He let go of her wrists, but she did not move her hands. Instead, she gripped the pillow beneath her head, biting her lip at the foreign sensation as he gently parted the folds of her sex. When he began to nudge inside her, panic returned. He felt too large, filling her so completely. She couldn’t breathe from the sensation of it.
“Relax,” he whispered, halting his movements as he gently kissed her ear, her neck. Those slow, languorous kisses eased some of the tension. As she began to relax, he sank deeper. It didn’t hurt, but it was impossibly alien.
He tucked one hand behind her knee, hitching it higher until she had no choice but to wrap her leg around him. It opened her more fully, easing his passage. There was a slight flash of pain, a second and no more and then she felt him deep within her.
Graham rested his forehead against hers for a moment, taking deep, steadying breaths. Then he began to move. Long, slow strokes as he set an easy rhythm that had her gasping. All the giggling, whispered conversations between maids had not prepared her for the reality of what it meant to have him inside her. The soul-scorching intimacy of it as she looked into his eyes as he sank into her again and again stripped her of every defense and left her vulnerable in a way that rattled her.
But soon, such thoughts fled. As the tension built again, it robbed her of thought altogether. There was no time to contemplate the emotional ramifications of what she had done. There was only one exquisite sensation bleeding into the next, driving her upward, climbing toward release.
It happened quickly. The tension sharpened, her muscles drew taut and she knew what it meant, understood the pleasure that was to come and she reached for it, arching up to meet him as he thrust more deeply into her. She shattered, her body spasming around him. He tensed, every muscle of his body like warm stone against her as his breath escaped on a shattered groan. His hips jerked against hers and she felt the warmth of him flooding her as he took his own pleasure.
Afterward, lying there in his bed, their limbs twined together and sweat drying on their skin, neither spoke. Neither of them was ready to acknowledge the magnitude of what had just occurred or the consequences it could bring for them both. The morning was soon enough to think of such things.
*
Edmund drew his horse up, pausing at the side of the road as he looked back over his shoulder. He had not put as much distance between himself and Castle Black as he’d intended. What he’d intended to be a brief stop at the inn had turned into something else entirely.
Young Christopher had been there, drinking ale with the light skirt he fancied. They’d shared a few pints of the swill and discussed what to do about the great pretender in their midst. Then, slightly drunk and feeling a bit envious of the boy’s lusty tavern wench, Edmund had spent a bit of time with her compatriot. For a bit of coin, the lovely girl had taken him in her mouth and shown him a bit of heaven.
A noise from the trees beyond pulled him from his sensual reverie. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
No answer came, and yet he’d never been more certain of the fact that he was not alone. He felt watched, hunted even. Was it that upstart following him? Trying to avoid the inevitable outcome of being labeled an imposter by the House of Lords?
Edmund turned his horse and headed back the way he’d come. There, just beyond the trees, he saw a shadowy figure emerge. “Identify yourself!” he demanded.
The figure stepped forward, the blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. Immediately, Edmund relaxed. “Christopher! What are you doing out here? I thought you meant to stay at the tavern?”
“My plans have changed it would seem.”
Edmund frowned. The voice was wrong, different, the words accented strangely. Was it just the drink?
“Are you with me to London then? It would lend weight to my petition for you to be there with me! Together, we can have him declared an imposter with little or no effort, I think,” Edmund said.
He stepped forward, coming closer. It wasn’t just the voice that was different. The clothes were as well. He’d changed into a heavy redingote that Edmund did not recall seeing before.
“No, Edmund. That is not part of my plan… I cannot afford to have you drawing undue attention to us right now. Not when I am so close to having all that I have ever wanted.”
Edmund didn’t question the statement. Instead, his attention was focused on the pistol that Christopher had drawn from the pocket of his great coat. “What are you about? This is madness!”
The weapon fired with a flash and blinding pain exploded in Edmund’s side. He tumbled from his horse, falling to the ground as he gasped for breath.
The blond man walked toward him then. The closer he came, the more wrong he looked. It had to be Christopher. Who else could it be? Yet even as he lay there awash in his own blood, Edmund was not certain. Pressing a hand to his wounded side, he tried to staunch the blood.
His shooter slapped the rump of Edmund’s mount, sending it fleeing into the woods.
“I only brought the one,” the man said, gesturing to his pistol. “And no extra shot. A merciful man would have shot you in the head or the heart and made it quick. As you lay here bleeding from your gut, you may draw your own conclusions about my character.”
“Not Christopher,” Edmund muttered.
The man squatted down next to him. “Not yet. But I will be.”
Chapter Seventeen
Graham had slept but very little. Most of the night had been spent marveling at the woman beside him. Physically, she was perfect to him in every way but, more than that, he felt to his very bones that she was what he’d been searching for all along. He’d wanted a sense of belonging to something—to someone. In the dark hours of the night, with her in his arms, her body warm and willing beneath him, he’d found that. Still, there was a part of him that whispered he did not deserve it, did not deserve her.
She slept peacefully, untroubled by demons and by a dark and twisted past. Curled against him, soft and warm, she represented all that he craved in life and all that had been denied him to that point.
Absently, he lifted a lock of her hair and twined it about his fingers. The dark strands felt like spun silk. She stirred then, her lashes fluttering against his chest until finally her eyes opened fully. They had not closed the bed curtains and the first faint light of dawn was seeping in through the curtains.
“You should go,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. “If the servants see you sneaking out of my chamber in the wee hours of the morning there will be no end to the gossip.”
“And is that you’re only reason for hurrying me off?” he asked.
“What other reason could there be?” she asked, sitting up. She clutched the sheet to her chest, shielding her breasts from his view. His temptress of the night had grown shy with the dawn, it seemed.
“Regret,” he offered.
She didn’t answer immediately. For the heartbeat it took for her to form a response, his stomach knotted with tension.
“I regret nothing… except that I have to ask you to sneak away in the light of day,” she finally said. “I do not feel any shame for what we did, for the liberties I allowed you. I know that I should. But try as I might, I cannot muster any real contrition. False piety after hedonistic enthusiasm does not sit well with me.”
“Then come to me tonight,” he urged. “When the servants are abed and the house is dark… come to my bed and let me show you what true hedonism can be.”
Her expression revealed clearly just how tempted she was. But she ducked her head, her hair falling over her face in a movement that was unconsciously seductive. “I don’t know yet. It all depends on what happens today with Agatha. If she isn’t better—”
“Dr. Warner has assured us that she will recover, but that it will be a difficult process.”
“Do you believe him?” she asked, pausing as she attempted to bring some order to the wild, tangled mass of her hair. Recalling how her hair had wrapped around him the night before, the silken tresse
s sliding over his skin as he made love to her a second time, Graham had to fight the urge to simply drag her back to the bed.
Forcing himself to focus on the issue at hand, he said, “He’s beyond a doubt one of the most skilled and knowledgeable men of medicine that I have ever encountered.”
“How do you know him?” she asked, rising from the bed and taking the sheet with her.
He sat there, completely oblivious to his nakedness. She was not. When she glanced back at him, her face flamed with a vivid blush.
“It’s a bit late for missishness,” he teased.
“You have no shame.”
“Not a bit of it,” he admitted. “And I’ll soon have you prancing naked through this chamber without a second thought. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. You have the most perfect backside… lush, full, heart-shaped. It fits perfectly in my hands—”
“Stop it!” she hissed, but there was laughter in her voice as well. “Now you’re embarrassing me on purpose.”
“Yes, I am,” he admitted, but there was no teasing in his tone. He was completely serious as he spoke. “Because more than your face blushes and, if it weren’t daylight, I’d drag you right back to this bed and show you just how entrancing I find it.”
She had managed to don her shift and was struggling into her stays, but she stopped then. “I’ll come to you tonight. You’ve persuaded me with sadly little effort it seems. I’ve turned into quite the wanton.”
“There’s no shame in it… whatever this is between us, Beatrice, it isn’t simply slaking a lust. You do know that?”
She’d managed to untangle her shift from their array of discarded clothing and donned the rumpled garment. “I know that I want it to be… but there is far more at play here than what we want. You are Lord Blakemore. That comes with responsibilities, Graham, that you would not be meeting if you were to form some sort of permanent attachment to me.”
“That will be my decision to make… mine and yours. Everyone else and their opinions be damned,” he said and rose from the bed. Naked, he stood before her and helped her to tug the mass of her dark hair from the wrap she’d been struggling to don. “When I decide I want something, nothing will stand in my way, Beatrice. Nothing.”
She said nothing in response, just stared up at him for the longest moment. The silence stretched between them until he reached out, cupped her face in his hand and leaned forward to kiss her.
A soft knock at the door interrupted them. It opened and Betsy ducked inside. She took one look at Graham, her eyes widened, and then she turned her face away. “Miss, the servants are up and about and I heard them talking in the kitchen that his lordship’s dinner hadn’t been touched. They gossip something awful,” the maid offered weakly.
In deference to the servant’s clearly scandalized state, Graham reached for the discarded sheet and wrapped it about his waist. “Can you get to my chamber and retrieve fresh clothing for me?”
“Yes, my lord,” Betsy answered. “We had the trunks brought down from the attic with the late Lord Blakemore’s things in them. They’ve all been laundered and aired out. You’ll be togged out like a lord ought to be.”
“Go fetch them for me,” he said.
“You’ve gotten very comfortable issuing orders for someone who wasn’t even sure a day ago that you were actually a lord,” Beatrice rebuked as Betsy made her escape, carting his discarded clothing with her.
“What’s got your feathers ruffled, Beatrice? That your maid found me here or that others might be whispering about us even now?”
“What has my feathers ruffled, Graham, is your autocratic behavior! You may be the Lord of Castle Black, but I’m not a servant for you to order about and command. I have a say in what happens between us.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You certainly do. And if you say no to me because you truly do not want me, I will abide by it. But if you say no out of some ridiculous notion that I have to land myself an heiress for the sake of the family, I’ll ignore that as any sane man ought to.”
“It isn’t ridiculous! I will not see the home I love, the only home I’ve ever known destroyed because I was too selfish to do what was right!”
Betsy returned then and shushed them both. As if realizing that she’d just reprimanded her employer like one would an errant child, she said, “You can be heard in the corridor! Be mindful of what you say,” she whispered.
Graham reached for the breeches she’d delivered, managed to don them beneath the sheet, and then quickly tugged a shirt on over his head. “Clearly the dew is off the rose if we cannot avoid being at one another’s throats already. Can you get me to Lady Agatha’s chamber from here?”
“Yes, my lord. Not directly in, but just across the hall from it.”
“I will go check in on her and if anyone has questions about where I was or what I was doing, that should suffice as a handy enough alibi,” he offered.
*
Beatrice watched them leave, Betsy leading him through the maze of secret corridors and priest holes. She’d turned into a shrew and she had no notion of why. You do know. Her conscience pricked her once more. It was fear. Having given herself to him so completely, she knew that there was no going back. She would, in her heart at least, be tied to him forever.
The maid returned then. She stepped forward and lifted an impossibly tangled lock of Beatrice’s hair and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “I did tell you that a man would one day be very appreciative of it!”
“You judge me for the snarls in my hair more than the man in my bed,” Beatrice said with a shake of her head.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but if the other women in this house knew what was hiding under his clothes, there’d have been a queue outside his chamber door… especially Mrs. Blakemore. With Mr. Blakemore gone off to London and Mr. Christopher hiding out in the village tavern all night, she near broke one of the footmen! Several of the maids said they could hear them carrying on!”
“You’ve always bordered on inappropriate, Betsy, but now you’re saying scandalous things on purpose!”
“No, Miss. Now, since I know that neither your ears nor any other part of you is virginal, I no longer have to censor the gossip I bring to you,” she answered smartly. “Mrs. Blakemore has been dallying with more than one of the footmen and the stable hands for years. Mr. Christopher was something of a surprise but, in truth, not completely unexpected.”
They’d somehow made it to her dressing table and Betsy was doing her best to untangle the knots. It would take a miracle, Beatrice thought. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since Mr. Blakemore brought her here,” the maid replied. “I never said anything to you because I always thought it was just the footmen. She’d not be the first lady to take one of her servants as a lover.”
“I suppose not. Do you think Edmund knows?”
“I think a better question, Miss, would be whether or not he cares.”
Beatrice continued to mull that over as, one by one, each of the snarls was coaxed out.
*
Graham knocked softly on Lady Agatha’s door and an exhausted Crenshaw finally answered. The woman looked haggard and tired. “Is there another servant in this house you would trust to watch over her?” There was no preamble, no softening of the statement and, at the woman’s startled look, he realized she feared being sacked. “It’s too much for one person to provide round the clock care, Crenshaw. If there is someone else, you may look after her in shifts so that you can get a decent amount of rest.”
The maid immediately relaxed, the tension seeping from her face. “My aunt is not currently employed here as she is retired. She had been Lady Agatha’s maid before I took up the position and resides with my mother in the village. I think she would welcome an opportunity to return to Castle Black to care for her ladyship.”
“Speak to Hammond and see about having her fetched then… if he questions it, tell him it is on my order.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Certa
inly, my lord.”
Entering the suite as the maid exited, he crossed the small sitting room to Lady Agatha’s bedchamber. She lay in the center of the large bed looking impossibly fragile and weak. Her pallor was alarming enough but the fine sheen of perspiration on her skin was even more so.
“You are too ill. This cannot be good for you. Warner has decreased your dosage too quickly,” he stated.
She shook her head even as she beckoned him forward to the chair placed next to her bed. “Physically, the misery is nearly unbearable. Yet, my thinking is clearer than it has been in years, Graham. I would rather be done with it quickly if I can. I will gladly tolerate the discomfort for the desired outcome!” Her expression shifted, a worried look crossing her features as she glanced up at him. “You must believe that I did not know what Dr. Shepherd was about. I would never have knowingly succumbed to such a weakness! I find it utterly shameful.”
“I do believe that,” he agreed as he settled into the chair she’d indicated. “Your strength of character is not in question… what I do question is Dr. Shepherd’s motive. Is it possible that the laudanum was added to those elixirs and tonics in the hopes of making you more compliant?” It was an ugly suspicion. But he could not shake the thought that, perhaps, someone had been attempting to control Lady Agatha’s behavior by leaving her in a vulnerable state.
“Compliant with what?” she asked.
“With taking the necessary steps to have me declared dead and the title passed officially to Christopher?”
“There is no amount of opium that would ever have prompted such,” she denied vehemently.
“And when that was realized, someone began adding foxglove to the mix to eliminate you altogether… I very much fear,” he admitted reluctantly, “that we are not dealing with a straightforward case of one villain being responsible for all of the misdeeds in this house. I feel that there are multiple schemes in play and we are untangling all the threads at a snail’s pace.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 89
