Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3)

by Boyd, Heather

  Tension coiled up her spine as she brought Oliver deep into herself. The way he made her feel was incredible and when his fingers slipped between them she bit off a choked cry. Oliver’s hand pressed to her mouth gently, cutting off her moans for mercy. He teased her while she rode him, heightening her desires tenfold. His mouth returned to her breast and Beth held him there, threading her fingers into his gray locks so he could not leave her.

  Beth bit her lip on the demand that almost followed that thought. She wanted to have this with him forever, even if it had to remain their secret. Sweat broke out over her body. Her release remained maddeningly out of reach. Oliver’s lips left her breast and he faced her. Beth continued to move but she couldn’t come. She just couldn’t let go of the moment and begin to lose him.

  His head pressed to hers, his fingers stroked her clit with more gentleness, concentrating on drawing small circuits with his fingertips. His mouth hovered beside hers as she panted. “Let go, my angel. Let me hear and feel you be happy in my arms.”

  His mouth sealed to hers as gooseflesh rose over her skin. Her body tensed, clamping around Oliver, and she sobbed against his mouth helplessly. He kept her close, smoothing her skin and playing with her long hair. When she relaxed, he rolled her onto the bed and withdrew from her body.

  When he fell onto the other side, panting hard and making no attempt to find his own pleasure, she leaned into him.

  He caught her hand again and raised it to his lips. His breath was a fast pant against her skin. “You are,” he mumbled as he kissed her knuckles, “the most breathtaking woman I have ever known or should ever want to make love to.”

  Beth smiled at his compliment. They were so rare that she believed he meant every word. It didn’t prove that he might finally love her, but it was as close a confession that she was special to him as she might ever get.

  When Beth ran her eyes over the lean flesh revealed by the flickering firelight, her daring grew. She reached out to touch him. He was still hard. Still unfulfilled. She tightened her grip about him and stroked. It didn’t take long before his muffled groans filled the room and his release splattered over his chest.

  He rose to use the washbasin and returned quickly, pulling Beth back firmly against his chest and wrapping her tightly in his arms. She smiled as contentment washed over her. One last night. One last embrace. One last confession. She closed her eyes to memorize the moment. Oliver sighed and his arms grew heavy.

  “I love you, Oliver,” she whispered softly, daring to believe he might want to know how much she cared.

  Beth waited for a response. He didn’t move. His breathing was even and deep as if he was already asleep in her bed. She eased out from under his arm to look at him. Oliver stirred, legs moving restlessly, and then grew still.

  Beth lay back against the pillows as disappointment filled her. She’d finally dredged up the courage to reveal her deepest affections and Oliver wasn’t even awake to hear. She angrily wiped at the tears pooling in her eyes and thumped the mattress with her fist.

  Oliver sat up. “What is it, my love?”

  Beth’s throat tightened at the endearment he used. “It’s nothing.”

  “Good.” He pulled her back into his arms and instead of being angry anymore, Beth smiled. He might have missed her declaration of love but, sleepily said or not, she hadn’t missed his. Oliver always spoke true of his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THE DAY OF OLIVER’S departure dawned clear and bright and he was glad to be going. Restlessness had seized him from the moment he’d woken in Elizabeth’s rumpled bed some hours ago as the first of dawn had lighted the horizon. At first he’d watched her sleep, counting her breaths and the little sounds she made as she moved. Most often though she had been so still and content that he feared waking her at any moment.

  Impulsively, he’d pressed a kiss to her hair, her shoulder, and the upper swell of her perfect breast as he considered whether he could make love to her one more time before leaving. But he came to his senses quickly—the boy and a great many others in the house were early risers. He didn’t want to be caught and embarrass Elizabeth. So he had crept out of her bed before she’d awakened, closing the door on a chapter of his life that would always remain a mystery but very dear to him.

  It was time to go. Oliver threw one last book into his satchel and fastened the buckles. “This is the last.”

  His fingers dipped into his pocket and touched the ribbon nestled there. Leaving Elizabeth behind was going to be harder than he expected and the knowledge that she’d soon be traveling in the opposite direction sat ill with him. He feared he would await the first news of her successful journey and new life very anxiously. A circumstance that he’d never considered possible when they’d begun their affair.

  Leopold snapped his fingers before Oliver’s face, breaking him from his thoughts. “I said why are you packing a book on America?”

  “I hadn’t finished reading it,” Oliver answered as he swung the satchel over his shoulder and looked about him to check that he hadn’t forgotten anything he needed. After weeks of planning, he couldn’t imagine what might be mislaid but it paid to be vigilant.

  “But you are not going to America, are you?” Leopold argued. “Surely your journey will not take you away for even longer.”

  Leopold was still against his leaving and had not stopped arguing his case since he’d arrived. Oliver set his hand to Leopold’s shoulder and met his brother’s troubled gaze. “I will be back the moment I want to be.”

  Leopold’s shoulder rose beneath his hand as he took a deep breath. “And where the devil were you last evening? I searched the abbey and couldn’t find you. No one could.”

  A sliver of disappointment filled him at the idea that he was being hounded as if he were a small boy with no sense or freedom. He didn’t want his brothers keeping a close watch on his activities. They might discover he’d spent one last glorious night in Elizabeth’s bed and spoil everything that existed between them. “Can a man not have a moment of privacy without your whining? Stop being so difficult. It’s tiresome. Are we to argue, shouting through the carriage windows, as I’m leaving the estate, too?”

  Leopold frowned. “You don’t know what it’s like beyond England’s borders. You could die and I’d never know where your body fell.”

  Dear God in heaven. Not this again. Leopold was growing repetitive in his arguments. “I’m sure you already thought me dead before Tobias found me,” Oliver observed, struggling not to snap at Leopold’s ridiculous sentimentality. “People die every day, near or far away from loved ones. I will not live out my life in swaddling clothes according to your will. There is too much to see and do yet. I’d rather be dead than idle.”

  Leopold’s face drained of color. “I never believed you dead. I always had hope.” He thrust his hand in his pocket and removed some papers. When he held them out to Oliver, his hand shook. “I took every avenue possible to find you. I even drew these in the hope that someone might recognize you as you are today.”

  Oliver studied them in silence. His brother possessed a good hand at sketching and his attempts to draw them as they might be as older individuals were not without some success. His drawing wasn’t completely inaccurate, but he didn’t have a receding hairline and rather unflattering bags beneath his eyes like this. He returned them to his brother. “Then find your hope again and cling to it. I will be fine and return or write whenever I can.” Oliver gestured to George, who’d huddled by the window watching his preparations glumly, to come to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have farewells to make and a ship to meet in Portsmouth.”

  He pushed George toward the doorway, ushered his brother out, and closed the doors behind him. “Keep out of my possessions. I will be back for them and will know if anything has been removed.”

  “Oh, fine. Go. Just don’t think I’m going to stand on the front steps and wave a tearful goodbye,” Leopold said, weariness etched into every word. He slumped in
to the first chair they came to and didn’t appear willing to take a step farther.

  Oliver handed his satchel to George and returned to Leopold. He leaned down and awkwardly hugged his brother around his shoulders. “I’ll be home before you know it, and I promise I will write often.”

  Oliver turned away as his eyes watered. Foolish emotions like tears were an inevitable encumbrance at the beginning of any adventure and the sadness would pass in due time. He and George hurried for the stairs and the waiting small crowd below. Her Grace came forward first and embraced him without a word.

  Blythe was next. “Be very careful, sir. Tobias didn’t risk his own neck just to hear of you in peril abroad.”

  Oliver gave her a quick squeeze. “I will. Keep yourself well and him out of trouble if you can.”

  When he came to Elizabeth, Oliver’s heart thudded and he didn’t know what to do. Nodding seemed an inappropriate farewell for a lover, especially one so tempting.

  Elizabeth stuck out her hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Randall. I wish you smooth sailing and many wonders for your starved eyes.”

  Oliver took her hand in his, noting the cold clamminess of her skin and the slight tremble that flowed through her. He stepped closer, tightening his grip to instill his warmth. “Farewell, Elizabeth. Take care of yourself and that clever boy of yours.”

  He released her hand slowly, imprinting the moment on his memory. Her eyes grew glassy and he turned away rather than have his last sight of her be one of tears. She cried too much.

  He turned for the front door and stepped into the light, eagerly striding down the stairs on his way to the carriage. Tobias waited beside the open door, his eyes downcast. Oliver tossed his satchel into the carriage and embraced his younger brother. “Thank you for saving me so I might have this adventure.”

  Tobias tightened his grip. “Just don’t get into trouble this time. Save yourself rather than waiting for me to do the hard work.”

  “You can be sure I will. I’m not as completely helpless as you all like to make out. I did spend ten years holding my own against a largely unstable element among the inmates. I’ve a trick or two up my sleeve for when I want to have my way. You merely caught me at a bad time. Besides, how do you think Rosemary learned to fight if not from one of us? I assure you, it wasn’t Leopold who taught her.”

  Understanding dawned in Tobias eyes and he actually began to chuckle. “You sly old devil. I always thought Rosemary had been born with those skills. Leopold’s convinced you’re bound for trouble.”

  He thumped Tobias’s shoulder. “Leave off the old bit. I’ll see you in a while.”

  He glanced down at George and rolled his eyes. “Family. They always fret no matter how much you tell them not to.”

  George wrapped himself around Oliver tightly. “Goodbye, sir. Don’t forget us.”

  A lump formed in his throat as he returned the embrace. “Never, lad. Mind your mother and make her proud.”

  He removed the grasping boy from around him and climbed into the carriage where Eamon Murphy waited. When he was settled and a footman had secured the door and folded the step away, Eamon thumped on the carriage roof. As the carriage lurched into motion, he turned to those gathered on the stairs and lifted his hand in farewell.

  Elizabeth and George huddled together. Tobias had his arm about Blythe’s slender shoulders and his brother had, in fact, joined them on the stairs after all, the duchess tucked snugly in his arms. It was a pretty memory he’d treasure during the long journey ahead.

  He faced Eamon when he was nudged. “Yes.”

  Murphy held out a square of linen. “You’ve tears on your face, my friend. Very unaccountably emotional of you.”

  Oliver patted his face and gave Murphy his own handkerchief to replace the one he’d used. He adjusted himself on the seat and watched in silence as the Romsey estate slipped past his window. All his life he’d dreamed of this moment. Seeing new fields, towns, people.

  He glanced across at Murphy and was disappointed to find him dozing already. Did he intend to sleep the entire way?

  An hour later when Eamon still hadn’t woken on his own, Oliver kicked his shin to point out a charming dovecote on a faraway hill. Eamon spluttered to wakefulness, glanced at it briefly, and then harrumphed. “Nothing new yet.”

  “There have been many new things that you cannot see by falling asleep.”

  Eamon scratched his jaw as he looked outside. “If you find the scene outside fascinating, why are you risking our necks beyond England’s shores in search of adventure? You could easily spend half a year each year traveling to the far counties and Ireland. The duchess has good connections everywhere so you’d have many welcoming places to stay.”

  Oliver hadn’t honestly thought that enough of an adventure to suit his needs, but the idea was intriguing. He could always undertake such short jaunts when he returned from the continent. As the carriage jostled and swayed along the road to Portsmouth, he stared at a distant manor house and wondered at its occupants. At a creek crossing, two boys sat beside the stream, long poles and strings dangling in the water in search of fish. He’d done that recently with George and he wondered what the boy was doing at this very moment. He turned to Eamon to pose the question, but his friend was sound asleep again, which made him wonder anew where he’d spent his last evening at Romsey.

  In truth, Oliver hadn’t paid much attention to Eamon’s romantic pursuits for the past few weeks, especially once he’d begun his affair with Elizabeth, but he suddenly wondered if Eamon was sorry he’d agreed to join him on this journey. Was he leaving a sweetheart behind? If he was, he’d given no indication, but Oliver was coming to understand that complete honesty was a trait few shared. Was he being selfish to take Eamon with him? Oliver had not suggested it, but he rather thought his brother’s protests had been the catalyst for Eamon’s decision to come.

  Troubled, he tried to settle and enjoy the new discoveries as they passed him by. When they stopped for luncheon and to change the horses, he ate and drank in the public taproom, watching those around him with interest. When they stopped to change horses again later in the day, he walked to the edge of the village to stretch his legs. He looked across the valley, squinting to see if the ocean was within sight yet, but didn’t believe so.

  Disappointed, he returned to the carriage moderately happy and ignored Eamon’s grumble that his backside had gone numb. As Eamon’s complaints grew more and more elaborate, he decided to send his friend home once they reached Portsmouth. He valued Eamon’s companionship, but it was very easy to see that his heart and soul weren’t in the adventure of the trip. He would have found greater pleasure and companionship should he have taken George with him. The boy had never been beyond Romsey. They would have had much to comment on.

  Thoughts of George turned to thoughts of his mother. Would Elizabeth be weeping over his departure? Would she come to enjoy the thrill of travel? He dug in his pocket and removed the ribbon he’d kept with him these dozen years. He ran the slick strip through his fingers, his mind turning to their lovemaking and her passion.

  He’d spent ten years trapped with madmen and women and never once had he let this slip of ribbon be taken from him. When his thoughts had turned maudlin, the ribbon had given him comfort. He had imagined Elizabeth at Romsey, laughing and happy in her life.

  Yet he’d been wrong. Elizabeth had not always been smiling. When she cried, Oliver had been glad to hold her and turn her mind from her troubles. He hoped she had no need of comfort again. He wouldn’t be there to hold her anymore.

  After a time, traffic around them grew denser. His coachman grew surly at other drivers getting in his way. They drew to a stop before an inn on the outskirts of Portsmouth that his brother had mentioned was acceptable and waited their turn to enter the yard. As his luggage was handed down, he glanced about him curiously.

  “Watch out,” someone shouted.

  Eamon grabbed his arm, wrenching him against the stone inn wall.

 
; A horse hurried past, tail flicking and striking Oliver across his chest.

  Eamon laughed suddenly. “Keep your eyes open my friend lest you get run down before your adventure begins.”

  Oliver frowned at Eamon, but concluded he was correct. He would make sure next time to stay out of harm’s way before he studied his surroundings. He followed Eamon into the coaching inn and waited while his friend bargained for a cheap set of rooms, dinner, and water for washing. Their chambers were neat and bare, the taproom crowded and noisy.

  Eamon slid an ale across the table and drank heartily from his own. As Oliver sipped his slowly, he studied the room. Merchants, a few sailors, and important-looking men propped up their tables with either laughter or solemn expressions. Dinner was adequate, a trencher of fowl and green beans and day-old bread that stuck to the roof of his mouth and made swallowing uncomfortable.

  When night fell and Eamon gained the company of a willing tavern wench across his lap, Oliver returned to his bedchamber alone, ears ringing from the noise of the taproom below, and considered how Elizabeth would spend her last night at the abbey. Dinner with the duchess, tucking her son into his bed with a kiss to his brow, sliding into the cold sheets of her bed and maybe sparing a thought for their time together.

  As he lay down, he distinctly heard singing and laughter coming from the room next door. He held a pillow over his head as the laughter turned to moans of pleasure.

  Yet sleep was denied him. He tossed and turned but couldn’t get comfortable in the strange empty bed. As he lay there, he wished for Elizabeth’s soft body to be nestled against his own, warmer and more welcoming than the ribbon he carried could ever be.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THERE WAS NOTHING gloomier than to sit in a room full of people you loved and exchange soft smiles with those who were to be left behind the very next day. Beth shivered and drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders to banish her fears. She would leave Romsey and the people she’d come to admire tomorrow and would never see them again.