Move Heaven and Earth

by Christina Dodd

  Probably it was Rand she wanted, and only Rand. She luxuriated in the smooth skin of his arms pressing against her back and stomach, in the closeness of their bodies. These kisses required nothing else. Desire was there, close but not demanding. It would grow, she knew, but right now she was content. Good thing, too, because the road was rutted, the carriage bounced, it was dark as a pit, they’d be in London soon, and the interior was too small for further activity.

  “I want you.”

  He said it firmly, and it stirred a bit of uneasiness in her. “Rand, you’re not planning…?” He lifted her and caught her nipple in his mouth, and cognition abandoned her.

  She stiffened and moaned, and he whispered, “Do you want me, too?”

  “Yes. Or rather…I can’t.”

  “But you do.”

  Her gown slithered all the way down, and she realized that somehow he had lifted her, kissed her senseless, and finished loosening her clothing all at the same time. The strength of his upper body, his ability to maneuver, surpassed that of other men. He manipulated her skillfully, and it irritated and thrilled her at the same time. “Whether I want you or not means nothing.”

  “Perhaps it means nothing to you.” His hand stroked her thigh, her calf, then he freed her feet from the tangle of her petticoats and gown. “But it means everything to me.”

  Then it occurred to her—except for her pantalettes and knee-high silk stockings, she was nude. She was traveling the London road in almost nothing, and all because she’d relaxed her guard around the man she’d married. She scrambled for a cover. His hands obstructed her. Without being deliberate, he kept her close and he kept her bare, and she finally cried, “What are you doing? We can’t—”

  “Sh,” he warned. “The footmen might hear you.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, then realized how ludicrous it was to wrestle in a carriage with her own husband. He was acting like a boy, too eager to wait and clever enough to get his own way. Once again, she recited the litany of reasons why they could not mate here. They were on the road, the interior was too small…

  “Here,” he murmured, drawing her onto his lap. “Sit here.”

  His trousers had disappeared! She gave a shriek of surprise, then clamped her mouth shut. “Rand! You can’t imagine that we’re going to…to…”

  “Do it?” He chuckled warmly. “I’ve imagined nothing else.” His voice dipped into a deep moan. “Darling. Put your leg here. Like you’re riding a horse, and not sidesaddle.”

  “Sidesaddle is all I know.”

  “It’s time you learned something new.”

  He pulled her knees close around his hips. She’d been warm before, but when his groin pressed against her, bare and intimate, the heat between them tripled. She could feel him, hot and long, thrusting, trying to find her center almost involuntarily while his hands roamed her body, reacquainting himself with each contour.

  All the reasons that before seemed like impediments now incited her. The speed at which they hurdled through the night, the darkness which pressed around them, the servants close by—it all seemed wicked and wanton. It was like nothing she’d ever done before, combining the long-suppressed desire for Rand with a glorious sense of daring.

  Should she give in? Should she give him what he wanted? If she did, he’d know for certain she couldn’t resist him. She’d know for certain she couldn’t resist him. She could conceive a child. He could have all he wished from her and reject her once more.

  But, oh! His skillful fingers persuaded her well.

  “Lift up,” he whispered. “Sylvan, lift up. Let me touch you here.”

  Her fingers bit into his shoulders and she stifled a moan. He was good. He was very, very good. She already knew that, of course, but it seemed that familiarity did not breed contempt. It only bred more desire, more need.

  In the dark, she could hide the love that shone from her when he stripped away her defenses. Yes, better here, in the dark, than in the town house in the light of the candles. Better here, knowing he would drop her off at her father’s afterward without seeing the pain of her disappointment.

  “Are you ready?” He adjusted her, adjusted himself, and she felt the first nudge as he began to enter her. “Sylvan, please, tell me what you like.”

  “This.” She pushed against him and he filled her. “And this.” She pushed up, then slid down again. He cupped her buttocks, helping her with the motion. She tried something new, moving with a swivel, and his groan joined hers as he reacted.

  He bucked beneath her, thrusting deeper, touching something in the center of her being. The jostling of the carriage drove him deeper yet, and she desperately wanted to cry out. Instead she clamped her teeth over her lips and rose again and again. If the interior of the carriage was too small, she didn’t notice now. She didn’t notice the dark or the jolts or anything but Rand inside of her and the pleasure singing in her veins. She wanted it to go on forever. She wanted it to stop at once. It was too much and not enough, it was glorious and terrifying. All the emotions she had ever experienced roiled within her, coming close to an explosion.

  He began a slow chant. “Sylvan. Give me more. Give me all.” He strained beneath her, as reckless and excited as she. “Let me hear you. Darling girl.” His movement became stronger. “Sylvan. Let me feel you.”

  He seemed to think he was fighting a battle, that she was holding back, that she relished her current power too much to surrender and release. And maybe it was true.

  But his patience had run out. He spread his legs beneath her and brought his hand up between them. Still thrusting, he touched the place where they joined, then above and below, and her control snapped.

  She paused, hovering on the edge of delirium, then powerful convulsions rattled her. Each spasm brought him closer inside, and each movement inside forced another spasm. Sounds escaped her, but she could still hear, and Rand willfully encouraged her.

  “A little more, darling. Move again. Again. You’re wonderful. You’re draining me. You’re”—his sensuality battered her as he strained toward his finish—“all I could ever want.”

  Little thrills still ran through her. His hands still petted her, worshiping her with a kind of desperation. They came to rest, two souls who had traveled far to reach this destination, and Sylvan had no thought beyond the heaven of his scent, the closeness of his embrace. Then a light flashed through the window, and she stiffened.

  “London.” He groaned. “Already?”

  She sat up so fast he had to catch her before she tumbled backward. “Someone might see.”

  “Won’t they be envious?”

  His voice had a laugh in it, and she could have slapped him. “Your own servants are the most likely to discover us. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “If my servants don’t know what we were doing in here, they must have been deaf. Now sit still and let me find your gown.”

  “Deaf?” Remembering the little screams that had escaped her, she covered her eyes with her hands. Then she brought them down and glared at his face touched by an occasional illumination. “My gown? What good is my gown going to be? It’s going to be wrinkled and—”

  “And I’m afraid I’ve had my feet on it.” He held the crumpled mass in his hands and searched for the neck and sleeves, then assisted her as she pulled it on. Carefully, he moved her across to the other seat. “If you’ll allow me to dress myself, I’ll wrap you in your cloak. That’ll cover the worst of the damage and we can get you in the house without exposing you to any curious onlookers.” The laughter came back into his tone. “We can’t have the gossips chatting about how the new duke and duchess of Clairmont arrived at their London home.”

  “The servants will talk.”

  “Oh, probably.” The lights of London were coming more frequently now. Wealthy homes shone brightly, and in their light, she could see that his trousers were now buttoned and he’d pulled his shirt over his shoulders. But his collar and cravat had disappeared, and his shirt studs de
corated the floor rather than his chest. They were a disreputable pair, and she had no business allowing him to take her into his house as if she belonged there.

  She began, “You could drop me at—”

  The cloak descended over her head like a great dark bat, smothering her speech. When he freed her, he fastened the frogs at her throat and said, “You are the duchess of Clairmont. Gossip can’t touch you. The Clairmont duchy has been held by the Malkin family since its founding, and no one—not even boorish old Prinney—can claim such a lofty status. In fact, you’ll undeniably find that we’ve set a fashion. I have no doubt that half of the London ton will perform coitus in their carriages tomorrow night.” He wrapped the cloak so tightly her arms were trapped once more. “Or try.”

  His attitude annoyed her, and she snapped, “Is there anyone above me in the whole kingdom?”

  “I hope to be.” He laughed. “Just as soon as we get inside.”

  She blushed from the top of her knee-high stockings to the roots of her hair. “You can’t be serious.”

  His hand touched her cheek as the carriage rattled to a halt. “Wait and see.”

  The footman rapped on the side of the carriage. “May I open the door, Your Grace?”

  Rand mocked Sylvan with a knowing grin. “You may.” London air rushed in and Rand leaped out at the same time, then he leaned back inside and gathered her in his arms.

  She didn’t dare move for fear of revealing her dishabille, but she glared at him balefully. “I won’t do it.”

  “But darling.” He ascended the stairs to the open front door and paused on the threshold, then swept inside. “Remember your vow.”

  17

  Rand leaned over Sylvan as she stretched on the bed, and with a hand on each side of her head, he said, “Four more times.”

  “What?” She blew the wisps of hair out of her eyes.

  “Last night in the carriage, I wondered how many times I would have to pleasure you before your reserve broke enough that you could let me hear your enjoyment again.” She stared at him, wide-eyed with dismay, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Four more times.”

  “It…I…” She struggled for coherence while he waited gravely. “Was I too loud?”

  “Not at all. I liked those little moans.” He ran his finger over her slightly open lips. “I just wonder how many other barriers I have to break through before you’ll trust me to love you as you are.”

  Her guilty gasp assured him he’d guessed right. When he started last night, he’d known there were depths and dark places that Sylvan did not want him to see, but he’d imagined his lovemaking would strip away her clothes and her inhibitions, and her mind would be revealed to him, too.

  Wasn’t that the way it was supposed to work? Weren’t women supposed to be malleable in the hands of a gifted lover? Either he wasn’t a gifted lover—and her sated expression told him differently—or Sylvan feared to confide in him.

  He couldn’t imagine why. She knew now why he’d sent her away so cruelly. True, the coldness of her father must have taught her caution in her dealings with others, but he didn’t want to be lumped in with others. He wanted to be the one to whom she gave herself whole-heartedly.

  He smiled, but his lips had a tightness to them. “A few more barriers, it would seem. Why not give them up now?” Deliberately, he challenged her. “It would save us trouble, for I’ll win in the end.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I have no barriers erected.” She mouthed words of innocence, but her gaze shifted away from his and she looked around the chamber. “Goodness. We’ve made a mess.”

  She must be desperate to distract him if she willingly mentioned their debaucheries of the night before. He had expected a little maidenly shyness. Instead she donned the disguise of a housewife. Leaning back from her, he adjusted his shirtsleeves and tucked the tails into his trousers while he reminded himself he could afford to wait for the barriers to tumble. Ramming them down didn’t work—he’d proved that last night. “It’s worse downstairs.”

  “Oh. Yes, I suppose…” Her eyes lost their focus as she remembered, then she pulled the covers closer around her bare shoulders as if that would wipe her passion from the slate of his memory. “You shouldn’t have knocked that candelabra off the dining room table. It slid off and took the lace runner with everything on it.”

  “I didn’t see it.” At that point, he hadn’t even seen the dining room table. “You had enchanted me.”

  “Don’t blame me.”

  “You kept enticing me.”

  “I was trying to put on some clothes.”

  “That’s what I mean. Enticing me.” While she was sputtering, he said, “We leave for Clairmont Court today.”

  She stopped sputtering and lost color. “I don’t want to go back to Clairmont Court.”

  Startled, he studied her. “Why not?”

  “May I have a cup of tea?” she asked.

  Nodding, he went to the door, called for the upstairs maid, and gave her order.

  Distance, it seemed, gave Sylvan bravery, for she sat up and adjusted the sheet with becoming modesty. “You can go to Clairmont Court. That’s fine, now that I know you’re not going to annul our marriage. In fact, I appreciate your traveling to London to reassure me. But, la! I need to do some shopping, and have people to visit.”

  She chattered nervously, and he wondered what that meant. Did Clairmont Court intimidate her? Did his family? “Are you frightened?”

  Her hands clenched the blankets and she brought her knees close to her chest. “Frightened?”

  “That this villain who killed my brother and sneaked into your room will succeed in hurting you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not—Yes! I am frightened of the ghost.”

  She had interrupted herself. He was sure of it. So she wasn’t afraid of the man who masqueraded as a ghost, but she was afraid of something. “Sylvan, what is it?”

  “I don’t want to be a victim of this madman. I do think I had best stay in London.”

  “For the rest of our lives?”

  Taking a corner of the sheet, she rubbed it on her forehead. To blot the perspiration? To ease the headache? Or to cover her face from him? “That’s not possible, is it? No, of course it’s not. But a few more months, or at least until the next season is over.”

  “The next season won’t officially start until May and won’t be over until next summer. I had hoped to spend Christmas with my family.”

  “You could do so,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t object.”

  “We’re married, and now that we have all our problems solved”—such a jest!—“we’re going to stay together.” He took care to give the appearance of yielding. “I’ll stay in London with you. We can stay at your father’s house. Your father and I can further our acquaintance.”

  “That would be—”

  “And I’m sure you wish to help your mother.”

  Abruptly, she abandoned her pretense, and with sadness and resolution said, “There’s no help for my mother. She won’t change. I had to face that years ago. But you’re right.” She stared him straight in the eye. “There’s nothing to be gained by avoiding Clairmont Court.”

  “Then we’ll go home at once.”

  “Yes.” She threw back the covers, giving him a brief glimpse of all that had captivated him the night before.

  He gave her time to slip into a bed robe and the shield it afforded, and wrap it around herself before going to her.

  She said, “I’m looking forward to seeing your family.”

  She sounded so normal he almost believed her, but when he turned her in his arms he saw how she protected herself, and he felt as if he were chipping at a great stone of resistance that blocked his way to her. So he would retreat now and fight the battle later, on his own turf and on his own terms. “It will be an interesting journey.”

  A homecoming.

  “Stop!” Sylvan called. “Stop the gig right here.”

&n
bsp; As if he’d been expecting it, Jasper brought the horse to a stop and slewed around in the seat.

  “Let me out,” she commanded Rand, and he stepped out ahead of her and gave her his hand.

  A homecoming.

  She hadn’t expected to feel that way when she again laid foot on Clairmont land, but she did. Rand had arranged to have Jasper pick them up in the Stanhope gig, and just as he had the first time, Jasper examined her critically, finding fault. Just as she had the first time, her breath caught when they topped the first hill and she caught sight of the untamed panorama before her.

  As always, the wind blew off the ocean. Autumn had only sweetened the air, and Sylvan took deep, healing breaths. She hadn’t wanted to come back. She hadn’t wanted to be where Rand had so bluntly pointed out her deficiencies. And she was afraid to face the women from the mill, to ask about their injuries and hear how badly she had bungled when she tried to cure them. She was afraid that, while on Rand’s estate, he would somehow discover the trail of blood that followed her all the way from Waterloo, and it would freshen his disgust for her. But right now none of it mattered, because she’d come home.

  She didn’t have the right to feel that way, she told herself, but when Rand wrapped his arms around her waist, she leaned back against his chest.

  The sea still extended into an eternity of blue haze and lofty gray clouds. The hills still jutted and tumbled. But the foliage had begun to change from tired green to brilliant red and gold. The grass stood high where the sheep had not grazed and a yellowish tinge touched the tops. Far in the distance, she could see squares of mature wheat and barley basking, first in sun, then in shadow as the clouds ripened and grew tall.