She held out her arms to him and he fell to the bed beside her, kissing her again. There was no artful seduction to their embrace, no fine poetry or pastoral gentleness. There was only a fire, a raw longing that burned away all else.
He caught the hem of her skirt in his fist and dragged it up until she felt the cool air of the room rush over the bare flesh above her stocking. It was quickly turned to warmth as he touched her through the thin knit silk of the stocking, his finger dipping behind the velvet ribbon of her garter.
‘Such fine underthings you hide from the world, Mistress Barrett,’ he whispered teasingly. ‘So shocking.’
And he was the first to see them in a very long time—definitely the first to appreciate them. Anna tugged his lips back down to hers for another kiss, their tongues touching and tangling. He parted her legs and fell between them as she tilted her hips to cradle him against her. She felt the heavy, rigid press of his erection through his breeches, and it sent a tingling thrill through her.
He wanted her, too—just as she wanted him.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to him as their kiss slid deeper and deeper. Through that blurry, hot mist of desire she felt him tug the loose edge of her chemise lower to reveal her pale breast. He slid down her body to kiss the soft swell of it.
The tip of his tongue circled her aching nipple, only lightly caressing and teasing. Anna arched her back, trying to bring him closer, but he laughed and kissed the other breast, the soft, vulnerable curve of it just above the angle of her ribs.
‘Such pretty bosoms you have, Anna,’ he said, blowing ever so gently on a nipple as she trembled. ‘It’s a shame you hide them away as you do, for they are rare beauties.’
‘Teasing wretch,’ she moaned.
‘Oh? Is this what you want, then?’ He kissed her again, just at the hollow between her ‘pretty bosoms.’ ‘Or—this?’
At last he drew her pouting nipple deep into his mouth to suckle it, wet and hot and hungry.
Anna wound her fingers into his hair, holding him against her. He was so good at that—too good, for she couldn’t see straight when he touched her like that.
Rob slid even lower down her arched body, his mouth open against her skin. He kissed every freckle, every soft, sensitive spot, until he knelt between her legs. As Anna watched, breathless, he rose up on his knees before her and reached for her leg.
Through the thin silk of her stocking he kissed the curve of her foot, nipped lightly at her ankle, the vulnerable spot just behind it. His lips traced a warm path up the back of her calf, the turn of her knee—the angle of her thigh. His tongue dipped behind her garter, as his finger had earlier, and touched her naked, hot skin.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped as he knelt lower on the bed, looping her legs over his shoulders. She was open to him, completely bare—not even her husband had ever seen her thus.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, about such vulnerability, but Rob held on to her when she tried to close her legs.
‘Let me, Anna, please,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You are so beautiful. I have to taste you, feel you…’
And then he did just that. His fingers spread her hidden folds open to him and his tongue delved into her in the most intimate of kisses.
Anna’s head fell back to the pillow and her eyes fluttered closed. Slowly she let her whole body relax into the bed, let her thoughts and fears float away, and just—felt. Felt every touch, every sensation. Once she did it was as if she flew free into the sunlit sky.
A burning pleasure built up deep inside her, expanding and growing until it exploded and covered her in its sparkling light.
She had heard women at the bawdy houses and taverns laugh about such things, but she had never felt it before. It was wondrous. Dizzying.
Rob lowered her legs back to the bed and drew her skirts over her bare skin. He pulled himself up to lie beside her on the pillows and took her gently into his arms.
Anna felt him kiss her closed eyelids, her forehead, the pulse that beat in her temples. He smelled of mint and the clean salt of sweat—and of her own body.
‘Did I please you, fairest Anna?’ he whispered.
Anna opened her eyes and turned her head on the pillow to study him. His hair fell in tangled waves over his brow and his eyes were shadowed with—could it be worry? Concern? Did he actually think of her feelings now? A tiny fragment of worry and hope touched her deep inside, but she dared not explore that further.
She reached up and traced his cheek with the tips of her fingers. ‘I am overwhelmed,’ she said truthfully. He had swept over her careful life like a summer rain, exposing hopes she had thought long buried.
Rob laughed, and turned his head to kiss her palm. ‘Then I’m honoured to have overwhelmed you.’
She raised herself up on her elbow to study him. His face against the white pillow seemed dark and drawn, the elegant angles of his features tight, as if he was in some sort of pain.
‘You have not taken your pleasure,’ she said. She laid her hand flat on his naked chest and felt the erratic pounding of his heart, the thrum of his need. His penis was a hard ridge under his breeches.
‘I’m fine,’ he said brusquely.
‘And I know you are not,’ she argued. ‘I am no fine miss in an ivory castle. I know what happens to a man when he is unsatisfied.’ She slid her hand lower, over his lean waist, the hard plain of his hip. ‘Let me…’
Rob caught her wrist in a hard grasp before she could brush against his erection.
‘I’m quite well,’ he said. His voice sounded rough, and his hold on her was tight. Something about him told Anna she shouldn’t argue, even as she longed to with every fibre of her being.
He had just given her such pleasure—had given her the most intimate moment she had ever known with another person. Why would he not let her do the same for him?
Why would he not be with her in every way?
But he was surely right to cut this—whatever it was—now.
Anna nodded and he slowly let go of her hand. ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘You seem to want to be solitary.’
‘Nay, Anna, don’t go yet,’ he said, his voice growing gentler. ‘I don’t want to be alone. Not right now. I just…’
She nodded. Sometimes she also had no words when unexpected emotions overwhelmed all her senses and she couldn’t explain them even to herself. Moments just like this one. Lovemaking would only make that confusion a thousand times worse.
And what if there was a child? She had lost the one baby she’d conceived with her husband before it could even quicken, and had never had another, but with Rob who knew what could happen? She couldn’t have a babe now. She had to hide even as she longed for him to draw her out.
Still—her body did not know how to be sensible. It still wanted him, ached for him. She had to be stronger than her rebellious body.
Rob urged her to lie down on the pillows, and he eased her chemise back into place over her shoulders, re-tied the ribbons. As she closed her eyes, she felt him lie down beside her and take her into the circle of his arms. He smoothed her hair back from her brow and kissed her cheek in a soft, lingering touch.
‘Just sleep now, Anna,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with me. I’ll keep you safe here.’
Despite everything she had discovered today, against all odds, she did feel safe. Held there in his arms, she slowly drifted into dreams. Even if they were dreams that could never come true.
* * *
Rob gently smoothed the tangled waves of Anna’s hair as she slept in his arms, draping it like a silken cloak over his chest and shoulders as if he could use it to bind her to him. To make her his forever—even if she discovered the whole, terrible truth.
She slept peacefully, curled on her side against his chest, perfectly matched with him there as if they were made to be just so. Her breath was soft over his skin, and a tiny smile curled the corners of her dark pink lips in some secret dream.
She looked
so young and soft in her sleep, her face free of the caution she usually carried with her, the hardness that reflected her life and the suspicion she bore so rightly for the people around her. As he lightly traced her cheekbone with the back of his hand, and watched as a pale pink blush suffused her skin, he had a sudden vision, as if in the pastoral romance of a poem.
He saw Anna sitting beneath a tree at the edge of a green meadow, the shade of its spreading leaves dappling her face and hair and casting patterns over her white dress. Her hair was loose, red-brown waves over her shoulders, and the silken strands were strewn with summer flowers. As she leaned back he could see the swell of her belly under the soft folds of her skirt—she was with child.
A brilliant smile lit up her whole face. A smile filled with such peace and joy. And she held out her hand to him in welcome…
Z’wounds, he thought. Such peace would never be his, or hers, either. They had their lot in life, their place in the world, and he had learned long ago it wasn’t beneath some pretty country tree. Anna would never welcome him thus—and certainly would never grow round and glowing with his child—once she knew what he had to do.
He had certainly tried his damnedest to stay away from Anna Barrett, ever since he’d joined Lord Henshaw’s Men. He’d never thought to have a moment like this one, and he wanted to hold on to it—hold on to her—as long as he could. As long as he dared.
At least he had shown a trace of self-restraint, though his body certainly didn’t thank him for it. It ached and throbbed with sheer lust, with the strong urge to drive itself into her and lose itself in her softness and heat.
He gently brushed aside a lock of her hair and kissed the curve of her neck. She smelled of roses still, a sweet antidote to the stinking world outside. She murmured in her sleep and burrowed under the blankets.
Rob drew them up over her shoulders and eased himself away from her to let her sleep in peace—and remove himself from temptation. Their clothes lay scattered on the floor, and he scooped them up to drape them over the chair.
‘Grey again,’ he muttered as he rubbed at the plain-cut sleeve of her jacket. Why did she hide herself behind its drabness like that? She should be arrayed in purples, blues and greens, satins and brocades that showed off her beauty.
Or perhaps that was the whole point—to disguise and conceal. Just as he did. Only he hid behind attention-getting antics that disguised his real purpose, and she shrank back behind a thick grey cloud. She deserved so much more than to hide herself that way. She deserved all the finest life could offer.
He glanced at her where she slept so sweetly in his bed and wondered what secrets she sought to hide.
She stretched against the pillows, and her breasts were outlined by the thin blankets. Rob remembered how they’d felt under his hands, the sweet taste of her pebbled nipples on his tongue. The way she’d moaned with pleasure as he suckled her.
His body hardened all over again—painfully. It was a blasted terrible thing to decide to be honourable so suddenly. He spun away from the alluring sight of her slumbering in his bed and braced his palms on the edge of the desk. He tried to study the ink-scratched papers, but all he could see was Anna. All he could hear was her breath, the brush of her beautiful body against his blankets as she turned.
He impatiently tugged free the knotted lacings of his breeches and curled his fingers hard over the painful erection. Closing his eyes to picture Anna again in his arms, her legs spread to welcome him, her bare skin, he rubbed brusquely once, twice, again, until a modicum of relief came over him.
He had not done such since he was a callow boy, as there was never a lack of willing women in Southwark. It was nothing to what he really wanted—to have Anna Barrett fully, to possess her—but it would have to suffice.
Feeling wretched, Rob quickly cleaned himself with the cold water left in the basin and reached for a fresh shirt. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door—a too-loud rapping that tore into the quiet afternoon. Rob looked quickly to Anna. A frown drifted over her brow and she slid lower beneath the blankets, but she did not wake.
As he hurried to the door, he swiped a dagger from the table and carried it low at his side. No one should be disturbing him at such an hour. It was too early for most of the citizens of Southwark to be about, and he had paid his rent on time. He opened the door a mere inch and peered out.
It was a servant clad in Walsingham’s sombre black-and-gold livery. His glance flickered past Rob’s shoulder, as if he would try to peer into the room—even Walsingham’s footmen, pages and maids were trained to be ever-observant, and to report back what they observed.
But Rob blocked the small opening with his body, and he was much taller than the servant.
The boy smirked and gave a little bow as he held out a neatly folded and sealed note. ‘A message from the Secretary, Master Alden.’
‘Did he fail to inform me of something earlier?’ Rob asked, snatching the paper from his hand. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Mr Secretary never forgets anything. Nothing escapes his notice.’
Rob shut the door and listened carefully until he heard footsteps move away down the stairs. Only then did he turn back to his room.
Anna was awake on the bed, watching him. That taut wariness was back on her face, the soft peace of slumber gone.
Rob leaned back against the door and watched as she sat up amid the piles of bedclothes. She shrugged her hair from her shoulders and tugged the folds of her chemise closer around her.
‘Have you an errand to perform?’ she enquired.
‘Only one—to see you safely home,’ he answered.
‘There is no need. I know the way well enough, and I still have errands of my own before I return.’ She slid to the edge of the bed and flicked her skirts out of her way, baring her legs. As Rob watched, fascinated, she smoothed her stockings and carefully tightened the ties of her garter. She scooped up her shoes and looked about for her lost jacket.
Rob caught it from the chair and held it out for her to slip in to. After an instant’s hesitation, as if she was worried he planned some trick, she slid her arms into the sleeves. She stood very still as he skimmed her hair free of the collar and smoothed the strands down her back.
So, she was suspicious again. It stung, even as he knew she was quite right to be wary of him. She should suspect him.
She gently shrugged him away and went in search of her hairpins, scattered across the floor. ‘I must make it to Mother Nan’s before she grows too busy. She is behind on her rent, though she seems as thick with customers as ever.’
Rob reached for his doublet. ‘Then let me help you. I can be persuasive when I wish to.’
She glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘Aye, that you can. And I’m sure Mother Nan knows you well enough. Very well—come with me, then. But you shouldn’t feel obligated to me.’
‘Obligated?’ That was surely the very last thing he felt towards Anna Barrett.
She came to him and pressed her palms against his chest, where his doublet fell open. She went up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly, fleetingly. ‘It was a most pleasant afternoon, Robert. Thank you.’
Pleasant? Was that what she really thought? Rob caught her hand and reeled her back into his arms. He kissed her, hard and hot, with every rough bit of his longing and lust in it. His tongue pressed deep into her mouth, tasting her until she went limp against him. She held tightly to his shoulders.
He wanted to sweep her up, toss her onto his bed and make love to her as he had longed to do. Their capers earlier had only honed that desire to a feverish pitch, higher and higher, until it almost burned them both to ash.
But he was able to pull back from that fire at the last possible instant. He held Anna away from him as she stared up at him, her eyes wide and startled, her lips parted, glistening bright pink from his kiss.
‘We should go now,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Oh, aye,’ she whispered. ‘We most definitely should.’
&nbs
p; Chapter Eight
‘Anna? Is that you?’
Anna paused with her foot on the lowest step and silently cursed. She had taken great care to be quiet, gently opening the garden gate and creeping into the house with her shoes in her hand. It was an hour when her father was usually gone from home, seeking out a tavern or some other diversion, but she didn’t want to chance being caught. Not when she was so discomposed.
The house had seemed so quiet, so deserted and dark, but it seemed her father was home, after all. His voice floated out from the half-open door of the sitting room.
‘Anna?’ he called again.
‘Yes, Father,’ she answered. ‘It is me. My errands took longer than I planned, I fear.’
‘Come in. Sit by the fire. We have a guest.’
A guest? That was the last thing she wanted—to sit and chat with one of her father’s friends, calm and serene, as if nothing had happened at all. As if nothing had changed.
‘In a moment, Father. I need to refresh myself after walking all day.’
‘I’m sure you look quite well enough, Anna!’ Her father appeared in the doorway and held out his hand to her. ‘We have wine and a nice fire in here, and no grand company that expects fine satins and elaborate coiffures.’
Anna sighed in resignation and tucked a stray lock of hair back under her hat. ‘Very well. Just for a moment.’
She stepped into the sitting room and saw that her father’s guest was Henry Ennis. She wasn’t very surprised to find him at their hearth. He and her father had seemed to become good friends, despite the difference in their ages, and he was almost always at the theatre when she went there.
She remembered his declaration last night, the way he had taken her hand and said he wanted her to meet his family. She was used to drunken actors declaring passion for her, and had learned to easily fend them off. They seldom remembered when they were sober anyway, and if they did they laughed about it and it was gone.
But Henry looked at her now with such hurt in his eyes, as if he remembered every second and rued it. As if—as if he had been serious. He rose from his chair and gave her a low bow.
The Taming of the Rogue Page 7