He looked at me from under half-closed lids, his eyes glittering dangerously. “You should be careful, sweetheart. Open Pandora’s box and you never know what you’ll find.” He laid the cloth over the end of the bed, its careful placement a suggestion. It was enough, and he knew it. Under my petticoat and shift, my cleft dampened. I pressed my thighs together to bring some sensation to the bud of passion now blooming and wet, yearning for his touch. He paused in the act of undoing his sleeve buttons, growled low in his throat, an animalistic sound that sent my arousal into presto tempo.
Richard made short work of his shirt, loosening the ties and buttons and dragging it off over his head. I loved his chest, strong with muscle and sinew, and now I flattened my hands against it, enjoying the warm flesh and his heart throbbing under my palm.
“This is supposed to be my rest,” I said, my voice coming out huskier than I’d planned. A pathetic attempt at a tease, but all I could manage just now.
“My lady, I guarantee you’ll rest well. But not just yet.” He gripped my stays and pulled open the first few hooks at the front. My breasts spilled into his hands, and he pushed my shift down to bare them completely before he bent his head to feast.
His attack made me gasp and my head went back, but I didn’t lose my balance, because he had his arm around my waist, holding me safe. A long, succulent draw of his mouth and then another reduced me to the consistency of jelly. I reached out blindly, finding his shoulders, but he pulled away and his feverish expression told me he was as aroused as I was. He dragged me close, took my mouth in a devouring kiss, plunging his tongue deep to take possession.
Sometimes I took control of our lovemaking. This would not be one of those times.
He tore his mouth away and I caught a glimpse of his face, his cheekbones flushed, his eyes bright with desire. He stole another kiss before he spun me around to face the bed. The neckcloth disappeared from my view and then his arms came around my waist, one hand gripping the cloth. He moved close, his body heating mine, the bulge of his arousal pushing against our clothes to press against my lower back. “Lift your arms, my sweet.”
When I obeyed him, he grasped my wrists and bound the cloth around them, crossing the cloth between my hands and then fastening them to the carved bedpost. A bulbous swelling on the furniture prevented me moving my hands down. I was helpless under his ministrations, and I felt the first trickle of desire anoint my leg.
I turned my head so I could look over my shoulder. He grinned at me and bent to unfasten his shoes and drag off his hose. He stood and deliberately put his hands on his breeches, making me watch as he unfastened the fall and let them drop. He tugged his underwear down and kicked out of the garments. Totally naked, he stepped forward and pressed his hands against my back, smoothing them down.
“So lovely. I’ve a mind to keep you here for the rest of the day, waiting for my pleasure. I’ll go to the coffeehouses, knowing you’re here, waiting for me, unable to do anything else but think about what I can give you, if I’ll give it to you when I come home.” He dropped a kiss between my shoulder blades, and his tongue flicked against my skin. I gave a low moan and gripped the bedpost. The thought of waiting here, his willing slave, gave me visions of life in a harem, nothing to do but serve my lord. While it wouldn’t be an existence I’d welcome in real life, the fantasy heated my blood.
He trailed his tongue down my spine, and I couldn’t repress my shivers. My shift hung loosely around my waist, but it didn’t give Richard pause. He rucked up my skirts, delving beneath, and palmed my buttocks, lifting and massaging them while I pleaded with him to do more, to touch me between my legs. His finger brushed over my clitoris but passed on, and I wailed my displeasure, but he laughed and touched me, again skimming past.
“Richard, please!”
“Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want me to do, show me and I’ll do it. Maybe.” That last purred word nearly undid me completely. My cleft throbbed for him, needing his touch.
I had gone well beyond shame. “Touch me. Push deep inside. Love me.”
“I’ll take you when I think you’re ready. Are you ready, Rose?”
“Yes.”
He touched me then, took my clitoris between thumb and finger and pinched. Thrills shot through me, radiating right through my body from where his fingers manipulated my flesh. I jerked and shouted his name, begging him to do more, arching my back so my shoulders met his chest, now dampened with sweat. “You feel so wet, sweetheart, so hot. Do you think you can take me if I rip your skirts away and plunge in deep? Right now?”
“Yes, yes, I can, anything!”
He chuckled, a low rumble in his throat, and he slid his hand, along my intimate crease, and pushed inside with one finger. He moved it around, finding my most sensitive spot with an unerring knowledge. Our lovemaking only improved the more we discovered about each others’ bodies. If I trusted him, if I gave him complete mastery over me, he only made it better for me. I glanced at my hands. My knuckles had turned white with the pressure I was exerting on them.
A shimmer of cooler air skimmed my body as he swept up my shift and moved closer. I didn’t expect him to lift me, his erection hard against my back, but I understood when I felt something under my feet—most likely the footstool I kept by the bed. Dear God, the man knew his way around me. I clutched the bedpost frantically, wanting nothing more than his skin under my hands, not cold, polished wood.
I had my reward when he stepped back far enough to ensure his next movement brought his shaft inside me. Only breaching the opening, and then with one deep thrust, he found his way inside. His body plastered to mine, he began a rhythmic series of drives. They sent me wild. Just a few touches against the spot he’d already made sensitive by touching it and I pulsed around him, the waves spreading through my body, freezing me in place. I wasn’t aware of crying his name, but I must have done, because he growled against my neck. “Yes, that’s it, remember who I am. Never forget.”
I laughed, my body shaky from my climax, but he didn’t relent. His lips took my shoulder, sucked and then released, and I rejoiced to know he’d marked me. He licked the spot, put one hand under my chin to turn my head so he could kiss my mouth. I had to bend a little, which made me thrust my hips into the welcome bowl of his groin and gain a deeper connection between us. He kissed me, muffled my cries when my body convulsed again, but this time he joined me. He pulled away to suck in air, gasping my name in a breathless fashion that threatened to make me come undone all over again.
Afterwards, he unfastened my wrists, but that took a little time, as I’d tightened the knot by straining against it.
He finished undressing me and lifted me on to the bed. I crawled up and got between the sheets, while Richard brought a clean shift to me and tenderly helped me put it on, as gentle now as he’d been violently passionate a moment before. I snuggled into his arms when he joined me.
“I’ll stay with you until you sleep,” he said, “then I’ll go to the clubs. Maybe I’ll stop at White’s and check on the gossip and the books. See if Pitt has been there first.”
Recalled to our predicament, I sighed, and he smoothed the hair back from my brow, dislodging a few pins. I thought I’d left them all at the end of the bed, but Richard ran his fingers through my locks and found a few more. Nichols would have conniptions when I asked her to put it back in order. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d just sigh as she picked up the brush. My hair was particularly unruly and it took a genius like Nichols to manage it.
I rested against him, enjoying the warmth of his body enclosing mine until he said, “Pitt wants to know more about the Cytherean Club because some of his allies are using it. He knows I can get servants into the establishment. He doesn’t know they’re already there because he hasn’t guessed at the extent of our organization. He’s worried that Julia will have more power than she should have, and I’d guess that her influence is showing already.”
“Hmm.” I stroked his chest, letting my palm rest o
ver his left nipple. “But if we give him what he wants, he’ll ask for more favours.”
He sighed and nodded. “Pitt is as ruthless with his network as we are with ours. If we do him this favour, we have to do it in such a way that he doesn’t discover just what we can do, if we put a mind to it. Just like Fielding, he has his own order of business. I don’t want Thompson’s in the hands of either of them.”
“Neither do I. But it won’t end here. They’ll continue to ask.”
“I know.” He searched my face, and his features relaxed. He bent to kiss me, and I willingly returned the favour. He rolled on to his side and gathered me into his arms, holding me close when he released me.
“Do you think John will cause any serious trouble?” I asked.
I hated that telling moment of doubt, one he’d never show to anyone else. “I will take great care to ensure he does not. The boy is presumptuous and impulsive, his weakest points. And his temper, which he inherited from me, I fear, might prove his undoing. But where I have control over mine, he has yet to master his.”
“You need to remember that he’s your son, Richard. Whatever he does, you cannot hurt him too badly.”
His voice hardened. “I can. He put hands on you last year, my love. He threatened your life. I could have forgiven him most other things, but not that. But I won’t move precipitately, and I won’t move before I’ve consulted with you.”
It was the best I could get from him at the moment, so I didn’t press him further. At least I’d have some notice, unless John did something so unutterably stupid he forced Richard into action. I snuggled closer, caressing his chest, feeling his heart slow down after our exertion of a few moments before. “He must have done something to agitate Pitt.”
“You know he’s been visiting the club?”
“No.” But I had guessed.
“I thought he might. It’s time we put an end to the Drurys’ games. Or restricted them.”
“How will you do that with Pitt and the Fieldings watching?”
“I don’t know yet.” He leaned up on one elbow and bent to kiss me. I loved the way his eyes drank me in, as if hungering for more, and I knew I was looking at him the same way. I loved him so much. “They may be succeeding in their bid for power. The power and privilege I have by birth, they want by taking. But in an underhanded manner. So typical of Julia, never trying an honest way when a sneaky one will do. She could have sponsored her husband into Parliament, have worked with politicians, but that isn’t good enough for her.”
I frowned and he lifted his hand, smoothed the crease away with a tender touch. “I think Steven is tiring of her games. He likes the danger of intimate encounters that her club brings him, but I think he’d have been happy with that alone.”
“He’s led by his cock.” Richard glanced at me and smiled. “True?”
“True. Wouldn’t you say you share something of that?”
He growled and ground his groin against me. Already his shaft was hardening again. “It’s not the only part of me that you lead, my lady. I am yours, wholly yours. Every part of me.” He kissed me again, his tongue insistent against my lips, and we forgot everything else but each other.
Chapter Seven
A FEW DAYS LATER RICHARD went out before breakfast, but he joined me for the meal, one we both enjoyed since we took it informally. The servants laid the food on the sideboard, and we helped ourselves and each other. Frequently someone would join us, Freddy Thwaite, say, or Gervase, or Ian. Gatherings like these enabled the exchange of knowledge, or ideas, and was one reason that John Kneller started his campaign at a distinct disadvantage to the established members of society. But somewhat to my surprise, we found ourselves alone today. Surprised because Ian had promised to drop by with a book he’d bought for me, one I was anxious to read. Perhaps he hadn’t managed to find it, but I thought he had it in his possession.
When I spoke to Richard, he glanced up from his mail, a bright smile on his face. “You’ll probably see him later, sweetheart. Meanwhile, I have something to ask you.”
He got to his feet, dropped his napkin on the table and knelt before me. He took my left hand in his. “Rose, I love you. I’ll always love you.” He gazed at me and I realised he’d stopped because he’d run out of words. That had never happened to him before to my knowledge.
I gripped his hand, wondering. This sounded like a portentous declaration. “You don’t have to say any more, Richard. I know. Every day you tell me, and more importantly, you show me. And I love you too. Very much.” Unlike him, I didn’t need to search for words.
His gave a self-deprecatory grin. “As usual, sweetheart, you strike right to the heart of the matter. Rose, my precious love, will you marry me?”
I glanced at the rings on my left hand. “I already did so.”
His smile turned wry. “I remember. But this recent claim puts the validity of our marriage into question in some quarters. Not by me, never by me, but I want to be sure of you. I want to show you that I’ll marry you, no matter how many times it takes.”
“John’s claim is completely without foundation.” I remained firm—one of us had to be, and this affair had put far more strain on Richard than he was letting me see. I understood what he meant, and if this kept him happy, then I’d do it, but I saw no need for it. He was my husband.
“I know it. But I’ve made enquiries and it won’t do any harm for us to do it again.”
Then I understood. If in the future our marriage came into question, it would take an expensive court case and perhaps an unresolved one to ensure the validity of the heirs. What if my grandson and the grandson of Richard’s cousin and current heir became embroiled in a legal dispute? They could throw the whole Kerre fortune away pursuing the case, and only the lawyers would win. I’d seen it happen, and greed could be the only reason for it. The child I carried in my womb could be a boy, in which case, if we married now, he would be legitimate beyond dispute. Lucy Forder, John and Susan’s mother, was dead, so even if John’s claim came to court and they decided in John’s favour, Richard was currently a widower and free to remarry. Free to make a son and heir, one to step in once John’s claim was found wanting.
I thought Richard was worrying too much, and I couldn’t imagine that any court would find for John, but if Richard wanted this, I’d do it for him. As he said, I’d marry him as many times as it took. So I smiled and raised his hand to my lips, kissing it before I said, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, my love.”
SO IT WAS THAT LATER that day our carriage drew up outside a small church in the City—one of the number designed by Gibbs after the Great Fire. I’d heard rumours about Gibbs and the churches, that he was involved in nefarious activities, superstitious nonsense that fuelled the mob. Today the church contained a vicar, Richard, myself, Gervase, Ian, my brother James, his wife Martha and my sister Ruth, together with Richard’s parents. So that was why Ian hadn’t come for breakfast. I grinned at him as I walked up the aisle, my hand resting on James’s arm.
Unlike the last time, I wore something comfortable but still pretty, in pink and green. Instead of a priceless parure of diamonds, I wore a set of pearls that Richard had bought me, and I had a wide brimmed bergère hat on my head, instead of an elaborate hair ornament of butterflies and flowers. Last time I wore blue and silver, and I entered Exeter Cathedral with most of polite society watching us do the deed. Richard had slept with half of them—the female half—and he’d wanted our highly public wedding to serve as a statement of intent. They’d have to find another stallion. I hadn’t realised he meant that at the time, but it hadn’t taken me long to understand.
This time it was almost the wedding I’d wanted. Just people I cared about, although I missed my sister Lizzie. Ruth scowled at me. I was tempted to scowl back just to show her how unlovely the expression looked.
I felt almost dreamlike, a weird sensation of repeating my actions but not quite—I wasn’t sure I liked it. But when I saw Richard’s encouraging smile, everyt
hing returned to its proper place and I walked up the aisle to him considerably faster than I had the first time.
And this time I listened to the words. Before, my trepidation and sheer terror had removed much of the experience from my mind, but now I knew what awaited me, and I could say the words in the full knowledge of the happiness that awaited me. Hopefully nobody waited outside the church with a pair of pistols, ready to remove us from the picture. That had been on the instigation of Julia and Steven Drury, and they had since relented, or decided to take another route to personal power.
When Richard said his vows, he looked at me and only me. Anyone watching would see what I meant to him. I swallowed back my tears, not wanting to mar the occasion with inappropriate emotions, but I knew I’d weep later from pure joy. A tear must have escaped because he lifted his hand and gently brushed my cheek. I saw the liquid on his forefinger before he brought it to his lips and kissed it away.
I had taken my ring off on the journey to the church and transferred my ruby betrothal ring to my right hand. Now he put the wedding ring back. I caught a glimpse of the engraved message inside, known only to Richard and me, and then I gave him my right hand, to remove the ruby and replace it where it belonged. I slid his ring on his left hand after I made my promises. Not all men wore wedding rings, but Richard had elected to do so.
After our previous wedding, Richard had led me to the vestry, where he took me in his arms and kissed me. His reticence at that time would have made him uncomfortable to show such emotion in public, even in such close company as we were now, but today he showed no such disinclination. His kiss was no polite kiss of greeting, but he crushed me close and took my mouth with all the abandon he showed in the bedroom. Except, of course, his hands remained sedately around my waist. I felt his heat and I wanted him.
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