by Gayle Callen
“Aah,” she murmured, arching her back and lifting her hair high before letting it fall.
Such a simple thing, hair, but watching the sleekness of it slide down her back, with several strands swinging forward to curl about her breasts, made him wild with passion for her. He lifted her by the hips but stopped when he saw her quick frown.
“Tell me what to do—don’t just do it,” she admonished.
“Lift yourself up and guide me inside you,” he said hoarsely.
He closed his eyes, certain he’d spill his seed at the sight of her gripping him, her tentative efforts to understand how they fit together. When she got it right, and she was burying him slowly inside her, he opened his eyes to see the look of stunned pleasure on her face.
“This feels different,” she said, almost to herself. “Do I lift up—”
“Wait! Just wait, or this will end too quickly. Let me pleasure you again.”
“But this is pleasurable,” she said, wearing the beginnings of a stubborn frown that he was coming to know quite well.
“Just close your eyes and wait,” he murmured, reaching up to caress her breasts.
As he touched her, he felt the shudder deep in her womb caressing him. He memorized her expression as passion stole over her. He held the weight of her breasts, rubbed their peaks, and came up on his elbows so he could take their sweetness into his mouth.
With one hand, he reached between her thighs and found the little nub, the source of her pleasure. He stroked her gently, listening to her soft sighs, then her panting moans, feeling the last of his control splinter and break apart. He arched and thrust up inside her, his fingers caressing, his mouth suckling, and felt the shudder of her climax throughout his body. He joined her in oblivion.
When Jane collapsed on top of him, he guided her to the side and pulled the blankets about them both. Her eyes were closed, her body limp and sated.
“I should go,” she murmured.
“Sleep here with me.” He kissed her gently, then lay down and pulled her against his chest. “We have all the time in the world.”
But he wasn’t tired. He lay, content, and watched her.
Chapter 22
Once or twice during the night, Jane almost came to consciousness, but Will hushed her and stroked her and held her until once more she drifted off.
Yet somehow she knew when he finally fell asleep. The sun had not yet risen when she propped herself up on her elbow to watch him in the gray light before dawn. She didn’t know how he functioned with so little rest. Without the vibrancy of his expression, she could see the tired smudges beneath his eyes, the subtle lines that fanned out from the corners. She brushed a curl of hair off his cheek, gently fingered where a dimple would be when he smiled, and studied him.
She had barely thought him handsome when first they’d met. Now she found staring at him almost painful because of his beauty in her eyes.
She had thought choosing lovemaking outside of marriage would free her from society’s conventions. She had thought it would be another grand adventure, the first of many.
But as she watched him peacefully sleeping, she knew that she was no longer free, that she was now bound even more closely to this man she hadn’t wanted to marry. What would she do now? What if he had given her a child, the “beautiful baby” her mother had said they’d have together? Logically, this must be how babies were conceived.
She put her head down on his shoulder, feeling confused and uncertain. His skin was warm against her cheek and smelled of him—spicy, exotic, manly. Just the scent was enough to make her loins tighten and ache. She had never felt this way about any man before.
Quietly, she left the warmth of his bed, donned her discarded clothes, then crept to the door.
“Jane?”
She jumped a foot on hearing Will’s voice so close to her shoulder. He was beside her, naked.
“How did you do that?” she demanded.
He looked confused. “Do what?”
But she lost the train of her thoughts when her gaze moved slowly down the perfection of his body. Wide sculpted shoulders, narrow hips, the muscular legs of a horseman. Between his thighs, he now looked more like the statues she’d seen. But as she watched, that…manly part of him began to grow.
She raised wide eyes and found him grinning at her, his wicked dimples teasing her.
“All you have to do is look at me and I’m ready for you, my sweet.”
And then he pushed her against the door, kissing her hard. She forgot her fears and worries and just held on, wishing they never had to leave the room.
He finally nuzzled her neck and whispered, “In a few hours, order a bath sent to your room.”
“What?” she murmured dazedly, awash in the sensations of his big body pressing hard against her.
“Order a bath, and after the servants go, leave your door unlocked and get into the tub.”
Flustered, embarrassed, she tried to push him away. “I—I don’t know what we should do next, what all this means—”
“Don’t think. We have all day before we have to meet up with Nick.”
He licked a path up her throat, dipped into her ear, and moaned. “Will you do as I ask?”
“Y-yes,” she breathed, ready to tear off her clothes if only he would make her feel so alive again.
When the heat of him left her, she sagged against the door. He drew her away, opened it and looked both ways. With a helpful push from him, she found the energy to quickly walk to her own door. For a moment, they looked at each other, and she thought she should refuse his request—but she couldn’t, so enthralled was she at the thought of his plans. She went inside and closed her door, then collapsed on the bed, arms flung wide, and relived everything that had just happened. Doubt tried to surface in her mind, warring with the desires of her body, but she pushed the uncertainties away.
Will managed to sleep until he heard the sound of servants lugging a tub into Jane’s room. He lay still, dozing, as he listened to the parade of people carrying buckets of hot water. The thought of Jane naked, sunk to her breasts in water, did things to his insides he could barely contemplate.
But he wanted more. He was greedy with it, overcome with the intense need to bind her to him. He wrestled with his conscience, because he knew lovemaking would almost certainly guarantee that she would marry him. Didn’t she understand that this passionate attraction between them was more exciting than any adventure he’d ever had?
He didn’t know why it was so important to have this one brave, stubborn woman as his wife. He was fascinated with the logical way Jane’s mind worked, with the interest with which she faced every challenge. She had long ago ceased to be a convenient wife. Now he couldn’t live without her, wanted her body and soul, wanted her to love him.
Did she require his love in return? Did she need to hear it? Her power to hurt him was unlimited now, and he couldn’t imagine giving her proof of it.
But he was thinking too much, instead of reveling in her awakening sensuality. He put his ear to the wall between their rooms, thought he heard the slosh of water. He forced himself to wait several more minutes, dressing slowly in simple trousers and shirt, knowing he wouldn’t be wearing them long. When he could stand the delay no longer, he left his room, turned her doorknob and was inside.
The first thing that attacked Will’s senses was the moist, steamy smell of jasmine. At almost the same moment, his eyes feasted on the sight of Jane in a large tub, her hair piled on her head, a stray curl escaping to cling wetly to her shoulder. She froze when she saw him, one small foot pointed to the ceiling, a washcloth pressed to her calf.
When she started to lower her foot, he hoarsely said, “Stop!”
Unsteadily, he walked across the room to stand above her, looking down into water still clear enough for him to see the wavering image of her body. The dark shadows between her thighs called to him; her breasts broke the surface of the water with each quick breath, sparkling in the candlelight and th
e muted glow of daylight outside her curtained window.
He took her foot in both hands and pressed his mouth to the delicate, wet arch, then kissed each toe. The sound of his name on her lips made him burn with an arousal fiercer than any he’d imagined.
Jane felt light-headed, feverish, as he gently kissed her foot. When he released it, she lowered it back into the tub, watching in dazed wonder as he stripped the clothes from his body. Naked, aroused, he took the cloth from her numb fingers, rubbed it in soap, and began to wash her.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
She moaned as she obeyed, letting her senses tingle and come to life as she wondered what he would do next. Every touch of the soapy cloth was a long, slow caress against her limbs. From behind, he lavished attention on her back, massaging any weariness left from their journey. Then his slick, soapy hands slid forward over her shoulders and cupped her breasts, kneading them, playing with them. Her head fell back and rested against his shoulder as she lay in the darkness of sensation, the brilliance of desire. Her nipples ached under his fingertips as he twirled them, rubbed them, soothed them.
When he moved away from her back, she tensed, but his hands never left her, only slid down around to her bottom and lifted her hips out of the water. She braced her hands on the tub, more than ready to be taken to bed.
“Relax,” he said, using one hand to guide her arms until the tub was supporting her back and shoulders.
She hung awkwardly from his grip on her hips, holding her out of the water, one foot balancing her weight in the tub. She couldn’t help but open her eyes as he propped the other foot against the edge, then spread her thighs before him. Shocked, she heard the water sluicing off her body, felt the stunned embarrassment of his piercing gaze so close to such an intimate part of her.
“Will—”
“Shhh.” He soaped one hand, then slid it down between her thighs.
She gasped, arching involuntarily, then shuddered as he cleaned her, his fingers delving and exploring and caressing. With scoop after scoop of water, he washed the last of the soap away, then met her gaze. To her shock, he put his mouth where his hand had been and kissed her.
“Will!” she cried, stiffening with the onslaught of pleasure.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his tongue delving into her then swirling around the swollen bud. Everything inside her tightened and swelled higher and higher, closer to the ecstasy she knew awaited her. Then he suckled her between his lips and she convulsed with her climax, shaking in his grip, overcome with a pleasure so intense she wanted to weep.
Dazed, she could only watch as he lowered her hips back into the water. Then he left her, picking up two buckets that had been placed near the door. He topped each with bathwater until the depth in the tub was down to her waist. Then he stepped in.
She giggled as he sat down and the water rose back up. Only a few drops escaped to the floor. Then she forgot all else as he drew her onto his lap, placed her legs about his hips, then sheathed himself deep inside her.
Against his mouth she moaned her delight, tasted herself on his lips, and trembled at the power of how right and good he made her feel. She caressed his wet skin, felt the flexing of muscles in his hips as he rocked inside her. She played with his nipples and he played with hers, their tongues mimicking the mating of their bodies. She felt his tension and was overwhelmed with the depth of his passion for her.
When he lost himself and shuddered inside her with a groan, she held his head against her shoulder and let herself be at peace with the thought of loving him.
They stayed in bed all day, dozing, loving, talking, and even reading aloud to each other. They took their meals at the little table in her sitting area, dressed each other as the daylight faded. Since this crazy journey began, this was the most relaxed Jane’s body had been—and the most confused her mind had felt, for she now understood the temptation of locking herself away on a lonely estate with only Will for company.
When it was time to leave, she walked out on his arm into the still-warm air of early evening. Mr. Barlow was waiting for them beside the carriage, and Killer wiggled excitedly before launching himself at Will’s knees.
Jane blushed, wondering what Mr. Barlow might be thinking, but the older man limped around to open the door for her. He tipped his hat and smiled at her, and she returned it with relief.
As their carriage pulled out of the yard, a lone, longhaired dog stood mournfully beside the building and watched them go. Killer jumped up on Jane’s lap and put his paws on the window with a soft whine. Will leaned across them both, saw the other dog, and laughed.
“No wonder he looks so satisfied.”
Jane could only smile as she hesitantly ran her hand down the fur on Killer’s back. He was very soft, she thought grudgingly. With a little whine, the dog leaned into her hand for more petting. Smiling, Will lifted Killer and put him on the other bench.
The journey took a little over an hour, but they kept the shutters closed, and their attention on each other, and weren’t aware of the time passing. When finally the carriage slowed, she righted her clothing and laughed when Will, with a look of discomfort, did the same.
“You’re a tease, Jane Whittington,” he said as she pushed away, “arousing a man to such heights only to reject him.”
“I have hardly rejected you—have I, Killer?” she turned to ask the dog.
Killer curled even tighter into a ball and kept his back to them.
“We’re shocking him, I think,” Will said.
“Surely he’s witnessed other sights. How long has he been with you?”
“Five years—but no, you’re the first willing female he’s seen in my arms.”
“Were there unwilling ones?” she asked sweetly.
“Unwilling to be captured, you might say. But I turned them over to the proper authorities, even though many of them expressed a desire to prove to me that if I promised to let them escape, they would first reward me handsomely.”
She cursed her reddening complexion, which so easily gave away her thoughts. “Women tried to—”
“Seduce me?” he offered, grinning. “They tried. But ah, duty bound me.”
“And it still does,” she said thoughtfully, seeing a new tension in his manner, in the way he peered out at the darkness through the shutters. She thought of him risking his life for his country, thought of all his knowledge, all his strength—and trembled with how much she desired him.
She realized with growing anxiety that she thought about him all the time, anticipated each touch when they were alone. For heaven’s sake, she’d trembled foolishly in anticipation of a solitary carriage ride with him. This had to stop. She had to learn to deal with her feelings and still be her own person, with her own life to live. Surely after months in the dull countryside, even lovemaking with Will would lose its potency.
But she couldn’t imagine it, and that frightened her more than she cared to admit.
Suddenly they heard Mr. Barlow call, “Hold there!” and they felt the team stop and the carriage rock violently. Several gunshots rang out. Will flung the door open, and over his shoulder she looked out on a nightmarish scene of violence amidst a cold swirl of fog. By lantern light, a brawl of men spilled out of an inn courtyard and onto the road.
Will turned to her, and she caught a flash of unease on his face before his expression hardened into determination. “Stay here.”
“But Will—”
“If you follow me, you’ll only get us—or yourself—killed. Barlow will keep you safe.”
To her horror, he vaulted from the carriage, his legs disappearing in the mist as he ran toward the fight. With a wild bark, Killer followed him.
She heard a crash of metal on metal and realized that there must be swords involved. And Will was unarmed! A sick feeling of terror closed her throat, and she strangled back a scream, as even Mr. Barlow climbed quickly from the coach-box.
“Will!” a man shouted.
And then with a wild cry, he entered the melee.
Chapter 23
Jane clutched the doorframe and watched with wide eyes, trying to understand what was happening. Surely the man who’d called Will’s name knew him, so perhaps he was Nick, and another combatant was Sam. That left two men who were strangers.
And where was her sister? Tears filling her eyes, Jane almost jumped from the carriage in her haste to find Charlotte. But Will had told her not to move. She kept her gaze on him so as not to lose him in the near darkness. He wielded a sword like a master, with the skill and power not found in men who only studied the sport to relieve boredom. There were no rules here, no care for injury, only the desperation to live another day.
Will pushed back his opponent, and she saw the flash of his grin, an exultation, a thrill to be alive that she herself had never felt before meeting him.
With Mr. Barlow joining, it was now four to two. With a cry, one dark-clad man fell, vanishing into the low fog, and in the confusion the other escaped, vaulting onto the back of a horse and fleeing even Killer’s reach.
She stared at the four men as they breathed heavily or leaned on their swords and rifles, even laughed with each other. She felt sick with fear, angry at their disregard for danger. Where was her sister?
Holding her skirts in her hands, she climbed out of the carriage and ran to the men: Will, Mr. Barlow, Sam, and a stranger. Behind them all, several patrons of the inn peered curiously past the high walls surrounding the courtyard.
Will caught her, flung an arm about her shoulder and said, “Nick Wright, this is Jane Whittington, my future bride. I believe you know her sister, Charlotte.”
This made Sam, dressed as a poor farmer this time, stutter with laughter. Jane rounded on Will and pushed him away, angry that he was so cocky while the situation could be so desperate.
