The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “Excellent choices,” she said with a sigh. His mouth tickled on her skin. “Where do you go from there?”

  He lifted his head to once more capture her eyes and grinned. “I was thinking here.” He didn’t look away as he lowered his head to capture her nipple, suckling it between his lips and teasing the peak with his tongue.

  Laura gasped and arched back on the bed. Still, she could not break contact with his eyes as he released the nipple and moved across to the other. He drew his tongue around the firm peak, then nipped gently on the tip.

  A small moan escaped her parted lips. Simon cupped the other breast, playing with the damp nipple between his fingers until her breathing turned ragged.

  “I assume you like this?” Simon said, lifting his head.

  “Very much.” Laura grinned at his teasing tone. “However, there are other areas sadly in need of attention.”

  “Is that so?” He cocked a brow.

  She nodded. “Several areas.”

  Sobering, he frowned. “Then I will be remiss if I do not explore every inch of you.”

  Laura watched with soft eyes as he moved down her body, kissing his way to her toes. When he finished the front, he rolled her over and kissed her back, caressing and kneading her flesh until she was groaning with the sheer pleasure of his ministrations.

  Her body tingled with each kiss and caress. He rolled her back over and kneeled between her legs.

  “Did I miss anything?” he said, sliding his gaze up and down her body. “I wouldn’t want to be taken to task for any errors.”

  There was only one place he’d clearly avoided. She looked down at the thatch of sable hair. Heat crept into her cheeks. The juncture between her legs pulsed, but she dared not ask him to kiss and touch her there. He would be scandalized and think her wanton.

  “Oh, dear.” He looked down to where her gaze rested. “I overlooked one important area.”

  Before Laura could lift her head to see where his intentions lay, she felt his hand move downward from her stomach to caress over the soft curls between her legs.

  From some disembodied place, she thought she heard someone whisper, “Oh, yes,” followed in short order by a deep male chuckle. But she wasn’t at all certain it was she who had spoken. All that came from her throat, when he slipped a finger between the folds to caress the throbbing nub, was some sort of mewling noise.

  “That’s it, love.” He caressed her, adjusting his movements and position by the pleasured sounds she made.

  Laura writhed and clutched the sheet as he quickly brought her to the pinnacle of her release. She cried out with both surprise and delight before falling back on the bed.

  Simon chuckled and bent to kiss her. “Clearly, we need to do that more often.”

  “Yes, please,” she said and smiled a grateful, dreamy smile.

  He, however, wasn’t finished. She watched through heavy lids as he cupped her hips and positioned her body beneath him. The sight of his erection chased aside the lingering fog of pleasure and she feasted eagerly on the sight.

  “Hurry,” she said softly, blushing at her boldness.

  “As My Lady commands,” he said, low and harsh. He slid inside her ready body and buried himself deep.

  Laura let out a glad cry as her body closed around his shaft. He groaned and rocked his powerful body against her. As he plunged and withdrew, she wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched his shoulders. Her second release was as welcome as the first. Her body shuddered and she whimpered.

  Simon leaned to kiss her, tangling their tongues together as he slowly built to his own release. He finally buried himself inside her with one last deep thrust, before pulling out to spill himself on the sheet. He was only gone for a brief moment before dropping next to her on the bed and pulling her into the cradle of his strong arms.

  “Happy?” he asked, his hand moving down her arm.

  “Very much so,” she answered honestly. She was truly happy. Turning her head, she pressed a few firm kisses on his warm skin. When she lifted her face to look into his eyes, her hair fell in casual disarray over her line of vision. Simon brushed the hair aside and tucked it behind one ear. There was tenderness to his attentions and Laura felt her heart tug again.

  Though she couldn’t love him, for a time he’d made her feel, and forget. For that he would always hold a special place in her mind and heart.

  “The storm seems to be gaining intensity,” he said. “It confirms that we will be spending the night after all.”

  This time, she didn’t protest. Not rain or wind or an angry Miss Eva could draw her from this bed. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

  “We will starve without food,” she said.

  He cocked a brow. “There must be something in the pantry. We can search once I’ve regained my strength. Who knew you’d prove to be such a demanding lover?”

  “It was all because of you,” she protested lightly. “You have a certain way with your mouth and hands.”

  “You mean like this?” He caressed her waist, her hip, her thigh, following with his eyes. His movements were not to inflame passion but felt more like he was making his own memories of her.

  “Just like that,” she replied as he lifted her hand to his mouth and nibbled her wrist. “Though you did miss a few places,” she teased.

  Simon smiled against her skin. “Fortunately, we have many hours until dawn.” He touched his tongue on her palm. “I intend to make love to you until you are unable to stand unaided.”

  Laura laughed, the sound carrying through the empty room. Then she shot him a sultry stare and reached between them to run her fingernail gently down his growing erection. He twitched.

  “Then let us not waste a moment talking.”

  The storm stopped sometime during the evening, but Laura hardly noticed the change in the weather. Simon had done just as he promised. He loved her all night. When she finally fell asleep near dawn, she didn’t have the energy to roll over, much less rise from the bed. So when he left the room, and then returned sometime later, all she could offer was a muffled groan, lying as she was, facedown, her head buried in the pillow.

  “As enticing as it is to spend my time staring at your perfect and bare bottom, you have to eat.” His pronouncement was immediately followed by a clunk on the bed table. “The pantry hadn’t much for food, but I did find some wine and canned meat. Getting the can open proved quite difficult.”

  At the mention of food, Laura lifted her head to sniff. She screwed up her face. “I’ve never had canned meat.”

  Simon looked into the bowl. “I understand it’s popular with the army. I had to use a sword to break the blasted thing open.”

  “Then we should try it.” Laura reached for a fork and gingerly stabbed a piece of meat and placed it on her tongue. “Hmm. It isn’t horrible.”

  Simon chuckled. “I think you made that exact sound several times last night.” He took a bite. “What is this?”

  “I’m not certain,” Laura replied. “Lamb, I think.”

  They ate quietly for several minutes. She thought it doubtful that she’d ever choose to serve this at her table; however, it was food and she was famished.

  “The next time I spend the night here, I will have hired a cook,” Simon remarked, reaching for the wine bottle. “I’ll be pleased to never eat canned meat again.”

  Once Laura had recovered a reserve of energy, she slowly pushed up on her bum. Her hair tangled over her eyes and she pulled the sheet up to cover her bare breasts.

  “It is a shame to hide them,” he protested and rubbed a hint of hair on his unshaven face. At her curious look, he pointedly stared at the covered pair.

  Her body warmed. “If I don’t, we will never rise from this bed.” Her narrowed eyes warned him off.

  Simon indulged her comment with good humor and cleaned up the meal. “I’ll hire a woman in the village to tidy up behind us after we leave.” He looked over the mussed sheets and even more mussed Laura with obvious
regret. “I wish we could stay the day but I have an appointment I cannot miss.”

  “And you are already in danger from Miss Eva. If you do not return me to the courtesan school soon, you’ll risk your head.”

  “Sadly, it may already be too late.”

  Laura nodded under the weighted twinge of disappointment when a ray of sunlight finally broke above the horizon and cast light into the room. “I have decided I truly hate the dawn. It comes at the most regretful moments.” She kicked away the sheet and slid from the bed. Simon wrapped his arms around her. “The night has too few hours.”

  They kissed. It was Simon’s turn to groan when he finally pulled back. “I hate to waste such nakedness, but I will be late if we don’t leave immediately.” He smiled at her frown and moved to collect her clothing. With the efficiency of a well-trained maid, he soon had her dressed.

  “You have as much skill dressing as undressing me, even with a sore shoulder,” Laura said, returning the favor by straightening his cravat. “You would make an excellent lady’s maid.”

  He bent to brush her lips one last time. “If I had my way, you’d never wear a stitch.”

  Laura grinned and pulled on the borrowed bonnet. “That would certainly shock anyone who crosses my path.”

  They shared a smile before Simon escorted her from the room and manor. As they rode off, she looked back one last time at the stone monolith. The house had been both the beginning of her darkest days and now, with Simon, the place of her most precious memories.

  “Laura?” He slowed his horse beside her and examined her face. “Is there something the matter?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, nothing. Truly.”

  And she meant it. He’d given her a gift she’d always cherish. She couldn’t marry him, have his children, or spend her life with him. But she had the stolen moments in his arms. Nothing could take this newfound happiness away from her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thankfully, Miss Eva wasn’t standing at the door of the school, wringing her hands with worry, when Simon dropped Laura at the back gate. The courtesans were still abed, and neither Miss Eva nor Miss Noelle had arrived yet. Sophie frowned but kept her tongue, not sure of what role to play as Laura’s protector.

  “We took shelter from the storm at a manor,” Laura said simply. She turned away to claim a freshly baked scone and to hide her blush and smile. “The owner of the house was most accommodating.”

  “Accommodating” was such a simple word for what Simon had done to her and what she’d done to him, so it wasn’t quite a full lie. Simon did not complain over her presence in his house. In fact, he seemed extremely happy to have hosted her.

  Sophie didn’t need to know they’d spent the night alone in his manor. It was best to let her think they’d accepted the kindness of strangers.

  Laura was entitled to her privacy.

  “You returned safely,” Sophie said stiffly. “That is what’s important.”

  “I am sorry if you worried.” She offered Sophie a tepid smile. “However, there was no way to send off a note in the storm. The roads were quite treacherous to travel.”

  Whether Sophie believed her or not, the explanation was reluctantly accepted. The woman nodded and left her to her meal.

  Laura wasn’t one of Miss Eva’s courtesans to be schooled and matched with a husband. She was a temporary guest and therefore not subject to the same rules as the other women. Still, Laura knew that her behavior would be noted by the courtesans if they saw her arrive at this early hour. It was a negative example to set. The school was meant to set rules of propriety, not break them.

  With discretion in mind, she snuck up the narrow servants’ stairs to her room, with hopefully no one the wiser.

  Miss Eva would not allow her to flaunt a love affair under this roof. Laura needed to tread carefully or risk being asked to leave. This was a school to help courtesans escape that life. She’d not look away if Laura openly took a lover.

  Thankfully, the courtesans were still sleeping and only Sophie knew she hadn’t returned late last evening.

  The bed called to her and she took the opportunity for a few hours of sleep. When she joined the courtesans later, she discovered them in the kitchen, hunched over a newspaper, shock and worry on their collective faces.

  “Laura, there’s been a murder.”

  The newspapers were often out of date by the time Cook or Thomas brought them in. By then, the news could be weeks old. And murders were not uncommon in certain areas of London. Usually they did not garner such excitement.

  Laura leaned over the freshly baked bread and inhaled. Her stomach growled happily. She took a slice and slathered it with butter. Taking a bite, she sat at the long table.

  “That is why we must stay in the safe areas of London,” she said and took another bite. The bread was delicious.

  “No, Miss Laura,” Bess said, her pretty face serious. “It was a lord who was murdered.”

  This finally drew Laura’s attention. “A lord?” Noblemen were seldom murdered—a broken neck from a fall from a horse, perhaps, but not murder. “This is big news.”

  Mariette nodded vigorously and wrung her hands. “Can you believe that Lord Westwick was murdered in the library of his very own town house!”

  Laura coughed, the bread forming a dry clog in her throat. Lord Westwick was dead? Murdered? Her stomach soured. She dropped her breakfast and stood. “Let me see that.”

  She took the paper and scanned the page. Lord Westwick, late of Mayfair, was found murdered by a footman in a town house he owned in Cheapside, a knife plunged into his back.

  Quickly, Laura looked at the date and dropped back on the bench. As she had suspected, and feared, the Times, in fact, was old. Westwick was discovered dead on the morning after her escape. Sometime in the wee hours after she’d fled, someone had killed him.

  Stunned, she read ahead with sickening dread as the article went further into detail of his violent death. But it was the final paragraph that burned bile in her throat.

  “The Bow Street Runners discovered an ear bob next to the body,” Bess said, reading over Laura’s shoulder. “They believe that His Lordship’s missing courtesan, a mysterious woman known only as Sabine, had killed him in a fit of rage and fled.”

  “I cannot imagine a woman committing such a terrible crime,” Jane added.

  The world around Laura spun, and only her hands clutching the edge of the table kept her upright in her seat. She heard distant voices but could no longer make out what was said. She stared blankly at the name, Sabine, those six letters mocking her with their clarity.

  Somehow she stumbled to her feet and made her way out of the room. The stairs proved a bigger obstacle as she used the rail to pull herself upward.

  How tragic the last few weeks seemed now. She’d thought she’d escaped from Westwick, only to discover that he’d exacted the ultimate revenge. He managed to get himself murdered, and she was wanted for his death.

  Even in death, the bastard wouldn’t set her free.

  If only she had the strength to run away, she thought, as she stumbled along the hallway to her room. Shutting the door behind her, she lay down on the bed. Rolling into a tight ball, she stared off, her eyes unfocused.

  She was no longer a false wife, an abused courtesan, the lover of Simon Harrington. She was again the mysterious Sabine.

  Murderess.

  Simon whistled a nonsensical tune as he wandered through the house, his mind on Laura. Calling for his valet and water for a bath, he shucked out of his rumpled still-damp coat and poured himself a brandy.

  Laura. He would never again sleep in that ridiculously large bed without thinking of her, sleep disheveled and lovely, with the sheet drawn up modestly over her breasts and a half smile showing beneath a tangle of sable hair.

  An hour later, fully bathed, polished, and famished, he wandered into the breakfast room, only to find his sullen sister pushing coddled eggs around on her plate.

&n
bsp; “Are Mother and Father still abed?” he asked.

  A sour grunt was Brenna’s response. Simon smirked and began to ladle foodstuffs from the buffet onto his plate. He needed something to banish the taste of canned meat from his tongue.

  “Having no luck in your hunt for a pirate?” He purposefully took the seat across from her, if only to raise her ire. He began the vigorous task of eating while she glared at him. “You might want to check at the docks. There might be one or two there. Check for a man with a wooden leg and a patch over his eye.”

  Brenna was pretty in a pink frock. The color went well with her dark hair. Chester Abbot would be delighted to have her as his wife. Well, as delighted as that milksop could be.

  “I am so happy to know that you find pleasure in my misery, Brother. One day soon, I hope you are just as miserable as I.” She stabbed a piece of ham and tore off a corner with her teeth. “I hope you are forced to marry a woman you despise and spend your life dancing attendance to her whiny demands.”

  Brenna was in a dark mood this morning.

  “Your troubles are your own doing, Brenna.” He leaned forward onto his elbows. “Several men have asked to court you and you find fault with all of them. You are pushing spinsterhood and have yet to find your one great love. How much longer do you have before you are no longer considered marriageable?”

  “I am barely into my twenties,” she protested. “Surely I am not in immediate danger of turning into a stooped old hag?”

  “That isn’t the point.” He sighed. Why did his sister have to be so contrary? “I want to see you settled and happy. There is no reason you shouldn’t already be a wife and mother. You’ve had chances, many chances. Several of those rejected men were both handsome and wealthy, and yet you refused them.”