Lord of the Abbey

by K. R. Richards

  “That is my intention, Luc, but as I already informed you of Rowena’s past, you must realize that I must tread very carefully in pursuit of her. She fears marriage. My hopes are that she can trust me enough to marry me.”

  “We will help,” Newt supplied with a sly grin as he turned the stem of his crystal glass in his fingers.

  “I don’t need help.” Harry raised an eyebrow in warning.

  “You do. We will.” Newt grinned mischievously. “Remember the Avalon Society oath?”

  “Brothers to the end, I know.” Harry thrust his fingers through his hair. That was all he needed, the five of them meddling in his affairs. Very delicate affairs. The thought frightened him to his toes.

  “And your end shall be the altar, my brother. A place you swore you’d not rush to. But here you are. On the precipice. Better you than me, I’d say.” Wyldhurst laughed heartily and was joined by all but Harry and Micah.

  Micah spoke in Harry’s defense, “We will give Harry and Lady Rowena a wide berth, gentlemen. Let them make their own way. For in case you gentlemen hadn’t noticed, Lady Rowena, although an unrivaled beauty and a brilliant scholar, definitely is not certain when it comes to the ways of men. She is no longer as shy or nervous in our company as she once was. She does not readily trust men, and you all know why. She does need patience to overcome her fears. We can give them time alone, we can protect her. We will leave Harry to woo her. For marriage cannot be forced on her. She’d likely not take it well.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Lady Rowena has obviously gotten under Wincanton’s skin too!” Lyon declared with a wink and a large grin, to the two newest colleagues joining their party.

  “I admire her intellect is all,” Micah offered in his own defense. He held up his hands.

  “So you keep saying.” Harry raised a brow toward his friend. In truth, Harry knew Micah was no threat. He clearly saw that Micah admired Rowena. Micah and Rowena interacted more as a brother and sister might. Together, the two could unravel any mystery. He noticed the way their intuitive minds melded and saw how well they worked together. And since Micah was still a grieving widower these seven years past, Harry realized that Rowena brought healing to his friend somehow.

  Exactly how he couldn’t place, but Micah seemed more like his old self here in Glastonbury. More so than he had since both his Lucy and their first child, a son, died during the birth.

  Harry spoke, “Thanks for the help in advance, stolen moments are all I’ve gotten thus far, and I will definitely appreciate more time alone with Rowena, but as Micah said, the wooing is left to me.”

  “When the banns are cried, half the unmarried young ladies in London will be in tears,” Lyon grinned.

  “More like their elder married sisters and mothers.” Newt’s comments drew some snickers. “You must admit, Harry, your reputation with the young and vivacious matrons was legendary. ‘Tis said you were the first name on every guest list during each Season.”

  Harry grinned. “The gossips create legends. They definitely inflated my reputation as a rake. Your reputation might even outshine mine, Newt. Not only are you deadly in a fight but I recently heard you’ve left more bleeding hearts strewn in your path than the poetry of Lord Byron or Cowper.”

  “I imagine you shall be busy, Newt, now that Harry’s retiring, with all the lonely jilted matrons he left behind pining for a lover,” Lyon remarked.

  “No busier than you, Lyon. If anyone has left a trail of broken-hearted females, it is you! I even hear of your conquests in Bath. Mon Dieu! Do you wish to die? The wives and sisters of Dukes, Marquesses, politicians? And multiple women at one time!” Wyldhurst shook his head. “I keep one mistress at a time. On occasion two. I like being cautious. It keeps me from being murdered in a dark alley or in my bed.”

  “I like discreetness too, but when a very attractive and sexually overactive matron offers her charms and a night of unbridled lust, I find I am unable to decline the opportunity to oblige myself to the fairer sex. Why should I take a woman for a marriage partner who will open her legs to me on occasion out of wifely duty, when I already have an entire harem of willing, wanton females who are more than eager to sate my desires. Every last one of them. Many times a night if necessary.” Lyon smiled smugly.

  “But someday, Lyon, you’ll have to produce an heir. A mistress can’t do that for you!” Micah said pointedly.

  “As will you, all of you!” Lyon’s smile widened as his comrades grumbled. All except Harry. He smiled.

  “It’s past midnight.” Harry yawned. “I’m up at dawn to relieve Wyldhurst and Newt. I’m off to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’ll be up awhile, Harry,” Micah informed. “I intend to sit in the library and really study and compare the two letters of William Dulac, see if we missed something else as obvious as the Esau Davitt connection. If I feel like it, I may search the books original to Dulac manner. Our outing to the George and Pilgrim cancelled our plans of earlier. You should check in on your Lady before you turn in.”

  “I’d already thought of that.” Harry left the room and headed upstairs.

  “Time for us to relieve Charlie in the gallery.” Wyldhurst stood and stretched his large frame. Newt followed him.

  “I suppose I shall go on to my lonely bed, bereft of any willing, wanton female.” Lyon frowned. “I think I will circulate in town tomorrow. See if I can’t find a willing female who wishes for a romp, or worst case scenario visit one of the taverns to see what sport I can find there. I’ve a reputation languishing here!”

  “You’ll live through it, Lyon.” Micah chided as he returned to the library table.

  Harry wasn’t sure if waking Rowena up was the right thing to do, though he ached to do so. He wanted to refrain from frightening her if at all possible. But he wanted to hold her and touch her, for more than just a few minutes at a time. The stolen moments were precious, but also frustrating for him. He wanted more. More time. He realized then his intentions of not wishing to rush her were good, but his lust encouraged him to hurry and bend her to his wishes. He was eager to reach the point where he did not have to seek out stolen moments. As it was, Rowena’s door opened slightly as he turned the knob and pushed open the door to his own room.

  “Harry, is everything all right? I woke up and heard voices and someone on the stairs.” Rowena stifled a yawn. Her golden curls were loose and spilled about her shoulders.

  “Everything is fine, my sweet. I’m sorry if we woke you. Things got a bit boisterous downstairs.” He closed his chamber door. Went to her. Stood rigid before her. Wanted to kiss her. Hold her. Wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to do only that much.

  “Harry, you promised at the Tor we would finish our, uh, conversation later,” she whispered.

  Her eyes were a stormy gray and blue. “I did.” Harry held his breath. He took a step closer to her. Rowena reached up, slid her arms around his neck. Harry remained perfectly still. “We can’t very well converse as we did earlier in the hallway, Rowena.”

  “No. I suppose not. Will you come into my room?”

  “Only if you promise to tell me to halt if the conversation goes, um, too far for you. I promise you I will leave and return to my room at any time you wish, if necessary.”

  “I give you my promise, Harry.” Rowena’s arms left his neck. She opened the door wide behind her, took his hand and tugged him inside. She had no intentions of sending Harry away.

  Harry allowed her to pull him inside her room. He closed the door, snubbed the lock in place. He looked at the large Jacobite testered bed, then the only comfortable chair in the room. His fingers already entwined in hers, he pulled her toward the chair. Too soon for the bed. Especially such a large and magnificent bed as that. Slow. He cautioned himself. He had to take things slow with her, despite what the flame burgeoning inside demanded.

  He sat in the overstuffed chair before the dying fire and eased her onto his lap. He liked the way her silken hair fanned about them both. Ached
to wrap his hands in it. He cradled her in his arms. Tangled one hand in the silken curls at her nape. Sought her lips. Kissed her deeply. Reveled of the feel of her in his arms, the soft curves of her derrière against his awakening erection. The thought that her naked body was separated from him by only his clothes and a transparent piece of fine, nearly transparent linen hardened him further.

  Harry sighed. He lifted his head. Let his eyes feast on the sight of her in his arms. Seeing a hint of the pinkness of her nipples through her gown, his fingers had to touch. To tease. The pert pink tips hardened beneath his ministrations.

  One hand explored her body as he kissed her again. His fingers moved from her breasts to sweep over her shapely legs, the curves of her buttocks, her back, shoulders and arms. More boldly, Harry began to caress, tease, and lingeringly touch. All the while he supped at her mouth. She moaned softly as he explored. Growing impatient with the thin fabric concealing her charms, he pulled her drawstring, lowered the neckline of her nightrail to expose her round, silken breasts to the cool night air. His hands at her ribs, he sat her up momentarily, allowing the fine linen to pool around her hips. He gazed hungrily at the site of her naked upper torso.

  “Beautiful. So beautiful, Rowena.” Harry’s deep whisper was like a caress.

  He eased her head back against his shoulder once again. Harry’s mouth left hers, moved from her chin down her neck, he paused to place a lingering kiss to the hollow of her throat. Heard something not unlike a purr as his tongue laved her. His lips and tongue scorched a path downward across her collarbone, then onward, to the mound of one ripe breast, where his tongue laved, teasing the tender skin of the full mound. He lifted his head. Grazed a finger across the pert bud. Watched it pucker and harden. He dipped his head to continue his tender assault. He came nearer to her nipples each time, but never took them, causing Rowena to gasp in frustration.

  Heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs, her breath became ragged, and she arched and squirmed when he finally took one sensitive nipple in his mouth and suckled her, tenderly at first, then harder, more forcefully he sucked her nipple into his warm mouth. Then he moved to worship the other breast in the same way, his free hand covering the mound he just left, still caressing, teasing.

  The double assault was sweet torture. Rowena reached up, removed the diamond pin from Harry’s cravat, and untied the silk. She let the strip of cloth float to the floor. Her fingers worked to open his waistcoat, then his shirt, and finally, after a small struggle, it was open and she gazed triumphantly at his chest, covered with a fine coating of crisp dark hair. Her fingers explored the hard ridge of muscles, moved through the crisp dark hair, found his flat nipples, realized they hardened under her touch. His sudden intake of breath emboldened her to explore further. She allowed her tongue and lips to tease his nipples as he had done to her. She placed kisses to his neck while his hands still focused on her breasts.

  “You are lovely, Rowena,” Harry murmured while his hands traveled over the creamy, translucent skin of her upper body. Even more beautiful than Botticelli’s Venus! He gazed at the delicate pink tips of her lush breasts, kissed them each again. Caressed them. Watched her nipples pucker at his touch. He saw her flat abdomen exposed by the continually slipping night dress. Another inch and he’d be able to see the top of the triangle of curls protecting her mound. He ached to set himself free from his trousers and slip into her, just as they were. In the chair. Let her ride him. No! Too fast. Too soon. Trust. She was an innocent to this realm. Her only exposure to coupling had been painful and humiliating, leaving her harmed and in fear.

  Gentleness. The word pounded in his head, a constant reminder. His Angel deserved to be adored and loved gently, as the innocent she was. He needed the reminder for just the thought of her sitting atop his shaft and riding him made him harder still. He could not breach Rowena’s trust in him. No matter how he ached, no matter if he came in his trousers for his fierce need of her. And his need for her was fierce. Almost unbearable.

  Her hands were exploring, touching, caressing him, driving him wild. She paid homage to each and every muscle on his chest, his shoulders, his back. When she shifted again, and the tip of his erection came to rest in the crease between the two globes of her derrière, he thought he might die. Truly thought he might come like some green lad. He sat rigid and still for a moment in order to regain his composure.

  Rowena’s fingers closed about the top of his trousers near one set of buttons. His hand stopped her. “No!”

  “I want more, Harry. I want more,” she pleaded breathlessly.

  “I’ll give you some release, sweet. But tonight, we shall just continue in this manner. We need to become familiar with one another slowly. The rest shall come later.”

  “You don’t want me to touch you? You don’t want more?” She questioned, somewhat confused. She searched his face, his eyes, trying to understand.

  “I’ve wanted more since the day I set eyes on you Rowena.” He took her hand, scooted her slightly forward on his lap, exposing the bulge of his full erection straining against the fabric of his trousers. He placed her hand over the bulge. His voice was husky, almost hoarse sounding. “This is what you do to me, Rowena. This is proof that I want you. I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman. We need to take things slow, because Rowena, once I make you mine, I won’t ever let go. Do you understand? You will be mine forever. I know you need time, my sweet.”

  She nodded. Felt her heart tug. His. She might like being his. Curious, she allowed her hand to caress his erection through his trousers. Harry tensed, sucked in his breath. By his rigid facial expression, he appeared to be in pain. Her fingers stilled atop his shaft. “Does that hurt?”

  “Good God, no! It feels wonderful, Rowena. But, my sweet,” he took her hand from his tortured self, and brought it to his lips. He kissed her palm tenderly. Licked her fingers. He pulled her night dress covered derrière back toward him to cover, hide and yes, further torture his engorged cock, then in one swift move he adjusted her body so she was fully across his lap, her shapely legs dangling over the chair arm, her head cradled against his shoulder. “It felt wonderful when you were touching me, Rowena. Too good.” Too damn good. “If you touch me anymore there, tonight, I can’t promise I won’t take you, make you mine tonight. Slow, Rowena. We must go slow. I will have it this way. For you. I will give you time to become accustomed to what is between us. Now I will give you the release I promised, sweet.” His hand moved to the hem of her night dress which was already hiked up as far as her knee. “May I touch you? Explore your body, Rowena? All of the intimate parts of you?”

  “Yes.” It was a ragged, breathy sound, for his other hand already cupped her breast and was teasing the nipple trapped between his thumb and forefinger.

  Harry bent, took her lips and kissed her passionately as he filled one hand with the weight of her breast and the other began to explore her calves. His fingers trailed light as a feather, higher to her outer thigh, then her hip bringing her nightgown up with them. His hand glided down her inner thigh, then came slowly back up and brushed against her mound lightly. A soft moan escaped her lips.

  Rowena was on fire. She felt his hand cradle one globe of her bottom, and again his fingers came from the rear to lightly trail over her mound, the place where a heat so intense burned she worried it might never go away. His fingers once again teased a trail along her inner thigh to her knee. This time his full hand came up her thigh, his fingers staying at her mound moving over her with light, teasing touches.

  There was one spot he found between the parts in her folds that drove Rowena mad with want. Each time he touched her there she felt the need to lift up. But she was firmly locked in his embrace. Rowena blushed as she voluntarily opened her legs wider to allow more of his tender assualt. She knew she was damp there already. She felt his erection, rigid and hard against her hip. She longed to free it, explore it but could not. She did not wish to move from where she was. His touch felt too good.<
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  His fingers continued to tease, to trail over each leg, her bottom, then graze over her mound. He watched her face, his gaze dark and intense. This time, his fingers stayed, began to explore her intimate folds more intently. They probed and teased. The more he teased, the damper she felt. His pace quickened. So did her breath.

  “Rowena, my sweet angel,” he murmured as his mouth took hers again. Watching his Angel, seeing the desire in her eyes, watching her react to the pleasure he gave her mesmerized him.

  His knowing fingers found that sensitive spot again. His fingers brought her such intense pleasure she dared not move for fear he would stop. It was incredible, this heat. This fire. Like nothing she had ever known. Rowena’s feet moved to the chair arm, her legs now bent, she began to buck against his hand, lifting her hips, moving in rhythm with his touch and the power of the burning need that engulfed her. The sweet torture of his fingers stroking her brought her closer. Closer to what? To something. Something so incredible she bucked for it, burned for it. Ached for it. She pleaded for it. She moaned for it. What it was she didn’t know.