by Cheryl Holt
She was pouring the wine as he knelt in front of her.
“I want to swim with you”—his wicked expression had her laughing—“and I want you naked when I do it.”
He was already removing her shoes, his naughty hands sweeping up her legs to her garters. Swiftly, he had her stockings off, her feet bare on the cool stones. She might have protested or refused to shed her clothes, but she wouldn’t.
Whatever he asked her to try, she would try it. On this night—this last night—she would be the seductive vixen for whom he yearned.
He urged her to stand so he could unbutton her gown. It slid to her ankles, and she stepped out of it and draped it across the bench.
He made quick work of her corset, then her drawers, yanking them down and off so she was attired only in her chemise. She was still covered from bosom to mid-thigh, but if she’d been completely nude, she couldn’t have felt more exposed.
The fabric was worn and faded, and it rubbed her nipples, enlivening them. They poked at the material, the rigid tips galvanizing his attention.
He bent down and kissed one, then the other, but as he grabbed for the hem to wrench the garment over her head, she panicked. She wasn’t quite ready to be as brazen as she’d intended.
She eased away and smiled a smile as old as Eve’s.
“My turn,” she said. “If I have to be naked, you have to be naked, too.”
“My pleasure, you minx. Have your way with me.”
He flung his arms to the side, like a prisoner lashed to a crucifix, and she chuckled and began stripping him.
Coat, shoes, stockings, shirt. As each piece fell away, the excitement between them escalated. When she had him reduced to only his trousers, he pulled her to him, their bodies melded, and he instituted a stirring kiss that left her dizzy.
He backed into the pool, his trousers still on, and he guided her in after him, a stair at a time. The water rose to her calves, to her hips. He sank down and held his arms out to her. She floated into them, and he hugged her close, the kisses starting again.
Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and she was balanced on his lap. They bobbed together. He tugged off her chemise so she was nude, her bare chest pressed to his. The warm water made them both slippery, adding a sensual element to the encounter that rendered it particularly decadent.
She plucked at the waistband of his trousers, reminding him that she was undressed while he was not.
“You!” She sounded like a stern headmistress. “You are wearing entirely too many clothes.”
“So I am. You must divest me of them.”
He stood and she was on her knees, so he towered over her and undid the top three buttons.
She hovered like a supplicant, watching him, awe-struck by his male beauty. She wanted to remember him just as he was at that moment: happy, aroused, and totally fixated on her and what they were about to do.
It seemed they were the last two people on earth, that she was the sole woman, and he could never desire anyone but her. She felt exotic and special, the only one for him, the only one who knew how to please him, how to love him.
He pointed to the remaining buttons.
“The rest are for you,” he commanded, “if you dare, my innocent little maiden.”
“Innocent, ha! I’ll show you innocent.”
In a thrice, she’d finished the task, and she grasped the trousers and drew them off. Blithely, she tossed them over her shoulder—as if she stripped men every day.
She was still on her knees, his hard torso stretched out before her, his private parts on full display. His masculine appendage was strangely shaped, red and angry-looking. It reached out to her, beckoning her nearer.
Tentatively, she touched it with her finger, a move he definitely enjoyed. He tensed, and the rod grew even harder.
She gazed up at him. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Take it in your hand and lick your tongue across the end.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
It was an odd request, but it goaded a feminine craving that lurked deep inside her. She recognized that it would satisfy him on a primal level that went far beyond anything else she could ever attempt. She leaned forward and followed his instructions, flicking her tongue on the tip.
His body became so rigid that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he shattered.
“Now what?” she inquired. “There must be more to it than that.”
“Suck it into your mouth.” His voice was strained.
“Really?” she asked again, agog at the prospect.
Did adults always behave like this? Was it common? How could she have lived to be twenty-five and not know?
No wonder young ladies had to be so strictly chaperoned. No wonder they were liable to get themselves into trouble. What female—when faced with such marvelous debauchery, offered by such a delicious scoundrel—would ever decline to proceed?
Without hesitation, she opened wide and sucked him inside.
At first, it was awkward. He was very large, and she had some difficulty figuring out what was required of her. She clasped his thighs to steady herself, and he placed a palm on the top of her head.
He only thrust a few times, then he jerked away and fell into the water with a splash. He plunged below the surface, and he hovered there for many seconds. When he reemerged, he swiped the droplets out of his eyes, and he loomed up, advancing on her like a hawk swooping in on a rabbit.
“You, Miss Lambert, are very, very wicked.”
“I try.”
“Who could have guessed—when I initially interviewed you—that you would turn out to be precisely what I needed?”
“I only pretended to be a boring lady’s companion. Deep down, I’m an accomplished vixen.”
He was studying her so intently that she was unnerved. She licked her lips, riveting his attention again.
“Oh, gad, that mouth!” he muttered. “Have you any idea how completely you’ve aroused me?”
“No.”
“Have you any idea how badly I want you?”
“How badly?”
“Let me show you.”
Lunging, he picked her up and carried her to the edge of the pool, her bottom on one of the underwater benches. He spread her legs and penetrated her, his cock sliding in all the way. He flexed once and again and emptied himself.
As he shuddered and relaxed, he was laughing, biting her neck and nuzzling her ear.
“You. Drive. Me. Wild.”
He appeared irreverent and carefree, and she couldn’t help thinking how different he was from the autocratic despot he’d been when they’d first met.
She was glad she’d given him this, that he’d learned to smile and frolic, and she hoped that—after she was gone—he’d retain some of the lightheartedness she’d kindled. He’d be a better man for it. He’d have a happier life.
He dragged her off the bench and into the pool. Down below, his cock was still hard, still impaled. They floated, caressing and kissing, and gradually, he started thrusting again.
The fervor of their original joining had waned, so the pace was leisurely and luxurious. There was no reason to rush. They had all night.
“What I did to you a bit ago,” she queried, “does it have a name?”
“A French kiss.”
“Ooh, those French! They certainly have some naughty notions.”
“They certainly do.”
“You seemed to enjoy it immensely.”
“With those sweet lips of yours, how could I not?”
“Will you let me try it again sometime?”
“It’s a whore’s trick. I shouldn’t have asked it of you.”
“I didn’t mind. I liked it.”
He groaned. “If we keep on like this, you’ll be the death of me. You’ll kill me with pleasure.”
He dipped to her breasts, nursing at them, and the stimulation came fast and furious. She couldn’t get him close enough, couldn’t hold h
im near enough. The minutes were ticking by with alarming speed, and she was desperate to slow everything down, to make everything last.
He touched her between her legs, at that special spot where all feeling gathered. She spiraled to ecstasy, and he did, too.
It was a spectacular conclusion, so tumultuous that the earth shook with their efforts. There was a roaring in her ears, as if the world was being ripped apart, and it took several hectic moments to realize that it wasn’t her imagination.
John scowled, and they glanced up to see that the walls of the cavern were swaying back and forth. Rocks were released from the ceiling, pelting them with stones.
“What the devil?” he muttered.
“What is it? What’s happening?”
“Oh, my Lord. It’s an earthquake. Hurry! Let’s get out of the pool.”
Having the strength of ten men, he leapt from the water and carried her out with him, stuffing her under a bench. He stretched out in front of her so she was shielded from falling debris.
The noise grew louder and louder, permeating bone and tissue, and she shut her eyes, praying that it would end soon, but it didn’t.
The trembling went on and on, and with a thunderous crash, the tunnel through which they’d entered gave way. The lantern crashed to the floor and sputtered out. Dirt and rubble filled the grotto, burying them alive.
“ANGUS,” Edward asked the butler, “what have you learned?”
“We have some damage to two of the stairways and to the main chimney, but the castle is a tough old bird. She held together well.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
It was full morning, the quake having struck hours earlier. They were in John’s library, with Edward seated behind John’s desk. He wondered where John was. In the middle of a crisis, it was so unlike him that he hadn’t marched in and seized control.
Edward, for once, had gotten the chance to command and delegate.
“The outbuildings were hardest hit,” Angus explained. “One of the barns collapsed.”
“Have we lost any animals?”
“Three horses.”
“Anything else?”
“The worst situation is under the west tower. There was a cave-in past the dungeon.”
“Down toward the hot springs?”
“Yes.”
“Drat it,” Edward mumbled. “What about the staff? Have you located all the servants?”
“Everyone is accounted for except . . . except ...”
“Except for whom?” Edward pressed.
“Your brother, Master Edward.”
“You can’t find John?”
Angus shook his head. “I didn’t want to mention it until I was sure.”
“Is he the only one who’s missing?”
Angus’s cheeks flushed. “I hate to stir any rumors.”
“Tell me!”
“Miss Lambert appears to be gone, too. It isn’t my nature to gossip, but I must report that Cook packed a picnic basket yesterday, for your brother.”
“And?”
“He informed her that he would be taking a late-night swim in the grotto.”
“In the grotto! But the tunnel has failed!”
“I’m aware of that fact, sir.” Angus looked as if he might burst into tears.
“Did John let slip if a friend would be joining him?”
“No, but the housekeeper assumed he’d arranged . . . ah . . . an assignation.”
“With Miss Lambert?”
“It wouldn’t be my place to speculate.”
John, you randy dog! Edward mused. Engaged to Violet, while swiving her companion! Edward hadn’t thought John capable of such bad behavior.
“How about the housekeeper?” Edward inquired. “Would she speculate for us? Has she a suspicion as to who the woman might have been?”
“Miss Lambert has recently been relieved of her duties—by the earl himself. The staff found it . . . odd.”
Esther was sitting in the corner, and at the news, she lurched forward in her chair. “Are you telling us,” she asked, “that John and Miss Lambert are trapped down in the hot springs?”
Angus took out a kerchief and wiped at his eyes. “I believe it is a distinct possibility.”
Edward’s gaze locked with Esther’s, a thousand comments swirling between them that couldn’t be voiced while Angus was in the room.
“Shall we mount a digging expedition, Master Edward?” Angus suggested.
“Digging?”
“If you give me the word, I can muster the footmen with shovels and buckets.”
Edward nearly shouted, yes, yes, let’s begin digging, but Esther made an imperceptible motion that urged restraint.
“Yes, Angus,” Edward said instead, “we’ll get going shortly. Let me talk with my mother privately for a moment, would you?”
Angus glared from mother to son, and he dared to remark, “If I may say so, sir, time may be of the essence.”
“It certainly is. I’ll have instructions for you in a few minutes.”
Edward stood and went to the door. He pulled it open and gestured for Angus to exit. The instant Angus was gone, Edward rushed to Esther and sat in the chair next to her, their heads pressed together.
“What is it?” he whispered. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t wish John ill—”
“Neither do I.”
“—but if he was deceased, you would be the Earl of Penworth.”
“Yes, I would be.”
“The title would be yours. The money. The property. Violet, a duke’s daughter, could be yours—if you wooed her the right way.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
“He’s probably dead.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
They stared and stared, each knowing precisely what the other was contemplating.
“We have to dig,” Esther stated. “We have to at least try to save him—to placate the servants.”
“I suppose we have to. There will be ugly rumors if we don’t.”
“That said”—Esther grinned—“I just don’t feel we ought to dig very deep or very fast.”
BARBARA raced down the hall to her bedchamber. The morning air was chilly and she had to grab a cloak and get outside.
She’d heard that the grotto collapsed, that someone was buried, and the person might still be alive.
A group of footmen had been gossiping, complaining as to how they were anxious to ride to the neighbors, to bring back extra shovels, but no orders had been issued to commence a rescue.
Barbara had interrupted their conversation.
Who is trapped? she’d cried, but no one would say. No one would look her in the eye.
Where was John? Where was John?
Since the quaking had stopped, she’d been searching for him, but he seemed to have vanished. Her terror was mounting.
As she approached her suite, the door was open. She hastened in, but as she saw Esther, she stumbled to a halt. A thuggish fellow—who appeared to be a bodyguard—lurked behind Esther, and a bevy of maids was packing Barbara’s belongings.
“What are you doing in here, Esther?” Barbara scowled at a maid who was stuffing Barbara’s negligees into a trunk. “Put those down. You don’t have permission to handle my things.”
The maids froze, waiting to learn who would win the quarrel, who should be obeyed.
Esther came forward. She clutched a piece of paper, and she slapped it into Barbara’s hand.
“What is this?” Barbara shook the document under Esther’s nose. “What are you trying to tell me? If you have something to say, then say it.”
“The Earl of Penworth, Edward Middleton, demands that you vacate the premises. Immediately.”
Barbara gasped. “What has happened?”
“John is missing and presumed dead. Until his condition can be decisively established, Edward will act in his stead. He’s written to the king regarding the tragedy.”
“
No . . . no . . .”
“Once the fatality is confirmed, Edward will be installed as earl. We intend a quick and easy transition.”
It couldn’t be. Not after she’d been away for so many years! Not after she’d come home, eager to make amends, eager to be part of his life.
She needed John to love her. She’d lost everything else or had squandered it with apathy. If she didn’t have John, what good was any of it?
“Get out!” Barbara fumed, refusing to listen, refusing to believe that John could have perished.
“No,” Esther retorted, “I will not get out. You shall go, Barbara Middleton. My son has assumed control of the castle, and we do not want you here.”
“Unless I’m told differently—from someone other than you—I am the earl’s mother. Edward has no authority to toss me out.”
“He already has.” Esther smirked, the tables having turned for both of them. “John may have been stupid enough to tolerate you, but Edward and I don’t have to.”
Barbara loomed up over Esther, delighted to see Esther flinch. “You witch!” Barbara bellowed. “What have you done to John?”
“I have done nothing to him. He has expired, and Edward is the new earl. Now get out of our house!”
Barbara seized Esther by the front of her dress, causing stitches to pop along the shoulder seams.
“You had better hope he’s deceased,” Barbara warned, “because if he’s not, and he comes back to discover how you’ve—”
“He won’t be back.”
Esther’s certainty was alarming, and Barbara spun and ran out, shouting, “Angus! Angus! Where are you? They’ve murdered him! They’ve murdered John!”
Behind her, Esther calmly said, “Finish packing her possessions. Then take it all down and set it out in the drive. I’ll lock the door after you.”
Chapter 18
“DEAREST Violet,” Edward crooned, “what can I say?”
“He’s dead? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no hope?”
“None. We’ll do our best to recover his remains”—at the harsh comment, Violet sucked in a shocked breath—“but you shouldn’t harbor any illusions. He’s perished.”
