The Bed and the Bachelor

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “Oh,” Sebastianne said.

  “Oh, indeed.” He caressed the side of her face before slipping a bent knuckle beneath her chin. “There is only one woman I want, and she happens to be you.”

  “Oh,” she said again, slightly breathless. And yet, she was unable to help but notice that he’d said want rather than love. But she supposed she was tilting at windmills if she expected to hear that she’d won his undying devotion. Knowing he wasn’t engaged and that he desired her above any other woman was more than she had dared let herself hope.

  It is enough, she told herself. For tonight. For as long as he wants me.

  For propriety’s sake, she supposed she ought to resist and send him back to his solitary bed. But why, when their time together might end at any moment? Why, when she loved him so dearly that it pained her not to always be in his arms? With her mind at ease, tension flowed from her body.

  “So, may we continue where we left off?” he asked softly, brushing kisses over her forehead and temple and cheek.

  Her eyelids slipped to half-staff. “Oui, though we must still take care not to be heard.”

  A slow smile moved across his face. “I can be quiet as a mouse if need be.” Peeling back the edges of her bodice again, he took one of her breasts in his hand, circling the tip with his thumb. “Let’s find out if you can be too.”

  She bit her lip to hold back a moan, her eyelids sliding shut again as a fiery rush of sensation burst through her. He kissed her, claiming her mouth with a dark possession that demanded no less than her full and unrestrained cooperation.

  They’d been lovers when she’d left England, and now that they were together again it seemed as if no time had passed at all, as if they’d never truly been apart. Wrapping her arms around him, she held tight, her palms roaming at will as she explored the hard, tensile shape of his shoulders and the long, lean curve of his back. Reaching lower, already in search of skin, she tugged at the fine linen material of his shirt to free it from the waistband of his trousers.

  He drank in her sounds of satisfaction as her fingers stole beneath the garment to retrace all the places she’d already touched, already knew. His own growl of pleasure rumbled against her lips, his fingers playing like a sorcerer against the most sensitive places on her body as he wove his magic around her.

  Urging her to lie back across the sheets, he replaced his hands with his lips, the wet, raw heat of his mouth and tongue suffusing her core with a wet, raw heat of its own. Limbs trembling, spine arching, she only barely remembered that she had to keep quiet, that she couldn’t let herself cry aloud from the shuddering wash of delight. Laying her forearm across her mouth, she muffled the long, lush moan that crested inside her throat.

  Ah, it is so good, so right. How had she survived without him? How would she ever be able to survive again?

  Stripping off her nightgown, he laid her bare, and in the moonlight she saw the expression in his eyes, as if he were a starving man looking at a feast, as though she were a priceless treasure with a worth beyond rubies or pearls.

  He leaned up a moment later and tore off his own clothes, then just as quickly came back down beside her. Parting her thighs, he cradled himself in between. But he didn’t enter her, not quite yet, despite the rampant evidence of his desire.

  Instead, he kissed her again, first her mouth, then across her cheeks and chin and throat before gliding lower in a series of caresses that left her trembling, restless and very near the brink. Only then did he take her, sliding deep, in a single, heavy thrust that lodged him as far as he could possibly go.

  Dieu merci! she thought with hazy gratitude, relieved to know he’d had the presence of mind to cover her mouth with his own, since she’d given a cry that would surely have awakened every soul in the house. Maybe even in the neighborhood. Ecstasy poured through her, a honeyed spiral of pleasure that wound itself into her skin and bones and blood. Her mind ceased to function, her body seeming to take on a ravenous will of its own.

  Then, suddenly, she was flying, soaring to places only he could take her, as the crisis lifted her in its grip and tossed her like a piece of driftwood caught inside a storm. She quaked, Drake smothering another helpless wail of rapture, as he pushed her toward the final and fullest reaches of her completion.

  Only when she had fully claimed her own satisfaction did he claim his.

  She held him, her arms and legs locked tightly around his back and hips as he gently eased them both back down to earth. Lying amid the tangled sheets in a haze of delight, she cradled him inside her, relishing the damp warmth of his flesh, the sensual fragrances of his body mingled with her own. She knew they should sleep, but somehow she wanted more.

  As if aware of her thoughts, her needs, his body quite amazingly began to respond. “Again?” he said.

  She nodded, unable to speak, and for the next while he gave her ample reason to be cautiously quiet once more.

  At length, they settled, exhausted but replete next to each other, their limbs still entwined as if they couldn’t bear even a hint of separation.

  Brushing her hair away from her face, he kissed her again, soft and tender. “Sleep,” he whispered. “Tomorrow will be a long day. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you come morning.”

  Trusting him, loving him, she closed her eyes and let the darkness sweep her away.

  True to his word, Drake awakened her early the next morning, a few intrepid birds calling to each other in preparation for the sunrise that was only minutes away. With her thoughts still tangled in dreams, Sebastianne found herself momentarily disoriented, imagining for an instant that she was back in Drake’s bed in the Audley Street town house, and that she needed to return to her attic room to prepare for the day.

  But then she remembered that she’d left London, and it was Drake who had slept in her bed last night. Her eyes sprang open, as everything rushed at once upon her, the timber ceiling rafters of her cottage bedroom coming into view.

  “Shh,” Drake hushed, brushing his lips against her ear as he stroked a soothing hand along her arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Go back to sleep for a few minutes more.”

  But she knew more sleep would be impossible, and that there was far too much to be done to indulge in more rest, particularly if the whole family were to leave today.

  Her stomach sank at the thought and the knowledge that they might never return. How on earth, she wondered, was she supposed to explain her and Drake’s decision to her father and brothers? How difficult was it going to be to convince them to flee?

  After another quick kiss, Drake dressed and let himself out of the room. She hoped none of the others met him on the way back to her father’s workroom and the sofa where he was supposed to have slept.

  She bathed quickly, then began looking through her garments to decide what to wear and what to pack. They wouldn’t be able to carry more than a single change of clothes. As for their other possessions, nearly all would have to be left behind.

  Upon her mother’s passing, Sebastianne had acquired a few fine pieces of jewelry—a diamond brooch, a strand of elegant pearls, and a pair of silver hair combs. There had been more pieces that she’d sold off long ago, but she had never been able to bring herself to part with these. She would sew them into the hem of her spare dress, she decided; that way, if they were unlucky enough to be searched on their way out of France, she might have some hope of retaining them. And if their situation proved dire, she could always use them as bribes.

  There was one other piece of jewelry she’d kept, and that was her wedding ring, a plain gold circlet with her and Thierry’s names engraved inside. Taking it out of the wooden box where she kept it, she stared at the jewelry for a long moment.

  Once the ring had symbolized everything good—love, hope, and the prospect of a bright and happy future. Now it served as nothing more than a reminder of a lost life, of dreams whose time had come f
or putting away.

  Thierry was dead, and although she would never forget him, or regret their time together, her future led in a new direction. No matter what might happen, she loved Drake. And even if he did not feel the same, even if her worst fears came true once they made it back to England—if they made it back—she must put her family’s immediate needs first. If they had any hope of making it to one of the ports, they would require a horse and a conveyance large enough to carry the five of them. They didn’t own a horse, but she knew someone who did.

  Staring once more at the ring, she knew exactly what she must do.

  Convincing her brothers to leave proved a far easier task than Sebastianne had ever expected. By the time she emerged dressed and prepared to face what must be done, she found Julien and Luc seated at the dining table, expressions of serious determination on the young faces.

  In her absence, Drake had apparently taken the initiative to explain that their home was no longer safe and that all of them had to flee; exactly where they would be fleeing he hadn’t yet said.

  “Monsieur Drake says there is a very bad man who wishes to hurt you and that we need to go away for a while,” Luc said, meeting her gaze for confirmation.

  Reluctantly, she gave a nod.

  “It’s the one who came before, isn’t it?” Julien stated in a voice that was far too mature for her comfort. “That man who stopped here at the house before you went away to see Cousin Paulette in Paris.”

  Suddenly Sebastianne wondered if Julien suspected she hadn’t been to Paris at all. Suddenly she wondered just how much her brother really knew.

  “Our leaving is only a precaution,” she said, not wanting to frighten them. “We’ll just be gone a few weeks until the danger is past, then we shall return.”

  She didn’t meet Drake’s gaze, not wanting the lie to show in her own.

  “Luc and I don’t need much,” Julien said, having clearly accepted whatever it was Drake had told them. “We’ll go pack.” Standing up from the table, they raced upstairs to the loft, their shoes clattering against the narrow flight of steps.

  Once they’d gone, she turned to Drake. “Have you told Papa as well?”

  “I explained the situation to him first. He’s in his workroom deciding which two books to take. I told him that was all he’s allowed.”

  “And he accepted that?” she said in disbelief.

  “I may have mentioned a private library that I could give him unlimited access to. He was surprisingly amenable after that.”

  She stared, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

  “Well, if that’s settled,” she said a few moments later, “I suppose I should make all of us something to eat. There’s not much point running off on an empty stomach.”

  Her own stomach jangled with nerves, however, as she prepared their meal; and once they sat down to eat, she had to force the food past her lips, feeling queasy and wishing she had the luxury of pushing it away.

  After breakfast was finished, she sent Luc and Julien out to collect the chicken’s eggs while she cleaned up the kitchen. That task done, likely for the last time, she went to find Drake.

  “I’m going to visit Madame Breton,” she announced. “We were supposed to have supper with her this Sunday, but that will have to be canceled now, of course.”

  Lines of concern creased Drake’s forehead. “Is that wise? Can you trust her?”

  Sebastianne threw up a hand in a very Gallic gesture. “I can’t just abandon the house. The chickens will have to be cared for, and it would be a shame for the vegetables in the garden to go to waste. I’m planning to tell her that we have had a letter from my cousin in Paris and that she’s asked us all to stay with her for a few months. Madame will care for the property while we’re away, and when we don’t return, she will do what is necessary. There is a war under way, after all. Our disappearance won’t seem odd. Far less so than us leaving Montsoreau like a band of gypsies without a word to anyone.”

  Drake stood silent, clearly weighing his objections. “All right, go see her and tell her your story. You make a good point about raising suspicion if we sneak away. Meanwhile, I’ll pay a call on the local blacksmith about acquiring some means of transportation.”

  She shook her head. “No, you stay here. It’s foolish for you to risk exposure by going into the village.”

  “But we need a horse, and you don’t have one.“

  “Madame Breton does.” Tucking a hand into one of her pockets, she touched the ring she’d earlier slipped inside, finding the gold warm against her skin. “She owns one of the few horses and carriages left in the village. I’ll persuade her to let us use them.”

  He studied her. “Are you sure she’ll agree? Perhaps I should accompany you, after all. I brought gold and a few gemstones to use as tender.“

  Which meant she could keep her ring. Yet was she not already beholden enough to Drake without adding another debt onto the tally? She hated to part with the wedding band, but still . . .

  “No,” she said, resolved to act on her earlier decision. “We don’t know how difficult it will be to reach the coast and secure safe passage back to England. We may have need of every coin and gem you brought. I shall convince Madame, do not worry. You stay here and make sure Papa and the boys finish their packing.”

  His lips parted as if he were about to argue further, then he closed them again. “Very well, but be careful.”

  She smiled. “I always am.”

  Nearly an hour and a half later, Sebastianne departed Madame Breton’s small yet comfortably appointed house.

  Over tea and sweet biscuits made with Madame’s treasured store of sugar, Sebastianne had spun her tale. Madame had been instantly sympathetic, agreeing that, of course, they must go to the Paris if their cousin had such need of them. She was equally amenable to looking after the house and livestock for as long as they were away.

  Sebastianne left the matter of the horse and carriage for last, knowing how much pride and enjoyment Madame took in riding to church in the rig each Sunday morning. The carriage had been a gift from her husband, one of the last purchases he had made before his death. Being widows was a commonality she and the older woman shared, a link that had long since made them far more than neighbors. Withdrawing the ring from her pocket, Sebastianne had pleaded her case, one widow to another.

  At first Madame had said she couldn’t possibly take Sebastianne’s wedding band. But Sebastianne had persisted, persuading the other woman that, under the circumstances, it was a fair trade.

  “I shall consider this collateral and keep it for when you return,” Madame said, accepting the ring and wrapping it carefully in a handkerchief. “The horse and carriage are merely a loan that you shall send back to me as soon as you no longer have need.”

  “Yes, I shall send them back,” Sebastianne promised, knowing she would do everything in her power to have the horse and vehicle returned to Madame. Since Drake said he’d brought funds, with luck, there would be enough remaining to hire an honest man to drive the team back here to Montsoreau.

  “Adieu, madame,” Sebastianne called amid cheek kisses, tears and heartfelt farewells. Madame did not realize, but there was a very great chance they would never see one another again.

  More melancholy than she had expected herself to be, Sebastianne set off again for the cottage, she and Madame having agreed that Julien and her father would return in a couple of hours to collect the carriage. Dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve, she walked the familiar path, her footsteps silent against the packed earth. Her thoughts turned inward, she didn’t notice the soft rustling of the bushes a few yards ahead.

  Suddenly, someone stepped onto the path.

  Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she felt the blood drain from her cheeks.

  “Bonjour, Madame Dumont,” Vacheau said. “As you can see, I have returned.”
Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a thick, folded document and held it up, waggling the heavy paper between his fingers. “I’ve brought what you demand, signed by the Emperor himself.”

  Her chest tightened with a mixture of fear and excitement. Was it truly the writ? Had he actually succeeded in obtaining the document? If so, and the writ was indeed genuine, then it meant their freedom—even Drake’s.

  But to use the writ, she had to take possession of it, and that meant dealing with Vacheau and not ending up dead first.

  “Now,” he said, his voice hard and silky, “I’ve held up my side of the bargain. Time for you to uphold yours.”

  Chapter 31

  She’s been gone too long, Drake thought, as he twisted the blackened metal lever that closed the fireplace flue. Straightening from the chimney, he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket.

  She ought to have returned by now, he mused as he wiped soot smudges from his fingers. Maybe she and her neighbor were simply having a long last visit. Then again, maybe not. His muscles were knotted with a sensation he always equated with his gut instinct, and his instinct was telling him that something wasn’t right.

  I’ll give her five more minutes, then I’m going after her.

  He only lasted two before he decided to start his search.

  “Luc,” he called up to the loft where he knew the boy was sorting through his belongings one final time.

  Moments later, a golden head appeared over the railing. “Oui, monsieur?”

  “If your father asks,” Drake said in French, “tell him I’ve gone to escort your sister home. We shall return in a short while. In the meantime, don’t leave the house.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” the boy agreed again. “Shall I tell Julien?”

  “No, I’ll find him.”

  But Julien found him first, pelting down the path at a dead run less than a minute after Drake stepped out of the house. The boy skidded to a halt, pebbles scattering beneath his heels.