Anne Gracie - [Merridew Sister 03]

by The Perfect Stranger

  A large, calloused hand smoothed down over her belly, sliding between her legs, caressing, smoothing, teasing…Her legs fell apart, trembling with need. He growled, a low, masculine sound of satisfaction, and his mouth followed his hands, tasting the soft, smooth skin of her belly while his fingers explored her. She was as tense as a bowstring, vibrating with need, when she dimly heard him murmur, “And you taste even better than you smell.” She bucked beneath his mouth, once, twice, three times, and with a groan of masculine satisfaction he lifted himself over her and entered her in one smooth, powerful motion. Arched beneath him, Faith hovered on the brink and then he began to move and she felt…she felt…

  Far in the distance she thought she heard a faint, high scream as she plunged into glorious oblivion…

  When Faith awoke the second time, she was alone in the bed. The sun no longer shone through the cracks between the bed-curtains, and Nicholas Blacklock, from the sounds of things, was getting dressed.

  She found her nightgown and put it on again, feeling shy to be naked in front of him, despite the recent events. She parted the curtains and peeked out.

  “Good morning.”

  He jumped and whirled guiltily. He scrutinized her face intently, his face serious. “Good morning,” he said in a gruff voice. “Are…are you all right?”

  She swung her feet over the bed, stood up, and began to stretch. “Ow!” she exclaimed.

  “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s just…ooh!” She tried to stretch again and winced at the stiffness in her back and legs. “Yesterday’s unprecedented exercise. It’s…oohh.” She stretched again, her face screwed against the protesting muscles.

  He blanched and looked even guiltier. Faith caught the look and said, “Oh don’t worry, it’s not serious. It’s just a few muscles protesting. I am rather out of practice, you know.”

  “Out of practice?” His eyebrows snapped together, and he scowled.

  “Yes, but it will get better. The more I do it, the better it will be.” She gave him a rueful look. “You did warn me, after all, that I would have to endure all sorts of discomfort and hardship.”

  His scowl grew blacker and more grim. “Yes, I did. And so let this be a lesson to you, madam!” He sounded offended. “If you wish to return to England now, I will send Stevens to escort you.”

  “Oh I have no intention of leaving. I am sure I will learn to adjust. It is just a matter of practice, I know.”

  He snorted. “I suppose that blasted Bulgarian had more finesse!” he snarled.

  She stared at him in amazement. “What on earth do you—” And then she saw what he had been thinking. And started to giggle.

  He glared at her. “What is so blasted funny, madam?”

  When Faith could speak, she said between giggles, “I don’t know what you were referring to.” Oh, what a fib! She had to stifle another giggle at the thought. “But I was talking about riding. My muscles are stiff from spending all day on the back of a horse, not from, um…you know.” She giggled again, then gave him a warmly intimate smile. “That part of the journey has been very nice so far.”

  He stared at her, and a dark red color crept up his throat and face. He cleared his throat noisily and looked around for his jacket as if in a hurry. “I will see you downstairs at breakfast, madam,” he said in a gruff voice. He turned to leave, but she flew across the room barefoot and stopped him.

  “Wait!”

  “What is it?”

  “My morning duty. As a wife. Remember, you explained it to me the other day,” she murmured and, winding her arms around his neck, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him.

  He stood, stiff, passive at first, as if indifferent. Faith opened her mouth and shyly ran her tongue over his, greedy to taste him, needing to return a little of the pleasure he had given her earlier. His jaw was rough-bristled, and she caressed it with her palms, enjoying the friction. He stood like a hard mountain, resisting her, and she closed her eyes and simply kissed him. She kissed him with all the burgeoning feelings that were growing inside her, as if a new person was emerging, a bold, sensual Faith who wanted to reach out to him and let them be new together.

  But he stood there, unmoving, letting her kiss him, refusing to respond. She was just about to give up when with a low moan he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, and the heated, spice-dark sensation of Nicholas shivered through her, swamping her very bones with helpless love for him.

  Her knees sagged, and he wrapped his arm around her, hard, lifting her higher, so that their mouths could merge more fully. She slid her fingers into his soft, thick hair, damp from where he’d splashed cold water on his face, clutching it in her fists as she lost herself in him.

  When the kiss finished, she slowly released her grip on him and let herself slide back down his body. They stood a few inches apart, chests heaving, staring at each other. His pupils were huge and dark.

  “Good morning, Mr. Blacklock,” she said softly, willing her jelly legs not to buckle.

  He mumbled something under his breath and left the room. She heard him stomping down the stairs in his boots and smiled. It was a beginning, a glorious beginning.

  “Stevens, did you know many soldiers’ wives in the army?” Faith asked. They were traveling side by side on a narrow road around the coast. Nicholas had galloped ahead, and Faith took the opportunity to drop back and chat with Stevens. He was a very easy man to talk to. Unlike her husband.

  “Yes, miss. Plenty. Some wives and some…common-law wives.”

  “Common-law wives?” She didn’t know the term.

  “Yes, miss. Not legal marriages, as such. Soldiers being rather short-lived as a rule, some of the women simply moved on to the next man when their own was killed.”

  Faith was shocked. “Just like that?”

  “Yep, just like that.” He nodded, then seeing her dismay, explained, “I know it sounds a bit callous, but you have to understand, miss, in wartime it’s different. Men and women, well, they seek comfort quick-like, and there ain’t no time for long mourning periods. The survivors have to move on, make what they can out of life. A woman needs a man to protect her, and men, well, they need women, too. A good wife—common-law or legal—can make a real difference to a soldier’s life.”

  “In what way?” Faith urged her horse closer to hear his response. This was why she’d raised the subject in the first place, though he’d given her something else to think of as well.

  “Well, some women have the knack of making a home anywhere. A hot meal waiting, a warm bed—even on the ground—a few small, precious comforts, soft words in the night. You don’t know what a difference that can make to a man, ’specially one who might die tomorrow.”

  “I see.” And she did. If Nicholas had been a soldier so long, it might explain why he was so unwilling to think about the future, to make a commitment to her, even though she wasn’t a common-law wife. It would be quite disconcerting to think that if you were killed, your wife of today would calmly move on to your best friend tomorrow. She could see how that would make a man reluctant to speak of love.

  Comfort, now, that was another matter. She thought of what they’d shared in the morning and smiled. Comfort was hardly the word. Bliss was more like it. Nicholas Blacklock might not want his wife’s love, but he did not seem averse to a little shared marital bliss.

  Stevens, oblivious of her straying thoughts, continued, “There was one woman now—Polly MicMac, we called her—I heard she went through a half-dozen husbands one year. Some o’ the men reckoned she was bad luck, but there were never any shortage of suitors when Polly’s latest man died. A grand girl, Polly; bonny and generous-natured and never a complaint out of her, no matter how hard things got. And cook—always seemed to find a hare for the pot or a brace of pigeons. Brewed up something hot and tasty every night.” Stevens shook his head reminiscently. “Even when the army was starving, Polly managed something.” After a while he added, “I never did
find out what happened to Polly. Lost touch when the capt’n was injured at Toulouse.”

  “He was injured? What happened?”

  “Oh, no need to look so worried, miss. That wasn’t the first time. Capt’n Nick, he’s been shot many a time and lived to tell the tale. He’s been blown up, and I don’t know how many bits of shrapnel got pulled out of him after Waterloo—and still the ladies come a’fluttering around him.” He patted his own cheek ruefully. “Me, I get hit just the once, and look what a mess it made of me.”

  “Nonsense!” Faith clutched his arm and said warmly, “No lady worth her salt would care a jot for that. Character and kindness is what real women look for in a man, and those, Stevens, you have in abundance.”

  He grinned at her. “Why, thank you, miss.”

  Faith grinned back. Stevens had given her a lot to think about. Nicholas had lived the life Stevens had described since he was sixteen. No wonder he had such peculiar ideas of marriage. And attachment.

  Faith had until Bilbao to show him differently.

  They had been riding for a good part of the day, stopping for short rests and varying the pace of the horses so they would not tire too much. Most of the time they had been within sight of the sea, a sight Faith never tired of, but since they’d passed through the ancient medieval town of Saint-Valery-sur-Somme, they’d cut inland. Faith was thrilled to have visited the last place William the Conquerer had stayed in before going off to conquer England. She would have to remember to tell her sisters in her next letter.

  She’d written several letters home by now, to each of her sisters and to Aunt Gussie and Great Uncle Oswald. In the first letters she’d simply assured them she was safe and well and married to a man named Nicholas Blacklock. She hadn’t gone into much detail about the disaster with Felix—only to Hope. Twins hid nothing from each other.

  She’d written a couple of letters since, describing their journey and telling her family they were heading for Bilbao, in Spain. She didn’t want them to worry.

  They were crossing an area of neglected-looking meadowland scattered lightly with clumps of beech and birch and an occasional clump of brambles. There were some berries, Faith saw, but they were small and green and not yet ripe. She was determined to become a good soldier’s wife, and not only because that was what Nicholas wanted in a wife.

  In that miserable period after leaving Felix, she’d been at her lowest, and the days spent trudging along dusty roads had given her plenty of time for reflection about her life. The realization that she’d been looked after most of her life—that she’d left it to others—hadn’t been a comfortable one.

  She never wanted to feel so alone again, but nor did she ever want to feel as though she was dependent on others. From what she had gathered, soldiers’ wives were strong and independent women, partners with their husbands, rather than dependents. That’s what Faith wanted to be, a partner with Nicholas. A partner for life.

  It was late afternoon. The horses were ambling along in single file when Faith noticed it: a large hare sniffing and nibbling at a clump of sweetgrass. Now was her chance.

  She carefully pulled out her pistol, cocked it, and shot. The hare fell over, and for a moment she felt hugely triumphant. Then, to her horror, it got up. Slowly and agonizingly it scrabbled its way lopsidedly into a small clump of brambles. Faith felt sick. Its shoulder was shattered and bleeding profusely. She’d missed! And worse, she’d injured the poor thing. It must be in agony.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas came up behind her. His voice was sharp, cold. Angry.

  She pointed. “I—I shot at a hare, only…only—”

  “Only it’s not a clean kill! You missed, madam!” His voice was accusing.

  “I know,” she wailed. She felt bad enough without him snapping at her as if she’d deliberately missed.

  The others had gathered around. Mac had dismounted and was on all fours, peering in under the brambles. Beowulf pushed in with him, sniffing eagerly.

  “I’ll see to it,” Mac growled. “You get on. Dusk isna too far off, and ye’ll need to get to town. I’ll catch up wi’ ye.”

  “Right,” Nicholas said, tight-lipped. “Come on,” he snapped at Faith. He wheeled his horse around and trotted off.

  Feeling guilty and upset, Faith followed.

  He ignored her for several minutes, then he reined in his horse and waited for her to come level with him. As she did, he unleashed a tirade on her.

  “What the devil were you thinking of to pull such a stupid, irresponsible stunt? I bought you that pistol for self-defense, not for shooting hares!” His face was tight with anger, his eyes chips of stone. He spoke so coldly it was like knives slicing into her. “Nobody asked you to come along on this journey, madam, and if you’re bored already, it’s your own fault! If you think you’re going to ride along whiling away the tedium by taking potshots at the local wildlife, you can think again. I won’t tolerate it, do you hear me! I shall have Stevens escort you back to Saint-Valery, and you can catch a boat to England! I loathe and detest the attitude that wild creatures are there for our sport!”

  “It wasn’t for sport, it was for dinner!” she burst out, dashing away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. “And I wasn’t bored. I have been enjoying every single minute of this trip. I…I just saw the hare and I…th-thought I could help fill the pot. For dinner.”

  “In God’s name why?”

  Faith scrubbed at her eyes and tried to explain. “I thought…I wanted to be like…I mean, you were happy enough for me to catch a fish. And you ate it!” She pulled out a handkerchief, mopped her eyes, then blew into it, hard.

  He watched her in silence, and when he spoke again it was in a much more normal tone. “I have no objection to fishing. Nor to hunting animals for food. It is ripping them apart for the sake of mindless entertainment which I abhor.”

  Her eyes flooded again at his words. “I didn’t mean for the poor hare to be r-r-ripped a-apart. I’ve never k-killed any animal before in my life. I thought it would be d-dead before it knew. But it m-moved at the last m-minute and I m-missed,” she finished on a wail of distress.

  She took out her handkerchief and looked at it doubtfully. He sighed, reached into his pocket, and handed her a clean handkerchief, which she took gratefully.

  When she was more composed he said, “But why on earth would you suddenly take it upon yourself to hunt for our dinner? I am sufficiently in funds to command whatever we may need.”

  “I was t-trying to be like P-Polly MicMac.”

  “Polly MicMac? Polly MicMac?” He started at her in incredulity. “Why on earth would you want to model yourself on a thieving light-skirt like Polly MicMac?”

  “Thieving?”

  He made an impatient gesture. “The biggest light-finger I ever met. Ask the farmers and villagers she passed. Never a farm was passed without Polly MicMac ‘finding’ a cockerel or some apples or a stray piglet. Could glean a feast from the desert, that wretched woman. And besides, that was in wartime!”

  Faith suddenly saw a different side to Polly MicMac’s activities. She supposed officers and men would be inclined to see things from a different point of view. And especially if the men concerned were getting the benefit of the lady’s larcenous activities.

  “And how the devil did you hear about Polly MicMac in the first place—?” He broke off with an exclamation. “Stevens, of course! Bloody hell! I might have known. Romancing on about his days in the army. He always did have a tendre for that woman, but she was—” He suddenly realized where his speech was heading and broke off.

  He regarded her from under black brows. “Well, from now on, madam, you are forbidden to shoot at any more hapless creatures. For heaven’s sake—you don’t even know who owns the land that wretched hare was grazing on. You do realize that if we were in England you could be arrested for poaching!”

  “P-poaching?” Faith faltered. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “People get
transported to New South Wales all the time for taking hares that didn’t belong to them. Lord knows what they do to poachers in France.”

  Faith bit her lip. “I didn’t think.”

  “No, you didn’t! So let us have no more shooting. Keep that gun where it belongs. It’s for frightening off footpads and brigands, not for killing dinner.”

  He urged his horse to a faster pace and moved ahead.

  Faith felt small, stupid, and cruel.

  “Don’t fret, miss.” Stevens came up behind her. “You just happened to hit one of Mr. Nick’s sore points. It’s just, he’s been powerful fond of wild creatures ever since he was a little ’un and used to go off into the woods all day with my Algy.”

  “But he’s right. I didn’t think. And I feel just terrible about the poor hare. I didn’t even think. I assumed it would be over in a moment—quick and painless, like it was with the fish when you stabbed it.” She shuddered, feeling queasy.

  “Never you mind, miss. You didn’t mean to make a mess of it, I know. Mr. Nick knows you meant well.”

  “No he doesn’t,” she said miserably.

  “Ah, don’t you take it to heart, miss. He knows it was a mistake. He’ll come around, just you see.”

  “I just wish…” She bit her lip.

  “There now, miss. It’ll blow over. Mr. Nick will calm down, you’ll see, and Mac will find that hare and put it out of its misery quick enough.”

  “I suppose Mac thinks it’s a sin to waste the meat.” Even as she said it, she felt petty.

  “No, you’re wrong about that,” Stevens said with gentle reproof. “Mac is there because he can’t bear to let any living creature suffer. He’ll find it and dispatch it quick and clean this time. A legacy from the war.”

  Faith felt even worse about her mean-spirited remark when he said that. “What do you mean, a legacy from the war?”

  “Mac saw a great many men die in slow agony. We all did, but it seemed to hit Mac worse than most. Some men took days to die, some weeks or more. There was nothing anyone could do to help them. Mac hated it. He made all of us promise that if he was ever in that situation, one of us would shoot him, make it quick, and he promised to do the same for us.”