Virtue and Vice

by Kimberly Brody

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode toward the chambers he used when he came to Chesworth House. The luxurious suite of rooms where he’d spent precious little time in the course of the last decade had hardly changed since his childhood.

  The muted light of the early morning sun struggled to penetrate the heavy blue and gold brocade drapery that covered the tall windows. His glance skittered toward the ornately carved mahogany bed of inviting proportion. Travel weary as he was, the idea of May Day revelry overshadowed the notion of sleep. He shed his clothing and stepped to the washbasin, using the pitcher and the cool water to clean away the grime of his journey. Then he padded across the thick blue rug to his wardrobe, contemplating what to wear.

  Though the Civil War had ended with the restoration of King Charles II, Cornwall had been one of the few counties to remain fiercely loyal to the Stuart cause throughout the long years of exile. It was no secret Ram’s father had been a staunch Parliamentarian, and Ram would likely receive an icy reception should his identity be apparent. Though it had been years since he’d spent extended time in the county. Likely no one would even recognize him. But to be sure, he’d leave off the trappings of nobility and go to the village dressed plainly. Perhaps, as in his younger days, he’d find some pleasurable companionship for the evening.

  Wearing a simple white shirt and a pair of worn, tan breeches, he returned to the stable and chose a fresh mount. He saddled Mercury, his favorite chestnut, and swung into the saddle. Perhaps the stallion sensed Ram’s excitement to leave behind his cares for the day, or perhaps the notion of escaping the confines of his own stabled existence pleased him, but at the first squeeze of Ram’s heels Mercury leapt beneath him like bottled lightning. Ram threw his head back and let the smells and sights of Cornwall fill his senses.

  He’d forgotten how beautiful the countryside could be. The frigid fingers of winter had begun to release their grasp on the landscape, which in turn began to bloom, bathed in the life-sustaining warmth of the late spring sun. Fragile flowers unfurled their petals, perfuming the air with the sweet smells of bluebells and primrose, while birds chattered in the trees as they prepared their nests.

  With his lagging spirits lifted by the beauty of the day, Ram made his way down from his father’s manor toward the small village, a journey of less than a mile. He followed the bank of the River Camel, marveling at the lengths to which his father would go to find favor with the newly restored King.

  Oh, he understood his father’s motives, and he couldn’t truly fault his sire, not all that much, at least. It was the manner in which the Earl had gone about conducting the betrothal— behind Ram’s back— as if he were a lad barely out of the schoolroom rather than a man of thirty, which rankled most. It was Ram’s duty to marry well, and he was prepared to do just that, but to a bride of his own choosing. His father had known that when he’d betrothed him to a young lady who’d spent the whole of her adolescence in the courts on the Continent and occasionally with the young, exiled King. Ram had absolutely no use for a courtier as a bride- a woman who knew the fine nuances of flirting and giggling and scarce else.

  “Whoa, boy!” He pulled hard on the reigns as a flash of white caught his eye.

  Mercury was almost atop a girl on the riverbank. The stallion did some fancy footwork, somehow managing to avoid trampling her. The lass had hiked up her skirts, as though about to wade into the water. She dropped them as she jumped away from the horse, but not before he glimpsed a tantalizing view of nicely formed, pale calves.

  On closer inspection, though she was quite short, it was apparent this was a woman full grown. The lass was no girl. Dressed in peasant clothing, a long full skirt flowed to her ankles, covered by a white apron. An equally white blouse peeked from beneath her close-fitting dark bodice. A kerchief draped around her neck and shoulders. All the layers of clothing couldn’t hide her tiny waist and gently flaring hips, or the generous swell of her bosom.

  Out of place was the unbound mass of chestnut curls flowing in a riotous wave over her shoulders and down her back, reaching almost to her hips. As she turned to face him, the rays of the mid morning sun sent red and golden highlights dancing through her hair.

  Her face was as delicate as the rest of her. Even from atop his horse he observed her skin was the smoothest he’d ever seen. Winged brows the same shade as her hair were raised over eyes whose color he couldn’t discern from his vantage point. Her full lips were slightly parted in surprise at his intrusion.

  His loins thickened. With any luck, he’d just stumbled upon his companionship for the evening.

  He dismounted, tossed Mercury’s reins into a bush, and noticed right away the source of her problem. She’d lost her cap and it was snagged upon some reeds in the water.

  “Allow me to retrieve your cap, Madam.” Without waiting for her assent, he stepped off the bank into the cool stream. His boots filled with cold water, but he paid them no mind as he waded towards the reeds. He had two dozen pairs of boots at home; one pair ruined in the pursuit of enjoyable bedsport was no great loss.

  With white cap in hand, he returned to the bank, triumphant. Instead of looking as overwhelmingly pleased as he expected, she looked… amused. One delicate brow arched over eyes he could see now were a dark blue color that brought to mind sapphires.

  A wry grin tipped up the corners of her sensuous mouth. “My thanks, sir, for your aid. That was most…chivalrous.”

  Taken aback, Ram paused. Sarcasm? Most maids of his acquaintance would have responded with simpering gratitude. She could have at least flirted with him in reply! Still, his interest rose another notch at her unexpected response. “Aye, it was that.” He couldn’t stop the slow grin that pulled at his lips. “I would have hated to see you ruin your skirts to retrieve it.”

  “I am quite sure you would have. You are a knight without shining armor.”

  Her sarcasm rankled, until he caught her taking his measure, looking him over from head to toe. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She liked what she saw. A good start.

  As she took the cap from his hands and twisted her mane to stuff it back under the wisp of fabric, he nearly protested the loss of all that abundant shimmering hair. No matter. He’d have her hair down once more before the day ended, spread around them as he buried himself deep inside of her and fucked them both into oblivion.

  He cleared his throat. “Are you on your way to the May Day celebration?” He motioned to his horse. “Perhaps I could escort you. A lady shouldn’t be alone in the wild where all manner of predators abound.”

  She blinked. A sculpted brow rose. “Tell me sir; does a predator have me in his sights?”

  ***

  Izzy tried to contain her delight at the banter between her and the deliciously handsome man before her.

  Her May Day disguise emboldened her. Dressed as she was, she didn’t have to act demure and restrained. She could be herself and not be deemed unladylike. With this costume came a freedom she’d rarely before experienced. It hadn’t been hard to talk one of her maids into fetching the ensemble she now wore, as they were accustomed to her oft-eccentric requests.

  She took a closer look at the man standing before her, but didn’t recognize him. Then again, she’d been gone so long during the war there were many local people she didn’t know anymore.

  A blacksmith perhaps, if the generous width of his shoulders beneath the simple white cambric shirt he wore was anything to go on. Or perhaps a stable hand, based on the quality of horseflesh he rode. Yet his speech was not the rough dialect of the peasantry. Mayhap a footman from a nearby manor? He was tall, towering over her by at least a head, his long legs encased in snug brown riding breeches that came to the knee, emphasizing his fine musculature. The stockings beneath disappeared into high black riding boots. Wavy black hair hung long, tied back in a queue. He wore no hat.

  A very handsome man, indeed. He must be a footman; they were hired for their height and good looks.

  While she
openly examined him, he seemed to recover his decorum. “I daresay you might have been in extreme danger had I not stumbled upon you when I did. Don’t you know wolves and other beasties prowl these woods, seeking fair damsels to prey upon?” His gray eyes twinkled as he cast one hand in the direction of the trees.

  Utterly charmed, she went along with his banter. “But I have always been warned that wolves oftentimes come disguised as sheep. Your intentions seem noble, but tell me, good sir, how do I know you are not a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

  He grinned, leaning closer. “I can be both wolf and sheep, should the situation warrant it.”

  The husky tone of his voice curled her toes. His features were so handsome, a thrill coursed along her spine.

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Alas, today I am but a simple man, on a mission to save unsuspecting maids from all manner of trouble. And since I so bravely saved your life, I now have the responsibility of you.

  She laughed. “You saved my cap, Sir!”

  “Well yes, but had I not wandered along, you might have gone after it yourself and become swept up in the current and drowned.”

  Casting a wry grin at the shallow, slow moving water, she raised an eyebrow to make her point, then glanced back at him.

  He gave another long-suffering sigh. “How could I know whether or not you swim? Nay, there’s no help for it, I’m afraid. I am responsible for your well-being for the rest of this day at least, madam.”

  He tucked an errant strand of her hair back under the cap and she went still at such a familiar gesture. A frisson of heat passed from his body into hers at his touch. She started, the banter forgotten, and he sobered, taking a step back.

  He leaned against his horse and contemplated her for a long moment. When he spoke again his voice was much subdued. “If you were going to the May Day celebrations I would now be honor bound to give you escort.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to Wadebridge for that very purpose, but my cap decided it ought to go for a swim.”

  He smiled. “You don’t wish to go a bit further to Padstow, instead? ’Tis a much more exuberant affair.”

  She’d heard about the famous celebrations that took place each year in the small harbor town. Aside from the regular May Day revelry, the folks of Padstow engaged in the ‘Obby ‘Oss festival, a sight she’d never been privy too, but one she’d always had a keen interest in. “I fear Padstow is too far to travel by foot.”

  His wicked grin returned and he waggled raven eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Then it’s a good thing I wandered upon you when I did. I daresay my mount could handle the extra weight should you wish escort to Padstow.”

  It went against everything she’d ever been taught, to be so familiar with a man, and a stranger at that. But dear God, he intrigued her so very much! And she was on an important mission. It was conceivable she could use this chance meeting to her advantage. This man was very handsome; perhaps she might seduce him into doing what needed to be done. What she’d planned specifically to do this day if she could but keep her nerve.

  She would keep her nerve. She must.

  Her sense of humor rose to the fore. How appropriate might it be if she played the sacrificial lamb to this wolf? Besides, recognition was far less likely in Padstow than in Wadebridge.

  Instead of answering, she offered her hand. He hoisted her onto his horse and leapt up behind her, his arms reaching around her to take the reins. Of course, he wouldn’t place her on the horse as if she were riding side saddle; he thought her a servant, never a lady. It was thrilling to sit astride a horse, even if she did have to hike her skirts to her knees to do so, but that was exciting and titillating too. As she adjusted them as best she could over her legs, she was keenly aware of the hardness of his chest pressed against her back, the feel of his arms against her sides, and the heat that seemed to leap from his body to hers. She shivered.

  “Are you chilled?” His voice was almost a whisper, his mouth hovering just over the sensitive skin of her ear.

  She shook her head. “Only excited. I’ve never been to Padstow before.”

  “You’ll have a most pleasurable time,” his voice dropped, taking on a husky quality. “I guarantee it.

  Chapter 2

  Ram couldn’t be more pleased. He was about to partake in celebrations he hadn’t experienced since his youth. A day filled with mindless revelries, good food, and delicious drink awaited. A chance to leave the worries of impending nuptials and other duties behind for a time. And most of all, he had a beautiful and willing woman sitting practically in his lap as he rode.

  Content to let Mercury meander along the path, he concentrated on the bundle of femininity in his arms. The delicate scent of lavender wafted from the few strands of hair dangling from her cap. It teased his senses, keeping him in a constant state of semi-arousal. With her buttocks pressed so close, could she feel his loins thickening through her skirts? A smile pulled at his lips. Later this evening, he’d take an entirely different kind of ride.

  Shifting the reins, he let his arm brush the side of her breast. She started slightly but didn’t pull away. He was glad she faced away from him and couldn’t see the grin that split his face. Oh aye, he’d ride well tonight.

  Touching his lips to her ear, he whispered, “’Tis not often I rescue a damsel in distress. Does my damsel have a name?”

  She twisted her head around to look at him, chewing her lip, and he had the feeling she was trying to hide a grin.

  “My name is Izzy.”

  “A unique name. May I be so familiar as to call you Izzy?”

  Now she did smile. “You may, good sir.” She shifted around further to look him fully in the face, her backside rubbing against his groin as she did so. He stifled a groan.

  “And by what name should I call you?”

  Randy? Lascivious? Lover? He clamped down his unruly thoughts. “My name is Julian. Julian James.”

  The alias wasn’t a lie, exactly, he’d just left off both his given and surname. He’d used the name in the past, but for more clandestine and official matters, not flings and romps. But “Julian James” fit the plain trappings and simple guise he currently wore far better than Ramsay Maitland, Viscount Royston.

  “Julian.” She tested his name, and he found the sight of her full lips as they curved into a smile almost too much to resist. But he would resist. The signs made him fairly sure she’d be amenable to his love play by the end of this day, but he wouldn’t risk scaring her off early by importuning her too quickly. Nay, he’d ply her with a bit of ale and good food before he laid his cloak on the ground for them.

  They continued down the path in a comfortable silence, and gradually she began to settle against him so his chest bore her weight. Her warmth seeped through his thin shirt, and the feel of her, so soft and curvy, left him relaxed and comfortable. Content. As she looked about taking in the surroundings, he took the opportunity to study her more closely.

  She was feminine and alluring, a true beauty. Though she exhibited excitement over the journey, there was serenity and confidence etched into those delicate features. She held herself like a woman who knew her place in the world and was comfortable in her own skin, yet her petite stature lent her an air of fragility. If he was a betting man, he’d lay odds on her being a member of the landed gentry, yet her coarse homespun clothing spoke of humble means. An intriguing mix, but one he intended to get to the bottom of. He ever did enjoy a good mystery.

  He couldn’t help but compare her to the image he’d formed of his betrothed. All he knew of her was that she was a spoiled courtier who’d spent the last decade in exile with the King and his court. She’d probably scoff at the idea of mingling with the commoners for a day of festivity, let alone wear the garb of one!

  Cease! There would be plenty of time to think about his upcoming nuptials tomorrow. Today was about his pleasure. And the pleasure of the woman he held in his arms.

  The scent of the sea assailed his nostrils;
they approached Padstow. ‘Twas a shame, really, he wasn’t quite ready to relinquish her from his lap and his arms.

  As flat verdant land gave way to the beginnings of city streets, the road became congested with other revelers as they crept closer to town. The woodsy smells of the outdoors became overpowered by the scents of cooking fires and roasting food.

  “Look at the decorations!” Izzy breathed as she took in the sights about them on the High Street in wonder, bending forward in an attempt to get a better view. The sight of her backside pressed to his groin as she leaned over the front of the horse brought all sorts of wicked images to his mind.

  What is the matter with me? He was reacting as though he was some untried youth about to have his first taste of a woman. Disgusted, he struggled to rein in his lust.

  The buildings along the High Street were all gaily decorated with ribbons and banners, flags, and greenery of all sorts. Many of the regular market stalls were closed for the day; those vendors with wares to appeal to the revelers hawked items in the street. Residents and visitors alike were already in full fledged celebration mode, most of them having greeted the day as tradition dictated, at midnight on May Eve. Izzy twisted to and fro in the saddle, every movement exquisite torture as she rubbed against his nether parts, which swelled and throbbed with each bit of contact.

  By the time Ram chose an inn at which to stable Mercury, he was almost grateful to escape his seat of torment. Leaping down from the great horse, he reached for Izzy and plucked her from the saddle, holding her high in the air with his hands at her waist. Instead of setting her to the ground, he pulled her close and let her slid down his body in a slow, sensuous motion. For a moment she hung suspended against him. Through the plain fabric of the shirt he wore, the hardened peaks of her breasts bored into the flat planes of his chest. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an ‘o’, but she didn’t protest when he finally placed her gently on her feet. He bit back a grin. Without words he’d just made a promise to her of what was to come before the day was through, and by not pushing him away, she’d acquiesced.