by Suzi Love
Standing beneath Laura’s window, he wanted to act the fool and yell at the top of his lungs. Beg Laura to play his Juliet, throw wide her window, and listen to his heart-felt words. Ha! A theatrical re-enactment of Shakespeare’s love story here, below her window, would scandalize the entire square.
He threw back his head, laughed in silence. He didn’t give a damn. The tension left his body and his shoulders sagged in relief. For the first time in days, weeks, his heart felt light. He craved Lady Laura. All of her, all the time. What’s more, he’d reached a momentous decision. Nothing less would do than she agree to marry him. Become his countess. Bear his children.
He groaned. Convincing his argumentative adversary might prove the most taxing negotiations he’d ever undertaken. He’d need all his persuasive skills, all his knowledge of stage-managing and dealing with a difficult opponent.
Laura openly admitted she yearned for more demonstrations of his skills as a lover, but getting her to agree to be his wife wouldn’t be as easy as asking her to join him in a bed. No. It would need considerable rakish powers of persuasion to convince doubting Laura that the aroma surrounding his clothing and skin could be altered. Changed to smell exactly the way she perceived her future husband’s aroma should smell, should waft up to her sensitive nostrils. And no, he refused to accept being merely her parttime bed fellow.
He shook the trellis, decided it seemed sound. The rose bushes fanned out higher up. The snarled roots nearer the ground merely needed to be passed without any destruction of his clothing. Since his latest midnight escapades with his partner in crime, Lady-of-the-night Laura, his valet expressed grave concerns over the state of his master’s magnificent wardrobe. Bemoaned the fact he’d appear on the streets equipped like a common beggar.
Ah, yes! Perhaps this was his solution. Begin his nights with his scandalous cohort dressed as the low class criminals they invariably ended up mimicking, as they crawled through broken warehouse windows and searched through dusty archives. The things he did for love.
He tugged on the bottom wooden slats, once, twice. Nothing pulled away from the wall, so that part seemed soundly fixed. Reaching up, he repeated the process on the next three levels. All held still. He’d forgotten the items he carried, the reasons for this clandestine visit. Dim-wit. With difficulty, he looped their strings through his coat opening and, as an extra precaution, tucked them into his vest. He looked up. The window appeared a long, long way above his head. He groaned.
Generally, the women he liaised with were so eager for his nocturnal visits to their bed chambers, they provided a discreet escort through the front doors, every effort being taken to ensure his comfort along the corridors. By contrast, he didn’t make a practice of visiting the chambers, nor even the front greeting rooms, of unmarried innocents. Not without at least two of his sisters as a safeguard to his bachelorhood.
Still, if Romeo had managed it, Richard could. Juliet, or rather, Laura, was worthy of any slight risk to his manhood. Hand over hand, he started to climb, managed his own height off the ground before the first tremble rattled the wooden structure.
Hell’s teeth.
The trellis wobbled. Shook. Collapsed.
Whoosh! He fell backwards and landed flat on his back, rose thorns scratching his face in his backwards tumble. Air was knocked out of his lungs and he lay gulping for his next breath. He grabbed his stomach, only to remember the parcels secured there. Gingerly, he opened his vest and felt the wrappings. They appeared intact. The joke would be on him if he’d managed to destroy the same gift twice in one day.
When he could breathe again, without feeling like a horse had kicked him, he rolled to his knees to stand. Directly in his line of vision stood a pair of legs, ones resembling tree trunks and attached to sturdy men’s working boots. Warren! Well, he’d plenty of experience bluffing his way to a win in high stakes card games, so surely he was equal to the task of fooling a belligerent thief turned footman.
“Warren, just the man I hoped to find.”
Between the full moon and ample street lighting in the Square, he had no problem seeing the skepticism on the man’s face. He stood upright, adopting what his sisters referred to as his fiercest about-to-scold expression and what his servants called his, ‘Look out, the Earl’s after something’ stance.
“I brought these packages for the ladies–”
“Ladies, my lord, or one particular lady?”
“Very well. I brought these items to deliver to Lady Laura and didn’t want to wake the household, so I thought to drop them over the sill of her window.” The man stared at him with an evil eye. “Onto the floor of her room. Without waking her. Or anyone else.”
“Terrible thoughtful of ye. Sure ′er aunt will want to thank ye. When she ′ears of this little ′appening in the mornin′.”
‘Really, is there any need for her aunt to learn of my visit? She might fret more over her niece’s safety.”
“Sure she would, sir, sure she would. Which is why I’m out ′ere at night, prowlin′ , watchin′ for rum coves tryin′ to climb a rose trellis.”
Warren bent to pick up the broken pieces of wood and moved them to the edge of the garden bed.
Richard sighed. “All right. How much will it take to silence you?”
“A bribe, sir? You think my lady’s safe nights can be bought away with coin?”
He resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Barely. “I realize you don’t trust me after today’s activities, but is there anything I can do to assure you I mean no harm to the lady?”
Warren smiled, a terrifying sight. The gap-toothed crooked grin was only slightly less horrendous than his normal scowl. “Ye can show me what you intend leavin′ for our gracious lady, and ifin′ I say it’s orright, I’ll take you up there meself.”
Richard shock must have been evident, as he couldn’t stop his jaw dropping and his body relaxing into a slump. “You’d do that for me? After you saw me at the Countess’s house this very afternoon. I assumed you’d want to punch me in the nose.”
“On ′pon my word, me and the other footmen drew straws to see who had the luck to flatten your face for you, but Lady Laura wouldn’t hear of it. Said you must’ve ′ad a good reason. And that was before you came a callin′ and gave ′er your sorries. If you’re good ′nough for our lovely lady, you’re good ′nough for us.”
He refrained for laughing at this dubious honor. Somehow, he did feel fortunate to have passed inspection by a house full of Laura’s devoted servants. “May I ask you, Warren, why you are all so loyal to Lady Laura?”
“Oh, we’re grateful to all the family, and that’s God’s truth. I’d’ve been in me shroud. Planted deep in the dirt if Lord Michael hadn’t rescued me from those bloody nabs. Same for most of the servants ′'ere. Nothin′ we wouldn’t do for any one of this family. But ′tis Lady Laura I owe mostly. When me little one took sick–”
“You’ve children?”
“Yes, sir, two little ones and another on the way.”
A hair-raising vision of the streets of Cheapside swarming with red-headed insolent thieves, miniature versions of Warren embedded itself in his brain. He shuddered. Thank heaven Warren remained on the right side of the law these days. Then he thanked the good Lord again that Warren guarded Jamison House at night. The man deserved a bonus. He must remember to arrange for Whittaker to send a large basket of food and toys to Warren’s domicile. Assuming Warren intended letting him live to see morning.
“When me little Petie took da croup bad, ′twas milady who mixed one of 'er brews and carried it 'round to me missus. Sat up all the night with Petie feedin' him her curative from a spoon. 'til Petie stopped the coughin′. Saved me boy’s life. Saved many another life too wit' them potions and lotions milady mixes in the shed out back of the garden. Terrible sad, though.”
He raised his brows and showed his curiosity, encouraging Warren to continue with his insights. Modesty would prevent Laura ever revealing such details about how she spent h
er hours, instead of frittering them away at one social event after another. She’d never blow her own trumpet.
“The old Earl - though he’s supposed ta be master, he’s never done a good thing for these lovely ladies. Most 'specially not for Lady Laura. Made Thompkins build milady’s distillery over far side of the garden. Far away and outta his sight as possible.”
“Hear no evil, see no evil.”
“Beggin′ pardon.”
“Ah, no, nothing. Merely an old nursery mind came to mind. Laura’s father liked her out of his sight, so he could put her out of his mind. As if his daughter never existed.”
“And milady with her wondrous nose what smells the sweat on a person’s skin and knows straight off what ails them. And them hands what mixes things to make ye sickness go away. ′Tis a marvelous gift. And ′tis a crying shame more can’t see that it is.”
Richard blinked several times to dispel the moisture gathering in his eyes at Warren’s tribute to his employer.
“You’re quite correct, Warren. ′Tis a terrible shame Lady Laura is forced to hide her skills.” He nodded, slapped the other man on the back. “I think it’s well past time someone did something about that, don’t you?”
Warren nodded, his own eyes streaming with tears. The footman used his enormous paw to swipe away the trail of tears on his cheeks and then beckoned to Richard to follow him. Together they made their way to an unobtrusive side door, a servant’s entrance, where Warren slipped through and waited for Richard to enter. The footman pointed at the tight steps leading up to the bedrooms.
“De-li-ver ye parcels. Nothin' more. I’ll be waitin' right 'ere to let ye out ag'in.”
Ah, well, that settled the question of whether or not he’d join his beautiful temptress in her bed when he reached her room. He’d spent the last hour convincing himself he possessed enough fortitude to do what he’d come for, and then leave. Yet, he’d also been honest with himself. If Laura awakened and looked at him with seduction in the inky depths of her eyes, his weak will might have been tempted to surrender to her charms. Give in to her coaxing and continue their lessons in love. No question of that now.
He reached her room and padded inside. Beside her bed, he stopped and peered down at her. Slate black curls wound like the fingers of streams through the marsh at night across her pillow. Her arms were thrown up above her head and her fists were clenched as she groaned and murmured in her sleep. As he watched, she twisted and turned, caught in some wild dream.
“No, no, no,” she called out.
“Shush, love, shush, it’s just a dream.”
If he didn’t quieten her, one of the other women would rush to investigate her noises and discover him here, standing like a forlorn lovesick idiot staring at her linen-covered form in her bed, waiting for her to throw him a few crumbs of pleasure. She rolled from side to side, groaned again, louder this time and thrashed her head against the pillows.
He dropped his wrapped parcels on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, drawing her fists down into his hands. With his fingers, he unfurled their clench and soothed their soft interiors until she relaxed her tense grip.
“That’s it, love, just a dream.” He reached up and stroked the damp strands of hair away from her face, marveling at the softness of her skin. Honey again. Something like the lotion she used on her hands.
On impulse, he bent closer to her face and licked a light trail up one side. She tasted like pure heaven. One more and he’d stop. Only one more taste of her skin on the side of her face meant another on her neck and, finally, a light lick across her slightly-opened mouth.
He’d go to hell for this, but he couldn’t resist. He opened his own mouth against her and stilled, closing his eyes against the jolt of pleasure rushing through his body. The joy signing through his limbs and the blood heating in his veins. Just once more. He sighed softly against her lips, feeling his breath brush over her warm flesh and come back to invade his mouth and his senses.
Very slowly he pulled away and opened his eyes. Damnation. A deep, dark, dazzled gaze met his. Using extreme care, he stood and started to back away, hoping she slept and hadn’t really opened her eyes and stared at him. Hoping she’d imagine herself to be caught in the throes of a dream.
“Stop.” Her hand shot out to grasp his wrist, pushing the bedclothes down past her waist. Though her expression looked sluggish, half asleep, the grip on his arm was firm. “Richard?”
He sat again, and resumed a soft stoke of her hair, willing her eyes to close. After several long heart-stopping seconds, her lids drifted shut and her hand dropped back to the bedclothes.
“Don’t go. I need you.” Her words came as a sleepy closed-eyed murmur. “Dreams. Bad.”
“I know, love. Shush. I’m here. Go back to sleep.”
“Help me. Love me.”
No man could resist her sad begging voice and remain sane. No man could walk away and leave an angel in pain. And especially not a man who cared more for her well-being than for his own life.
He moved to the edge of the bed and stretched out beside her, keeping his boots away from the pretty coverlet. Large, dirty, man-sized footprints on her spread would tell everything if noticed in the morning. By tucking one arm under her neck, he could raise her slightly to meet the downward quest of his mouth.
“How can I help but love you, my darling?” He murmured soft words over and over as he brushed his mouth back and forth across hers in time to his soothing nonsenses.
Her free arm lifted on the other side and came across his neck, anchoring him in place, pulling him closer. Her limb draped him limply, yet gave implicit orders as to what she required form him. Nothing differed from when she was awake. Still demanding. Still greedy. Still his.
He kissed her now as he wanted, letting her feel his own greed and raw need. Not of a depth to frighten her, merely to demonstrate the depth of his desire and the care he was prepared to take with her tutoring. Not tonight though, Not with Wicked Warren watching for him below stairs. He dragged back an inch and slid his mouth further south on her body. Gooseflesh pebbled along bare skin and her nipples rose to instant attention and pushed through the thin lawn of her nightgown. He swallowed.
“You’re so responsive, so passionate,” he murmured, his face snug against her warm breast. She’d better agree to marry him, quickly, or he’d need to be locked in Bedlam with lunatic Lady Hetherington and her henchmen.
He wanted so much that his body shook with it. His fingers trembled as they hovered a hair’s breadth above her breast. He cupped it, the full round shape of pulsing female flesh swelled against his palm and wrung an unbidden groan from his lips. Sliding down a little more, he twisted so he half covered her body with his and lowered his mouth over her areola, sucking the entire area into his starving mouth.
Adopting the age old rhythms of a beloved, he sucked, tugged, squeezed and pulled on her breast, and marveled at the newness of the sensations he experienced only with this particular woman. At the same time, he felt he’d been her lover forever, knowing the intricacies of her body, the ways she twisted and shifted when she wanted him to move to the other neglected breast; the sweet sucking sound she made with her mouth in unison with his noisier ones, as if urging him on, stronger, faster, longer, and always more, more, more.
Her unspoken chant resounded through his head. Give me more, she cried. Give me everything. He slid one hand beneath the covers and felt for the hem of the gown, sliding it upwards with his fingers in a soft slow sensuous glide over petal-soft skin. He pictured her thighs. They’d be milky white, smelling of honey from her lotions and dripping with cream from her womanly center.
His middle finger touched liquid: smooth, flowing, wet. Oh, so very, very wet. So ready for him. As he was ready for her. No, not yet.
He touched her folds, the gentle kiss of a butterfly landing on a beautiful flower, and she arched from the bed. Her hips lifted towards his hand, seared back and forth, seeking. Her eyelids lifted a fraction
, her dark lashes fluttering several times as she struggled to focus on his face.
“Richard, I need you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I need you, too. You have no idea how much I want you right now. But I can’t. I promised Michael. I promised Cayle and Becca and–” He broke off and gave a quiet chuckle. “And even Warren standing guard downstairs. Believe me, I will soon claim you in every way possible. But not here, Not tonight. Not when your sister or aunt may come into the room at any moment. When I have you, little love, it will be at a time when we can enjoy each other’s bodies. When the desperation to join with each other is so overwhelming that nothing can stop us. Do you understand?”
She nodded and relaxed back against the sheet. She squirmed. “It hurts.”
He chuckled again. “I know, my sweet. It hurts me, too.”
He shifted slightly on the bed, trying to ease his own rising discomfort. His hard erection pushed against his trouser seams, begging for release. He reached down to ease it into a more comfortable position, but encountered another hand already there, reaching, searching.
Laura’s touch on his aroused flesh, even through the layers of cloth, was so exquisite he could die happy right now, simply from knowing the pleasure of her hand moving over this throbbing part of his body. He swelled into her palm and groaned again. Unable to stand the suspense, he reached down and tugged opened the first two button, freeing his erection to jut into the air. Her hand sought it blindly again. Placing his own palm over her hand, he guided her to where he bounced and bobbed beside her hip, his engorged flesh expressing its delight at escaping its tight confines.
Her fingers wrapped around him, sweetly, softly, femininely, and his eye rolled back in his head. He swore.
She jerked back. “Did that hurt?”
He shook his head and then realized she couldn’t see those sort of movements in the darkened room. They were both working on their other senses; those of touch and sound and smell. Yes. That might be the way to convince her they were right for each other, after all. Not his outer distillery concocted fragrance, but his essence.
