by Lisa Kleypas
"I do understand." Her face was like an angel's, soft and compassionate. "And I believe what you've said… but I don't agree at all with the conclusions you seem to have drawn." Her hands lifted, molding against his lean cheeks. "You are a good man, a loving one. The rom baro tried to kill all that inside you, but he couldn't succeed. Because of your strength. Because of your heart."
She eased back onto the bed and drew him down to her. "Be at ease, Kev," she whispered. "Your uncle was an evil man, but what he did must be buried with him. 'Let the dead bury the dead'-do you know what that means?"
He shook his head.
"To leave the past behind and look only to the journey ahead. Only then can you find a new way. A new life. It's a Christian saying… but it would make sense to a Rom, I think."
It made more sense than Win perhaps even realized. The Rom were infinitely superstitious regarding death and the dead, destroying all the possessions of those who had passed, mentioning the name of the deceased as seldom as possible. It was for the benefit of the dead as well as the living, to keep them from returning to the living world as wretched ghosts. Let the dead bury the dead… but he wasn't certain he could.
"Hard to let go," he said thickly. "Hard to forget."
"Yes." Her arms tightened around him. "But we'll fill your mind with much better things to think about."
Kev was quiet for a long time, pressing his ear to Win's heart, listening to the even beat, and the flow of her breathing.
"I knew when I first saw you, what you would mean to me," Win murmured eventually. "Wild, angry boy that you were. I loved you at once. You felt it, too, didn't you?"
He nodded slightly, luxuriating in the feel of her. Her skin smelled sweet like plums, with an arousing hint of feminine musk.
"I wanted to tame you," she said. "Not all the way. Just enough that I could be close to you." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "Outrageous man. What possessed you to kidnap me, when you knew I would have come willingly?"
"I was making a point," he said in a muffled voice.
She chuckled and stroked his scalp, the scrape of her oval fingernails nearly causing him to purr. "Your point was well-taken. Must we go back now?"
"Do you want to?"
Win shook her head. "Although… I wouldn't mind having something to eat."
"I brought food to the cottage before I went to get you."
She ran a flirtatious fingertip around the rim of his ear. "What an efficient villain you are. May we stay all day, then?"
"Yes."
Win wriggled with delight. "Will anyone come for us?"
"I doubt it." Kev drew the bed linens lower and nuzzled into the lush valley between her breasts. "And I would kill the first person who approached the threshold."
A quiet laugh caught in her throat.
"What is it?" he asked without moving.
"Oh, I was just thinking of all the years I spent trying to get out of bed, to be with you. And when I came home, all I wanted was to get back into bed. With you."
For breakfast they had strong tea and rarebit, cheese melted on thick slices of buttered toasted bread. Wrapped in Merripen's shirt, Win perched on a low stool in the kitchen. She took pleasure in watching the play of muscles on his back as he poured steaming water into a portable hip bath. Smiling, she popped the last morsel of rarebit into her mouth. "Being abducted and ravished," she commented, "gives one an appetite."
"The ravisher as well."
There seemed a near-magical aura about this ordinary place, this small and quiet cottage. Win felt as if she had been caught in some enchanted spell. She was almost afraid she was dreaming, that she would wake alone in her chaste bed. But Merripen's presence was too vital and real for it to be a dream. And the small aches and twinges in her body offered further proof that she had been taken. Possessed.
"They all know by now," Win said absently, thinking of everyone at Ramsay House. "Poor Julian. He must be furious."
"What about heartbroken?" Merripen set the water can aside and came to her dressed only in trousers.
Win frowned thoughtfully. "He'll be disappointed, I think. And I believe he cares for me. But no, he won't be heartbroken." She leaned against Merripen as he stroked her hair, and her cheek brushed the taut smoothness of his stomach. "He never wanted me the way you do."
"Any man who didn't would have to be a eunuch." There was a hitch in his breath as Win kissed the rim of his navel. "Did you tell him what the London doctor said? That you were healthy enough to bear children?"
Win nodded.
"What did Harrow say?"
"Julian told me that I could visit a legion of doctors, and get any number of differing opinions to support the conclusion I wanted. But in Julian's view, I should remain childless."
Merripen brought her to a standing position and looked down at her, his expression unfathomable. "I don't want to put you at risk. But neither do I trust Harrow, or his opinions."
"Because you think of him as a rival?"
"That's part of it," he admitted. "But it's also instinct. There's something… lacking in him. There's something false."
"Perhaps it's because he's a doctor," Win suggested, shivering as Merripen drew his shirt away from her. "Men of his profession often seem aloof. Superior, even. But that's necessary, because-"
"It's not that." Merripen guided her to the hip bath and helped to lower her in. Win gasped not only from the heat of the water, but also from being naked in front of him. The hip bath obliged one to straddle the tub and relax into the water with the legs held apart, which was wonderfully comfortable in private, but rather mortifying with someone else present. Her modesty was further violated as Merripen knelt beside the tub and washed her. But his manner was not at all lascivious, only caring, and she couldn't help but relax under the ministrations of those strong, soothing hands.
"You still suspect Julian of having harmed his first wife, I know," Win said while Merripen bathed her. "But he is a healer. He would never hurt anyone, least of all his own wife." She paused as she read Merripen's expression. "You don't believe me. You're determined to think the worst of him."
"I think he feels entitled to play with life and death. Like the gods of those mythology stories you and your sisters are so fond of."
"You don't know Julian as I do."
Merripen didn't reply, only continued to wash her.
She watched his dark face through the veil of steam, as beautiful and implacable as an ancient carving of a Babylonian warrior. "I shouldn't even bother to defend him," she said ruefully. "You'll never be disposed to think well of him, will you?"
"No," he admitted.
"And if you believed Julian was the better man?" she asked. "Would you have allowed him to marry me?"
She saw the muscles in his throat tense before he answered, "No." There was a touch of self-hatred in his response. "I'm too selfish for that. I could never have let it happen. If it came down to it, I would have carried you off on your wedding day."
Win wanted to tell him that she had no desire for him to be noble. She was happy-thrilled-to be loved in just this way, with a passion that left no room for anything else. But before she could say a word, Merripen had taken up more soap, and his hand glided over the soreness between her thighs.
He touched her with love. And ownership. Her eyes half-closed. His finger eased inside her, and his free arm slid behind her back, and she leaned weakly into the cradle of his hard chest and shoulder. Even this small invasion hurt. Her flesh was still too newly broached, unused to being entered. But the hot water soothed her, and Merripen was so gentle that her thighs relaxed, supported in the buoyant warmth.
She breathed in the morning air, luminous with steam, scented of soap and wood and hot copper. And the intoxicating fragrance of her lover. She brushed her lips against his shoulder, savoring the rich taste of skin salt.
His warm tickling lingers stroked against her like the idle sway of river reeds… cunning fingertips that quickly di
scovered where she most wanted them. He toyed with her. parting her, slowly investigating the cambered softness and the sensitive places within. Blindly she reached down to grip his strong wrist, feeling the intricate movements of bone and tendon. He slid two fingers inside her, his thumb gliding over her sex in tender circles.
The water sloshed in the tub as she began to push up rhythmically, urging herself into his hand. A third finger worked inside, and she tightened and gasped out a protest-it was too much, she couldn't-but he whispered that she could, she must, and he stretched her carefully and took her groans into his mouth.
Splayed and floating, Win felt herself loosening, opening to the sensuality of the fingers reaching inside her. She felt greedy and wild, undulating to capture more of the obliterating pleasure. She actually clawed him a little, her hands scrabbling against his hard, bare skin, and he growled as if it pleased him. An abbreviated cry left her lips at the first shock of release. She tried to stifle it, but another was torn from her, and another, and the bathwater rippled as she shuddered, the climax lengthened by the delicately emphatic thrusting that continued until she was limp and panting.
Settling her against the high-backed tub, Merripen left her for a few minutes. She soaked in the steaming water, too replete to ask or notice where he'd gone. He returned with a length of toweling and lifted her from the bath. She stood passively before him, letting him dry her as if she were a child. As she leaned against him, she saw that she had scored little red marks on his skin, not deep ones, but marks nonetheless. She should have been apologetic, horrified, but all she wanted was to do it again. To feast on him. It was so unlike her that she withdrew into herself to ponder it.
Merripen carried her back into the bedroom and tucked her into a freshly made bed. She slid deep beneath the quilts and waited for him, drowsing, while he went to wash himself and empty the tub. She was steeped in a feeling she hadn't experienced in years… the kind of incandescent joy she had felt as a child waking on Christmas morning. She had stayed quietly in her bed, relishing the knowledge of all the good things that would soon happen, her heart alight with anticipation.
Win's eyes half-opened as she felt him climb into bed eventually. His weight depressed the mattress, his body startlingly warm against Win's coolness. Snuggling into the crook of his arm and shoulder, she sighed deeply. His hand made a slow, lovely pattern over her back.
"Will we have a cottage like this someday?" she murmured.
Being Merripen, he had already come up with a plan. "We'll live at Ramsay House for a year, more likely two, until the restoration is complete and Leo is on his feet. Then I'll find a suitable property for a farm, and build a house for you. A bit larger than this, I expect." His hand slid to her bottom, rubbing in slow circles. "It won't be an extravagant life, but it will be comfortable. You'll have a cookmaid and a footman and a driver. And we'll live near your family, so you can see them whenever you like."
"That sounds lovely," Win managed to say, so filled with happiness she could scarcely breathe. "It will be heaven." She had no doubt of his ability to take care of her, nor did she doubt that she could make him happy. They would create a good life together, though she was fairly certain it would not be an ordinary one.
His tone was sober. "If you marry me, you'll never be a lady of position."
"There is no better position for me than being your wife."
One of his big hands clasped over her skull, pressing her head against his shoulder. "I've always wanted more for you than this."
"Liar," she whispered. "You always wanted me for yourself."
Laughter stirred in his chest. "Yes," he admitted.
They were quiet then, relishing the sensation of lying together in the morning-filled room. They had been close in so many ways before this… They had known each other so well… and yet not at all. Physical intimacy had created a new dimension to Win's feelings, as if she had taken not only his body inside hers, but also a part of his soul. She wondered how it was that people could engage in this act without love, how empty and pointless it must be by comparison.
Her bare foot explored the hairy surface of his leg, toes nudging against hard-sculpted muscle. "Did you think about me when you were with them?" she asked tentatively. "Who?"
"The women you slept with."
She knew from the way Merripen tensed that he didn't like the question. His reply was low and guilt-roughened. "No. I didn't think about anything when I was with them."
Win let her hand wander over his smooth chest, finding the small brown nipples, teasing them into points. Rising on her elbow, she said frankly, "When I imagine you doing this with someone else, I can hardly bear it."
His hand came over hers, securing it against his strong heartbeat. "They meant nothing to me. It was always a transaction. Something to be done with as quickly as possible."
"I think that makes it even worse. To use a woman in that way, with no feeling…"
"They were well compensated," he said sardonically. "And always willing."
"You should have found someone you cared for, someone who cared for you. That would have been infinitely better than a loveless transaction."
"I couldn't."
"Couldn't what?"
"Care about anyone else. You took up too much room in my heart."
Win wondered what it said about her terrible selfishness that such an answer moved and pleased her.
"After you left," Merripen said, "I thought I would go mad. There was no place I could go to feel better. No person I wanted to be with. I wanted you to get well-I would have given my life for it. But at the same time I hated you for leaving. I hated everything. My own heart for beating. I had only one reason to live, and that was to see you again."
Win was touched by the severe simplicity of his declaration. He was a force, she thought. One couldn't subdue him any more than one could settle a lightning storm. He would love her as intemperately as he pleased, and devil take the hindmost.
"Did the women help?" she asked softly. "Did it ease you to lie with them?"
He shook his head. "It made it worse," came his soft reply. "Because they weren't you."
Win leaned farther over him, her hair falling in glinting light ribbons that went across his chest and throat and arms. She stared into eyes as black as sloe. "I want us to be faithful to each other," she said gravely. "From this day forward."
There was a brief silence, a hesitation born not of doubt, but awareness. As if their vows were being heard and witnessed by some unseen presence.
Merripen's chest rose and fell in a long, deep breath. "I'll be faithful to you," he said. "Forever."
"So will I."
"Promise also that you'll never leave me again."
Win lifted her hand from the center of his chest and pressed a kiss there. "I promise."
She was entirely willing, eager, to seal their vows then, but he wouldn't. He wanted her to rest, her body to have respite, and when she objected, he quieted her with gentle kisses. "Sleep," he whispered, and she obeyed, sinking into the sweetest, darkest oblivion she had ever known.
Daylight canted impatiently against the unlined curtains at the windows, turning them into bright butter-colored rectangles. Kev had held Win for hours. He had not slept at all in that time. The pleasure of staring at her eclipsed the need for rest. There had been other times in his life when he had watched over her like this, especially when she'd been ill. But it was different now that she belonged to him.
He had always been consumed with miserable longing, loving Win and knowing nothing would ever come of it. Now, holding her, he felt something unfamiliar, a bloom of euphoric heat. He let himself kiss her, unable to resist following the glinting arc of her eyebrow with his lips. He moved on to the rosy curve of her cheek. The tip of a nose so adorable that it seemed worthy of an entire sonnet. He loved every part of her. It occurred to him that he had not yet kissed the spaces between her toes, an omission that desperately needed to be corrected.
Win
slept with one of her legs hitched over him, her knee tucked between his. Feeling the intimate brush of blond curls against his hip, he went erect, his flesh alive with a hard, precise throbbing he could feel against the linen sheet that covered him.
She stirred and moved her limbs in a trembling stretch, and her eyes half-opened. He sensed her surprise at waking in his arms this way, and the slow dawning of satisfaction as she remembered what had gone before. Her hands crept over him, exploring softly. He was taut everywhere, aroused and unmov-ing, letting her discover him as she wished.
Win reconnoitered his body with an innocent abandon that seduced him utterly. Her lips brushed the taut skin of his chest and side. Finding the edge of his lowest rib, she gnawed gently, like a fastidious little cannibal. One of her hands trailed over his thigh and wandered up to his groin.
He said her name between fragmented breaths, reaching down to those tormenting fingers. But she swatted his hand away with an audible crack of skin against skin. And that aroused him beyond reason.
Win cupped the mass of him below, the shifting weights heavy against her palm. She squeezed, gently rolled the roundness, while he set his teeth and endured her touch as if he were being drawn and quartered.
Moving upward, she gripped the shaft lightly-too lightly. Kev would have begged her to do it harder had he been able to spare the breath. But he could only wait, gasping. Her head bent over him, her golden hair trapping him in a glimmering net. Despite his will to remain still, he couldn't stop the vicious twitch of his cock, the length of it jutting upward. To his shock, he felt her lean down to kiss him. And she continued, working upward along the stiff shaft, while he groaned with pleasure and disbelief.
Her beautiful mouth on him… he was dying, losing his sanity. She was too inexperienced to know how to proceed. She didn't take him deep, only licked the tip as he had done to her before. But holy Christ, it was enough for now. Kev let out an anguished groan as he felt a sweet, wet tug and heard the sound of her suckling. Muttering a garbled mixture of Romany and English, he seized her hips and dragged them upward. He buried his face in her, his tongue working voraciously until she writhed like a captured mermaid.