Never Less Than A Lady

by Mary J. Putney

  Heat blazed through her, pooling in her loins and breasts. She had felt stirrings of desire for him before, but this was a full-fledged inferno. The calm, reserved woman she’d become over her years in exile was gone, replaced by an eager, shameless wench.

  His hand slid seductively down her bare back under the towel. “You aren’t wearing very much,” he said a little breathlessly as he squeezed her bottom.

  “And you’re wearing too much.” She put her hands on his lapels and pushed his coat off his shoulders. Her loosely tucked towel sagged open halfway to her waist.

  He turned rigid as he stared. “If you have any doubts about where this is heading, milady, the time to retreat is now.”

  But she didn’t want to retreat. “I have no doubts, Alex,” she said softly. “Tonight I want us to come together like lovers who have never known shadows.”

  He took a deep breath. “I would like that more than anything on earth.”

  She smiled and dropped the towel so that it crumpled to the floor around her bare feet. She didn’t feel like a flawless, unscarred young girl. She felt feminine and experienced and powerful.

  Her scars were unimportant, a remnant of the past. Now was the hot beat of desire that drew them together like opposite poles of a magnet. “About those clothes…”

  She tugged his coat off the rest of the way and let it drop while he untied his cravat and tossed it away. Swiftly she undid the buttons at his throat and stretched up to kiss the smooth, faintly salty skin. His pulse hammered under her lips and he made a choked sound of pleasure.

  Richly pleased with herself, she attacked his other garments. Since he was doing the same, their hands tangled and fingers wandered in a glorious welter of touch and laughter. As a way of undressing, their mutual efforts lacked efficiency, but it was delicious fun, and the absence of fear was the greatest aphrodisiac she’d ever known.

  Unclothed, he had a hard male beauty that put Greek sculptors to shame. She ran her hands over his shoulders and torso, feeling the changing textures of skin and scars and pale hair. “I’ve never seen all of you at once before,” she breathed. “What was I waiting for?”

  “For the right time.” He scooped her up and deposited her in the middle of the bed. “Having had a long ride today, I’m hungry. And you, milady, are a banquet as well as a bouquet.”

  Before she’d finished bouncing on the mattress, he was stretched out beside her, the length of his body pressed against her from ribs to calf. He bent into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Her toes and fingers curled at the wanton carnality of their mating tongues and lips.

  The kiss went on and on until they were both breathless. He lifted his head. “You taste most deliciously of Ballard tawny port.”

  Julia laughed giddily. “You can identify the maker?”

  “Ashton only stocks Ballard port since it’s made by a friend,” Randall said with a grin. “And very good port it is, too. But you taste sweeter and more intoxicating than the finest spirits.” He pressed his lips to her throat as his hand came to rest on her breast.

  As his thumb stroked her nipple, she arched against his palm. He began nibbling his way down her body in a slow blaze of kisses.

  She gasped when his mouth fastened on her left breast and he sucked hard on her nipple. Her hips rocked against him. After kissing her other breast with matching thoroughness, his mouth moved lower, lower, over her belly.

  Surely he wasn’t going to…she gave a strangled shriek and almost leaped out of her skin when his skilled lips and tongue reached her most private parts. “Alex!”

  She’d learned how to pleasure a man with her mouth, but never once considered how it would feel to receive rather than give. Her fingers knotted in his hair as her body coiled tighter, tighter, tighter, her need so frantic it was almost pain.

  Release ripped through her with shattering power. She cried out, every muscle in her body rigid. As the tide of sensation ebbed, Randall rested his head on her thigh, his breathing soft against her groin.

  “Alexander the Great indeed,” she said weakly as she released her grip on his hair and stroked the thick gold waves back from his forehead. “No wonder you liked it so much when I did that to you.”

  “‘Like’ is far too pale a word for such an experience.” He tilted his head so their gazes met. “I’ve wanted to devour you since the first time I saw you.”

  She could feel a hot, delighted blush coloring her face. “I’m glad I didn’t know. You were quite fearsome enough as a disapproving soldier.” She traced his ear with her fingertip. “But surely we’re only half done?”

  “If you’ve had time to recover your breath…” He raised himself over her, using one finger to delicately stroke the moist, exquisitely sensitized folds of flesh between her legs. Small shocks of pleasure tingled through her as he found the center of sensation. “Are you ready to provide me with a second course, milady?”

  “And to think I read your letters and thought you had no poetry in your soul!” she said with a laugh.

  “Not poetry, perhaps. But a deep and abiding appetite that only you can appease.” He settled between her legs carefully, stroking with unerring skill until she was writhing against his fingers. “Now?” he asked.

  “Now!” She pulled him down hard against her, raising her hips to receive him. Amazing how she yearned for him to fill her after so many years of fearing male invasion. But when he buried himself inside her, it wasn’t invasion. It was completion.

  She rocked against him, startled that desire was rising to match what she’d felt before. But this time the tide carried them both, the mad rhythms of their bodies matching until he shuddered and poured himself into her with a deep groan. She echoed his release, uncertain which of them had culminated first.

  His harsh breathing slowed and he rolled onto his side, drawing her tight against him. She relaxed with her face against his shoulder and her arm across his waist. Once she had been grateful for her celibate life. Never would she have believed she might experience such a stunning explosion of desire and release. But the evidence of their bare, intertwined bodies proved that this was no dream.

  He curled his hand around her head, his fingers sliding into her tangled hair. “I wonder if I sensed that you were capable of such generous passion?” he murmured. “Or am I merely the luckiest man on earth?”

  “I’m the lucky one.” Julia gave a choke of laughter. “Lucky, and selfish. You probably really are hungry if you rode all day. And I had to go and distract you.”

  “Actually, I stopped in the kitchen for a bite before coming up.” Gently he massaged her head. “But even if I hadn’t, you are a more satisfactory meal than any other I could have found.”

  “That’s good, because I haven’t the strength to go down two flights of stairs to raid the pantry. I barely have the energy to choose a scar for you to identify even though there are so many to choose from.” She traced a line over his ribs with her forefinger. “This, if I recall correctly, was a bayonet slash you received on the retreat to Corunna.”

  He nodded. “Half the military campaigns of the last fifteen years are engraved on my hide. I’ve been lucky that in all that time, there has only been the one serious injury.”

  She shivered. “I’m trying not to think of all the times you might have been killed, Alex. I would never have met you.”

  “That means you wouldn’t miss me, either,” he pointed out, a smile in his voice.

  “I refuse to think philosophically tonight.” She frowned as her fingers moved down to his groin. She’d never seen him entirely naked before, so she was discovering new scars. “These faint lines are odd. There look to be a dozen or more and they’re roughly parallel.” Her fingertips skimmed lightly over the ridged flesh on his groin. “What on earth could create such a wound? A few inches more to the left and we would not have had such a delightful evening.”

  “Not a weapon.” He sighed. “Branford.”

  She snapped to full attention, pushing herself up with o
ne hand so she could study the scars more closely. “Good God, he cut you deliberately?”

  “It was when I first arrived at Turville.” Randall’s voice was flat. “He would declare a hunt and start to chase me. When he caught me, which he always did because he was older and taller and faster, he would pin me to the ground. Then he dragged down my breeches and sliced me with his stiletto. Each time this happened, he cut a little closer. He said that when he reached my cock, he’d cut it off.”

  Julia gasped in horror, her hand over her mouth. “Why did no one stop him?”

  “He was the young master. No one dared cross him.”

  “So you learned to fight, and how to behave so badly that you’d be sent away.” She pressed her lips to the scars, aching at the picture of a small boy being tormented and having no one to turn to. No wonder Randall had become a protector.

  As she kissed the scars, she felt him stir a little in response. He said wryly, “Leave it to Branford to ruin a perfect moment even now. We need to talk, milady, and that means you’d better put some clothing on, or I will be useless for rational speech.”

  “Then you must cover yourself as well, Major,” she said tartly. “Do you think women immune to such distractions?”

  “I’m glad you’re not,” he said warmly, his hand stroking down her side. She flinched at the pressure on her bruises.

  Frowning, he leaned over her for a closer look. “Good God, what happened to your hip? I can’t believe I didn’t see these bruises earlier!”

  “The light was low and we were both otherwise occupied.” Julia sat up, more aware of the injury now. “A runaway carriage almost struck Mariah and me when we were shopping yesterday. I fell getting out of the way.” She took a deep breath, wishing she didn’t have to break the mood. “It was probably an accident, but…we’re not sure. Ashton is having the incident investigated.”

  Randall exhaled roughly. “One can’t shut out the world for even one night, apparently. Is there any port left? We have even more to discuss than I realized.”

  Chapter 28

  Since a hip bath full of water was available, Randall had a quick wash before he poured two glasses of port, donned nightclothes, and rejoined Julia in the bed. Her dark hair was in a neat braid falling over one shoulder and a modest muslin nightgown covered her thoroughly, but she was still distractingly attractive.

  In fact, knowing what lay beneath the muslin made her even more irresistible. Perhaps the reverse was also true, since she watched him with unabashed enjoyment even though he was now as thoroughly covered as she was.

  He handed her the wine, then slid under the covers next to her. Leaning back against the piled pillows, he draped an arm around her. “Drinking wine in bed with a beautiful woman is a soldier’s dream, especially when slogging through the mud of a military campaign.”

  She smiled. “Is wine the first thought on a soldier’s mind?”

  “The second.” He kissed her lingeringly, ending it with great reluctance. Now that the barriers to intimacy had been annihilated, he wanted to make love to Julia until he was too weak to even crawl out of the bed.

  Reminding himself that there would be other nights, he asked, “Has Ash found any witnesses to the carriage incident?”

  “Yes, but so far, nothing that proves whether or not it was deliberate.” She sipped at her port, her brows furrowed. “If it was an attempt to kill me, I don’t see how it could have been planned. Even Mariah and I didn’t know we’d be at that place at that time.”

  “A man who was following you might have seen an unexpected opportunity to attack, and acted on impulse,” Randall said slowly.

  “Perhaps that’s it,” she agreed. “Usually those streets are too crowded for a carriage to build up much speed, but the incident took place during one of the lulls in traffic that sometimes happen. A stalker might have decided to seize the chance to run me down.” Her fingers tightened on her goblet. “He might have killed Mariah, too.”

  Mariah, and the child she was carrying. If the two women had been hurt, Randall and Ashton would have been fighting each other for the chance to administer justice to the culprit. “You knew Crockett. Might he ignore Daventry’s order to leave you alone if he still wanted vengeance?”

  “It’s possible. Crockett’s loyalty was to Branford. They had a strange attachment that I never understood.” Her expression was troubled.

  Randall tightened his arm around her shoulders. “While Ash is investigating the accident, perhaps I’ll start at the other end by tracing Crockett’s movements. He seems the most likely to want to do you harm.”

  Julia sighed. “I’d like to think that the carriage really was an accidental runaway and Crockett was nowhere near London. I don’t want to have to be afraid for my life.”

  “I shouldn’t have left you here alone.”

  “Since I’m firmly planted in the middle of Ashton House, I was hardly alone,” she pointed out. “No harm was done except to a very nice bonnet, and I ordered another like it as a replacement. But what about you? You also had something to discuss, I think?”

  Randall swirled his goblet, watching the lamplight reflect through the red-gold liquid. “At Roscombe, I received a letter from Rob Carmichael. He believes he’s found Branford’s son near Upton. He also recommended that the boy be removed from his present situation immediately.”

  Julia straightened so abruptly that she almost spilled her port. She didn’t even notice when Randall rescued the goblet. “What else did he say? What kind of bad situation is the child in?”

  “You know as much as I do,” Randall replied. “Rob isn’t much of a correspondent at the best of times, and I gather that he was in a hurry when he dashed off this note. I’ll have to track him down, which could take several days. I was lucky to find him so quickly before going to Roscombe.”

  “We must go to Upton and get the child,” Julia said vehemently.

  “Not before Mariah’s ball—she’d never forgive us.” Randall frowned. “Julia, why do you care so much about the bastard child of a husband you hated? There are many children in dire straits and if you establish your shelters, you will help a good many of them. Why this child?”

  “I…I’m not sure. But surely the boy needs care.” She bit her lip. “He’s close to the age my child would have been.”

  And Julia would never have another child. Randall could dimly understand her sense of connection to this particular lost boy. But he was Branford’s child. “Julia,” Randall said. “What if the boy is mad like his father?”

  “I hope he isn’t.” Julia looked at him with pleading eyes. “But even if he’s troubled…Alex, you’ve said yourself that if Branford had been raised better, he might not have been so destructive.”

  “Perhaps not. But perhaps he would have been vicious no matter how he was raised.” Randall remembered the horror of lying pinned down while his large cousin gleefully wielded the glittering stiletto. His mouth tightened. “If this boy is like Branford, I don’t think I could bear living under the same roof. Could you?”

  Her eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But even if he’s difficult, surely we could find a better place for him than where he is. What about the Westerfield Academy? All of you speak of how Lady Agnes performs miracles.”

  “Only if the basic human material is sound under the bad behavior,” Randall said. “A fair number of boys arrive at the academy on the verge of explosion, but they get over that when they’re treated well. Lady Agnes won’t keep a student who takes pleasure in hurting others.”

  “I suppose not. But he’s your uncle’s only grandson. Surely Daventry would want to take charge of the boy?”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. Why should he care about an unknown bastard when his wife is about to give him the son he’s wanted for so long? Even if he is willing to do his duty by the boy, Daventry might turn the child into as great a monster as Branford,” Randall said bluntly. “If the boy is violent, the best solution might be to hand him
over to a press gang. On a Navy ship, he’d have to learn discipline or die.”

  Julia shuddered.

  More gently, Randall said, “Not everyone can be saved, Julia. I’m willing to look for him. As you say, he’s my cousin. But if he’s a monster like his father, I won’t let him endanger others.”

  “I know you’re right,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “But there’s a good chance that the boy is normal. We must find out. Can we go the day after the ball?”

  “That depends on when I locate Rob Carmichael.” Randall drew her against him. She relaxed on his chest with a sigh. “For the next two days, don’t think about this boy. Concentrate on the ball, your friends, and your new life.”

  “That’s good advice.” She covered a yawn. “For now, I’m ready to sleep.”

  So was he. He’d sleep, and dream of Julia.

  Randall awoke with Julia burrowed against him, her hand resting in a very personal place. His body was responding, too. He shifted a little, rubbing against her hand, and she came awake.

  Her eyes fluttered open. After the briefest moment of surprise, her hand slowly squeezed around him. He caught his breath as he became rock hard. “I hope you weren’t planning to get out of bed immediately,” he said in a choked voice.

  “Definitely not.” Her smile was teasing, her hand more so. “I have a dozen years to make up for, Alexander.”

  “I shall do what I can to help you get caught up. But this morning you must do the work.” He caught her around the waist and pulled her over on top of him.

  His brave, dignified lady wife giggled. Then she bent into a kiss, her soft body molding to him. They made slow, satisfying love until the end, which wasn’t slow at all.

  Passion temporarily exhausted, they stayed joined together, her hair spilling down his throat. “I didn’t know what I was missing,” she breathed. “I didn’t know.”