Stormswept

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Your belly like a ripened peach,” he said, then sucked the skin lightly into his mouth, making her squirm beneath him.

  “Those aren’t . . . Ddu’s words,” she choked out as his lips brushed the edges of her silky triangle of hair.

  “Nay, those are mine.” He skirted the aching place between her legs to press a kiss to her thigh. “Your thighs smooth as polished beech.”

  “That’s enough,” she said as his tongue spiraled higher and higher toward the spot no man had ever kissed.

  “Poetry?” he rasped. “Or this?”

  Then using his fingers to part the delicate folds of skin, he darted his tongue over the nub he found there, and she thought she’d die.

  It was like being stroked by lightning, courted by sunshine, and caressed by moonlight all at once. The heat made her buck beneath him, trying to get more, yet afraid she’d never get enough to satiate the tension he was building with each flick of his tongue.

  He shifted to crouch over the sofa, his tongue licking up at her like flame, laving her, teasing her. She thrust against his hot mouth, wanting something she couldn’t fathom, feeling the tension lengthen and stretch and grow tauter by the second.

  “Oh . . . Rhys . . . Rhys . . .”

  His mouth suddenly left her and she moaned, undulating against the sofa in a fruitless attempt to ease her craving.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” he ground out as he tore off his breeches and drawers.

  Suddenly, she was looking at his erect shaft.

  She stared at it in blatant fascination. On her first night with him, she’d been too shy to actually look at the part of him that had thrust up inside her. But age had made her curious.

  Pushing up onto one elbow, she reached out to stroke the smooth skin. When he groaned and thrust against her hand, she encircled him with her fingers. With a curse, he clasped her wrist.

  “If you touch me like that, I’ll explode.” Then he climbed on top of her. “And I want to explode inside you.”

  She grew warm again. That was what she wanted. Rhys inside her.

  He nudged her legs apart. “I need you, Juliana. God, how I need you.”

  She caught her breath. The first time they’d made love, he’d said, I love you.

  Then he eased into her, making her forget everything but the present. “Christ, you’re tight as a virgin.” Satisfaction flashed across his face. “Tight as that first time . . .”

  “You’ve been the only one to touch me.” She moaned, half in distress, half in pleasure when he began to move in slow, enticing strokes.

  “And I will always be the only one to touch you,” he vowed, his face darkening as he quickened his thrusts. “Oh God . . . Juliana . . . it’s been so long.”

  The sense of invasion began to lessen as his movements drew the silken tension taut in her again. She strained against him, clutching his behind to anchor him between her thighs. She felt his muscles flex as he lunged against her, inside her, filling her so fully she cried out with the thrill of it.

  “That’s it, my darling.” He plunged to the very heart of her. “If you only knew how incredible you feel.”

  She knew how incredible he felt, driving into her like thunder, bringing her closer to the dark explosion lying in wait for her. Each time their bodies slammed together, she went a little insane, twisting beneath him as she tried to seal herself more to him.

  He bent to kiss her mouth, stabbing his tongue in perfect rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. She met every kiss with her own wild hunger. She wanted to devour him, to trap him in her heart so he could never doubt her again.

  The words I love you burned the back of her throat, but pride kept her silent. Instead she yielded her body completely to him, sure that one day she’d be able to give him the words, too.

  When the explosion finally hit, she wasn’t prepared for the pure, white heat of it . . . the power that hurtled through her, shattering all her control. She gasped and surged up, feeling her body pulse against his as the force shuddered through her, in her, around her.

  “Cariad! ” He drove into her one last time. His body convulsed and he spilled his seed inside her. “By thunder, you’re mine . . . all mine . . .”

  Muttering Welsh endearments, he collapsed atop her to bury his face in her neck. She felt spent, drained of both will and strength. There was something deeply satisfying about being in his arms, knowing that she’d just pleasured him and found her own enjoyment. His weight upon her contented her.

  After several moments of lying there with limbs entangled as their heartbeats slowed, Rhys kissed her jaw. “Now that, my darling, was the way to tame a monster.”

  “Mmm.” She skimmed her fingers down his back. “I shall have to try it more often.”

  A mischievous smile crossed his lips. “A great deal more often. In fact . . .” He pushed up against her.

  Good Lord, he was growing hard again. “Is it normal for a man to be lusty again so soon after lovemaking?”

  His gaze burned into hers. “Six years is a long time. And contrary to those ugly words I said to you our first night together after my return, you were the only woman I wanted in all that time. The only woman I craved.”

  Something unknotted inside her at his confession. It had driven her mad, thinking of all the women who must have pleasured him in America.

  “So I have all that hunger for you stored up inside. And it’ll take me at least six more years to reduce it to a manageable level.” He slid off her and held out his hand. “But what I wish to do with you requires a more comfortable setting. Let’s continue this in our bedchamber. We’ve got all day, and all night, and I intend to use every minute of it.”

  The thought of spending the day in bed with Rhys made her heart pound all over again. Taking his hand, she rose from the sofa.

  They drew on a minimum of clothing between quick kisses. When they left the salon, no one was around, but as soon as they took a few steps, Mrs. Roberts rushed up the stairs. She’d obviously been waiting in the hall below.

  “Milady, are you all right?” the housekeeper asked in alarm as she noted Juliana’s dishabille.

  “I’m fine.” She couldn’t repress the lilt in her voice as she gazed up at Rhys. “Go back to the kitchen. Everything is fine.”

  The housekeeper hesitated as Rhys and Juliana swept past. As they reached their bedchamber, Juliana paused. “Oh, and Mrs. Roberts, tell the servants I will personally dismiss anyone who ventures up here in the next few hours.”

  Rhys chuckled as he drew her into their room. “Aren’t you worried about what the servants will think, my lady wife?”

  “They’ll think I’ve decided to share a bed with my husband,” she said, echoing his words of a few days past. “I should hope they’d realize that.”

  With a crow of triumph, he caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  19

  Three things are reckoned wealth:

  A woman—sunshine—health—

  And in the heaven’s dower

  (Save God) a maid’s the flower.

  —DAFYDD AP GWILYM, “THE GREY FRIAR”

  Juliana stared up at the threatening clouds. Just what they didn’t need for the harvest—a thunderstorm. She hoped that since it was near dusk, the men were close to being finished.

  She ordered the footmen to hurry loading the carts with the feast that the farmers expected the squire to provide as reward for their work. But her mind wasn’t on that.

  In the two weeks since Rhys had carried her into their bedchamber, much had changed between them. True to his word, Rhys had treated her as his wife from that moment. He’d given her all the freedom and privileges a wife deserved and more, for he’d made her his equal partner in running the estate.

  Their days were busy and full. She usually rose before Rhys and attended to breakfast. Then they went their separate ways, having found the tasks that suited them best and appropriated them accordingly. Sometimes they lunched together, somet
imes not. And they took the occasional ride in the late afternoon.

  It wasn’t until evening that they truly had time for themselves. Dinner was leisurely. They played backgammon or chess. Sometimes they read. And afterward . . .

  Her cheeks flushed as she helped a footman slide a large pan on top of another and secure it in place. Some nights Rhys peeled her gown slowly from her, lavishing kisses over every inch he bared, then lingering over her body for what seemed like hours as he brought her to the heights of pleasure. Other nights, they tore off each other’s clothes and came together like animals, writhing and straining in their haste.

  She’d grown to know every inch of him . . . every scar, blemish, and muscle. She loved how he clutched his pillow in sleep, how he stretched his legs and groaned when he awoke, then opened his eyes with a slow smile meant only for her. She loved everything about him.

  She loved him, period.

  A splinter pricked her finger, and with a frown she sucked off the drop of blood. She still didn’t know how he felt about her. He often said that he needed her. That he desired her. But never that he loved her.

  It wouldn’t have bothered her so much, if not for one thing—they never spoke of what had happened years ago. The one time she’d brought it up, he’d refused to discuss it. He’d insisted upon putting the past behind him; he’d said it didn’t matter what had happened.

  But it did. She could feel it in the wary way he sometimes looked at her, in the sudden shuttering of his expression whenever his impressment was mentioned. He still couldn’t bring himself to trust her. Or love her.

  She helped a footman spread an oilcloth over the cart. She had made progress with her husband. When she’d accidentally mentioned Stephen yesterday, he hadn’t exploded or baited her with questions about Lord Devon’s courtship of her. And in time—

  Two hands closed over her eyes. She dropped the oilcloth with a shriek.

  “Good evening, my lady,” murmured a husky voice in her ear.

  “Rhys Vaughan! ” She wriggled away from him. “I swear, if you don’t stop creeping up and frightening the life out of me, I’ll—”

  He muffled her words with a long kiss meant to rouse her blood. His face was grimy and he smelled of hay and they were surrounded by curious footmen, but she still responded.

  When he drew back, he laughed. “What were you saying, darling?”

  She glanced around to find the footmen grinning as they went about their work. “You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever known.”

  He chuckled.

  With a little sniff, she headed to the last cart, which the footmen were already covering with oilcloth. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were overseeing the haying. Surely they’re not finished.”

  He fell into step beside her. “Almost. We worked fast to beat the rain.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Very well. The farmers were pleased that I joined them, since they’re used to having Moss oversee everything. I’ve come back to fetch the harvest feast. And to fetch you to join us.”

  She looked down at her dirt-stained gingham gown and touched a hand to her flushed face. “Like this?”

  He laughed. “Believe me, you look a lot better than the rest of us.”

  “I’m sure. But they won’t expect me to attend. There’s so much to do, and”—she gestured to the sky that threatened rain—“I don’t know if I want to be caught in that.”

  “It’ll hold off awhile longer. Besides, I have reasons for wanting you there this evening. I need your help.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.” He removed a burlap bag from his saddle, then tossed it into the cart before lifting her onto the perch and climbing up to sit beside her. With a click of his tongue, he started the horses into a walk as the footmen took their places on the carts and fell in line.

  She looked over at him. “So, Squire Arrogance, why are you dragging me off to the fields?”

  “Thomas Newcome helped us bring in the hay harvest today, and Evan was there, too.”

  “They usually are.”

  “You told me you wanted to see the boy in school.”

  “Yes, but if you’re thinking of talking to Mr. Newcome about Evan, you must abandon that idea. Evan’s terrified of what his father might do if we try to force his hand.” She caught her breath. “Sometimes I worry that he beats the boy.”

  “I imagine you’re right about that.” He stared grimly ahead. “Which is why I don’t intend to talk to him. I have a better method of convincing him to let his son go to school.”

  “Oh?” She laid her hand on the seat, only to feel the burlap bag. It squirmed, and she shrieked, yanking her hand back. “What in heaven’s name—”

  “It’s all right. It’s just a garden snake, perfectly harmless.”

  “A snake! ” She scooted as far away as she could manage. “Why on earth are you carrying a snake about?”

  He grinned at her. “Well, my darling, it’s like this . . .”

  By the time they’d arrived at the hay field, Juliana was grinning as widely as Rhys. Only he could come up with so devious a plan. She glanced up at the dark sky. Now if only the rain would hold off long enough for them to attempt it.

  The workers cheered at their approach, having just finished loading up the hay. As the burdened wagons lumbered off to the barns, Rhys stopped the carts full of food, and the workers crowded round—burly men and stout women, their faces and clothes caked in dust and sweat.

  Among them, she spotted a very dirty Evan, his young face aglow, and she was glad she’d come.

  Rhys stood up in the cart and said in Welsh, “Good day, friends! ”

  “Good day,” the workers echoed, clearly pleased to hear the squire greet them so amiably.

  “You’ve done well by me and my wife today,” Rhys continued. “Now it’s our turn to do well by you.” He gestured to the carts behind him. “There’s mutton with potatoes, pottage, pudding, cheese, spiced fruitcakes, and light ale, compliments of my wife and her excellent kitchen.”

  Cheers rose up all around. Sometimes the harvest feast was nothing more than barley bread and salt pork with watered-down buttermilk. So a dinner of costly mutton stew and cheese washed down with ale was considered generous indeed.

  Juliana smiled. Rhys was canny in the ways a laborer’s mind worked. Later they’d be saying what a “good fellow” the squire was, “not one of those stingy nabobs who spends all his time in London, but a man who knows how to fill a body’s stomach.”

  Rhys made a wonderful squire. As she’d known he would.

  Grinning, he handed her down from the cart, and soon they were too engrossed in serving the meal to even speak to each other. He cut slabs of rice pudding as she doled out stew into earthenware basins, then cut hunks of the cheese.

  As she worked, she kept a wary eye on the burlap bag she’d tucked under her cloak. Rhys had assured her that the snake wasn’t poisonous, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Once everyone was served and sitting in groups about the field, Rhys came over. The light was failing, and a contented quiet filled the air as some workers ate and others built a fire, surrounding it with stones bared by the reaping.

  “Let’s do it now, before the light is completely gone,” Rhys murmured.

  They walked to where Evan and his father sat alone. As she and Rhys approached, she flashed them a smile.

  “Good evening,” she said brightly, ignoring how Thomas Newcome scowled at her. “I hope the meal is good.”

  The father merely grunted, but Evan mumbled, “Very good, my lady,” shooting his father an anxious glance.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Evan. I have some plums I wanted to send back to your mother. If you’ll accompany me to the wagon, I can give them to you.”

  Evan looked at his father, who shrugged. “Go on, then. Your ma would like a plum or two, I’ll wager.”

  Obediently, Evan stood and began to walk wi
th her. As soon as she heard Rhys saying, “I need to have a word with you about the barley harvest, Mr. Newcome,” she pulled Evan close.

  “Do you want to go to school?” she asked.

  “You know I do, but Da—”

  “Never mind him. Do exactly as I say, and I think your da will be willing to send you.”

  She murmured instructions, and as soon as they’d moved as close to the abandoned scythes and as far from the workers as they could while still heading for the cart, she reached under her cloak for the burlap bag.

  Glancing around to make sure no one watched, she dumped the snake onto the ground, then let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Every man and woman around jumped to their feet. Even though Evan had been told to expect the scream, he stood there frozen.

  “A snake! A snake! ” she cried, shooting Evan a stern glance.

  Shaking off his surprise, he ran toward a scythe.

  The blasted snake started to crawl off so she had to do some quick maneuvering to make it look as if it were headed for her.

  On cue, Rhys started running from across the field. Then Evan returned with the scythe and chopped down, cutting the head off the snake just as Rhys reached them.

  Feigning tears, she collapsed into Rhys’s arms. “It was coming for me . . . oh, Rhys, it was dreadful! ”

  “My God, ’tis an adder,” Rhys said as he peered at the dead snake.

  “An adder,” murmured the men crowding in around her.

  “You might have been killed, my darling.” He stared at Evan. “You saved my wife’s life, lad.”

  Evan beamed, thoroughly caught up in the deception.

  “What happened?” Mr. Newcome asked as he approached. “What happened?”

  “Your son has saved my wife’s life,” Rhys repeated.

  Juliana continued to shake, her trembling real this time. The most important part was still to come.

  “God have mercy. A snake! Did my boy kill it?”