Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  Something in his expression confused her but she found herself unable to look away. The air shifted about her and she said unevenly, ‘Do you think it likely that you will?’

  ‘No.’ His eyes investigated the contours of her mouth. ‘No. But I live in hope.’

  Venetia’s breath shortened and she was dimly aware that if she didn’t do something sensible very quickly, she would probably do something very stupid. She came abruptly to her feet – and found herself no more than four inches from his chest. And it was that, had she but known it, that made the difference between Gabriel doing what he’d been doing for the last three weeks and doing, instead, what he wanted to do.

  He’d known since she’d fallen asleep in his arms that night in Cheapside what he felt for her but had chosen to lock the words away until he was sure she was ready to hear them. And because, as he’d told her, he knew how passion could cloud the issue, he’d also decided not to touch her. If she ever said those words to him, he didn’t want it to be because he knew how to please her body or because he’d released her from the cruel trap Ellis had built for her. And yet … here they both were and suddenly nothing else mattered.

  Slowly, almost tentatively, his right hand rose to stroke her cheek with the back of lightly-curled fingers which then spread to the curve of her neck, leaving the thumb poised beneath her chin. Venetia remained mouse-still but he saw her response in the darkening of her eyes and the faint quiver that afflicted her breathing. Slightly pale, his hands no longer entirely steady, Gabriel slid his other arm about her waist and tilted her face. Then, still with a tantalising lack of haste, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his. She gasped and swayed against him, her hands reaching for his shoulders. For a moment longer, he looked down into the dilated violet eyes before drawing her a little closer and at long last allowing himself to possess her mouth.

  It was hot and sweet and, above all welcoming. A tiny sound escaped from the back of his throat and any notion of restraint vanished. He crushed her hard against the length of his body, deliberately letting her feel his arousal and ravished that inviting mouth as if starving. Awash with mingled desire and delight, Venetia dug her fingers into his shoulders and clung.

  The door opened and Sophia walked in.

  To do her justice, she stopped dead as soon as she was what she as interrupting and would have left – except that it was already too late.

  Being careful not to hurry, Gabriel released Venetia and strolled with studied nonchalance to the hearth. A hint of colour stained his skin, betraying unaccustomed and faintly ridiculous embarrassment. Then, purely to break the silence, he said mockingly, ‘It’s all right, Sophy – you’re quite welcome to join us. In fact, I wish you would. The fire’s beginning to smoke.’

  Supper was an uneasy meal. Gabriel maintained a flow of impervious banalities and avoided looking at his wife; Venetia – elated, regretful and, above all, confused – pushed her food around her plate and said virtually nothing; and Sophia decided to make a strategic withdrawal at the first opportunity.

  She wasn’t the only one. As soon as they rose from the table, Gabriel calmly announced that he was going out – and, bidding both ladies a courteous goodnight, he went.

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Sophy. ‘That’s my fault, I fear.’

  Disappointed but not downcast, Venetia shook her head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. If it meant anything at all, it will happen again.’

  *

  On the following morning, learning from one of the maids that the Colonel’s bed had not been slept in, Venetia’s optimism suffered a slight jolt. And by evening – with a letter addressed in Eden Maxwell’s hand still lying unclaimed on the hall chest and bearing silent witness to Gabriel’s continued absence – she was beginning to feel distinctly edgy. Then, just as she and Sophia were about to sit down to supper, Rob Skilbeck arrived to tell them that Colonel Brandon had been delayed in Knaresborough but would probably be home before the night was out.

  Venetia fixed Master Skilbeck with a jewel-bright gaze.

  ‘Where in Knaresborough?’

  Rob shuffled his feet and crumpled the brim of his hat between his hands.

  ‘At the Red Bear, Mistress. But he weren’t drinking, tha’ knows. Not much, anyhow. He’d have been back by now but that his horse cast a shoe.’

  Keeping her expression under rigid control, Venetia gave him sixpence and let him go. Then she looked at Sophia and said, ‘Don’t say a word. If getting caught kissing me has driven him to drink, there’s nothing useful to be said about it.’

  Later, after Jane had prepared her for bed, she sat on the rug in front of her fire trying to fathom the workings of Gabriel’s mind. In those few, fleeting moments the previous night, he had appeared to want her as much as she wanted him; and though she realised that it had probably been no more than simple lust, still she had been glad of it. Only then Sophy had come in and the spell had been shattered … and, for reasons beyond Venetia’s comprehension, Gabriel had apparently fled to the tavern and stayed there.

  Both the fire and the solitary candle started to burn low but sleep was still a long way off. She debated going back downstairs and then decided against it. Waiting up wouldn’t make Gabriel come home any quicker – and she’d look like a fool if he returned to find her lurking in the hall like the proverbial scold. No. The sensible thing was to put out the candle and to go bed.

  A light tap on the door sent all her muscles into spasm. Then, before she could answer, the latch lifted and the door opened to reveal Gabriel, fully-dressed and holding Eden’s letter in his hand. Without crossing the threshold he said remotely, ‘I’m sorry to trouble you so late but I’ve something to tell you that won’t wait.’

  ‘Then you – you’d better come in.’

  Having spent the previous night drinking rather more than he’d intended and half of today suffering for it, Gabriel closed the door behind him and remained just inside it, clinging both to the shadows and the shreds of his self-control. He had expected her to be undressed; what he had not expected was for her to be sitting in a pool of firelight, clad only in a flimsy night-rail and with her hair falling over one shoulder, loosely confined in a ribbon. And he wasn’t sure he was up to dealing with it.

  Gesturing to the letter, he said, ‘I’ve got to go back to London. Eden says that Fairfax summoned a Council of Officers for the 7th to discuss a new document that Ireton has written and which I suspect will contain his arguments in favour of bringing the King to trial.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Venetia hollowly. Then, striving to think of more than her own disappointment, ‘But today is the 9th.’

  ‘And the journey will take three days. I know. But bearing in mind the Army’s fondness for hearing half-a-dozen sermons before getting down to business, I may be in time to catch at least some of the debate. At any rate, I have to try.’

  ‘So you’re leaving in the morning?’

  ‘At first light,’ he nodded.

  ‘I see.’ Venetia came slowly to her feet, aware of what she wished to do but afraid it might not quite work as she hoped. ‘Was that all you wanted to say?’

  Gabriel forced his eyes away from the nimbus of gold silhouetting her body and focused them on her face. ‘What else is there?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She swallowed hard and summoned all the courage she possessed. ‘But if … if you were to stay … we could explore the possibilities.’

  His breath left him and for a time he neither moved nor spoke. Then he said, ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was another long pause before he finally moved towards her, into the light of the hearth.

  ‘Even knowing that, if I accept, it won’t be to talk?’

  ‘Yes.’ With hands that were by no means steady, she freed her hair from the ribbon and shook it loose. ‘Especially knowing that.’

  Something flared in the intense gaze and he managed a faintly crooked smile. He’d intended to keep his hands
off her for a while longer. But a man would have to be dead to walk away from what she was offering.

  ‘Then I’ll try not to disappoint you,’ he murmured. And drew her, with dreamlike slowness into his arms.

  Venetia melted against the hard length of his body and the ribbon floated unheeded to the floor. Her mouth opened beneath his as soon as he touched her and her fingers moved lingeringly up his chest and around his neck to bury themselves in his hair. The moment stretched out into infinity and ended too soon for Gabriel was in no hurry. His hands drifted lightly over the curves of spine and hip while his lips and tongue feathered their way along her jaw and down the rounded column of her throat; and when his mouth returned to hers, it was to brush her lips with the same wickedly erotic lightness he had demonstrated last night in the parlour. Then, slowly and seductively, he kissed her again; and released a storm of mutual wanting that almost destroyed his resolve.

  Made clumsy by impatience, Venetia’s fingers struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings of his coat until, twining one hand in the gleaming mane of hair, Gabriel raised his head to look at her. He said, ‘Gently, darling. We have all night. So let’s use it well.’ Then, briefly releasing her in order to untie his sash and shed his coat, he dropped them both on the rug and smiled at her.

  Venetia’s breath leaked away and her bones turned to water. She wondered vaguely how he could do that to her with no more than a smile … or if he knew the effect he had. Reaching out, she unlaced his shirt and then closed the small, unbearable space between them to nuzzle and nip the warm skin of his chest, his throat, his jaw. His hands gripped her waist and for one tiny, frozen second, he remained utterly still, looking deep into her eyes. Then, sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to the bed.

  Lying entangled with her in the downy softness, he continued soliciting her senses until he could not tell her heartbeat from his own. He let her hands wander where they would but fed her desire and controlled his own by preventing her from undressing him further. And by the time he finally disposed of the impediment of her night-rail, her body was shaking. With infinite care, Gabriel let one palm glide slowly upwards to cup her breast, his thumb tracing lazy circles around its peak; and then, after making her wait for a moment, he followed its passage with his mouth.

  Flames licked along Venetia’s veins and she gave a small, sobbing gasp. His tongue pursued its teasing, enticing course while one hand investigated the smooth skin of her thigh and she arched against him, incoherent words tumbling from her lips. His own hunger decently cloaked but equalling hers, Gabriel paused for a moment to read her face. And then, apparently satisfied, he withdrew himself gently from her hold and stood up.

  Outlined by the dying glow of the fire, he swiftly discarded the rest of his clothes while Venetia watched out of wide, dark eyes, drinking in the glory of his body. Shadows played over the muscles of his arms and chest and, in the flickering light, his skin looked like living bronze. She could have gazed at him forever. Then he returned to her and flesh met flesh in a tingling explosion of sensation. Slowly, but with increasing urgency, he resumed his exploration … seducing her with every art at his command, filling her with wildfire and being consumed by it himself. His mouth resumed its expert torment on her breasts while his fingers skimmed lightly up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs … advancing and retreating but never quite reaching that intimate place between them until he heard her first small whimper of frustration. Then and only then did he touch her where he knew she needed to be touched, letting his fingers slide slowly into the silken heat of her and being rewarded by her helpless moan of pleasure.

  Venetia’s hands roved desperately over his chest and arms and back, then gripped his shoulders in an attempt to pull him to her. Every nerve and fibre of her being was ablaze with sensations she could hardly contain. Her breath was coming in sobbing gasps and her body would no longer remain still. Recognising that she was poised on the threshold and that the time for restraint was long past, Gabriel settled himself above her and entered her with a single slow, deep thrust. The sound of intense satisfaction she made nearly cost him his self-control, causing him to remain very still for a moment until he had it back. Then, keeping every muscle under rigid restraint until he knew beyond doubt that she was with him, he brought the song of their loving to its ultimate crescendo.

  They slept for a time, closely entwined amidst the flagrant disorder of the bed. And when Venetia awoke again in the ghostly pre-dawn light, it was to the exquisite drift of his hands and a voice like roughened velvet murmuring, ‘Rise up, my love, my fair one and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone … and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.’ Then, when she opened her eyes, he grinned and said, ‘I don’t know any Chaucer but I’m second-to-none with the Song of Songs. Does it work?’

  She smiled back at him, flushing slightly as recollection returned and his touch became more intimate.

  ‘If you need to ask,’ she murmured, ‘perhaps you should persevere.’

  ‘You think I don’t know any more?’ Laughter gathered invitingly behind the grey eyes. ‘Who is she that looketh forth, terrible as an army with banners?’

  Pulling herself from his hold in mock-indignation, she sat up and said, ‘That’s cheating. You missed out fair as the moon and —’

  ‘I know.’ Gabriel’s arm swept her down beside him again and kept her there while, propping himself on one elbow, his fingers resumed their lazy assault. ‘I know. I thought that went without saying.’

  Venetia looked up at him and felt something melt afresh inside her. This teasing, wholly-relaxed man was a Gabriel she had never seen and one whom she did not think she could live without. Love rushed through her like a torrent … but, because she wasn’t sure what his reaction would be if she told him, she lowered her eyes to his chest and concentrated on tracing the thin, white line of an old scar.

  ‘Nȍrdlingen, 1634,’ said Gabriel helpfully. ‘And here we have Roundway Down, Cheriton and Naseby. Less a torso, you might say, than a map. Interesting, isn’t it?’ He slid down beside her, his mouth seeking the hollow beneath her ear, ‘Of course, the most interesting one of all is Breda … but you’ll have to look elsewhere for that.’

  The lean hardness of his body against hers and the delicious journeyings of his hands made levity almost – but not quite – unattainable. Presently and with difficulty, she said, ‘If this is it, you’ve got some explaining to do.’

  ‘Very likely,’ agreed Gabriel, his voice as uneven as her own. ‘But not just now.’

  And he drew her deep into pleasure again.

  When Venetia awoke once more, it was full light and the bed beside her was empty save for a couple of long, dark hairs on the pillow and a small scrap of paper.

  I have gathered my myrrh with my spice and eaten my honeycomb with my honey. Behold, you art fair … also our bed is green. And then, simply, Be patient, if you can. When next we meet, I hope to find words of my own.

  ~ ~ ~

  ELEVEN

  Gabriel arrived in London on the evening of Sunday November 12th and went straight to Cheapside.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Major Maxwell. ‘Wat didn’t think you’d be here before morning and now owes me five pounds.’

  ‘Which naturally accounts for your pleasure at seeing me,’ grinned Gabriel stripping off his gloves and tossing his hat to one side. Then, ‘Where is Wat?’

  ‘God knows!’ Eden crossed to the dresser and returned with a jug of ale and two tankards. ‘I’ve scarcely laid eyes on him this last month and can only assume he’s up to some nefarious scheme of his own which I’ll be happier not knowing about.’ He paused to pour the ale and then said, ‘I did as you asked, by the way, and went to inform Mr Morrell of your departure – but I’m not sure I made much impression. He and Sam Radford were going at it hammer-and-tongs when I walked in and Mistress Bryony was working up to a fit of hysterics.’

  ‘So you left. Very wise.’ Gabrie
l’s coat followed his hat and gloves and, accepting the tankard Eden offered, he dropped into a chair by the fire. ‘Fascinating as all this is, it’s not what I’ve ridden two hundred miles for. So tell me about Henry’s latest masterpiece.’

  ‘He’s calling it the Remonstrance of the Army.’

  ‘That’s original.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Noticing that the Colonel was looking a good deal fresher and more relaxed than he had in several months but knowing better than to remark on it, Eden said, ‘Ireton asked the Lord General to summon the Army Council to discuss it – but Fairfax obviously decided to leave the Agitators out of it and only called the Officers. We sat through prayers and sermons on the 7th, spent the 8th and 9th talking about arrears of pay and Parliament’s failure to make any provision for war-widows and orphans and finally got round to the Remonstrance the day before yesterday.’

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it largely revolves around two points,’ responded Eden, sitting on the other side of the hearth. ‘The perils of continuing to negotiate with the King and the justice of bringing him to trial. With regard to the first, Ireton says the King has shown he’ll never leave the country in peace until he’s restored to the throne; that to treat with him now is as good as saying that his position is independent of the nation and that he’s proved over and over again that he’ll never be bound by any agreement he makes. As to the question of a trial, Ireton says His Majesty will be satisfied with nothing less than absolute power … and suggests that the only way to be free of such tyranny is to demonstrate that no king is beyond the reach of the law.’

  ‘I see.’ Gabriel frowned. ‘And what conclusion does Henry draw from all this?’

  ‘That the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York should be declared unfit to govern and sentenced to death if ever found in England; that certain leading Royalists from both wars should be executed without delay and others fined for their activities; and that you and I should be honoured with our back-pay.’