Page 89 of Just Imagine
She swept from the room.
A few moments later, as she mounted the steps to her carriage, Veronica smiled to herself. How Francis would have enjoyed this afternoon. It wasn’t often that she got the chance to play fairy godmother, but she had to admit that she’d performed splendidly.
As she settled back into the tufted leather seat, her brow knitted ever so slightly. Now she had to make up her mind whether or not she would actually carry out her threat.
Kit finally had the excuse to do what she’d been wanting to for so very long. Dinner was torture, made worse by the fact that Cain seemed to be in the mood to prolong it. He talked about the mill and asked her opinion on what the market for cotton would be like within the year. As always when the subject was cotton, he listened attentively to her response.
Horrible man. He was so achingly handsome that she could barely look away from him, and why did he have to be so charming to Miss Dolly?
She escaped to her room as soon as she could. For a while, she paced. Finally she slipped out of her clothes, donned a faded cotton wrapper, and sat in front of her mirror to take the pins out of her hair. She was brushing it into a soft midnight cloud when she heard Cain climbing the stairs to his bedroom.
Her reflection showed an unnaturally pale face. She pinched her cheeks, then replaced her moonstone eardrops with a small pair of pearl studs. Afterward, she dabbed a touch of jasmine scent to the hollow of her throat.
When she was satisfied, she abandoned her wrapper for the black silk peignoir set that had been a wedding present from Elsbeth. It slid like oil over her naked flesh. The garment was starkly simple, with small capped sleeves and a rounded bodice that dipped so low it barely covered the peaks of her breasts. The skirt clung to her body in long, soft folds that outlined the shape of her hips and legs when she moved. Over the gown she donned the peignoir, made entirely of sheer black lace. With trembling fingers, she fastened the single small button at the throat.
Through the lace, her skin gleamed like winter moonlight, and as she walked, the peignoir fell open, something she was fairly certain Elsbeth hadn’t taken into account when she’d bought the gift. The gown beneath shaped itself like a second skin to her body, outlining her breasts, clinging to the delicate indentation of her navel and, more seductively, to the small mound below.
She walked through the sitting room, her bare feet padding noiselessly on the carpet. When she reached the door to his bedroom, she nearly lost her nerve. Quickly, before that happened, she rapped on the door.
“Come in.”
He was dressed in shirtsleeves and sitting in the wing chair next to the window, a sheaf of papers on the table by his side. He looked up, and when he saw how she was dressed, his eyes darkened to a deep, smoky gray. She walked toward him slowly, head high, shoulders proud, heart hammering.
“What do you want?” The charming man at the dinner table had been left behind. He sounded weary, suspicious, and hostile. Once again she wondered why he’d lost interest in her. Because he didn’t find her appealing? If that was true, she was about to suffer a terrible humiliation.
She could have invented an excuse—a cut finger that needed his attention, a request to borrow a book—but he’d have seen right through it. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I want to make love with you.”
She watched uneasily as his mouth curved in a small, mocking twist. “My beautiful wife. So forthright.” His eyes grazed her body, so clearly defined against the thin fabric. “Let me be just as straightforward. Why?”
This wasn’t the way she’d imagined it. She’d expected him to hold out his arms and take over. “We’re—we’re married. It’s not right for us to be sleeping apart.”
“I see.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “It’s a matter of observing the amenities, is that it?”
“Not exactly that.”
“Then what?’
A slight sheen of perspiration gathered between her shoulder blades. “I just want to.” Too late, she realized she couldn’t do this. “Forget it.” She turned toward the door. “Forget I ever said anything. It was a stupid idea.” She reached for the knob just as his hand settled over hers.
“Giving up so easily?”
She wished she’d never started this, and she couldn’t even blame her behavior on Veronica Gamble. She’d wanted to taste him, to touch him, to experience the mystery of lovemaking again. Veronica had merely given her the excuse.
She realized he’d moved away from her, and she looked up to see him leaning against the mantel of the fireplace.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll wait for you to start.”
“Start what?”
“A man can’t perform on command. I’m afraid you’ll have to arouse my interest.”
Had she thought to drop her eyes, she would have seen that his interest was already well aroused, but she was too busy trying to fight down the queer jumble of feelings twisting about inside her. “I don’t know how to do that.”
He rested his shoulders against the mantelpiece and crossed his ankles indolently. “Experiment. I’m all yours.”
She couldn’t bear having him making fun of her. Her throat constricted, and she moved back to the door. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Coward,” he said softly.
