All He Desires

by Anthea Lawson

  An odd, aching pulse began to beat through her, spreading from her center. She breathed in time to it, let her tongue twine against his, obeying that primal rhythm. It was glorious—it was not enough. She recalled the feel of his body against her, craved it, then abruptly remembered where that had led. She pulled back, hands still woven through his hair.

  His eyes remained closed a moment, and when he opened them she saw the same hunger she felt. She wanted him to rise, to sweep her tightly against him and kiss her once more, but instead he sat back on his heels.

  “Alex.” Her hands slipped to his shoulders.

  He took her hands in his, held them firmly. “I have good news for you.”

  The thought that he was going to kiss her senseless faded as he watched her intently. She raised her brows. “You’re going to let me order a forge for the village after all?”

  A smile darted across his face. He turned her hands over, his thumbs rubbing her palms. “Almost as good. The splint is staying off. You’ll only need the sling now.”

  It was hard to concentrate on his words, she was so distracted by him caressing her hands. The meaning took a moment to penetrate, and when it did she jerked her head up.

  “Truly? I am healed?” Joy and dismay moved through her in waves. Healed. She had wanted nothing more for the last weeks, and yet…She bit her lip. She did not want to leave Crete, leave Alex. Not now, with something just begun between them.

  “No—not fully healed. You need to rehabilitate your arm, regain your strength and range of motion. Do you swim?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her brother, James, had insisted she learn.

  “Tomorrow after lunch, then. I know a bay that will suit admirably.”

  “Caro!” Pen’s light voice called outside her door. “I’ve brought the post.”

  Alex released her hands and rose in one smooth motion. No more stolen kisses. She tried not to sigh too loudly as she called for Pen to come in.

  “Letters from London!” The girl hurried into the room, brandishing a packet. “Oh, hello, Mr. Trentham.” Her bright eyes darted to the piece of wood lying on the table. “Goodness, is that Caro’s splint?”

  “I was thinking of framing it as a memento of my adventures here,” Caroline said. “What do you think?”

  “If it were me, I’d fling it into the sea. How wonderful that you are rid of it at last. But here,” she handed Caroline the letters, “you can open them yourself!”

  She could not help smiling at her young friend. It was remarkable how the girl was blooming. She seemed to stand a little taller, and since Caroline insisted they take their meals together, Pen was losing her birdlike frailty. Food always tasted better in company, and they had yet to exhaust their many topics of conversation—most especially Mr. Trentham and his mysterious past.

  He was from the north of England, and he had a brother. That was all Pen had been able to glean, though she had pestered the Legaults for details.

  Pen and Caroline entertained themselves by fabricating wild histories for him. He was the disinherited son of a duke, banished for falling in love with a serving maid. He was a spy for Her Majesty, keeping an eye on the Ottoman Empire from this advantageous post. He was a smuggler, formerly employed by the East India Company—oh, the list went on. Yet somehow none of the stories ever seemed to fit, and Alex remained an enigma.

  Caroline shot him a quick glance, running her fingers over the letters on her lap. “Such a blessing, being able to open my own correspondence. Oh, happy day.”

  “Indeed.” A smile rose in his eyes, though his lips remained unbent. “I’m glad I could be here to witness this historic moment.”

  “Well, it is a treat. Even with the reliability of the P&O line, this is the first correspondence from home I’ve received since my injury.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to it.” Alex inclined his head. “Until tomorrow, Miss Huntington. And don’t forget your bathing costume.”

  “Bathing costume?” Pen asked.

  “Mr. Trentham is determined to throw me into the sea tomorrow.”

  The girl laughed. “The swimming is lovely here. But Madame asked me to join her tomorrow afternoon—unless, of course, you need me.”

  “I think I can manage to keep Miss Huntington from drowning.” Alex bowed, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Caroline watched him go. Wherever was her bathing costume? Likely deep in one of her trunks, the voluminous dark blue dress packed away after her injury. It was not terribly becoming, but that could not be remedied. As for Alex—would he go shirtless? Perhaps she would be able to see the strong muscles of his arms and chest, slick with water….

  “Aren’t you going to read your letters?”

  “Of course.” Forcing her breathing to slow, Caroline shook free of daydreaming and turned to her correspondence. “This one’s from my uncle.”

  She read it, feeling his concern clearly even through the scrim of pen on paper. The last letter she had posted had been full of reassurances that she was nearly healed and would soon be on her way back to London. It had been mostly optimism, but she had needed to ease his worry.

  Next, a letter from the Ladies’ Auxiliary Board. She would read it over, then forward it to Maggie. She scanned the text, then read it again more carefully, a thread of anxiety winding through her.

  “Is something wrong?” Pen asked, perceptive as usual.

  “No—at least not yet. I can’t tell precisely, but…” She felt her brows pull into a frown.

  Vague allusions to other projects the board was considering, the reassurances they found her and Maggie’s work of value—but there was something in the tone of the letter that did not seem right. Most dismaying, however, was the postscript scrawled at the bottom from their ally within the organization, Mrs. Thorne. Advise you return posthaste. Dispensary funding in jeopardy.

  “What’s the dispensary?” Pen had come to stand beside her and was reading over her shoulder.

  “Maggie and I intend to expand the Twickenham School—the charity boarding school I told you of—and add a place to treat illnesses and make medicines available. It’s a pressing need in the poorer neighborhoods.”

  Pen nodded. “It seems an excellent idea.”

  “It is—and we thought the board agreed. But now I’m not so sure.” It was a string tying her to London, and tugging. “Fetch my lap desk, and I’ll compose a reply.” With Maggie so involved with the project in Valletta, Caroline would have to take the lead in London. Although it was difficult to argue persuasively for the project from such a distance.

  Pen held up a last package. “What’s this? It looks intriguing—from a place called Somergate.”

  “My brother’s estate.” Caroline took it, spirits lifting a notch. It contained a brief, concerned note from her brother, and a much longer letter from his wife, Lily, plus a watercolor sketch of a purple hyacinth in bloom.

  “Oh,” Pen said, “that is lovely.”

  “Yes, my brother married a talented artist. Lily is about to publish a folio of her botanical illustrations, and she always includes a little something in her letters. Last time it was a sketch of a teacup, though she prefers flowers.”

  “I do, too. But I never was much for drawing them.” Pen pursed her mouth and sent a considering look at the bouquet on the table.

  Caroline mentally added art lessons to the already long list of things she would like to provide the girl. She set Lily’s letter aside and regarded her companion. “Dear Pen, I have been thinking.”

  “Oh?” The girl tilted her head.

  With the reminders of her life in London, her thoughts about Pen’s future had crystallized into determination. “Come with me when I return to England. Now that Maggie is delayed indefinitely on Malta, I’m in need of a traveling companion. Besides, I would miss you terribly if you had to stay behind on Crete.”

  “Really?” Pen’s eyes opened wide. “I could go with you?”

 
“Of course. I would like nothing more—if you find it agreeable.” The Legaults had expressed a willingness to take her back to Paris with them, but Pen was an Englishwoman. She would thrive best rooted in her home soil. Would the girl refuse? Caroline laced her fingers together. She did not think so, but…

  “I do, I find it most agreeable!” Then Pen’s expression dimmed. “But perhaps it isn’t the best idea after all.”

  “And why is that?” Caroline leaned forward, willing her to agree.

  The girl bit her lip. “I’m not certain what my situation in London would be. And if—when—my father returns for me, he would wonder….”

  “Then Mr. Trentham and the Legaults can tell him where you have gone, and that you’re safe and well. You can leave a letter to him in their care.” Pen would be far better off making her own life than waiting here indefinitely for a man as negligent and unreliable as her father. “I will help in whatever way I can.” She set her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “In fact, I am in need of a secretary. It strikes me that you would fit that position exceptionally well. May I offer you permanent employment?”

  “Oh, Caro! What a dear friend you are.” The tears in Pen’s eyes spilled over. “I don’t deserve you.” She pulled her sleeve across her cheeks and leaned into Caroline’s embrace.

  “We all deserve the best, Pen. All of us.”

  The next day saw a return to warm breezes and sunshine, and Caroline felt a mounting anticipation for her afternoon swim with Alex. Anticipation that slowly curdled to frustration as she searched in vain for her bathing costume.

  “I can’t find it anywhere—and this is the last valise.”

  Pen looked up from the stack of garments she was refolding. “Likely Mrs. Farnsworth finds herself in possession of two.” She sounded exasperatingly calm.

  “But—” Caroline felt upset, all out of proportion. She had nurtured such hopes for the outing.

  “Caro, don’t fret.” Pen rose, a chemise draped over her arm. “We’ll devise something you can swim in. Don’t you think this will work?”

  “A single chemise?” She shook her head, then thought a moment. “Perhaps two, layered together, with the skirts split and bloused around my ankles. That ought to preserve my modesty well enough and still allow some freedom of motion.” And most important, enable her to spend the afternoon with Alex.

  A quarter hour later she laughed at herself in the mirror, her calico walking dress oddly bulky and bunched over the makeshift bathing costume. Hardly the alluring picture she had wanted to present, but it would have to do.

  “We can mend your chemises once we leave Crete,” Pen said. “We’ll have time on the way back to England.” The girl had clearly embraced the idea. Every other word she spoke today was England. “But Madame is expecting me, and I see Mr. Trentham is waiting below. Enjoy your swim!”

  “Tell him I’ll be down directly.”

  Outside, Caroline found her placid steed tethered beside Alex’s glossy chestnut. She shook her head in feigned dismay. “I did hope you’d find me a livelier mount. I trust we haven’t far to go.”

  “A short way down the coast. There’s a cove that’s warm, even in spring. Up you go.” He boosted her into the saddle, swung up onto Icarus, and led the way—at a very tranquil pace.

  It was not too long, perhaps a half hour, when the horses made their way down a boulder-strewn incline and she saw the cove. Sheltered by a curving line of hills that tapered into the sea, the turquoise water gleamed and beckoned, hushing quietly on the sand. Another few minutes’ ride saw them to the beach.

  “Here we are.” He reined Icarus beside a lone tree filled with creamy blossoms and dismounted.

  Caroline let him lift her down. The feel of his hands at her waist was distractingly pleasant, although he released her as soon as her feet touched the sand.

  “What is that lovely smell? It seems I should know it.”

  He wound the reins around a limb of the tree, then looked up into the branches. “Almond blossoms.” He reached and broke off a spray, presented it to her.

  “Thank you, good sir.” She laughed. “And here I thought you had no feelings for me.” She batted her eyelids in an exaggerated fashion.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Milady, your bath awaits.”

  She looked out over the bay. “It’s a marvelously large tub. However do you heat it?”

  “Come and see.” He strode down to the sea, then trailed one hand in the frothy waves that pushed up onto the sand. When he straightened she thought he was smiling.

  “How is it?” she called.

  “Perfect.”

  He peeled off his coat as he came back toward her. Like the locals, he went without a waistcoat, and the white expanse of his shirt made Caroline blink. She stared at the sun-bronzed skin at his throat.

  “I presume you brought your bathing costume?”

  She flushed. “I, ah, seem to have misplaced it.”

  “Really.” He looked at her, something flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t take you for a nude bather, Miss Huntington. How…provocative.”

  She shivered. The thought of being naked in front of him sent a curious prickling over her skin. “Ah…I have something I think will do. Instead.”

  He nodded, then stood watching her, hands on his hips.

  She slipped her arm from her sling, untied her bonnet, then began pulling pins from her hair, conscious of his gaze on her. The act of taking down her hair had never felt so intimate. Each loosened strand moved in the light breeze, brushed across her face and hands. She gathered it up, fingers beginning to plait it into a braid.

  “Leave your hair down,” he said, his voice compelling. “It’s beautiful.”

  She stilled. “Very well.” Pen could help her comb the tangles out later. She set her fingers to the buttons of her blouse, then glanced at him. “It’s rather ungentlemanly of you to watch.”

  A grin unfurled across his face, feral edged, nothing she had seen on him before, though his eyes held the same heat she recalled from their kiss by the frescoes. “I’ve told you before, I don’t profess to be a gentleman. And you’ve already said you are wearing something suitable.”

  She cleared her throat. Suddenly two chemises layered together did not seem nearly modest enough. Once they entered the water she should be sufficiently covered; it was just a matter of getting to that point.

  Heat gathered on her cheeks as she released her buttons, the blouse falling open while his eyes followed her hands. Her nipples tingled as she parted the cloth and slipped the blouse over her shoulders, letting the fabric flutter to the sand. Dear heavens. Her bathing costume felt as insubstantial as clouds—not suitable at all. She could tell as much by the hungry expression on his face.

  The air felt marvelous against her bare arms, her neck—as if his gaze had sensitized her skin. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and slipped open the first button of her skirt. Fire leaped in his eyes, and she felt a surge of knowing. He might think he was in command, but she suddenly knew she wielded power over him. Two more buttons, and then she paused.

  “Your turn.”

  His eyes widened a fraction. “It is?”

  She gave a slow nod.

  Lifting one brow, he mirrored her earlier actions, his hands brown against the white linen. One button, then the next—though, unlike her, there was nothing but Alex, naked, beneath his shirt. Caroline wet her lips, her breath deepening as his sun-darkened skin was revealed. His shoulders were firm with muscle, his ribs and stomach, the vee of hair that arrowed down beneath the waistband of his trousers….

  She jerked her head up, met his bright and knowing gaze. Ah, she was no match for him. Heat rushed through her and she was certain he could see the flush on her body, the confusion and desire blazoned on her face.

  He bent and pulled off his boots and she took advantage of his distraction to shed her skirts. They fell like a wilted blossom. She unlaced her boots and slipped her feet free, then stepped, barefoot
, out of the tumble of cloth. Toward the glittering sea. Toward Alex.

  England was worlds away. This was Crete: the soft breeze, the warm sun, the blossom-laden tree. Here the ancient gods had come to earth when the world was new. Alex held out his hand and together they walked down to where the water smoothed the shore.

  A wavelet hurried up the sand, pushing past its siblings, and broke over her toes. Caroline gasped and stepped back, out of the water’s reach. “It’s cold.”

  “I’ve never heard you squeal before.” He tilted his head, eyes laughing at her.

  “I did not squeal. It’s just…my skin is very sensitive to temperature.” She waved at the sea. “You go enjoy a nice swim. I’ll stay here in the sun for a bit longer.”

  “We didn’t come so I could swim, Caroline.”

  “But I’m certain you do it very well. I’ll just watch from the warm, dry sand.” She took another step back.

  He followed, a trace of a smile playing about his lips. “This kind of thing is always easier faced head-on. I’ll help you.”

  “Oh, I don’t need your help.” The wicked light in his eyes signaled his intentions, and she was not going to let him drag her in bodily.

  He reached for her. She turned and dashed away, toes digging into the sand, breeze in her hair, the breathless laughter of the chase bubbling through her. “You can’t catch me!” She looked over her shoulder to see him standing, shirtless and barefoot, hands on his hips.

  “You are only putting off the inevitable, you know.”

  “Won’t it affect your solemn dignity too much to chase an injured woman down the beach?” She paused and glanced at the clear water, the tumbled ochre stones.

  Movement made her whirl. Alex was much quicker than she had given him credit for. She darted, laughing, past his outstretched fingers, and headed back toward the almond tree.

  “No, you don’t.” He sprinted after her, caught her around the waist and pulled her back against him. “I see you require more persuasion.” His voice was warm, but his skin warmer, the heat of him pressing through the layers of fabric. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest in counterpoint to her own breath. “Will you go? Or do you need to be carried?”