Hoyt, Elizabeth - The Leopard Prince2.txt

by The Leopard Prince

  She couldn’t speak. She nodded.

  He placed one hand on his penis to steady it and the other on her

  bottom. “Lean toward me.”

  She did and he slid in suddenly, almost all the way. She caught her

  breath and felt unexpected tears. /Harry./ Harry was making love to her.

  She closed her eyes and ground her hips into his. Felt at the same time

  his thumb touch that spot. She moaned and drew up until only the head

  remained inside her, concentrating on her pleasure and his. Down,

  grinding herself into him. Up, balancing precariously on a peak. Down,

  his thumb pressing against that most sensitive part of her. Up . . .

  But suddenly he broke. He gripped her bottom tightly and rolled her

  underneath him. Then he braced himself on his hands and ploughed into

  her, fast and furious. She tried to move, to respond, but he pinned her

  to the mattress with his weight, dominated and mastered her with his

  flesh. She arched her head and widened her legs helplessly. Allowed him

  full access. Gave herself to him as he continued his relentless

  pounding. He grunted with each thrust into her body, and it almost

  sounded like sobbing. Did he feel it as much as she?

  Then she fell apart and saw stars, a glorious stream of light filling

  her being. Dimly she heard his cry and felt his withdrawal, like a

  little death.

  Then he lay next to her, panting.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” George stroked his neck. Her tongue was

  thick with satiation. “I wish you would stay with me until the end.”

  “You know I can’t do that, my lady.” His voice sounded no better.

  She rolled over and snuggled against him. Her hand stroked down his

  sweaty belly until she found his penis again. She held it. The argument

  could wait for tomorrow.

  But when she woke in the morning, Harry was gone.

  BENNET LAY WITH ONE ARM flung over his head and a foot hanging off the

  bed. In the moonlight, something metallic shone dully around his neck.

  He snored.

  Harry stole across the darkened bedroom, placing his feet carefully. He

  should’ve quit the area the night he’d left his lady’s bed, a week ago

  now. And he had meant to. It had been harder than it should’ve been to

  watch his lady sleep, see her relaxed body after he’d given her

  pleasure, and know he must leave her. There was simply no other choice.

  They had kept secret his recovery from Granville, but it was only a

  matter of time before Silas found out. And when he did, Lady Georgina’s

  life would be in danger. Granville was insane. Harry had seen that

  firsthand during his stay in the lord’s dungeon. Whatever was driving

  Granville to seek Harry’s death had been let off its leash. Lord

  Granville would stop at nothing—not even an innocent woman—to see Harry

  dead. It would be irresponsible to put his lady’s life in danger for an

  affair that had no future.

  He knew all this, and yet something still held him here in Yorkshire. As

  a result, Harry had become a master at sneaking. He hid from Granville’s

  watchful eyes and the men who had begun roaming the hills in the last

  few days, seeking him. Tonight he made almost no noise, just a faint

  creak from his leather boots. The man on the bed stirred not at all.

  Still, the boy on the pallet beside the bed opened his eyes.

  Harry stopped and watched Will. The boy nodded slightly. Harry returned

  the nod. He walked to the bed. For a moment, he stood looking down at

  Bennet. Then he leaned over and covered the other man’s mouth with his

  hand. Bennet jackknifed convulsively. He threw out his arms and managed

  to knock Harry’s hand aside.

  “Wha—?”

  Harry slapped his hand back down again, grunting as Bennet elbowed him.

  “Hist, you beef-wit. It’s me.”

  Bennet fought for a second more, and then Harry’s words seemed to reach

  his brain. He froze.

  Cautiously, Harry lifted his hand.

  “Harry?”

  “You’d better hope.” He spoke barely above a whisper. “The way you

  sleep, it could be marauders. Even the boy woke before you.”

  Bennet leaned over the bed. “Will? Are you there?”

  “Yes, sir.” Will had sat up sometime during the struggle.

  “Jesus.” Bennet flopped back on the bed, covering his eyes with an arm.

  “You nearly gave me apoplexy.”

  “You’ve gotten soft living in London.” The corner of Harry’s mouth

  twitched. “Hasn’t he, Will?”

  “We-ell.” The boy clearly didn’t want to say anything against his new

  mentor. “Wouldn’t hurt to be more alert.”

  “Thank you, young Will.” Bennet removed his arm to glare at Harry.

  “What’re you doing, creeping into my bedroom in the wee hours?”

  Harry sat on the bed, his back against one of the posts at the end. He

  nudged Bennet’s legs with a boot. The other man stared at the boot

  indignantly before moving.

  Harry stretched out his legs. “I’m leaving.”

  “So you’ve come to say good-bye?”

  “Not exactly.” He looked down at the fingernails on his right hand. To

  the place where one should be but wasn’t. “Your father is hell-bent on

  having me killed. And he’s none too happy with Lady Georgina for saving me.”

  Bennet nodded. “He’s been rampaging around Granville House the last

  week, roaring that he’d have you arrested. He’s insane.”

  “Aye. He’s also the magistrate.”

  “What can you do? What can anybody do?”

  “I can find whoever is really killing the sheep.” Harry glanced at Will.

  “And Mrs. Pollard’s murderer as well. It might dampen his temper.” And

  turn it away from his lady.

  Bennet sat up. “Very well. But how are you going to find the killer?”

  Harry stared. A pendant on a thin chain around Bennet’s neck had swung

  forward: a small, crudely carved falcon.

  Harry blinked, remembering.

  /Long, long ago. A morning so bright and sunny it hurt to open your eyes

  wide to the full, blue sky. He and Benny had stretched on their backs on

  top of the hill, chewing grass./

  /“Lookee here.” Harry took the carving out of his pocket and handed it

  to Benny./

  /Benny turned it over in his dirty fingers. “A bird.”/

  /“It’s a falcon. Can’t you see?”/

  /“’Course I can see.” Benny glanced up. “Who made it?”/

  /“Me.”/

  /“Really? You carved it?” Benny stared at him with awe./

  /“Aye.” Harry shrugged. “My da taught me. It’s only my first, so it’s

  not so good.”/

  /“I like it.”/

  /Harry shrugged again and squinted into the blinding blue sky. “You can

  keep it if you want.”/

  /“Thanks.”/

  /They had lain for a while, almost falling asleep in the warm sun./

  /Then Benny sat up. “I’ve got something for you.”/

  /He’d turned out both pockets and then dug down again, finally bringing

  up a small, dirty penknife. Benny rubbed it on his breeches and handed

  it to Harry./

  /Harry looked at the pearl handle and tested the edge with his thumb.

  “Ta, Benny. It’ll be
good for whittling.”/

  Harry couldn’t remember what he and Bennet had done the rest of that

  day. Probably rode their ponies about. Maybe fished in the stream. Come

  home hungry. That was how they’d spent most days back then. And it

  didn’t really matter. The next afternoon Da had found his mother humping

  old Granville.

  Harry looked up and met eyes as green as his own.

  “I’ve always worn it.” Bennet touched the little falcon.

  Harry nodded and glanced away from Bennet for a moment. “I had started

  asking around, before I was arrested, and I’ve tried again this last

  week, discreetly, lest your father track me.” He looked back at Bennet,

  his face under control now. “Nobody seems to know much, but there’s

  plenty besides me who have a reason to hate your father.”

  “Probably most of the county.”

  Harry ignored the sarcasm. “I thought maybe I should search a bit

  further back.”

  Bennet raised his eyebrows.

  “Your nurse is still alive, isn’t she?”

  “Old Alice Humboldt?” Bennet yawned. “Yes, she’s alive. Her cottage was

  the first place I stopped when I got back into the district. And you’re

  right, she might know something. Nanny is very quiet, but she always

  noticed everything.”

  “Good.” Harry stood up. “Then she’s the person to question. Want to come?”

  “What, now?”

  Harry’s mouth twitched. He’d forgotten how fun it was to bait Bennet. “I

  had thought to wait for sunrise,” he said gravely, “but if you’re eager

  to go now . . .”

  “No. No, sunrise is fine.” Bennet winced. “I don’t suppose you could

  wait until nine o’clock?”

  Harry looked at him.

  “No, of course not.” Bennet yawned again, nearly unhinging the back of

  his head. “I’ll meet you at Nanny’s cottage, shall I?”

  “I’ll go, too,” Will spoke up from the pallet.

  Harry and Bennet glanced at the boy. He’d nearly forgotten Will. Bennet

  raised his eyebrows at Harry, leaving the decision to him.

  “Aye, you’ll go, too,” Harry said.

  “Ta,” Will said. “I’ve got something for you.”

  He burrowed under his pillow and came out with a long, thin object

  wrapped in a rag. He held it out. Harry took the bundle and unrolled it.

  His knife, cleaned and oiled, lay on his palm.

  “Found it in the stream,” Will said, “after they took you. I been taking

  care of it for you. Until you was ready for it again.”

  It was the most Harry had ever heard from the boy’s mouth.

  Harry smiled. “Ta, Will.”

  GEORGE TOUCHED THE LITTLE SWAN swimming on her pillow. It was the second

  carving Harry had given her. The first had been a rearing horse. He’d

  been gone from her seven days, but he hadn’t left the neighborhood. That

  much was obvious from the tiny carvings he’d somehow placed on her bed.

  “Gave you another one, has he, my lady?” Tiggle bustled about the room,

  putting away her dress and gathering soiled things for the laundry.

  George picked up the swan. “Yes.”

  She’d questioned the servants after the first carving. Nobody had seen

  Harry enter or leave Woldsly, not even Oscar, who kept the irregular

  hours of a bachelor. Her middle brother had remained behind after Tony

  had left for London. Oscar said it was to keep her and Violet company,

  but she suspected the real reason had more to do with his creditors in

  London.

  “Romantic of Mr. Pye, isn’t it?” Tiggle sighed.

  “Or irritating.” George wrinkled her nose at the swan and placed it

  carefully on her dressing table beside the horse.

  “Or irritating, I guess, my lady,” Tiggle agreed.

  The maid came over and laid a hand on George’s shoulder, gently pressing

  her into the chair before the dressing table. She took up the

  silver-backed brush and began to stroke it through George’s hair. Tiggle

  started at the ends and worked to the roots, teasing out the tangles.

  George closed her eyes.

  “Men don’t always see things the same way we do, if you don’t mind me

  saying so, my lady.”

  “I can’t help but think that Mr. Pye was dropped on his head as a baby.”

  George squeezed her eyes shut. “Why won’t he come back to me?”

  “Can’t say, my lady.” The tangles worked out, Tiggle began stroking from

  her crown down to the ends of her hair.

  George sighed in pleasure.

  “But he hasn’t gone too far away, now, has he?” the maid pointed out.

  “Mmm.” George tilted her head so Tiggle could do that side.

  “He wants to go—you’ve said so yourself, my lady— but he hasn’t.” Tiggle

  started on the other side, brushing gently from the temple. “Stands to

  reason, then, that maybe he can’t.”

  “You’re speaking in riddles and I’m too tired to understand.”

  “I’m just saying maybe he can’t leave you, my lady.” Tiggle set down the

  brush with a thump and began braiding her hair.

  “A lot of good that does me if he can’t bring himself to face me,

  either.” George frowned in the mirror.

  “I think he’ll be back.” The maid tied a ribbon at the end of George’s

  braid and leaned over her shoulder to meet her eyes in the mirror. “And

  when he comes, you’ll be needing to tell him, if you don’t mind my

  saying so, my lady.”

  George blushed. She had hoped Tiggle wouldn’t notice, but she should

  have realized the maid kept track of everything. “There’s no way of

  knowing yet.”

  “Aye, there is. And you being so regular like . . .”

  Tiggle gave her an old-fashioned look. “Good night, my lady.”

  She left the room.

  George sighed and dropped her head into her hands. Tiggle had better be

  right about Harry. Because if he waited too long to return, there would

  be no need to tell him she was expecting.

  He’d see it.

  /Chapter Seventeen/

  “Aye?” The wizened face peeped out the door crack.

  Harry looked down. The old woman’s head didn’t come to his breastbone.

  The hump on her back bent her until she had to peer sideways and up to

  see her caller.

  “Good morning, Mistress Humboldt. My name is Harry Pye. I’d like to talk

  with you.”

  “Best come in, then, hadn’t you, young man?” The tiny figure smiled at

  Harry’s left ear and opened the door wider. Only then, in the light let

  in by the open door, did he see the cataracts that clouded the old

  woman’s blue eyes.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Bennet and Will were there before him. They sat by a smoldering fire,

  the only light in the dim room. Will was munching on a scone and eyeing

  another on a tray.

  “Late, aren’t you?” Bennet was more alert than he’d been five hours

  before. He looked quite pleased to have got the first dig in.

  “Some of us have to travel by back lanes.”

  Harry helped Mistress Humboldt lower herself into a fan-backed chair

  piled with knitted pillows. A calico cat padded over, meowing. It leaped

  into the old lady’s lap
and purred loudly even before she started

  stroking its back.

  “Have a scone, Mr. Pye. And if you don’t mind, you can help yourself to

  tea.” Mistress Humboldt’s voice was thin and whistling. “Now. What have

  you lads come to talk to me about that you must do it in secret?”

  Harry’s mouth twitched. The old woman’s eyes might be fading, but her

  mind surely wasn’t. “Lord Granville and his enemies.”

  Mistress Humboldt smiled sweetly. “Have you got all day, then, young

  man? For if I was to list everyone who ever had a grudge against that

  lord, I’d still be talking tomorrow morning.”

  Bennet laughed.

  “You’re quite right, ma’am,” Harry said. “But what I’m after is the

  person poisoning the sheep. Who has such hatred of Granville that they’d

  want to do these crimes?”

  The old woman cocked her head and stared at the fire for a moment, the