* * *
Death by licking. Elowyn had not thought such a thing possible until now, but it must be because she was certain she could not stand much more of this exquisite torture before she would simply shatter into millions of tiny pieces.
She arched and cried out under Grahame’s mouth as he nipped at the tender skin of her breast. She had not realized how sensitive she could be there. Nor had she realized what she was asking for, what her body was apparently capable of, when she’d begun her game. She wished she’d used less crème, or perhaps more crème as the case may be. This exquisite torture was indeed worth dying for and a most pleasant way to go, too.
Grahame’s hot mouth drew a searing trail to her navel. He kissed her there, his tongue tickling the tiny crevice until she bucked. “Easy now.” Grahame’s voice was a low rumble, his hands framing her low on her hips, readying her for his next destination on his seductive journey down her body. Never mind, this sensual adventure had been hers at the start. It was his now. Somewhere between picking up the pot of crème and lying down on the bed, he’d usurped the game and made it his own. It seemed he was very good at usurping.
He looked up at her from the apex of her thighs—his eyes the color of hot mercury, all liquid and silver in his desire. She was not alone in this any more than she had been downstairs when they’d joined so swiftly, so frantically. Her want was his want. There was potency in knowing that this wild, competitive madness between them was shared.
His head dropped, his tongue lapping up the last of the crème on the insides of her thighs, each lap a flirtation, a promise of more as his mouth angled closer to the prize. He claimed the seam of her first, licking upward to her hidden pearl. His hands held her firm as he pleasured her, the restraint adding its own titillation to the act until she was entirely at sea, lost to all worlds but the one of pleasure. She was vaguely aware her hands had wrapped themselves in the darkness of Grahame’s hair, her one anchor in this world of shattering sensation. But she was acutely aware for all the pleasure this act brought her, it wasn’t enough.
“Trousers, Grahame. Take them off, now.” Urgency was evident in her voice. She had not planned this. She’d meant another interlude of pleasuring him as he had her, but there was no more waiting, no more time for games.
Grahame shoved the trousers down, a grin on his face as he rose above her. “I thought you’d never ask, princess.” He was huge and hard against her leg as he levered into position, a testament to his own desire. He thrust deep. There was no question of readiness, no need to play the gentleman with a tentative testing of the waters. These waters were primed and boiling, as they had been downstairs.
But this was different. This was no hurried, erotic coupling. This time she could see his face, she could watch her lover as he took her, as he moved in and out of her body with long, sure strokes. She tightened her muscles around him, watching pleasure pass over his face in response, watching it linger in the brackets about his mouth, in faint lines at the corners of his eyes as climax approached. His eyes! Almost too late she realized they were shut, those silver gateways to his mind, shut against her in this intimate moment. She would not have it, could not have it. She wanted him with her in all ways, not just in physical synchronicity when the pleasure took them.
“Open your eyes, Grahame.” Elowyn gave the command with the last ounce of her reserve. “I want to see you when I fall apart.”
His body tensed, his eyes flashed open with a final thrust, revealing far more than she had anticipated. Her one thought as release swamped her was a vague realization of what she’d done. She’d hoped for a glimpse of his mind; what she’d gotten was a sliver of his soul.
Chapter Eight
Opened eyes! The little minx had no idea of what she’d done, of what she’d asked. He’d broken his cardinal rule. Eyes shut was his impenetrable wall, the one place where no one could reach him without his permission. Yet he’d let her in simply because she’d asked. Grahame shifted his body to adjust his position and she stirred beside him, lifting her sleep-tousled head in question.
“Go back to sleep,” Grahame admonished softly. “Tomorrow will be a long day. We don’t stop until we reach Dover.”
Elowyn settled back to sleep, snuggling against him, her body soft and warm. His arm tightened about her. He should have been gone hours ago to his own bed. No good could come of lying here, holding her and pretending he wasn’t a poor woman’s son and she wasn’t a gentleman’s daughter, or pretending he wasn’t a paid escort who’d spent the last four years in London pleasuring the ton’s finest ladies on command. She could justify a fling with a dashing cavalry captain but the rest? Elowyn would die if she knew. She would feel betrayed, as if tonight had been nothing but another game to him. Grahame vowed in the darkness she would never find out. They would part ways in Vienna and that would be the end.
Perhaps it was the need to impress her so she might never guess he was more (or less) than what he seemed that drove him the next day. He was the perfect captain, all military precision with his orders and organization. Maybe it was simply the weather and his own urgency to cross the Channel. His deadline loomed. A delay in Dover would ruin his prospects at the riding school.
As if in ill portent, the sunny September skies that had met them that morning steadily darkened to gray as they journeyed toward Dover. By the time his little caravan pulled into Dover, he was certain. Bad weather was imminent. He would have to act quickly in order to avoid delay.
Grahame helped Elowyn down from the carriage with mannerly correctness. No one watching them would guess he’d spent the night in her bed. Perhaps that had been part of what had driven him, too. He had her reputation to protect, even if it was just among her retainers. But a show of polite distance didn’t mean his body was immune to her presence. She looked stunning in a dark blue traveling costume cut in the fitted military style, the jacket nipped in tight at the waist, her hair piled up under a matching hat.
Elowyn’s eyes went to the sky. “It seems you might have been right about the need for an early departure.” She turned to him, her eyes holding his for a long moment, searching for something. He could guess what that might be—encouragement, direction, expectation. What were they to be to one another after their mad night?
He’d found the willpower in the early light of dawn to leave her bed before she awoke, and they had not spoken beyond the exchange of what was necessary to get underway. But he did not think what might be interpreted as aloofness on his part would deter Elowyn. Nor did he think she would misunderstand it. She was a woman of the world. She would know it was necessary in order to preserve an outward show of propriety. Most of the retainers with them, those who’d driven the wagons, would return to London after the household goods were loaded onto the boat. She wouldn’t want them carrying tales back.
The inn at Dover was high-end, the best that could be had for their situation and circumstance. There’d be no cockfighting crowd here. It would be safe enough to leave Elowyn in charge. “I will go down to the docks and see what the news is.”
“I will come with you,” Elowyn said firmly. “Annie can oversee the unloading of what we need.”
Grahame gave a wry smile. “Let’s rephrase that, my dear. Of what you need. I only need my valise. I doubt unpacking my items is a chore that requires any specific skill. And no, you are not coming to the docks.” Not after her show in the inn yard yesterday.
“I want to make sure the storage will be acceptable for my items,” Elowyn persisted. He would have to be strong here.
“Your household needs you here to organize things. There is much to do and I cannot be in both places at once,” Grahame answered with equal firmness. “When I return, we’ll discuss my news over dinner and decide what to do from there.”
Elowyn seemed to weigh his words. She gave a short nod and flashed him a private smile. “All right. I�
��ll have dinner waiting. You can think about that while you’re down touring the docks.” His groin tightened, his body recalling what she’d done with dessert.
“I shall lick forward to it, Miss Bagshaw.”
Her eyes danced and he realized too late what he’d said out loud. “I believe the word is look, Captain. Perhaps tonight, I’ll be the one doing the licking.”
Good Lord, he was rock hard in the middle of an inn yard. Maybe a storm on the Channel wasn’t bad news after all if it meant he could stay holed up at the inn with Elowyn.
* * *
Grahame had bad news. She could tell by the speed with which he’d ridden into the yard and dismounted. Elowyn stepped back from the window in her room on the second floor. He was going to tell her they’d have to wait, that they were too late to cross until the storm passed. She hated waiting. The journey was long enough as it was without being stalled in port.
“Grahame’s back.” She shot a worried look at her maid. “It doesn’t look good. I’m going downstairs to meet him.” He was back too soon. She’d hardly had time to get her trunks upstairs, let alone order that dinner she’d promised.
She didn’t get out the door before Grahame knocked. He’d certainly moved fast, which made her worry all the more. “You’re back awfully quick.” She tried to smile as she opened the door.
“How fast can you be ready to leave?”
Elowyn did not miss the underlying urgency to the question, but that did not mitigate the presumption that she would leave.
“Leave?” That was not the news she’d been expecting. “We just got here. Annie just got the pillows on the bed.”
“Will forty-five minutes be enough?” Grahame was already striding through her room like a storm, tossing a traveling bag on the bed and riffling her trunks. That made her mad. One night of mutual pleasure did not give him permission to barge into her room like he had her house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
Grahame threw something lacy on the bed. “Be careful with that! It’s French silk.” Elowyn snatched the delicate garment up from the bed and hugged it to her chest.
Grahame grunted. “That’s no good. Do you have anything warmer? Flannel, maybe?”
Heaven help her, she had a mad man in her room. Elowyn crossed the room and grabbed his hands. “Stop it. Tell me what’s going on? You’re making no sense.”
Grahame paused his rummaging and looked at her, appearing altogether surprisingly sane. “Our boat leaves in forty-five minutes on the evening tide. If we’re not on it, we wait, quite possibly for a week until I can make other arrangements.” Desperation lay beneath his tone. She could tell the prospect of making those arrangements disgusted him. More than that, it upset him.
“Our boat isn’t scheduled to leave until tomorrow.” Elowyn sent out a challenging probe.
“Captain Anderson isn’t going to wait. He doesn’t want to chance the weather. He has a private mail pouch that has to get through.” That wasn’t all. There was more. Something he wasn’t telling her.
“He’ll be back. We’ll go in a couple of days when he returns.”
Grahame shook his head. “Anderson isn’t scheduled back in Dover for another month. If we stay, we’ll have to find another boat.” She knew how onerous that would be. It would have to be a big boat, one that could hold the cargo of a household. Anderson’s boat had been perfect.
Elowyn blew out a sigh. The situation was becoming impossible. “New boat or not, we can’t possibly have all our things loaded in forty-five minutes. It will take that long to get the wagons to the docks.” Not even the amazing Grahame Westmore could magically whisk the wagons down to the docks in time.
“I’m not talking about taking your things, Elowyn,” Grahame began slowly. His grip tightened on her hands. “Just you. You and I can cross tonight and continue on. Annie and Christopher can bring the other things later and travel at their leisure. Christopher is more than capable of seeing the goods transferred and the drivers returned.”
Something moved in Grahame’s gray eyes. For reasons she could not guess, he needed this. He needed her to go with him now. Yet how could she leave all this responsibility?
Annie stepped forward. “You needn’t be concerned on this end, miss. We can handle everything here. Christopher and I have moved with you before. Think about your father. He’ll worry if you’re late and there’s no way to get word to him.”
She did think of her father. Annie was right. He would worry himself sick. He would think of her mother, how she’d been late on that last trip and what it had meant. He had not worried back then, thinking her delay a natural consequence of travel in winter and that she was likely tucked up in a cozy inn. To this day, he still blamed himself. If he’d gone out searching for her earlier, he might have been in time. Elowyn could not put him through that doubt again.
Her decision was made. “We’ll go. I’ll be downstairs shortly.” Was that relief in Grahame’s eyes? Again, she had the sensation that he needed this beyond simply fulfilling his job for her father, beyond adherence to Captain Anderson’s desire to leave early.
Grahame gave a tight smile. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements with Christopher.” He glanced about the room. “No trunks, just the one bag. It’s all there’s time for.”
She drew a deep breath and looked about the very nice room with a fire and her good sheets. Neither of which she’d get to enjoy. “Quickly, Annie, help me pack.” If she stayed busy there’d be no time to think about what she’d just done. There was no question of who was in charge now. She’d given up control of the trip when she agreed to travel alone through Europe with Captain Grahame Westmore.
Chapter Nine
And his horse. She got to bring a valise. He got to bring his horse! “How is it that I only rate one bag?” Elowyn tried a halfhearted attempt at humor down in the hold where Aramis was stabled. But it was hard to be funny while the water rolled and pitched beneath her feet. They might be ahead of the storm coming down out of the North Sea, but it certainly didn’t ensure smooth sailing.
Grahame gave a little chuckle and stroked Aramis’s dark mane. She allowed herself a moment’s jealousy, imagining those hands on her. She could use a little stroking about now. She’d been in difficult spots before but that didn’t mean she liked them, or excelled at them. “If this ship goes down, you’ll be glad he’s here.” Grahame crooned to the big stallion. “You’re a fabulous swimmer, aren’t you, old boy?”
That was too intriguing to let pass. Elowyn scooted forward on the bale of hay she sat on. “And we know this how?”
“He and I swam to shore after a transport we were on sank off the coast of Crete. The Mediterranean was a bit warmer that time of year than the Channel would be, though.” He smiled, letting the effort crinkle the corners of his eyes as he looked at his stallion with unmistakable affection. “Aramis and I have been through a lot and I’ve had no truer friend.”
Grahame sobered and looked her direction. “If the worst happens, get him free and hold on to his bridle. He’ll get you to land. Do you have your knife?”
Elowyn lifted her skirt to reveal the sheath on her calf.
“Good. You can cut your skirts off if you need to. They’ll drag you down.”
“Is all this really necessary?” She did not care for such grim talk, especially from the indomitable Grahame Westmore. She had no doubt that if strength of will could keep a ship together, he would be the man to do it.
Grahame shrugged. “A crisis is always better when you have a plan. But no, I don’t think you’ll need it. Ships have crossed safely in far worse weather. Odds are we’ll be fine. Captain Anderson has no death wish. He wouldn’t have set out not feeling certain it was the best choice.”
Elowyn managed a smile. “I’ll try to find reassurance in that somewhere.
” The boat lurched and she braced herself with a hand to the wall.
“You can go up. Anderson has his cabin set aside for you,” Grahame replied as he steadied Aramis.
“No, I’ll be fine here.” No matter how bad the night got, she would be safe with him and his swimming horse. That might have been the moment she fell for him, right there in the dark hold of a storm-tossed ship. All else might be turmoil around them, but he was a literal pillar of strength—confident and sure, never wavering in the long night.
So sure of that strength was she, Elowyn actually slept, her head braced against the wall, her body curled on the hay bale. She didn’t sleep well, of course, there were limits after all. She awoke once to find a blanket had been draped over her, another time to find a makeshift pillow beneath her head, and every time to see Grahame standing at Aramis’s head, a reminder that she was safe.
It was Grahame who woke her in the morning with a gentle shake. He knelt down beside her rough bed and brushed back her hair, his voice soft at her ear. “We’ll be in port momentarily, my dear. We made it. Aramis will have to demonstrate his swimming skills another time.”
Elowyn smiled and sat up. “Ouch.” She put a hand to her neck. “I’m stiff everywhere.” And now that the ship had stopped rocking, she was hungry, tired and must look as rumpled as she felt. But she did not dare complain. Grahame would not be impressed with complaints. He’d provided her every comfort at his disposal: a blanket, a pillow, even a bed of sorts, while he’d gone without, standing sentinel for her and Aramis all night.
“Stiff everywhere?” Grahame teased. “And I thought I had it bad. I am only stiff in one spot.”
Elowyn laughed and swatted at his shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m alive, my dear, and I want to celebrate it.” He kissed her just as Captain Anderson came down the stairs. It was time to unload Aramis and get off the ship. Elowyn didn’t have to be asked twice. Not because she’d had her fill of sailing but because a warm bath and a room awaited her in Ostend and she had every intention of enjoying them both with Grahame.
An Officer but No Gentleman Page 4