“Do you need some help?” she asked in a breathy whisper. Her great brown eyes grew darker as they lifted to meet his own, and Kit felt whatever restraint he had possessed upon land slip away in the bubbling waters of the pool.
“Yes,” he said.
Kit saw her swallow, saw the flush rise in her cheeks as she removed her slippers and stockings, hurriedly, as if his need for her was great, as well it was. Then she lifted her skirts in a dainty gesture and dipped in a toe.
“It is quite, uh, warm, isn’t it?” she asked in that husky voice that was his downfall.
Her foot was small and delicately arched, her toes perfect, and Kit couldn’t help himself. He reached out and took hold of it, pressing his mouth to that tempting arch. Chloe trembled at his touch, enflaming him further, and he kissed each of her tiny toes, nipping gently, then took one into his mouth. He heard her low gasp, felt her legs give way, and reached up to catch her.
Kit’s hands slid naturally under her skirts and he tugged the ugly black up higher and higher, even as he lowered her into the spring. She murmured softly as the water engulfed her ankles and calves until she stopped his progress by sitting upon the bank, the material bunched up about her thighs to reveal a glimpse of white, startling against the darkness of the severe garment. Her shift. And it was edged in lace. Kit’s body shuddered in response to that bit of feminine whimsy on his seemingly prim companion.
“My gown!” she protested.
Kit found a foothold among the rocks and stood. His palms resting upon her hips, he held her gaze with his own. “It has to go,” he said, echoing her earlier directive. He wanted to see her, every inch of her, the white and the lace and the skin beneath. And it seemed that nothing else in his life had ever held such importance.
Although Kit expected a maidenly gasp or a protest or an excuse of some kind, he should have known better than to anticipate Chloe, ever a surprise to his jaded senses. He waited a heartbeat as she hesitated, her eyes downcast, and then joy flooded him as she murmured, “All right, but I must keep my shift.” She tugged the pale linen down over her thighs as best she could, dislodging his hands, and he moved back to sink chest-deep into the water as she touched the hem of her gown and lifted.
To the end of his days, Kit knew he would never forget the heart-stopping sensuality of that moment, as, against all odds, his virtuous companion raised her gown over her head, casting off the cold black and becoming for him a forest nymph, clad only in a slip of linen. It seemed as if time itself slowed and the world fell away, leaving nothing except the hot spring, its odor mixing with the sharp scent of the leaves rustling overhead.
A shaft of sunlight broke through, illuminating Chloe as the stiff material slid upward, revealing the delicate undergarment that clung to her thighs and her belly and her breasts. Gracefully and calmly, as she did all else, she pulled the gown over her arms and set it aside. And then Kit looked his fill: at her legs, smooth and shapely as they dipped into the water, at the arms that fell to her sides, and at the pale slope of her breasts that disappeared beneath the lace of the shift.
The darkness of his past faded away, banished by this woman who brought light and beauty and comfort, and the future that had stretched before him as cold and bleak as the tomb he had once wished for, now opened before him, precious and bright. Investing all that he offered in one movement, Kit held out his hand. For a long moment their gazes met and held, and then, to his everlasting joy, she put her hand in his, slipping into the water beside him.
She gasped as she sank into the heat, finding a foothold on the slippery slope of the hollow. “You are standing,” she said, as if surprised.
“Yes. The pool is not that deep, even in the very center,” Kit replied.
“But, what about your leg. How is it?” she asked, ever concerned about him. Dearest Chloe, always giving of herself. She gave and gave to him and what did he tender her in return? Here, today, he would gift her with something, pleasure and wonder, perhaps, and his love, most definitely.
“Good,” Kit said. “In fact, I’ve...never... been...better.” And without giving her a chance to hesitate or back away, he pulled her into his arms. With a few simple touches, he unbound her hair, letting it flow over her shoulders into the pool, a satin mass of burnished brown. And he kissed her, long and slowly and so deeply that their breaths felt as one. And his hands roamed her body, exploring and caressing, as they half moved, half floated in the bubbling spring.
It was rather like dancing, but far more wonderful than any turn upon the floor he had made before his injury. And Chloe responded, slowly at first, but with growing enthusiasm and ingenuity. Her hands traveled up his chest, her fingers running through the hair there, her lips pressing against his wet skin, arousing him effortlessly with her innocent ardor.
Finally, Kit found a slanted outcropping of rock and sat, tugging her onto his lap, the better to see to her pleasure, rather than his own. The shift clung to her breasts, her wide nipples plainly visible, and he stroked and caressed them until her head fell back. He suckled first one, then the other, while he pulled her close, his member rubbing against her, gently at first, then more insistently. She moaned, calling out his name, and he whispered his desire against her breasts.
“Chloe, beautiful Chloe, my love, my only,” Kit murmured, dazed by a desire such as he had never known. Had he once thought himself incapable of making love? Now he ground against her with a new fervor as the heat and water and need built between them. He stroked her thighs and her belly and below, his fingers opening and delving and pressing until she lost her perpetual calm and became a writhing, clutching sensualist in his hands, until her arms tightened about his neck and she buried her face against his shoulder, crying out his name.
In the aftermath, Kit held her close, stroking her back, whispering praise into her hair, even as he began again his slow, steady rocking against her, reveling in the feel of her in his arms and upon his lap and between his legs. Eventually, he pressed not just against her, but inside her. Savoring the first inch of entry, he closed his eyes but kept up the gentle pace. Like the water that had carved out the rock, slow and insistent, he took his time to come wholly inside of her, wearing away her body’s resistance until she gasped in delight.
And still, Kit did not hurry, cherishing each moment. Slow. Easy. Hot. Wet. Every sense was alive and heightened beyond imagining. And when, at last, he took his release with a long, shuddering groan, she was with him, touching him everywhere, body, heart and soul.
CHAPTER SIX
Chloe sat at the dining table, head bent, hands clasped white-knuckled in her lap. She had nearly stayed in her rooms, but she had been loath to cause any more gossip. Already, she suspected the servants were buzzing with the news of her disheveled appearance when she and Kit had returned to the house, her hair a wet, clinging mess and her gown wrinkled beyond recognition.
Thankfully, no one could tell that she wore no undergarment, but she had known. She had been forced to abandon the wet shift that Kit had leisurely stripped from her body after that...first time. Her face flaming, Chloe remembered the sensation of her nakedness, the heat, the water and Kit’s touch, as if a fevered dream.
“Chloe! Are you suffering from the sun?” The sound of the dowager’s voice roused her to the present, and she looked up guiltily. Without waiting for an answer, the dowager went on. “You never wear a proper bonnet! How do you expect to keep your complexion with such carelessness? In my day, a lady never went out of doors without gloves and hat!”
For once the dowager’s ranting provided a welcome distraction from Chloe’s own tempestuous thoughts, and she nodded dutifully, though it was not the sun that had reddened her skin, but the brush of Kit’s shaven face against various parts of her body, both visible and unseen. Mostly, however, it was shame that caused her to flush.
In the hours since her wanton behavior, Chloe had tried to justify her actions. She told herself that she had responded to Kit’s need, giving her body
to him because he so desperately craved it, to prove himself a man once more and to heal himself with such intimacy. But what of her own needs? Although Kit and his well-being was never far from her thoughts, Chloe knew that when she sat on the edge of that pool, it was her own desire that had prompted her to take that last step into the water and into his arms.
And was it any wonder? Chloe had never dreamed of half of the things they had done, of the slow, steady build of sensation until she thought she would die of it only to become more fully alive than she had ever been before. And it was not only the pleasure that had enthralled her, but the communion between them. How could two people become so close, as if even their very spirits enmeshed? Although Chloe told herself that married couples must achieve something of the sort when they took to their beds, still she remained in awe of something so... She swallowed hard, having no words for it.
Although that wonder threatened to drive away her shame, Chloe clung to it as she tried to recollect who and what she was. She had passed the boundaries of proper behavior once with this man and had sworn never to do so again, yet those few kisses in the folly were as nothing compared to what she had done now. She was a ruined woman! Chloe choked back a sound combining both laughter and despair. She, a spinster who had never felt a hurried pulse for any swain, had fallen from grace, and with a man so unsuitable as to be wholly beyond her reach. And what was worse, she had fallen in love with him.
“Well?” A cane thumped, and Chloe, startled, raised her eyes to the dowager’s piercing gaze. She had lost all thread of her employer’s conversation and could only stare numbly at the noblewoman, trying vainly to compose herself.
And then he walked in.
He was late, and the dowager had insisted that they seat themselves rather than wait for him. His delay had filled Chloe with a mixture of relief and foreboding, and she had wondered if he were locked away in his apartments, unwilling to face her after what had happened between them. But she was wrong.
When she looked up, Chloe saw him sweep into the room with such elegance and dash that she was reminded immediately of the life he had once led. Indeed, she saw little of the wounded, morose man she had first known in this tall, confident figure. And Chloe didn’t know whether to weep for his loss or to celebrate it.
Perhaps the light of love colored her perception of him, but Kit even seemed straighter and stronger and more handsome than before: a golden man with a golden future before him. And no place in it for a drab companion, Chloe thought, stricken by a sudden constriction in her throat. While she stared, Kit flashed them each a gorgeous, white-toothed smile, which effectively silenced even the dowager, then took his place at the head of the table with new ease. He looked every inch the earl, a powerful lord, and Chloe reached for her wine. Perhaps the liquid would dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat.
“I’ve been thinking about the hot springs,” he said, and Chloe choked upon her very first sip. Thankfully, neither Kit nor his grandmother, who was staring at him with a fierce expression, seemed to notice. Indeed, Kit appeared wholly focused on whatever he was about to say, so Chloe took a quick swallow while staring at him wide-eyed.
“And I think we should do something with it, not the one close to the house, of course,” he said, sending a provocative glance at Chloe that nearly set her to choking again.
“But there is that other outlet to the north of the property,” Kit said. “And I think it would make a perfect spot for some kind of resort, like Tunbridge Wells or Bath, but more exclusive since it will be located on noble land. We own most of the area up there, but I’ll acquire more, so we don’t have a crowd of tawdry shops springing up, encroaching on the countryside.”
He paused, his gaze seeking hers, and Chloe stilled, arrested by his somber expression. “As Chloe reminded me, I am in a position to do something for my comrades, the ones who survived and who are too often forced out on the streets. This endeavor will require a host of new employees, and I will make it known that I will turn away no veteran of the war.”
As he spoke, Chloe felt her initial dismay turn to pride. Was it any wonder she loved him? Not only had Kit taken her suggestion to heart, but he had come up with a creative solution she would never have dreamed possible, proving himself above and beyond her wildest hopes. Setting down her glass, Chloe felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the Earl of Hawthorne.
Unfortunately, the other diner at their table did not appear to share her sentiments, for hardly a moment had passed before the dowager thumped her cane loudly on the parquet floor. “I have never heard of such nonsense!” she said.
“Actually, such spas date as far back as the late 1500s,” Kit said easily. “They began with the discovery of a mineral springs or waters with curative properties, and in most cases, the owner enclosed his find, usually providing accommodation for visitors, and reaping a profit.”
“All well and good for some money-grubbing opportunist, but not for the Hawthorne earldom!” the dowager screeched.
As if his grandmother had not spoken, Kit turned to Chloe. “I realize, of course, that there are quite a few spas in the country already, but I feel that with our unique cachet, we can make this one a success,” he said.
“Well, I will not have it!” the dowager said, demanding his attention with another loud thump of her cane. “There will be no such thing upon any property belonging to my family. Nor will you besmirch the fine heritage of the title with the stain of trade!”
Although the dowager’s rant was no less than what Chloe expected, it seemed to her that the older woman’s complaints held none of their usual fire. Indeed, the dowager seemed simply to be going through the motions of a token protest. Was she finally becoming too tired to fight? Chloe studied her more carefully, noting sadly that the noblewoman was so thin that she appeared to exist through the force of her own will alone.
“I find that I like the idea of being in trade,” Kit answered with equanimity, and Chloe glanced toward the head of the table. To her surprise, Kit neither argued with his grandmother nor ignored her, but replied quite evenly. “You wanted me to assume the earldom, you have pestered me to take over the duties of that position, and I have done so. And now I am using that authority to do some good,” he said.
“Good for whom, some wretched riffraff? What about the Hawthorne lands and name?” the dowager snapped.
“Both are now mine to do with as I see fit,” Kit answered. “And, if you don’t care for it,” he added, forestalling a new tirade with a sharp look at his grandmother. “You have only yourself to blame for dragging me back into the land of the living.”
Chloe caught her breath at Kit’s cryptic words of gratitude. Would his grandmother recognize them as such? The dowager shuddered, taken aback, and glared at him, as if to dispute his statement, as a matter of course. “I did nothing but hire the gel,” she said with a snort.
Kit’s beautiful, golden face turned toward Chloe, and the green gaze that met hers shown with a new light. “That was enough,” he said softly.
Chloe flushed as a rush of warmth and delight filled her, but the feeling turned bittersweet as she recognized the truth. He is healed, she realized with sudden insight. Despite all her misgivings, she had somehow affected a cure of sorts for this man’s ailing spirit. And now she must let him get on with his life. The thought caused her throat to tighten again, along with a new, far more painful, constriction farther down, in her chest. Was her heart breaking?
Yet, around her, the world continued as usual, for she heard the dowager speak once more. “Be careful, young man, or I shall think you are thanking me,” the noblewoman warned.
“Whatever you say, Grandmama,” Kit answered.
The dowager cackled loudly. “Ha! I never thought I’d live to hear those words, though little do you mean them.”
“I mean to turn my enterprise into a successful one, and you, with your social contacts and formidable forms of persuasion, are going to he
lp me,” Kit said without even a glance at his grandmother.
Caught up in the by-play once more, Chloe held her breath. “You young whippersnapper, why I ought to take my cane to you!” the dowager threatened. Then, rising regally from her seat, she stalked out the room, effectively putting an end to perhaps the first argument that she could not win.
Concerned, Chloe hurried after her, only to come upon the noblewoman in the grand salon, leaning hard upon her cane and staring out one of the tall windows. Obviously she had not heard Chloe’s approach, for she stood unmoving, her fierce expression belied by the tears that ran down her wrinkled cheeks.
Chloe gasped in alarm. “My lady, are you all right?” she asked, stunned to see the noblewoman weeping. Surely even the dowager didn’t value pretense and status so much that she would put it above her grandson, let alone all those army veterans?
The dowager turned her away with an angry sound. “Can’t a woman go a few paces in her own home without being followed and spied upon?” she asked, pulling out a handkerchief.
Chloe ignored the gibe. “Does the thought of Kit’s plan distress you so much?” she asked.
“What? What the devil are you yammering on about now, gel?” she snapped, swinging toward Chloe, all traces of her tears gone.
“The hot springs?” Chloe asked. “Don’t you—”
The dowager cut her off with a snort. “Stupid gel! As if I could care what you two do with your smelly water!”
“Then what is it?”
For a moment Chloe didn’t think the dowager was going to tell her. Then the noblewoman took a rattling breath and looked her in the eye, unflinching. “You did it. You saved him,” she said, her voice sinking nearly to a whisper.
Now Chloe was certain that her heart was breaking, but she reached out to take the dowager’s hands. “No,” she said. “We saved him.”
* * *
Kit was well and truly healed. Chloe was sure of it now. If the look of him, his new attitude, and his plans for the future had not convinced her, then the rapprochement with his grandmother would have done so. Chloe was so proud and happy for him that she tried to gloss over her pain at the inevitable parting, but as she stood in her rooms, preparing to leave, she found herself more and more reluctant to sever the ties she had formed here.
The Companion Page 8
