Everyone wanted her away from the caves. Why? What secrets lay locked beneath the house? Billie was now more determined than ever to discover what was going on, no matter the cost to her. She had been drawn into a game, a dangerous game, and she intended to be one of the players who emerged a winner.
“The manor belongs to me now,” Billie said firmly, “Therefore, the caves also belong to me. I’ll have no smuggling going on beneath my own home.”
The women’s eyes rounded like milk saucers. Bessie found her voice first. “You’re only a woman, there’s nothing you can do. It’s best if you leave it to a man to handle.”
“What man?” Billie asked after taking a drink of ale.
Marlee smiled sweetly. “Vicar Bosworth.”
“I cannot disturb him with my problems,” Billie said.
“You can disturb me with any of your problems, Billie. I will always be here to help you.”
Billie turned fast in her seat, setting her head to spinning and her body to swaying.
John reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, steadying her before she toppled off the bench. “Careful,” he said and righted her in her seat.
He sent Bessie and Marlee a reproachful glance and both women blushed and hung their heads.
“You’ve been enjoying St. Clair’s infamous ale?” he asked, noticing her flushed cheeks and glazed eyes.
“Bessie and Marlee have been nice enough to share a tankard or two with me.”
The vicar spoke firmly to the two women. “I will see you at church services tomorrow.”
This time all color drained from the two women’s faces and they stumbled over each other as they jumped up, making excuses for their hasty departure.
John took Billie’s hand firmly in his, concerned that her small drinking binge with the two women had left her anything but steady on her feet or backside. “Join me at the vicarage for tea.”
Billie glanced up at him. His eyes blurred behind his glasses, his smile was soft and his shoulders hunched over. He didn’t appear to be a man of strength and yet his grip on her hand denoted otherwise. His fingers wrapped around hers with a firmness that surprised her. His taut grip offered support, protection and made her feel safe.
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Tea sounds good.”
She attempted to stand and found herself swaying on her feet. John slipped his arm around her waist. “Let me help you.”
She leaned against him for support and whispered near his ear, “I think I drank too much ale.”
He smiled and whispered back, “I think so, too.”
He held her while he reached for her cloak and bonnet and then helped her on with both. His arm remained around her waist as he escorted her to the door, cries of good day sounding from each person they passed.
The cool air and sunlight startled Billie for a moment and she almost lost her balance as they exited the inn.
John tightened his arm around her waist. “Are you all right?”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Just give me a minute and I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” His voice was filled with concern.
She laughed. “As long as you don’t let go of me, I’ll be fine.”
John squeezed her waist. “I’ll never let you go.”
Billie felt a tremor run through her. Why did this simple man make her feel so protected? So loved?
She walked along with him in silence, her mind too consumed by her thoughts to speak. She wondered with concern if she was a wanton woman. How could she make love with a ghostly lord one night and the next day feel so compatible with, of all people, a vicar? Did she have no morals? Was she one of those women who possessed unnatural desires for men? Whatever was the matter with her? And who in heaven could she speak to about such intimate thoughts?
Her glance went to John’s face.
He instantly stopped walking and looked down at her over the rim of his glasses. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t very well blurt out her wicked thoughts. She paused in her response, searching in haste for an acceptable explanation. Her words spilled out before she could pull them back. “Are you upset with me?”
John looked at her strangely. “Whatever for?”
She thought of admitting her betrayal, confessing that she had been intimate with another man, but how did one admit she had slept with a ghost or a man posing as a ghost and who everyone believed to be a ghost?
She shrugged, locking away her worries, and admitted, “My behavior was improper for a lady.”
“Nonsense, Billie, you were being yourself and you have yet to learn all the ways of the English gentry.” He urged her along with a nudge of his hand.
“I sometimes wonder if I ever will,” she confided.
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” he scolded softly, reaching the gate of the vicarage. He pushed it open, the familiar squeak of the rusty hinge welcoming them. “This is all new to you and you have plenty of time to learn.”
They entered the house and John saw to her cloak and bonnet before depositing her on the settee in the small parlor. Then he went off to fetch tea.
Billie looked about the small room and recalled the lovely backyard garden. The house was small, but warm and comfortable. A loving couple could raise a happy family here. The wife of a vicar would have more freedom to mingle with the villagers than the wife of a lord. And John was gentle and caring, not arrogant and demanding.
Passionate.
The word caught her unaware. Max was fiercely passionate. How would John be? She blushed at thoughts of John making love to her as Max had. Somehow she couldn’t see the shy vicar tasting or touching her in the intimate places that Max had tasted and touched.
A rattle of dishes sounded John’s approach and she attempted to push her scandalous thoughts aside. They refused to stay suppressed and as John walked in the room, shaking tray in hand, glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a gentle smile, Billie instantly realized his lovemaking would be completely the opposite of Maximillian’s.
“This strong English brew will set you right,” he said, placing the tray on the table in front of Billie and sitting down beside her.
She watched him pour the tea and add sugar, one teaspoonful, the way she favored it. He handed it to her and she accepted it with a grateful smile. “Thank you for rescuing me. You are a true hero.”
He fiddled nervously with his glasses and then with jittery hands poured himself a cup. “Nonsense, I but offered you assistance.”
“At a most opportune time. I daresay I don’t think I would have been able to walk out of the inn on my own accord. That brew was much stronger than I am accustomed to.”
He sipped the well-steeped tea. “St. Clair has a reputation for potent ale.”
She laughed lightly. “I must remember that and I shall remember your rescue.”
John placed his cup on the silver tray. “I would rescue you from the devil himself if necessary.”
Billie felt her cheeks heat with color. Could his prophetic words come to pass? Max was a devilish soul, and John a pious man of the Lord. So opposite in nature and yet she was attracted to both men. It puzzled her.
“What took you to the inn?” John asked.
Relieved he changed the subject, Billie eagerly offered an answer. “I was seeking information about smuggling in the area.” She returned her empty cup to the tray.
“And did you find any answers?”
Billie sighed and shook her head slowly. “No, but I had the strangest feeling that Bessie and Marlee knew more than they cared to share.”
John eased his glasses up on his nose. “What makes you say that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that they appeared nervous and uncertain when they spoke.”
He slipped her hand in his. “And you appeared into your cups.”
She watched his lips open and close ever so slightly as he spoke. They fascinated her. Warm and gentle came to mind. Thoughtful and
tasty, she thought, too. Kissable was another and she realized a kiss was what she wanted from him.
Her intimate musings startled her and her breath caught in surprise.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” he offered, having assumed his remark caused her distress.
“No, John, you didn’t offend. My mind was elsewhere.”
“Where?” he asked softly, his hand turning hers over and gently tracing circles in her palm.
Shivers raced up her arm, across her chest and down her stomach. His touch was far from demanding but it sparked her passion nonetheless. Small, tingling tremors raced through her and she wanted more than ever for him to kiss her.
“What were you thinking?” he repeated.
“How I would like you to kiss me,” she said without thought to her audacious remark.
He didn’t appear at all upset by her confession. “You are a most unconventional lady.”
Encouraged by his response she continued. “Then will you kiss me?”
He bent his head down to hers. “I would be delighted.”
Their lips met briefly, brushed and then consumed each other. Billie was astonished by his commanding actions. He tasted her like a man long deprived. His hand went around her waist and drew her closer to him as his tongue thrust in her mouth and mingled eagerly with hers.
The sensitive tingle continued to heighten and she suddenly felt the need to have him touch her more intimately. She slid closer beside him and pressed herself against him, her breasts buried in his gray frock coat.
Too many layers of clothes separated them and she wanted to reach out and rip his clothes off and make love with him. She wanted to feel his hands on her, his mouth, his words of love.
“Billie.”
She heard the anxious voice, but paid it no heed. She hungered for more from him, so much more than a simple kiss.
“Billie.” John’s stern voice jolted her foggy mind and she sat back to stare at him wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, ashamed of her improper actions.
“Don’t be,” he said, cupping the side of her face. “You make me feel so wanted, so desirable, so loved. If I could I would carry you to my bed and make tender love to you, but without the sanctity of marriage, intimacy is prohibited.”
Billie felt a fool and again John soothed her obvious distress.
“You feel so good against me, Billie, so right. I have never felt this strongly about a woman. I have never been more tempted.”
“I didn’t mean to tempt you,” she said hastily.
“That pleases me all the more. You reacted naturally and I am most honored that you should feel so strongly about me. I had hoped—” He paused and squeezed her hand, but kept a proper distance from her. “That you would find me appealing since I am not the most handsome of men.”
Billie felt a stab to her heart. “Oh, but I think you are most attractive or else I could not have behaved so wantonly.”
John smiled. “You are not wanton.”
She turned playful. “With you I am.”
“I am pleased it is with me you lost control and no one else.”
Billie forced her smile to remain solid, but her heart once again felt a stab… a stab of betrayal.
“Perhaps it would be wise of us to consider how fast we would like our relationship to proceed.”
How fast would she want their relationship to grow and to what end results? There was so much to consider. And what if Max proved to be no ghost? What then? How could she confess her sins to John?
“I think that is a wise decision,” she said and stood. “And I think it wise for me to leave now.”
John kept her hand in his as he stood. “You don’t have to rush off.”
“A walk home in the fresh air will do me good,” she said, easing her hand from his and reaching for her cloak. She needed time alone to think and a walk provided her with just such solitude.
“Are you sure your head is clear?” he asked, concerned.
Her head was far from clear, but it wasn’t the remnant of ale that fogged her senses. “As clear as necessary,” she said with a laugh.
John walked Billie to the front door and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Please join me for tea tomorrow so that we may talk further.”
Always the gentleman, she thought. He wouldn’t dare suggest that her brain was too muddled by ale to seriously discuss their relationship.
“I would love to,” she said and kissed him on his cheek. Then she hurried down the walkway, sending him a hasty wave as she closed the gate behind her.
Her walk had been slow and contemplative and when she reached the manor much later than a walk from the village would normally have taken her, she found herself filled with energy.
The rest of the afternoon she filled with strenuous activity. She had Pembrooke move furniture from various rooms to the conservatory where she arranged the many pieces he carried in and out.
By nightfall she was exhausted, as was Pembrooke, and after an enjoyable meal with Matilda and a yawning Pembrooke she took herself up to bed.
It took only minutes for her to change from her clothes into her night rail and slip into bed. She was about to douse the candle’s flame when she heard: “I prefer you naked in my bed.”
Chapter Nineteen
“This is my bed and I prefer me clothed,” she argued and snuggled deeper beneath the covers. “Now go away, you pesky ghost.”
He laughed; a full-bodied laugh that rumbled off the dark plum walls. “You think to dismiss me like a servant?”
Billie refused to glance down at the bottom of the bed where she was sure he was. “No, like a supposed ghost who doesn’t at all behave according to ghostly standards.”
“I behave by my standards,” he reminded sharply. “Now get out of bed so we may talk.”
Billie groaned and threw the covers completely over her head. She was tired and wanted no part of his demanding attitude. Her muffled voice drifted out from beneath. “I will speak with you tomorrow at a decent hour.”
“I think not.” His voice retained its sharpness.
“I will—”
He interrupted her. “Do as I say or I will drag you from that bed.”
She shot up, the quilt dropping to her waist where she sat. “You’re insufferable.”
“You finally understand me.”
He stood in dark gray breeches, a white linen shirt unfastened to the middle of his chest and his dark hair spilling down to his shoulders. His stance was arrogant, rigid legs, arms crossed and head high. The lord of the manor.
She shook her head. “I will never understand you. Must you always demand?”
“I am accustomed to obedience.”
She threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m not a dog.”
His arms relaxed and he smiled. “No, you aren’t, but you are a most unusual young woman.”
She raked her fingers through her tousled hair and it fell in further disarray around her shoulders giving her a look of unquenched passion. “A compliment?”
“You’re beautiful.”
His soft yet sincere words stole her breath and raced her heart. “A compliment?” she repeated, sounding breathless.
He walked over to her, slipped his hand around her neck and brought his lips down to meet hers. His kiss was tentative, searching, longing.
“So beautiful,” he whispered against her mouth.
She robbed the words from him with her own kiss, her arms going up around his neck. She fed on him, enjoying their play of tongues and the heated pleasure it rushed through her body.
With his knee braced on the bed, he brought his hand around her waist. As he dropped back on the bed he pulled her with him, drawing her on top of him.
His hand ran down her back, cupping her buttocks, pressing her against him, feeling her heat, her desire. She felt good, so very good. He could touch her forever and never grow tired of the feel of her. He hungered to possess her, to make her his, to unite in p
assion and pleasure.
Stolen moments were all they had until . . .
Their kiss became more frantic, more uncontrolled.
He reached down, lifting her night rail, running his hands beneath, racing over her bare backside, urging her against him.
She responded by pressing herself into him, feeling his readiness, aching for him to satisfy her lusty need.
Tenderness had no place in their urgency to possess each other. They both nipped and bit and tugged until Billie found herself beneath him, her night rail tossed up and his fingers freeing himself.
Her legs were lifted high over his broad shoulders and he plunged fast and furious into her sweetness, a mingled cry of delight bursting from them both.
Their frenzied coupling tore strangled cries from them as they matched thrust for thrust and soon exploded into a raging climax that shattered their souls.
Max collapsed on top of her, his breathing rapid, his heart pounding and his need for her temporarily quenched.
When the aftermath subsided he raised himself and looked down at her, pushing the damp strands of hair away from her face. “Are you all right?”
Billie still found it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, so she nodded.
He pushed more of her hair aside. “Don’t fight for your breath. Relax, let it come naturally.”
She followed his wise advice and soon found her breathing returning to normal.
He eased off her to the edge of the bed and pulled her night rail down over her legs. He stood and adjusted his own clothes before walking to the water pitcher and pouring a glass.
He returned to her, holding out his free hand to help her up. She locked her hand around his wrist and he easily pulled her up, offering her the water.
She drank greedily as if parched and handed the glass back to him. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He walked over to the pitcher once more and downed a full glass himself before returning to the bed where Billie had safely ensconced herself beneath the quilt. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
She waited for him to say something, anything. To tell her that he cared, that he was alive, real, that he loved her.
The silence was unnerving and she ran her fingers through her hair drawing it back and twisting it tightly to rest down her back. Unable to endure another moment of the quiet tension she spoke. “Our relationship is strange.”
Donna Fletcher Page 18