by Shana Galen
“I am safe with you.”
She wasn’t, but he didn’t want to argue with her now. Soon enough his fate would be sealed. If he managed to escape the asylum, he could end this—whatever this was—then. He could part with her before either of them were hurt, emotionally or physically. Because Nash knew it was only a matter of time before he again made a mistake like he had this summer with Duncan. Only this time he feared Pru would be the one to take the pistol ball, and he couldn’t live with himself if he ever hurt her.
WITH TWO DAYS BEFORE the festival, Pru was busier than she had ever been in her life. She had spent the better part of the week at Wentmore, making certain the estate was ready for the upcoming festivities. Mr. Payne had the workmen and the landscaping well in hand, so Pru spent a great deal of time in the kitchens with Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Blimkin, planning the menu and the activities. Certain games, like bobbing for apples, were tradition, as were certain dishes. Mrs. Blimkin assured everyone the villagers would bake pies and cakes and bring their best savory dishes to share. But being that the event was to be held at Wentmore, where few had visited in over a decade, the autumn festival would be attended by even more people than usual. Mrs. Blimkin insisted Wentmore provide a dozen or more dishes to ensure no one left hungry.
“Where is that wretched Clopdon?” Mrs. Blimkin asked after surveying the newly repaired kitchens to be certain all was ready for the real work—the cooking that would begin tomorrow. “I sent him to inventory the tablecloths an hour ago.”
Pru’s eyes had glazed over at an argument about tarts versus cobblers, but now she jumped to her feet. “Shall I go look for him and ascertain his progress?”
“Oh, would you, dear?” Mrs. Brown asked. “My old feet would thank you to save me another trip up the stairs today.”
“Of course! I’ll go right now.” She turned and practically ran for the stairs. She had no real expectation of finding the valet. He had made it clear he was not a butler and loath to do any sort of fetching and carrying or, for that matter, supervising of the footmen. His one task, he claimed, was to ensure Mr. Pope looked his best, and Pru could not argue that he was accomplishing that admirably.
She had yet to catch more than a glimpse of Nash today, and she’d been waiting for the chance to sneak away and spend a few private moments—or perhaps more than a few—with him. Lately they’d been meeting in the butler’s pantry. It was right off the stairs leading down to the kitchens, so a bit of a risk but, as there was no butler, safer than many other areas of the house. Pru would slip into the room, and Nash would grab her about the waist and kiss her until they were both breathless.
Now she practically ran up the stairs and dashed into the butler’s pantry but found it empty. Frowning, she went into the dining room, but it was empty as well. She moved into the foyer and spotted Clopdon coming down the stairs, his arms full of linen. He gave her a warning look. “If you have come on behalf of that termagant to ask me to do some menial task—”
“I haven’t,” Pru said quickly. Perhaps she could count the tablecloths herself... “I was looking for Mr. Pope. Is he in his chamber?”
“He is not. I caught him earlier and forced him to submit to the tortures of my measuring tape. God forbid we have a coat that fits him properly on Saturday.”
“I have no doubt he will look very well at the festival.”
“No thanks to Mr. Payne who seems to think it acceptable to agree to host large events without even a week’s notice.”
“Well, if anyone is up to the task, Clopdon, it’s you.”
“Flattery is always appreciated, Miss Howard. Now I must scuttle away before that harridan finds me and asks me to count silver or some such nonsense.”
“Of course.” Pru watched him walk away, still wondering where Nash might be. She could try the parlor. She started that way when the front door opened, and Nash himself, followed by the vicar, entered.
Pru’s smile at seeing Nash turned to a look of surprise at spotting Mr. Higginbotham. “Ah, there you are, Miss Howard,” the vicar said. Nash paused and looked about him until he found her. Pru’s entire body warmed when his gaze touched her. Even though he’d told her he could only see vague shapes and outlines, she knew he was more than familiar with her shape.
“Yes, I’m here. Good day, Mr. Pope. Mr. Higginbotham. I didn’t expect to see you, sir.”
“Well, my housekeeper seems to have taken up residence here, so it is here I must come if I wish a decent meal.”
Pru knew Mrs. Blimkin made sure to leave meals for the vicar every morning and evening, so this was a flimsy excuse. No doubt, the vicar was as curious as everyone else in the village about Wentmore and its master.
“If I’d known you were here,” Pru said, “I would have taken you to Mrs. Blimkin immediately. She’s in the kitchen with Mrs. Brown.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright,” the vicar said with a wave of his hand. “I also came to tell Mr. Pope that Mr. Smith is improving and to thank him for his generosity toward that family.”
Pru raised her eyebrows. She knew nothing about the Smiths, but she was not surprised that Nash had done something generous.
“And then Mr. Pope offered to show me about the grounds and the location for our festival on Saturday,” the vicar said. “I must say, it is quite a pleasing prospect.”
“Yes, it is,” Pru agreed. Now that the hedges had been trimmed, the trees pruned, the lawns tended, and the ivy on the house tidied, she hardly recognized the place herself. It looked so different from the wild place where she and Nash had sat on the grass and spoken of fairy gatherings. The fairies would have to find other haunts, though, as Wentmore had once again been tamed.
“Shall I show you to the kitchens, sir?” Nash asked the vicar.
“I can find them myself, if you don’t mind me wandering about a bit.”
“Not at all,” Nash said, and the vicar meandered away.
When he was out of hearing range, Pru moved toward Nash. “May I speak to you in the parlor, Mr. Pope?”
His brows rose. “The parlor? Not the butler’s pantry?”
She smiled. Wicked man, and she did love him for it. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with the inventory of the tablecloths,” she said, taking his hand. He leaned the walking stick he used outside beside the door and allowed her to lead him into the parlor. Then he closed the door and pushed her up against it, kissing her hard and fast. Pru kissed him back, wrapping her arms about him and sliding her fingers through his hair. It had been cut again, no doubt by Clopdon, but as Nash would not consent to have it shorn enough to show his wounded eye, the top was still somewhat long.
She pulled back. “You didn’t even give me a chance to make sure we are alone.”
“Are we?” he asked.
She peered over his shoulder and looked about the chamber. “Yes.”
“Good.” He kissed her again, his hands running up her sides and along her arms until he captured them and held her wrists. He secured them against the door and held her there, his captive. He had gained back some of the weight he had lost and no longer looked pale and gaunt. He was now quite a formidable form, and she liked the feel of him pressed against her. He was so warm, so alive, strong but gentle.
“You have me,” she murmured as he moved his mouth to kiss her neck. “Now what will you do?”
“I’ve been hoping for more rain,” he said.
“Never say so! The festival will be ruined.”
“But you might be forced to stay the night again.” He kissed her earlobe and she shivered. “I want you in my bed,” he whispered.
She wanted that too. She wanted to undress him slowly and touch every inch of him, kiss every part of him, then push him down, clamp her legs about his hips, and take him slowly inside her.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but your pulse just kicked,” he said.
“Nothing I should admit to anyone, lest I go to hell.”
“We’ll go together.” He kissed her ag
ain, wedging a knee between her legs and pressing against her core until she wanted to roll her hips to increase the friction.
“Hello!” a too-familiar voice called from the foyer. Pru jolted and pushed Nash away. He released her immediately.
“Who is it?”
“I say hello there!”
“I think it’s Mrs. Northgate,” Pru said. “I’d better go see.”
“I need a butler,” Nash muttered. Pru grinned at him.
“And here I thought you didn’t like servants.”
He moved aside, and she opened the parlor door and blinked in surprise as indeed Mrs. Northgate was standing in the foyer of Wentmore, looking up at the large chandelier with an assessing eye.
“Mrs. Northgate!” Pru said, genuinely pleased to see her friend.
“I might have known I’d find you here,” Mrs. Northgate said. She wore a lavender dress today, quite elegant in style. Her coil of silver hair was lower than usual, being that she’d had to fit it under a hat, but with the plumes of the hat, the woman was over six feet tall.
“I’ve been helping Mrs. Blimkin and Mrs. Brown with preparations for the festival,” Pru said.
“I’m sure you have.” Mrs. Northgate looked past Pru, and she realized Nash had come out of the parlor to stand behind her. His hair was still mussed from her hands running through it.
“Welcome, Mrs. Northgate,” he said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, and though I cannot see Miss Howard’s new dress myself, I hear it is quite fetching.”
“It is, if I do say so myself. I must commend you, Mr. Pope, on the state of the house. I was given to understand it was in ruins, but it looks very much the way it did the last time I was here. Perhaps a few improvements here and there.”
“Thank you.” He gave a formal bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Pru watched him start up the stairs and wished she could follow him to his bedchamber. Instead, she turned a smile on Mrs. Northgate. “Would you like me to show you around a bit?”
“Certainly, since you are so much at home here.”
Pru nodded and gestured for Mrs. Northgate to follow her. There were still some rooms not ready for public viewing, but she could steer her friend away from those. The truth was, she did feel at home at Wentmore, but her time here was coming to an end. She and Nash had made every excuse they could think of to be together these past weeks. But the festival would be over soon and so would their time together.
Nineteen
Nash waited until he heard the Northgate carriage depart before he made his way downstairs. Mrs. Northgate had taken the vicar and Mrs. Blimkin in the carriage with her, and Nash feared Pru had gone as well.
Except the house had a different feeling when she was about, and he could still sense her presence. The Cloud of despair that always seemed to hover on the horizon was banished when she was near. He couldn’t sense it at all right now, which meant she was here...somewhere. The front door closed, and he made out her form coming toward him.
“I was afraid you’d gone,” he said.
“I made an excuse to stay a bit longer.”
He raised a brow. “Without your chaperone?”
“The vicar didn’t even seem to realize he was leaving me without one. He was so anxious to have a quarter hour with Mrs. Northgate in order to convert her.”
“And Rowden?”
“He sent the workmen home and went riding with your land steward. Clopdon was supervising the laundress washing your shirts. I believe Mrs. Brown went to lie down as Mrs. Blimkin wore her out. The footmen are here somewhere.”
“Probably smoking in the yard while they have the chance. I really do need a butler.”
“But you don’t have a butler,” she said. “And you know what that means?”
“Tell me.”
“It means there is no one to see me run into your bedchamber. I will meet you there.”
And before he could grab her, she’d run past him and up the stairs.
With a smile, Nash followed her, his pulse pounding as he imagined what he would do to her when he had her behind closed doors. They didn’t have long. Dinner was in an hour or so, and he didn’t want to waste any time.
Nash reached his bedchamber and pushed the door open. “Pru?” he said.
“I’m on the bed. Naked.”
That revelation jolted his body, making his cock go hard instantly. He imagined her lithe body sprawled on the bed as she lay on her side with one hand propping up her chin. His hands ached to run a path from her shoulder, down to the dip in her waist, and over the curve of her hip. “How did you manage that so quickly?” He loosened his neckcloth and tugged off his coat.
“When I was young, we never had enough coal to use for anything but cooking. Anne and I learned to undress, wash, and scurry under the bedclothes very quickly else we’d freeze. She is actually even faster than I.”
“A talent I’m sure her husband appreciates.”
“I can see you appreciate it too. Come here and let me help with that waistcoat.”
He moved toward the bed and she grabbed his neckcloth and pulled him in for a kiss. He reached for her and felt bare skin, warm and soft. With a small groan, he ran his hands up and down her back, finally gently squeezing her bottom. She was naked, as she’d claimed, and he wanted desperately to join her.
She made quick work of his waistcoat then helped with his cuffs, tugging the shirt over his head even as he tried to remove shoes and strip off his trousers. They knocked heads in their haste, and he moved back. “Let me finish.”
“May I watch?” she asked. He liked that she asked him. He couldn’t see her watching, but he liked that she let him know she wanted to.
“If you like.”
“I do.” Her voice dropped slightly as he removed his trousers. “You’re all muscle and sinew and leashed strength.”
He paused. “Leashed strength?”
“Too flowery?”
“It sounds as though you’ve been reading Gothic novels.” He tossed the trousers aside and climbed into bed, just as naked as she.
“And how would you know how they sound if you hadn’t read one yourself?” she teased as she pulled him into her warm embrace.
“You caught me,” he said against her lips.
“Yes, I did.” She kissed him long and deep, her hands exploring him as her tongue teased his. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of her under him. She was slim but strong and solid. She wouldn’t break easily, and that made him want to treat her all the more gently.
He kissed her jaw, her neck, her breasts all while his hands relearned the shape of her. When his fingers found the soft curls between her legs, she was already wet for him. He wanted to slide inside her and bury himself deep. But just as he nudged her legs open, she moved over him, pushing him back and throwing one leg over him until the heat of her sex met with his waiting cock.
She didn’t take him inside her yet, and Nash could hardly breathe waiting for her. Instead, she slid her hands over his chest, up his arms, and back down again. Then she moved, slowly, to his face and slid the hair away from his damaged eye.
“Pru,” he said, trying to shake it back into place.
“Don’t,” she said. “I want to see your face when I do this.” She moved her hips and the friction made him catch his breath.
“If you insist,” he grit out as she took his head inside her tight warmth. She leaned forward and locked her hands with his, pinning him to the bed as she took more of him, so slowly that he felt dizzy with need.
And then she moved her hips and he swore.
“Using the old Anglo-Saxon word?” she teased. “You have barbarian ancestors.”
“And you clearly have ties to Druids. You’ve bewitched me.” He clenched her hands as she moved. “God, yes.”
“I can see exactly what you like,” she said, her own voice tinged with pleasure now. “I want to see your face when you climax.”
He stilled for a moment then looked up at he
r, wishing he could see more than the vague shape of her. “What does it look like?” he asked. “My left eye? I’ve never seen it.”
She stilled, and for a moment he feared she would tell him something ridiculous, like you’re beautiful. But he wanted the truth. This was the only time he’d ever asked this question, and he wanted to know how badly he was scarred.
“You have dark brows,” she said finally. “They’re part of the reason your scowl is so lethal, but on your left side the brow is bisected by a scar, a thin line that runs almost through the center of the brow.”
He’d felt that raised ridge of skin and knew what she said was true. “Go on.” He hadn’t meant for her to go on riding him, but she moved her hips then, slowly and gently.
“The scar descends over your eyelid.” Her voice was a bit strained now as she slid against him. “And down just beneath your eye. The skin there is pink and still a bit raw, though I imagine given a few more years the scar will whiten and fade.” She swallowed. “Nash, yes. Like that with your hips.”
For a moment they were both lost in the sensations of their bodies coming together, but he wanted to hear more.
“Go on,” he said breathlessly.
She paused and caught her breath. “Ah, it’s hard to think. Ah...I can see where the—was it shrapnel?”
“We think so. That or a piece of brick dislodged by a pistol ball and turned into a projectile.”
“Yes.” She rolled her hips and he could feel her body beginning to tense, knew she was getting close to climax.
“Go on,” he said.
“The shrapnel or brick flew at your eye, and where it struck is white and cloudy. You have such beautiful blue eyes, but part of your left is scarred. But it doesn’t look much different than someone with a cataract. A cataract covers more of the eye, though, whereas this is just a thin slice.”
He gripped her hands hard. “And it doesn’t disgust you to look at it?”
“No,” she said, gripping his hands back. “Even if it looked ten times worse, nothing about you could disgust me, but believe me when I say, this is not much more than a small scar. You’re a very handsome man, with or without it.”