A Figure of Love

by Minerva Spencer

  “Gareth, please, I didn’t tell you so that you would be enraged. I didn’t—”

  “I’ll find him and then I’ll kill him.” He did not recognize his own voice.

  She flinched away, shaking her head. “No, please, let it end now.”

  “He is an animal—a mad animal that needs to be put down.”

  “Somebody will kill him, but it will not be you.” She wrapped her arms around him, raining kisses on his ear, neck, cheek, and even his nose. “My love, my lover, please.”

  The words had a power he would not have imagined: he was her love.

  She must have felt the tension go out of him because her own body relaxed. “I love you too much to risk anything bad happening to you, Gareth. Please promise me you’ll forget all about this?”

  “I promise,” he lied. For her peace of mind he would let her believe he’d forgotten.

  He saw she was waiting for him to speak. “Will you tell me how you got away?”

  She nodded and lay back on her pillow. “There were always soldiers from half a dozen sides passing through our area. Robert Lombard was one example. He was a messenger to some general or other, and he wore the uniform of an officer. Even so, Bardot would have killed him. They caught him riding through the woods and shot him off his horse. They brought him back, thinking to make sport of him, but I convinced them he must be rich, that his signet ring bore the seal of an aristocrat. I told them that they should keep him alive and ransom him. So, they had Robert write a letter to the duke.”

  Gareth nodded, it was a clever plan.

  “He lived for a few months, but he was badly injured—we wouldn’t know just how badly until later. In the time while we waited, I began to know him. I did not love him, but I greatly admired him. He saw what Bardot did to me and despised him for it. It was he who came up with a plan. The priest in our village knew what went on at the chateau, but he was old and frail and could do nothing to stop the raping and stealing. But he did agree to write marriage lines for us, even though they would need to be smuggled from him to Robert and then back, so he could put his seal across our signatures.

  “The letter Robert wrote to the duke went down in a packet, although I did not know that until later. But Bardot must have suspected something had happened and he was becoming restless as Robert became weaker and weaker. I think Robert knew he would die, although we always spoke of him getting better, of us escaping together. Not long after Bardot sent the second letter, Robert became very ill from something wrong inside him—something our village doctor could not fix—and he died. Bardot thought to keep up the fiction that he was alive long enough to collect the ransom.” She stared up at the ceiling, lines of tension around her eyes as she recounted the story. “But real French troops arrived in the area—hundreds of them. They came while I was out with the priest waiting for him to finish the marriage lines. Word swept through the village that everyone at the chateau had been arrested for sheltering known deserters. Father Bastian gave me all the money he had, even the little he’d collected for the church. I left with only the clothes on my back, the money he gave me, and the marriage lines. Robert had written a letter for me that I’d hidden in the house—it would explain things to his parents if he could not.” Her eyes were glazed with tears. “I could not go back for the letter, but Bardot did. You know the rest of it.”

  Gareth felt drained just hearing her story. It was no wonder her eyes looked haunted sometimes. He pulled her closer, holding her tight.

  “You have nothing more to worry about. Steele made it clear to Bardot that his days of blackmailing you were over.” And had driven the point home with his fists, according to the Runner’s report earlier in the evening. Gareth could only regret he’d not told him to detain the man. Now they’d have to find him all over again. And what Gareth did to him this time would make the beating seem like a pleasant memory.

  Serena yawned, hugely. She looked up at him and blushed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly dead tired.”

  Gareth knew why. She’d been carrying around her fear for years. It would not surprise him if she slept two weeks straight. He would make sure she got all the rest she needed.

  He nuzzled her neck. “Go to sleep.”

  “But I want—”

  “I know what you want. Trust me, you will soon be getting more of that than you will be able to bear.” He pushed his hips against her to illustrate his point.

  “But I want you now.” The words were barely a whisper as one of her hands pushed between them, settling on his erection.

  He sucked in a harsh breath. “My God, Serena.”

  She chuckled. “You feel so—” a yawn stifled whatever it was she was going to say and her grip became slack.

  Gareth sighed and pulled her closer. “Shh,” he whispered into her fragrant hair, kissing her lightly. “Go to sleep . . . my love.”

  Her breathing was heavy and deep before he’d even finished speaking. He relaxed into the bed although he knew he could never sleep with her. He would hold her for as long as he could, and then he would go sleep in her room. He hadn’t felt it earlier, but he was exhausted now himself. He’d had the nightmare every night. He could only hope it had come because he’d been either worried about Dec or terrified about Serena for the last ten days.

  Gareth kept telling himself to get up and go get some sleep, but he held her until close to dawn, until he could no longer see straight. And then, without making a sound, he got out of bed, covered her to her chin, extinguishing all the candles still guttering in their sockets, except the one in his hand, and went into the next room to sleep alone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For a moment, Serena thought she was back in her prison. But the soft, caressing bedding and enticing smell of Gareth relieved her of that fear. The room was still dark, although a bright yellow line showed where the drapes met, telling her the day was well on its way.

  She knew the bed was empty before she even felt the empty sheets beside her. She tried to recall last night but could only remember one thing. He knew everything and loved her; she closed her eyes and smiled, clasping his pillow to her chest, inhaling the clean, intoxicating scent of him. But where was he?

  Serena opened her eyes, pushed back the covers, and padded to the adjoining sitting room; it was empty. When she opened the door to the room he’d engaged for her she saw the bed had been slept in and the door to her own sitting room was open.

  She found him at her writing desk, a neat stack of papers on one side and an unopened pile of correspondence on the other. He looked up at her, his eyes taking a moment to focus before they sharped.

  “Ah, you are awake.” He placed his quill in the holder and sat back. Although his face had not changed expressions, she now knew him well enough to realize he was pleased to see her.

  Serena felt shy under his gaze, his gray eyes darkening as he swept her head to foot.

  “I woke up to find you gone.” She glanced at the papers. “You are doing work?”

  “I brought some work with me, but some correspondence is from today.” He turned and picked a letter from the pile. “Here is one from a mutual acquaintance.”

  Serena looked down at her son’s writing. The letter was addressed to Gareth. She glanced up. “May I read it?”

  He nodded. “It is for both of us.”

  She opened the single sheet, which was dated just yesterday and contained only a few large, looping sentences. And only the last one having anything to do with her.

  Serena snorted. “What a cheeky thing he is, writing to ask you to bring him some piece or part that he needs. And with barely a word to spare for his mother except his wretched dog ate his sketchbook and will I buy him another.” She shook her head.

  Gareth chuckled and the sound was so unexpected—so sweet and boyish—Serena could only stare. He was quite blindingly lovely, even with dark smudges beneath his eyes. “Did you sleep in here, Gareth?”
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br />   He turned away at her question. “I did not wish to disturb your rest.”

  She shook her head, amazed he could be so smart, yet so ignorant in the ways of women—at least in the way of her.

  She went toward him, pushing against his knees until he turned back to her and she stood pressed tight in the ‘V’ of his thighs. She placed her hands on his face, lightly skimming the skin beneath his eyes. A light flush spread across his high cheekbones and his eyes fluttered shut, long sable lashes fanning his cheeks. She could tell by the deepening of his breathing that he was not untouched by her actions.

  She leaned down and trailed kisses up his jaw, until she got to his ear. “I wanted you to disturb me,” she whispered, her face heating at her forward words as she stood up and looked down at him.

  His eyes were open, pupils flared and he took her hips and pulled her against him, his head nestling between her breasts, his hands cupping her bottom with massaging fingers.

  “Mmm.” His growl rumbled through her chest and she closed her eyes. He felt so . . .perfect, so right.

  He turned his head and gently bit the side of her breast.

  She laughed. “Are you going to eat me?”

  His hot mouth roamed her body above the thin gauze of her gown, nipping and sucking her until the fabric was damp.

  “When we return to Rushton I am going to tie your arms and legs to the four posts of my bed—tightly, so you cannot move or squirm away. And when you are bound and spread for me, I will take my pleasure. And I will lick and suck and bite every part of you.”

  The words and the raw, confident desire with which he spoke them sent a crippling wave of lust straight to her core.

  “You will?” Her heart pounded at the erotic picture he painted with only a few blunt words.

  “Mmhmm.” He held her tight, his tongue tracing a line straight down to her navel. “Pull up your gown.”

  Serena obeyed with alacrity, not caring if he said please or not.

  He slid a hand between her thighs and entered her with his long middle finger. She shuddered, her body becoming boneless as he began to pump her with slow, rhythmic precision, his head pushing up under her loose gown and his hot mouth fastening on her breast.

  “Oh, Gareth.”

  His mouth tightened at the sound of his name and a second finger joined the first as he shifted her with his free arm, positioning her bottom on one hard thigh.

  “Wider.” His mouth left her breast only long enough to move to the other nipple, while his pumping hand paused to nudge her thigh.

  She opened her knees to him and he gave a smug grunt of approval, his lips and tongue sucking and teasing her sensitive nipple until she thought she would go mad; all the while his fingers were plunging in and out, his clever thumb circling her core until she arched back over his arm, crying out her pleasure.

  He scooped her up in his arms and strode into the adjacent room. She watched him slit-eyed through a haze of pure contentment, laughing when he tossed her onto the bed and positioned himself at the edge. His face was hard and his eyes burning into her as he ripped open the fall on his breeches and freed himself. Serena was already inching toward him when he slid his hands beneath her thighs, jerked her toward him and lifted her hips off the bed, entering her with a savage thrust.

  ***

  His famous self-control had unraveled and snapped. Looking up to find her beside him had made him realize—with blinding clarity—that she was his. He could look at her whenever he wanted. And the way she had come to him told him he could have her whenever he wanted—that she felt the same way, or at least something very similar.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips while he drove into her, unable to get deep enough inside her.

  Words from long ago, as insidious as serpents, invaded his passion and enflamed it—“You won’t fall easily, Gareth. But you will fall hard when it finally happens.” Venetia’s words—a warning—and she’d been right.

  He had fallen, but he hadn’t been broken by his fall, as he’d always feared. Instead, loving Serena made him stronger, less hollow, and more of a human being.

  He looked down at her face as he drove into her like a battering ram—her lush lips parted and slack, but still smiling, her skin mottled with passion, her heels digging into his ass as she tightened around him, pulled him in deeper—and then he exploded inside her with an intensity that left him blind.

  He was still floating a few moments later, when she said his name.

  He forced open his heavy lids. He was still buried inside her, his knees braced against the bed. She was smiling up at him, her hair a glorious tangle, her nightgown up around her neck, and her eyes filled with their usual, teasing mischief.

  “Yes?” It was all he could do to squeeze out the single word.

  “Can we go home?”

  Gareth looked down to where their bodies were still joined, worry bubbling through the euphoria still clouding his mind. “You mean, right now?”

  She chuckled. “I meant tomorrow. It is already too late today.” She laid a hand over his and he looked up. “I miss Oliver.”

  Relief coursed through him. “So do I.” He lowered her to the bed, the feeling of loss when he was no longer inside her wrenching.

  “And I also want to get back home so you can do what you promised.”

  “Promised?” he repeated, probably looking as foolish as he sounded.

  She nodded, squirming a little. “You know. . . the thing with your bed?”

  Gareth thought he must be the stupidest man alive: Thing? With a bed?

  And then it came crashing down on him and he stared into her wildly blushing, hopeful face.

  “You are insatiable,” he said, not bothering to hide his grateful amazement.

  She covered her hot cheeks with her hands. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Gareth couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed with pure joy.

  ***

  They lounged the rest of the day away, ordering their meals brought to their room. They made love, ate some more, and Serena dozed. She woke up once and found Gareth watching her.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. “You have lovely hair.”

  Serena gave a mock shudder. “It must resemble a bird’s nest. It always does when I fall asleep with it wet.” Gareth looked impeccable, even when lying naked in bed. Especially when lying naked in bed.

  “How soon will you marry me?”

  Her heart leapt at his words but she cut him an arch look. “Nobody has asked me yet.”

  He glanced up from her hair, his direct stare having the power to disconcert and strip her bare, even though they were naked in all other regards.

  “Will you be my wife, Serena?”

  She took the hand that was playing with her hair and brought it to her lips, kissing the smooth back of it, the gesture causing him to look ruffled. “I would be honored to be your wife, Gareth.”

  He claimed her with a deep, tender kiss, leaving her breathless, as always.

  “How soon will you marry me?”

  She laughed. “You are relentless. Is this how you accumulated all your wealth?”

  As usual, he took her words at their face value. “Declan tells me I can be single-minded, and often he does not sound as if he means it as a compliment.”

  “Rest assured that I intended it as a compliment. You do have a rather singular ability to concentrate. I have seen some of that same characteristic in Oliver.”

  He nodded, again taking a thick curl and playing with it. “He is a very clever boy. His work on the automaton he is building is well-conceived and thoughtful.” He glanced up at her. “Would you object to engaging a tutor for him?”

  “I have wondered if I am doing him a disservice by keeping him close to me. His grandparents have offered to send him to school, but . . .”

  “But you enjoy him too m
uch to live apart.”

  He was right—but should that be the determining factor for her son’s education? “What do you think would be best?”

  He filled his lungs and let the air out slowly, his expression introspective. He was not a man to give quick, thoughtless answers to important questions, and her son was already important to him. Yet another thing she loved about him.

  “I believe the benefit of such schools as Harrow or Eton is largely social. It is possible to engage tutors with far finer credentials than their poorly paid teachers. Your son would receive a better education at home, with us, but he would lack that ineffable something that binds the English ruling class together. You must decide if that quality—those connections—are worth doing without his presence in your life.”

  As usual, he was correct and to the point.

  “You mention the ruling class—but their control is no longer inviolable—as you and Mr. McElroy and dozens like you give daily proof. Perhaps my son’s association with you would benefit him more than antiquated bonding customs. Besides, he has his grandparents for that.”

  He turned on his side and propped his head in his hand. “You will not tell them the truth now that you no longer rely on them?”

  “That is not why I did not tell them, or at least not the main reason.” She traced the fascinating musculature of his stomach, smiling as his body jumped and tightened under her finger. He seized her hand and held it and she looked up into gray eyes that kindled.

  “I would like to know this, Serena.”

  Serena did not know if she could make him understand, and even if he understood, would he believe her? She looked into his patiently waiting face and knew she owed him that much.

  “At first, I needed their help desperately. I was a woman expecting a child in a new country with no home or family and very little money. As strange as it might seem, they needed me, too. I was the last person to have seen their son, even that little piece I had of him was more than they had. And of course they believed I was carrying his child. It did not eliminate their grief, but it eased it. And then after Oliver was born?” She let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-groan. “Then it became even harder—now my son loves these people and feels like he belongs. Now I would be hurting him if the truth were known—especially if he learned he was the bastard child of a deserter, thief, and rapist.” Her mouth twisted with distaste. “Do you understand?”