For Love and Country (Brothers in Arms Book 13)

by Samantha Kane

  “I’m sorry?” Ambrose said, making it a question.

  “What you two have,” she explained. “Passion. Desire. Satisfaction. Affection.” She slid down the wall and sat on the floor, pulling her nightgown over her knees. “I didn’t believe that it was possible. Just a fairytale they tell you to make marriage and relations not such horrible prospects.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the arm of her nightgown. “I’ve never slept better because someone else slept beside me.”

  Ambrose kneeled in front of her and put his warm hands over her knees. “You will have it,” he said softly. “I’m sure you will. When you are ready some man will make you a fine husband and he’ll cherish you.”

  “And how is that going to work?” she asked snidely. “Since I’ve already got one.”

  “If I remember correctly, they married you off because of certain indiscretions,” Barnabas mused, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside them. “Surely there was some sort of passion involved there? Indiscretions usually have that sort of thing.”

  “Not on my part,” Mel said drily. “I found those silly trysts to be messy and unsatisfying and boring.” She looked at Ambrose. “You don’t sound like you find them boring.”

  He blushed beet red. “No,” he managed to say through his embarrassment. “I do not.”

  “He does make a lot of noise, doesn’t he?” Barnabas said smugly. “I like it.”

  “You are not making this any better,” Ambrose said sharply.

  “I never liked it,” she said, biting her lip at the confession.

  “When they touched you?” Ambrose asked with concern.

  “When they did to me what Barnabas does to you,” she told him honestly. “All of de Vere’s friends wanted to stick it there. I didn’t like it. Of course I didn’t like it when they put it anywhere else, either.” Ambrose’s hands fisted on top of her knees. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t like me to talk about it.”

  “No,” he replied quickly. “That’s not it. I don’t mind if you want to talk about it. It’s just that what happened to you makes me so mad.”

  “See?” she said with a trace of humor. “Me, too.”

  Barnabas chuckled. “Well, don’t go ruining any more of my furniture.”

  “You didn’t like that étagère and you know it,” Mel told him. “So stop complaining.”

  “You are quite possibly the worst housekeeper in England,” Barnabas told her as he slid down the wall beside her. “Such insubordination.”

  “I am an excellent housekeeper,” she defended herself. “I got you a new cook, didn’t I?”

  “Is that why the food tastes so much better?” Barnabas said in surprise. “Well, that makes perfect sense. Did I approve this new cook?”

  “No,” Mel said. “I called an agency and had them send a few applicants over, and they cooked for me and I chose one.”

  “I don’t like strangers in my household,” Barnabas said darkly. “He’s most likely a spy.”

  “She,” Mel corrected.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” he told her. “Women make even better spies than men.” As they’d been speaking Mel had moved closer to Barnabas until he lifted his arm and tucked her into his side without comment.

  Ambrose looked behind him and dusted off the floor before sitting down across from them. “I can see that they would,” he agreed. “Most of the world views women as weak. They’d never suspect one of spying.”

  “I’d make a good spy,” Mel said. “Especially if I got to kill people like de Vere.” She stretched out her feet and rubbed one against Ambrose’s foot. He rubbed back and they stayed like that, their feet touching.

  “I usually assign those tasks to highly specialized assassins,” Barnabas told her. “They’re quite professional. No mess to clean up after.” He reached around her and affectionately tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

  “Good God,” Ambrose muttered.

  “I told you my job was a difficult one,” Baranbas said. “I have to make the hard decisions.”

  Mel turned her face into his neck and took a deep breath, letting that rich, full smell fill her head. She didn’t know why he smelled so good. He just did.

  “I’m glad you make them,” she told him softly.

  “Did you sleep last night?” Ambrose asked her, clearly trying to change the subject.

  “I did, for a little while,” she lied. “Thank you.”

  “So you’ve never been satisfied sexually?” Barnabas asked quietly, his brow furrowed. “Never?”

  “Barnabas,” Ambrose growled.

  “Never,” she told him, closing her eyes as she rested her cheek on his shoulder, the heavy silk of his dressing gown caressing her skin decadently. “At least I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never known that euphoric state everyone talks about in raptures. I’ve seen men who have, of course. And I hear you two and I know you do. Can women actually do that?”

  “Oh, yes,” Barnabas said. “As a matter of fact, they can experience it more than once during an encounter. Men generally can only feel that once and then they need a period of recovery before they can do it again. Women can do it repeatedly.”

  “They can?” Ambrose asked. She peeked at him and he looked as fascinated as she was.

  “That’s right. You’ve never been with a woman,” Mel said.

  “Never,” Ambrose said.

  “Mel, I have an idea,” Barnabas said softly. He kissed her cheek and she looked up at him, the unusual gesture surprising her. He had a wicked gleam in his eye. She’d never seen him look like that before and it made her nervous.

  “What?” she asked warily.

  “It seems a shame that neither one of you has experienced a woman’s pleasure before.” He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered loud enough for Ambrose to hear, “Let us touch you, Mel, and I promise we will help you to achieve it.”

  “What?” Ambrose exclaimed. “Barnabas, you go too far.” He looked angry as he started to rise, and Mel reached out quickly to stop him.

  Her heart was beating fast. Was she making another mistake? She’d made so many in her life. But Ambrose and Barnabas were closer to her than any friends she’d ever had. They were the only real friends she’d ever had, if she were honest. She trusted them. They’d saved her, hadn’t they? Surely they wouldn’t take advantage of her now.

  She met Ambrose’s gaze. He looked as confused as she felt.

  “This is highly irregular,” Ambrose said, blushing. He was halfway between sitting and standing.

  “Is it?” Barnabas asked. “We know people who do it all the time.”

  “You mean Lady Vanessa? And Mrs. O’Shaunghnessy?” Mel asked. She sat up.

  “Indeed,” Barnabas said. He lightly ran his hand down her arm from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers, and she shivered. “They don’t seem to hate it, do they?”

  Mel laughed. “On the contrary,” she said. “They seem eager to be alone with their men at every opportunity.”

  “There is double the pleasure to be found when two men are doing the pleasuring,” Barnabas said, running his nose along her neck.

  “So you say,” she said breathlessly, shivering at the tickle on her neck.

  “When we are done you may call me a liar if you like,” he said. “But I very much doubt you will.”

  “Ambrose?” she asked. For some odd reason he looked at her foot touching his, then he reached out and placed his hand on her lower leg. Even that innocuous touch made her shiver with awareness.

  “If you desire it, Mel, then that is what I want,” he told her, his voice lower than normal. It sent another shiver through her. She’d shivered in fear many times in the past few years, but this was different. She found she liked it, that feeling of anticipation and sensitivity that accompanied it.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I desire it.” And she did. She wanted to feel at last what she’d been seeking as a young woman and been denied as a wife. She wanted to feel
what these two men felt when they were together upstairs. Mostly, she just wanted to feel something, anything. “Please.”

  Chapter 20

  “May I kiss you?” Barnabas asked her, wondering if she’d allow that intimacy. He’d known victims like her in the past and they had shied away from such personal displays. Forced intimacy had made it distasteful to them.

  “Kiss Ambrose first,” she said.

  That took him aback. “Why?”

  “Because I want to see how you both kiss before I allow it,” she said, biting her lip, looking very skittish.

  “Ah,” Barnabas said, understanding dawning. “I see.”

  “See what?” Ambrose asked. His blush was charming. Of course, everything he did was charming. He couldn’t help it. He was the perfect gentleman.

  “We must pass the test,” Barnabas said. He reached out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Ambrose took it and came to his knees, scooting over in front of Barnabas. Barnabas deliberately shoved thoughts of Simon and the guilt he felt aside. He’d been using physical intimacy all night to try to forget his missing friend and his culpability in his disappearance.

  “I assume you want a passionate kiss?” he asked Mel, coming to his knees in front of Ambrose. Ambrose took a deep breath and blew it out nervously.

  “Yes, please,” Mel said. “In my experience even a gentle kiss from a man will soon turn passionate. And if I am to achieve this supposed euphoric satisfaction, then we must be passionate, mustn’t we?” she asked.

  “Yes, indeed, passion is a requirement,” Barnabas agreed.

  He cupped the back of Ambrose’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. Ambrose was stiff and resisted his pull, but Barnabas forced him closer until their lips met. It was like kissing him for the first time. So Barnabas tried the gentle approach as he had that first time, a brush of his lips over Ambrose’s, a flick of his tongue, barely there and then gone. He kissed the corners of his mouth, encouraging him to open it and let Barnabas inside.

  Ambrose’s hands slid up his chest and he tipped his head to the side, fitting their mouths together. He opened his mouth and his tongue tangled with Barnabas’s, and suddenly the passion washed over him.

  Ambrose must have felt the change in the tenor of the kiss. He slid his hands over Barnabas’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around Barnabas’s neck, burying one hand in Barnabas’s short hair. Barnabas let his hands wander down Ambrose’s back. He cupped his derriere and pulled him in until their cocks were pressed together and Ambrose moaned, tugging Barnabas’s hair in his passion. They both broke slowly from the kiss with little nips and gentle licks.

  When they were done they stared at each other, out of breath, Barnabas’s wonder over the kiss reflected in Ambrose’s face. This kiss had been different than their past kisses, although Barnabas couldn’t quite place what it was, only that it had been more than a mere kiss. Emotions roiled in his breast, a stew of guilt, confusion, and euphoria. Ambrose’s kiss had done that to him. It made him feel, and that was far too dangerous for a man like him.

  “Oh,” Mel said simply, the same wonder in her voice that he and Ambrose were experiencing. The spell was broken and a blush suffused Ambrose’s face as he looked away and awkwardly disentangled himself from Barnabas. “But that looked wonderful,” she said breathlessly. “Do kiss me like that.”

  There was another awkward moment as the two men stared at each other in consternation. Finally Barnabas asked, “Who?”

  Mel frowned. “I don’t know. You choose. It looked as if you both kiss very well.”

  “Barnabas,” Ambrose said immediately. “He has more experience.”

  “Of course,” Barnabas replied, not as smoothly as he would have liked. He was still shaken by the kiss. “I shall kiss you, and then Ambrose will kiss you. It doesn’t have to be either or, does it? That way you can see if you have a preference.” And passing her on to Ambrose would give Barnabas the moment he needed to compose himself.

  “Always logical,” Mel said. “I like that about you.”

  “Thank you,” Barnabas said, amused. “I find it one of my better traits.”

  “I don’t,” Ambrose said. “It’s very annoying when we’re arguing.”

  Mel laughed as she came to her knees beside him. “My turn,” she said eagerly.

  “Are you sure?” Ambrose asked. “It wasn’t that long ago that you didn’t want to be touched.”

  “Oh, but it’s you and Barnabas,” she said ingeniously. “I’ve nothing to worry about.”

  Barnabas almost laughed out loud. He was one of the most feared men in Britain. Perhaps even farther afield. His reputation tended to precede him. Friend and foe alike trembled in his presence. Hardened criminals gave way when he walked down the street. And this fragile, abused, delicate woman didn’t fear him one bit. It should have been lowering. Instead it made him feel like a god. He knew the emotional highs and lows he was experiencing were a direct result of the turmoil he was feeling over Simon, but the knowledge made no difference as he was overwhelmed with tenderness and desire for her.

  He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She came up against him with a small, “Oof,” of surprise that made him smile. She smiled back and he kissed her then, kissed the smile on her face because that was the way she ought to be kissed, and he wanted to erase the memory of any less pleasurable kisses from her mind. Tentatively she wrapped her arms around his neck as Ambrose had done, but Barnabas resisted cupping her bottom; instead he settled for caressing her back with long, soothing strokes.

  After a moment or two of gentle kisses and a nip or two on her plump bottom lip, he slid his tongue along the crease between her lips, encouraging her to open. Her hesitation wasn’t shyness, he knew. It didn’t feel like it. It felt like trepidation, and he had to focus on her and her alone to block the anger that might engulf him if he let it. But anger had no place in this kiss.

  When she finally let him inside her mouth, her taste exploded on his tongue. She was heat and spice, like warm, sugared, exotic tea. She washed through his senses like a tidal wave. He was still reeling from the kiss with Ambrose and this kiss was the final blow that knocked his feet out from under him.

  Ambrose still kneeled close to them, and his nearness and heat were an added element in the kiss. Barnabas could see the attraction of this sort of encounter now. He understood what drew men to it like bees to honey. The forbidden nature of it, the voyeurism, the joy of giving pleasure both directly and indirectly. He could feel Ambrose’s desire in the air, knew he was enjoying watching them as much as Barnabas and Mel were enjoying the kiss. He wanted him there, needed him, even, because this sort of passion was like a drug. It could make him forget everything.

  It was the last thought that caused Barnabas to pull away slowly and end the kiss. This interlude was nothing more than that—a brief moment in time when Barnabas did as he wanted instead of what he was expected, nay required to do. Every moment of every day of his life was lived for king and country. Just once he’d like to live a moment for himself, for Mel, for Ambrose, for selfish reasons that had nothing to do with England and everything to do with his heart.

  But he was in dangerous territory here. He’d seen love ruin better men than he, destroy the careers they’d built, take whatever power they held and smash it to nothing. He couldn’t let that happen. So this was indeed a brief moment in time. After tonight he’d have to let both Ambrose and Mel go. At the very least he’d distance himself. He couldn’t very well kick Mel out of his household yet.

  With one last small kiss to the corner of her mouth, he lifted his head. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were flushed, her rosy, damp lips parted. She was a vision of lovely temptation. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him with a knowledge in their depths she hadn’t had before.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “No, thank you,” he said sincerely. “That kiss was a gift. You must know I appreciate it.”

 
His voice was rough with suppressed emotion, which would never do. Ambrose must never suspect he felt anything, or he’d gloat that he’d been right and he’d never let it go, like a dog with a bone. When Barnabas cut him loose, he had to go with no strings attached. Opening his heart wide and letting Ambrose see inside was a very powerful string that would keep pulling him back.

  “Now, Ambrose,” he said briskly, passing her over to the other man, who was quietly watching them.

  “I’m sure I can’t do better than that,” Ambrose said with undisguised appreciation.

  “You can try,” Mel said with a flirty grin that made Barnabas very happy. His passionate kiss hadn’t disgusted her, then.

  Barnabas experienced a myriad of emotions as he watched Ambrose take her in his arms and kiss her. He was proud that the pupil had apparently learned his lessons well, but he was also sad to see him moving on to the one who was his heart’s desire. Barnabas knew that Mel and Ambrose were meant to be together. For some reason fate had decreed that Barnabas would be the one to help them find each other. Barnabas might argue with almost anyone, but he never argued with fate. He’d seen its power and knew no man could defeat it.

  Ambrose was much firmer in his kiss, no hesitation or gentle introduction, which surprised Barnabas. But Mel didn’t seem to mind. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and Ambrose had bent her a little sideways, her head resting on his upper arm as he kissed her. He was in complete control of the kiss. He was different with Mel than he was with Barnabas. Or was he? Ambrose had grown more confident each time they touched. The kiss today had been a meeting of equals—that’s what had been different. That and the fact that Mel was watching. Now Barnabas could put his finger on it. Ambrose had met Barnabas man to man in that kiss. He was taking control of his sexual desires, and it was extremely erotic for Barnabas to watch it happen again before his eyes.

  Ambrose broke the kiss with little kisses on her nose and eyelids, and Mel giggled breathlessly. Slowly he helped her regain her balance on her knees and she sat back on her heels with another breathless laugh.