“Do you honestly think it would matter to me?”
“I think,” he said, “that it will matter for Tristan and for any children we might have. They will not have an easy time in society. You must know that. You must weigh that with your decision.”
She walked toward the window and looked out to the sea. “My betrothal was easy. Not a hitch from our first introduction to the moment he entered my bedchamber on our wedding night. I even thought that I might come to love him. He was charming enough, handsome if somewhat older, and his manners were impeccable… though given the little of society I had seen, I had no real basis for comparison. Ease is not a guarantee of quality or happiness.”
Never had he longed for anything more than to wipe away the sadness he saw in her lovely face. Viola deserved happiness. And whether he deserved her or not, he was selfish enough to take her and keep her for himself. But in doing so, he would devote himself to making her happy every day of their lives together.
Closing the distance between them, Nicholas placed one hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. It was meant to be a sweet kiss, an expression of love and affection. But like so many things between them, it took on a life of its own. The very moment their lips met, desire flared hot and insistent. Pressing his lips more firmly to hers, he threaded his fingers once more through the mass of dark waves that cascaded past her shoulders. Her lips parted beneath his. It was all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss, to explore the softness of her mouth and feel the gentle caress of her tongue against his own.
Without any thought of where they were, or that it was broad daylight and the servants were roaming freely through the house, Nicholas brought one hand up to cup the soft mound of her breast. She arched into his touch, kissing him back fervently as he teased that soft flesh until her nipple hardened to a taut point against his palm.
Kissing her until they were both breathless, it still wasn’t enough. Reaching for her skirt, he tugged the fabric up until he could touch the satiny skin of her thigh. Her response, as she gripped his hand and guided it to the juncture of her thighs and the desire slicked flesh that was so eager for his touch, was more than any man could resist.
Breathless, so hard he ached with it, he eased his lips from hers. “This was not my intention in coming here.”
“So long as your intention isn’t to leave, I don’t care,” she said. “Make love to me, Nicholas.”
He wanted that more than he wanted his next breath. “If only I could. But now is not the time. Tonight… I will come to you here after dinner.”
She sighed and leaned back against the window casing. “I don’t know how I’ll wait so long.”
He grinned. “That’s part of my diabolical plan. You’ll be thinking of it all day, as will I. Anticipation, my love, can be its own reward. And I do have a patient to see to.”
“Is he going to recover?” Viola asked worriedly. “I hate to think he might suffer permanent damage simply for recounting the tale of your heroics.”
“I have hopes that he will. Of course, if he does, I fully expect him to milk it for all the sympathy and brandy he can get out of it… Wells is quite good at that, no doubt. I believe he was telling the tale and exaggerating it to great and romantic detail in order to con passing travelers into paying for his ale and whiskey.”
Viola shook her head. “Still, he doesn’t deserve what has happened to him.”
“No, he does not. I’ll see you in a few hours… and I have a request.”
“What?”
He grinned again, knowing that he was about to shock her. “When I arrive, I want you completely naked… not a stitch covering you but the fall of that glorious hair. My very own Lady Godiva.”
She blushed furiously. “That would be scandalous.”
“You’ve come back from the dead, Viola. Everything you do is scandalous,” he reminded her.
Her lips tightened as she attempted to hold back her laughter. “So it is.”
Nicholas left her chamber and made his way back to the small room off the kitchen. Wells was more alert than before, responding to requests to squeeze his hand and move his limbs, but he had yet to open his eyes. Still, it was a good sign.
“You may go,” Nicholas said to the maid. “I’ll sit with him a while, I think.”
“I don’t mind, Dr. Warner, sir,” the maid said.
Nicholas realized that watching over the patient was likely keeping her from other chores that were even more unpleasant. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Dora, sir,” she said, bobbing a little curtsy that was totally unwarranted for someone of his standing. As if she recognized her mistake, she blushed furiously.
“Take a walk in the garden, Dora. Or sneak up to your rooms and have a nap. I won’t tell,” he promised.
The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, that isn’t—I wouldn’t… oh, cook would skin me alive!”
“Only if she finds out,” he said. “I can distract her if you’d like, while you slip out the back?”
“No, sir. I’ll just go back to the kitchen and see what needs doing,” she said meekly. “But I do thank you for the offer.”
Nicholas leaned back in the chair and propped his feet on the edge of Wells’ bed. “I hope you wake up. And I hope to hell you remember Cobb’s attack well enough to convince the magistrate of it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Timothy Cobb had spent the day earning every shilling that Ramsleigh had given him. He’d gone far and wide in the small village, carrying the same tales from one farm to another as he preyed on the superstitions of the poorest amongst them and fueled their already intense anger and bitterness toward anyone of the upper class. If the truth were told, he despised Ramsleigh as much as anyone else did. But Ramsleigh was a steady stream of income, and he’d not bite the hand that fed him.
“I’ve amassed a group of about ten men, give or take. That ought to be enough to take her without raising too much of a fuss… especially after I set the mill on fire and lure his lordship and the good doctor away,” Cobb said.
Ramsleigh smiled. “That should do quite well I think. Make certain she tells you where the boy is hidden away before they hang her. Are you squeamish about killing a child, Cobb?”
“Not squeamish about nothing, m’lord,” he answered readily enough. It didn’t much matter to him who he killed—man, woman or child—so long as he got paid. He’d have shoved a knife between Ramsleigh’s ribs right there on the spot for the right price. “I’ll make her talk and when it’s done, I’ll be making a little trip to snuff out the rightful heir.”
Ramsleigh laughed. “Rightful heir, indeed! I wish I’d managed to kill the bitch the first time she bred!”
“She’s a right looker, ain’t she?” Cobb asked. “Too bad about all them witnesses or maybe I’d sample her refined charms myself.”
“They’re not so refined. She fights like a wildcat, though,” Ramsleigh admitted, his lips twisting into a chilling smile.
That was something he hadn’t considered. “You tupping your old auntie?” Cobb asked.
“It’s mine, you know? The whelp she delivered while in hiding. My dear old uncle could have plowed her ten times a day and not put a babe in her belly… so he asked me to do it. Her bastard—my bastard,” he said with a laugh, “isn’t the rightful heir to anything. Just another by-blow. I’d leave him to the workhouse like I did the others, but I fear it might be a mistake given her powerful allies. No doubt, they’d search high and low for the brat. You’ll kill him and be certain the body is found. I won’t have an imposter showing up in twenty years claiming to be the long lost anything.”
“I’ll make sure the boy is dead, and that there’s no doubt about it. I’ll kill him and whoever’s caring for him in their own home, so there can be no question of who he is,” Cobb said. “And I’ll be paid extra for my trouble.”
Ramsleigh opened the desk drawer and withdrew another pouch of coins. He tossed it to him. “Not a tuppen
ce more.”
Cobb opened the pouch, examined his loot. “Seems a fair price. I’ve got to go and make sure everything is ready. She’ll be dead by the morning, and then I’ll go for the boy.”
“You’re not a good man, Cobb, but you’re a good man to know,” Ramsleigh said by way of parting.
Cobb nodded again and left, richer for his trouble.
*
It was a wonder Viola had survived dinner. Every time she looked across the table, she’d seen Nicholas and recalled their earlier conversation and the more intimate aspects of their abbreviated encounter. He’d said anticipation was its own reward. The truth was that it was more akin to torture. She felt fevered, her body burning for things she barely understood but craved nonetheless. When the meal was done, she excused herself hastily enough that Lady Agatha became concerned for her.
“My dear, are you quite well?” Lady Agatha asked.
“I’m quite well, Lady Agatha. I simply wanted to get Tristan settled and into bed myself. It’s a task I’ve missed since leaving him behind in Aberdeen,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. She was actually going to tuck her sweet boy in, but that wasn’t the ultimate reason for her hurry. It was the man who sat across the hall, drinking brandy with his newly-found half-brother and his friend.
Lady Agatha nodded. “It is the best time, isn’t it? When they’re tired and let you cuddle them as you would when they were babies? It’s terrible when they start being independent and demanding to do things for themselves. I believe we would, all of us, keep them small forever if we could.”
“Yes, I most certainly would,” Viola agreed.
“Go see to your son, my dear, and I shall see you in the morning. I think I will retire early myself. I’ve a new novel waiting for me,” the older woman said. It was obvious that her concern was for Lady Beatrice who had been somewhat wan throughout dinner.
Viola turned to the younger woman, “Let me help you upstairs, Lady Beatrice. I vow when I was as far along as you, there was not a part of my body that did not ache… and steps were impossible to navigate because I simply couldn’t see them anymore!”
Beatrice smiled. “Nonsense. You go on ahead. I’ll wait here for Graham. I’d make him carry me, but I fear his poor back would not survive the task.”
Lady Agatha made a tsking sound at her. “Now who is speaking nonsense? You are the picture of grace and beauty, my dear. But I shall leave you to my son’s tender care.”
Walking up the stairs with Lady Agatha, they parted ways at the top and Viola made her way to the nursery where Tristan was safely ensconced. Stepping inside, she found him sitting up in his small bed, chattering to Belinda as he excitedly showed her the small, wooden toys in each hand.
“He will not wish to leave here,” Viola mused. “This room is a veritable treasure trove for a small boy.”
Belinda grinned at that. “Those are new and just for him. Lord Blakemore brought them to him today. I believe he carved them himself. Apparently, he spent a great deal of time working on such things while aboard ship in his previous endeavors.”
A pirate lord who carved toys for children, Viola mused. The man was full of surprises. But she believed him to be cut from the same sort of cloth as Nicholas. They were not gentleman by society’s definition of the word, and yet their behavior and treatment of others far surpassed those who were supposed to represent the best society had to offer.
As Belinda moved away, Viola took her spot on the edge of Tristan’s bed and listened to his chatter until it finally began to slow. She hugged him close then, snuggling him as she would have when he was so very small. Singing softly, the familiar lullaby did its work. She held him until he drifted to sleep and then tucked him back beneath the covers and made her way back to her own room.
Nicholas’ request from earlier was still ringing in her mind. In truth, it had never been far from it. But she couldn’t refuse him. Embarrassed as she was by it, it excited her as well. Loosening the simple tapes of her gown, she removed it and then her petticoats and stays. Removing the pins from her hair once more, she loosened the braids that had been the base for her chignon and allowed the waves of her hair to fall over her shoulders. Only then did she free the ties of her shift and let it fall to her waist. When she pushed it past her hips and the garment puddled on the floor, she spared a glance at her reflection.
It was more than a cursory glance. She took stock of every flaw. From the marks on her stomach and breasts that had bloomed there during and after her pregnancy, to the slight protrusion of her stomach that would never go away, or so she’d been told—there was much changed about her appearance. Yet, he insisted that he found her not just beautiful but desirable. Given how devilishly handsome he was and that he was, as far as she could see, a perfect specimen of masculinity, it caused her no small amount of insecurity.
She didn’t hear the door open. Viola was unaware that anyone observed her as she stood before the mirror frowning disapprovingly at her reflection.
*
“I cannot imagine what you would see there to prompt such an unhappy expression,” Nicholas said by way of announcing his presence. He made no move to cross the room and close the distance between him. If he was near enough to touch her, things would progress too quickly and rob him of the alluring vision of her naked before him.
She blushed furiously and he knew that it was pride more than anything else that kept her from shielding herself from his view. Instead, her hands dropped to her sides, though they were still clenched nervously. “I was simply cataloguing all the ways in which I have changed.”
It didn’t surprise him that she saw flaws where he saw perfection. In his experience, even the most beautiful of women were often never satisfied with their appearances. Of course, in a society that valued them predominantly for that, he could easily see why.
“That you are free now and happy, I hope, that you now know your body is capable of indescribable pleasure?” he asked.
She shook her head, the dark cascade of her hair swaying seductively over her bare skin. “I was thinking in more visual terms. I had a very enviable figure once upon a time.”
“You had the figure of a girl, once upon a time. Now you have the body of a woman, and there is nothing inherently better or worse in either of those… but I can tell you that you are beautiful, I can tell you that you are desirable, and you will still doubt. Leaving me to wonder if words are simply not the appropriate course of action here.”
“And what is, then?” she demanded.
Nicholas moved forward then, easing away from the door and stalking toward her with purpose. “This,” he said simply, before capturing her hair in his hand and tugging her close enough to claim her mouth in a searing kiss. He could feel the softness of her body against him, the silk of her hair tangling about them both, as he parted her lips and swept inside the soft recesses of her mouth.
To that point, he’d been careful with her. He’d held his own desires in check for fear of frightening her. In that moment, he was no longer capable of such altruism. His own baser urges had overwhelmed, driving him to take, to claim, to conquer. Maneuvering her backwards toward the dressing table, until the backs of her thighs bumped against it, he lifted her onto it. Nudging her thighs apart with his knees, he stepped between them, pressing against her in a blatantly carnal manner. There was no mistaking his intent and he waited with bated breath for her to protest. But she didn’t. Instead, she tugged his shirt from his breeches and slid her hands beneath it, sliding them tentatively over his fevered skin.
“I don’t want to do anything to frighten you,” he whispered against her skin. “But my will is gone, Viola. I need you too badly.”
“I’m not some broken thing that you have to tend, Nicholas. I know what you want… and for the first time in my life, I want it, too,” she replied.
That whispered admission was his undoing. Nicholas stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, eager for the crush of her breasts against his chest. Sliding h
is hand along her inner thigh, he moved upward until he could touch her intimately, stroking the soft folds of her sex. Her flesh was slick with desire, her body as burning and eager as his own.
Her hands roamed his back, his chest, and then he felt one soft hand cupping him through the fabric of his breeches. It was the sweetest of torment, but not nearly enough. Then she freed each button, one by one, and he thought he might die from it. Forcing himself to back away from her, he uttered, “Bed… we should be in bed for this.”
“Does it matter?” she asked as she stroked him gently.
“Christ, yes. If we have a hope in hell of lasting more than a minute, yes,” he said, gripping her wrist and pulling her hand from him as he stepped back, “Get on the bed, Viola.”
Thankfully, she did as he asked. Lowering herself from the dressing table, she crossed the chamber and paused at the side of the bed. She looked back at him over her shoulder. Her dark hair brushed the small of her back, highlighting the flare of her hips and her perfect, heart-shaped bottom. Whether she intended to torture him with such an erotic and sensual image of her was irrelevant to the impact it had. Like a punch in the gut, the need was so sharp and so irresistible that he had no choice but to follow her.
Shucking his breeches he climbed onto the bed and pulled her down with him until she sprawled atop his body. Whether it was instinct or simply that she was attuned to his desire, she immediately parted her thighs and sat back so that she was astride him. Nicholas reached between them, guiding his aching member to her entrance. He watched with bated breath as she lowered herself, taking him inside her.
It was glorious and agonizing at once. Resting his hands on her hips, he guided her gently, urging her to move, to set a rhythm. And she did—slow, maddening and so sweet it robbed him of breath. Every subtle movement, every undulation of her hips against him and the soft, wet heat of her surrounding him pushed him closer and closer to that edge.
The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh Page 17