Violet v-5

by Jane Feather

  He pressed her back into the purple waves around her, and her body was pink and cream against the flower mattress. Her thighs parted for his own grazing exploration, and little murmuring cries of pleasure. bubbled from her, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips lifting in ecstasy as his breath was hot and then cool on her petaled flesh and his tongue burned within her.

  Smiling, his eyes hooded, molten with passion, he came up her body, drawing his tongue upward between her breasts, darting into the hollow of her throat, licking a little bead of sweat from her skin, his mouth once more fastening upon her lips as his hands moved beneath her to cup her buttocks, lifting her now to meet his surging entry into the silken sheath that tightened and closed around him, sending ripples of delight along his flesh so that he was moving in an exquisite world of sensation, bounded by the sweet flesh beneath him and around him.

  He heard as if from a great distance her softly jubilant cries as she neared the pool of glorious extinction where she would lose herself, the shape of herself dissolved into the cool void of pure sensation. And with a supreme effort he clung to reality just long enough to withdraw from her body the instant he joined her, sinking into the ever-expanding space of eternal pleasure.

  He came to himself with the sensation of the sun hot on his back. He was still clasping the small body tightly against him, and with a groan he rolled over, bringing her with him, so she lay beached on his length, her head drooping into the curve of his shoulder. She felt formless and weightless, her skin damply melding with his, and he was filled with a euphoria he'd never known before. None of his sexual adventuring had brought him this glorious satiation, this sense of fusion and peace.

  Gently he patted her bottom, and Tamsyn raised her head with visible effort. “How did that happen… whatever it was?” She smiled dreamily, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  “I don't know,” he said, kneading the curve of her backside. “You aren't real.”

  Tamsyn chuckled weakly. “Oh, yes, I am, milord colonel. I'm flesh and blood to the very tips of my toes.” She pushed upward on his chest and sat astride his thighs. “And just to show you how real I am, I'm going to swim.”

  “It's freezing,” he protested. “But, then, it's probably not as cold as the Guadiana in March.”

  “Precisely.” She swung off him with an agility that belied her earlier dissolution. “Are you coming?”

  “Maybe… in a minute.”

  Tamsyn ran off and Julian remained on his back, one arm over his forehead shielding his eyes from the sun, facing facts. He'd succumbed again. And for as long as this brigand sprite was in his vicinity, he was going to continue to succumb-particularly if she continued this habit of stripping naked in. the most unlikely places and without so much as a word of warning. Maybe he should simply accept the pleasures of her body as just and well deserved recompense. She was using him, so he might as well exact a price. It was one she was more than willing to pay.

  He stood up, watching as Tamsyn ran into the gently lapping surf on the small sandy beach. She didn't pause, simply plunged headlong into the waves that he knew must be frigid, coming up for air, then striking out with a strong overarm stroke across the cove, presumably testing the strength of the undercurrent.

  She seemed as at home in the water as she was on horseback, but that was hardly surprising, given her rugged upbringing. He strode down to the cove and walked into the water, shivering as the cold water crept up his thighs. A wave curled toward him and he dived into it, the icy cold a cleansing knife along his sweat slick skin. When he broke the surface, he saw Tamsyn's sleek head to his right. She raised a hand and waved, then rolled onto her back, floating on the waves as they swelled beneath her.

  The sun warmed the surface of her body, and the gentle rocking motion insinuated itself into her bodily currents, reminding her of the earlier moments of ecstasy. She barely noticed the cold water now; her eyes were closed and the sun was hot and growing hotter by the minute, creating a warm red glow behind her eyelids.

  Julian swam strongly toward her, then trod water beside her. “Come in now, Tamsyn, it's colder than you think.”

  She murmured assent but didn't immediately move.

  He turned and swam in, running up the beach, shaking water off his skin, clapping his arms around his chest as he jumped on the sand, watching her. She had rolled over now and was stroking inward, using the waves to carry her to shore.

  Yes, love play was certainly some compensation for the months of inaction lying ahead, Julian reflected, finding his britches and stepping into them. Not that inaction was precisely the right word for the task that lay ahead of him. He couldn't begin to imagine how local society was going to react to this extraordinary newcomer. She was bound to have to make some social forays before he'd managed to smooth her rough edges, and the prospect of Tamsyn drinking tea at the vicarage under the eagle eye of Mrs. Thornton made him shudder. Unfortunately, it also made him laugh. Of course, the sooner they could discover her Cornish antecedents, the clearer his path would be, but the fact remained that she couldn't be presented to her long-lost family until she was presentable.

  He sighed. He had his work cut out for him, and his charge was going to have to cooperate. He didn't think she understood quite what a large mouthful she'd bitten off, but she was going to have to swallow it.

  Tamsyn ran up the beach toward him, shivering but laughing. “Wonderful. I love swimming in salt water.” She grabbed up her shirt and used it to dry herself, rubbing herself vigorously, her teeth chattering, her lips blue, but her eyes shining.

  Julian watched her, hands resting lightly on his hips.

  His voice was deliberately cool and clipped, disguising the pleasure he was taking in the sight of her body and her uninhibited movements as she dried between her legs. “One thing you need to understand. If you wish to continue with this charade, this is the last time you'll behave in this fashion while you're under my roof. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I'm not sure,” Tamsyn said thoughtfully, pulling on her britches. “What behavior are you talking about, exactly, milord colonel?” She shrugged into her now soaked shirt, shivering as the material clung to her skin.

  “Wearing these clothes; swimming; or what we've just been doing amid the flowers?”

  She buttoned the shirt, regarding him with her head to one side, a slightly sardonic gleam in her eye as she posed the question that would force him to admit that he wanted their love play to continue.

  “Public indiscretion, buttercup,” he said deliberately.

  “That's what I'm talking about.” He turned and walked back up the slope toward the garden, whistling carelessly, hands thrust into his pockets.

  Tamsyn grinned appreciatively. He'd managed to wriggle out of that one without admitting anything, while leaving private indiscretion wide-open for further interpretation. She scrambled up the valley after him.

  Julian paused as he reached the wall, waiting for her to catch up with him. The small, firm swell of her breasts was clearly outlined beneath the wet shirt, the nipples dark points.

  “You'd better stay here while I fetch you a cloak,” he said. “You can't enter the house looking like that, it'll be all over the countryside within the hour. But be warned, this is the last time I shall cover up your… your…” His eyes rested in leisurely fashion on her breasts; then he put a hand on the top of her head and turned her like a spinning top. His free hand moved in a pointed caress over the indentation of her waist and the curve of her backside. “You understand me, I'm sure.”

  “It would be hard to misunderstand you, sir.” There had been something faintly insulting about the strokes, something a little vengeful. Tamsyn twitched away from him, crossed her arms over her chest, and sat on the wall. “I will await you here.”

  She sat facing the sea, kicking her feet against the stone. She may have overcome his resistance to lovemaking this morning, but she hadn't won over his attitude.

  She shrugged, trying to convince h
erself that his attitude didn't matter so long as she had his cooperation. But she didn't want to be at odds with him. They were too alike; they had shared so many experiences, the brutality and the triumphs of war; they enjoyed each other too much, and not just in love play. Tamsyn had the sense of a whole country of pleasure, of talk and laughter and shared opinions, just around the corner, but the border was patrolled by his resentment and her own purpose.

  She glanced idly up at the cliff top toward Fowey and frowned, squinting against the sun. Two figures on horseback were outlined against the cloudless blue sky. They were too far away to see anything clearly, except that they were men, their horses had the elegant lines of good pedigree, and she thought she could see shotguns across their saddles. Tamsyn wondered without much concern how long they'd been there and how much they could have seen of the goings-on in the cove. They wouldn't have witnessed that lusty tumble in the foxgloves-the flowers had formed a perfect privacy screen -but two naked figures running into and out of the sea would have been hard to miss.

  As she watched, they turned their horses and galloped out of sight over the cliff, and when Julian returned with her cloak, she didn't mention their possible audience, reasoning that it would only add fuel to his annoyance.

  “Wrap this around you and don't talk to anyone as you go to your room,” Julian directed crisply. He was wearing shirt and boots now and looked perfectly respectable. “The household is barely awake, so with luck you won't meet anyone anyway. After breakfast come to the library, and we'll get started. Wear one of the morning gowns you bought in London-I want to work on your posture.”

  “My posture?” Tamsyn demanded with more than a touch of indignation, but he'd already started back to the house, striding swiftly, making it clear he didn't wish for her company.

  Posture? What on earth could he mean? Tamsyn scrambled after him, following him through the side door into the house, but he turned aside into the breakfast parlor, leaving her to make her own way upstairs in disgruntled puzzlement.

  The door to Tamsyn's bedchamber stood ajar, and she could hear Josefa engaged in a somewhat one-sided exchange with a maidservant, who had brought a morning tray of chocolate and sweet biscuits for his lordship's guest.

  Tamsyn wrapped the cloak securely around her so her unorthodox costume was fully hidden and entered the room with a cheerful, “Buenos dias, Josefa.”

  “Oh, miss.” The girl turned with visible relief before Josefa could return the greeting. “I was trying to explain to your maid here that breakfast is served in the small parlor behind the library, but she doesn't seem to understand.”

  “No, I'm afraid she won't,” Tamsyn said, smiling.

  “But I can translate, and if there's a problem below stairs, Gabriel will translate.”

  “That's that big bloke, is it, miss?” The girl's eyes were very round in a very round face.

  “An accurate description,” Tamsyn agreed with a grin. “He's her husband.” It seemed simplest to tell the conventional fib.

  “Right. Then I'll tell Mr. and Mrs. Hibbert-they're the butler and housekeeper,” she added. “We wasn't sure about how things stood, miss. You arriving so sudden like, and his lordship not being a great one for explanations.” She blushed in sudden confusion, clearly feeling she might have spoken out of turn, and bobbed a swift curtsy, backing out of the room muttering about fetching hot water.

  “Ay… ay, I'll never understand my man's tongue,” Josefa declared. “Such a jabber. I told that girl three times that you'd be wanting hot water, and she just stared at me like an idiot.”

  “She doesn't understand you, querida, any more than you understand her,” Tamsyn said, chuckling, as she threw off her cloak and the britches and shirt beneath. “But Gabriel or the colonel or myself will translate for you. Now, which of those stupid dresses shall I wear?”

  Naked, she wandered to the armoire, taking the cup of chocolate on the way. She stood frowning in front of the wardrobe's contents, sipping chocolate, nibbling on a biscuit.

  They'd spent five days in London, putting up at Grillon's hotel. The colonel had vanished once he'd seen them installed and hadn't reappeared until it was time to begin the journey to Cornwall. He'd given her a list of dressmakers and milliners, together with what he considered minimum requirements for a would-be debutante’s wardrobe, and left her to make shift as she could.

  Tamsyn had found it tedious work putting together such a wardrobe, but she'd tackled the task with the grim determination she would have brought to any piece of necessary preparation for some serious venture. The colonel had inspected the fruits of her shopping the night before they'd begun their journey and had pronounced himself satisfied. Any other necessities or forgotten accessories could be purchased in St. Austell or Lostwithiel.

  She heard the bustle behind her as Mary reappeared with a heavy copper jug of steaming water but didn't turn around, idly flicking through the garments. She disliked them all, reserving her greatest distaste for a sprig muslin that the colonel had particularly approved. She drew the dress out and held it up to the light. It was very pretty, pale lilac with a pattern of darker flowers and a cream sash.

  “Ugh!” she muttered, tossing the despised gown onto the bed. “It had best be this.”

  “Such a pretty dress, miss,” Mary said, fingering the material admiringly. “It'll suit your coloring.”

  “I suppose so,” Tamsyn agreed half-heartedly, turning to the washstand where Josefa was filling the basin with hot water.

  She scrubbed the salt from her skin with a soapy washcloth, enjoying the glow that her rough attentions left in their wake, then set about the tedious task of donning stockings, drawers, and chemise. So many clothes, and so unnecessary when the sun was as warm as it was today. She scrambled into a lawn petticoat, kicking at the folds with a grimace.

  Josefa dropped the gown over her head, and she thrust her arms into the little puff sleeves with a roughly impatient movement that caused the other woman to tut reproachfully at the possible damage to the delicate material. The gown was hooked, the sash tied beneath her bosom, and she examined herself in the mirror. She really didn't look like herself

  “My hair's getting long, Josefa, you must cut it for me.” She brushed her fingers through the smooth, fair cap. “It's straggling on my neck and the fringe is getting in my eyes.”

  As satisfied as she was likely to be in such a costume, Tamsyn went downstairs to the breakfast parlor. The colonel had clearly been and gone, and only one place was laid at the round table in the bay window overlooking a side garden. The morning's activities had given her a good appetite, and she greeted with enthusiasm a footman's arrival with a dish of eggs, bacon, and mushrooms.

  “Coffee or tea, miss?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “Your manservant wishes a word with you, miss. Should I tell him to wait until you've breakfasted?”

  “Ye'll no be telling me anything, laddie.” Gabriel spoke from the doorway. “And I'll thank ye to bring me another dish of the same. Good morning, little girl.”

  Ignoring the footman's indignantly indrawn breath, he pulled out a chair and sat down. The footman was puffing up like a rooster, and Tamsyn said swiftly, “Gabriel isn't my manservant. He's more of a bodyguard. I'm sure Lord St. Simon will explain the situation to you.”

  “Yes, miss.” The man sniffed and shot Gabriel a fulminating glance.

  Gabriel's benign expression didn't change, but he pushed back his chair a fraction, his massive hands resting on the edge of the table. “And I'll have a tankard of ale with my breakfast, if you please.”

  The footman paused, then beat a hasty retreat with as much dignity as he could muster. Gabriel's booming chuckle filled the small room as he reached for a crusty roll and slathered it with rich golden butter.

  “I'll be needing to set a few things straight,” he observed. “Don't seem to know what to make of me in this house. I'd best have a word with the colonel.”

  “Yes,” Tamsyn agree
d absently. “I saw Cedric Penhallan yesterday.”

  Gabriel's eyes sharpened. “Where?”

  “In the inn at Bodmin. I couldn't say anything to you on the ride back because of the colonel.”

  “Aye,” Gabriel agreed, falling silent as the footman returned with a tankard of ale that he placed beside him with an emphatic thump before turning to take a laden platter from the kitchen boy who'd followed him in.

  “My thanks, laddie,” Gabriel said blandly, burying his nose in the tankard. The footman looked as if he would burst, and the boy stifled a grin, scuttling from the room before Tom took his fury out on him with a clout around the ear.

  “You didn't speak with him?” Gabriel speared a mushroom and dipped it in his egg yolk.

  “No, but the colonel did. They seem to know each other.”

  “Most folks do in these parts.”

  “I daresay, but they don't like each other, Gabriel. In fact I suspect that's an understatement.” She gave him her impressions, relating the snatch of conversation she'd heard.

  “I'd best look into it, then,” Gabriel said comfortably. “Ask around in the taverns. They'll be cousins of yours, then, these nephews?”

  “So it would seem. The children of Cecile's younger brother, I suppose. I can't remember his name-she did tell me once, but I've forgotten. She didn't consider him to be important in the family setup.”

  “Seems like only Cedric's important in that setup,” Gabriel observed, burying his nose in his tankard.

  “Up to now, Gabriel,” Tamsyn said with a small smile. “Up to now.”

  “Well, well, I'll be damned. Did we really see St. Simon sporting in the waves with a doxy?” Charles Penhallan sighted, aimed, and his gun cracked. A crow plunged to the cliff top.

  David grinned at his brother as he took aim himself Scaring crows was dull work but better than taking pot-shots at rabbits, and it was all the legitimate sport available at this time of year.