by Candace Camp
Thea could not help but laugh at his description. “Boadicea? Now I fear that you must have suffered a blow to the head when you and Lord Rawdon fought. I hardly think I qualify as a warrior queen.”
“Oh, but you do. You are all strength—rescuing abandoned children, facing down the wicked, saving those of us who have strayed from the path.”
He smiled at her, and Thea could not look away from his well-formed mouth. His upper lip was sharply defined, the bottom one fuller and softer. She remembered well the way they had felt upon her own lips, soft and almost velvety, yet firm as they sank into her. She was aware of how much she would like to feel his mouth on hers again, and unconsciously her lips parted a little.
Something flared in his eyes, and he straightened. He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her skin. Thea’s heart fluttered, and she feared that he must see the sudden frantic beating of her pulse in her throat. He turned her hand over and laid another kiss in her palm. A tremor ran through her. She had never known the warmth that flooded her now, that swept over her whenever he touched her or looked at her in that dark, languorous way. She wanted him to kiss her, to put his hands on her as he had the other day.
And as if he knew her very thoughts, he slid his arms around her, settling her into his body, and bent to take her mouth with his.
Ten
As it did whenever Gabriel kissed her, the world seemed to spin away from Thea, leaving her breathless and clinging to him. The taste of his mouth was darkly intoxicating, at once sweet and heady. The yeasty odor of ale still clung to him, mingling in her nostrils with the warm scent of his body and the spicy hint of cologne. Her hands slipped up and over his shoulders. Thea was amazed at her own boldness. She had daydreamed many times over the past few days about how Gabriel’s hair would feel upon her skin, and she indulged her curiosity now, sinking her hands into the thick, silky mass. The strands twined and curled around her fingers.
His breath shuddered against her cheek as he lifted his head to change the angle of their kiss. He swept his hands down to cup her buttocks, pressing her up into him, and she felt the swift surge of his passion against her body. His skin was suddenly flaming as he turned her, and moving back blindly, she came up against the low bookcase. He lifted her onto the bookcase, stepping in between her legs so that his body was flush against her, only their clothes separating them.
Thea would not have thought the fire in her veins could have flared any hotter, but it did so now, flashing through her and centering in the ache between her legs. She wanted to squeeze her legs together against the sudden, insistent hunger, but she could not because Gabriel stood between them. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him, seeking ease. He jerked, making a noise low in his throat, and ground his body into hers. His mouth consumed hers, drinking her in even as it filled her. He moved his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts in his long, supple fingers. Thea shivered, startled by the intimate touch and equally surprised by her reaction.
Her breasts were full and aching, the nipples suddenly hard. His thumbs brushed over them, lightly abrading them with the soft cloth of her dress. He continued to play with her nipples through the fabric, gently pulling and rubbing, and with each movement, the ache inside Thea grew stronger and more demanding. Even as she thrilled to the sensations Gabriel was creating in her, she wanted something more.
He slipped his hands over her breasts and delved down inside, pushing aside the modest fichu and dragging down the neckline of her dress and chemise beneath. She could feel the cool air on her breasts as they were exposed, and the hard central buds tightened even more. Gabriel pulled his mouth from hers. His eyes were blazing, his face flushed and heavy with desire as he gazed down at her breasts in his hands.
“Beautiful. You are so beautiful.”
He bent and brushed his lips over the trembling soft top of one breast, and Thea let out a choked sound of pleasure. She could feel his lips curve in a smile against her skin, and then, amazing her yet again, he traced the tip of his tongue in lazy circles across the sensitive flesh. Thea jerked and squeezed her legs more tightly around him. With a soft groan, Gabriel took her nipple into his mouth and began to suckle.
Thea leaned her head back against the wall, lost in the pleasurable sensations running through her. One of his hands slid down her body, skimming over her side and waist and down onto her legs. His fingers slipped beneath her dress and petticoats, inching upward over her leg. His touch seared her even through the cloth of her pantalets as his hand moved from the outside of her leg over her knee and onto the soft line of her inner thigh. He lifted his mouth from her breast, ending the bone-melting things he was doing to her there, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breath sounded in her ear, harsh and rasping, as he softly kissed the sensitive flesh of her neck, teasing her with lips and teeth and tongue.
His fingers meanwhile crept ever closer to the hot, moist center of her passion. She could not move away, for she was pressed too tightly against the unyielding wall, but Thea knew that she had no desire to move, anyway. If she shifted her body, it would be simply because it was becoming harder and harder to keep still under the exploration of his hand.
Then his thumb was on her, pressing through the damp cloth of her undergarments and touching the swollen, aching point in which all the sensations besieging her seemed to gather. She gasped. It was outrageous … wicked … appalling … and unbelievably pleasurable. Thea could not hold back a whimper as she moved beneath his caress, squirming and lifting. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, embarrassed at the way moisture flooded her, knowing he must feel it and sure that this must prove her overriding wantonness, yet reveling in the pleasure, too, and aching to feel even more.
Gabriel obliged her, stroking his thumb against her, light as a feather. She could not hold back the noises that rose from her throat, soft moans that seemed to be pulled from her. Her head rolled against the wall as her hips began to move in time with the rhythm of his stroking thumb. Thea heard his own harsh breaths, felt the heat and tension that permeated his body, and she knew she was not alone in this maelstrom of passion.
Something coiled and twisted inside her, building and building until it was as if she were running, straining to reach it even though she had no idea what it was. Amazingly, pleasure exploded deep in her abdomen, and she cried out, clapping her hand over her mouth to still the sound. But nothing could stop the heat that rushed through her, the pleasure that pounded in waves to the outermost reaches of her body.
He braced his arms on either side of her against the wall, struggling to control his breath, his body taut as a bowstring. “Thea …” Her name escaped his lips—she wasn’t sure whether as a prayer or a curse.
Thea sagged limply against the wall, floating in the warm, buoyant sea of pleasure. She was not sure if she would be able to stand, or even move at all. Her legs were like jelly. But at the moment, she could not bring herself to care.
Gabriel moved away from her, and she felt the loss of his heat and bulk. She roused herself as best she could, opening her eyes and saying, “Gabriel? Are you—am I—” She realized that she had no idea what to say.
He was at the window, turned away from her and staring out, one arm raised to lean against the wall. He shook his head. “Just give me a moment. I must think, for just a bit, of—well, of anything but you.”
It occurred to her, horrifyingly, that he was angry with her, displeased, that this flood of passion that had stormed through her had not touched him at all. Even worse, what if he had been disgusted by the exhibition of her base desires? Thea sucked in her breath, her hand flying to her mouth and tears starting in her eyes. She slipped off her perch and found that she could stand, after all, though her knees seemed amazingly weak. She shook her dress and petticoats down, smoothing and tucking and rearranging until everything was once again in modest order … though she rather doubted that inside her anything would ever be in order again. She did not understand how sh
e could feel so wonderfully good and at the same time so scared and embarrassed. Her body had become a stranger to her, a delightful, perplexing, maddening stranger.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I should go.”
He whirled to face her. “No! I mean, yes, perhaps you should go. But don’t be sorry.” His voice was low, but sharp and hard. He came over to grasp her arms and leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “There is nothing to feel sorry about. You are … a delight.” He kissed her forehead softly, carefully, then released her and moved away again. “But right now it is very hard for me to remember that I am a gentleman. Or, at least, pretending that I am one.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Perhaps I should go look at the rest of the wing.”
He smiled faintly. “That would be an excellent idea.”
Thea walked into the corridor outside the nursery and strolled aimlessly along it, glancing into the rooms. Her thoughts skittered about like fireflies, unwilling to stop or coalesce into anything coherent. She wished she had a mirror and wondered if she looked as flushed and hazy as she felt. She glanced down at her dress again and straightened the row of decorative buttons down the center of the short bodice. What was the state of her hair?
She stood for a moment, gazing out the long window at the end of the hallway without really seeing anything. At the sound of a heel scraping on the floor, she turned and saw that Gabriel was walking toward her. His face was still a trifle flushed, but aside from that and a softness to his mouth, he looked much as he always did. She could only hope that she did, as well, but she rather suspected that her face revealed much more than his. Of course, he was more experienced at this sort of thing.
Thea was surprised at the flash of jealousy that stabbed her when she considered Gabriel’s previous dalliances. It was really none of her business; the man’s previous life had nothing to do with her. But she could not help but feel a burning resentment at the thought of him sneaking into and out of other rooms in other houses with beautiful, sophisticated women on his arm.
Why, she thought, her heart squeezing in her chest, was he dallying with her? He could have almost any woman in the kingdom; it was absurd that he would be interested in a plain spinster in a little village. The answer, of course, was simply that she happened to be there. Chesley offered few women to choose from—only Damaris would qualify as a sophisticated beauty of the sort Morecombe was accustomed to. Damaris, she knew, must appeal to him more, but he scarcely knew her. It was Thea with whom he had been thrown together.
That was the only reason. Proximity. Convenience. He was a virile male who enjoyed women, and if no suitable lady was around, Gabriel would dally with one less suitable … in short, herself. To think anything else would be vain and foolish. Thea prided herself on being neither of those things.
So she pushed aside the spurt of jealousy and, fixing a pleasant smile on her face, went forward to meet him. As soon as he offered her his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, she felt the same tingling tendril of heat she experienced whenever she touched him, and it was difficult to keep at bay the memories of what had happened between them only minutes before.
As luck would have it, as they stepped back through the door into the main bedroom wing of the house, they met Ian and his wife walking out of their room. Emily’s eyes widened as she looked at Gabriel and Thea, and Thea felt a telltale blush spreading up her throat into her face. It was inappropriate, even shocking, she knew, for a female visitor to be roaming about upstairs alone with a man. That she had just been engaged in precisely the sort of activity that such social restrictions were designed to thwart only increased Thea’s feeling of awkwardness.
“Gabriel.” Ian nodded at Morecombe, his gaze sliding curiously over to Thea. “Cousin Althea.”
“Miss Bainbridge and I have been searching for the nursery. It seems there is one, to my surprise.”
“Nursery?” Emily repeated blankly. “Oh—for the, ah, child downstairs?” Courtesy obviously kept her from inquiring any further, but Thea could see the questions forming in the other woman’s eyes.
“I see.” The curiosity was missing from Ian’s eyes, but his neutral voice held no approval. “Well, then …”
“I am sorry,” Thea said with a brittle smile. “But I am afraid I must be going now. Mrs. Howard and I have tarried far too long. It was nice meeting you, Lady Wofford. Thank you for showing me the nursery, Lord Morecombe.” She gave them a brisk general nod and started toward the stairs.
“Pray, allow me to see you out.” Gabriel caught up with Thea before she reached the staircase, and they walked together down the steps, though Thea was careful not to take his arm again or even look at him.
She managed not to look directly into his face until he was handing her up into the carriage after Damaris, but when she did look up then into his dark, fathomless eyes, her heart did a lazy roll within her chest and she involuntarily clutched his hand harder. The feelings she had successfully been repressing for the past few minutes rushed back in on her, and she was once again breathless and warm, her entire being so aware of him that she could scarcely focus on anything else.
Thea found herself stammering her good-byes, and she eagerly took the wriggling Matthew, whom Sir Myles handed up to her, and bent her head to fuss over him, to avoid meeting Gabriel’s eyes again. The baby was not happy, for it was past his feeding time, but Thea was frankly grateful for his whining and restlessness, as it afforded little chance for conversation all the way back to Damaris’s house. Thea suspected that her friend’s sharp eyes had missed nothing, but Damaris made no comment and asked no questions.
When they reached town, Damaris directed her coachman to drive Thea and the baby home first, though it was out of the way, so Thea could get Matthew inside to eat before his cranky fussing turned into full-scale wails. Thea handed the baby over to Lolly to feed, then hurried into the entry to remove her bonnet and cloak.
Daniel popped his head out of his study down the hall. “Thea! There you are.” He came toward her, frowning. “Where have you been? Was that Mrs. Howard’s carriage?”
“Yes. I told you I was going to call on her this morning.”
“I did not expect you to be gone all day,” her brother retorted rather plaintively. “Mrs. Stedman was here about the Ladies’ Guild tea in January, and I hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was dropping by today.”
“Yes, well, I would have had Mrs. Brewster tell her I was not here, but unfortunately, I was walking down the stairs when she came in, and she saw me.” He shook his head at the thought of his bad luck.
Thea smiled. “I will call on her and find out what she wanted.”
But her brother was not through with his litany of grievance. “Then Mrs. Cliffe dropped by just as Mrs. Stedman was leaving, so I could not help but talk to her, as well. She was all up in the boughs over something about this Nativity scene, and I had the devil’s own time trying to calm her down. She kept asking me questions, and when I told her that you had gone to call on Mrs. Howard, she told me she had just been at Mrs. Howard’s and Mrs. Howard was not there. I think she believed I was fibbing her.”
“That is too bad,” Thea commiserated. “Mrs. Howard and I went to pay a call on Cousin Ian and Lord Morecombe at the Priory.”
“Cousin Ian? Mercy sakes, why did you go to see him? Really, Thea, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to spend so much time with Lord Morecombe. It doesn’t look good, a single woman like yourself jaunting all over the countryside with a known rake like Morecombe. A woman’s reputation is a precious thing; it is easily damaged and almost impossible to repair once it is ruined.”
“It is hardly like you to sound so … so pious. I am scarcely jaunting about the countryside. I have simply helped Gabriel look for Matthew’s mother.”
“Matthew? Who is Matthew?” Daniel asked crossly.
“
The baby who was left in the church. Daniel, really …”
Her brother scowled. “That baby. That’s another thing. I don’t understand why you are fussing over that child. The foundling home is the place for him, not the vicarage. It’s bad enough that you are spending time with Lord Morecombe—and, really, Thea, you should not call him by his given name, you know; it simply does not look right—but the fact that the two of you are carrying this baby about only makes it that much worse. People have begun to talk. I have already heard the whispers—why is Morecombe always hanging about here and where did the baby come from? There have been hints that perhaps the baby itself is the connection between the two of you.” He looked at her significantly.
“Of course it’s the connection between us,” Thea began reasonably, then stopped, staring, as she caught the implication of his words. “Wait a moment. Do you mean—are you saying that people are implying that Matthew is mine?” Her voice slid upward as it grew in volume. “That I am his mother and Lord Morecombe is his father?”
“It’s ridiculous, of course, and it’s only just whispers and sideways glances now. But you must realize how such things grow and become rumors, and then before long everyone is talking about it.”
“But it’s absolutely absurd! How could it even be possible? Lord Morecombe only arrived in Chesley a few weeks ago! I had not even met him before the Squire’s party! And exactly how could I have carried this baby for nine months, then delivered it six months ago, all without anyone in the village knowing about it? Or even suspecting anything? How could I possibly have kept such a thing secret for the past year? When would I have carried on some mad affair with a London nobleman? I mean, really, I ask you, when would I have delivered a baby in secret? I never go anywhere. I have never lived anywhere but this village. When have I ever done anything but take care of all the little problems of St. Margaret’s and its parishioners? Everyone in Chesley knows everything there is to know about me. They have seen and remarked on each detail of my life down to what shoes I wore to church last Sunday and to whom I nodded on the street yesterday. I have no secrets! In short, I have no life!”