Argent (Hundred Days Series Book 3)

by Baird Wells

  Sweat beaded between their bodies. A knot in her belly moved lower, heat spreading to her thighs and coupled with a tender throbbing already lingering there. “Please,” she whispered against his damp temple. “Spencer, please...” She ran a toe up the back of his calf, twined their legs together.

  He grunted, bucked against her, chuckling into her throat. Slow and relentless, he ignored her plea.

  Now she begged in earnest. Thought fell away under sensation. She needed. Alix had no doubt Spencer was doing it right. He just wasn't doing enough; he was withholding on purpose. Lungs burning, she panted and raised harder against him. She writhed, arched. Fistfuls of his hair twined between her fingers, thick and silken. She clenched them, tugging him into a kiss. His lip was too fetching a target, and Alix caught it between her teeth and pinched.

  His groan filled her mouth, vibrating in her throat; she had won. Spencer gripped her thigh, raised her knee and pierced her with a force which punished even as it fulfilled.

  This. This was what she wanted. Small ‘ahh's’ of frustration were shredded into cries of pure, mindless satisfaction. She clutched at Spencer with trembling limbs, bracing herself.

  His hips jarred hers, groans caught against her nipple. “Alexandra. Oh God, Alexandra...” Her name was sweet and urgent on his lips. Spencer went rigid between her thighs, hands cradled her back, and he raised her until her flesh stung. His body trembled ahead of hers, a warning she had only a breath to heed, and then she snapped. Spencer's movements ripped something from her, and spasms wracked her head to toe as the world melted away. His name on her lips was a wild sound, a sound she felt in her throat more than a fully formed word.

  He shuddered out a cry of his own against her breast. Heat spilled over her thighs and he fell against her, trembling out of time with her own weak limbs. Air couldn't come fast enough, but she was in no hurry for anything else.

  The crackling fire reached her ears as their breath slowed, reality setting in once more. Sweat cooled on her skin and Alix tensed, anxious about the moment that Spencer withdrew and left her empty.

  She had no idea how much time passed. Her eyes closed and she drifted, content just at the edge of sleep under his warmth. At some point, a sound drew her back. She realized it was her name when he spoke again.

  “Alexandra.” Spencer raised up on his elbows, staring down at her from a heavy-lidded frown.

  “Mm.”

  “Why didn't you tell me?”

  “Tell you … oh.” Her first impulse was to say she thought she had, but then Alix realized she hadn't said anything one way or another. “I told you I had never been married. Never had an affair. I thought it seemed obvious.” She swallowed. “Though, in hindsight it's clearly not.”

  “Clearly,” he sighed, then brushed her cheek with his lips.

  “You don't owe me anything,” she protested as he pulled back.

  “No, perhaps I don't. I'm not exactly dashing out to fetch the parson, but this is serious, Alexandra.”

  Not to her. It had just been something she’d lived with, like the color of her hair. Or perhaps it was, and giving herself to Spencer was so right that it had felt more natural than momentous. She was in no condition for rational thought.

  Spencer shifted, his eyes on hers. “London teems with men who find virginity a prize. They take bets on it, Alexandra; I have seen the wagers. Once they've taken it from her, they wouldn't tip the girl a nod when crossing the street. And still others avoid it like a pox, thinking it a synonym for prudishness. I am neither sort.” He slipped a hand up beneath her shoulder, raising her to him in a slow kiss. “It can only be given between a man and woman once, and I think that carries some weight.”

  “It does,” she breathed against his chest. “But I wanted you, wanted to make love, and carry on as we have.”

  “It wouldn't have stopped me,” he grinned, “but it would have spared me a nearly fatal moment of surprise.”

  “I'm not a nun,” she muttered. “It's not as though I've lived three decades as a hermit.”

  “No,” Spencer brushed kisses over her cheek, her bottom lip, “that much has been apparent for some time. But the act itself...” His grin was cheeky now, skipping her heart. “It's in a gentleman's best interest to take a little care, to make sure the lady enjoys herself. Ideally she should want to do it again.”

  “Oh,” she twined her arms around his neck, kissed him and bit knees into his sides, “She does.”

  * * *

  They lay twined together nearly in the center of the bed, having finished at the foot and not quite making it back to the top. He was sixteen and in the hayloft again, and nothing about Alexandra was slowing the charge. She was all curves and softness, firm thighs and womanly hips. Her sweet perfume clung to him and the husky way she’d begged at the end made him want to start all over again. And they had, until the fire burned out and he lost count, until his parts ached and then passed beyond aching, forgotten in the frenzy of arousal.

  Alexandra had been quiet, her cheek pressed to his chest. Now she stirred, slipped onto her back and caressed his thigh. The touch garnered an impressive response, by his estimation, given the near pulped sensation he felt from the navel down.

  “What pleases you?” she murmured against his ribs.

  “What?” He wondered at this point if her question could be serious after the last few hours.

  “I read a smuggled copy of 'A Gentleman's Diary', years ago. Have you read it?”

  “No. Why, am I in it?”

  She snorted, poking him. “He indulged in all manner of activities, but one or two things in particular gave him the greatest pleasure.”

  He blinked slowly, taking her in. “I want you, Alexandra. To make love to you, to press you and debauch you in every way. Wear you to exhaustion until you tremble, and then sleep against me.” He drew a thumb over her nipple and relished her gasp. “Whatever wins me that, pleases me.”

  A slender arm draped his chest. Her fingernail traced his lower lip, raked his jaw. “Knowing what pleases you, wins you that.”

  “Very well.” He couldn't deny an inherent appeal to instructing her. Spencer settled against the mattress until he was entirely comfortable and folded one arm beneath his head. He beckoned Alexandra with a finger. “Up.”

  She knelt beside him, her smile an invitation to sin.

  “Over,” he ordered, raking a hand at her.

  “Hmm.” She straddled him. The perfect weight of her thighs was torture. “This?”

  “Mmhmm. The man who thought of this was a genius,” he murmured, looking her over. “I can touch every inch of you.” Cupping her shoulder, he traced her curves; the weight of her breast, flare of her hip. He pressed a thumb to the crisp black hair between her thighs and hardened at her ragged gasp.

  “Every inch.” Gripping her hips, he raised her up slowly and denied himself the pleasure of her for an achingly long moment. Sheathing slowly, rational thought melted away at the point where their bodies joined. Alexandra's moan vibrated through him. He pressed her backside, moving her until she caught his rhythm.

  “Like this?” she murmured, hands splayed over his chest.

  He nodded, taking advantage of their position to explore her. Wild black waves covered her face, teasing his chest when she leaned into his touch. His words felt ragged and out of breath. “If it feels good to you, I promise it's the same for me.”

  Groaning, he admitted the information might have been a mistake. She shifted, a wicked smile on her face, and for a moment he thought he might lose control.

  Alix arched and her fingers gripped his thigh. She was relentless, pressing him to the point of mindlessness. There was something sweet and heedless about her deliberate pace, an innocent disregard for how quickly she was pushing him to the edge.

  “This?” she whispered again, palms brushing his chest.

  Spencer laced fingers behind his head, arched into her and let himself be thoroughly used. “This.”

  * *
*

  Two days passed divided in equal fashions: utter domestic failure and exhausting romantic success.

  Spencer estimated that no part of the shy little house had been spared. They had burned a loaf of bread while taking advantage of the kneading board's convenient height. His treasured, and until now, pristine cherry wood desk boasted a few well-earned scratches in its surface. A trip and fall on the staircase while chasing Alexandra to the bedroom had presented an entirely new opportunity for both of them. Food was reheated two and three times, and sometimes finally abandoned out of exhaustion. Window ledges, table tops, the rug; nothing was safe.

  They were only being driven out of doors today by a heat which not even a stout ocean breeze could chase from the cottage.

  “I need a bath,” Alexandra murmured into her pillow, sprawled over the mattress. Spencer sat next to her and traced the nude the lines of her body with his eyes. She looked no more eager to move than he was for her to do so. But it was sweltering, and Spencer admitted that after two days of near crippling exertion some sort of ablution was in order. That realization had planted an idea. “Bring your shift,” he instructed. “And a wrapper if you have it.”

  “I do,” she smiled, brow arched in a question.

  “Then get them,” he said, lacing his fingers through a handful of wild black locks, forcing her lips apart with his tongue. She matched him blow for blow until it took real effort to sit up. “And be hasty about it.”

  A swat to her backside earned a half-hearted glare. He dodged her blow just in time, blocking it with a clean shirt.

  “Do I have to wear them, or get them?” Alexandra tossed over her shoulder.

  “We're entirely alone, so I'll leave that to you, madam. If you're asking for my preference...”

  She turned and faced him, pressing a rumpled shift ineffectually over her nakedness. “In fact, I am.” She began to lower her cover.

  “No.” He backed away, a whole step outside the bedroom door. “At ease, Alexandra. A quarter of an hour. Just … Bite your tongue that long. Keep hands to yourself.”

  One step, then another, she closed the distance relentlessly. “What's a quarter of an hour now, or later?”

  “No, Alexandra.” Yes, his body insisted.

  “Spencer...” She lowered the shift, dropped it on the bed.

  He swallowed, restraint slipping like sand through his fingers. “I'll be downstairs.”

  He took the steps two at a time, considering whether he'd made a mistake. Alexandra was a monster of his own making, and he wondered if he'd survive her.

  When she joined him outside, he was disappointed to see that she hadn't made good on her threat. She was close, however. She carried a chemise in-hand and was swallowed by a white muslin wrapper stitched with tiny lavender sprigs. Sunlight caught its loose folds and silhouetted curves beneath.

  He coughed and kept his gaze to her face. “A rather short walk just grew a bit farther.”

  Staring at the ground, she smiled and didn't meet his eyes. “Where to?”

  A breeze tousled her hair, sweeping it across flushed cheeks. She was so beautiful; he couldn't take enough of her in, touch her enough, breathe her enough. Spencer reached to brush strands from her face, burning at the barest contact.

  He took her hand, walking side-by-side with Alexandra in silence until they reached the barn. Bryn pranced, eager beneath his canvas duffle, and Alix ran a hand over the horse's dappled coat. “Sending me home already?” she teased.

  “It had crossed my mind.” He tried to hide a flat tone at her mention of home. How could they go back? Seeing one another two or three times over a week – they could never dare more. Minding their looks, their conversation, hiding their feelings. Spencer felt the first pangs of frustration strain his ribs.

  Not now. He wouldn't let that spoil their day. Taking Bryn’s reins in one hand and Alexandra's fingers in the other, he started them off inland.

  * * *

  The walk took longer than a quarter hour, but Alix didn’t mind. Aching hips and tender thighs slowed her pace. Heat burning down from above made her lazy. A languid slackness in her muscles battled the grip of high grass, and she was in no hurry to be anywhere except with Spencer.

  They gained the top of a third and final slope that stretched past the house, coming even with the world above. Green in lush shades rolled out as far as the eye could see, interrupted only now and then by sharp gray cliffs cutting the landscape like stone blades. It was less arid here, tangled and wild. Hesitant trees formed arching copses, out of reach from all but the worst ocean gales. Roses of a variety she had never seen sweetened a light breeze that swept over them, and their thick fuchsia blossoms formed hardy clusters of velvet that carpeted the grove.

  Spencer led them between the proud arms of two wide oaks and down a low hill into a flat meadow. A mirror pond kissed its stony edge and caught the reflection of ruined stone arches on the opposite bank. Just when she thought she had seen all the land had to offer, Alix was astounded once more.

  Spencer stopped, dropped Bryn’s reins, and hauled a pack down from her saddle. “Ready?” he asked, grinning.

  “For?” For him to lay her under the trees, kiss her?

  He jerked his head at the water. “Let's go in.”

  “Oh. Oh.” The idea of cool water on her skin sounded heavenly. She unfolded her shift.

  Spencer's fingers on her wrist halted the process. “What are you about?”

  She grasped a fistful of muslin. “Putting it on. Going in?”

  “That is for after.” He pulled the shift away and tossed it on top of his bag. A finger hooked her belt, snapped free its loop. Hands slid inside her wrapper, cupping her shoulders and gathering it down her back. “And so is this.”

  What was she doing? She'd traveled to the borderlands alone; that was scandal enough. Then alone with a man she adored for the express purpose of making love. Naked in the heath for anyone to see. What was next? She’d suffered moral erosion in a matter of days. Alix dropped her clothes, satisfied with where impropriety had led her thus far.

  She turned to find his eyes on her, and a warm flush ran through her body. She lived for the way Spencer was looking at her now, his silent regard more flattering than any compliment.

  “Go in,” he rasped, swallowing hard. “It's shallow, just there by the stones. I'll join you soon enough.”

  It took effort, not wrapping arms over her body as she crossed to the pond under his gaze.

  At first the water was comfortable where she dipped her toe at the edge. Not very deep and undisturbed all day, it had been warmed by the sun. Two steps in, a brisk current bit at her knees. Goose flesh prickled her limbs, and she welcomed it. Wading in up to her hips, she shivered.

  “Frozen yet?” Stripped down to only his breeches, Spencer watched her from the bank. His scars stood out in the daylight, a patchwork map drawn over taut muscles. Alix wondered at the story of each and how he would take her asking. She met his eyes again. “Come in and find out.”

  He set to work removing his pants. She didn't look away this time. Two days had taught her the shape of him, head to toe. Shyness washed away on a tide of anticipation, and she studied him until he was bare.

  When he reached her, Spencer trailed damp fingers over her breast, gripped her backside and pulled her close. “Better than being shut inside now, isn't it?”

  She slid a hand beneath the water and along his thigh, pressing just so at crisp hair in a way she'd discovered always made him gasp. “Mm. I'm still undecided.”

  “I can make up your mind.” He waded past, raised his arms and dove, gliding through deeper water to the pond’s center. Long, confident strokes pushed him out beyond the middle of the pond, and Alix realized she had better get started if she were going to keep up.

  Spencer was already out of the water when she reached the far shore, knees to chest, skin glinting like wet bronze in the light. She stopped short in the deeper water, flipping onto her back and float
ing out of his reach. “I would wager you've done this before.”

  “Swimming?”

  “No.” She fanned fingers through the green water, drifting closer. “Wandering about like it’s the garden of Eden.”

  She caught his laughter over her gentle splashing. “Never once, if you can believe it. Not out of doors, anyhow. Runs contrary to a soldier's every instinct.”

  It was just for her. The information shivered through her, concluding as a sweet ache low in her belly. She pulled herself from the water and Spencer stood up. He ducked beneath a medieval arch and she followed, smooth bits of marble digging at her heels as the warm sun dried her skin.

  Spencer stopped, and his broad hands circled her waist. He lifted, laying her back on an old stone pediment. Hot stone seared her back, wicking the dampness from her skin. The backs of her knees burned where they hung against the block's side.

  “Here? I don't think we --”

  Spencer's palms smacked the stone above her shoulders, saying plainly that he didn't care if they should or not. Alix wriggled under his weight, lost to the pleasure of the moment.

  He fanned her wet hair, chin scrubbing at her neck while his lips went to work beneath her ear. It was a dirty tactic, something he had used against her countless times since he’d discovered its effectiveness. And it worked. She gave him credit for being a good soldier, employing tried and true methods to win her.

  “I have to wonder,” he breathed against her throat.

  “Mmm.”

  “How no man has ever caught your eye.”

  She thought back for a moment. “There have been one or two.” Edward. Chas’s friend David, a dashing lieutenant. “A French captain,” she murmured out loud, Spencer's tongue muddying her thoughts.