by Lisa Torquay
Romulus found purchase in the high grass and tried to round her to get the higher ground. She kept it, even if her skirts did not make it any easier for her. Since she always practised in skirts, she found ways to use them to her advantage. Like now, she used them to attempt to disarm him by waving them at him. Not successful though he came to know his breeches gave him no better chances.
He neared her, their swords clashed and locked in a cross, dark brown hair floating on the sides of his square jaw. Eyes up, she found murky beacons trained on her, fierce, unmoving. His superior strength played in his favour here and she struggled to keep her ground. Their lengths touched on several points and she registered those taut muscles against her. Their eyes meshed, those murky ones piercing her unwavering. She held his sword like that, leading him to believe she would weaken. When he moved for the kill, she used his speed against him and disengaged from the other sword.
Both breathed jaggedly with the exertion as their swords collided again. She swivelled her sword to a blow that might disarm him, but he was ready and they locked anew.
Glaring her full in the eyes. “You are an excellent swordswoman.” He rasped very near her.
“Thank you.” She answered without disguising her pride.
“But this ends here.” He completed and flung his sword as it fell far down the slope.
Taken by surprise, she did not move for several seconds, their stances combative. She could not fence an opponent without a sword after all. So, she tossed her sword in the same direction as his with an annoyed jerk.
“We do not want anyone hurt, do we?” He gave in a blasé manner, looking at her from up his elegant Latin nose.
Their stares meshed and electrical currents connected them as time stanched, its stillness reflecting in the silence of the prairie. Only their breaths laboured in the open air.
In swift movements, his hand covered her nape and pulled her to him in a blunt kiss that took her by storm. He opened her lips with his and their tongues duel like their swords had minutes ago. She moaned in her throat with his ruthless advance, holding his shoulders to keep steady on her trembling knees. She inhaled the masculine scent that worked as a potent elixir in her bloodstream.
The other muscled arm banded her waist and tumbled her over the soft grass that bended to receive them. Flies buzzed around increasing the buzzing in her ears with the rush of blood. They lay head down the slope, reminding her of the day they fell on the tilted mattress.
“Your stunts turn me on like bush-fire.” He rasped as his impatient hands filled with her skirts and pulled them up her legs.
His words transformed her insides in lava and she was happy to have her legs free finally to cradle him. At that moment, nothing mattered, solely the hunger in her, the need that consumed her like blasts from an oven. The inclined position made blood flow to her brain and gave a heady sensation over the whole of her.
His rock-hard erection touched her centre throwing her in a frenzy of want.
Romulus searched her core, through the slit on her drawers, to find her hot, wet and ready. His fever for her soared to explosion point to realize she wanted him as urgently as he her.
It did not matter that they were in the middle of nowhere, under the open skies, like peasants in a mid-summer festival. He did not care, his wits scattered where he could not find them. Completely out of control, the enigmatic, tight, cynic Duke disappeared to give way to this man made of raw feelings and carnal demands.
He played with her engorged button, wishing to bleeding hell that her breasts were bare for him. So, he rested his head on her angled bosom, enjoying the softness over the fabric of her riding habit.
“Now, Romulus!” She commanded, and he had no chance to disobey her.
He freed himself and plunged in her hot wetness in one firm thrust and groaned when her arms and legs held him like vices. He drove deep, clashing their hips, hearing her moan for more. The inclination pressed him further in her, burying him so totally he lost the notion of where he finished and she started.
He plunged ever deeper, the grass swishing with their movements, their ragged breaths mingling with the misty air. She twisted under him, creating a friction between their bodies that must only be called torture. They became two beings made of mindless desire seeking as he plunged in her repeatedly. And he felt her clasp him with her spasms while she screamed unrestrained to the wind.
Helped by gravity, that propelled him even further, every muscle in his body tensed. His face contorted when he could hold it no longer. He spilled in her with such force, he thought he would implode, head thrown back, wild grunts grating from his throat. He fell on her wondering if he would ever breath evenly again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She could not live like this, Annabel thought a week later. Pleasured to distraction by a Duke that showed every sign of being a traitor. A spectacularly failed mission her superiors did not even hear about yet. And her life hanging suspended amidst this whirlwind. She must disentangle from it. Or she would go insane.
Question was: How? More than that. Did she really want to resume her life? Did she really want to go to her colourless comings and goings of social appointments, endless assignments that would never get her to a prominent position in the government? Simply because there were no women in public service. This she did was unprecedented and most assuredly short lived.
At her own image on the mirror in the Duke’s dressing room, she had to face the most twistingly impossible question. Did she want to leave him? Cut ties, do the excruciating right thing, forget him?
Rubbing her face with her hands, she found the answers complex and daunting.
All she uncovered here were clues that did not confirm or deny anything. The Duke himself did not talk about it. And she must to be fair. She did not talk about her assignments either. This took her to a dead end. She had no conclusive proof. She gave nothing away of her presence here.
Circumstances pointed fingers at His Grace, she had to admit. The secrecy, his reluctance to speak about it, the suspicious movements in the estate, his shadowy actions. He never explained why others thought him dead or where he had been at that time. It became a heavy burden in her heart to think about this and the way she just forgot herself when he touched her.
She was incapable of even mustering shame upon her actions, so embroiled was she in the temptation of him, in the pleasure they gave each other. In how he dominated her thoughts every minute of the day. She must avoid it to manipulate her, or she would become a pliable puppet in his seductive hands.
In London, they would confirm if the information she gathered demonstrated any veracity to their suspicions. The most obvious conclusion was to go back and find out.
Because this whole thing was becoming cloudy indeed. She needed to ascertain it, and not only due to the nature of her mission; for her own sake, too. She required answers.
Which put to her mind she must ask those questions. Ask him first. So far, they merely exchanged accusations and used withdrawing tactics. It was time to put everything in the clear.
She did not have to wait long. Next day, she read in the library, as rain visited them nonstop since early morning.
The door opened to reveal the man himself gloriously dressed in black shirt, black neckcloth and equally black trousers, irresistibly tall and masculine. Her heart somersaulted, as she should already be used to, she berated herself.
When his eyes spotted her there, they remained on her creating a frisson of unspoken sensations, mute desires, unconfessable fantasies. Weakness melted her insides and she struggled to overcome it.
“Annabel.” He rasped as if he was as entranced as she. Breaking eye contact, he walked further into the room and closed the door. “I came to consult a book on agriculture.”
Still with her voice clogged somewhere in her throat, she watched him literally prowl towards a bookshelf. Unable to remain sitting, she sprang from the armchair where she read a book on the newly published German philoso
pher Schelling. Unexpected that his library already displayed so new a book.
She paced around the desk and bookshelves, as he took a book and checked the index, his long forefinger travelling the page. She wanted to avoid remembering what that forefinger did to her, but the reminiscence already popped in her mind. With a blush, she lowered her face though he was not looking. Uncertainty dominated her and almost got the best of her good intentions. But she resisted firmly.
Resolutely turning to him, she straightened her back. “We need to talk.”
His head snapped up to pierce her with that penetrating gaze. “About?”
“I need to ask what is it you really do.” Her chin elevated a little more as his expression showed he did not like the intrusion.
“You know what I do.” He lifted a forbidding brow. “I manage my estates.”
“You can well surmise I am talking about the plans regarding Saint Helena.” She demanded firmly. The man could be as open as a tomb when he put his mind to it.
Everything on him shuttered to prove her point. “And you can very well remember I told you to stay out of this.”
“Are you plotting to free him?” She asked point blank.
Anger smothered his tall, rigid stance. “I will not talk about this.” Finality in his gelid tone.
“I see.” She murmured, frustrated with his unwillingness to collaborate with the dialogue. “If I cannot be sure, I have to go back to my life.”
Seemingly lazy, he ambulated to her, a vexed expression darkening his square jaw. “Go back?” He breathed silky.
“Yes.” She kept her ground, even though his proximity perturbed her inner cool. “I cannot possibly continue consorting with a suspected traitor.”
“And you came here to investigate it, I gather.” His attention rested on her so focused it coursed through her like lightning.
This was her chance to come clean. And she would if she wanted to be repaid in kind. “Yes. I work for a branch of the government.”
“Government?” His brows pleated in contrariety. “You do not care for your safety?”
“I am safe enough.” She asserted. “I acquired the appropriate training.”
“And this… branch that exploits women for their own ends sent you here.” He probed derogatorily. What was supposed to be her chance to get answers, became his interrogatory. The man proved to be a master in twisting situations to his favour.
“Women are invisible in political circumstances.” She took a deep breath, for his imperviousness was definitely unwelcome. “I joined them so that I could have a sense of purpose and not live my life around milliners and dress fittings.” She jabbed him with his own accusation in the chapel when she claimed she had serious things to do in town.
He nodded dryly.
“They instructed me to come collect information, because they thought you the leader of a plot to free Napoleon.” She stared him straight in his eyes, despite the trembling it caused to her insides.
“Did you find any proof?” His arched brows spoke of dismissal.
“I have what I saw happening here.” She said candidly.
“And it demonstrated without a question I am a traitor.” His chin lowered so his eyes pried further.
She fought the compelling need to fidget under his scrutiny. “How will I be sure, if you do not talk to me?”
“I want you out of this for your own good. I do not want you involved in anything that can put you in danger.” He crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest, looking even more forbidding.
She blinked, as thoughts raced through her mind. “So this is true?”
He lifted his head to peer at her from up his nose. “I will say no more of it.”
“Evidently, you are in your right.” She admitted. “As it is my right to decide to travel to London.”
He sucked in air forcefully, as if trying to abate his temper, his nostrils flaring. “I forbid it.” Low and commanding.
Her contrariety rose fast and hot. “You know you cannot do it!”
“I remember having told you I am a Duke and as such, I do mostly what I want.” Cold and guiltless.
“You do not possess me like some medieval serf!” She delivered hotly.
“You want me to show you how much I possess you?” His murky examination covered her from her coiled hair to her slipper-ed feet, not missing her diaphanous water-green high-waist dress.
Vermillion painted her cheeks violently with arousal and mortification at the truth in his retort. He evidenced it each night, all night. Unquestionably.
“This has nothing to do with our conversation.” She countered with firmness though melting heat flowed to her centre.
‘They are one and the same for me. It is who you are. Who we are.” His lopsided grin smug and wolfish at the same time.
“Is this your final word?” She crossed her arms defiant and his gaze lowered to the movement her breasts made with her gesture.
“Irrevocably.” Fierceness in his deep voice.
Then he would not be able to blame her if she tried. It hung between them like an unuttered challenge.
His eyes became murkier as they fenced silently, ogling each other with a mixture of greed and antagonism. It resulted in her body going hot inside and her mind steaming with vexation. The contradiction took her by storm and she found it unbearable to sustain his stare. Unwillingly, she lowered her liquid brown irises for fear she might throttle him. Or ravish him!
A victorious glint shone in his depths, conveying the certainty of her capitulation. He should be smarter, obviously.
“If you will excuse me.” He bowed and turned to the door without a back glance at her.
*
He should let her choose what she wanted to do, Romulus thought, walking back to the solar. He understood it, of course he did. Unable to bring himself to do it, he resorted to his ducal prerogatives. And she had been right, the middle ages long gone, and she deserved to be treated not like a serf, bloody hell!
The prospect of her deserting him, though, impelled his guts to wrench in a way he did not recognise. And could even less gauge the cause for it. Needless to say, their nights together grew addictive by the minute. The nights being a mere part of it. Her presence in the castle coloured everything with a bright light. Fencing with her in the middle of nowhere? Unpaired. Sparring with her about just anything? Unique. Wrestling? Tempting. Running after her in the woods? Never to be forgotten. She poured tons of spice into his life. A life he had lived in bitter shades of grey for six years.
If she left, she would take it all with her. It would most definitely feel like deserting. For how else would it be if the maddening woman insisted in being so headstrong?
Why could she not be meek and pliable and comply with his orders? But then this passion simmering between them would not be there, would it? He wanted her this feverishly because she was who she was.
He had no right to blame her for making her decision in this fashion. She asked, and he did not disclose anything about his affairs. He would not, full stop. Without explanations, she must come to the automatic conclusion of his treason. He would do the same were their roles reversed.
Still, he did not see himself ready to let go. Not yet. If ever.
He sat by his desk and made a gigantic effort to concentrate on work.
*
“They told me you were about a kind of ritual down here.”
His deep, grave voice made her pivot to him, while her insides turned to jelly.
She chose the farthest cell of the dungeon where little light came from the narrow barred window on the top opposite bare stone wall. More than a dozen candles scattered in the cubicle for light and warmth in what should be called a chilly spring night. Their flames danced shadows casting flashes on the old cracked table on one corner and the iron chains that ended in cuffs, hammered high to a column nearby. Trays of food displayed on the sturdy table.
Their gazes found each other in the warm light, full of mea
ning. And promises.
Then his irises inspected her lacy peignoir, under which he could detect her equally lacy nightgown, darkening. Lightning coursed through her body and she strained to keep her cool head. She would need it. Her riotous midnight ringlets fell around her shoulders and caught the light in bluish streaks.
At the entrance, in his open collar black shirt, black trousers, tall, framed by the ancient door, he had to be the most magnificent man in humanity. The candles shone on his sleek hair falling along the sides of his bristle jaw
“Come in.” She invited in an ambiguous tone.
He prowled in, his moves tightening the shirt on bunches of muscles as tempting as the nether parts she always coveted.
Inhibition did not play a role tonight. She sailed to him, gluing her length to his, and laced her hands on the strong nape to gauge his immediate response hardening against her belly. The kiss she initiated burned the two of them, as her tongue played in his wine tasting mouth. They had dinner not long ago.
“Of all the places to do it.” He rumbled hoarse on her lips.
Well, they had been creative about the… locations where their encounters happened. That day in the prairie soared her to such febrile greed, she blushed just with the memory of it. The inclination propelled him so deep, her explosion had been sharp and consuming.
By then, she managed to guide the muscled body, backing it against the column. Rubbing herself shamelessly on him, made it impossible not to feel him falling prey to her seduction. Under her laces, she filled with want. The mysterious atmosphere of the cell spread involving intimacy.
As she took his thick arms, she pinned them on the column over his head and kissed him with even more eroticism. They moaned and she was fast slipping into a world of hazy sensuality. When their mouths finally separated, she had nailed the cuffs around manly wrists, that chinked as he moved them.
His hands held the chains as they hung, the shirt sleeves falling to those bunched biceps.
“Now I have you at my mercy.” She tempted, liquid eyes regaling that stretched tall, broad frame, a fine dish for her eager coveting.
