by Alexia Praks
When he nodded, she placed it on his bed and looked around to see what else she could do. Noticing the curtains were not yet closed properly, she walked toward the window and pulled them closer together.
“So I won’t get a chill?” he asked, raising his brows.
“Yes, ’tis winter, and I do not want you to get sick. I must take care of you properly.” She smiled, turned round, and froze. She stood there, staring at his big, muscular chest, his powerful arms, and his broad shoulders. His tanned skin was so smooth and hard that she wanted to touch it and see what it felt like.
He gazed at her, saw that ridiculous face, and raised his brows. He pulled his robe on and began to take his trousers off.
She sucked in her breath and hastily twisted toward the drapes. Merrick saw this and roared with laughter. She blushed with her back to him.
“Still embarrassed, Chris?” he asked as he pulled his trousers off. She nodded. “Chris, you can turn round now, I’m decently covered.” He chuckled and folded his arms across his chest.
She turned and, true to his word, he was all covered up.
“Now where was I? Ah, yes. I think I will buy you a whole new wardrobe. What do you think, Chris?” he asked, looking at her shabby breeches and coat.
Christine widened her eyes. “A whole new wardrobe? You mean I will have new clothing? Like breeches, shirts, and all that?” she said with delight. Then instantly her face fell. “But I don’t want it.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“There could be no happiness when my family does not have the same things as I do,” she said.
“Ah, I see. You worry and care about your family more than yourself. That is why I like you. Don’t you worry, Chris. Your family will be getting new wardrobes, too.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, and because she was so happy, she impulsively ran and wrapped her arms around his middle.
Merrick looked down at her, felt the warmth and softness of her body, and wondered if in fact he was going quite mad because he was slowly getting aroused by their close contact. He caught her wrists and removed her arms from his waist. She looked up at him, her face flushed with happiness and her eyes shining brilliantly. His heart did a somersault, then continued with its drumming rhythm.
“What’s wrong, my lord? You look ill—are you all right?” she asked in concern as she touched her hand to his warm cheek and started stroking him. “My lord, are you ill? Oh no, you are. Why, just look at you—you are warm all over like me when I get sick. You must have a fever. You need to lie down.”
She touched his forehead to check his temperature and found that it was in fact quite hot. “Come this way. You must lie down, and I’ll go get you something. Oh, I don’t know what, but… I’ll tell Mrs. Ross. She’ll know what to do.” She pulled him toward the bed, but he just stood there, not moving, and he was as rigid and hard as a rock.
Merrick gritted his teeth, the muscles about his strong jaw flexing. His hands clenched and unclenched. He controlled himself by taking deep, slow breaths, his huge chest rising and falling as he stood there looking down at her.
“You may go now,” he said quietly.
“Go where? Oh, to get Mrs. Ross? I’ll go right away,” she said and dashed toward the door. In a flash, he caught her wrist and yanked her back. She slammed against his chest.
She stared up at him, breathing heavily; her eyes fixed on his lips.
“Chris, not to Mrs. Ross—go to your room,” he told her firmly. Mrs. Ross did not need to know about this little masquerade. Good God, the housekeeper would know for sure that the symptoms that he was having right this very instant were not those of sickness but of sexual arousal.
“Err… my lord?” she asked, at a loss.
“Go to your room. I want you to go to your room,” he said, his hand gripping tighter on her arm as he pulled her closer.
Her eyes widened. “But you are sick. I just can’t leave you here and not bother to do anything. I don’t want you to get ill. I have to get Mrs. Ross,” she protested stubbornly.
“You will not,” he said, his grip squeezing her small arm. “I want you to go to your room.” Though he said that, his action implied exactly the opposite, clutching her as closely to him as a lover.
“But you are ill. I must help you,” she said, staring up at him. “It’s my duty,” she added quietly.
He felt her body shake beneath his hands. He released her and took a shaky breath. “Now look here, Chris. Do I seem ill to you?” he asked.
“Yes, you do. Just look at you—you’re hot all over as if you are having a fever,” she said.
“No, I’m not sick, Chris,” he said more calmly this time.
“Then why are you so warm?”
“I’m warm because… I’ve been drinking very heavily—at the dinner party,” he lied, his eyes burning with self-disgust.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But of course, now that you’ve mentioned it, I also remember Mr. Brad sometimes drank at work, and he got really warm.” She managed to smile up at him.
“Chris?”
“Yes?”
“Go now,” he commanded quietly.
“Oh. Yes, my lord.” She dragged herself reluctantly toward the door. There, she turned back and looked at him. His face was as impassive as a mask, though it was all red and stiff. Actually, his whole body was red and stiff. She gave him another smile and left, shutting the door behind her.
Merrick stood there for a moment, trying to regain control of himself. Finally, when he was sure he was in control and the lust in his blood gone, he relaxed and climbed into the cold, empty bed.
* * *
He moved himself on top of her, his hand caressing her slender legs. He snuggled his head into the crook of her neck, and he smelled lavender. His hot mouth trailed along her nape with wet kisses. Lord, she made him feel complete.
He gazed into that beautiful face and stroked her silky hair. His head came down to her, and his lips touched hers. He plunged his tongue into her mouth. He stroked and played with her while his hand trailed down and cuddled her generous breasts. His passion heightened. His blood stirred hot with wanting her. He released her mouth and moved his head back to stare down at her. She was beautiful, and her lips were swollen red. Suddenly, her face turned fuzzy and started to fade away.
“Angela?” he whispered in panic as her face disappeared completely. Then, as though in answer to his call, her face slowly reappeared. He peered closer at her and saw her gray eyes turn a violet color. The freckles on the bridge of her nose were light but prominent. His breathing became hard and laborious as he pushed himself up, staring down at the new woman below him. But it wasn’t the face of a woman that he looked at.
It was the face of a boy!
He pushed himself off the bed, found himself falling heavily, and landed on the floor with a thud.
Merrick snapped his eyes opened. The light was dim, though he knew that morning had arrived. He sat up and scanned the room. It was only a dream, he thought. It wasn’t real.
FIVE
The wind whistled past Merrick’s face as the stallion galloped across the patchy snow. It was as if master and beast were one—racing, gliding, and lashing dirty snow everywhere with their speed. His blood ran hot. He could feel the crisp, cold wind whipping at his face. He urged his stallion to go faster until at last they reached the thick woods where he slowed the horse to a walk. He twisted around and narrowed his eyes, looking across his vast estate. In the distance, he could just make out Huntingdon Hall.
He’d needed to get away to settle his thoughts and calm his nerves. In the woods was the best place of all. He came to a treacherous pathway that led him to his favorite place. He steered his stallion around a bush and came out into the clearing.
The lake that was usually clear and calm was now frozen solid. This was the place where he always came to seek solitude and gather his thoughts.
He descended from the saddle and took a stroll. He remembered
when he used to come here to bathe during the summer years ago with his son Frederic. He climbed up onto a big rock and stood there, deep in thought. It was his favorite spot, hidden by thick bushes. It also had a perfect view of the lake. Although the scenery spread before him was quite beautiful, he couldn’t keep his thoughts of last night at bay.
What was wrong with him? He couldn’t understand what he had been feeling last night. What did it mean? God help him. How could a mere youth arouse him? Was he going mad? He couldn’t think of one explanation as to why he had responded in such a way to Chris’s innocent touch.
He stayed there for at least an hour. When he couldn’t reach any conclusion, he descended from the rock. He picked up a pebble and threw it onto the solid lake where it bounded and rebounded on the surface of the ice. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and ambled toward his horse. “Time to go home,” he said, patting his stallion.
Birds chirped loudly in the air, and by instinct, Merrick twisted around. He saw birds flocking away from a tree.
Bang!
He felt something sharp strike his left arm. Twisting to look in the direction of the shot, he saw the swaying and rustling of bushes and snow falling off dead branches on the far side of the lake. He searched around him but saw no one.
The pain rushed in, sharp and hot, and he fell to the ground.
* * *
Christine stared with shining eyes at the new clothing Mrs. Ross had given her this morning. She had said that these were only temporarily until she got her wardrobe sorted out, as the earl had instructed.
The linen material of the shirt was so fine she was afraid to touch it. Smiling with glee, she took off her chemise and carefully put on the gray breeches. After wrapping the binding around her chest, she wore the new shirt on top of that and buttoned it vigilantly, smoothing away any wrinkles. She put on the black coat on top of that, and lastly, her new buckle shoes. After haphazardly tying the silk scarf about her neck, she brushed her neat, short hair into place.
Christine walked to the window and looked out. The morning sun was just rising. She knew it was time to go down and have her breakfast. But perhaps she should go in and say thank you to the earl first.
In Merrick’s bedroom, she saw his bed was a mess, but the earl was not there. Where could he have gone to? Feeling gloomy, she left the room and headed downstairs, where she met with Mrs. Ross.
“Ah, Master Chris. Up already, I see,” the woman said.
“Have you seen the earl, Mrs. Ross?” Christine asked.
“Out, he is, Master Chris, riding his dark beast—perhaps to his favorite spot, the lake in the west woods. Would you like to have your breakfast now?”
“No, Mrs. Ross, I’m not hungry yet,” she replied, and she inquired as to where the west woods were.
She’d always loved walking in the morning because the air was cool and fresh, and she learned the distance to the west woods was not at all that far. After all, she had been walking five miles from her home to the vase factory in Hamming every day for the past five years—this was nothing compared to that.
Reaching the woods, Christine narrowed her eyes against the harsh, bright daylight and scanned her surroundings. There was nothing except birds chattering and, occasionally, the whistling of the winter breeze.
Bang!
She jerked, the thumping of her heart intensifying. She twisted about, searching in every direction. The noise had come from within the woods.
Without thinking, she darted in. She raced past trees and branches that whipped at her face and arms, but she ignored the pain. She ran until she came out into a clearing, paused to look about her surroundings, and broke into a run again, still looking around wildly.
“My lord!” she shouted, her eyes wide in shock once she saw Merrick sprawled on the ground, one arm covered with blood. “My lord!” She raced to him, kneeled beside him, and lifted his torso up so that his head rested on her lap. “You’ve been shot!” she said, her voice hoarse. She touched his injured arm gently and felt the sticky red stain on her hand.
“Chris,” Merrick said, trying to control the pain shooting through his body. “Help me up.”
“Hold on,” she said, and hastily, with hands that shook, she began to undo the cravat about her neck. Once she had managed to free the scarf, she wrapped it around his injured arm. “That should stop the bleeding,” she said, looking at him as she quickly tied the end in a tight knot. She moved to touch his pale face and felt his cold sweat against her palm.
“Come, help me,” Merrick said, putting his arm around her shoulder.
She nodded and helped him up. “Can you walk?”
“It’s only a flesh wound. I’ll be all right,” Merrick said, and they struggled their way to the horse.
“Mount up,” he said. When she looked at him in confusion, he grabbed her and tossed her onto the saddle. Then he seated himself behind her and kicked the stallion to start trotting toward home. It was going fast, and she had to hold on tightly to the saddle so that she wouldn’t fall.
“I must admit ’tis the very first time I have ridden a horse,” she said breathlessly and almost screamed when she felt herself slipping. He caught her in time around the waist and pulled her back up, clamping his left arm around her waist so she wouldn’t fall again. After that she didn’t much mind the speed the horse was traveling nor the distance from the ground. She felt safe in his arms.
The feeling of Christine sitting so intimately close to him bothered him. His nose was very close to her as he bent down, urging the stallion to go faster. He could smell the fresh innocent smell of the youth and simply wanted to snuggle his face against that delicate neck and bury it there.
Damnation!
He kicked the stallion’s side, urging it to go faster. In response, the horse lurched forward, throwing Christine backward, colliding against Merrick. The contact caused his heart to beat faster, and the thrilling sensation in his nerves was—God! So damn good!
There could be nothing better than this, he thought. Christine chose that moment to wriggle her body to find a more comfortable place on the hard saddle, involuntarily rubbing her back against his chest and her backside against his private parts.
Damnation! Merrick almost screamed out in frustration.
Finally, Huntingdon Hall was in sight. He had never been so pleased to see his home before. The stallion trotted toward the stable, and Jacob rushed to them.
“How was your ride, my lord?” he asked.
Christine clambered down from the saddle. “Mr. Jacob, stop asking questions. Can’t you see his lordship is hurt? You must get help, fast.”
Jacob looked shocked and very concerned and was ready to take action when Merrick said, “No, Jacob, I’m fine.”
As Merrick got down, Christine was by his side, ready for him to lean on her. He scowled at her and walked off, one hand holding on to his injured arm. He was halfway to the Hall when she caught up to him and pulled his arm over her shoulder, half trying to carry him, half dragging herself along with him.
The housekeeper was at the door and shrieked with dismay once she saw them. “There is blood. Quick, Master Chris, bring his lordship to his room. We must get it looked at.”
In the bedroom, Merrick sat on his bed, and Christine was beside him. “Are you in much pain?” she asked.
“No, Chris, I’m not in pain,” he said, his face passive.
She bent down to untie her scarf from his arm; then she unbuttoned his shirt and helped him off with his coat and shirt.
“Oh!” She gave out a loud sigh. His bare skin looked so muscular and smooth. She had that urge to touch it again.
“What’s the matter, Chris?” he asked, putting his fingers under her chin and nudging her face up.
She stared at him, drowning in those teal-blue eyes of his. She had the urge to kiss those firm lips even though she didn’t know how. She, however, could never allow herself to forget that she was in fact pretending to be a male—and
besides that, their statuses in life were very different. He could never love a woman so far below him. Furthermore, she had heard one of the maids say that he was already in love with another woman named Anne Wilson, a very beautiful lady from London. Christine could never compete with a woman like that.
She looked at his wound and was relieved to see that it was indeed superficial.
“I’ve told Jacob to fetch the doctor. Master Chris, would you come here and help me clean his lordship’s wound,” the housekeeper said as she placed a jug of hot water on the table.
“I think somebody shot him,” Christine said more to herself than to anyone else.
Mrs. Ross gasped and almost dropped the cloth she was dipping into the hot water.
“Chris!” Merrick warned.
“But it is true, is it not? I heard a shot.”
“It was an accident. Somebody must be poaching in the woods again,” Merrick said.
Christine took the cloth Mrs. Ross had soaked in the water and began to clean away the blood on Merrick’s arm. “Poaching?” She looked at him and then turned to look at the housekeeper. “Mrs. Ross, what do you think?”
“I don’t know, Master Chris, but it could be. What with them hunting and killing those foxes and all, there’s bound to be accidents sooner or later.”
It was not long before an elderly man came in through the door and said, “Well, let me see what I can do. How are you feeling, my lord?”
“Fine, Dr. Bennett, I don’t think I needed you here. It’s only a flesh wound, after all,” Merrick said with tight lips.
“Flesh wound?” The doctor pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and inspected the wound. “Ah, I see it is just superficial. But it is rather quite deep. Have to do it properly, you know. Don’t want you to get infection, do we?” He opened his case, then started to clean the wound. “How did you do it, my lord?”