The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

by Bowlin, Chasity

  “I ruined everything, didn’t I? This was certainly not what you wanted to hear me say prior to… I’m not even certain what to call what we were about to do. The consummation of our affair?”

  He laughed softly. “If it’s any consolation, I hadn’t intended to consummate anything tonight. I had thought I would introduce you to just a few of the many ways in which I can bring you pleasure. And I mean to do that still.”

  Before Viola could even process what had been said, Nicholas scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed. When he kissed her this time, he didn’t stop. His lips moved from hers after a moment, but remained on her skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the tender column of her throat. When he licked that same spot, and then grazed it with his teeth, she couldn’t stop the soft sigh of pleasure that escaped her. It was a marvel to her that he could touch her in one place and incite such a response in others. Heat flooded her belly, suffused her limbs, and her pulse raced with it.

  Consumed as she was with the wicked skill of his mouth, she hadn’t even realized he’d freed the ties of her nightrail until she felt the brush of his palm on her naked breast. The heat of it, the rough and callused texture of his skin against hers, was shocking, but also intensely pleasurable. That gentle caress was about discovery, about letting her get used to the sensation of his hands on her. She knew that. But she wasn’t prepared for the sensations that would follow or the hot rush of desire that it prompted.

  “I’m not fragile or delicate,” she said. “And I’m not afraid… not of you. You needn’t treat me as if I might collapse in a fit of the vapors at any moment.”

  *

  Nicholas looked down at her, taking in the fall of her dark hair as it spread over the pillows, the pale, satin-textured flesh of her body bared to him, the dusky-hued peaks of her breasts which tempted him so desperately. Her beauty was simply unparalleled. But physical perfection aside, it was the totality of her that held him enthralled. “I’m not taking my time entirely for your benefit, Viola. I mean to savor this moment, and to draw out the pleasure in it for us both.”

  Before she could respond, Nicholas dipped his head and claimed one nipple. Closing his lips over that tender flesh, he nipped and laved as she gasped in shock and then delight. He took his time, savoring every moment just as he’d warned her. He didn’t simply touch her breasts, but worshipped them with his hands and his mouth until she was writhing beneath him. First it was only his lips, but they were followed by the fiery brand of his tongue, and punctuated with the sharp and yet still pleasurable sting of his teeth on her flesh. Each touch enflamed her, every pass stoked the fire that he’d built inside her to new heights. She was breathless and gasping, writhing beneath him while her hands tangled in his dark hair and held him to her.

  “What are you doing to me?” she asked breathlessly. “It’s like I’m on fire!”

  “Then you know precisely what I am feeling now… what I have felt from the moment I first laid eyes on you. Even on that beach when you were half-dead, I was consumed with the need to make you live, to will the breath back into your body because even without knowing you, I knew that I needed you,” he confessed.

  “Make love to me, Nicholas,” she pleaded softly. “Not as if I were some broken thing that needs to be healed, but as if I have no past, no ugly history looming over us.”

  “Soon enough,” he chided. “But for tonight, let me just glory in giving you something no man ever has.”

  Before Viola could question him, he pressed a series of soft kisses along her rib cage, down her belly. She hated the faint silvery marks on her belly from where it had grown round with Tristan, the skin stretched far beyond what it could reasonably bear without scarring. But Nicholas did not share her aversion. He kissed each one and then moved lower. When she felt the hot rush of his breath ruffling the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs, Viola’s breath caught. Surely he would not. She wasn’t an innocent, of course. She had heard of such things. But as her pleasure had never been something that Percival had been concerned with, she had no experience with the act. Other than ribald comments passed between her husband and the uncouth gentlemen he’d entertained, she was ignorant.

  When he kissed her there, softly and then more fervently, she shuddered. Whether it was anticipation or fear, she couldn’t quite be sure. But then he parted the folds of her sex and kissed her more intimately still. The gentle pressure of his lips, followed by the sweep of his tongue over tender flesh elicited a gasp from her that quickly faded into a broken moan. Gentle, insistent, and with a skill that was beyond wicked, he drove her mad.

  Every pass of his tongue, every soft nibble and kiss, had her shuddering with need. Tension coiled inside her, hot and insistent, growing tighter with each second until she felt as if her entire body would simply snap and fall into nothingness.

  “You are supposed to breathe, Viola,” he teased softly, before nipping at her inner thigh.

  “What?” she squeaked the question, her mind having simply gone altogether.

  “Breathe, my darling girl. Take air in, then force it back out… it helps, I’m told,” he answered.

  Viola somehow did as he instructed, forcing her lungs to expel the breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding. When it was done, she drew in another shuddering breath, filling her lungs once more. But it was futile endeavor. He returned to his previous ministrations but, this time, he pressed his fingers inside her, pressing deep and stroking her as he closed his lips around the small bud that he’d tormented with such skill.

  The sensations overwhelmed her, dragging her to the depths just as the sea had threatened to on the fateful day her lover had entered her life. The tension that had strummed inside her, building, released instantly. Her breath hissed out and a soft cry followed as the waves of it ebbed and flowed within her. When at last it receded, she collapsed back against the pillows, unaware that her body had even bowed to such an extent. Her limbs trembled still and her breathing was ragged as her pulse beat a rapid tattoo.

  “What have you done to me?” she queried so softly.

  “Only what you wished for me to,” he replied, levering himself up to lie next to her. His arms closed about her, holding her to him. “I promised you pleasure, Viola. And I delivered on that promise.”

  “And took nothing for yourself,” she pointed out. “I cannot fathom what manner of man you are.”

  He looked up at the ceiling. “If you think I took no pleasure in watching you climax, in knowing that I was the man who brought you to such quivering release, then you simply couldn’t be more wrong. Physically? Yes, I am in an agony of wanting you. But my pride and my ego are infinitely satisfied with what I have wrought here.”

  Viola couldn’t stop her gaze from traveling the length of his body, to the unmistakable ridge of his arousal straining against the fall of his trousers. “How is it that I might offer you some relief from your current agony?”

  “You needn’t. I am content to wait,” he said.

  “But I’m not. It isn’t in my nature to simply take, Nicholas. And I’ve taken from you tonight… I’ve reveled in what you offered for me, and I would gladly offer you the same pleasures you have shown me, but I’m at a loss as to where I should begin,” she stated.

  He looked at her, meeting her gaze steadily. After a long, aching moment, he shifted slightly and released the buttons of his trousers, releasing his rigid member. “Touch me then… take me in your hand,” he urged.

  Tentatively, Viola did as he asked. Her fingers closed around him. It was a revelation. She was shocked by the silken texture of his skin, by the heat and firm resilience of the flesh beneath. But he didn’t move or say anything at all. He simply waited patiently and endured her exploration. Touching the rounded head and the veined ridges, she then reached the soft pouch at the base and cupped it gently. The shaft jerked against her arm and a rumbling sound escaped his throat, almost like a growl. She glanced up, meeting his darkened gaze and
the truth of his desire was plainly evident in that heated look. But it was his control that she marveled at. His jaw was clenched, the muscles locked tight as he reined in his most basic of instincts.

  “You would let me touch you this way all night, without ever offering instruction on what it is that you prefer,” she accused gently.

  “I want you to know my body… to be comfortable with it and with me. If that means I must endure this torturous need for you, so be it.”

  “I am comfortable with you,” she admitted. “I am not embarrassed or afraid. I am not at all regretful for the vast number of sins we have just committed in this bed. Show me how to touch you, to ease your suffering.”

  His hand closed over hers, once more wrapping her fingers around the thick shaft of his manhood. He guided her at first, moving her fist over him, setting an easy rhythm.

  Viola watched him closely, noting when his eyes closed with pleasure, when his breathing grew more ragged. Perhaps it was instinct, or perhaps it was some intuition shared only by lovers, but she quickened her strokes, tightening her hand slightly. He gasped and ground out a harsh curse. He grew more rigid still, his flesh tightening against her palm as his thighs tensed. She was lying close to him, face to face. Then she felt the first drop of his essence, hot against the skin of her thighs. He grasped her wrist, stilling her hand over him as his hips thrust against her and his seed spilled over her flesh and onto the discarded fabric of her nightrail.

  “That was rather embarrassingly quick,” he admitted, his voice gruff and deep, his breathing ragged. “When I make love to you completely, I promise not to lose my head like some untried boy.”

  Viola said nothing in response to that as he picked up the nightrail and cleaned away any traces of what had just passed between them. But when he wrapped her once more in his arms, her head nestled against his shoulder and the heat of his body warming her, she realized that there was very little to be said. In his arms, she’d discovered pleasure, sensuality, what it meant to actually desire the touch of another. The giving and receiving of pleasure had never taken place in her marriage bed. It had been cruelty and humiliation. He’d asked what manner of man she thought he was. The only answer she possessed was a simple one. He was the very best of men and she’d given him far more than her body this night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  William Wells staggered up the embankment. It was pitch black and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Having laid there for hours, he was more sober than he’d been in a decade and hurting enough to regret the fact.

  Rivulets of blood had seeped from the wound on his scalp and dried on his face, making his skin feel taut. Every movement, even the blinking, caused him pain. His vision was blurred whether from being bashed on the head or from laying senseless in the elements for days—he couldn’t be certain. He wasn’t even entirely certain how long he’d been out there. It could have been overnight. It could have been days. As he struggled to climb up the steep slope to the road, he slipped and grabbed on to the rocky outcroppings for support.

  “Damn Timothy Cobb,” he muttered. The other man was a long acquaintance, a fellow patron of the local tavern. They’d always been friendly, if not friends. When the man had joined him on his walk home from the tavern, he’d thought nothing of it. It was only when they were on a dark stretch of road, nearer to Castle Black than the village and far from any that might overhear that he’d had any inkling of Cobb’s nefarious plans.

  After multiple false starts, stumbles, falls, and other collapses, William finally reached the road. Unable to go any further, he settled himself against the trees, being sure that he was well concealed. If Cobb came back, he was in no position to fend off another attack when he’d barely survived the first one. “Bashed in the head with a rock and left for dead by a no good wretch of a man,” he muttered. “And I offered to share me brandy with him!”

  Still cursing his attacker under his breath, William slipped once more into unconsciousness. His last waking thought was that he needed to warn the good doctor that there was plotting afoot.

  *

  Viola awoke alone, but she was not bereft. She had vague recollections of a gentle kiss on her cheek and the blankets being tucked about her before he’d made his getaway just as the first faint rays of dawn had seeped between the curtains. To say that the previous night had been a revelation was to make a vast understatement.

  There, in the clear light of the morning, Viola admitted to herself that she had fallen irrevocably in love with Dr. Nicholas Warner. She didn’t question that he cared for her deeply and that he desired her. But she had no notion if he wanted a more permanent arrangement between them or if they would simply enjoy one another’s company and favor for a short time and part ways. It was a strange thing to find herself desirous of being tied to a man, when from the outset of her marriage to Percival, she’d longed for freedom. There had been times when she’d prayed for death, sometimes his and sometimes her own, just to have an escape.

  The door opened and Belinda entered. She took one look at Viola’s bare shoulders and mussed hair and gave a soft whoop of joy. “Well, the doctor seems to have cured all that ails you, I think!”

  “Shush,” Viola said. “I don’t need you crowing about it!”

  “He’s a handsome man and I daresay one that knows how to see to a woman’s pleasure,” Belinda said as she stepped deeper into the room. “I came with a message from the butler. He says they received word that Lord Blakemore’s solicitor is down from London, staying at the inn, and will be here before the noon hour to discuss your ‘situation’.”

  “Will you fetch another nightrail from the wardrobe and help me tame this hair?” Viola asked. “I’ll need a bath prepared but I fear poor Maggie would be quite scandalized to see me in my current state.”

  Belinda retrieved the garment and brought it to her. “I wouldn’t worry too much about scandalizing folks. I have a feeling that the good doctor will come up to snuff soon enough.”

  Viola wasn’t so certain of that, but she didn’t mean to barter today’s happiness for tomorrow’s expectations.

  Once more modestly robed and with some semblance of order restored to the mass of her hair, she rang for the maid to begin her morning toilette.

  “I’ll go and fetch Tristan. He should be up and terrorizing the housemaids by now,” Belinda said.

  “Do you have the documents from the archbishop?”

  “I do,” Belinda answered. “A signed and witnessed letter from him that he was present for the boy’s birth. The date and location of it and your name and title. Whatever else they can say about it, there’ll be no questioning that the child was conceived and born during your marriage to the late Lord Ramsleigh.”

  Viola nodded. It had been Belinda who, before she’d even left Aberdeen, insisted that she not take those documents with her when traveling by sea. It had been a stroke of luck that she’d listened, trusted the older woman’s intuition.

  “Let us hope that Lord Blakemore’s solicitor shares your certainty on that score. I am hopeful that this can all be handled with a minimal amount of difficulty. Knowing Randall as I do, I recognize it’s a fool’s hope.”

  “It’ll all work out,” Belinda said. “I believe that with all my heart. After what you were made to suffer, I can’t accept it would be any other way.”

  As Maggie entered, Belinda left with a nod in passing and went to see to Tristan.

  “Will you be wanting your breakfast first, m’lady, or your bath?” Maggie asked.

  Viola found that she was not hungry at all. Her nerves were too fraught with the meeting that was to come to even think of food. “The bath, I think. I’ll have some chocolate later.”

  When a bevy of servants had come and gone, Viola sank into the tub of blissfully hot water and contemplated what was to come. If the solicitor asked her outright if Tristan was Percival’s child, she’d have to lie. Would it be so awful for him to not have the title? Yes, because then the w
orld would call him a bastard. Thinking of Nicholas and the hurt that such a word had caused him in his life, she knew she’d do whatever was necessary to spare her son that same sort of pain.

  “He will not know,” Viola vowed softly, “how he came to be in this world. I will spare him that at any cost.”

  *

  On his borrowed mount, Nicholas went for a morning ride. While it was not a favorite pastime, he found himself in need of solitude. He’d needed to be alone with his own thoughts and to determine how he meant to proceed. Viola had become his lover. Some might argue the fact given that the deed itself had not been entirely completed, but the intimacy they’d shared was too great for him to be pedantic about what had passed between them.

  While that had been his goal, he’d realized as he held her through the night that it would take much more than that to be satisfied. What he wanted from her was far more permanent. It wasn’t simply that she’d claimed his heart. In some ways, he felt that she’d taken a piece of his very soul. There could be no half-measures between them for him to be satisfied. But could he, in good conscience, offer for her when she’d be taking on a much lower station in life? He was a physician in a small, country village and a poor one at that. Paid in chickens and preserves, there was little hope of his fortunes turning. He was also a bastard with no family and no connections save for a half-brother he’d only just met.

  If he accepted the bequest from his late father, any hope of keeping his parentage and illegitimacy a secret were forfeit. If he refused it, he’d be damning Viola to a life of penury if they had to subsist only on his earnings. Given what Graham had revealed about the nature of Ramsgate Hall, it appeared that any inheritance she might have had was already squandered.

  It wasn’t truly his decision to make, Nicholas decided. It was hers. She had to decide for herself and for her son what they needed. He could only hope that he would get to be a part of that.