The Gamekeeper's Lady

by Ann Lethbridge

  He stopped and cast poor Lady Stuck-up to the corner. He grinned at her. ‘Do you see?’

  ‘I think so.’ Oh, she hoped so, or he’d think her such a dolt.

  ‘Very well, we will try again.’ Once more he encircled her in his arms. A tremble shook her frame.

  ‘Don’t be nervous. Remember, you are a willow, you are elegant, you glide, you do not hop like a frog.’

  She chuckled at the image.

  He frowned and she resumed her haughty pose.

  ‘Above all, you are bold and confident,’ he instructed.

  As bold as her mama. The thought bolstered her courage. She took a deep breath.

  ‘First the opening.’ He hummed a few bars, then with the gentlest touch, he led her into the dance.

  This time, she felt his directions, subtle tugs and pushes of hand and arm and body guided her steps. She floated as if immersed in the River Wynch’s swirling eddies.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said.

  She stumbled.

  He laughed. A wonderful, warm sound. It touched her heart with the sweetest echo of pain.

  ‘Next lesson,’ he said. ‘How to converse with your partner. Keep the music in your mind, let your feet listen to it.’

  Now her feet had ears?

  ‘You dance divinely, Miss Bracewell.’

  ‘As do you, Mr Deveril.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ He shook his head at her with a smile. ‘A mere gracious thank you will do. And if you make a misstep, never apologise. After all, the man is in charge of the dance. If you falter, his is the error.’

  And so it went, over and over, his chiding and guiding, her occasionally stumbling until a ridiculous conversation about the price of corn escalated to nonsense.

  And she was doing it. Dancing the waltz, gliding and twirling and talking nonsense.

  They laughed as he swirled her around in a complex set of steps and brought her to a breathtaking halt.

  He stared down at her, his dark eyes full of laughter, his handsome face the most relaxed she’d ever seen it. Her breath caught in her throat.

  His expression softened, eyelids lowered, his lips took on a sensuous cast. Unable to bear the uncertainty, she slipped her hand up to his neck and raised her mouth to his.

  Who kissed whom, she wasn’t sure, but the kiss was blissful, gentle and infinitely sweet. His chest rose on a deep breath and the pressure against her mouth increased. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for him.

  The taste of him filled her mouth, the scent of him invaded her pores and, swept up on a tide of sensations, she clung to him.

  Strong hands caressed her back, her hips, her ribs. So delicious. Her skin warmed and cooled as his touch trailed a sensual path of delight. One hand cupped her buttocks, pressed her against the evidence of his arousal, while the other strayed to brush the underside of her breast, then slid up to cup her fullness. Her breasts tightened.

  She gasped.

  On a groan, he broke away.

  She clung to his shoulders. ‘Don’t stop. Not now.’

  He held her close, cradled against his chest. ‘We must not.’

  She stroked his jaw, felt the springy beard, which softened its angular lines. ‘How can it be wrong when it feels so wonderful?’

  In the old days, the words would have been all the permission Robert needed. But this wasn’t the old days. She was too young, too inexperienced and he was the wrong man. ‘No. You came here to learn the waltz. Now you must go.’

  ‘But I want you, Robert.’ She flung her arms around his neck, ran her tongue around the edge of his ear.

  His body shivered. She’d learned his sensual lessons too well. ‘You say that now. But what about later, when ardour cools?’

  ‘I don’t care about later.’

  This was desire talking, her newly discovered feminine power. How many times had he seen it happen to débutantes in their first Season? Not that he had ever partaken of such forbidden fruit. No matter what she said, she was still innocent in so many ways. While she might have lain with some youth without experience, or some blundering man, she’d not yet been jaded by sordid affairs.

  ‘Please, Robert.’

  The agony of denial made his body clench unbearably. Lust for a woman had never ridden him this hard. There had always been another waiting in the wings. This one was out of bounds.

  She’d lain down with him once, a small voice whispered. Why not again? One last time. What difference would it make? The insidious whispers drove a wedge between his conscience and his desire. Only the growing sense that if he succumbed he would never want another woman held him back. Was she indeed some other worldly being who held his soul enthralled? The devil’s spawn.

  My God, was he losing his mind? He pushed her away. ‘Answer me this, then?’

  Eyes hazy, she blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Who was your first lover?’

  ‘My f-f-first…’ Her mouth, red from his kisses, trembled.

  ‘You said you were ruined. By whom?’

  Her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes. ‘A lady doesn’t tell.’ Her voice was a low seductive murmur. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Did he break your heart? Is that why you are so reckless? Are you using me to…to get back at him?’

  ‘No.’ Her shocked denial rang true. Tears glistened. ‘If you don’t want me, just tell me and have done.’ But now there was heartbreak in her voice.

  He’d been too harsh, his tongue too rough. Unable to bear the pain and confusion in her gaze, he pulled her close, kissed the top of her head, inhaled the scent of her hair, her unique essence, soothed her back and shoulders with his hands. ‘I confess I find you irresistible.’

  At last she relaxed and he tipped up her chin to look into her face. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have asked. I’m trying to do the right thing, instead of what I want.’

  She smiled. ‘Right for whom?’

  ‘For you, of course.’ He cupped her face in his hands and took her lips with his and felt his soul rise to meet hers as she returned the kiss.

  When he finally broke the kiss and pulled away to look into her face, she smiled. ‘I want this,’ she whispered.

  After such a declaration, she’d be hurt if he refused. He could see it in her face. She’d feel scorned. Rejected. He couldn’t do it. He took a deep breath. Then he would bring her pleasure she sought without taking his and let her go in good conscience. It was the only thing to do and retain a shred of integrity.

  Mentally, he shook his head. The right thing to do would be to bundle her out of the door, but it was as close to right as he could get without destroying his fragile little elf. He picked her up and carried her to his cot.

  He lay her down on the bed and stretched out beside her.

  He captured her sweet mouth in a kiss. She responded by sweeping his mouth with her tongue, then drawing his into her mouth with a gentle suck. His member throbbed a demand.

  He unbuttoned her shirt and exposed one perfect breast. God. No stays. Had she planned his seduction? Did he care as he gazed upon her breasts, a perfect fit for his palm? He rubbed the nipple with his thumb and watched it tighten to a rosy bead, heard her indrawn breath with a surge of blood to his loins.

  He bent to suckle and she squirmed beneath him, arched her hips against his thigh in silent demand for more. Not so silent. The little cries in the back of her throat, the sounds of wanting, of desire, filled his mind, stole his thoughts, robbed him of control.

  His shaft strained against his trousers, pressing for escape, seeking a far sweeter, hotter confinement.

  To survive this torment, he’d have to bring her to a climax fast. Still sucking and nipping at her breast, he skimmed his hand between her open thighs, pressed down hard and circled.

  At once she cried out, wove her fingers in his hair and quivered. Almost there. Please, God, let her be almost there.

  He sucked her other breast, pressing and grinding against her woman’s flesh, the heat of it burn
ing his hand, dampness seeping through to his fingers.

  So hot. So wet. He needed to be inside her.

  His fingers tore at the buttons of his falls. One side undone.

  No. He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d lost control with her the first time. This time he would master his urges. He went back to his firm massage of her, only to discover her fingers finishing the job on his buttons, her hand burrowing beneath his shirt and cupping him.

  Her nails grazed his balls and his body tightened. Her fingers wandered, explored the base of his shaft. He thought he would explode in her hand.

  ‘It feels so hot,’ she said. She curled her hand around him. ‘And so hard here. When you are so s-soft under—’

  He reached down and grabbed her hand and pulled it free.

  She stared up at him. ‘Don’t you l-like me to touch you?’

  Heaven preserve him when she looked at him with those huge, seductive eyes. ‘Touch me elsewhere.’ His voice sounded harsh, but only because he was hanging by a thread. Her wince cut him to the quick.

  He kissed her fingertips. ‘I love it when you touch me there, but it will end too soon. For both of us.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ She rubbed her hand over his chest. Through his shirt, his skin tingled with need to feel her skin to skin.

  Dear God, he hoped she didn’t see how much power she had in the palm of that little hand to bend him to her will. ‘Yes. Like that.’

  He swooped in for a kiss, anything to take her mind off her exploration of him, and resumed his ministrations with his hand. She sighed and moaned into his mouth. Her teeth grazed his tongue and she sucked his bottom lip. Ah, no. He was too close to the edge. He drew back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. He no longer knew what he was doing. ‘Pleasuring you.’

  ‘Take your clothes off,’ she whispered. Her breaths came short and fast. She undid his shirt buttons and tugged the fabric free of his breeches. He whipped the shirt off over his head. Her fingertips traced the contours of his chest, then circled his nipples. ‘Now your breeches and boots.’

  He inhaled a deep breath, saw the heat in her gaze, the anticipation in her tongue licking her lips and sighed.

  Why fight it? It would be the last time. He swore it. In seconds he’d stripped out of his clothes. When he turned back, she had her shirt off and was wriggling out of her breeches. In the light from the fire, the triangle of light brown hair at the apex of her thighs glistened with her moisture. For him.

  His wood nymph, his exotic, wild woodland creature, glowing in firelight, begging for his touch. An unexpected blessing. A pure light in his blighted life.

  Lost. He was lost. And he never wanted to be found.

  He tugged her breeches over her feet and flung them aside. Ripped off her stockings in feverish haste. He covered her with his body, thrust inside her. Her heat, the tightness of her flesh, squeezed around the pulsing of his blood inside her body.

  A sigh of fulfilment whispered hot breath in his ear.

  Pleasure ripped through him, unbearable, the tension too hard and too fast. He surged against her, holding his weight with trembling arms, aware of her joy in the far-off reaches of his mind, but stretched to breaking point with his need for completion.

  He came into her, hard and fast and rough, and she met each stroke with a thrust of her own that sent him spiralling to the stars. Together they rode all the way to heaven and the abyss beyond.

  He collapsed beside her, face down, and finished against the rough blanket, blissfully satiated, yet wanting more. Disgust welled up inside him. He was what he had always been. A seducer. A rake.

  She snuggled into the crook of his shoulder.

  ‘Happy now?’ he murmured for something to say, to divert his thoughts from his own sense of disappointment that he was not a better man.

  ‘Very happy,’ she said softly.

  Moisture leaked from his closed eyes and he brushed it away. Because she was happy? Or because he might never again experience such joy?

  While Frederica slept, her even breath a symphony to his ears, Robert watched shadows and licks of flame dance on the ceiling. How to extricate himself without doing her damage? More damage, he thought bitterly. In the old days, he would have sent round a string of pearls with a footman. Jewels were his speciality. This child of nature had no need for baubles and trinkets to enhance her beauty; she needed protection from a cruel harsh world.

  And he wanted to be the one to fight her dragons. Even if he was not her first, he wanted to be her last.

  Marriage.

  Shocked, he inhaled a deep breath. Surely not. He’d never wanted to wed. Never wanted to be tied down to one woman. Was this simply a case of him not being ready to let this one go?

  He didn’t recall ever feeling this need for possession. Or the urge to protect.

  Frederica stirred.

  Robert glanced down and found her looking up at him. ‘Time to go?’ he asked.

  She sighed. ‘Soon. Robert?’

  ‘Yes, love?’ He liked the way the word tasted on his tongue, but it was as far as he dare go for the moment.

  ‘What if I can only dance the waltz with you, here in this room? What if I trip over my feet?’

  He pulled her close, felt her fear in the faintest tremor beneath her skin. He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, inhaled the musky scent of their loving and the essence of her, outdoors and fresh air with a trace of vanilla. ‘You will be fine.’

  He’d find a way to make sure of it. ‘Come, let us get you dressed.’

  The next morning, still feeling blissful, Frederica strolled into the breakfast room and found Snively hovering over the sideboard.

  She lifted the lid of a silver platter and helped herself to a couple of gammon rashers. Goodness, she was hungry this morning. Today she would see the results of the dressmaker’s efforts at Lady Radthorn’s. The riding habit and the gowns would be a boon for her travels. Poor Uncle Mortimer. All that expense for nothing. One day, she would find a way to pay him back. In the meantime she’d do her best to make sure the ball went off without a hitch and keep her own plans a secret.

  ‘Is everything ready for our guests, Snively?’ she asked. ‘Do you have all the extra help from the village you need to decorate the ballroom?’

  ‘Yes, miss. All is arranged, as we discussed.’

  Frederica smiled. There was no one as well organised as Snively. Or so willing to aid her over the years. She would be sorry to leave him behind. ‘Thank you so much for your help. You will let me know if you have questions, will you not? Lord Wynchwood will have an apoplexy if we run into problems.’

  He afforded her a quick smile. ‘All will be well. Oh, I should let you know that his lordship asked that we move your things to the second floor in the morning.’

  She stared at him. ‘My things?’

  ‘Yes. Next to the other lady who will be staying here. He thought it made more sense with company in the house. I’ll set someone on it in the morning.’

  So they felt a little guilty at hiding her away. ‘I do not want my desk moved. Or my easel.’

  A twinkle lit his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, miss, I’ll see to that part myself.’

  She grinned back. ‘You are a dear. By the way, is there any mail for me this morning?’

  ‘Michael is not yet returned from the village. If there is anything for you, I will see it reaches you directly as always.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She selected a slice of toast and went to her usual place at the table facing the window. Beneath a clear blue sky, a hoar frost sparkled like crystals on the lawn. Impossible to catch that glitter with a paint brush. She sighed.

  Snively brought her a cup of tea. He glanced at the door and back to her. ‘Miss Bracewell, are you thinking of leaving Wynchwood?’

  Her heart jumped, heat flashed under her skin, followed by cold. She stifled her gasp and tried to look unconcerned. ‘Whatever d-do you m-mean?’

&
nbsp; ‘I’ve known you a long time, miss. I’ve watched you grow up. I know what goes on in this family and I’ve never seen you so happy, or so excited. Not since your uncle let you ride the gelding. You are up to something. And it’s my opinion that you are planning to take the money from your drawings and run.’

  Heart pounding, she folded her shaking fingers in her lap. Snively had always been her ally in this house, but as her uncle’s employee, would he see it as his duty to betray her? His eyes remained kindly but concerned. Dare she give him her trust?

  ‘L-leave? Why would you think so? For the first time, I am to attend a ball and I am to have a whole new fashionable wardrobe in honour of our guests. What can you mean?’

  He frowned and stepped back, shaking his head. ‘If I spoke out of turn, miss, I beg your pardon. I just wanted to be sure you will be here for your birthday. I have a gift for you, you see.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘For me?’ No one ever gave her gifts on her birthday. Unless you counted her annual new gown as a gift.

  He shrugged. ‘I understood it to be a special day. Your age of majority, so to speak.’

  He looked so uncomfortable she wished she’d told him the truth. ‘How kind of you, Mr Snively.’ The birth of an unwanted child had never been a cause for celebration. She couldn’t help her sarcastic little laugh. ‘I think my uncle prefers we not make too much fuss.’

  A sheen of perspiration formed on his wrinkled brow. He looked as if wild horses were tearing him in two. He once more glanced at the door and leaned forwards and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial manner. ‘If by some chance you change your mind, Miss Bracewell, promise me you won’t go without speaking to me first. Please? I swear I’ll tell no one else.’

  He’d never ever let her down. She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘If I were to leave, I promise I will tell you beforehand.’

  ‘That is all I can ask, miss.’ He bowed and stalked out of the room, and somehow she had the sense she’d hurt his feelings.

  Dash it. She’d told him of her longing to study in Italy. He must have guessed she would use the money from her painting to achieve her ambition.

  Surely he wouldn’t interfere. He’d always helped her in the past. Still, she needed to be careful. She didn’t want her uncle guessing her purpose before she was ready. And if Snively had guessed, someone else might too.