by Various
‘I am not going to make love to you with my boots on.’
‘Nor am I.’
Giles caught her as she tottered, balancing on one foot, and they laughed, collapsing on to the hay. The last of her nerves fled with the laughter as he said, ‘We’ll take it in turns. Give me your foot.’
Bootless, they turned to each other, dragging her greatcoat over them. ‘How does this garment undo?’ Giles demanded, wrestling with tapes and hooks.
‘Let me. You worry about your own breeches.’ Then she was in his arms, their naked legs touching, both of them fully clothed above the waist. ‘We’re wearing woollen stockings, it doesn’t seem very romantic.’
‘Neither is frostbite.’ Giles was intent on the buttons of her bodice. ‘I would rather romance your breasts than your toes, although given a warm bed...’ What he was going to say was lost as his hands, big and calloused, slid between the layers of silk and cotton and cupped her, his thumbs stroking nipples that were hard and aching before he had even touched them.
Lightning flickered across her skin, down to her belly, between her legs, and Julia cried out, her fingers clenched in his shirt front. ‘Let me. Let me touch you.’
She pushed impatiently at linen and wool, burrowing towards his heat, then stopped, her cheek against the hard, flat planes of his chest, her nose tickled by curls of hair, her hand caressing slowly down as his skin tightened under her fingertips and his heart thudded under her ear. Is this right? Will I please him? Will I hate it with him as I did with Humphrey? Please, not that.
‘I want to be slow, to take all day learning your body, listening to the way your breathing changes when I touch you...here.’ His own breath hitched as she arched into his palm. ‘I want to discover the landscape of your skin.’ Giles kissed her, rolling her so he was over her, sheltering them both under the coat in hay-scented darkness. ‘But I can’t risk you in this cold, can’t risk losing the light. Julia.’ He gasped as she found him, curled her fingers around the hard length and stroked, awestruck by his reaction to her.
‘Giles, please. I just want you. Need you.’ Her thighs embraced his hips, welcoming him home. A moment of fear flickered through her as he lodged himself, nudging at admittance where she ached, for him, wet and yearning. It had been so long and he was so very...
‘Julia.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper against her throat. ‘We’ll take all the time you need.’
He had felt that tightening, her tiny jolt of apprehension, even though she could feel the tension in him, the fight he was having to stay in control. That awareness of her was all she needed. ‘Now, Giles. Now.’
She had expected discomfort, been prepared for it, but it did not come. There was only the sensation of being filled, of being joined. She tightened around him, felt the shudder that ran through him, felt their blood beating together, his breath harsh and hot on her cold skin, the delicious weight of his muscled body surrounding her as he moved in and out, teasing the tension higher and higher. Giles shifted his weight, slid one hand between them, touched her so that she cried out, arching into him, and then the strain broke and the world behind her closed lids was full of lights and all that stopped her flying into fragments was Giles’s anchoring embrace.
When she opened her eyes he was cradling her, the coats swathed around them, the hay prickling through the tiny, draughty gaps. ‘Giles.’
‘I’m here.’ His arms tightened. ‘We didn’t talk about it before, but I was careful.’
It took her a moment to realise what he meant. It had never occurred to her for a moment that he would not have taken care of both that vital detail and of her, she realised.
‘Come. I want to linger, but we must be going before the light fails.’
So soon. Now he was getting up, adjusting his clothing, his face unreadable in the gloom. So cold. The temperature was dropping and with it her mood. Julia scrambled into her riding skirt, pulled on her boots. That had given Giles pleasure, too, hadn’t it? He hadn’t made love to her out of pity for the poor, frustrated widow after she had confided so much, so unwisely, had he?
He stretched out gloved hands and pulled her to her feet so fast and smoothly that she ended up tight against his chest. His mouth found hers again. ‘That was a delicious, unexpected, Christmas present. Thank you.’
Either Giles was a loss to the London stage or he had found pleasure in the act, however inexperienced she had been. She had been braced for indifference now he had lain with her, but Giles handed her down the ladder with care, kept her close with fleeting touches, a passing kiss or two as he saddled Trojan, checked the horse’s leg. Cherishing me. Despite the cold something blossomed, warm and tender inside her. I like this man so much.
‘He’s not at all lame. Come and I’ll give you a leg up.’
‘You want me to ride your horse?’
‘I do not think it was very comfortable for you coming out and I am certain it will be even less so going back.’ There was a wicked smile in his eyes and she felt herself blushing. Yes, she was a little sore. It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation, she realised as she busied herself gathering up the reins and talking to the horse. Even so, it was easier to fiddle with stirrup leathers than it was to meet Giles’s gaze.
‘That is the way I must take when I leave.’ Giles nodded towards the tracks the farmer had left. ‘Smithers says there is a turning to the right along there leading to the Norwich turnpike.’
‘So you’ll leave soon?’ Strangely, her voice was steady.
‘The day after tomorrow, unless it snows again.’
‘But that is Christmas Eve. Won’t you stay for Christmas Day at least?’
‘I must be back as soon as possible.’ After a moment he said, without turning, ‘I would prefer to stay. Much prefer it.’
Duty, of course. His reluctance to leave the army, to come and take up this family burden, had been obvious every time he spoke of it, but he would not shirk it. An honourable man.
‘Yes, I understand. Miri will be disappointed, but your family will be so longing to see you.’
His silence spoke volumes.
* * *
Under that tart exterior, Julia is as sweet as honey. There was a murmur behind him and he turned to see that she was talking to Trojan, who swivelled one ear back to listen. He was not used to a female rider, but the big chestnut was behaving with exemplary manners and she was a good horsewoman.
Camels, she said. And elephants. His imagination conjured up Julia in exotic silken garments, the breeze fluttering the fragile tissue against those long legs, the sweet bounty of her breasts decked with golden chains and glittering gems as she was carried on an elephant towards some fantasy palace rising from the sun-baked plains.
Fantasy indeed. He could not even afford to deck her in one length of precious Indian silk, even if he could justify spending a penny on frivolity, let alone sensual indulgencies. Giles reminded himself that this was simply a liaison for a day or two, an isolated incident in their lives. A touch of fleeting magic.
The journey back was easier than he feared it might be and they were home as the last of the light leached from the sky. The lanterns were lit in the stable yard and in the downstairs rooms, painting the snow with sharp rectangles and squares of gold.
Giles lifted Julia down, indulging himself by letting her body slide down his, enjoying her blush. The men led the horses away to hot mash and hay nets and Bulstrode created a fuss until they leaned over his half-door for a word.
‘That is the smuggest turkey in Norfolk, I’ll wager.’ He took Julia’s arm as they picked their way across to the front steps.
‘With some reason,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘If I were him I would suspect an elaborate charade and would be expecting a cook with a cleaver at any moment, but he has no imagination, the lucky bird.’
The image was amu
sing, but Giles found he had lost the inclination to laugh. ‘Are you all right?’
She turned as his hand tightened on her arm, just as they reached the front steps. ‘Of course.’ Her lips on his cheek were cold until they pressed the kiss harder and the heat of her mouth made his breath catch. ‘That was lovely. I am so glad we...’
‘Made love?’
‘Yes.’ She would not meet his eyes. Was she simply shy? Years in the army were not the best preparation for understanding emotions, his or anyone else’s.
‘Miri has made a wreath.’
He followed her pointing finger and saw, as the door opened, a circlet of holly and ivy with crimson ribbons floating from a great bow at the bottom.
‘Come in, you must be frozen.’ Miri pulled them in to the warm hallway. ‘Is your horse all right, Captain? Are you starving? Paul snared rabbits, so we have a pie for dinner. Doesn’t it smell good? Come and see my decorations.’ Talking nineteen to the dozen, she towed them after her into the sitting room, then the dining room. Everywhere holly and ivy edged shelves with swathes of glorious silk woven in and out to create the oriental richness of his fantasy.
‘Those silks.’ He was enchanted by the effect. ‘Amazing. But surely you should not risk such expensive fabric amongst the holly?’
‘Oh.’ Miri seemed flustered. ‘They are just some saris. They pack down to nothing and they are dagger cheap. They look finer than they are. Listen, Smithers is taking the hot water cans up. I’ll come and help you, Julia.’
She bustled her stepmother out, leaving Giles to stroke his hand along the nearest swag of vermilion and gold. It felt like Julia’s skin under his palm—warm, soft, sleek. He felt himself harden into arousal and closed his hand around a sprig of holly until the sharp stabbing pain overrode the heavy ache.
He’d leave the day after tomorrow even if it snowed again. He was certain he could reach that turn and the farmer had come to tend his beasts on foot, so the farmhouse could not be far. It would offer shelter if things got really bad. They had two nights, one day to be happy, to find a magic together.
* * *
Giles was very quiet, Julia thought, as he set out a chessboard and proceeded to play against himself. He had asked them to play, but Miri was deep in a tattered Gothic novel and Julia knew she could no more concentrate on chess moves than she could fly.
Was he regretting their passion in the hayloft? She knew convention said that she should, but she could not. Words like immoral and unwise flitted into her head and promptly flitted out again. Giles reached out, touched the white queen, stroked it with his fingertip while he thought and the heat pooled in her belly, fuelling the insistent little pulse between her legs, making her shift uneasily, embarrassed by her own wantonness.
Tomorrow they would decorate the house, she decided. She’d had enough of being angry, disappointed, missing the remembered Christmases of her childhood. Miri had made a start and she would throw herself into it, give all three of them memories that would glow like the heart of the yule log.
Giles picked up the queen, playing with it one-handed while he frowned at the board. Those hands, so strong and gentle on her body, so knowing, so skilful as they wove magic across her skin. As she watched, he glanced up, caught her gaze, held it with such heat in his eyes that she could have sworn that it burned her. He wants me still, this decent man, this brave soldier who has given up the life he had built for duty.
The hall clock struck ten. This was torture. ‘I am for my bed. Miri?’
‘Mmm? Oh, yes. Provided I have a lamp to finish this. The faceless monk is haunting the ruins of the abbey, just as Philomena is hurrying to her moonlight tryst with Frederick. I cannot imagine why I never found any novels as good as this in India. Goodnight, Captain.’
Julia took her arm. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Lady Julia. Sleep well.’
How he expected her to sleep at all, let alone well, when he looked at her like that and spoke in that soft, deep voice that vibrated through her to the base of her spine, she had no idea. ‘And you.’
Did she imagine the muttered, I doubt it, as she closed the door?
‘I expect he’ll bed down in front of the fire again.’ Miri removed her nose from her book to climb the stairs.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t you realise? I noticed the first night when I came down in the night for a glass of water. He makes a bed with the sofa cushions and curls up in front of the fire. I heard this rumble, like a tiger, and peeped round the door and there he was in the middle of a mound of blankets, snoring very softly.’
‘Sensible of him,’ Julia observed briskly. ‘The bedchamber he took must be like an icehouse. Don’t sit up to all hours with that horrid novel or you’ll be fit for nothing tomorrow.’
‘Just until I discover whether the monk is a faceless spectre or the wicked Count Alfonso in disguise,’ Miri promised, kissing Julia’s cheek and vanishing into her bedchamber, nose in book again.
Giles asleep before the hearth. The picture would not leave her. Julia scrambled out of her clothes and into her nightgown, then into bed, her feet searching for the hot brick.
Giles sounding like a great sleeping tiger. Giles naked in the glow of the fire, those long limbs bathed in red and gold. Giles looking up as she came into the room, shedding her robe, walking into the firelight as naked as he was.
She would wait until the house slept and then... Of course he would not be naked and uncovered, she scolded herself as she pummelled her pillow into some kind of comfort. It was far too cold for that. But it was an image to keep her warmer than the hot brick.
What was the life he was going to when he left here, left her? She would find her place in society, amongst the rich and fashionable, and he would be somewhere in Norfolk, doing his duty, creating a new life for himself. Would he think about her sometimes, recall their brief snowbound interlude? They would never meet again and that, suddenly, was intolerable.
The house settled for the night in creaks and groans, the tick of clocks, the scamper of mice in the walls. The pad of feet along the landing past her door, the creak of a door opening, the return of the footsteps. Giles had gone downstairs.
Chapter Eight
Sleep should have come easier, now he had made love to Julia. The desire that had been burning him up was assuaged. Surely now he could relax.
Giles tossed. Turned. Burrowed into the blankets. Got up and shook the whole lot out, built up the fire and tried again. Now he was too hot, which, in this house, was ridiculous. The fire was blazing, his mind was on fire and his body was joining in with incendiary enthusiasm.
He threw off the blankets, dragged off his shirt and lay there, scorched by the fire on one side, getting cold from the draughts on the other, focusing on the discomfort. A handful of snow, strategically applied, might help.
A soft gasp brought his head round with a jerk. ‘Julia.’
She stood just inside the door, her robe clutched to her throat by one hand. With the other she pushed the door closed, then simply shrugged off the robe and stood in the flickering firelight. Naked.
Before he could move she was beside him in the tangle of bedding. ‘I imagined you here like this, golden, barred with flame shadows. A tiger.’
A tiger? He knew what he felt like—a ravening wolf confronted by such beauty that it was incapable of movement. She was all pale skin and soft shadows, the triangle of curls that hid her secrets a tantalising mystery. All her shyness had fled, leaving a woman confident of her power to bring him to his knees.
With the exercise of more willpower than he knew he possessed he rose until he knelt facing her, not touching, simply breathing in the warmth of her skin, the perfume of aroused femininity. ‘This is a dream, this isn’t real.’
She reached for his hand, lifted it to her br
east. ‘I am real, this is real.’
His fingers curled until she was cupped in his palm, living, trembling, real woman. ‘Two nights. I must leave the day after tomorrow.’
‘I know. This is all that exists. Just us and now. Here.’ She began to touch him, her fingers tracing trails of inquisitive fire over his skin. Everything seemed to fascinate her, the definition of muscles, the curve of his ear, the lump of his Adam’s apple, the way his nipples responded to the scratch of her fingernails.
Giles clenched his hands by his sides, his muscles aching with the strain of not touching her. When he did he wouldn’t be able to be slow, be gentle, all the things he wanted to be for her. He would consume her.
Julia edged round him, stroking his shoulders, running one finger down the length of his spine. ‘So elegant and so strong. I love these.’ She began to caress his buttocks and he felt her breath on his nape as she gave a little huff of laughter when he groaned. ‘So hard.’ Her fingernails dug in a little, then she was against his back, her hands sliding round, over his stomach, her fingertips exploring down into the coarse hair until she could grip the length of him. ‘Oh.’
* * *
‘If...you want this to end now, just...keep doing that.’
Julia felt Giles’s body shivering with the effort to control himself and the knowledge of power, that she could reduce a strong, experienced man to this, swept through her. She tightened her fingers on the velvet-smooth iron in her grip, bit gently on the rigid tendon in his neck and found herself flat on her back on the cushions.
‘Are you in haste?’ Giles was above her, supported on straight arms so he could look down at her, so that his pelvis pressed down on hers as she lay with her thighs cradling him. In one thrust he would be inside her.
Julia writhed, helpless, gasped as her sensitive flesh rubbed against him. ‘Yes. Yes, I am in haste.’
‘Pity.’ His grin was wicked, the smile of a man who was back in control of the situation. ‘I want to go very slowly. I want to look at you as I pleasure you, watch your face, enjoy your beauty.’
