She smiled in his direction as he bid the farmer good afternoon and crossed to her side, then turned to the gentleman. “John, here, will take the gate out to your wagon, milord.”
He gave Thorne a patronizing nod of the head. “You do good work, sirrah. And you are fortunate to have such a beautiful mistress.” His eyes narrowed. “I trust you don’t take advantage of that.”
Gloriana could almost hear the crunch of Thorne’s jaw. God save us if he loses his temper, she thought. “Oh, milord,” she said quickly with a girlish giggle. “I set my sights higher than that.”
The gentleman relaxed, his face twisting into a leering smile. “I shall remember that.” He pulled out his purse and fished out several gold coins. “’Tis more than we agreed upon,” he said, pressing the coins into her hand, “but consider it an advance on future… work.” He held tightly to her hand for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
Thorne let out a growl and stepped toward the man. Gloriana pushed against his chest and glared at him. “John! Take the gate to the gentleman’s wagon and see that his man loads it properly. Now!”
He hesitated, his eyes flashing, then sighed deeply and did as she asked. The gentleman followed him out, his hand on his sheathed sword, as though he were prepared to do battle should Thorne anger him further.
Gloriana drew in her breath, one hand to her breast. Her heart was beating like a captured bird in a cage. She turned away from the forge door, afraid to see the look on Thorne’s face when he returned.
His voice behind her was harsh with accusation. “You behaved like a strumpet.”
She whirled to him. “How dare you! I’m your mistress!”
“You flirted with him like the lowest whore on the London streets!”
“What did you expect me to do, fool? He’s Lord Arthur Pritchett, cousin to the Cholmleys, the family that lords over Whitby.”
“Pah! A baronet? Low-ranking provincials.”
She snorted. “Low? And who are you? The Duke of Buckingham?”
He clenched his teeth, as though he were fighting with his pride. “Merely your servant, mistress,” he muttered at last.
“Just so. And I saw the defiant look in your eye. You were ready to fight with him, lay hands on him. And then what would become of our business?”
“And so you let him kiss you?” He could scarcely hide the resentment on his face.
“Burn and blister me! You’re just jealous because you haven’t won your own kiss yet.” They had wagered for his kiss almost every night in the past few weeks, and Thorne had never succeeded in besting her at arm-wrestling.
He grabbed her in his arms, his hands tight on her shoulders. “You beguiling witch,” he growled. “You know I want more than just a kiss.”
She felt herself crumbling with fatigue, with longing. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. But if she gave in, she would lose her authority over him, lose her self-respect. “Oh, John,” she said, her voice quivering, “leave me alone. I’m too tired to quarrel with you today.”
At once he released her, his eyes warm with sudden sympathy. “Forgive me, mistress. You’re exhausted. You’ve been working too hard. And you’re right, of course. We need the good will of the gentry to succeed.” He took her by the arm and steered her gently toward the door. “Go and take a nap. I’ll work here for a little while, then heat the meat pies. You’ve been working late for too many nights.”
She sniffled. “What else can I do? It wouldn’t be proper for the folks to know I does… I do much of the work.”
“Sleep now.” He stroked the side of her face, a tender gesture that made her ache with desire.
She squared her shoulders. “No. There’s too much work to do. All those tools for the carpenter. We won’t read tonight. I’ll go to bed early. Tomorrow is Sunday. I can nap for half the day.”
“As you wish. I think I can turn out a goodly number of horseshoes before we finish.” He turned to the forge and picked up his tongs. “But I’m glad not to work tomorrow. ’Tis devilish hot today, and likely to be so on the morrow.”
“Perhaps, if I’m rested, we can swim. Do you swim?” She beamed with pride. “I do.”
“I know.”
What an odd answer, she thought. “How do you know?” she demanded.
He reddened. “That is… I… I guessed you did,” he stammered. “You’re so skilled at everything you do—forging, cooking, gardening. And you’ve come so far in your reading, I can scarcely believe it. I couldn’t imagine that swimming wouldn’t be one of your many accomplishments.”
She felt flustered by his praise. She picked up her hammer. “Enough of your blather. There’s work to be done.”
They worked for several hours, hammering away at the iron. Tired as she was, Gloriana felt oddly refreshed, basking in the glow of his compliments.
She went to bed early, thinking she would sleep soundly. But her dreams were filled with Billy—his gurgling laughter, his precious smile, his sweet scent. She awoke at last, her heart breaking, and gave way to her sobs.
• • •
Thorne sat up abruptly in his trundle bed, blinking against the thin moonlight that streamed in at the window. What had disturbed his sleep? Then he heard it—the sound of a woman crying. Gloriana! He jumped to his feet, then reached for the tinderbox, struck the flint, and lit the candle on the mantel. He padded quickly up the stairs in his bare feet, conscious of the cool night air on his legs beneath his long shirt.
Her door was open. She sat hunched up on her bed, arms around her knees, weeping uncontrollably and rocking back and forth with every sob. It broke his heart to see such a strong woman brought so low.
“Mistress,” he said, hurriedly setting the candle on a small table. “What is it? A bad dream?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, and waved him away, her hands flapping helplessly toward him. “Leave me in peace, John,” she said at last.
“Nonsense. I’ll do no such thing.” He sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “I’ve always heard that a strong shoulder is the best to cry on. Mine may not be your favorite shoulder, but ’tis the only one here.”
She managed a small laugh at that, then leaned her head against his chest and began to cry again. Her body was soft against his, and her silky hair beneath his chin smelled smoky from the forge, yet scented with the sweetness that only a woman seemed to possess. He found himself stroking her back with gentle hands and kissing the top of her head, praying that his comfort would ease her unknown pain.
At last she quieted, raised her ravaged face to his. “Thank you,” she murmured. She sniffled and touched her tear-stained face. “I must look a fright.”
He smiled. “A little the worse for wear. Have you a handkerchief?”
She indicated a small chest in the corner. He fetched a handkerchief from its contents, returned to the bed, and handed it to her. She wiped at her face, blew her nose and managed a rueful smile. “I’m sorry to wake you. Go back to bed.”
“No. Not until I’m sure you’ve quite recovered from… a bad dream?” He regretted his words the minute he said them; at once her eyes began to fill with fresh tears. “Please don’t cry again. Your face is too lovely to spoil.” He stroked at her wet cheeks with tender fingers. Her skin was as soft as the down on a peach, and golden from the kiss of the sun. And her lower lip, ripe as cherries, still trembled. Impulsively, he put his two hands around her face, leaned forward and kissed her softly on the mouth. His head spun from the sweetness of her lips, molded so perfectly to his.
But after a moment, he broke free, knowing he had crossed the line again, and that she would soon berate him for taking advantage of her. It took all his willpower, desire burning within him, but he started to rise from the bed. “Forgive me, mistress,” he said. “I’ll go now. I trust you will be able to sleep peacefully for the rest of the night.”
To his surprise, she wrapped strong arms around his neck and pulled his mouth close
to hers. “No,” she said in a seductive growl. “Don’t leave me tonight.”
Chapter Nine
Her body was on fire, aching for another kiss and burning with a hunger that she had denied for weeks. She smiled up at him, her lips pursed in invitation.
Instead, he unwrapped her arms from his neck and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If I stay tonight,” he said softly, “I will want to stay every night.”
She glared at him, his words reminding her of his inborn arrogance, despite his humble tone. He dared to be so forward and demanding? “Snot-nosed, insolent dog!” she said, her voice rising. “I offer myself and you forget your station? Your pride will ruin you someday, caitiff. But for now, quit my side!”
He jumped to his feet, his anger matching her own. “Damn you! You speak of pride? I swallow my pride every time you give me high-handed orders or call me ‘caitiff’ with such contempt. And now I’m expected to beg for your favors? To share your bed only when it suits you? I think not!” He snatched up the candle and headed for the door.
“Those b… are my terms,” she said defiantly.
He whirled back to her, his face stiff and cold. “And these are my terms. Out there…” he gestured vaguely toward the stairs, “…we would continue as we always have. As mistress and servant. But here in this room, we would be equals—merely a man and a woman with the same passions and needs. If your pride is too stubborn to accept that, I bid you good night.”
She felt torn. Yearning for him, yet fighting with her pride. Equals, he had said. Not the way it had been with Charlie, lording it over her every minute of their lives together, even when they were in bed. She hesitated for a moment, fighting her desire, then held out supplicating arms to him. “Wait,” she whispered.
His handsome face showed relief, not triumph. He slammed down the candle, moved quickly to her side and snatched her into his arms. His kiss was hard and demanding, wringing a groan of pleasure from her. She clung to him, her fingers tangled in his hair, and opened her mouth to his searching tongue. His strong hands moved impatiently down her back, then slid to the front to squeeze her full breasts.
She felt a shiver of wild anticipation and broke free from his kiss, panting. She tugged at his shirt, lay back against the pillow and clasped his hard shaft, poised and waiting for her. “Come into me now,” she gasped, desperately trying to guide his manhood to her burning loins.
He gave a throaty laugh. “You impatient witch,” he said. “At least give me the pleasure of seeing you.”
While he pulled his shirt over his head, she fumbled with the drawstring of her shift, nearly tearing it in her eagerness. She settled herself once more on her pillow and spread her legs. “Now, you devil. For the love of pity.”
He placed himself between her legs. She closed her eyes, waiting. Instead, he laughed again, a sound filled with wonder and delight. Her eyes sprang open. “Beautiful Glory,” he said, his searching gaze enveloping her body. “You’re the most tantalizing creature I’ve ever known.”
“I don’t give no damn what that means,” she sputtered. “I’ll kill you if you make me wait any longer!”
“I’ll explain it later,” he said, and drove into her with such force that she gasped in delight. He was hard and full, filling her, arousing her with an intensity she had never known. Her hips rose to meet his every impatient thrust—they were two bodies in perfect, wild rhythm, responding to one another with all their pent-up longings. He rode her like a madman; she received his ever-quickening movements with an equal degree of passion, clutching at his hips to increase his pressure.
She was floating, flying, all her thoughts concentrated on the tension that built and built in her core, waiting for the moment when she would explode in perfect fulfillment, yet wishing the tension would never end. He increased the force of his frenzied thrusts, his head thrown back, teeth clenched in passionate concentration.
Then, suddenly, it was over. Her body trembled violently with her climax and she cried out at her release. At the same moment, he gave a final thrust and groaned in satisfaction, collapsing against her breast. She curled her hands around his body, glorying in the firm flesh beneath her fingers, the magical waves of warmth that still filled her.
They lay entwined for several minutes, bathed in sweat, too exhausted to move. Then he rolled off her and flopped onto his back. “Gads, you’re a wonder,” he panted. “You’re everything I dreamed you’d be.”
She felt as giddy as a child with a new toy. “And… tantalizing?”
“It means I watched you for weeks, wanted you, and suffered for my wanting. And feared you’d be forever beyond my reach.” He swept her into his arms, pulling her body close to his. “And here you are at last. I think I must be dreaming.”
“As to your dreams…” She hesitated. She couldn’t believe she was confessing to him. “That first night, after the shipwreck…”
He sat up and let out a shout of laughter. “I knew it! It always seemed too real to be a dream.”
She felt herself blushing, though she felt no shame for what she’d done. “Well, I have my needs as well. And you were very… tantalizing.”
He clicked his tongue, but he could barely hide his smile. “Wicked woman. To take advantage when I was helpless.”
She sat up, her hands on her hips. “I didn’t take advantage of you. I was only drying you. You invited me.”
He snickered. “I don’t remember being able to talk, let alone issue a formal invitation.”
“Oaf! Your damned prickle stood at attention. A regular soldier it was, daring me.”
He crowed with laughter. “And so you took advantage.”
She shook her head. “And you? That first day when you kissed me. Didn’t you try to take advantage of me?”
“If you hadn’t threatened to crown me with your hammer, I might have taken more than a kiss.”
She giggled. “Then we’re well matched, John.”
“As to that, since we’re equals here, may I call you Glory in this room?” He frowned. “’Tis not a name that is pleasing to my ears. Is that your Christian name?”
“I was baptized Gloriana.”
“A lovely name. A royal name. The poet Spenser used it as a name for Queen Elizabeth.”
She preened at that. “Indeed.”
He chuckled. “Now don’t get puffed up about it. ’Tis only a name.”
She eyed his strong body, sitting so temptingly beside her. His shoulders were wide and muscular, and the black curls on his chest led down to a dark patch that cradled his limp manhood. The sight of him made her senses quicken, raising a returning tingle at her very core. “The only thing I want ‘puffed up’ at this moment is you.”
He groaned, a sound that seemed to blend both proud satisfaction and suffering. “Greedy creature. Give me a few moments, at least!”
She snorted. “Seein’ as how you’re just a man, maybe you need some help.”
He reached out and pinched her playfully on the rump. “Seeing, not seein’, remember? And what kind of help did you have in mind?”
She pushed him onto his back and straddled him with her body. She leaned down and kissed him softly, then let her lips stray to his cheekbones and drift to his ear. She blew softly, enjoying his shiver of pleasure, then gently stroked his ear with her tongue until he moaned in delight. She leaned back and fondled his chest, glorying in the strength of his muscles, the hard planes beneath her wandering fingers, the silky thatch of dark curls. At last her hands reached his manhood, and she caressed its length, her fingers ever more demanding, until she felt it stir and harden. With a contented sigh, she lowered herself onto him, the power of their mutual desire trembling between them.
To her surprise, he pushed her off him and rolled her onto her back, kneeling above her. “No,” he said with a wicked smile, “you’re not going to have it so easy this time. You like teasing, you devil? Well, what’s sauce for the goose…” He curled his hands around her breasts, squeezing gently, then l
eaned down and suckled at one tender nipple. She drew in a sharp breath, enchanted by the waves of feeling that swept through her. He kissed her on the mouth, drawing her tongue between his lips; all the while his hands roamed her body, finding sensitive spots she had never known existed, telling her with his caresses that she was honored and admired. And when he slipped his fingers within her, she was in heaven. She had never known such tender lovemaking.
When at last he entered her, every fiber, every nerve of her being responded to him. He was gentle this time, content to bring them both to climax in a leisurely manner, adding fire to her forge one charcoal at a time. And when it was done, and the flames had consumed her and subsided to a flickering ember, she curled up on her side and began to weep.
“Gloriana,” he cried in alarm. “What did I do to make you sad again? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. ’Tis only tears of happiness. I never knew it could be so sweet.” Charlie had been selfish and crude, using her for his own satisfaction, without a thought to her emotions. Her body had been satisfied, but somehow she had always felt that something was missing. And now Thorne had shown her the full glory of making love.
“You enchantress,” he said, lying down behind her and drawing her into his embrace. “Will you never cease to surprise me? Come. Sleep now. I think we’ve had enough waterworks for one night.”
She felt warmed by his chest against her back, comforted by the strong arm that circled her waist. She smiled into her pillow. “As to waterworks, I shall best you at swimming tomorrow.”
He chuckled “Is that a wager, mistress?”
“If you wish it, John. But for now, I need my rest.” She sighed, settled herself more comfortably in his arms, and drifted off into a contented sleep.
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