Stephanie Laurens - Scandals Bride

Twelve solid bongs.

It was time for her to go.

Dragging in a breath past the vise locked about her lungs, she closed her eyes and uttered a brief prayer, then, clutching her robe about her, determinedly headed for the door.

To keep her appointment with he who was to father her child.

Two minutes later, Catriona stood in the shadows before Richard's door and stared at the oak panels. An overwhelming sense of fatality weighed heavily upon her; she stood on the threshold of far more than just a room. In opening the door and stepping inside, she would take an irrevocable step into a future only dimly perceived.

Never before had she faced such a choice-such a crucial, life-changing decision.

Shifting, she drew her dressing robe closer and inwardly chided her hesitant self. Of course stepping over the threshold would change her life-getting with child was definitely irrevocable, but quite clearly part of her future. That future lay beyond the door-why was she hesitating?

Because it wasn't just a child who lay beyond the door.

Exasperated, she straightened and reached for the doorknob, simultaneously opening her senses-to detect any hint of warning, any last-minute premonition that her intent was wrong. All she sensed was peace and silence, a deep, quiet steadiness throughout the house.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door. It swung noiselessly wide; beyond, the room lay silent and still, lit only by the glow of the fire still flickering in the hearth.

Stepping quietly inside, Catriona closed the door, easing the lock back so it slid home without a sound. Eyes already adjusted to the dark, she scanned the room. The huge four-poster bed stood shrouded in shadows, its head against the corridor wall. The sight held her eyes, her senses. Slowly, on silent slippered feet, she approached the bed.

She was five paces from it when she realized it was empty, the coverlet flat, undisturbed. Eyes flying wide, her breath caught in her throat, she whirled and scanned the room again.

And, from her new position, saw an arm, clad in a dark coat sleeve, wide white cuff golden in the firelight, hanging over the side of the wing chair facing the fire. The arm hung limply, long, lax fingers almost reaching the floor. Between their tips hung a crystal tumbler, its base balanced on the polished boards.

It was empty.

Drawing a calming breath, Catriona waited for her heart to slow, then, carefully silent, glided forward and rounded the chair.

At least one part of her potion had worked-he was asleep. Asprawl in the chair, his long legs stretched before him, his waistcoat undone, his cravat untied, he still managed to look elegant. Elegantly dissolute, elegantly dangerous. His chest, covered by his fine linen shirt, rose and fell regularly.

Catriona's gaze roamed then lifted to his face; she studied the lean planes gilded by the firelight-a bronze mask more relaxed than she'd yet seen it. With his eyes shut, it was easier to concentrate on his face, on what it showed. Strength was still there, glaringly apparent even in repose; the hint of not sadness, but a lack of happiness that hung about his well shaped mouth was not something she'd noticed before.

Inwardly frowning, she committed the sight to memory, then shook herself, and turned her mind to her task. Step one had been accomplished-he was asleep.

Fully dressed.

In the chair before the fire.

A good ten paces from the bed.

Catriona frowned in earnest. "What now?" she muttered under her breath. Hands rising to her hips, she studied him-and considered-and studied him some more. Her head was shaking even before she reached her conclusion with him asleep, she'd have to provide the lead in the upcoming proceedings, and for that, she definitely needed him on the bed. A chair might be possible, but her imagination boggled at the thought.

She glared at her sleeping victim. "I might have known you'd find some way to be difficult," she informed him in a hissed whisper. Bending, she retrieved the tumbler from his fingers before it fell, and turned to set it on a side table. The glass clicked on the polished table top.

Catriona swung back, her eyes flying to Richard's face. The black crescents of his lashes flickered. Then rose.

He looked directly at her.

She froze. Her mind seized; she stopped breathing.

His lips curved, kicking up at the ends first, then curving fully into a beguiling smile. "I might have known you'd turn up in my dreams"

Daring to breathe-just a little-Catriona slowly straightened and finished turning to stand before him. His eyes followed her, as his lids lifted farther, it was clear he was drugged. Ringed by deep blue, his pupils were huge, his gaze unfocused, not sharp and intent as it usually was.

His beguiling smile, both inviting and evocative, deepened. "Only fair, I suppose-the witch of my dreams haunting my dreams."

He was awake, but thought he was dreaming. Catriona blessed The Lady-this way, she could get him to the bed. Letting her features, which had blanked with shock, ease, she smiled back. "I've come to spend the night with you."

His smile changed to a wicked grin. "That's usually my line, but in the circumstances, I'll let you borrow it."

He seemed in no hurry to rise from the chair; smiling still, Catriona held out one hand.

Retrieving his right arm from over the side of the chair, he reached out and grasped her fingers; before she could urge him up, he drew her closer. His gaze swept her, far hotter than the fire at her back.

"You need to get rid of that robe."

Catriona hesitated for only a second; any argument might bring him to his senses. Drawing her fingers from his, still smiling, she raised her hands and lifted the loose robe from her shoulders then let it slide down her arms.

His dazed blue gaze followed it to the floor, then slowly, very slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, rose, caressing her legs, her thighs, her hips, her breasts-by the time he reached her face her cheeks were flaming.

A situation not helped by the wicked glint in his eyes or his openly lustful smile.

"Good enough to eat."

He made the pronouncement as if he was contemplating doing just that. His gaze slid from her face to rove hungrily again-and Catriona realized that with the fire behind her, her fine nightgown would be translucent.

"Ahh… come to the bed." She held out both hands.

His gaze still on her body, he lifted his hands, every movement slow and heavy, as if his limbs were leaden. His fingers closed about hers-then he lifted his blue gaze to her face, to her eyes, and she saw the wicked laughter flare.

"Not yet."

He pulled her into his lap.

Catriona went to shriek-and had to swallow the sound. She tensed to struggle-and had to suppress the impulse. Sharp sound, or a fight, could wake him. She wriggled in his lap and managed to face him. His thighs felt like solid oak beneath hers, his chest when she placed both palms against it, felt like warm rock. About her, his arms lay heavy and relaxed-they might as well have been steel bands holding her trapped.

They shifted; she felt his fingers slide up the back of her neck, splaying into her thick hair. He angled her head-his lips closed over hers.

Hungrily.

She was kissing him back, exchanging breath for breath, caress for fiery caress, before she had a chance to think. Heat rose, pooling within her, radiating from him. As her wits whirled and desire danced in the air, she didn't think she'd have much trouble carrying out her plan. Provided she could get him to the bed.

With an effort, she drew back from the kiss. He let her go, her head tipped back-and back-as he trailed fire down her throat. "The bed," she gasped. "We have to get to the bed."

"Later."

Catriona's temper kicked in. She opened her mouth-and lost her breath on a gasp as his hands closed possessively about her breasts, protected only by thin lawn. His thumbs circled, then finger and thumb closed tightly. She bit her lip hard, denying her instinctive shriek.

His hands left her breasts and she breathed again. Only to feel long fingers, hard palms, tracing her body, investigating every curve, subtly caressing yet with a deeper purpose-as if he was learning her.

Licking lips suddenly dry, she managed to gasp: "Richard-the bed."

His hands stopped; she sensed his attention-and held her breath. Would he wake? What had she said to focus him so?

Slow and sure, his hands resumed their meandering, imparting heat through her thin gown.

"That's the first time you've said my name." He breathed the words against her jaw, then feathered a kiss across her already swollen lips. "Say it again."

Catriona dragged in a breath too shallow to steady her head; she lifted a hand and brushed back the heavy lock of hair falling across his forehead. "Richard?"

He kissed his name from her lips, then drank deep while his hands continued to roam, tracing breasts, hips, the long muscles of her back, the backs of her thighs, the globes of her bottom. Slowly arousing her-and him. When next he lifted his head, she was quivering. "Richard-take me to your bed." She had no difficulty investing the plea with believable feeling.

His reply was a wicked chuckle-a sound that played havoc with her overstretched nerves.

"Not yet. What's the hurry?" He tipped her chin up and nibbled his way down her throat. "We've all night-and time stands still in dreams, anyway."