Blame It on Bath Page 0,91

and felt the tremors in his hand where he held her. He liked making love to her; perhaps that would be enough. She could make him laugh. He was good to her, the matter with Lady Stanley aside. She would give anything at all for him to love her, but it would kill her if she laid her heart at his feet and he looked at it in shock, horror, amusement.

“Because you were desperate,” she said recklessly.

“Was I?” He drove hard into her, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. “How kind of you to take pity on me.”

“And I didn’t have time to wait,” she added, gasping as he shoved aside the folds of her skirts and put his hand between her legs.

“Yes, of course.” He traced a shivery path through the folds of her sex before settling directly on that throbbing nub. “What else?”

“I thought you were likely to agree.” She groped for the far edge of the table, trying to steady herself.

“How calculating.” He flicked his thumb, then squeezed, very delicately, and she almost screamed. “Why me?”

“Because . . .” She could feel her climax building, sending shimmering waves of heat through her veins. “Because . . .”

“Why?” He rocked back and forth, a tormenting slow motion. “Why, Kate? Is it so terrible? Are you carrying another man’s child? Is there some other threat to your fortune you neglected to reveal to me? Did Charlie and Edward refuse you before you asked me?”

“No . . . None of that . . .” She closed her eyes.

“Why, Kate?” He leaned over her, his breath scalding on the nape of her neck. He bit her there, his teeth scraping her skin. He was moving deep inside her now—she could hear in his voice that he was just as close to oblivion as she was—

“Because I loved you,” she whispered, as her climax came over her, hot and furious and debilitating. Gerard felt it; he growled against her shoulder and held her tightly against him before bucking so hard with his own release it seemed they would both fall to the floor.

The tide ebbed gradually. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart and the ragged sound of his breathing. “I loved you,” she whispered again, too drained to move, her breath making shadows of fog on the polished tabletop beneath her cheek. “For years . . . I loved you.”

He didn’t say anything or move for several minutes. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. Vaguely she wondered if she should hope for that, or hope her great secret was finally revealed. “Kate,” he said at last, sounding unutterably weary, “you can’t love someone you don’t know.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes. “It was silly and childish, but you were kind to me, once—years ago. I know you don’t remember, but I do. It wasn’t real love—calf-love, perhaps—but I never stopped. I never asked anyone else to marry me, nor would I have. If you had said no . . .” She flapped one hand helplessly. “I suppose Lucien might have persuaded me eventually.”

He raised his head. “When was I kind to you?”

She sighed. A lone tear ran over the bridge of her nose and congealed under her cheek, cold and wet. “A long time ago. I was caught walking in the rain, and you took me up on your horse and rode me to my gate. I was soaked and miserable, yet you put your coat around me and made me laugh. It was before my father had made his fortune; young gentlemen had no interest in me. But you . . . you were wonderful.”

The silence was terrible. After a moment he stepped away from her and let her skirts fall. She felt bereft, listening to him restore his clothing. She made no effort to rise, but Gerard lifted her with gentle hands and turned her to him. She tried to compose her countenance and keep her chin up, but the astonished, perplexed expression on his face was awful to behold. “When was this?”

She swallowed. “Ten . . . no, twelve years ago. It was nothing. I—I was silly to remember it.”

“I took you up on my horse?” He was frowning now. “A dozen years ago—in ’98 or so?” She nodded once. His frown deepened. “A girl in the rain, near Henfield . . .” he murmured. “I do remember—I think. I had taken Charlie’s horse without permission and was trying to get home before