by Louise Clark
He rubbed his stiff neck as he looked longingly at the bed. There was a divan in his dressing room that would have been more comfortable, but he was reluctant to leave Stephanie, although she appeared to be doing fine. He closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep, but it would not come. Damn! He thought, rising to stretch and pace.
At his movement, Stephanie muttered something incoherent, then began to shift fretfully in the bed. Nicholas quickly returned to his chair. Catching hold of her hand, he murmured soothing reassurances while stroking the damp silken softness of her skin. She sighed, then sank into a deeper sleep. Grimly, Nicholas considered his options.
He was stiff, cold, and tired, but wide awake. If he moved about, Stephanie would sense his absence and begin to shift uneasily. Potentially this could lead to trouble if she tossed about enough to break open her wound. On the other hand, his cramped muscles would not allow him to sit quietly beside the bed for the remainder of the night. What to do?
He made his decision quickly, as he was wont to do. Pulling off his outer clothes, he slid into the bed beside Stephanie. If she grew restless, he would know immediately. In the meantime, he would be warm and comfortable for the remainder of the night.
Though he had intended to remain awake, at some point Nicholas fell asleep. He woke with the first gray fingers of dawn teasing his eyes open and the enticing warmth of a woman's body in his arms. He moved his hands experimentally. The weave of fine linen gave way to the smooth silkiness of soft skin. Enjoying the sensation, he stroked gently. The woman in his arms moaned softly, which brought Nicholas's eyes fully open. His gaze focused and sharpened, searching for evidence of pain in Stephanie's face. Instead, he saw that she was smiling, though her eyes were still closed. Relieved, he cuddled her relaxed form closer and gave in to an urge to have her awake and aware in his arms. Holding her head cradled in the palm of one hand he drew her forward for a kiss that was both promise and transgression in one.
In Stephanie's half-conscious state, the gentle touch of his lips on hers heightened the sense of unreality. The pleasure of being in Nicholas's embrace held at bay the strict rules under which she had been brought up. Obeying her instincts, she opened her mouth to the probing of his deepened kisses. The taste of him was sweet and musky, tantalizing her senses, teasing her body with demands that mystified her.
As the kisses spread a fire through her limbs that had nothing to do with her injury, Stephanie moved experimentally. She discovered that she was curled against Nicholas. One of his arms cradled her head, while his hand gently stroked her nape. There was nothing soothing about his soft caress, though, or the way his other hand scratched lightly along her thigh. Her hips arched against him as her hands sought to bring him the same sweet torment.
His thin lawn shirt was stretched tight across his chest. Stephanie's questing hands could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the linen, and as she caressed him, a faint brush of hair tickled her palms, fascinating her. She tried to burrow below the cloth, but movement of her injured arm reminded her that, for now, passivity had much to recommend it. She relaxed against him, abandoning herself to the pleasures that were hers to take.
The manner of the kisses changed, becoming playful as Nicholas withdrew a little to nibble and tease her eager lips. At the same time, his hand shifted from her hip to her waist, sliding beneath the overlarge shirt he had put on her earlier, then stroking along her rib cage until his thumb rested just below her breast. Slowly he brushed the sensitive skin, tantalizingly close to the aroused point, but never actually touching it.
Stephanie groaned with voluptuous pleasure.
Nicholas pulled his mouth from hers long enough to mutter thickly, "Stephanie. Dear heart, your shoulder. I'm sorry. I didn't think..."
Stephanie opened her eyes with lazy exultation. A smile as old as enchantment curled her lips as she gazed into his smoldering blue eyes. "Chère Nicholas, my English lord, I feel nothing but the rough warmth of your skin and the strength of your body. I want that warmth, that strength." She eased her hand slowly up his chest, delicately touching the sensitive skin on his neck, before resting her fingers on his cheek. "I feel only you. I want only you."
Even in the half-light of dawn, he was able to see the proof of her statements in her eyes. She was temptation personified, surrendering to his greater strength, but seducing him with her demands. In the unreality of the pre-dawn hour, he overrode the gentlemanly code that had kept him from her that day by Silver Brook. Her lips were sweet, her body soft and giving. He covered her mouth with his, even as he wished he could cover her body fully. Stephanie welcomed his renewed touch with a little sigh of pleasure that was swallowed up by his own hoarse sound of passion.
When his hand moved to enclose her breast and his thumb finally satisfied the aching need at its tip, Stephanie moved instinctively to allow him greater access. Her mouth on his was demanding, and the hand at his neck scratched sensually along his skin.
Obeying her unvoiced request, he gently eased her onto her back. "I don't want to hurt you," he muttered as he shifted, so that his male hardness rested against the moist softness of her femininity.
Stephanie dragged her lips away from his caress long enough to say tenderly, "You could never hurt me, milord Nicholas."
He groaned and buried his head in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. "Stephanie!" he said between nibbles. Her skin tasted of salt and arousal. "Mademoiselle, you are enough to drive a man mad."
She chuckled deep in her throat. Her fingers tangled in his black hair, clenching as his mouth taught her sensations she had never known existed before. "As long as it is only one special man, I care not." She sighed with pleasure as her body arched with need. "And it is I who is being driven mad with every touch of your lips, every stroke of your fingers, the very caress of your body on mine." Moving instinctively, she opened her legs to invite him in.
Nicholas paused. In the half-light, his eyes scanned her face, and the aching need he saw there released the last light bond of propriety. Desire, for him and him alone, warmed her dark eyes and shone in her expression. Excited beyond reason, he slid into her softness, taking what she freely offered. The barrier of her virginity caused them both a moment's pain; then he was solidly anchored within her.
"Damn!" he said, his lips teasing the edges of her mouth. "I didn't want to hurt you."
The sharp pain of her initiation into womanhood had been nothing compared to the agony of the pistol shot, and every tantalizing little kiss was heating her unmercifully. Stephanie twitched uneasily under him, wanting something, but unsure of what it was she desired.
She knew when he gave it to her. He moved inside her, each smooth stroke branding her as his. Her body wanted to writhe beneath him, but he kept her still, fearful that she would harm her wounded shoulder. His gentle control enhanced sensations that were new and beautiful, pushing her beyond the desire for physical satisfaction into a surrender that could only end with her conquest of him. Her body tensed in the agony of near fruition. "Nicholas! Chèri, what are you doing to me?" she gasped, arching against him.
His laughter tickled her skin. "Loving you, sweet Stephanie." His movements intensified, pushing her over the edge into such fiery pleasure that she cried out wordlessly. His mouth drank her cry of surrender, even as he made his own surrender to her.
"Sweet Stephanie," he whispered, shifting his weight so that he was no longer on top of her, but keeping her cuddled against him. Her dark, tangled hair tickled his arm, and he smiled at the careless way it lay about her face. "Sleep," he murmured, stroking the dark silken strands away from her features. A small smile curled her lips, but her eyes were closed and her breathing deep and even. "Sleep well, my love," he whispered.
The next time he woke, it was dawn. Stephanie was still lying against him, but she was on her back, her hair tousled, her expression satisfied. His shirt, which was far too big for her slender form, had fallen away from one shoulder, exposing the rising mound of her breast. Thr
ough the fine cloth he could see the enticing pink of her aroused nipples.
Once again he wanted her. His body tightened, anticipating the pleasure of joining with her. If he lowered his head and kissed her lips, he could waken her as he had before. She would respond and their lovemaking would be as sweet and wonderful as the first time.
Then, tired as they both were, they would probably fall asleep. And when he reawakened, it would be to find his manservant staring at them aghast. Stephanie's reputation would be in shreds and they would have to marry. As much as he wanted to join his life to hers, he could not put her through the shame and humiliation of being the talk of society, even if it ensured that she would be his.
To care so much for a woman that he would sacrifice the deepest desire of his heart in order to spare her pain confirmed the heady notion that he was truly in love. Stephanie made him feel things he did not know existed between a man and a woman: she was his other half. When the moment was right, he would make her his legally, as he had already done physically.
As little as he wanted to rouse her from her peaceful slumber, he knew that he must if he was to preserve her reputation. "Stephanie," he murmured softly, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. "Wake up, love."
She moved and sighed. "Is it morning?" she asked without opening her eyes.
"Alas, it is and I must return you to your own bed."
"Hmmm," she agreed sleepily. Lazily opening her eyes, she looked deep into his. "I don't want to go, you know."
A wry smile softened the passionate line of his lips. "If this were an ideal world, I would never let you go. But the servants will note your empty bed and talk amongst themselves. I would not subject you to that sort of gossip, sweet Stephanie."
"Vraiment, I know that, milord Nicholas." She smiled sadly and sighed. "I know I cannot stay, for gossip leads to questions, and questions we cannot have."
For a moment her expression was haunted with fears, both old and new. Nicholas stifled a curse and made a promise. "I will protect you, Stephanie. Now and forever."
She smiled trustingly. "I know that, Nicholas. I have known that for some time now."
* * *
The butler brought the tea tray into a salon that had grown suddenly silent. He placed it on a low table in front of the Countess, who was sitting in solitary state on a green brocade sofa. He bowed. "Will there be anything else, my lady?"
"We are fine," she said, waving him away.
As the door was quietly closed, Nicholas shook his head. "He'll be down in the kitchen speculating on what's amiss before we know it. Our objective must be to continue our normal routine, and above all, to act naturally." At his words, the enigmatic portrait of Charles II seemed to smile approvingly from its perch over the fireplace.
Tony Baxter's eyebrows rose. "And where, cousin, did you acquire the knowledge of how one should cover one's trail in the event of a crime?"
"It's mere common sense," Nicholas said with some asperity.
"Indeed." Tony stretched his long legs and rose from the chintz sofa to stroll over to the door, which he threw open with considerable force. The hallway beyond was empty. "Common sense," he observed calmly, "is not always the most reliable indicator."
The Countess, holding the teapot aloft, was staring at him as if he had gone mad. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Common sense," Tony said as he returned to the sofa, having carefully shut the door once more, "told me that the butler would listen at the keyhole if he was curious. Servants always do, you know. That's why it's so hard to keep a secret in any household."
"If I find any servant of mine listening at a keyhole, I shall dismiss him or her immediately." Madeleine set about the ordinary task of pouring tea. "Now, shall we discuss more important issues?"
"We have no choice but to sort out the problem now," Nicholas said. "Longrin is to wait on me today and I suspect he will call in early afternoon."
"Why?" Tony asked curiously, accepting a cup of tea and adding sugar.
Nicholas shrugged. "He and his men patrol in the evening and at night, which suggests that he will find his bed rather late, and in consequence, will rise equally late. He should be ready to face the world by noon or thereabouts, I suspect. It would be impolite to call on me at a time when I might be at luncheon, so he'll wait a couple of hours." He raised one brow at the fascinated expressions on the faces of Tony and his aunt. "Have I sprouted a tail and horns?"
"Perhaps you have," Tony replied slowly. His probing gaze suggested that he was extremely suspicious, but Nicholas no longer cared. His days of slipping incognito into France were over, he had decided. If his family should find out what he had been doing the past two years, what matter now?
"Absurd!" announced Madeleine, passing Nicholas a teacup. "If Nicholas is correct, we have very little time. Now, Nicholas, are you sure Stephanie is truly this odious highwayman?"
"There can be no doubt, Aunt."
"But why? Was she bored in the country?"
"Not bored, Aunt, but desperate. She needed money."
The Countess took a sip of her tea and contemplated this. "Mont Royale is fabulously wealthy. Of course, much of his fortune is tied up in land, but I know Stephanie brought a considerable sum out of Paris in the form of jewels."
Nicholas leaned back in his chair. "She did, and tried to sell them. I stopped the sale and confiscated the jewels. So she next tried to win the funds she needed."
"Which was why she teased me into agreeing to teach her how to play piquet successfully!"
"Exactly, my dear Tony."
"But I don't understand!" The Countess set her cup firmly on the table. "Why does she need money so badly?"
"Her father," Nicholas said simply. "She is afraid he will wish to leave France and not be able to do so, as he sent all their accessible funds out with her."
"That is absurd," Madeleine said forcefully. Then she corrected herself. "No, it is Stephanie—caring, impulsive, undaunted by any obstacle. Very well, then, she is the highwayman and the odious fat man shot her last night. Is the wound very bad?"
"A flesh wound, no more," Nicholas said calmly, causing his cousin to cast him another speculative look. "It's painful, but she will be fully recovered within a fortnight."
"I've told the servants she has a headache and that the draperies in her bedchamber are on no account to be opened. Nor is she to be disturbed. We can use that excuse for a day or two, perhaps three. But what do we do then?"
"By then," Nicholas said rather grimly, "I hope to have convinced the good Captain that the highwayman is still at large and not at all incapacitated by the shot that was fired last night."
A grin that was pure youthful delight lit up Tony's face. "I say, cousin! Are you going to pretend to be the highwayman yourself?"
"That was my idea, yes."
"How devilishly exciting! Can I join you?"
Nicholas shook his head. "The highwayman was a solitary marauder. I don't want to change any part of Stephanie's masquerade, or the Captain may well suspect that the man he's chasing now is not the original robber."
"I would stay well in the background," Baxter coaxed.
Nicholas was saved from replying by the arrival of Captain Longrin of the tenth dragoons. "Right on time," Nicholas muttered, glancing at the mantel clock in its gleaming walnut case as Jordan ushered the man into the room. Nicholas looked sharply at his aunt and cousin and received encouraging nods. Only partly reassured, he drew a deep breath and turned to meet his visitor.
Longrin, dressed in uniform—scarlet tunic, white breeches and black jackboots—marched across the room and stopped with parade ground precision before Nicholas. "Good day, my lord."
Half expecting to be saluted, Nicholas bowed fractionally. "A pleasure, Captain Longrin. May I introduce you to my aunt, the Dowager Countess of Wroxton, and my cousin, Mr. Anthony Baxter."
Longrin bowed with a flourish and said that he had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Baxter earlier. The Dowager aske
d him to join them in a cup of tea. He accepted readily.
Once he was seated and holding his cup and saucer, he came straight to the point of his visit. "You will forgive me, ma'am, if I dispense with small talk, but I wish to bring the Earl up-to-date on this pesky highwayman who has been terrorizing the neighborhood."
"Terrorizing is far too strong a word to describe what this man has been doing, Captain," Madeleine said sharply. "To rob the wealthy occupants of a few coaches hardly compares with the violence which is occurring just beyond the Channel in France. That may be properly described as terrorizing."
"I am merely an officer of the Crown, not a diplomat skilled in foreign affairs, ma'am. I prefer to leave the internal problems of another nation to those who need to concern themselves with the subject," Longrin replied dismissively. "I am charged with ridding this area of a criminal, and that is exactly what I intend to do."
"Most commendable." Nicholas kept his tone cool and somewhat bored as he took the opportunity to wrest the conversation away from Madeleine. He probed gently into the Captain's plans. "Just how do you intend to do this?"
"The highwayman seems to be extremely fond of this stretch of highroad, which inclines me to believe his lair must be located in this area. The fellow is probably a local man seeking a source of easy funds. Not only will I patrol the roadways at night, but I shall be looking for a man whose habits have suddenly changed."
Raising his brow skeptically, Nicholas said, "I can understand the rationale behind the night patrol, but I do not see the purpose of the second part of your plan."
Longrin fiddled with the handle of his teacup. The thin china looked absurdly frail in his big, square hands. Nicholas had a daunting mental image of those hands closing around Stephanie's neck. He pushed the image away, before it caused him to break his concentration and let something slip.