“I’ll be fine,” he lied as the wind sliced through him.
Why had he not insisted that they head back? He had wanted more time with her, to speak with her, to try to make his case.
How far had they walked? Had he taken a wrong turn? It was as he’d anticipated. The snow had begun filling in their tracks, and he could no longer be sure they were on the right path. Tiny shards of ice sliced at him. Where the devil were they?
Looking around, striving to get his bearings, he saw the crenellated outline of Pembrook Castle, the original holding. The recently built manor would be on the other side, up a rise that he didn’t know if she’d have the strength to climb. He could carry her, but even then it was so far. If he stumbled, what would become of her? It didn’t bare thinking about. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
“We’ll take refuge in the old castle,” he said.
“No, I don’t want to go there.”
“Merry, we don’t have much choice. The manor is still a good distance away.”
“I didn’t realize we’d gone so far.”
“My charms distracted you.”
She laughed. It was so good to hear her laugh. “How can you be pompous at a time like this?”
Because he needed to distract her again, to give her something to focus on other than their dire circumstances. He pushed them forward, slogging through the drifts of snow. How could such a fierce storm have come upon them so quickly? He was more familiar with the weather in the south, in Cornwall. He’d always heard that the north was brutal, but until now he hadn’t understood what that meant.
By the time they reached the old manor and slumped against the stone wall, he realized it was madness to try to get her to the new residence. He had to get her dry and warm. “We’ve no choice. We’re going to stop here.”
“We can … carry on,” she stammered, her teeth chattering with such force he was surprised they didn’t crack.
“Perhaps we’ll give it a try after we’ve warmed up and gathered our strength.”
She didn’t argue as they made their way along the side of the building. He fought the strong gale that wanted to smash him into it, into her. As much as possible, he was trying to shield her from the fury of nature. Finally, he saw a door. Reaching out, he closed his fingers over the handle, released the latch, and felt relief swamp him when it gave way.
Nearly torn from its hinges by the wind, the wooden door banged against the wall. He ushered her into the kitchen and staggered in after her. Closing the door, he took stock of their surroundings. Although the building had been abandoned, not everything had been taken. There was a stove, a table, a stack of wood. He didn’t think it likely that he would find food, but for now it gave him hope that he had found a shelter from the storm.
“Come along, let’s see what we’ve got.”
With Merry in his wake, he stalked down a darkened hallway and then another, a bit of light coming through a window at the end guiding him. Then he walked into what had once been a great hall. The fireplace was massive, the sort where the master of the household might have roasted deer.
He knelt before it, grateful to find more wood, kindling, and matches. He set himself to the task of getting a fire going. It wasn’t long before the flames were blazing, sending out welcomed warmth.
“Oh, th-that’s l-lovely,” she whispered as she moved closer to the fire.
Glancing around, he noticed the draperies. They would have to do. He rushed across the room, grabbed a handful of the fabric, and with a sharp tug, brought them down. Dust motes kicked up around him, but at least the curtains were dry.
He hurried back over to her and dropped them at her feet. “Take off your clothes.”
Merry stared at him as though he’d gone mad. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yours are damp, mine are drenched. We have to get warm before I lose my senses, and you are truly alone. Body heat is the fastest way. You’ll have some privacy while I see what else I can find. Wrap those draperies about you.”
He made his way through a good portion of the residence, tearing down more moth-eaten draperies. He located a half-full bottle of rum.
Returning to the great room, he strove to ignore the pile of clothes near the fire and what that signified. Merry sat on the floor, the draperies pulled in close about her. He fashioned a crude pallet with what he’d found. Then he handed her the bottle of rum. “Drink this. It’ll warm you.”
Although not as much as I plan to. Turning away from her, he began removing his own clothes. He tore off his jacket, but his fingers were too stiff with the cold to loosen the buttons. He was going to have to rip—
“Here,” she said, suddenly standing in front of him. The drapery was wrapped around her, gathered in front of her. With just a shrug of her shoulders, it would pool on the floor. “You drink now.”
His fingers were so numb he thought he might drop the bottle, but he managed to hold on to it and take deep swallows. He was aware of her fingers working his buttons free.
“I’ve dreamed of you doing this,” he said.
She jerked her gaze up to his, and he was surprised that his facial muscles were warm enough to grin.
“Remove my clothes,” he explained in case his meaning wasn’t clear. “I would have liked to have removed yours, but you seemed rather alarmed by the notion of what I was suggesting.”
“It’s scandalous. I was brought up to avoid scandal at all costs, and yet I seem to find myself slipping into the quagmire of it once again.” She helped him out of his waistcoat, then slowly unraveled his neckcloth.
“How long do you think we’ll be here?” she asked, and he heard the trepidation mirrored in her voice.
“Only until the storm passes.”
“That could be days.”
“Could be years.”
She grinned at him. He was grateful for that. “I don’t know where I’d be now if you hadn’t gone on the walk with me.”
“I doubt you’d have stayed out as long if I hadn’t been serving as a distraction.”
“Probably not.” She peeled his shirt up over his head. He welcomed the warmth from the fire finally dancing over his skin.
“You’re like ice,” she said.
“Unfortunately.”
“Can you manage your trousers?”
“If I must.”
She laughed lightly. “Yes, in this instance I think you must.”
Moving away, she sat on the mound of draperies, her back to him. He wasn’t as cold or shaking as he had been. They probably no longer needed the warmth of each other’s bodies. The fire would suffice. But it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity of having her so near when it might never come again.
Beyond the glass and stone, it sounded as though demons trapped in hell howled.
“It’s only the wind, Merry.”
They were enclosed in a cocoon of warmth provided by the ragged draperies. Their clothes were resting near the fire. They appeared to be somewhat dry. She should probably gather up her things and get dressed, but she didn’t want to move. She thought she might like to stay here forever.
“I’ve heard this manor is haunted.”
“Is that why you hesitated to stop here?”
She nodded. “I know it’s silly to believe in ghosts, but there you are.”
“Nothing about you is silly.”
She couldn’t deny the pleasure his words brought. “They’ll have noticed I’m missing by now—have noticed we both are, no doubt.”
“They won’t come looking yet. Their visibility is no better than ours.”
“When my father finds us here, he’ll insist that we marry. Being alone with a gentleman in an abandoned manor during a storm is more scandalous than being discovered in a man’s arms near a trellis of roses in a dark corner of the garden.”
With his finger trailing along her neck, he slid her hair over her shoulder and pressed his lips to her nape. In spite of their warmth, she shivered. “But does h
e hold your heart? You captured mine from the beginning.”
Twisting around, she looked sharply at him. “Then why did you give your attentions to Lady Anne?”
Cradling her face with one hand, he stroked his thumb along her cheek. “Out of a misguided notion that I owed it to my brother.” He held her gaze, and she found herself swimming in the depths of his brown eyes. “He wrote me a letter as he was dying and asked me to see to her happiness.”
“But he died long before you gave me any attention.”
“Unfortunately, the officer who had the letter did not deliver it until this past spring. He feared it getting lost, and so he brought it himself. If not for me, Walter would not be dead.”
Her heart went out to him at the fissure of guilt that ran through his voice with his words. “You did not make him ill.”
“No, but he’d have not been there had I possessed the funds for him to live like a gentleman. The income from my estates is dwindling. I couldn’t support him in the manner in which he wished to live, so we agreed that a commission in the army was best. Not an hour passes by that I don’t miss him, not a day goes by that I don’t regret not finding another way. I could have married any number of women with dowries that would have provided me with the means to live more luxuriously. Instead, I was holding out for love. I was waiting for you.”
She did not move away when his lips joined hers. His tongue stroked the seam of her mouth, urging her to open it for him. She shouldn’t have, but she did, because if she was honest with herself, she would admit that she had been waiting for him as well. She’d had offers for marriage during her first Season, but she’d turned them all away, had thought perhaps she would be more content as a spinster. Until the ball when she spied him across the room, that is. When their eyes had met, it was as though he were standing right in front of her, touching her, gazing into her soul, weaving some sort of spell over her. When he’d asked her to dance, she’d thought she’d arrived in heaven.
Then this Season when he’d informed her that he would be pursuing Lady Anne, she’d wondered what she had done to douse the passion that had trembled on the edge between them.
Yet here it was again, blazing to life.
She twisted around completely, giving him easier access to her mouth, and with a deep growl he deepened the kiss, threading the fingers of one hand through the tangled mess of her hair and holding her in place, while the other hand stroked her back, squeezed a shoulder, skimmed down her side, and came around to cup her breast.
She knew she should be incensed with the liberties he was taking. Instead, she moaned softly and took both her hands over a similar journey, noting the corded muscles of his back, the flatness of his stomach, the breadth of his chest. Smooth. Silk over steel. It was as though he’d been forged by the gods. His clothing hid well his attributes, and she felt as though she were discovering little buried treasures.
Dragging his mouth along the arch of her throat, he rasped, “I want you, Merry. You can’t imagine how much I want you.”
Oh, she could imagine it very well, because she wanted him. As wrong as it was, she wanted him with an intensity that fairly threatened to destroy her. When Litton had kissed her in the garden, she hadn’t wanted to melt into him, to meld her body with his. With Chetwyn, all rational thought scattered away like dried leaves before an autumn breeze. She couldn’t think, didn’t want to think, wanted only to feel the eager press of his hands, the hunger of his mouth against her flesh.
Shifting his weight, he carried her down to their makeshift velveteen bed. She thought the thickest of mattresses could not be more welcoming. Rising above her, he stared down on her. She combed her fingers through his unruly locks before bringing her palms down to cradle his jaw. The rough bristles tickled her tender skin.
“I was a fool, Merry,” he whispered. “Misguided, trying to do right by my brother, putting my own wants, needs, and happiness aside. I want you. I need you. You bring me happiness such as I’ve never known. Let me show you how much I can love you.”
She swallowed hard. She knew he wasn’t speaking of flowers or poetry or chocolates. He wanted to give of himself, completely and absolutely. He wanted her to freely accept what he was offering. When they were discovered here, the scandal would be insurmountable. Alone with him through the storm. Litton would let her go. Her father would insist Chetwyn marry her. She would be ruined. She might as well be ruined in truth.
Besides, she desired him with a fervor that she thought would be her undoing. If she didn’t have him at that moment, she would probably die anyway. Reaching up, she placed her hand on the nape of his neck and brought him down.
He latched his mouth onto hers with a fierceness that matched the storm. Hot, heavy, and passionate as though walls existed that needed to be torn down. He made short work of removing the covers that separated them, and then they were bare flesh against bare flesh from top to toe. Velvety warmth that could have melted the thickest pond surrounded them. She felt her heart’s resistance giving way inch by inch as his hands and fingers explored her, while hers did the same with him. Broad shoulders, strong back, taut buttocks.
He had rescued her from the pond, guided her through the storm, and created a haven for them to wait out the screeching winds. He had managed to hold her fears at bay, and she’d known that somehow he would save her.
A small part of her wondered if he was saving her now as well.
She couldn’t marry Litton after this. She wouldn’t marry him. One night he had pursued her with purpose. But once her hand and dowry were secured, passion, desire, whatever it was that had led them into the garden had taken refuge, never to be seen again. With Chetwyn, it always hovered near the surface, threatened to join them, promised to carry them to exalted heights.
Here she was, clamoring up those heights, unafraid as Chetwyn’s mouth trailed over every inch of her, exploring, enticing, kissing provocatively. The bend of her elbow, the back of her knee, the turn of her ankle, the tip of her tiny toe. Down, up, over, and around. He left no part of her untouched.
His mouth returned to hers as he nestled himself between her thighs. She felt the pressure of him, the weight, the heat. She lifted her hips to receive him. Holding back her cry at the sharp pain as he sank fully into her, she concentrated on his mouth, its texture, its flavor. She focused on his hair, the strands that were never tamed for long.
His movements were slow, leisurely. The pain eased, and pleasure slipped in to replace it, sweet and ripe, like a new bud feeling the sun coaxing it up. With each petal unfurled, the pleasure increased. Thrashing her head from side to side, she anchored herself to him as he took her on a journey for which there were no words.
She cried out as the release slammed into her, as her world darkened, then exploded into light. With a rough groan, he gave a final thrust and stilled, his arms closing more tightly around her. Lethargy worked its way through her.
The last thing she heard was his whispered, “I love you,” before sleep claimed her.
CHAPTER SIX
*
It was the baying of the hounds that woke her. Nestled against Chetwyn beneath the draperies, her cheek against his chest, she became acutely aware of his stiffening.
“It’s morning. The storm’s passed,” he said before throwing back the covering and coming to his feet.
In fascination, she watched his bare backside as he strode to the window. The light from the dying fire was enough to give her an impressive view. He was quite marvelously carved of flesh, muscle, sinew, and bone.
“A search party,” he continued before turning about and heading back toward her.
Did it make her a wanton because she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him?
“Is my father among them?” she asked.
“Afraid so. Your brothers, too, from the looks of it. Litton and both Pembrook lords.”
After gathering up his clothes, he knelt beside her and cradled her face. “Tell them you made your way here, bu
t the storm prevented you from going farther, and you’ve been waiting it out.”
“I don’t understand. You’ll be here.”
He stroked her cheek, and the sadness in his eyes almost made her weep. “No. I won’t have your reputation dragged through the mud by having us found together.”
She flattened her hand against his chest. “But the discovery of us together will ensure that we marry. My father will very well insist.”
He brought her in close, then tucked her beneath his chin. “I want you, Merry, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but not at the risk of bringing you shame or more pain than I’ve already caused. Nor will I do as Litton and force you into marriage.” Dipping his head, he kissed her short and sweet, but in the tenderness of the moment she heard volumes: love, caring, goodbye.
Then he was rushing out of the room as though the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels, while the duke’s hounds were barking more loudly with their approaching nearness. Feeling lost and bereft, she went through the motions of slipping back into her stiff but dried riding habit. She was buttoning up the last of the pearl disks when she heard a door slam open and the stomp of feet.
Her father was the first to come barging through the doorway. “Meredith, thank God. What in the blazes happened, girl?”
“I … I got caught in the storm. I wanted to go ice skating.”
Litton approached and swept his coat around her. “You must have been terrified.”
“Only of the ghosts. I’ve heard the manor is haunted.”
“The tower and the dungeon,” the duke said, studying her carefully. “Not the manor itself.”
“Well, then, I had nothing to fear.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Lord Chetwyn,” Lord Tristan asked. “We’ve not been able to find him.”
Her mouth dry, she shook her head. “No, our paths didn’t cross, but I’m certain he’s all right. He probably just went for a walk. But he’s familiar enough with the outdoors that he would have taken shelter.”
Litton placed his arm around her shoulders. “Come, we must get you back to the residence. You must be famished.”
Deck The Halls With Love: Lost Lords Of Pembrook Novella Page 5