by Deana James
"Open your eyes," he groaned against her breast, but the sun stabbed them and she could only blink before she closed them immediately.
He lifted his head to see her predicament, but she caught him in her arms and drew him back to kiss her nipple again and again. Her long slender fingers stroked his nape and curled in the short locks of his hair.
His need pressed hard, throbbing against his breeches. With clumsy fingers he tugged the heavy skirt up around her waist and placed his hand on the smooth flesh of her thigh above the wool and lisle stocking. As if he commanded, her thighs fell open and she tilted her hips upward.
"Why, Vivian," he murmured. "You've missed me every bit as much as I've missed you."
She shaded her eyes with her hand and stared into his face, trying to gauge his feelings about her eagerness, her lack of restraint. His expression was as pleased as it was loving.
"We're very lucky. Many people, forced to marry as we were, loathe their mates, but you don't loathe me, do you?"
She stirred. Ripples ran over her body radiating from the hidden spot between her thighs where his fingers were working their magic.
"Do you?"
She dropped her hand and clutched at the sand, lifting great handfuls in fierce ecstasy.
"Do you!?"
Her back arched, her booted heels dug into the soft sand. Her mouth opened in a silent cry of pleasure.
He rose on his knees and flipped the buttons open on the front of his buckskins. His good hand splayed under her buttocks and lifted them until he could bring the tip of his eager staff to the opening of her body.
Even as the ripples were dying, she fought their weakening effect. He wanted her. He had seen to her pleasure. She must give him the same. Her elbows and feet dug into the sand, lifting her torso. Setting her teeth with the effort, she rocked forward impaling herself.
He groaned as she sheathed him, groaned as he rocked back on his heels, lifting her, carrying her upward.
Her hands went over his shoulders and then she was clinging to him as he rammed upward again and again. His eyes only inches from her own glazed, a muscle jumped and clenched in his jaw. He rammed with all his strength.
Somewhere in her mind pain pierced her as he touched a place inside her that she had never known existed, a place that had waited for him alone, but then the pleasure began again, rippling, rippling. And she could no longer think. Instead came the waves of dizziness and excitement. Light-headed and breathless, she jolted like a doll, her legs wrapped tight around his hips. Her hair fell down around her shoulders.
It was going to happen again. And how could she bear it? The intense pleasure. The climbing higher and higher. The explosion.
A roar of pleasure burst from his lips. His strength sent her spinning off into space. His hoarse shout of triumph became the expression of her own voiceless cry. Shuddering, he collapsed, slipping to the side, careful not to fall on her, rolling over on his back to lie gasping in the sand.
She lay beside him, her hand trailed across his hot, damp chest, her body weak and boneless, her mind emptied of all thoughts. At last she reached across him and lifted his hand.
He opened his eyes.
"Love you," she wrote in the palm. "Loveyou." And kissed the spot she wrote in.
"Why don't you say it?" he whispered.
She looked at him sadly.
"You don’t know it, but you can talk. I’ve heard you."
She shook her head.
"Yes, I’ve heard you. You talked in your sleep."
She started up.
A horse nickered somewhere close by. She looked around fearfully. A cloud scudded across the sun, and she shivered at the sudden chill.
Piers rolled over and sat up, catching her and turning her back to him. "Don't be upset. I didn't mean to upset you. Maybe I dreamt it."
She sat back on her heels and lifted her hands to her throat. Her lips opened and shaped words. Tears started in her eyes.
"Don't." He put his hand over her mouth. "Don't try now. Just believe that you can do it. Now smile for me." Slowly, he took his hand away.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "Beautiful wife. I've never known a partner more loving, Vivian. No woman has ever done for me what you've done. I can't describe the pleasure."
Barbary neighed again.
"Someone's coming."
They climbed to their feet together. He helped her pull up her straps and adjust her undergarment over her swollen breasts. As he covered them, he could not resist dropping a kiss on one. Response lanced through her. She felt a not-quite-painful tightening in her abdomen. She shifted and looked around nervously.
He grinned as he closed her blouse and handed the jacket to her.
As he adjusted his clothing, he smiled to see her watching him. "Do you like what you see?"
She nodded and put out her hand to knead his thigh only a few inches below his crotch.
"Stop that," he growled, but she only smiled sweetly.
He caught her wrist and pulled her to her feet with a chuckle. "You can't believe how fast you'd be on your back again," he warned. "Whoever is coming would find his fishing trip more interesting than he ever imagined it could be." He shook the sand off his coat. "Of course, we could get very good at putting on public shows. Charge money and so forth. Certainly the most pleasant work in the kingdom."
She cuffed him on his good shoulder.
"Here." He shook out his cravat and handed it to her. "Be so good as to tie this into some semblance of a fall, sweet wife."
With fingers that shook slightly from weakness and reaction, she tied the cloth and slipped the ends inside his jacket. Then she had to kiss his cheek, and he had to clasp her waist and tantalize himself with her willing softness all along his length.
Neither could keep from smiling at the sight of the other's rumpled clothing. Piers adjusted her hat at a jaunty angle. "Beautiful face," he commented. "But we look like we had a rough ride."
Out from the shelter of the rocks and mounted, Piers looked around him. "I don't see a sign of anyone. Maybe Barbary was just impatient."
Vivian patted the arched neck. The wind blew her silvery hair across her face. She pushed it back and tucked it behind her ear. Beside her, Piers worshipped her with his eyes. The big gelding threw up his head and led the mare up the trail.
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That evening they dined with the earl for the first time since Piers's return. The table glittered with polished silver, sparkling crystal, and the opalescent gleam of fine china.
Piers looked around in amazement as he entered with his wife's slender white hand resting lightly on his velvet-clad arm. "My god, Vivian! If you can accomplish all this without a voice, the mind staggers to think what you could accomplish if you could but speak."
His pleased eyes swept her from toe to crown. She dropped a tiny graceful curtsy and inclined her head.
She had not really done so much as order its thorough cleaning and the maintenance of its furnitnre. The neglect of twenty years had been deep, but now fine objects reflected the light with a new life.
The Chippendale pieces glowed with massive elegance—their brass polished, their curlicues cleaned and waxed. Millard waited proudly to serve what was certain to be one of Cook's best efforts.
Vivian blushed with pleasure as Piers's extravagant compliment warmed her.
At that moment the earl entered the dining room, Mrs. Felders at his shoulder. He moved more slowly than usual, his hand pressed hard to his abdomen. As he sat down in the chair, his left eye twitched once, twice. Then it steadied, and his contorted mouth lifted in a smile.
Piers seated his wife with a whispered, "He looks just the same—angry."
Vivian braced herself to endure the cynicism of the evil old man who hunched like a smiling demon at the head of the table.
The viscount had not settled into his chair before Larne fired the first salvo. "You're looking quite well, both of you. An afternoon in the
sea air does wonders for the complexions."
Vivian in particular had acquired a pink tint to her fair skin. She looked to Piers, who nodded. "Clears the head, too, Larne. There were some days this past month when I thought I'd never get out of bed."
"But here you are, hale and virile, I don't doubt."
"Yes, hale and virile. Your concern has been most gratifying."
The earl shrugged. The left eye twitched violently. He batted at the air beside it. "I don't visit sickrooms as you remember."
"Not unless someone is dying in one."
The footman filled the earl's glass with red wine. Vivian allowed a small amount in her glass. Piers covered his glass with his hand.
The earl looked at him suspiciously.
"I seem to have lost my taste for it," Piers informed him. "My ... nurse refused to let me drink while I was taking medicine."
"Nonsense."
"Nevertheless, there's no point in starting it again." Piers smiled across the table. "My wife doesn't like me to drink. From now on, I abstain."
Before the earl could think of anything to say, Vivian signaled to Millard to serve the first course. The butler turned to the footman. Instead, Emma Felders came from the pantry with a tray.
Vivian flinched as the tureen of hot soup came over her left shoulder, but recovered herself quickly. She refused to allow the woman's presence to mar the feeling of happiness that rose in her. He had made her a pledge not to drink again. He had declared that he loved her. He had made wonderful love to her in a place that was now special to them both.
Tasting the clear soup, she eagerly glanced in Piers's direction. He had already tasted it and was smiling at her, waiting for her to catch his eye. "Good," he complimented her. "This is really good."
Larnaervon regarded them from beneath his white eyebrows. "Besotted, are you?" He chuckled. "Good job. Vivian. I told you he would fall in love with his nurse. Weakness makes fools of men."
She shot him a terrible look.
At his back Emma Felders allowed her pinch-purse mouth a small smile.
"Good job, this afternoon," the earl went on. "White sand. Blue sky. Glad to hear you've started working again on my grandson."
She could have killed him at that moment. Her fingernails scored the tablecloth on either side of her plate.
"Larne. What we do," Piers said, his eyes wintry, "we do because we want to, not for your satisfaction."
"To be sure. To be sure."The earl regarded her with satisfaction. "She's not stupid, you know. For all you were worried about her. She knows that she needs to produce the heir as soon as possible."
Piers regarded his father impassively. The aura of pleasure generated by his afternoon on the beach began to evaporate beneath the fire of his father's evil conversation.
"If you were honest with me, you would fall down on >our knees, both of you, and thank me for bringing you together." He winced. His left shoulder dipped badly. He tried unsuccessfully to raise it. "I brought her here, you know. Delivered her to you like a procurer. Brought you your perfect bride. I did it. My plans, my plots."
His gnarled spotted hands trembled as he reached for his wine. "A toast to plans and plots." The corner of his mouth sagged. His eyes twitched again. "A toas'."
The wineglass was in his hand, but he seemed to lose the direction of it. It wavered until he clutched its stem with both hands and leaned forward stiffly. With terrible slowness he was able to turn it up to his lips. A trickle of red slipped out of the side of his mouth.
Vivian and Piers exchanged worried looks.
Every bite and every sip thereafter seemed to require a conscious effort to partake. The old man's stock as well as the tablecloth became spattered with drops of soup and wine which fell from the spoon as he carried it to his lips or dribbled from his slack mouth.
Piers had given up eating to watch his father in horrified wonder. "Is he always this bad?" he mouthed silently to Vivian.
She shook her head.
In the shadows Mrs. Felders drew in her breath with a vicious hiss at which Millard rolled an eye in her direction and smiled coldly.
Lord Larnaervon gave no sign that he was aware of either his son's comment or the sound of the housekeeper's response. Instead he twitched his left shoulder irritably and swung his head to the side as if some bothersome insect tormented him.
They finished their soup in silence. After the footman carried away the plates and served the fish and vegetables, the earl seemed to recover and eat almost normally.
Piers looked around him with satisfaction. "I still can't get over how fine everything looks. Why paintings now are revealed to be actually renditions of some person or thing rather than shadows writhing in the dark. Mirrors cast true reflections and lamps cast light."
She smiled, a sparkling smile of pure and unalloyed pleasure that limned her features in radiance.
He blinked at it. His desire which he had thought sated in the afternoon quickened in him, and he shifted in his chair as his loins tightened.
"—Spanish Girl again in the month," Lord Larnaervon announced. "Piers!" Suddenly, he slammed his stick against the dining table making his son jump and his daughter-in-law cover her ears.
"Larne! Calm down!"
“Spanish Girl!"
"Let's discuss this tomorrow," Piers suggested, struggling for calm. "Vivian doesn't want to hear about the business."
"Besotted idiot!" the old man screamed. Spittle flecked with bits of food dribbled from the left side of his mouth. "Damn you! What? You dare to go weak and soft over her."
Anger gave him strength. He staggered to his feet. Millard moved back out of his way, but Mrs. Felders darted forward to offer her support. "Larne. Larne. Please, don't be so—”
Furiously, he swung his arm at the side of her head. As she stumbled back, he staggered around the table toward Vivian. "Georgina! You let them take it all. All that was to have been our substance. Damn you to hell, Georgina."
"Larne!" Piers's chair toppled back as he sprang to his feet.
"I’ll punish you. I’ll not have you destroy our son. "He raised the cane above her head. "By God! I swore I'd beat you till the blood ran."
Piers vaulted onto the tabletop, knocking flowers, utensils, service aside. The tablecloth slipped beneath his feet, but he managed to leap down in front of Larne and catch the uplifted stick as Vivian flung herself sideways from her chair to avoid it.
The old eagle eyes blazed with maniacal fire as he struggled to wrest the stick from his son's hand. "You dare! You dare! Damn you! Damn you! You'll not take my father's house. I’ll—”
He stiffened; his hand dropped to his side. Irritably, he twitched his left shoulder again and tossed his head. Puzzled, he stared hard at Piers and then turned away letting the stick fall from his hand.
"Larne." Felders pleaded in his ear. "Larne. Is it your side? Shall I get some soothing syrup? Tell me what's wrong."
He looked at her also as if he did not know her, then stumbled back to the head of the table to slump into his seat. Staring fixedly ahead, he rested his forearms on the edge of the table.
Bending to lift Vivian to her feet, Piers threw an outraged look over his shoulder in his father's direction. Something was definitely wrong. The old man had called Vivian Georgina. Tomorrow he must have a doctor. He pulled her chair away from the table and helped her to sit down. "Are you hurt?"
Quickly, she shook her head.
"Thank God. Clear away this mess, Millard."
"Yes, milord."
The servants hurried about their business, but the earl seemed oblivious to them.
"He hasn't finished his supper," Mrs. Felders objected. With trembling hands, she picked up his napkin and placed it across his lap. "Larne. Wouldn't you like some pudding?"
He paid her no heed.
Emma began to wring her hands. "Larne. Speak to me. Tell me what's wrong so I can help you?
"Lord Larnaervon," Millard said softly.
The earl did
not blink. His left eye no longer twitched although his mouth still hung slackly.
The butler looked helplessly at the viscount. Piers stared at his father then glanced at Vivian. She rose from her chair and cautiously approached the head of the table. Again the butler spoke.
Nervously, Vivian passed her hand back and forth before the staring eyes. They remained unblinking.
Emma Felders screamed.
Piers hurried around the table on the other side to speak to his father. At his son's touch the earl slowly slid to the side and slipped toward the floor. Piers caught his arm and saved him. Millard stepped forward exclaiming in horror. Vivian grasped the other arm and lent her strength to maintain the earl in a sitting position. His head fell back against the top of the chair.
No. You'll hurt him. Don’t touch him! He’ll be all right in just a minute. He's just dazed. Larne!" Mrs. Felders tried to shoulder Vivian aside to reach her lover.
"Brandy, Millard!" Tearing open the old man's neck cloth, Piers gave the withered throat space to breathe. A footman at the sideboard poured a glass from the decanter. The man handed it to Millard, who held it for Vivian to moisten the blue lips with her handkerchief.