The Viscount's Kiss

by Margaret Moore

  She felt the same tightening, the urgency, stronger than before. Anticipating that wonderful release, she arched against him, bare flesh to bare flesh.

  His thrusts quickened and became more urgent, more powerful. The sinews in his neck grew more visible and his rough panting sounded in her ears.

  Gasping encouragement or moaning softly, she wrapped her legs around him, instinctively locking her ankles to hold him close.

  The sweet pressure, the glorious tension, grew. Muscles tightened. Toes curled. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying out…

  And then—

  And then, release, like a star shooting across the sky in the darkest part of night and she panted like an animal as her body rose of its own accord.

  With an answering groan, he pulled back, head bowed, jerking as his seed spilled onto her naked stomach.

  She caught her breath as he slowly sat on his haunches, bracing himself with his arms on either side of her while he drew in great gulps of air.

  “My God, I’ve never…” He paused, then shook his head. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

  “Because I was a virgin?” she asked, even more jealous of the other woman who had been in his arms.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Because I’ve never cared more for a woman.”

  “Nor I for any man,” she assured him.

  She watched him as he climbed off the bed and went to fetch water in a Wedgwood basin and a towel of fine, soft linen.

  “You’ve ruined your nightgown,” he noted. “That may be difficult to explain.”

  “I have another just the same,” she said as he returned. “Now I’m glad they’re so plain. No one will be able to tell the difference. I’ll hide this one beneath my other undergarments.”

  “I should have realized you’d have a plan,” he said, sitting beside her.

  He dipped the towel in the water. She held out her hand, but again he shook his head. “Let me,” he said as he began to wash her stomach, and then between her thighs. “This provides more opportunity to observe your naked body—and a particularly fine naked body it is, too.”

  In spite of what they’d done together, she blushed as he washed her. “I feel like one of your spiders.”

  “You are even more lovely than an Argiope bruennichi.”

  “Is that intended to be a compliment?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s a very beautiful spider.”

  “Then I thank you, sir.”

  “As I thank you.”

  Finished his ministrations, he turned to set the basin on the table beside the bed. “Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a visit to the ancestral acres more.”

  She sat up, then reluctantly rose and picked up the remnants of her nightgown.

  “Are you leaving?” he asked, his brow furrowing as, still magnificently naked, he got up from the bed. “You’ve had your way with me so now you’ll rush off?”

  “I would rather stay, but if I’m found here, my lord—”

  He took her in his arms and silenced her with a kiss. “There is a little time yet before that becomes a concern.”

  Taking her hand, he sat on the bed, then drew her down beside him. “But what is this my lord?”

  “Habit, I suppose,” she said, nestling beside him as they lay back on the soft pillows.

  Habit, and because she couldn’t ever really forget the gulf of rank, title and fortune that lay between them. Not even here. Not even now.

  She ran her fingertip up and down the line of dark brown hairs from his navel to his chest. “I wish I could sail with you. We went to the Isle of Man once, in very rough weather, and I didn’t get seasick.”

  Her tone was teasing, but she spoke only half in jest. She would gladly go with him to the ends of the earth, if he would ask her. “Perhaps I should stow away.”

  “You’ve never been in a ship’s hold, have you?” he asked gravely. “There’s scarcely room for a rat to run and the stench from the bilge would knock you flat.”

  Not willing to abandon that proposal just yet, and despite his grim tone, she said, “I could disguise myself as a boy and sign on with the crew.”

  “That would be even less likely to succeed. You are much too pretty and your figure would give you away.”

  “I could bind my breasts, cut off my hair and dirty my face.”

  “Which just goes to show how little you know of life at sea. There is no privacy on a ship the size we will have.”

  His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “I’m not happy to be leaving you and the thought of having you with me is very tempting,” he said softly as he caressed her cheek, “but it’s not just life on the ship that’s difficult. There are storms and wrecks, islanders who may welcome you or decide you’d make a nice addition to the pot, and you don’t know which until you land. And pirates aren’t the merry brigands some ballads suggest. They are terrible brutes and a swift death would be a mercy if we were ever captured, especially if you’re a woman. I’ve seen…” He drew in a ragged breath. “I would kill you myself before I’d let you fall into a pirate’s hands.”

  “You make it sound terrible indeed,” she whispered, her fears for him increasing, and she was tempted as she’d never been before to do what Lady Granshire had asked her to do, to use whatever means she could to keep him in England.

  But what then? They could never marry and she would be the destroyer of his dreams.

  She moved away. “It’s time for me to go.”

  He laid a hand on her bare arm. “If I were going to the Mediterranean, or even the coast of Africa or the West Indies, I would take you, but not where I’m going. It would be far too much of a risk, and while I’m willing to take that gamble with my own life, I won’t with yours.”

  She nodded and got out of the bed, the air making her shiver as she reached for her dressing gown.

  “There’s no need for you to get out of a warm bed to see me to the door,” she said, trying to sound happy. “I can manage on my own.”

  “I want to see you to the door,” he said, climbing off the bed.

  “If the noblewomen of England had any inkling of the body beneath your clothes,” she said as he pulled on a pair of trousers, “they would be even more eager to meet you.”

  He laughed, then pulled a face. “They torment me enough as it is. I certainly wouldn’t want to encourage them.”

  Her torn gown over her arm, Nell went to the door. He met her there, and smiled down at her. “You’re the most wonderful, remarkable woman I’ve ever met, Nell Springley, and if ever I were to ask a woman to wait for me, it would be you.”

  Ask me! she silently pleaded. Ask me and I will.

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of her hand. “Good night, Miss Springley.”

  “Good night, my lord,” she replied.

  And as she slipped into the corridor, she was sure of one thing:

  Even if he didn’t ask her, she would wait for him.

  “You wished to see me, Mother?” Bromwell asked as he entered his mother’s sitting room a few days later.

  As usual, she was reclining on her chaise, and this morning, she looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes.

  Remorse nipped at him. He hadn’t yet spoken with Dr. Heathfield about her treatment and he should have, regardless of his desire to spend every moment he could with Nell. “Have you been drinking chocolate in the evenings again?”

  Although he had no scientific basis for his query, he suspected there was something in chocolate that affected sleep, for he’d often noticed that his mother would become more energized after drinking it, then complain that she hadn’t been able to fall asleep later.

  Not unexpectedly, however, she always ascribed her sleeplessness to a different cause, as she did today. “How can I sleep peacefully when you’re leaving England again?”

  He had no answer to that, so he made none as he sat across from her on a well-upholstered chair. He had to hide a wince, f
or he’d pulled a muscle last night when demonstrating the upa upa for Nell. He’d been telling her about the dances of the Tahitians, and she’d confessed to seeing him dance by the pond. Once he’d gotten over his initial embarrassment, he’d explained that he danced because it was excellent exercise.

  She’d begged a demonstration, he’d complied, and somewhere between the dance, her attempts to imitate it and what had followed, he’d pulled a muscle in his side. It was a slight strain, and only hurt if he moved a certain way, but he didn’t want to have to explain the source of that twinge to his mother.

  He also sincerely hoped she hadn’t summoned him here because his intimate encounters with Nell had been discovered.

  “I’ve had a letter from your father. He requests that you join him in Bath as soon as possible. Apparently he requires your assistance with a financial matter.”

  His relief that her summons had nothing to do with Nell was swiftly overcome by baffled curiosity.

  His father wished to consult with him on a financial matter? Despite his coming of age, his father had never shared information about his financial affairs or estate business before. “What sort of financial matter?”

  “He doesn’t say. Only that it’s important, and he expects you to join him at The King’s Arms this afternoon.”

  That was typical of his father—no explanation or opportunity to refuse, simply an order and the expectation of obedience.

  However, he had no other pressing demands upon his time, except for wanting to be with Nell every available opportunity, and the request was so unusual he nodded his agreement. “Very well, Mother. I’ll stay the night in Bath and return in the morning.”

  “I’ve already ordered a horse saddled for you.”

  Bromwell didn’t think riding would aggravate his slight injury and so, dutifully, rose. “If you’ll excuse me then.”

  “And would you stop in at the apothecary’s? I need some more of my medicine.”

  “I’ll visit Dr. Heathfield while I’m there. I’m concerned this latest medication is not as effective as it should be, considering your continuing sleeplessness.”

  “I feel quite wonderful after my morning dose.”

  Her comment led Bromwell to suspect the main ingredient in Dr. Heathfield’s latest medication was some kind of narcotic that induced euphoria, possibly an opiate that could be dangerous if taken too long, or in too high a dosage.

  “Nevertheless, Mother, I want to be sure it’s not doing more harm than good.” He gave her a loving smile. “After all, you aren’t the only one who worries.”

  She reached out for his hand and pressed it to her cool cheek before she wordlessly let him go.

  Bromwell found Nell in the garden, looking like a nymph in a gown of soft green, her overtunic dotted with small embroidered roses. Unfortunately, she wasn’t alone, as he would have preferred even for this temporary and short-lived parting. Drury and Juliette were with her.

  “Ah, Buggy, here you are!” Juliette cried when she saw him walking toward them on the gravel path.

  “I hope your mother isn’t unwell?” Nell said, blushing when their gazes met, as if recalling certain portions of the upa upa done while he was naked.

  He found himself blushing, too, as he replied. “She’s a little tired, but otherwise well. She’s received a letter from my father asking me to meet him in Bath this afternoon. Apparently he has some business he wishes to discuss with me.”

  Drury, who was well acquainted with the earl, was as surprised as Bromwell by the request. “He’s never discussed such things with you before, has he?”

  Bromwell shook his head and, when he answered, spoke as much to Nell as to his oldest friend. “Not once, so I think I should go, and unfortunately it must be right away. I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  “Of course you must go if your father requests your help,” Nell said quietly.

  “It wasn’t exactly a request,” Bromwell replied with a wry smile. “A command, more like.”

  “Perhaps he has reconsidered and will sponsor your expedition,” Juliette said hopefully.

  Bromwell glanced at Nell before shaking his head. “I highly doubt it. It’s probably something about the ball.”

  He started to bow in farewell, until Juliette grabbed her husband’s arm and started to pull him toward the terrace. “Come along, my love. Let us leave them to say goodbye alone.”

  “As you see, Buggy, you aren’t the only one who gets ordered about,” the barrister remarked as he allowed his wife to lead him away.

  With Bromwell’s silent gratitude. He would much prefer to say goodbye to Nell in private.

  “Since time is short, let’s walk to the stables together,” Nell proposed.

  Bromwell nodded his acquiescence, remembering a part of the garden in that vicinity where they could take their leave without being seen.

  “Is it really true that Lady Drury was a seamstress?” Nell asked as Drury and his wife disappeared behind a yew hedge.

  “Yes, and living in deplorable conditions the first time we met,” Bromwell replied. “She saved Drury’s life by hurling a basketful of potatoes at men who were attacking him.”

  “I can believe she’s not afraid of anything.”

  “Like everyone, she has her moments of doubt and fear, although she hides them very well. She certainly did the first time we met, after Drury sent her to fetch me. She had to come get me at Sir Joseph Banks’s house, and I’m sure that wasn’t easy for her, and then Drury was remarkably rude to her.” He smiled at Nell. “Afterward, I realized he’d been rude because he was so intrigued by her.”

  “He didn’t do anything so insolent as kiss her, did he?” she asked archly, with the sparkle of mischief that he adored in her eyes.

  “No,” Bromwell said softly as they reached the little nook in the shrubbery. “Even though he hated the French, he wasn’t that impolite, whereas I…” He gathered her in his arms and kissed her gently. “Find I have no memory…” She wrapped her arms around him and sighed as he kissed the lobe of her ear. “Of rules of etiquette and proper deportment…” Then her neck. “When I am with you.”

  “Clearly, my lord,” she murmured as she relaxed against him, her body leaning into his, “I forget how a young woman ought to act with a gentleman when I’m with you.”

  He caught her mouth with his, and kissed her deeply. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered as he slid his mouth to her soft cheek, “not even for a single night.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she murmured as he caressed her. “Not even for an hour.”

  They kissed again, deeply, passionately, as desperately as if this were their final parting, until he broke the embrace and stepped back, flushed and breathless. “If we don’t stop now, I’m going to make love with you right here.”

  Exhilaration took hold of Nell as she spotted the back of the stables out of the corner of her eye, a place sheltered from the yard and the rest of the garden.

  “Not here—there,” she whispered.

  Yearning to be with him intimately today if she couldn’t be with him that night, she took his hand to lead him. He resisted a little, but not for long, as she pulled him toward the shadowed, sheltered spot.

  Her back to the wall, she turned, to be engulfed in his embrace. “I’ll miss you,” she gasped as he spread kisses over her face and neck.

  He regarded her with primitive, primal greed. “Promise me you’ll wait. Promise me you’ll wait for me to come back.”

  Was he speaking of this brief sojourn, or his longer voyage? Whichever one he meant, her answer was the same. “Yes!”

  As if that single word released him from all restraint, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her with fervent, heated ardour. As his hands boldly caressed her, he spread her knees with his. She thrilled to the pressure of his limb and leaned against it as she slid her tongue into his hot mouth.

  With a low growl, he reached down to lift her gown and soon he was stroking her mos
t private place with growing need as he kissed her, making her moist and ready while she ran her hands beneath his vest and shirt. The drawstring of her pantelettes snapped, then his hand slipped within.

  All too soon he withdrew and she whimpered with the loss, until he cupped her buttocks and lifted her, so that she could hold him around the waist with her legs.

  She wanted him with every fiber, every particle, of her body and her heart. “Yes, oh, yes,” she hissed as she worked at the buttons of his trousers with one hand, the other around his neck, until he was free.

  Holding him, she shifted, while he positioned himself. Then he was inside her.

  This was no gentle lovemaking, no tender contact. He took her with primal, swift and hungry need as she responded, until he groaned and filled her, while she pressed her lips together to stifle her own triumphant cries of release.

  Sated, panting, his head in the crook of her neck, he leaned against her. She slowly lowered her legs, only now aware of the rough brick behind her and that her pantelettes were that pile of white linen on the ground.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered as he moved back and his head bowed as he buttoned his trousers, raising remorseful eyes to look at her. “We shouldn’t…” He shook his head. “I was too overwhelmed to stop.”

  She was as aware of that as he as she picked up her undergarment. “I’ve heard a woman can’t get pregnant the first time,” she said, hoping to lessen his obvious remorse because she felt none, except for his sake. To bear his child, whatever happened, no longer seemed a fate to be avoided.

  “I fear that’s an old wives’ tale,” he said as he tucked in his shirt.

  “Sometimes those old wives were right, weren’t they?”

  “Perhaps. Let us hope so. But now I have to go. The groom will be looking for me.”

  “Justinian, I meant what I said,” she replied, wanting him to know how she felt, needing him to, whatever happened. “I’ll wait for you, wherever you go and however long it may be.”

  He simply nodded once and left her.