Her other hand found his, and guided it unresisting to the juncture between her legs. Neither of them noticed when a violent gust of wind blew open a French door. She was wet and silky and he cursed beneath his breath, taking her by her hips and bottom and lifting her tight against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist as his straining erection pressed hard between her naked thighs. Rubbing up and down against it, she purred like a stroked cat, her body aflame.
Succumbing to imaginings that had plagued him for days, Robert let go of his good intentions. His hands worked with her, rocking her against him. He captured her mouth in a scorching brandy-soaked kiss, his tongue plunging deep into the hot inner recesses of her mouth, thrusting to the same rhythm as her hips. There was nothing tender about his kiss. It was hungry, demanding, greedy with need. Her breasts were mashed against his chest. He could feel her hardened nipples rub against him as her moist and eager heat teased and embraced his swollen cock.
He had been too long without a woman and his hunger overtook him. He leaned over the heavy oak billiard table and lowered her onto its green worsted surface, one hand knocking ivory balls aside as his body followed hers down. His mouth devoured hers as his hands traveled her length, pinching and teasing her nipples, brushing her belly and squeezing her waist. He blazed a trail of hot kisses down her throat, across her breasts and over her stomach as he stroked her quivering flesh.
Hope had imagined his kisses in London. At the inn in Nottingham, his nearness had affected her like a touch. She didn’t know what wild magic this was, but she arched against his hands and turned into his kisses as bristled jaw abraded aching skin and left her burning with need. She reveled in the feel of him and as he claimed her body, every part of her was exquisitely alive.
She whimpered an incoherent protest when he withdrew his heat from hers. Opening her eyes she saw him standing, watching her from the edge of the table. He was all that she’d imagined. Lithe, hard, and lean-waisted, his torso was taut and sleek, his stomach ridged with muscle and he had the corded shoulders, sculpted chest and rippling arms of a swordsman. She moaned in frustration and lust, and then gasped in shock and excitement when he grasped the back of her thighs in his large hands, roughly hauling her toward him so her buttocks rested against the felt rail cushions and she lay completely open to his gaze. Her face blazed as he stood naked between her legs, a proud erection jutting, brushing against her soaking curls.
“Good Christ, I could devour you.” It was the first words either of them had spoken since she’d slipped out of her gown. He knelt between her thighs, hooking them over his shoulders and gripped her hips, holding her firmly in place. Despite the chill wind and rain spattering through the open door her body burned crimson. When he kissed her lightly, just brushing her with his warm breath she almost leapt from the table, twisting and squirming, but her gyrations didn’t free her, they only forced her tighter against his seeking mouth. As he pleasured her, kissing and tonguing, her moan was one of wild surrender, but her hands gripped his head and her hold was as fierce and possessive as his was of her.
“Robert, please,” she gasped. He rose and entered her, slamming into her and she grasped his shoulders and rose to meet each thrust. Thunder reverberated in the distance, rumbling as it echoed off of buildings, trees and hills. As wind slammed the shutters hard against the outer wall and white sheets of lightning lit the sky, he filled her body, he filled her senses and he rode her through the storm.
~
He lay atop her for several moments. She could hear the rain sweeping across the flagstones. She could hear his heart and his ragged breathing, but he didn’t say a word. He pushed himself up on his arms and she shivered, watching in silence as he adjusted his robe. Retrieving hers, he handed it to her, and offered his hand to help her to her feet.
“I think it’s time for me to retire. Do you need me to escort you back to your room? Or can you find your way alone?”
His cold politeness mortified her after abandoning herself as she had. “Now that you’ve taken what you wanted you will simply walk away?” She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice.
“It was what you wanted, Hope.” His manner was distant, his voice weary. “It’s been a difficult day. It’s better if I’m alone.”
“And now, I suppose, you fell dishonored. You ooze judgment like a weeping sore.”
“It’s not judgment. You have no idea what I….” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Was that your purpose? Was it what you wanted?”
She had the grace to flush. Why had she pursued this man? She didn’t know herself anymore. She was so lonely, so far away from all that was familiar and she had never felt so lost. She blinked back her tears. They served no purpose and he would not appreciate them. No doubt he hated her now.
She rounded on him with a fortifying surge of anger. “If you feel you’ve sullied your precious honor you have no one to blame but yourself. Yes, I teased and provoked you. Yes, I offered myself. Blatantly! But no one forced you to accept. Don’t act like I ravaged you. Like you are some sort of victim. That is laughable. You are a man. The world and all the things in it belong to you. You are bigger than me. Stronger than me. You took what I offered. You took what you wanted. ’Tis you who has the power here.”
“Is it?” he said mildly. “It’s you who has the king.”
She called after him as he turned and walked away. “Whilst you try and sleep in your lonely bed you will think of me willing and warm.”
“Leave it be, Hope.” His voice was flat, rasping, barely more than a whisper. “It’s not you who haunts my dreams.” But he was lying to himself and to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hope woke with a blinding headache. Doubtless it came from crying herself to sleep. It was a wretched habit, one she seemed to be growing used to. Perhaps she should turn to the bottle when upset. It would be far better—and certainly much less humiliating—to wake sick and hurting from too much drink. She should be feeling powerful and victorious. She’d decisively turned her back on Charles and shown the captain he was no better than her, but all she felt was guilty and confused. Not that she had any reason to be. Perhaps he’d not knowingly tricked her into marriage, but he was still a hypocrite who’d married someone he disdained in a situation he disapproved.
And how must he feel today? All I’ve done is proven to him I’m nothing but a whore. With a moan, she buried her head against her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. I’ll never be able to look him in the eyes again.
That was how Rose found her almost twenty minutes later. Unable to deal with the girl’s relentless good cheer, Hope flopped onto her stomach and pulled a coverlet over her head. A determined Rose prepared her tea with a loud clatter of silver on porcelain. The delicious hot drink was the latest rage among sophisticated folk, but Hope had been surprised to find it here in the country. It seemed Nottingham really did have shopping to rival that of London.
“Here we go, my lady. Open your eyes and see what I’ve got. I’ve brought you a special treat!”
“Go away, Rose,” she mumbled into her pillow.
“My lady, I know what it is to be far from home and I know sometimes you’re sad and lonely. If you’d just open your eyes I have something I promise will cheer you up.”
Giving a very unladylike grunt, Hope stretched out her arm and pointed to the side table. “It’s not the magic potion people say it is. Just put in there, and leave me be.” Something warm and silky soft rubbed against her hand, and she opened her eyes to see an amber-eyed, snub-nosed, fluff-ball of a kitten. It stared at her with a mix of curiosity and mischief, and she stared right back and grinned.
“You’ve been awfully nice to me, my lady, what with the dresses and all. Before you came here nobody even bothered to ask me my name. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“Well, God bless you, Rose O’Donnell! I daresay this is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me. She’s just like the kitten I ha
d when I was a girl.” Giggling and cooing they played with the kitten as it reared and pounced and wriggled in ambush, attacking a feather they tied to a string.
“I should warn you though, my lady. We best keep her a secret. The master is very strict about animals in the house.”
~
As the week wore on, Hope managed to avoid the captain, who had returned to Nottingham on business with Sergeant Oakes. She expected he was busy avoiding her, too. She ate in her rooms rather than alone in the dining room, and procured a matronly apron with wide pockets that could accommodate her kitten. When Mrs. Overton saw its tiny head peeking from her pocket she screamed as if Hope were carrying a rat.
“You’ll not be keeping that in the house once the master sees it! Far as he’s concerned the place for animals is outside.”
Hope shrugged her shoulders and ignored her. The palace had been full of dogs and they often made a filthy mess, but cats were cleanly. Rose wouldn’t stay long in the curiosity cabinet she’d claimed as study, and one little kitten to keep her company was surely not too much to ask.
She continued her exploration of Cressly, hiking through pasture and woodland and riverside with her kitten at her side. And if the night was filled with mournful calls and eerie creaking, she was too tired from her travels to pay it much mind.
Midweek a coach arrived from London bearing her jewels, her cosmetics and clothes. She had little use for them here at Cressly, and much to Rose’s horror, after giving her another dress she packed them away, contented with a few simple dresses, some India gowns and the men’s clothes she’d worn in London when that fashion had been the rage. She wondered what her soldier husband would think of those.
There was little she could do to improve the house without cooperation or resources, so she contented herself with adding her own touches to her study, and weeding and tending its hidden garden as best she might.
~
Robert Nichols was in a quandary. He had slept with his own wife. That she was another man’s lover hadn’t mattered until now. So long as he hadn’t touched her, so long as he’d believed she had deliberately used him knowing his desperate situation with Charles, all he had owed her was the minimal civility one had to offer an unwanted quest. Her perceptiveness had taken him completely by surprise. You think that refusing to acknowledge we’re married makes you any less a cuckold? That was exactly what he’d thought. But refusing to think of her as his wife was going to be far more difficult now.
It was bad enough before when he was constantly thinking of her dancing like some wild pagan queen, or of the movement of her shapely bottom as she leaned out of the carriage window as they’d approached Nottingham. But now, the image of her spread in open invitation on his billiard table, the scent and taste and sound of her, invaded his every thought. She was making his life complicated in ways he’d not imagined. She was certainly not a wife he’d have chosen for himself but a fever was upon him and he’d have to find a way to resolve the thing because he was not a man who shared.
He dealt with easier complications first, sending Oakes to hire five more men, ex-soldiers all to act as footmen, grooms and coachman. They wouldn’t be hard to find. The country was full of displaced soldiers unsuited for other jobs. Until this recent marriage he had been one himself. The sergeant would see to it they were armed and ready if their other skills were needed. He’d also swallowed his pride and sent a message to de Veres. He needed eyes and ears in London. The man knew things and Elizabeth trusted him.
And then there was Hope. It was clear she was unhappy and true he’d been neglectful. He could only imagine how she’d felt at the way she’d been betrayed. She had not come of her own accord and given that and what had passed between them he felt a greater responsibility than he had before.
He knew she’d been avoiding him. He hadn’t meant to insult or offend her after their…encounter, but she’d been in no mood to listen, and he in no mood to speak. Not about Caroline. Not to anyone. A little time and distance should make it easier to talk. Too much might make it impossible. Fortified with a shot of brandy, he set out to track her down.
She was not in the drawing room or library and there was no answer when he knocked on her door. He was about to take the search outside when he saw the housekeeper.
“She’ll be in the same place she goes every day,” Mrs. Overton told him. “Down the old east hall off the north wing.”
“She’ll be where?”
“In the room you told us all to stay out of. It seems she’s got it in her head to make it her own.”
Bloody hell! The woman was a damned nuisance. What gave her the right? She went where she pleased. Took what she pleased. Did as she pleased, and now she’d launched an invasion of the most private recesses of his home. He stalked down the hall.
The door to the little room was half-open. She was perched on the window-seat, gazing outside. She was simply dressed and wearing an apron and there was a streak of soot smudging her cheek. A snow-white kitten sat in her lap pawing at a bit of lace trailing from her sleeve. She patted it absently as she watched out the window, apparently deep in thought. He was arrested by the scene. In the past he had wondered what she was, but for the first time he wondered who she was.
The kitten saw him first. It arched its back and hissed. Hope looked up at him, startled, her face white with surprise. He collected himself quickly. “What is that thing doing in here? It should be in the kitchen or outside. There are… many valuables in this room.”
“I should like to keep it with me. It’s only a kitten, Captain. And it’s very well-behaved.” There was a note of defiance in her voice.
“We are not at the palace now, where every idiot has a dog or monkey or other small pet stuck in a muff or sleeve. Send it to the barn where it can make itself useful. You may have had your way with…
The kitten jumped from the seat and ambled across the floor to rub against his boots, then pounced on the toes, its tiny little claws digging into the leather.
“Bloody hell! Would you stop that!”
“She means no harm, Captain,” Hope said, half-rising from her seat.
He reached down and pinched its nape, plucking it off his boot. It squirmed in his hand and scratched him, and his face twisted in displeasure. He reminded himself that he hadn’t come here to argue, though it was clear the elf was prepared to do battle. “Really? Your bloody little savage meant no harm? And you call this well-behaved? One can only wonder what havoc it will wreak when grown.”
He plunked it back down on the window-seat beside her. “Here. Take your Fluffy or Princess or whatever you’ve named it and keep it out from underfoot. No climbing curtains or scratching furniture or out to the barns it goes.”
“You don’t mind if I keep her?”
He sighed as he settled into an armchair, taking note of what she’d done with the room as he stretch out his booted feet. It shone with a luster he didn’t remember and he was more comfortable than he’d expected. “This is your home, too. Teach it some manners.”
“Her name is Daisy.”
He nodded. “White fur, those colored eyes. Naturally, she’s named for a flower.”
Hope wasn’t sure if he was making an effort at conversation, or was simply being sarcastic. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I had a kitten very much like her when I was a child. I...I lost her one day and never found out what became of her. This little one...well...they are so much alike.”
“Was your other one ill-behaved, too?”
She was about to make a defensive retort when she caught the slight smile playing about his lips. “Yes,” she said with a grin. “I’m afraid she was. I will replace your boots.”
“There’s no need. My boots have withstood far worse than the fangs and claws of a rampaging kitten. Hope, has no one told you that I prefer this part of the house to remain unused?”
“You haven’t told me. And the servants don’t speak to me except for Rose.”
; “Ah, yes. As you told me your first day here. I have to remedy that.”
“Why don’t you use this room? It’s a wonderful space filled with marvelous things and has a beautiful garden out back.”
“It was my curiosity cabinet when I was a boy.” He gave her a grim smile. “I suppose you might say I’ve lost my curiosity since then, and I generally prefer not to revisit my youth.”
“May I use it, though? I’ll take good care of it and be very careful.”
He chuckled. The chit could read his thoughts. “I can see how you value it. It looks a good deal better than I remember. But you’ll need the fireplace working, a servant’s bell and a better supply of liquor to really do it justice.”
“I tried to poke around the fireplace and clean it out, but it’s a bit too complicated for me.”
That explained the soot-stained face. “You should leave that work to the servants. Oakes can tell you who’s best for the job.”
There was an awkward silence between them, but it was the first civil conversation they’d had since the afternoon in Nottingham. Hope didn’t want it to end, and she didn’t want him to leave. When he exerted himself to be pleasant she found him quite likeable. She struggled for a topic of conversation. “In the drawing room…”
“Yes?”
“There are two portraits. Are they your mother and father?”
“Yes.”
“And where are they now?”
“I have no idea. In heaven one hopes, should there be such a place. They died several years ago while visiting London, during an outbreak of the plague.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“As I said, it was many years ago.”
“And in this room. There are two miniatures.”
“My sister Caroline, yes. She is dead, too. I’d rather not discuss it if you don’t mind. There are other matters, though, that—”
He stopped in surprise as the housekeeper barged into the room.
Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) Page 15