by Deb Marlowe
She summoned a smile. “That explains so much.”
He didn’t budge, didn’t change expressions—and at last a bit of urgency nudged her. She had no wish to move, but neither could she leave him with that superior look.
Finding strength, she propped herself up on her elbows. “Your turn.”
Arrogance faded. He shook his head. “This was about you.”
“No. You said it earlier. It’s about us. Together.” She raised her brow at him. “Do you think I haven’t been listening to all of those women at the House? Ways and ways, you said it yourself. I know the generalities. You can teach me the finer points.”
She sat up and pushed him down in her place. “I’m quite looking forward to it, I find.”
He looked like he would still protest—and also like a starving street urchin being offered an entire game pie.
“Take the rest of that off.” She found she enjoyed giving the orders, and seeing him leap up to do as she bid. But when he lay back down on the bed, she started to doubt herself.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. He was certainly . . . impressive.
He laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m hard as a pike. You’ve likely only to look at me and I’ll go off.”
She bit back a laugh. “The girls say that the gentlemen always exaggerate. Glad to know that you’ve no need to.”
He started looking smug again, so she moved in close and ran a feather-light touch across his abdomen. His expression quickly changed, but after that she forgot to watch it. She was caught up in the heat and feel of him. His muscles tightened beneath her touch.
Abruptly she leaned down to kiss him. She invaded with her tongue, conquering his mouth just as he’d done hers. He relaxed into the kiss and after a moment she reached down and lightly grasped his jutting manhood.
Chapter Twelve
Word arrived from my parents. They were not interested in having a despoiled daughter in their home. Had I not been so headstrong, I would not be in this position. I was asked to break all ties and not contact them again.
--from the Journal of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright
Tru’s mind splintered. She was so sweet, so brave. Unsure and yet determined. She lacked all the adept skill he’d known in partners before, yet he was glad of it. Her touch was all earnestness and it felt damned good.
Lightly, she explored him. Gentle fingers ran along the length of him, touched his sac and cupped it in curiosity. There was nothing practiced here, only honest curiosity and desire.
Nerves, too. He could see her eyeing the breadth of him—but as usual, she banished fear. Without warning, she dipped her head down and took him in her mouth.
Hot, wet, sweet. Her tongue tasted, learned. She experimented, seeing how much she could take of him. Ran an exploratory lap around him and then dipped into the crevice on the underside.
It was innocent—and so very damned hot. He made encouraging noises at the right times and she paid attention. Soon enough she was taking him deep, pulling back and plunging again. His hips pistoned. His blood roared.
Don’t stop. Never stop. He tried to say it with his body. She heard. And he pulled her away just as he exploded, pouring himself out, spasming without end until he’d emptied everything he had.
“Hell and damnation.” It was several long moments before he was able to summon even that much thought.
She nodded. “Yes.” She looked a little dazed.
He pulled her close. Kissed her brow. Settled the both of them in under the covers.
She curled up against his side. “Is this how it always feels, after?”
He considered. He felt as if she’d hollowed out his insides and filled him with contentment. “No.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
He should worry about that, he thought. But his eyes closed. She’d gone warm and boneless all along his side. Tomorrow, he would worry.
He was asleep before another thought could work free.
* * *
“Enormous! Rats as big as dogs, I swear! What do you Frenchies feed the vermin about here? I found one in my boot and another gnawing through my saddlebags . . .”
Rackham droned on and Tru let him, feigning a sympathetic ear. “I suppose you can only hope you don’t get bitten,” he said as Rackham paused for breath. “Before your host returns home to take care of the problem, I mean.”
“Bitten? Good heavens, do you think they will bite?”
Tru shrugged. “It is what rats do, is it not?”
“Damn it all! And that’s just it in any case, isn’t it? We’ve been left in charge, you might say, instructed to care for . . . things.” Rackham’s frown must indicate a deeper level of thought than he was used to. “If we cannot handle a few vermin, will he not wonder if we are not to be trusted with the polit—” He paused. “With more important matters?”
“Ah, I see your dilemma.” Tru waited a beat. “Well, if you wish to take care of the matter yourself, I hear there is a very good rat-catcher in this area. I have not met him myself, but my man of business used him to clear out the inn before we arrived to take possession. I can say that we’ve seen nary a whisker since we arrived—and the man does a clean job, for my wife will not have poison left near her food or her guests.”
“Do you have his name?” Rackham asked eagerly.
“Surely I must have a bill about, somewhere.” He clapped the man on the back. “Come. I see your nerves are shot. You shall rest in the private parlor for a bit while I search out the name. Have you had your luncheon?”
“No.” Rackham shuddered. “I didn’t dare eat at the house for fear of attack.”
“Ah. Come, then. You shall have a meal and some wine and I’ll send a boy out to find this man to come and attend you. You’ll have the matter settled before the sun begins to set.”
“Thank you, Chaput. That sounds exactly right,” Rackham said on a sigh.
Not quite an hour later, Tru presented Nardes to the man. Rackham poured out his story.
Nardes nodded. “It sounds like quite a bad infestation, sir. Still, I can clear your home in just a day or two, I should think.”
“So quickly?”
“Indeed. My methods are speedy. We can begin as soon as the house is empty.”
“Wait—empty? Of people?”
“Yes, sir. Everyone must be gone for the day. I work quick and I don’t contaminate the place with poison, but that means I need space and quiet for my animals to do their work. They don’t do as well with people about, distracting them.”
Rackham looked dazed. “You don’t want us to distract your animals?”
“Aye, sir. Folks usually prefer to be gone, too. The rat terriers are effective, but no one truly likes to see their little dead trophies all laid out. And my ferrets are shy. Too many people in the house and they won’t come out of the holes—and that leads to another whole mess of problems.” Nardes looked a little sheepish. “They been known to bite before, too.” He shook his head. “No, it’s best to evacuate for a day or two.”
“But . . . but . . .” Rackham sputtered.
Nardes drew himself up. “There’s no need to worry that I’ll rifle through your silver, if that’s what’s worrying you, sir. I got a good reputation. I’m an honest tradesman and I get paid well for my work.”
“No, no, of course not,” Rackham began.
“There should be no problem,” Tru interjected. “The staff likely has family hereabout, and you and Mr. Penrith should stay with us. You are fine, regular customers and I’ll give you a rate that reflects it.”
“But Penrith and I are not the only guests at the house,” Rackham said desperately. “There is a young lady—” He abruptly bit off anything else he had to say.
“Ah, I see.” Tru paused. “Discretion is called for?”
“Yes,” Rackham answered miserably.
“Well, we’ve just the thing. We’ve only just converted the Crescent Room into a bright and airy lady’s bedroom, with a well-
appointed parlor attached. We can set up your young lady there and put her under my wife’s protection. It faces the kitchen garden and is quite private. Nobody will know she’s up there, should you wish it.”
“You definitely don’t want a lady about while the killin’s going on,” Nardes said with a shake of his head.
“Well, then I suppose we shall have to take you up on your offer, Chaput.” Rackham clasped his hand. “Thank you. You’ve been good to us.”
Tru ignored the twinge of his conscience and poured him another drink.
* * *
“I’m so sorry, Madame! I forgot the time!”
Callie ignored Victoire’s wail and bent over the smoking oven. “Do stop sniffling, dear. It doesn’t help and it is just burned bread, after all.” She made a face as she pulled the blackened rolls out. “I should have been watching as well, but I got caught up in my menu planning.” She sighed. “Oh, well, we’ll start again. Run out to the garden for more rosemary, will you, Victoire?”
“No need.”
They both jumped, then turned to see Tru standing in the doorway.
“There is,” she contradicted, feeling testy again. “I’ve made the stew you requested, husband, but there must be bread to serve with it.”
He merely reached into his pocket and withdrew some coins, which he gave over to Victoire. “Run around the corner to Monsieur Dufour’s bakery and buy what we’ll need for tonight, will you?”
The girl looked to Callie, who gave him a long, searching look before she nodded her head.
“I do believe the baker was becoming jealous of your growing acclaim in any case,” Tru said. “Perhaps this will appease him. In the meantime, you and I have plans for the evening, wife.”
She blinked, wondering what he was up to now. “We do?”
“Indeed. Business is about to pick up for us in the next few days, so I am giving you an evening off while I may.” He glanced over at the girl. “Is that basket prepared?”
“It is, sir!” With a conspiratorial grin, the scullery maid went to the pantry and returned with a large, covered basket. “All ready.”
“Thank you, Victoire.” He took it from her.
Callie looked from one of them to the other, then broke out into a smile and began to unwrap herself from her apron. “Well, if it is to be our last chance, how could I refuse?”
“You’ve met Young Tom, our new errand boy, haven’t you?” Tru asked the girl. “He’ll help you here if you need it.”
She looked to Victoire. “Just make sure Young Tom washes his hands, will you?”
‘Indeed, Madame.”
Callie took Tru’s arm and let him lead her out to the courtyard, where Edgar waited with a tiny curricle and a hired horse.
“Thank you, Edgar.” Tru helped her into the high seat. “I’m leaving you to watch over the inn. You know right where to find us, should you need us.”
“I’ll watch,” Edgar agreed. “It’s seven hundred and thirty nine wagon lengths to that spot. That’s four thousand, four hundred and thirty-four steps.”
“How precise you are,” Callie told him. “There’s something comforting about knowing that, isn’t there?”
The man nodded. She looked past him to where his mare was hitched to a pole. Half of her mane had lovely purple heather blooms woven in. A pile of them waited nearby. “Your mare looks to be in fine shape.”
He nodded agreement. “Rose likes it here.”
So do I. They pulled out into the square. The cobblestone streets were busy, so she kept quiet to allow Tru to concentrate on the traffic. A few people nodded or waved. She returned the gestures, but as they moved farther away, she recognized fewer faces. The inactivity freed her mind and she went back to the fretting that had led to the burnt rolls earlier. Traffic grew sparser as they reached the edge of town, but she barely noticed when they joined the south road toward Combourg.
Tru tried a few conversational sallies, but after a few short, distracted replies, he left off. For a time.
She jumped a few minutes later when he reached over and laid a big hand over her clutched fingers.
“Great gamboling garters! Your knuckles have gone white from all the hand wringing you’re up to. What has set you off?” He grew serious. “Are you going to be nervous with me now? Are you already regretting our . . . last night?”
Callie pulled her hands away and clutched the seat while she rounded on him. “Lord Truitt Russell!” she scolded.
He shushed her, but she brushed the reprimand aside. “There is no one to hear me save for the squirrels. Truly, I thought you knew me better than that. I asked for last night—and you fulfilled my wishes in spectacular fashion. There is nothing to regret.” She gave him her most ferocious frown. “And why must you continually expect me to act in so pudding-hearted a fashion? I defy you to name one time when I have been so missish!”
A corner of his mouth twitched while he thought, clearly taking up the challenge.
“You cannot!” she declared.
“A moment! I am thinking.”
She folded her arms now, although it was a feat to maintain her balance as they moved over the rutted road.
“Ha! I know!” The horse twitched at his shout and he lowered his volume. “You cried at my brother’s wedding! Don’t try to deny it. I saw.”
She scoffed. “I can’t deny it. It’s true. But they were tears of happiness. How could I not shed them when they are so in love and it seems such a miracle that they not only found each other, but found a way to keep each other?”
He relented. ‘You’re right. I should not have teased you. And yes, their happiness does seem miraculous.”
Mollified, she teased him back a bit. “I’m sure you will feel quite the same at your own wedding.”
“Wedding?” He snorted. “Society’s matrons will not even let their chicks in the same parlour with me these days. You would be amazed at all the forgotten appointments, sick relatives and other manufactured excuses that pop up when I enter a room.”
She sobered. “No wonder you are in such a hurry to get Marstoke back and your name cleared.”
“Is that what you think?” He glanced askance at her. “That I am frothing at the mouth to jump back into the marriage mart?”
“Well, it hadn’t yet occurred to me.”
“As well it should not.”
Before she could inquire as to the real reason, he hurried on. “Truthfully? Aldmere shocked me, falling so hard and fast. I can’t imagine a day in which I’m marrying someone.” He quieted, his expression gone contemplative. “Even less can I imagine anyone crying over it.”
“They will, if they care for you—and if you are marrying wisely and happily, like your brother.”
This time his gaze rested heavily upon her, almost tangibly. “And if I’m marrying for other reasons—unwise reasons?”
“If you are marrying unwisely, then I hope that someone who cares for you will make a fuss over it.”
“What? Make a scene?” He shook his head. “Like crying over someone else’s happiness, it takes a higher plane of intimacy for such a thing. A certain level of care. There is no one like that in my life.”
“I’ll do it,” she said stoutly. “In fact, I will make a vow to you now. Lord Truitt Russell,” she whispered his name this time, “I promise I will come and cry happy tears on your wedding day.” She raised a brow at him. “So don’t forget my invitation.”
“And if I am being unwise?”
She snorted. “I trust the idea of me raising a ruckus during the ceremony should be enough of a deterrent to keep you from being unwise.”
“By God, you are right. It is,” he declared.
He pulled the horse in as they approached a turn onto a narrow, wooded lane. Here she had to hold onto the seat in earnest.
“Not far,” he promised.
She didn’t answer for fear of biting her tongue.
They broke out of the shadowed lane next to a pretty little meadow. The
entire cleared space was carpeted in soft, purple heather blooms.
“Oooh, how lovely,” she breathed. “How did you—” She stopped. “Oh. Edgar’s horse was wearing these blooms.”
“Yes. He told me about this place. I thought we could rest a bit here and talk business.” He pulled the break and climbed down, then moved around to assist her. “Pick a spot while I care for the horse?”
She wandered amidst the gorgeous blooms, picking some to take back. “I’m gathering some to take ho—. She stopped, blushing furiously. “To take back with us.”
He didn’t seem to notice her slip. “Where to?” He hoisted the basket. “There’s a blanket in here, I believe.”
They spread it out in a spot where the blooms grew thinly. While the sky blazed with a vivid orange sunset, they enjoyed the bread, cheese and local, hard-cured sausages Victoire had packed for them. Tru told her all about the encounter with Rackham and Nardes.
And just like that, her appetite vanished.
He stopped after a moment, to look at her. “You are doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
He nodded toward her napkin she twisted in her lap. “Whitening your knuckles. I thought I was the one frustrated with the smallness of my role, but you seem utterly intent on strangling that napkin. What did it do to you?”
She gave him a feeble smile and kept twisting.
He threw the leftover cheese in the basket and then set it aside so that he could move closer to her. “I know something’s bothering you.” He thought a moment. “Is it the thought of Rackham hanging about? Are you worried that he’ll—”
“No!” Callie forgot her worries in the face of her rising irritation. “As if I could not handle a lordling like Rackham?” She huffed. “If you do not stop subscribing all of these weak-kneed reactions to me . . .” She flushed. “I’m going to do something drastic!”
“Drastic?” He sounded intrigued.
“Yes!” She scrabbled for something suitably threatening. “One more time and I shall . . . pinch you.”
“You do tempt me.” Instead of picking up the thread and turning it into innuendo, he laid a hand over hers. “What is it, Callie?”