Page 38 of The Devil and the Heiress
“Sleep,” he whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “I promise I shall be here when you wake up.”
“Is it nighttime?” she asked, already feeling the weight of sleep pulling at her. She had yet to look past his face to see the room, and now it didn’t seem important.
“Yes.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Here.” He indicated the chair. “Same as last night.”
“No, sleep here with me.” The bed was smaller than her bed at home but bigger than the ones at the inns. They could both fit, but it would be snug. She smiled at the thought of being so close to him. Miss Hamilton would benefit from this research. Violet was certain of it.
“I could injure you.” He started to pull back, but she held on to his hand.
“Please. Sleep here with me.”
He sighed, seemed to reconsider, and then nodded. “For a little while,” he said and lay on top of the blanket. The mattress depressed so that she slid a bit toward him. The solid heat of him immediately warmed her side. She sighed as her entire body relaxed into him and drifted off into a medicine-induced sleep.
Chapter 14
He was certain that his penance would be to burn in the fire of his guilt while living in the bright affection of her stare.
V. Lennox,An American and the London Season
Christian had lied yet again. Although, to be fair, he could not have anticipated how good it felt to lie next to her all night. He could not have known that her small body cuddled next to his would be the closest thing to bliss he had ever felt, or that he would be lulled to sleep listening to the comforting sound of her breathing. Nothing in his entire life had prepared him for how she made him feel. He couldn’t have known that he would stay the night next to her.
Women had been a part of his life since his fifteenth year. Soft and beautiful, eager and plain, wealthy or poor, he had not discriminated. His only requirements where they were concerned had been twofold: the time required between meeting them and bedding them must be short, and they must never become cloying. He much preferred the woman who had many lovers to call upon than the one who wanted only him. Toward the end, he had bedded only those sorts of women exclusively.
He had had no inkling or desire to find a wife. The house of Leigh could fall to distant relations for all he cared, his father’s legacy along with it. Instead of finding a wife and begetting an heir, his attention had turned to building Montague Club into the name it was today. That included arranging the high-stakes fighting matches that had become so well-known even outside of London. Men and women alike came from all over Europe to watch their matches. However, his own reputation had darkened as Montague’s had brightened. Not that he cared for the stain. It kept the wrong sort of company away from him—noblemen who thought their birth elevated them to a superior morality that a few indiscretions could not tarnish.
His reputation had begun to draw women who sought out wicked things. The viscountess who wanted to add him to her list of accomplishments, the disgruntled wife of a foreign dignitary, and once, a princess who wanted to know what it meant to be restrained and dominated. But then something subtle had changed. Those encounters had begun to lose their appeal. They felt hollow and unsatisfying beyond the initial itch they scratched, so he had slowly started to avoid them. His time and energy had been better spent at the club. The more energy he spent there, the more his reputation had grown, until almost every night a woman would arrive on the doorstep in search of him.
Over a year had passed since he had last lain with a woman. Given the fact that his lust was now centered on a girl of nineteen years, he could only believe that his depravity had reached a new low. Self-loathing meant that he should rise and leave her in peace. But he fell asleep instead, the steady in and out of her breath lulling him into the deepest slumber he had experienced in years.
A knock on the door woke him the next morning. He breathed in the scent of lavender mixed with rainwater. Opening his eyes, he saw that her hair was like a cloud before him, and her back was pressed to him, the side withher injured arm propped up against his chest. His erection strained eager and crude against the softness of her right buttock. If his earlier exploits hadn’t earned him a place in hell, this would certainly accomplish the task. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine for one selfish moment how it would feel to roll her beneath him and sink into the glorious depths of her body. She would be tight, so damned tight he would—
The knock came again, more insistent this time. Gently placing a hand on her hip still covered by her blanket, he slid out from beneath her, replacing his body with a pillow beneath her injured side. She moaned softly as she roused. He clenched his jaw as it sent a surge of blood straight to his already eager cock. Grabbing the blanket that hung over the back of the chair, he wrapped it around himself and opened the door.
“Good morning, my lord,” said Mrs. Mitchell, sweeping into the room with a breakfast tray. Her graying hair was tucked into a tight bun. “I have brought some porridge for the lass. Did she sleep well?”
Christian was immediately seized by a fist of guilt tightening in his chest. He had slept so deeply he did not even know if Violet had awakened. Had she needed him?
She blinked awake, her eyes puffy with sleep. “I slept well.” Her voice was raspy.
God, that voice. It sent a frisson of need raking down his spine to settle in his bollocks.
The room was so small that Christian had to step back for Mrs. Mitchell to go around the bed and set the tray on the table near the window. Her doughy arms and figure gave her the appearance of a welcoming grandmother, but she moved with brisk efficiency that would have done any military commander proud.
“Good to hear, my lady,” she said as she moved around the room opening drapes and straightening blankets. “Dr. Mitchell will be in shortly for your morning examination.He is out making his early-morning rounds.” When Violet murmured her thanks, the woman turned to him. “Once she is settled, you can come to the table for your own breakfast.” Glancing at his beard with disapproval, she added, “I shall find you razor and shaving soap. Dr. Mitchell hardly uses them, but I am certain we can find you something in town, aye?”
“Do not put yourself to any trouble, Mrs. Mitchell. You have been more than helpful.” He owed the woman more than he could ever repay. She had helped him undress Violet and clean the mud away from her wounds. She had seen to their every need.
Waving him off, she turned back to Violet. “Will there be anything I can get for you, lass?”
Violet shook her head and then winced at the pain it caused. “Where are we, Mrs. Mitchell?”
Christian tensed. If Violet knew their precise location, she would know that he had lied to her.
“Welcome to the North, lass. Yorkshire, to be putting it precisely.”
