by james
* * * * *
Vincent dropped the book onto the floor and stared into the fire. It was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She haunted him, day and night, no matter what he did. He’d thought if he kept his distance, the hold she had on his senses might lessen. But instead, it just grew stronger each day.
A light tap came on the door and he released a sigh. The last thing he needed tonight was more verbal sparring with Marie. Since his return, she’d seemed to make it her mission in life to harass him regarding his relationship with Bridgett. Like a dog with a bone, she’d taken hold of the idea they should marry, and would not let up.
“Come in,” he called out, his tone more rough than he’d intended.
“Milord? May I speak with you a moment?”
“Bridgett. Of course, come in. Are you all right?”
She stepped into the room, and his breath caught in his throat. She looked like an angel, dressed in a sheer, white gown. It hugged every curve, and shimmered in the firelight as she crossed to stand before his chair.
“I am fine, Milord,” she said, offering him a small smile. “But… I miss you.”
Her voice held a sultry, seductive tone, and she lowered her gaze, as if suffering a bout of shyness. Vincent’s body reacted swiftly, and he shifted in his chair. “You’ve missed me? We see each other every day.”
She tilted her head, eyeing him beneath lowered lashes. “I know that, Milord, but we’ve not been alone since you returned.”
Vincent noted the slight emphasis she placed on the word alone, and his palms grew moist. There was no mistaking her intentions in coming to him like this.
She reached out, trailing a finger along his jaw. Vincent gritted his teeth, capturing her hand and pulling her down onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him.
Burying his face in her hair, Vincent breathed in her scent. She smelled like…sunshine. Fresh and warm, a natural, earthy aroma that filled his senses and stirred his blood.
She shifted in his lap, positioning herself atop his erection. Vincent groaned and captured her face in his hands. “You little minx. What are you about?”
“Me?” she asked, rubbing her breasts against his chest in a way that belied her wide-eyed, innocent expression. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, hmm?” He kissed her lightly, and she sighed against his mouth. “Well, nothing is going to get you into some serious trouble.”
He deepened the kiss and she parted her lips, her tongue seeking his. Cupping her breast, he stroked her hardened nipple. Her whimper of pleasure sent a chill racing down his spine. He wanted, desperately, to hear it again. To hear her moan with passion, scream his name as she found her release.
Vincent blinked and drew back. Good God, what was he thinking?
“Milord, is something wrong?”
He looked away from her inquiring gaze, unable to meet her eyes. Everything had changed between them. He had no right to take any more from her than he already had, despite her wanton enthusiasm.
With a shaking hand, he adjusted her bodice, hiding her too-tempting flesh from his view. “Yes, bella mia, something is wrong. This is wrong.”
She shook her head, grasping his hand and pressing his palm against her breast. Holding it there, she arched against him. “How can this be wrong, Milord, when it feels so right?”
Gently, he pulled his hand away. “Come along, cara mia. I’ll walk you to your room.”
He rose, setting her on her feet. She stared up at him, frowning her displeasure. “You’re sending me away?”
Taking in her disheveled appearance, her lips slightly swollen from their kiss, the way the firelight played on her hair, Vincent couldn’t find his voice to answer. With super-human determination, he managed a nod. He reached for her arm, thinking to escort her, but she spun out of reach.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice cool and detached. “I can find my own way, thank you.”
“Bridgett, I’m sorry.” Despite her composure, Vincent sensed the depth of her pain. “I didn’t mean…”
“No need to apologize, Milord,” she said. “It was I who intruded upon your privacy this evening.”
She walked to the door. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bridgett lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, a pastime that had become somewhat of a habit, as of late. Between her pregnancy, and the situation with her Count, she had much to think about. But the hours she spent in solitude, deep in thought, had provided few answers.
A light quiver beneath her ribs brought a smile to her face. She placed her hand on her stomach, hoping to feel it again. She couldn’t exactly call it movement, more a rippling sensation, like the flutter of butterfly wings.
“I know, Alex,” she said, stroking her abdomen, “I’m restless, too.”
She’d started calling her baby Alex shortly after she’d learned of his existence. In her heart, she knew it was a boy, but if she were wrong, she’d simply change the name to Alexandria. Alex, for short.
She sighed and rolled off the bed. Padding to the windows, she lifted the curtain and peered outside. The sun sat low on the horizon, but if she hurried, she could take a quick stroll across the grounds. Perhaps the fresh air would make her tired enough to sleep. Lord knows, it couldn’t do any harm.
She dressed quickly, donning a new gown made of rich, chocolate brown velvet. She smiled sadly as she adjusted the folds of material, admiring how the dress covered her increased girth, but still managed to look stylish. She could only imagine the hours Marie had spent with the seamstress, developing the patterns for her new wardrobe. Several dozen dresses, in various styles and sizes, now filled her armoire, each one specifically designed for both comfort and style.
Bridgett tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and then drew on her gloves and hurried out the door.
Dashing into the hall, she raced heedlessly toward the stairs. Then, remembering her condition, slowed down, grasping the banister in a firm grip.
Encountering no one below stairs, she let herself out the front door. The courtyard, too, was deserted. Bridgett traversed the cobblestones carefully, mindful of her footing. The sunlight she’d glimpsed earlier from her window was deceptive. A stiff wind bent the tree branches and swirled around her ankles, bringing a chill that set her teeth to chattering.
“Damn,” she muttered, rubbing her hands together, “it’s freezing out here.”
She turned, thinking to go back inside, when she caught a glimpse of the stable door. It hung ajar, swaying slowly in the breeze.
Curious, she took a few steps closer, craning her neck to look inside.
“Milord?” She squinted into the dim interior, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
From a nearby stall, a horse whinnied in answer. Bridgett grinned, recognizing Tempest’s greeting. As she approached his stall, he stuck his head over the rail, butting her with his nose.
“Hey, boy.” Bridgett laughed and stroked his forehead. “I’ve missed you, too.
“Where’s your master, hmm boy?”
Tempest jerked away, tossing his head in the air. His eyes rolled back, whites flashing, and he snorted.
“Easy, boy.” Bridgett took a step back. “What’s wro--. Ah!”
She screamed as someone grabbed her from behind, dragging her back into the empty shadows of a nearby stall.
“Die, you bitch. Die, damn you!”
Her stepfather wrapped his hands around her neck. Bridgett clutched at his fingers, gasping for breath.
Spots of color danced before her eyes, and her vision blurred. Suddenly, he gave a strangled cry and released her. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees in the hay.
Daring a glance over her shoulder, she watched as the Count hoisted her father by his coat and tossed him backwards, out into the main area of the stable. Bridgett crawled, on hands and knees, to the entrance of the stall.
“Stop right there.”
Bridgett pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from crying out, as her father drew a pistol, aiming it at the Count’s chest.
“You move a muscle and I’ll put a bullet through your heart,” her father said, backing toward Tempest’s stall.
“It’s over, Morton,” the Count said. “You couldn’t run far enough, or fast enough, to escape me this time.”
“I managed to stay one step ahead of you this long,” her father said, reaching behind his back to raise the latch on Tempest’s stall door. “I’m thinkin’ you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“I’m smart enough to know you killed your own wife,” Vincent said. “And smart to know it was you who hired Worth to kill Bridgett.”
“Bah, Worth was a no-good wastrel. Couldn’t keep his cock in his pants long enough to get the job done. Botched it up more ‘n once, too.” His gaze flickered in Bridgett’s direction and his lips curled into a sneer. “You should a been dead weeks ago.”
Bridgett caught a glimpse of the burning hatred in his eyes and froze in fear, expecting him to turn the gun in her direction at any moment.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Vincent shifted, placing himself between Bridgett and her father.
Morton laughed, high and maniacal. “I’ll be taking this fine horse of yours, milord. He’s too much animal for a dandy like you.”
Bridgett craned her neck, trying to see past the Count. She started to crawl forward, but a high-pierced shriek sent her scurrying back, like a crab racing across the beach. Suddenly, Tempest appeared, rearing high, his enormous head and shoulders visible as he pawed the air.
A sickening thud, followed by a sharp crack, brought Bridgett to a halt. She slumped down in the hay, knowing with certainty what had just occurred.
“Don’t come out here,” the Count told her, then, “easy. Here. Back up, now.”
Eyes closed tight, Bridgett listened as the Count led Tempest back into his stall. The latch slid shut with a metallic click, and then she heard a soft grunt.
“Is he dead?” she asked, the question coming out in a croaking whisper.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Bridgett swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. She lay still, silently counting to one hundred, and waited.
He returned within seconds, scooping her up in his arms. She clung to his neck, burying her face in his coat, her body shaking uncontrollably.
“Easy, now,” he told her. “You’re safe. I’ll take you inside.”
She nodded against his chest, unable to speak, as he carried her into the castle and up the stairs to her room.
He placed her gently on the bed, then pulled the quilts up, covering her to her chin.
“I have to…” He shook his head, his expression grim, and then spun on his heels. “I’ll send Marie to you immediately.”
Bridgett turned on her side, rolling into a ball, wishing she had the good sense to faint.
* * * * *
Vincent prowled the castle, seeking a distraction, any distraction, from the woman who plagued his every thought. She hadn’t left her room since he’d carried her up there, nearly a week earlier, and he hadn’t gone to see her. Instead, he’d relied on twice-daily reports from Marie, most of which were delivered in such an icy, uncivil tone, he half-dreaded asking her anything.
But he had to ask, craved every detail, lived each day counting the minutes until he could pin Marie down and force her to tell him of Bridgett.
Force her, because Marie fought him at every turn, calling him stubborn and advising him to visit Bridgett himself if he wanted to know so badly.
Head down, he wandered the hall toward the parlor, lost in thought.
* * * * *
“I’ve missed you, darling,” Marie snuggled against Christopher’s chest, running a hand up and down his thigh. She swirled her fingers higher and higher, until she lightly brushed against his crotch.
Christopher groaned and shifted out of her reach, grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips. Placing a quick kiss on her palm, he met her gaze. “Don’t start something we can’t finish, my love.”
Marie giggled, pushing her breasts against his arm. “Who says we can’t finish?”
“That brother of yours, who’s been prowling around like an angry, wounded tiger these past few days.”
“Vincent?” Marie snorted. “He’s so lost in a hell of his own making, I doubt he even realizes we’re here.”
She gently pulled her hand from his, then reached to cup his face. “Make love to me, Christopher. I need to feel you inside me. Now.”
“You’re insatiable,” he told her, “but how can I say no to you?” He pushed her hands aside and finished with her laces, then brushed back the fabric of her gown. Bending, he ran his tongue down the cleft of her cleavage.
Marie sucked in her breath and grasped his head, twining her fingers through his hair. Her nipples tightened, and she arched her back, offering herself up to his warm, seeking mouth. As his lips closed around one hardened nipple, she sighed.
“Ah, yes, my love, just like that,” she whispered, holding him close as he suckled her deeply. A flash of tingling pleasure coursed from breast to belly and she squirmed, reaching blindly to cup his hardened cock through his breeches.
As her fingers closed around the shaft, Christopher groaned, raising his head to meet her gaze.
“You’re going to get us both killed,” he murmured, but did not move from her grasp as she loosened his breeches and slipped her hand inside.
His face took on an almost pained expression as he pushed against her seeking fingers, his breath growing harsher by the moment.
Suddenly, he pushed her back, raising her skirts and spreading her legs. He entered her swiftly, sliding deep. Marie gasped, but her shock quickly changed into pleasure. He filled her completely, and she tightened her vaginal muscles, wrapping her legs around his hips. Clinging to his shoulders, she met each frantic thrust with one of her own.
“Ah, Christopher, yes, my love.” She whispered her encouragement. “Take me. Make me yours.”
“You are mine,” he growled, then captured her lips in a searing kiss, stealing her breath.
Marie turned her head, gasping, as her body tightened. Every fiber of her being tingled, an explosion of lights danced behind her eyes. Marie cried out, burying her face in his shoulder to stifle the noise.
* * * * *
“Christopher, my God!”
The words were followed by a high-pitched cry, and Vincent froze. His head came up, and fiery rage made his blood run hot.
Blinded by fury, he threw open the parlor doors and stormed inside.
The two lovers jerked apart, Marie tugging at the laces of her bodice with one hand, covering her breasts, while she pushed at her skirts with the other.
Christopher jumped up, quickly fastening his breeches. “Vincent, I…that is, we…”
Vincent leapt forward, grabbing his neighbor by his shirt and lifting him several inches off the floor. “I’m going to wring your bloody neck,” he growled.
“Vincent, stop it this instant!” Marie shouted, rising to tug on his sleeve. “Get your hands off him, and stop behaving like an ass.”
“Shut up, Marie,” he said, turning to cast her a disdainful glare. “You’ve behaved like a slut, right under my nose.”
The next instant, his face exploded in fiery pain and he released Christopher, falling back, cupping his face as blood poured like a fountain from his nose.
He looked at his hands, then up into Christopher’s calm face in disbelief.
“Nobody, but nobody, calls the woman I love a slut.”
Vincent grimaced. “Then how do you explain the little scene I just walked in on? I suppose all ladies of quality spend time frolicking with the neighbor boy on the sofa.”
Christopher raised his fist, but Marie quickly stepped between them.
“Vincent, I love you to distraction, but you’re a fool. A
blind, egotistical, arrogant fool,” she told him. “What do I call it? I call it being in love. I call it caring about another person so much, you can’t bear to be away from them. Just because you have a mixed up, completely unhealthy view of sex, doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to prescribe to your notions.”
She stepped forward, eyes flashing, and poked him in the chest. “And I’ll tell you something else, brother dear. If you don’t shape up and pull yourself together, you’re going to lose the one woman who could possibly bring you happiness. Real happiness. Not the fleeting forgetfulness found between the sheets, but the kind that brings light and joy to your every waking moment.”
Vincent focused on her words, digesting their meaning. “She plans to leave?”
Marie nodded, her mouth turned down into a grim line. “She told me this morning. She’s unhappy, Vincent, and it’s all your fault.”
“Mine?” He shook his head, throwing off the absurdity of such a statement. “I’ve done everything I can to keep her safe, to stay away from her so I don’t cause her any more pain.”
“And in doing so, you’ve deprived her of the one thing that could make her happy.”
Frowning, Vincent pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose. He suddenly felt very tired, weary to his bones. The impossibility of the situation was like a dark cloud hanging over his head. “I don’t know what else I can do. What does she want? What will make her happy.”
Marie sighed. “You really are dense. She wants you, Vincent. She wants you.”
She reached for Christopher’s hand. “Come along, darling. I feel a strong need to get some fresh air.”
Vincent stepped aside, allowing them to pass, but just before they reached the door, he turned. “Saint Claire.”
The couple stopped, and Christopher spun around, his expression wary.
“I apologize.” Vincent’s gaze went from one to the other. “To both of you.”
* * * * *
“Marie, I need your help.” Vincent strode into the dining room the next morning, barely able to contain his excitement.