by Clare Murray
Rhys bent to kiss the hollow of her throat. He was driving her mad, tantalizing her skin with wicked, never-ending caresses, sending her need spiraling through the roof.
“Please, Rhys…” Marissa whispered the words, unable to bear it any longer.
Then he was moving within her, driving her to further heights. She arched against him, wrapping her legs around his waist as the world dissolved into splinters of pleasure. Moments later, he tensed in her embrace, spilling within her with a low growl of satisfaction. She could feel him jerking as he finished, one of his hands immediately stroking a stray strand of hair from her forehead as if seeing to her comfort was of paramount importance even in the face of his own ultimate pleasure.
Exhausted, Marissa rested her head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat. No words she could utter would be able to adequately express how Rhys had just made her feel, so she simply lay quietly, enjoying being with him.
She had wanted this—but it had to end now. There was no way Marissa would be able to share Rhys with another woman. Rhys was a baron, he would want a well-bred, proper lady for his wife, and she could never be his mistress.
Just once. It had been worth it. She would leave him in the morning.
* * * * *
Rhys looked down at the sleeping woman, bewildered by the amount of pleasure she had brought him. He’d called her cariad. He remembered his mother calling his father by the Welsh term, her voice infused with love.
Was he falling in love?
Gently disentangling himself from the silken sheets, Rhys rose and stalked over to the cupboard. He couldn’t resist a glance over his shoulder, admiring Marissa as she lay sprawled and sated on the four-poster bed. Had he really only intended to kiss her once? He wanted her again and again—he could feel himself growing hard at the thought, despite physical tiredness and his earlier relief.
Turning back to the cupboard, Rhys ran his hands over the wooden surface. One of the panels hid a tiny secret drawer. He found it, pulled it out, stared at the heirloom ring contained within. He had hidden it away in the cottage, hoping to one day meet the woman he might bestow it upon.
If someone had informed his younger self that he might fall in love with an outsider like Marissa, he would have laughed in their face. Rhys had spent years entertaining flighty, shallow girls who practically threw themselves into his lap, yet unorthodox Marissa, who had initially walked away from him, struck him as the best match.
And if his mother—or anyone else, for that matter—objected, he would simply override them. As a baron, that was his right. Hadn’t his own grandfather, who had built this cottage, married a commoner from Staffordshire?
A deep sense of rightness settled over him. Carefully he lifted the slender platinum band from its hiding place. Its rubies sparkled in the firelight. They would complement Marissa’s brunette beauty perfectly.
Rhys smiled to himself. Even if it was the damn faeries who had brought her, he couldn’t let her go.
Chapter Three
Dawn was already filtering through the curtains by the time Marissa opened her eyes. For a few peaceful moments she lay still, enjoying the blessed lack of alarm clock, the rural stillness. The only sounds evident in the peaceful little cottage were birdsong and the gentle noises of Rhys breathing.
She was used to waking up early, but the feeling of waking next to a man was wholly unfamiliar. Rhys slept deeply, his dark hair slightly tousled, one muscular arm curving above her head. He was still definitely as handsome as ever. Marissa looked away, biting her lip.
Pride forced her out of bed in the end. She moved stealthily past the fire to retrieve her dress, which was slightly rumpled but still wearable. Her slippers, however, were battered almost beyond recognition. Fortunately, she was able to scrounge a decent pair of boots and a woolen coat from the wardrobe.
When she hefted her reticule, it felt bulkier than normal. Marissa wrinkled her brow, trying to recall what she’d packed yesterday afternoon. Tissue, fifty bucks for a taxi, and some hand cream shouldn’t weigh this much. She reached down to peer inside, but Rhys stirred and she froze.
When he had settled again, she stepped outside, boots crunching in the snow. She shook her head, angry at her indecision. Never before had she been infatuated with a man, so why should she be now? Because he’d taken her virginity?
At no time in her life had she, Marissa Blythe, ever truly belonged somewhere—or with someone. There was no sense deluding herself into thinking Rhys was somehow different. She hardened her heart, stepped onto the road.
The snow was gradually melting in the strengthening sunlight. She turned around almost involuntarily, drawn back to the cottage by an almost tangible force. The twenty-first century seemed to have very little hold on her now.
She only wished she could be sure of the exact year she was in. Harriet had said the spoon was from around 1860. The clothing styles present at the party seemed to back that up, but she couldn’t be sure.
And something—perhaps the magic of the silver spoon—was trying to help her fit in here.
“Car,” she tried to say. It came out as “carriage”. “Bus” translated to “stagecoach”. She couldn’t say “television” or “internet” at all.
“Well, we’re not in Kansas Territory anymore, Toto,” Marissa muttered.
Kansas Territory? When had Kansas become a state? 1861? Yes, definitely post-1861, which meant the spoon had landed her sometime before then, probably the late 1850s.
Slowly she walked across the nearby field to a sturdy oak tree, reverently reaching out to touch its rough bark. Judging by its size, the oak was probably several hundred years old. In her time—her old time, she amended—it would have been an absolute giant.
Now that Marissa knew when and where she was, could she find a way to fit in? The thought occurred to her that she might stay at Montford Hall, but she quickly banished that line of thinking. Best to move on, to find honorable employment, than to live her life skulking around as mistress to a baron.
She squared her shoulders, looking around to get her bearings. Rhys had mentioned the nearest town was six miles away. She just needed to keep walking down the road. Marissa hesitated, glancing to her left. Across those fields somewhere lay Montford Hall in all its grandeur. Rhys would return there today. She wondered if he would miss her.
The sound of hoofbeats broke into her musings. Had he come after her? She peered around the other side of the tree trunk shyly, hopefully.
Immediately Marissa shuffled back behind the oak. Five rough-looking riders had reined in their horses at the edge of the field. She prayed they hadn’t seen her. Were they highwaymen? Bandits?
“Now listen!” The leader spoke in a guttural voice, his accent so thick Marissa could barely decipher the words. “Move in. Wait by the rear entrance to the Hall. The cook will open the door to us after breakfast. Then we can steal the jewels and leave.”
“What if they put up a fight?”
The leader glared at the man who had just spoken. “Those London-bred chits? They’ll be too busy squawking and fluttering. Now get a move on! I bribed the cook well and I’ll not have that money wasted. Remember—we’ll make a quick escape and then meet up later to divide our spoils.”
Marissa stood as still as possible, barely breathing, as the men moved across the field. When she was sure she wouldn’t be noticed, she backtracked and began jogging toward the cottage.
If she hurried, she could warn Rhys in time.
* * * * *
She was no longer in bed with him. Rhys knew this even before he opened his eyes. Her side of the bed still held some residual warmth, so she couldn’t have been gone long. Fear rose unbidden from somewhere deep within him, fear that she had left him permanently. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her go.
Unless, of course, she wanted to be free of him. The thought gave him pause. Yet she had enjoyed last night. He’d made certain to see to her pleasure. And she was unattached, and a virgin, so he dou
bted there was someone else in the picture.
His frown intensified. In one fluid movement he was on his feet, stomping into his boots, pulling on his coat, heading out the door. He was determined to get to the bottom of why Marissa had left him. For the second time.
The footprints in the melting snow led east toward the main road. Rhys studied them briefly, then went to ready his horse. He didn’t bother saddling the gelding, merely slipping a bridle over its head and swinging on bareback. His muscular thighs gripped hard as the horse cantered off.
He caught up with Marissa far sooner than expected. Oddly, she was running toward him, her eyes wide and urgent.
He swept her onto his thigh without preamble.
“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. His voice was rougher than he meant it to be. He softened the unintended harshness with a brief kiss on her neck.
“I went down the road and ran into some bandits,” she replied breathlessly. “Rhys…they’re heading for Montford Hall. I overheard one of them saying the cook was going to open the back door for them.”
“The devil he is.” Rhys reined the gelding around. “Hold on, cariad.”
He settled her behind the horse’s withers and set off at a gallop. When they reached the main road, he reined toward the town. Ahead of him, Marissa murmured an unintelligible question.
“I’m getting reinforcements first,” Rhys told her. “Keep holding on, there’s a fence ahead and we’re jumping it.” One of his arms tightened reflexively around the girl but she kept her seat remarkably well, a fact that only increased his admiration of her.
The small town at the foot of Montford Hall’s hill was just beginning to stir. A young boy gaped at them as they approached, nearly dropping the eggs he was collecting. Rhys rode past him and reached out to rap on the smithy door. John Hardy, the local blacksmith, was just the man to have at his back. After a quick explanation of the situation, the smith and a few other men were following him up the hill, Hardy riding bareback on his giant draft horse.
Rhys briefly considered leaving Marissa behind in the safety of the town, but he was worried she would walk away again. He was certain she had intended to leave him this morning. Unconsciously, his arm tightened around her waist as he resolved to convince her to stay.
To his great relief, Rhys caught sight of Montford Hall’s head groom as they rode up the long driveway. Barely pausing, he bundled Marissa into the man’s care, ordering him to take her inside and to send some of the burlier servants down to the kitchens as reinforcements.
With one last look at Marissa, Rhys drew a silver pistol and led the way around the back.
Everything was happening so fast, Marissa could hardly take it all in. One moment she was on horseback, the next Rhys had lifted her down, abandoning her to ride away like some avenging hero. She stood by the front door, disapprovingly watching him disappear around the side of the Hall.
After a moment, the groom cleared his throat. “The baron ordered us to retire inside, Miss.”
“I’m a damn brown belt in judo!” she answered him. Only it came out as “I can damn well fight too!”
Diplomatically, the groom kept his mouth shut. After a moment Marissa begrudgingly followed him inside, trying not to gape at the sheer size of the foyer; she hadn’t properly appreciated it last night.
There were a great number of servants dashing around, although that was hardly surprising given the many well-bred visitors staying over after last night’s party. Annoyingly, several of the ladies, early risers, began to devolve into hysterics at the mention of bandits.
Purposefully, Marissa strode down the hall, directing them into the drawing room. Despite the early hour, there were quite a few people up and about, hopeful perhaps of catching a glimpse of Rhys before they returned home later in the day.
As she fanned one drooping young woman, ordering her to loosen her corset, Marissa caught sight of a familiar gray-haired woman near the window. She paused mid-fan, agape.
“Harriet?”
“There you are! I knew I would find you somewhere.” The professor rushed over and embraced her tightly. Their reunion was ignored as more young ladies entered the drawing room, chattering loudly.
Harriet drew Marissa over to the corner so that they could talk in relative privacy. “I went after you when you didn’t emerge from the maze. I found the center and abruptly everything changed and went cold. I was terrified at first, but I managed to follow some footprints in the snow all the way to the maze entrance. Then I saw Montford Hall.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Marissa couldn’t help another look around.
“When I came inside, I inquired about you. I found myself speaking with Lady Montford.”
“Rhys’ mother,” Marissa whispered.
“Yes. She was very interested in you, not to mention a trifle sharp with me at first for failing in my chaperone duties.” Harriet barely repressed a smile. “I realized you and the baron must have been caught in a compromising situation. So I painted you in the most impressive terms I could. Lady Montford believes you are a well-off American heiress descended from wealthy Welsh merchants.”
“That isn’t far from the truth,” Marissa mused.
“It is the truth in these times.”
“Well, it makes little difference. Rhys and I spent the night together, but we are not engaged. I will be considered a fallen woman.”
Harriet shot her a sympathetic look. Any reply she was going to make, however, was preempted by a single gunshot. Gasps echoed around the large room and Marissa sucked in a shocked breath. Rhys. All she could think of was Rhys.
Marissa bolted to the door, beating everyone else there as she sprinted down the hall, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress. One of the servants tried to stop her, but she brushed past single-mindedly, determined to get to Rhys.
She wouldn’t be able to bear it if he’d been killed. Deep inside, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from him now, would never be able to take up a position as governess. Ruthlessly, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Miss, there’s fighting in the kitchens. The baron ordered everyone to stay without.” Another servant plucked at her arm.
There were indeed sounds of struggle going on in the kitchens. Marissa listened briefly at the door, hoping against hope that Rhys wasn’t wounded—or worse. Impatiently, Marissa pulled away from the clinging servant. Then she kicked the door in.
For a moment, the kitchen was silent. After the first shock wore off, Rhys stepped forward and leveled his pistol at the leader’s head.
Until Marissa knocked him out cold with the door, the gigantic bandit had been fending off all comers. Rhys had begun to worry that the man was going to break through into the main house and take hostages.
Even as John Hardy bound the leader’s wrists with twine, all thoughts of the bandits flew from his mind. There was only Marissa. She stood by the door, her eyes flickering around the room as if she was unsure where to look. His immediate instinct was to make her feel at ease. She had displayed remarkable courage just now.
Heedless of the ruckus he knew he was going to cause, Rhys put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. For a blissful moment he allowed himself to savor her lips and the feelings she stirred within him. Breaking off was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He wanted nothing more than to lift her onto one of the tables and take her right then and there.
He was going to be the talk of Society, not only for an unorthodox marriage, but for Marissa’s unsurpassed beauty. She was all curves and long legs, her delicate skin a delicious contrast to her rich brown eyes.
John Hardy, the blacksmith, coughed politely, drawing his attention back to the present. “My lord, should we take these men to the gaol?”
“Yes of course. Thank you for your assistance, Hardy, everyone.” Rhys glanced around the room, grateful that things hadn’t gotten too out of hand. If they hadn’t stopped the bandit
s when they did, Montford Hall would have been the subject of derision in London for years.
The well-muscled smith began bundling the bandit leader unceremoniously out the back door, followed tamely by the traitorous cook, whose wrists were also tied together.
“Is anything amiss?” Rhys asked, looking down at Marissa. He took her arm, almost unconsciously continuing physical contact with her.
“No. I just—no, everything is fine.”
Rhys gave her a stern appraisal, mentally promising to question her further at a more opportune time—if he was able to keep his hands off her long enough. At the moment, half the house was clamoring for his attention.
With Marissa on his arm, he strode into the drawing room. His mother was directing a footman to load the side table with breakfast foods. She straightened up when she saw him, giving Marissa a speculative look.
“Rhys. I am relieved you are well.”
“Thank you. Mother, allow me to introduce Miss Marissa Blythe. Marissa, this is my mother, the Lady Montford.”
“Your chaperone, Harriet, has told me much about you.” Lady Montford glanced casually at several shamelessly eavesdropping young ladies and raised her voice ever so slightly. “Although you are from the Americas, I hear you are quite wealthy and come from a respected family.”
“Yes, my lady. I am thrilled to visit England. I only hope I might venture over the border to explore Wales someday.”
A genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mother’s lips as Rhys watched her warm to Marissa, as he hoped she would all along. “Well, your visit has been quite an unorthodox one, Miss Blythe. Still, I am pleased to welcome you to Montford Hall. Shall we find somewhere quiet to retire and have a cup of tea?”
“I would like that.”
Rhys watched them go as a gaggle of ladies built up around him, many casting venomous glares in Marissa’s direction, and silently blessed his mother for her tact. With the barest hint of a satisfied smile, he began giving orders, arranging breakfast, drafting a message to the local constable, and gently but firmly herding people into the dining area. Once things were finally settled, he promised himself hours of uninterrupted time with Marissa.