by Deana James
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. With a slight smile she shook her head.
"Cruel," he whispered. "Vivian," he called as she opened the door and stepped through, "at least come back and sit with me until I can go back to sleep."
But she closed the door and left him alone. Within minutes, he began to feel drowsy. His attention was barely distracted when she returned to sit beside him. Again he felt her cool palm on his head. A cool wet cloth bathed his lips. He touched it with his tongue. Above his head her face hovered; her expression, tender; her eyes, soft. "Good of you," he muttered. "It's good to have a wife. I'm glad you're my wife." He was asleep.
Vivian sat beside him for some time. A shiver of pleasure vibrated in every part of her body. He was glad to have a wife. And she was glad to have a husband.
He muttered and turned on his side, resting his palm under his cheek like a boy.
Emotions swept through her body in waves. Pity for his pain, admiration for his courage, and above all, sensual response to his maleness. She glanced around the shadowy bedroom lighted only by the candle beside the bed and the leaping flames from the hearth. She did not feel alone in it. For the first time in ten years she was not alone. Her heart full, she bent forward and touched her lips to his.
Warm and soft, she enjoyed the texture and temperature of his mouth. Her hand rested on his hip beneath the blanket. Heat spiraled in her belly, and her breasts tingled.
When she drew back, she saw his eyes were open. "Vivian," he whispered. "Do you want me so much?"
Although he did not stir, she drew back as if burnt and retreated hastily. His face was turned toward her in the firelight. He smiled gently, but his eyelids were already closing. She tugged her rug around her and huddled in the darkness of the big chair.
************************************
A week later when Vivian entered, Piers was sitting up in bed, a robe thrown around his shoulders, a smile on his face. Watkins presented her with a cup of hot chocolate. Gratefully, she accepted it and sipped it. Over the cup she studied her husband.
Each day Piers had gained strength. Today he looked almost normal. Though he still used his arm gingerly, he could lift it shoulder high and straighten it out. He demonstrated his accomplishment for her. Holding the arm straight out in front of him. It trembled and he set his teeth, but around them, he grinned at her. His strength was beginning to return. "Good job, right?"
She smiled and nodded.
"Another few weeks and it'll be practically well."
She lifted her arm straight over her head.
He tried to imitate her action, but the pain was too much. "That's for later," he insisted with a groan. "I’ll keep trying. Vivian, let's go for a ride this afternoon."
She shook her head aghast.
"My lord," Watkins protested, "you're not strong enough."
Vivian pulled her pad from her pocket. "The reins need a left hand."
"I’ll use my right."
"Milord. I really think you're—”
"Endangering yourself," Vivian wrote.
"Nonsense! I’ve ridden since I could walk. It'll be like taking a walk. I need exercise."
"Let's go for a walk," she wrote.
"But, milord—”
"No. Send to the stables for Barbary and Romany Prince."
When Watkins began to protest, Vivian laid a restraining hand on his arm. Glancing down at her, he caught her knowing wink and the shake of her head. His face became appropriately bland. Without further objection he moved to help the viscount from the bed.
Vivian curtsied elaborately and left.
"Wear the black velvet," he called after her.
The mere effort of standing while Watkins dressed him completely and tied his stock left Piers weak. He had lost flesh and his legs trembled under him. A fine dew of perspiration stood out on his forehead. However, he was able to accompany Vivian downstairs.
There she insisted that they walk to the stables.
When Tyler led out Romany Prince, the big black ignored his master and nuzzled Vivian.
"That used to be my horse," Piers mourned. "So dangerous that only I could ride him." He patted the sleek neck, while Vivian put her hand on the horse's cheek and held her palm for him to lip up his treat.
Tyler laughed. "What did I say? Spoiled him, she has. Spoiled rotten. He’ll probably savage you, milord, if you try to get on him. He wants her ladyship here."
Piers was feeling decidedly light-headed. The idea of a ride had been foregone when he had had to sit down on a bench midway from the house. He laughed ruefully. "I doubt I shall have anything to call my own when she gets through with me."
Leaning heavily on her, he allowed her to lead him back to the house. There he offered to teach her to play chess. With a slight smile she sent for the board and pieces and proceeded to trounce him thoroughly. On the third game he tightened his grip and managed to battle her to a stalemate.
Although his comments to her about her deception were sour, he smiled grudgingly. "Poor incompetent little thing," he remarked sarcastically. She flashed him the very sweetest of smiles and poured them both cups of hot tea.
A couple of days later, the afternoon turned sunny. Piers was able to dress and ride with Vivian. At her express orders he had not been given Romany Prince. No matter how much the black liked treats, he still required great strength and two good arms and shoulders to handle his characteristic high spirits. Instead, she ordered a tall dapple-gray mare for Piers and Barbary for herself.
The sun was warm on their shoulders as they faced the sea from the top of the cliff. Piers pulled the mare in and sat gazing out at the blue water pensively. "There were several times when I thought I'd never be back here."
The whitecaps tumbled in and foamed on the beach in the cove below them. With a slight shiver, Vivian recalled the barrels she had seen floating in the water. Hopefully, they would never intrude upon this peaceful place again.
Not waiting for Piers to take the lead, she turned Barbary aside and let the chestnut pick his surefooted way down to the sand.
Piers followed behind her, and soon they were together on the beach. "The sea air cuts like a knife," he commented. "But at least I'm alive to breathe it."
She reached over and patted his hand, then tapped Barbary's rump and sent the sand spurting up. The tide came in beneath their hooves, spattering the riders' boots and the hem of her skirt. Along the beach they cantered, the wind and sun in their faces. The gray mare took the line along the sand, but Barbary plunged through the surf almost to his belly, liberally wetting Vivian as she laughed silently.
All too soon, they reached the edge of the small inlet and pulled their horses round to start back at a more sedate pace. An outcropping of rocks separated them from the beach at one point.
As the waves broke against their gray surfaces, Piers pulled up his animal. "Let's dismount, Vivian. I want to show you something-if it's still there."
Obediently, she slipped off her horse and reached for his bridle as Piers swung down more laboriously. His body was stiff, and already he was feeling the effects of his long inactivity. His shoulder ached even from the mare's soft mouth. Flexing it, he winced in disgust at his weakness.
Vivian gathered the reins of the two mounts and came to his side, ready to slip her arm through his and give him support. He grinned down at her as he noted her action. "Taking care of me?"
Smiling her response, she rubbed and kneaded the muscles covering his shoulder blade with practiced familiarity.
He groaned and flexed his back. "Ah, that feels good."
Anxious to prolong their easy companionship, she looked around. Here the expanse of sand was narrow with rocks on either side.
"Come with me." He took her arm to lead her toward what seemed to be a solid rock wall.
As they approached, the gray rocks covered in patches with clinging lichen appeared to move and assume new perspectives until an opening appeared before her amazed eyes.
In surprise she looked up at him for explanation.
"I found the cave when I was a boy. I hid away in it many a time. It was a great place to play pirates." He grinned ruefully. "Now I play smugglers at the other end of the beach."
Like a shadow across the sun, the word "smugglers" wiped the smile from her face.
He hugged her against him and dropped a light kiss on her temple. "Larne would send someone to find me, but I'd disappear. The footman could pass along the beach within ten yards of this place and never see it. Once the sea came up into here, you see. And undercut all this. Some of the cliff fell down and dropped these big chunks that blend so well together. Part of the overhang is still there and keeps the whole thing in shadow. It's wonderful. I doubt that anybody knows of its existence except for me-and now you."
He took the reins from her hand and tethered the horses to a piece of driftwood, the gray and withered remains of a large tree undoubtedly washed far up on the beach in the terrible winter storms. Taking her hand, he led her to the entrance of the cave. Stooping low, they entered what was really more of a hole among the rocks. Inside when her eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she stood up and gazed around her. The floor was covered with sand. On a natural shelf some three feet up was a collection of childish memorabilia. Dropping down on one knee before the shelf, Piers shook his head in wonder. "It's still here. I can't believe it."
Leaning over behind him, Vivian looked, too. In the dim light she saw a boy's pleasure spread out before her. Curious shells from the beach, a gull feather, a very small, very rusty knife, and two books so blue with mold that their titles were obscured. Flipping the cover back on one of them, Piers revealed the title of a seldom-performed play by William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure. On the flyleaf across from the title were inscribed the words, Piers Larne, His Book and underneath the name the quotation.
Death for death.
Haste still pays haste,
And leisure answers leisure,
Like doth quit like, and
Measure still for Measure.
He stared at the words. Through the fingers she rested on his shoulder to steady herself, she felt his tension. Sympathetically, she squeezed the tightly bunched muscles. Vivian could not have said how she came to respond so to him. She only knew that he was sharing his secret hideaway and refuge from the world with her. In sharing it, he also shared the most secret part of his inner being.
"Bloodthirsty young thing, wasn't I?" He jeered at his own intensity. "All ready for vengeance against pirates or parents. Who knows? It was all so long ago."
Vivian's heart turned over at the thought of the four-year-old boy who had fought to defend the treasures of his home. Fought until his very life had been threatened. And his efforts had earned him nothing but his father's enmity. Both hands smoothed gently over his shoulders.
"It wasn't my fault," he whispered. "Nor my mother's. But well get it all back."
Again her hands massaged his back and shoulders. She was weeping without knowing that she did.
He gave what might have been a groan and returned the book to the shelf. Rising and brushing the sand from his knees, he led her out into the sunlight. The sands on the beach glistened white as the sun sank low enough to shine in under the cliff. Her eyes were dazzled by their brightness.
Blinded, she swayed as soft sand slipped under her boots.
Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, surrounding her slim body, holding her soft length against him. When he tilted her face up to his, the sun struck her full in the face, so she had to keep her eyes closed against it. Staring down at her, his jaw clenched, his brown eyes searched every feature, every eyelash bared naked before him in the incredible light.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And the dearest. You've made me abandon what I'd vowed to do in spite of everything." With a groan he loomed over her. The sun was shaded by his head.
Her eyes flew open to see his face descending, his mouth coming nearer. Fierce passion engulfed her as his lips opened against hers. His tongue caressed her lips, thrust between them.
She welcomed him. Her arms went around his waist beneath his coat and pulled them tight together. She began to tremble and then to shudder. The thunder of the waves rolling into the inlet was echoed and reechoed in her own body as waves of heat and tension carried her higher and higher.
His tongue moved silkily across her teeth, then slid farther in to caress her soft interior and touch the tip of her tongue.
When he lifted his mouth away, she swayed against him, her limbs weak. Dimly, she was conscious of his turning her body away from the sun.
"Vivian, sweet wife, let me love you."
Her eyes opened and she dizzily glanced upward. The blue sky cut by gray crags swung above her. He wanted to make love to her. And she wanted him to with every breath in her body. For answer she rose on tiptoes, fitted herself against him, and kissed him with open mouth and thrusting tongue.
Chapter 22
Deliberately holding her eyes with his own, Piers unbuttoned his coat and spread it on the ground. His carefully tied white stock followed it, and the strings of his full white shirt hung loosely down his chest.
Throat dry, Vivian moved her hand over his half-healed shoulder by way of warning.
"I won't hurt myself," he assured her. "But the past week has been exquisite torture. Your hands have touched every part of my body. Every time you've bent over my bed to wipe my brow or give me a drink, your scent has enveloped me. The pain and the fever were nothing compared to the everlasting nearness and all the time I was too weak to touch you."
The sand was surprisingly warm and dry; rocks and the face of the cliff formed a rough chamber, roofed by the sky and lit by the sun. The wind did not blow in this sheltered spot. The waves pounded and rolled a hundred yards from where they stood.
His description was so evocative of her own experience that she felt a blush begin to rise from her throat. Her hand slid off his shoulder and down over the curve of his bicep.
Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose, and last her lips with sweet drugging tenderness. "I love you. Vivian Larne," he whispered. "I love you, wife. For a long time I've thought I'd never say that."
Feeling her tremble in response, he caught her wrists and raised her hands. Turning them palm up, he kissed them one at a time, lingering over them, breathing on her fingertips, licking them with his tongue, and nipping her index finger with his strong white teeth.
At his infliction of this tiny pain, she gasped. The fingers of her other hand curled round his cheek. Her fingernails scratched lightly at his skin.
He grinned, his teeth still imprisoning one of her fingers. "Have we reached a stalemate?"
She could feel a curling heat in her belly and an ache spread in her thighs. Involuntarily, she pushed her hips against him.
He gasped, freeing her finger and pushing her hands down to his chest burying the fingertips in the crisply curling hair above his masculine nipples. "Touch me," he begged softly. His lips tickled her cheek as he punctuated his words with kisses. "That's what lovemaking is, Vivian. Touch me and take me out of this place and time."
Excited as much by his deep voice, as by the warmth of his mouth, she kept her hands where he put them. His heart pounded against her palm, his skin warmed her fingers, and each crisp hair tickled.
Releasing her wrists, he began to unbutton the black velvet riding jacket. Her fingers roamed idly over his chest, finding his nipples and caressing them until they tightened and stood erect. The tender touch drove a groan through his set teeth. "Vivian. You learn fast."
His own hands trembled slightly as he continued his work of undressing her. At last the jacket was open and the shirtwaist beneath it. Pushing the lapels aside he framed her breasts before bending to kiss the tips of each one in turn through the sheer chemise. This time her fingers arched and her nails grazed his skin.
&n
bsp; Instantly, he exacted retribution by taking one engorged darkened point between his teeth and biting her gently. When she gasped, he raised his head with a smile. "Pleasure comes in unexpected forms, Vivian."
Under the blue sky he pulled the straps of her shift down to expose her swollen white breasts. Gently, he stroked them with his open palms while she shivered in pleasure. "God. You're so beautiful. You should never be made love to except in the sunshine."
His words made her blush, at the same time she felt the tingling ache in her breasts. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and set her mouth to the point of his shoulder.
"Beautiful," he whispered as he took the engorged tip in his teeth. Holding it firmly, he moved his lips around it.
She threw her head back, her mouth open to the sky, a silent cry of delight rushing from her throat. Dimly she thought that if she were ever going to speak again, she would shout her exquisite pleasure.
Then the sky and cliffs whirled above her and she lost all sense of time and place. No longer even remotely embarrassed, she felt only a dizziness, a light-headed floating feeling as excitement heated the blood in her veins.
When she swayed, he caught her in one arm and stripped the jacket and blouse from her body. She gasped at the sudden rush of cool air on her fevered skin, but he covered her mouth with his own and lowered her to the sand to lie on his coat.
Easing himself down on his side, adjusting his weight so it rested more on the sand than on his arm and shoulder, he continued to kiss and stroke her breasts with sensual sureness. At each new exploration with tongue or hand, she writhed and shivered.