his chest. He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes. “Listen to me. I want to marry you.”

  She started to shake her head, but he held her still.

  “Yes, I do,” he insisted. “Not because you were found in my bed. Not because of your father’s plans for you. Not because I might leave you with a child. But because I want to.”

  “But—”

  He smiled then, stroking her cheek. “I want you. You’re sweet and kind and beautiful. You’re caring and loving.”

  She still looked undecided.

  “And I … I care for you very much.”

  And then she smiled. A bright, beautiful smile, and Geoffrey felt his heart clench. “Will you marry me?”

  Becca took a deep breath, and then finally nodded.

  “Yes.” She hugged him. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  He let out a breath and returned her embrace. He tilted her head up and brushed her lips with his own. He pulled back and stared at her, his bride. He made a move to kiss her again.

  “Girl!” Thomas bellowed from belowstairs.

  Becca found her voice. “Yes, Father?” she squeaked.

  “I want to see you in my study in ten minutes, girl,” Geoffrey heard him shout. “And bring that rotter Kane with you!”

  Becca shot him a questioning look and Geoffrey nodded.

  “Right away, Father,” she called.

  After sharing a tender kiss, she left him to go dress while he saw to his own toilette.

  Ten minutes later, they were in Thomas’s study. Becca sat on the chair facing her father’s desk, her back straight and hands clasped in her lap. Geoffrey stood behind her, his hand resting on the back of her chair. Thomas paced behind his desk, muttering to himself, his face beet-red. Finally, he spoke.

  “How could you do this, girl?”

  Becca opened her mouth to answer, but Geoffrey was faster.

  “None of this is Rebecca’s fault, Kingsley. I’m the one to blame.”

  Thomas swung his gaze to Geoffrey. “You couldn’t keep your hands off her, could you? And now what?”

  “Father, I ….”

  Geoffrey touched her shoulder, signaling her to remain silent. “I want to marry her, Kingsley. I hope you’ll give us your blessing.”

  Thomas sank down into his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. “Why the hell not?” he grumbled. “You’ve ruined her. No one else will have her.”

  Becca sucked in a breath at her father’s low opinion of her.

  Geoffrey laughed without humor. “Yes. And I’m looking forward to becoming a member of your family, as well.”

  Thomas stiffened in his seat. “Never mind that. When will it be done?”

  Geoffrey thought for a moment. Special license, proper clothes …. “I have some matters to attend to. Will three days be soon enough?”

  “No banns.” Thomas snorted. “No time. I suppose I’ll have to pay for the license.”

  “No.”

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed. He nodded, dismissing them. Geoffrey took Becca’s hand and pulled her from the room. When they were out of her father’s sight, he held her in a tight embrace and kissed her.

  Becca stared up at him. “Three days?”

  He nodded. “Yes, love. And don’t fret. I’ll take care of everything.”

  She blinked in confusion.

  He laughed and kissed her again. He pulled back to look searchingly in her eyes. “We will be happy, Becca. You’ll see.”

  Becca thought of something. “Where will we live? I never asked you where you make your home.”

  Geoffrey shook his head at her. She’d had too much upheaval in the past few days. He wouldn’t reveal the truth of Kanewood and his earldom this morning. “In Northumberland, love. A long carriage ride, I fear.”

  “I see.” She still wore a look of confusion.

  He smiled. “All in good time, sweetheart. You shall know everything in three days’ time.”

  * * * *

  When Becca awoke the next morning, she was full of determination. While Geoffrey had assured her that he’d see to matters, which she took to mean seeing to the license and the like, there was still the matter of her wedding gown. The dresses she possessed were serviceable for the work she did at the inn, but she lacked even the simplest dancing gown. Perhaps she’d find something in the attic.

  She was free from all of her duties at the inn from this day forward. Her father had told her the previous evening that she shouldn’t work at the inn any longer. She was to be a married woman, he’d said, and her husband’s responsibility. Becca thought she’d seen a tear in the man’s eye as he’d dismissed her. He’d never been one to show emotion, not in the whole of her memory. Her heart twisted as she recalled every attempt she’d made to get close to him when she’d been growing up. Did he even love her? He’d thought to marry her off to Dr. Simon, for goodness sakes! Would he have regretted that? Although the answer
was most likely no, she held on to the possibility that he did care for her. He was her father, after all.

  She dressed and soon found herself in the attic of the inn, dust motes floating lazily around her in the sunlight streaming in through the small windows.

  After sorting through quite a bit of accumulated frippery, she unearthed what looked like an ancient trunk. She tugged on it, dragging it farther into the light. It was leather-bound and of a good size. Becca squinted at the brass plate set close to the latch. Using a corner of her skirt, she rubbed the dust and grime from the plate. She brushed her loose curls back from her face, leaving more than a few smudges there, and peered at the plate. To her astonishment, it was engraved with one word: Raven. Confounded, she worked the latch free and lifted the lid. A bright smile lit her face as she spied the clothing within. Surely these were her mother’s things!

  After dismissing much of the trunk’s contents, she found what she sought at the bottom, a gown of lace that she guessed had once been white. She gingerly lifted the garment free of the trunk and held it out in front of her. It was yellowed with age and the lace hung in tatters from the long sleeves. Nonetheless, she held the dress against herself and closed her eyes, reveling in the closeness she felt toward her mother in that moment. What had her mother thought before her own wedding? Had she been as nervous as Becca was? True, she didn’t need her mother’s advice about the marriage bed. A smile teased her lips. Geoffrey had taken care of any such maidenly ignorance on her part. Still, what would it be like to have a mother to confide in? To come to with dreams and hopes and promises? She took in a breath, drawing the scent of dust and neglect deep into her lungs. It was of no consequence. Her mother was dead and nothing could bring her back. Sighing, she set the dress aside and closed the trunk, pushing it back into the shadows where she’d found it.

  Becca enlisted Mary’s help and saw to the cleaning of the delicate gown. After soaking the lace for as long as they deemed safe, they carefully spread it on Becca’s bed.

  “It’s of no use, Mary,” Becca said sadly. “The yellow stains remain. And the lace …,” she added, delicately fingering one sleeve. “It’s all but a memory.”