by Deb Marlowe
She hesitated. She’d already tried to begin the process of rooting out her hopes for Keswick. If she agreed now, she’d have to stick to the letter of their pact—and not wish for a further developing bond. Could she do it?
“I’m not talking about giddy rebellion or the naughty excitement of breaking the rules,” he said. “Too many an inexperienced girl has been caught up in such feelings. I mean for you to know the touch of a man who respects and cares for you.”
She shivered with longing.
“You needn’t fear for your virtue, either. I would never risk your chance at making your own choices, in the future.”
No. She couldn’t do this without wanting everything from him. But by all that was holy, she was a lady, an earl’s daughter. She had honor of her own, no matter what others thought. She could do this without ever letting him know how much more she ached to possess.
“Yes.” It came out a whisper, without a hint of the growing hunger inside of her.
He pressed a kiss to her lips, quick and entirely unsatisfactory. “Wait a moment.” He stood and cast about, his gaze ranging from the field to the shore. He looked along the edge and set out, passing Poppy and investigating the stretched out clump of bushes she’d been hobbled near. He pushed into the thicket and disappeared.
She made her way over to her mare and hugged Poppy’s neck. “Have I gone mad?” she asked her friend.
Poppy’s ears swiveled and she nudged Glory for a pet. After a moment, Keswick popped out of the brush.
She stared as he approached. His coat and waistcoat were gone. Clad only in breeches, boots and linen, he looked . . . primitive, somehow. In the best way. Tall, and wide and utterly masculine.
“I’ve cleared a spot for us. We won’t be seen, there.” He looked down at his plain linen. “I spread them out on the ground. I didn’t want the damp to get to your gown.”
“There’s a blanket in my saddle bag. It’s small, but it might do.”
“Even better.” He chuckled. “That magic saddle bag. I should have thought to ask.” He fetched the woolen rug and disappeared again.
This time, she was ready when he peeked back out. He held aside a branch and beckoned her.
Holding her breath, she went to him.
It was a small space, surrounded by a fragrant mix of boxwood and yellow-berried daphne. The blanket covered the open area and he’d mounded his coat and waistcoat at one end. When he let the branch go, they were enclosed in the dim bower, with only the stars above for light.
She was glad of it. Although she’d like to see the look in his blue eyes, she would much rather not have to worry about him seeing the wreckage of her leg.
“Come and sit,” he invited. “There’s no hurry. We can look at the stars—”
Stepping close, she pulled him down and kissed him.
“Well, then.” He returned her kiss with tender finesse and then with increasing ardor. And she relaxed into it, into his arms, and allowed her tightly strung hunger to ease and become something more languorous.
With lips and tongue, he put the question to her. She opened to him. Yes, she answered silently. This was what she wanted, to be surrounded by his masculine heat and spellbound by the spine-tingling exploration of his tongue.
Almost without thought, she placed her hands upon him, climbing broad shoulders and exploring the heavy muscles in his back. Suddenly, he dipped down and lifted her in his arms. “Come and lie back,” he rasped. “You must tell me right away if you become frightened or do not wish to go on.”
Nodding, she rested her head against him and breathed in the fresh scent of his linen. “I’ll never smell bay again without thinking of you.”
“Tell your sister to change out the scents in my room, when I’m gone. Or I’ll be jealous of every man who stays there after me.”
She didn’t want to think about him leaving, so she kissed him again. He held the kiss while he laid her down with her head and shoulders resting against his piled clothing.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
Her only answer was to pull him down with her. She let her fingers trail along the edge of his jaw. “You have the profile of a Greek God,” she murmured.
He snorted.
“It’s true. Zeus sits on his throne atop Olympus and wishes for a jaw like this.”
“I’d trade him for a thunder bolt, but you’ve already sent them racing up and down my spine.”
“Don’t you dare think of trading it away.” Kissing her way along the edge, she let her hands wander up and into his thick, dark hair.
He groaned and she nearly did too, as he sent his lips traveling along the arch of her neck. She could feel her pulse beating against him when he paused at just the right spot. But then he moved on and kissed his way across the edge of her bodice.
“Sit up?” he asked. When she did, he reached around her. “No half measures this time,” he insisted. “We are going to do this the right way.”
In a shockingly quick amount of time, he had her bodice, stays and shift peeled away. She was bare from the waist up and his head bent towards her.
“I can barely see you,” he complained.
“Oh, dear.” She took one of his hands and placed it upon her. “Whatever shall you do about it?”
“I’ll feel my way—and be thankful for it, I suppose.”
She sank back as both of his hands went exploring and his lips and tongue soon followed.
“So beautiful,” he murmured.
“You cannot see,” she reminded him.
“I don’t have to.”
With one finger he teased her, blazing a slow path around one erect nipple, then the other. Her back arched.
“There’s no hurry,” he whispered.
She whimpered her disagreement, then gasped as he bent down and licked one nipple, then the other. For a blessed eternity she reveled in the erotic torture as he licked and sucked, switched sides and tortured her anew. Every sensation plucked a chord that sent heat and damp and pure lust spiraling through her. She was nearly shaking with it before he was through.
He came back to her mouth and she clutched at him, desperate for more—but unsure how to ask, or even what she asked for.
He knew, though. He buried his face in the nape of her neck and she shivered and stretched, giving him access. Then he reattached himself to her breast and she moaned—just as she felt his fingers at her thigh, raising her hems.
She stiffened, but he appeared to be concentrating on her breast and on making soft, teasing circles on her thigh with each rising inch of her skirts. He wasn’t looking at her leg—and he likely couldn’t see it, if he did.
Safe in the dark, she relaxed. He continued pulling her skirts high and she ran a hand up inside his linen, over his chest. She marveled as she roamed the hard expanse. He was so large and unyielding, even as everything he did to her was tender.
And patient. While her skirts rose, he’d begun to kiss his way lower. His lips tickled her ribs and began to move down toward the bundle of clothes bunched at her waist.
She grabbed him and held on. “Please, stay up here?”
He paused—and then understood. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Glory. I think you are incredibly lovely, just as you are.”
His words warmed her, but still, something wary inside wouldn’t let go. “Please. I . . . I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry about,” he said firmly. “This is about making you feel marvelous. I’ll stay here.” He kissed her breast. “It’s not a hardship.”
She relaxed her hold, flooded with relief—and with the increasingly familiar mix of desire, nerves and delicious frustration he always brought out in her.
His teasing fingers had moved to her inner thigh now, and she had to fight to keep from clenching her legs together.
He must have felt the tension in her. “Everything is fine, Glory.” He stilled and she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. �
��Would you like a turn? Touching me?”
Her breath let out quickly. “Yes.” That was exactly what she needed.
He sat up. Reaching behind him, he grasped the back of his shirt and lifted it over his head. Pulling her upright, he lay back and took her place. “I’m all yours.”
She could hear the grin in his voice and she responded in kind. It made it easier to bend over him and press a quick kiss onto his mouth.
“That’s good, for a start.”
Scooting closer, she rested on an elbow. Her index finger replaced her lips. “You said there was no hurry.”
In answer, he shifted, setting himself more comfortably—and waited.
She rested her hand flat against his chest. He was so warm. His heart beat reassuringly beneath her fingers. She began to move them, investigating, searching out a path across his wide shoulders, grazing his nipples, moving over the hard planes and valleys of his muscles. At last, she followed the trail of coarse hair down to his navel.
She stopped there, nervous about going further. He lay taut before her, and she could feel his hand grasping the blanket between them.
“Go on,” he urged.
Curiosity won. Her touch feather light, she moved downward. “Good heavens.”
He scarcely breathed as she explored the impressive bulge. He held himself tense and motionless. She hadn’t expected to find . . . so much of him—but the length and breath of the swollen ridge beneath her fingers was unmistakable. Experimentally, she placed her palm along it and explored with measuring fingers.
He groaned out loud.
She snatched her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”
“No! You’ve done nothing wrong.” His voice sounded strained. “Everything you are doing is perfect. It’s just my body wanting more of you—because you are sweet and lovely and so utterly desirable.”
Pleasure flushed through her veins in an entirely new way. Confidence surged. There it was again—that feeling of feminine power. It made her bold and she placed her hand on him again and bent down to trail hot kisses along his neck and chest.
His hips raised, pressing him further into her hand. She gripped him tighter and followed the earlier path of her fingers, kissing her way down to his navel.
He surged upright then, and lifted her hand away. “Apologies, but there is only so much that a man can take.”
Her lips curved. “Am I driving you mad with desire?”
“You are. Most definitely.”
She glanced down. “Is it painful?” Her hand began to move. “Shall I let it out?”
“No!” In one fluid motion he stopped her and pressed her back and onto the blanket again. Looming over her, he let his weight and bulk hold her down. She could feel the hard length of him against her belly. “This evening is about you. It’s all for you.” He kissed her. “I’ve always considered myself a generous lover, but this is different.” His hand caressed her temple and cupped her jaw. “It is an honor, Glory. It feels . . .” He stopped. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Tears welled in her eyes. There were so many things she wanted to thank him for. She couldn’t though—she couldn’t speak and still keep her word, keep to their bargain. She kissed him instead.
He responded fiercely, and then pulled away. His weight shifted and gave her a clear view of the sky. “Remember this, Glory. Drink it all in. The stars overhead, the breeze rustling the leaves, the regard I feel for you, the trust we’ve built between us and the pleasure we are giving each other. Gather it all into your heart. In the future, when you have choices to make, pull it all back out. Don’t settle for a dynastic marriage or fall prey to a passion that feels forbidden or sordid. Use this night as your measure and your shield. Promise me—and I will know that I’ve accomplished something worthwhile.”
“I promise.” She captured his face between her hands. “I will not settle.”
He swooped down and took her mouth. Temptation and gentleness gave way to ruthless, zealous skill. She was swept up—and thrilled to go along where he wished to take her. This time, when his fingers lifted her skirts up, she hesitated only a moment before helping him push them up and out of the way.
His fingers teased again, lingering at the tie of her garter. “Open your legs for me, Glory.”
Swallowing, she did.
He made a noise of approval. It seemed to come rumbling from his chest and she immediately wished to hear it again.
His touch climbed higher. He stroked her curls and she gasped. He ran a firm caress down the middle seam of her sex, then pressed in with a swirling stroke that made her legs drop wider.
Flames leapt, crackling higher and higher within her with each circling pass. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears, and desire curled, thick and heavy, in her womb.
He inched higher once more. His fingertip scraped lightly over her most tender spot. She gasped, helpless, and he nudged closer to her, paying decadent, delicate tribute to her wet, silken flesh.
Her head fell back. Her fists clenched. She was caught in his spell, in the magic he was making and the sweet pleasure that moved all through her. Her hips lifted. Her legs splayed.
“Keswick!”
“Yes, Glory. It’s coming for you. Let it have its way.”
The rhythm of his fingers changed, became steady and gradually more intense.
She rose up, out of herself. Desire was a string, tied to her soul, lifting her higher and higher—and then she was up and over the top of some mysterious wall—and caught up in a wave of tight, delicious shudders. Her back arched, her toes curled. She was held there, suspended in pleasure for a long, long moment, before she collapsed in on herself.
Unclear, how long she floated in a cocoon of utterly relaxed bliss, but she gradually came back to herself to find the stars still overhead, the river still murmuring and Keswick lying next to her with an arm draped over his eyes.
She drew a breath—
“Don’t you dare thank me,” he said starkly. He sat up, took her hand, and kissed it. “Can you get yourself and Poppy back, on your own?”
“Of course.”
He pulled his shirt from the branch where it had been snagged. “Then I will leave you to it.”
He stood, but paused before he slipped out. “Don’t forget—and don’t settle.” He moved, then stopped again. “Your trust truly does mean a great deal to me.”
And then he was gone. She flopped back—and discovered he’d forgotten his coat and waistcoat.
Don’t forget? She nearly laughed. Not likely.
And as for trust . . . well, she did indeed trust him. But he had done just what he’d set out to do. He’d handed her a weapon.
Now she had to convince herself not to use it against him.
Chapter 15
Keswick went on to the village. When he entered the Crown and Cock, a great many of the tavern’s patrons were gathered around a table, shouting, betting and heckling two local lads engaged in a game of dice. He veered away from the noise. He brushed off Betsy’s advance and took a padded window seat where he could stare out into the murky night.
He failed to notice Betsy’s affronted neglect. He never observed the swell of men who came in or felt the side-eyed glances they cast over him. He did register when Betsy finally relented and set a pint down in front of him. He drank it down and barely noticed the several times she replaced it, except to toss those back, too.
He continued to stare out the window when the taproom grew quiet and Mr. Thomkins began to scrub the tables and then the floor.
“Would ye care to take a room fer the night, milord?” the innkeeper asked at last.
“No, thank you,” he replied absently. He barely heard the question over the chaotic skirmish in his head.
“Would ye be heading back to Greystone Park, then?”
“No, thank you.”
He didn’t know how much later it was when he looked around, found the taproom empty, the fire banked and the chairs upside down atop the tables. Perhaps
he dozed a little. He was awake when the first faint light of dawn showed in the sky and the first noises came from the kitchen.
He came back to himself sometime later when Tensford slid into the seat next to him.
“Having a bit of a brood, are we?” his friend asked.
He didn’t bother to answer.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been struck with one of these.”
He blinked. Frowned. “I had my life settled. Ordered.”
“Padded and numb, is more like it,” Tensford muttered. He stood. “Come on. You are unsettling Thomkins and his wife. I’ve got a place for you.”
“I don’t want to go back to the house.”
“No.” Tensford looked him over. “Not like this.” He sighed. “Come along.”
He stood up.
“Kes? Where are the rest of your clothes?”
Surprised, he looked down. He’d forgotten them, forgotten the state he was in. “I . . . I’ll fetch them later.”
Tensford had brought the dogcart, hitched to a grey pony. Keswick crawled in and settled into a corner. The box shaped seating was lined on all four sides with benches. He laid his head back and put his feet up on one bench and watched the light grow in the morning sky as they set off.
Tensford drove back to Greystone land. Keswick shut his eyes when they crossed the bridge, so that he would not look down the long field toward the cluster of shrubs near the river. When he opened them again, the sky had been replaced with the canopy of the ancient forest and they had pulled to a stop next to a tiny hut with an attached lean-to.
“It’s an old game-keeper’s lodge. We’re quite a ways from the house. You won’t be disturbed.” Tensford climbed down and untied a basket from the back of the cart. Going to the door, he held it open in invitation.
Keswick rolled over the side of the cart and went to peer in. Somehow, it appeared even smaller on the inside. There was a hearth, a low bed and a table pushed against the far wall, with two stools tucked underneath it.
“I used to come up here, when tensions with my mother, sister and aunt would thicken, or when the helpless feelings of not being able to do anything to help my tenants would grow to be too much.”