At Long Last

by Shirlee Busbee

  Living at Greenleigh was a new experience for her. It seemed very strange, except for the servants, to be the only one in residence. She was used to the boisterous household at Highview and in comparison Greenleigh seemed, well, quiet. She missed her usual routine, the excited chatter of the children, Jeremy's laughing banter, and Mary's light manner. She was, she realized, a trifle homesick, and she had only been away from Highview for twenty-four hours.

  Telling herself not to be a ninny, Arabella threw herself into tasks of the day. After the previous day's brief tour, she began to familiarize herself more thoroughly with the running of the household and the estate. She approved the new additions to the staff that the Tidmores presented to her and began to make lists of items that needed to be purchased in order to make Greenleigh more suitable for her permanent occupancy. She even started to consider changes she wanted to make in the arrangements of the various rooms, as well as methods by which to increase the productivity of the plantation.

  By one o'clock that afternoon, she was eager to take a break from her tasks and asked Mrs. Tidmore to have a picnic basket packed for her. She prepared to leave the house to view the lodge where she would meet Tony the next afternoon. All through the morning, she had tried to push away thoughts of Tony and the bargain they had made, but she knew that it was a futile effort. As the hours passed, it was more and more difficult to keep her mind on the matters at hand. Images of Tony and memories of previous intimate meetings at her grandfather's hunting lodge drove everything else out of her mind.

  At least, she told herself grumpily as she walked away from the main house, when she was thinking of Tony, she wasn't thinking of the previous night. But the shocking events of that night had not gone far from her mind, and as she carefully picked her way along the narrow, almost overgrown path that led to the hunting lodge, they came back to bedevil her.

  The day was warm and humid. Insects droned sleepily through the verdant forest, and there was the occasional cry of a bird on the heavy, scent-laden air. Normally Arabella would have taken delight in such a day—the sky was a brilliant blue with nary a cloud in sight, and the sun was a burning golden orb beaming high overhead—but her thoughts were on other things. Beyond making certain that she did not stumble over a root or step upon a snake as she followed the trail, her attention turned inward.

  The previous night's attack seemed incredible to her. All morning, she had refused to think about it, refused to remember the terror she had felt—and the rage. Or the knowledge that there was a man, whose identity she did not at present know, who was convinced that she had something that belonged to him, something he was willing to kill to get back. She didn't delude herself that she had seen the last of him; her grandfather's dueling pistol, currently resting carefully on top of the neatly packed lunch, proved that.

  It was possible that she was wrong about the man's continued interest in her. After his failure last night and her honest mystification about what he was after, he might have decided that it would be wiser to leave well enough alone. Except, she thought with a frown, he had to know that she would be curious about what it was of his that he thought she had.

  She made a face. This was the second time in two days someone had tried to rob her. Both incidents were freakish and it seemed likely that both attempts were done by the same person. What could be so important that someone, a man, was willing to take such risks? And why did he think that she had whatever it was he was missing? And how, she suddenly thought with an ominous drop in her stomach, did he know I would be sleeping at Greenleigh last night?

  It wasn't a secret, but only a handful of people knew she had driven over from Highview and would be remaining at Greenleigh. The idea of Jeremy attacking her she brushed away as utterly ridiculous, and it was difficult, if not impossible, to picture Tom Denning or James Gayle threatening her with a knife. As for Morgan Slade, Jason Savage, or Blood Drinker... Her brow furrowed. They were strangers to her, but it couldn't have been one of them. The notion was outrageous. She'd only met them the afternoon before. And she certainly didn't have anything that belonged to one of them.

  So who then?

  There had been nothing familiar about the man who attacked her. She had not recognized his voice or anything about him. The knife? No, she hadn't recognized it either; nor had the Tidmores. Which, of course, proved nothing.

  She suddenly became aware of her surroundings and looked around in surprise as she realized that she had reached her destination. Before her, in a small clearing, sat the lodge.

  It was a quaint-looking building, not very large, made from roughly hewn cedar logs. Its steep roof had a wide overhang. There were heavy shutters at the two windows that faced her, and she was surprised to find that they had been flung wide, as had the wide door in the center of the front wall.

  The whicker of a horse from behind the lodge, where she knew there was a lean-to shelter made her heart leaped. It was obvious that she was not the only visitor to the lodge.

  Quickly she opened the picnic basket and took out the dueling pistol. After last night, she was not as inclined to give whoever was inside the lodge the benefit of the doubt. His reason for being here might be perfectly innocent, and then again...

  A large man in a shirt with rolled-up sleeves suddenly filled the doorway, and, recognizing him, Arabella's expression was one of wary surprise.

  "What," she asked, as she lowered her pistol, "are you doing here?"

  Tony smiled at her, and she was annoyed at the rush of warmth that spread through her body.

  Stepping out into the dappled sunlight, Tony said easily, "I thought that I would make certain that no, er, wildlife had taken up residence, and perhaps lay in a few supplies." His gaze dropped to the pistol, and he quirked a brow. "Is that for me?"

  Arabella shook her head. "No, although I cannot deny that there have been times that I would have gladly used it on you."

  Tony strolled up to her, his movements like a big African cat patrolling his domain. Stopping a scant few inches from her, with warm, strong fingers, he lifted up her chin. "But not today," he stated calmly, and brushed his mouth against hers.

  Arabella's fingers involuntarily clenched around the pistol at the teasing pressure of his lips against hers, but she managed to reply with commendable calm. "No, not today."

  He smiled and tucked her hand under his arm. "Excellent! I knew I could rely on your good sense. And now shall we inspect our soon-to-be boudoir?"

  "This is just a jest to you, isn't it?" she said angrily. "A pleasant way to waste away a few hours."

  Tony stopped, the expression on his dark face suddenly fierce. "Nothing," he said harshly, "that pertains to you has ever been a jest to me."

  "You'll never convince me of that!" she shot back, the memory of a time when she believed him, when his promises had filled her with joy, knifing through her and making her cringe at her own stupidity. Tony Daggett would never deceive her again. Never! "You courted me and became engaged to me all because of a wager! So don't try to pretend now that I, or my feelings, ever meant anything to you."

  "That damned wager!" he growled, temper sparking in his indigo eyes. "Are you ever going to forget about it? Are you ever going to give me a chance to live down the follies and mistakes of a time that I am not proud of?"

  Feeling oddly pleased that she had nettled him, Arabella's nose went up in the air. "No. I am not."

  Tony's mouth tightened. "Do you know, sweetheart, that there are times that I wonder if your undeniable charms are worth putting up with that waspish tongue of yours?"

  "You could always change the terms of our bargain," Arabella suggested demurely. "I shall be happy to oblige you."

  "No," Tony said flatly. "The bargain stays." And catching her off guard, he pulled her into his arms. His mouth found hers, and there was nothing gentle or teasing about the kiss he gave her this time. The kiss was hungry and demanding, a man's kiss for a woman he desired, a woman he intended to have.

  Arabella c
ould not fight him. In the secret places of her heart, she did not want to fight him. Her entire body rejoiced in his plundering kiss, in the hard crush of his lips against hers, the demanding thrust of his tongue and the remembered taste that was uniquely Tony's. Held tightly against his tall body, she was buffeted by a powerful surge of naked desire. Her nipples ached, her arms longed to embrace him, to hold him close, and the heated, almost painful throb between her thighs drove coherent thought from her mind. Helplessly she arched up to him, the pistol falling unheeded on the ground beside them.

  Tony muttered something unintelligible; his hands dropped to her bottom, and he yanked her firmly against the rigid bulk of his erection. Pleasuring them both, he moved her against himself, the rhythmic pressure of her soft warm body, even with the layers of clothing between them, almost bringing him to the point of disgrace.

  Unable to bear it a moment longer, he tore his mouth from hers, and muttered, "The hell with this!" And swinging Arabella up into his arms, he strode to the lodge. A sharp kick of his heel slammed the door shut behind them.

  Her senses reeling, Arabella was tossed down onto a tumble of quilts and the next instant she was crushed beneath Tony's body. He found her lips and just as if there had been no break in the original kiss, took up where he had left off, his tongue taking blunt possession of her mouth.

  The inside of the lodge was gloomy and shadowy, and small dust motes floated lazily in the few shafts of sunlight that permeated the area. A faint musty smell lingered on the air, but the quilts were clean and fresh, and for Arabella, Tony's demanding mouth and hands blotted out everything but his urgent caresses. Hungers she had forgotten awakened ravenously, starved for the touch of this one man; memories of Tony's lovemaking and the sweet ecstasy she had once known in his embrace had her clinging mindlessly to him, her body pliant and yielding beneath his questing hands and mouth.

  Tony was as blind to his surroundings as Arabella. All his senses, all of his being focused on the soft, voluptuous form before him. He hadn't planned this, hadn't planned to fall upon her like a starving man upon a lush, ripe peach, and yet that is exactly what he did. His mouth ate hers, his lips and tongue tasting and relishing its sweetness, his hands delighting in the firm, resilient flesh of her generous body.

  His lips dropped to the full breasts still covered by her gown, and his mouth fastened hungrily upon them, heedless of the material that denied him access. He suckled fiercely, leaving damp patches on her gown, but it wasn't enough. A rough downward yank and her breasts spilled over the top of the gown. With a heartfelt groan, Tony's mouth captured a naked nipple, feasting on the plump nub.

  Arabella gasped at the searing, demanding touch of his mouth on her breast. Her fingers clenched in his hair as she arched up uncontrollably at his caress, unconsciously urging him to greater excesses. He did not disappoint her.

  Stunningly, she was suddenly aware that his hands were moving up her legs, pushing aside the enveloping garments that impeded his way. His hands slid along her thighs, caressing and exploring, and Arabella made a muffled exclamation when at last he reached the mound of crisp curls between her legs. When he touched her, when his fingers petted and parted the soft, damp flesh he found, Arabella shuddered, violent need clawing through her.

  "Oh, please," she moaned, thrashing wildly beneath his stroking fingers. "Please. Please. Please."

  She wasn't even certain what she was pleading for; she only knew that she was desperate for succor from the ache that was centered there beneath his fingers.

  Tony kissed her deeply, his hand fumbling with the opening of his breeches. Against her mouth, he muttered, "Sweetheart, I have every intention of pleasing us both."

  Sighing as his swollen member leaped from his breeches, he sank back down onto her. His sigh changed to a soft, shaken groan of pleasure as his shaft pierced the satiny flesh between her thighs. She was tight, so tight and hot, that Tony thought he would explode at the moment of entrance. But he did not. Trembling at the sweetly carnal sensation of being inside her once more, of thrusting heavily again and again into those silken depths, Tony fought to prolong the pleasure. It was a battle he would lose.

  Arabella thought that she remembered what it felt like to make love to Tony, but she discovered that memory had lied. That memory could never compare to reality.

  Her whole body was possessed by him. His scent was in her nostrils, his flesh was warm beneath her caressing fingers, his mouth locked on hers, just as lower, their bodies were locked together in an ancient melding. Emotions, sensations, as old and primitive as the act itself roiled up through her, but it was the sweetness, the incredible sweetness of being in Tony's arms once again, of knowing the joy of his possession once more, that pushed her to the edge. Ecstasy caught her, rippling up through her body, and she cried aloud at the power and wonder of it.

  Tony captured her cry with his mouth, his own body racked by pleasure as fierce and powerful as hers as he emptied himself into her. And then there was the sweetness. The sweetness of lazily kissing her as passion ebbed, of holding her soft, generous form next to him, of lying bonelessly complete at her side.

  Chapter 9

  Tony could have lain forever with Arabella cradled next to him, but all too soon she stirred in his arms. His mouth twisted. And now she had another sin to throw at his door.

  If Arabella was thinking of sin, it certainly wasn't Tony's. She was appalled by her own actions, stunned to realize how swiftly passion could blind one to everything but the clawing need for release from the demands of the flesh. Embarrassed and ashamed of herself, shaken that she could act so lewdly and wantonly, she struggled away from the comfort of Tony's arms and sat up.

  With shaking hands she pushed her rumpled skirt modestly over her thighs, and with fumbling movements stuffed her naked breasts back into the demure bodice of her gown. She was burningly conscious of Tony lying at her side, but she could not look at him, shame keeping her gaze firmly averted from his long body.

  I made love with Tony! she thought dazedly. She had been as willing as any common lightskirt, as eager as any bold-faced whore, and she could not deny her own actions or pretend that it had been entirely Tony's fault. She would have liked to blame what had happened on Tony, but her innate honesty forbade it.

  From beneath her lashes, she flashed him a resentful glance. It wasn't fair that he should be so attractive, with that tall, lean body of his and those mocking indigo blue eyes. His physical attractions aside, it was monstrously unfair that there was something about him that one look from him, one touch, turned her silly, yearning body into a mound of quivering mush. And with as much backbone, she thought waspishly.

  Studiously avoiding looking at him, she got to her feet. Silently she concentrated on setting herself to rights, unwilling to think about what had just transpired between them. Her gown shook out fairly well, but her hair was a tumbled mass that defied her efforts to push it into something resembling the neat little bun she had started out with.

  Watching her as she tried to force the fiery curls into some semblance of order, Tony got up from the pile of quilts. Calmly refastening his breeches, he walked over to a scrubbed-pine table that sat in the middle of the room and, selecting an item from the group of oddments scattered there, turned and walked back to her.

  "If you will allow me?" he asked, holding out a silver-backed brush.

  Arabella nodded and turned her back to him. "You planned for everything, didn't you?" Her voice was not friendly.

  Tony sighed. "No, sweetheart. I didn't. I certainly didn't plan for what just happened between us." When Arabella remained silent, he added gently, "Don't repine over it, Elf. All we did was consummate our bargain a day earlier, and more, er, spontaneously, than planned."

  Gratefully she seized upon his words. Telling herself that Tony was right, that they had only done what she had agreed to do on the morrow, Arabella struggled to regain her composure. It was not easy. Not with Tony's warm form standing so close to hers and her
body tingling from the aftermath of their passion.

  Reminding herself that she was a grown woman and not some simpering maiden who had just been tumbled for the first time, Arabella finally managed to say with a commendable air of nonchalance, "I had not considered that aspect of it."

  Behind her, his hands busy with the fiery mass of tangled curls, Tony smiled. "Well, you should have. In fact," he went on in a teasing tone, "you should thank me."

  Outraged, Arabella spun around to glare at him.

  "Thank you!" she snapped, her golden brown eyes bright with temper. "Why should I thank you?"

  He grinned and ran a caressing finger down her straight little nose. "Because now you won't spend the night tossing and turning worrying about tomorrow."

  "You flatter yourself!"

  "Hmm, perhaps. But I think it is just as well that things worked out as they did. Our bargain has been struck, and there is no going back."

  "Except," Arabella said sweetly, "that I have paid the price, but you have not—unless of course, you have brought the letter resigning all rights to Jeremy's vowels with you?"

  "You know I didn't," Tony said dryly. "I think we agreed that what happened was not planned. I had no reason to bring the letter with me. I did not even know that you would be here. Do not worry, Arabella, you will have your damned letter." He cocked a brow. "And why are you here?"

  Arabella made a face. "The same reason that you apparently came, to see what condition the place was in and to see what was needed to set it to rights." She glanced around. "I see that you have already been at work."

  It was true. The open beams and corners had been swept clean of cobwebs and debris. The heavy wooden mantel of the fireplace looked as if it had recently been dusted; the hearth was clean, the kindling for a fire neatly lay in the center. But Tony's industry had not stopped there. The bed, and she couldn't help the blush that burned her cheeks when she glanced at it, appeared to have been freshly made, or had been before they had set the quilts all askew by their activities. From the pile of dust and grit near the doorway, and the straw broom resting nearby, it was obvious that she had interrupted him sweeping the floor.