Virginia Henley - Unmasked

by Virginia Henley

  Davis, quite used to the contrariness of the female gentry, drove along Bishopsgate and turned his horses onto Cannon Street, which widened into the Strand. He then took the road to Richmond until he arrived at Roehampton.

  Velvet, luggage in hand, stepped from the coach and Emma followed. "Thank you so much, Davis." She hesitated. "I don't know when I will be returning to the London house."

  "Very good, mistress. As soon as I've wet my whis­tle, I'll be on my way." Davis headed to the back kitchen door.

  Emma eyed the Elizabethan manor house with ap­prehension. "Will we be made welcome?"

  "Oh, of course. Bertha Clegg, the housekeeper-cook, is the most comfortable woman in the world. Her husband, Alfred, takes care of the horses and the grounds. It's the most charming house I've ever seen. I wish it were mine."

  When no one answered the front door, Velvet opened it and went in without hesitation. "Mrs. Clegg? Bertha?" They found her in the kitchen, pour­ing ale for Davis.

  "Welcome back, Mistress Cavendish. Is her lady­ship here?"

  "No, Bertha. Her grandson is visiting, so she stayed in London. I'm here for at least a week. This is Emma."

  "I'll go right up and furbish a couple of bedcham­bers."

  "No, no, we are quite capable of looking after ourselves."

  Velvet led the way upstairs and chose a large cham­ber whose windows overlooked the lake. "Emma, the view is breathtaking. I love everything about this house. Which room will you have?"

  "I should go to the servants' wing."

  "What nonsense! There are six large bedchambers up here."

  Emma chose a rear chamber over the kitchen. Be­neath her window was an herb garden and another filled with every autumn vegetable from marrows to leeks. "I always took care of the kitchen gardens at Nottingham Castle," Emma said with nostalgia.

  They found sheets and towels in the linen press and made up the beds. Then Velvet unpacked her bag and hung her clothes in the wardrobe. She changed into her dark green riding dress and pulled on her boots. "As you guessed, I'm off to the stables."

  "Ask Mrs. Clegg if I can potter about the gardens, my love."

  Velvet laughed. "To each his own. Horses for me ... tansy and marrows for you. I believe there is a fruit or­chard too."

  At the stables, she greeted Mr. Clegg. "You'll be see­ing a lot of me, Alfred. I'm visiting for at least a week and intend to ride every single day. I can saddle my own mare and promise to give her a rubdown when I'm finished."

  "I know the animals couldn't be in better hands. Your father was the foremost horseman in England, I heard tell."

  "And will be again when Charles returns to the throne!"

  "Amen to that, Mistress Cavendish."

  Velvet chose the same black palfrey she had ridden before. She tightened the girth. "Does this mare have a name, Alfred?"

  "That's Raven. She's a little sweetheart."

  "It suits her! She flies on the wind. Don't worry about me, Alfred—I'll be gone for a couple of hours, at least."

  A short time later, he heard the clatter of hooves on the courtyard paving stones and thought Velvet had returned. He stepped from the stables to investigate and was surprised to see another visitor. Alfred recog­nized him immediately by the way he sat his horse. "Good day, Lord Montgomery."

  "It is a good day, Mr. Clegg. Can you find an empty stall for Falcon? I have something to tell you and your wife that I hope won't inconvenience you in any way. I'm proud and happy to say that I am the new owner of Roehampton. I bought the estate from the Dowager Countess of Cavendish."

  "That is a surprise. I had no notion she intended to sell."

  "She didn't." Montgomery grinned. "I had a devil of a time persuading her. I'd appreciate your company while I break the news to Mrs. Clegg. Sometimes, women don't like surprises."

  Alfred led Falcon into a stall. "This is a fine piece of horseflesh, my lord. Are you contemplating any staff changes?"

  "None, Mr. Clegg. You are doing an admirable job here."

  "Thank you, sir. Let's go and tell Bertha the news."

  The two men entered through the front door but didn't find Mrs. Clegg until they went through to the kitchen.

  "Another visitor! I love to cook, so I'll simply dou­ble up on my recipes." Bertha beamed.

  "Lord Montgomery is not a visitor, my dear. He is the new owner. The dowager countess has sold Roe­hampton to him."

  When Bertha's mouth fell open, Greysteel said quickly, "Once I saw the estate, I knew I had to have it. I beg that you remain as my housekeeper-cook, Mrs. Clegg."

  "Indeed, your lordship, it is an honor to serve you. When Mistress Cavendish arrived, she never breathed a word!"

  "Velvet is here?" Greysteel asked with surprise.

  "Yes, my lord. Came an hour ago, and already went riding."

  "She doesn't yet know that I have bought this es­tate."

  "Oh, dear," Bertha declared, "that will be awkward for her."

  "Not at all, Mrs. Clegg. Velvet is my betrothed. I'd like to tell her myself about Roehampton, if you don't mind."

  A beatific look came over Bertha's face. "Oh, my, how romantic! I could tell that Mistress Cavendish had fallen in love with the manor house. So that's why you bought it—for her! Alfred and I will keep your secret, never fear, my lord."

  Montgomery nodded his thanks. Judas, am I that transparent?

  "After I put the bread in the oven, I'll ready your room."

  "I am a military man, Mrs. Clegg, and pride myself on being self-sufficient. I shall take care of it myself." I hadn't planned on staying overnight, but all that has sud­denly changed! He took the stairs two at a time. When he saw that Velvet had chosen a chamber facing the lake, he chose the bedroom that adjoined it. An intru­sive thought shadowed his elation: Perhaps Velvet has discovered that I bought Roehampton and it has miracu­lously changed her mind about our betrothal. Greysteel questioned himself: Isn't that the reason you bought the place? He answered honestly: Yes, but I would be consid­erably happier if she desired me more than Roehampton. He chided himself for being a romantic fool. He had al­ways been a realist; life was seldom romantic and in any case her first words would tell him whether or not she knew he owned the place.

  Montgomery removed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. After he made his bed, he went into Vel­vet's room and laid a fire, though he didn't light it. The autumn sun was shining brilliantly at the moment, but the September night would be cool. When he was done, he went for a walk on his own land.

  Eventually he walked the perimeter of the lake. When he reached the far side, he spotted Velvet. He watched unnoticed, admiring the way she rode. Though she was a featherweight, she controlled her animal with ease. When she saw him she rode a direct path to him, and he felt a rush of pleasure at the way the breeze tumbled her glorious red gold hair about her shoulders.

  Velvet reined in and walked her mount directly up to him. "What the devil are you doing here?" she de­manded.

  Greysteel's heart skipped a beat. She doesn't know!

  "I was about to ask you the same thing," he coun­tered.

  "I—" She hesitated, searching for a plausible rea­son. "Christian's grandson is visiting her and I thought I'd give them some privacy by coming to Roehampton for a few days." She glared down at him. "Did she tell you I was here?"

  He grinned up at her. "Why do you suspect such a thing?"

  "Because she wants us to marry and is doing her damnedest to throw us together. It is highly improper for us to be here."

  "Is it?" He held up his arms in invitation.

  Velvet permitted him to lift her down and could not help being aware of his powerful muscles beneath the shirt. "Did you ask her permission to come here?"

  He removed his hands from her waist and cupped her shoulders. "I must confess that I did not."

  "Then you are trespassing," she accused, rather breathlessly, "and I suspect you are not in the habit of asking permission for anything you wish to do!"


  "Your suspicions are correct, Velvet." To demon­strate, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. The kiss was not tentative; it was deliberate and sensually persuasive.

  As his powerful arms drew her close, she became aware of how very tall and how dark he was. Her lashes swept down to her cheeks and a picture of Charles came full-blown to her. She melted against him and opened her lips in sweet invitation.

  Greysteel's body responded instantly. His cock hardened and lengthened against her soft belly. When Velvet did not pull away, but nestled closer against him, it enticed him to explore further. His hands stroked down her back and came to rest intimately on her round bottom. He lifted her so that her woman's center rested against his hard length, and groaned at the throbbing torture.

  Velvet's lashes flew up and he saw that her green eyes were dilated with pleasure and he knew she was experiencing her first delicious taste of arousal. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Put me down," she said breathlessly.

  Instead, Greysteel traced her lips with his own tongue and it was Velvet's turn to groan. Then he set her feet to the ground and withdrew his arms. He masked his triumph when she swayed toward him with longing.

  His kisses make my insides melt. Her inner voice warned: It is Greysteel who is kissing you, not Charles! Velvet replied, I know, but the resemblance between them is uncanny. Her inner voice mocked, Velvet Cavendish, you don't even recall what Charles Stuart looks like at this moment. "That's true," she whispered aloud.

  "What is true, Velvet?"

  She sighed deeply. "That I am shamefully igno­rant."

  He shook his head. "Enchantingly innocent," he corrected. He tore his gaze away from her and looked across the water. "This may be the last warm day we'll have this year. If only you knew how to swim, I'd in­vite you to join me in the lake."

  "Of course I know how to swim!"

  Odsfeet, this is too easy. She swallows my bait like a lit­tle rainbow trout. "Velvet, is that the truth or bravado?"

  "It's the truth! I can swim—not too far, but some."

  "A pity you're not able to defy convention, throw caution to the wind and remove your clothes, as I'm about to do."

  She knew he was challenging her to behave shame­lessly, and it excited her. Her wicked juices compelled her to match him. With hands on hips, she declared tri­umphantly, "If you can call yourself Greysteel, I can call myself Velvet!"

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Come on, then. I'll race you." He removed his shirt, pulled off his boots and glanced over at her. While she was busy pulling her riding dress over her head, he threw off the rest of his clothes and waded into the water. He watched her sit down, pull off her boots and carefully remove her stockings. "You lose—I win!"

  "It's not fair! Females wear more garments than males!"

  "I always thought that was such a pity."

  "You devil! I shall keep my petticoat on." She turned her back, removed her drawers, set them on top of her stockings and splashed into the water. "Oh, God help me, it's freezing cold!"

  "Cold? Southern ponds are warm as bathwater. Don't you remember the icy feel of the lakes in Not­tingham?"

  "It was a long time ago, and little girls don't feel the cold like grown ladies do." She flung a handful of water at him.

  He swam toward her. "You are still a little girl, Vel­vet." He took her hand and pulled her deeper. "I'm glad you haven't forgotten how to play. Don't ever grow up."

  When she couldn't touch bottom, she grabbed his other hand. "I'm over my head, Greysteel."

  In more ways than one, I hope. "Trust me to keep you safe."

  She looked into his compelling grey eyes, saw his strength and his confidence and gave herself over to his keeping. He took control effortlessly, taking her into ever deeper water. She recalled something she'd said on their first visit here: You enjoy being in control, but I give you fair warning, Greysteel. You will never have the least control over me! He had replied: I shall, Velvet. Never, ever doubt it. She shivered at the thought of how easily he had lured her beyond her depth.

  She glanced down at her floating breasts and when she saw her nipples were erect like tiny spears and vis­ible through her almost transparent petticoat, she blushed profusely. "You can let go now and I'll swim back."

  He withdrew his hands from hers and glided beside her. They swam together for a few yards. When the water splashed into her face, she grabbed for him and slid her arms about his neck. Her eyes widened in ac­cusation. "You are naked!"

  "Guilty as charged, sweetheart."

  "I am not your sweetheart," she protested breath­lessly.

  He stroked her glistening cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Shall I persuade you that you are?" He took possession of her lips and after the slightest hesi­tation she closed her eyes and yielded her mouth to him. As the entire length of their bodies touched be­neath the water, she also yielded control to him.

  His hands moved to cup her bottom. "Wrap your legs about me, Velvet." His voice roughened with arousal.

  Slowly, with great daring, she opened her knees and straddled his narrow hips. She could feel his swollen sex cradled against her mons, with only the thin fabric of her petticoat between their naked bodies. She looked into his eyes and saw the raw need smoldering and smoky within their depths. Without a doubt she knew that this man found her physically alluring and for the first time in her life she felt like a desirable woman. Velvet opened her lips to him in wanton invi­tation and Greysteel took all she offered and then his hungry mouth demanded more.

  She clung to him feeling deliriously boneless and Greysteel, cradling her against him, walked slowly from the water. She unwrapped her legs and slid down his naked body until her toes touched the grass. Her lush breasts rose and fell as she took deep breaths to try to steady her wildly beating heart. "You... we must dress," she panted, and closed her eyes.

  He stepped away from her and watched her turn blindly toward her clothes. He slipped on his breeches, picked up his shirt and advanced toward her as she stood in her soaking wet petticoat with her back to­ward him. He lifted the ends of her dripping hair and rubbed them with his shirt. Then he dried her neck, slid the petticoat down from her shoulders and gently dried her back. He dipped his head to kiss her ear and, at the same time, pulled down the wet garment from her breasts. He wrapped his damp shirt about her shoulders and pulled her back against him. "You are so lovely, you take my breath away."

  Words from Bess's journal floated through her head. Any man worth his salt can get a woman out of her clothes before she can say him nay! Velvet gasped as his arms slid about her and he cupped her bare breasts with his powerful, calloused hands. "My great-grandmother warned me about men like you," she whispered.

  "Bess Hardwick was a connoisseur of men."

  "She certainly wasn't afraid of marriage," she mur­mured.

  "Are you afraid of marriage, Velvet?"

  "Yes ... no. I don't know."

  He turned her to face him and looked down into her lovely emerald eyes. "Are you afraid of me, Velvet?"

  "Mayhap ... I'm afraid of feeling passion for you, yet more afraid of not feeling passion. Do you under­stand what I mean?"

  "Lord God, it matters not. I can conjure enough pas­sion for us both. Put on your riding dress before I lose all control."

  They returned separately for propriety's sake. In the stables she unsaddled Raven, but Alfred insisted that he would give her palfrey a rubdown. "She drank from the lake and cropped quite a bit of grass." Velvet blushed at how long they had lingered out there, and retrieved the rolled-up wet petticoat from her saddle­bags.

  She went upstairs to remove her riding clothes and Emma came into her chamber.

  "You missed lunch. I was starting to worry."

  "Lunch?" She smiled a secret smile. "Never thought of it."

  Greysteel tapped on her door and walked in. He was wearing a wet shirt. "Ladies, allow me to light the fire I set for you."

  She watche
d him kneel and in less than thirty sec­onds he had an inviting fire blazing in the hearth. "Thank you, my lord, that is most thoughtful of you." Her eyes sparkled with delight as she watched him re­treat. Velvet sat to remove her boots and roll off her damp stockings.

  Emma's eyes were big as saucers. "Did he tell you?"

  Velvet undid the buttons on her green bodice. "Tell me?"

  "Did Lord Montgomery tell that he owns Roehampton?"

  Her fingers stopped in midair. "Where did you hear such?"

  "Mrs. Clegg—Bertha—told me that I could pick any of the vegetables in the garden that were ripe. I spent a delightful hour out there and when I returned to the kitchen, she was bursting to tell me that Lord Mont­gomery had arrived. 'Isn't it the most romantic thing you've ever heard?' she asked me. 'His lordship has bought Roehampton because his betrothed has fallen in love with the Elizabethan Manor.'"

  "I find that difficult to believe." Velvet stood up and ran to the door. "But I shall soon find out."

  She flung open his bedchamber door without knocking and walked in. She found Greysteel naked to the waist and saw that he had hung his shirt to dry be­fore his own fire. She raised furious eyes to his and de­manded, "Is it true?"

  There was absolutely no point in his pretending he didn't understand what she was asking. Though he wished it were otherwise, someone had told her. He answered her question by asking another. "Do you want it to be true, Velvet?"

  The question caught her off-balance. Do I want him to own Roehampton? "Did Christian Cavendish really sell it to you?"

  "When we were here together, I did my utmost to persuade her. She refused, but miraculously changed her mind the next day."

  "You devil! Why didn't you tell me?"

  He looked down at her bare feet and felt her vul­nerability. He took a step toward her. "Do you want the truth, Velvet?"

  "Of course I want the truth. Men are so devious, I wonder if you are capable of the truth!"

  "I bought the estate because I knew you had fallen in love with it. I thought it would persuade you to marry me. I didn't tell you because suddenly I was jealous of the passion you felt for this house. I wanted to be sure you were attracted to me, Greysteel, not Lord Montgomery, owner of Roehampton."