A Hero and A Gentleman

by JoMarie DeGioia

  “No,” he mumbled.

  She escaped him and stood beside the large bed. It looked ridiculously small with Blake’s big frame sprawled upon it. She chewed her thumbnail as she thought. She had expected him to come to her tonight. It was his privilege as her husband. But the shocking splendor of it, the excitement of his mouth upon her! Even last night was nothing to tonight’s frantic pursuit. And she had loved every wild moment. Oh, she was surely shameful.

  Her chemise was a spot of white upon the floor, wrinkled and discarded in their haste. She donned the garment and tied the ribbons over her still-tingling breasts. Running her fingers through her hair, she looked about the chamber. The fat chair in the sitting area wouldn’t serve.

  Blake shifted on the bed and she eased herself into the space he had created, giving him her back. A sigh of intense satisfaction escaped her husband as he threw his arm over her waist, anchoring her to him. He mumbled then, something just beyond Taylor’s comprehension. If she believed he cared for her as deeply as she did for him, she could almost imagine the words she’d wished he’d said. For wouldn’t it be marvelous if he’d truly uttered them?

  She let his warmth wrap around her as she closed her eyes and awaited slumber. My love, she thought he’d said. She dared not hope he’d said as much. But she’d take it as a promise of something more than passion. Maybe he cared for her more than she’d believed.

  * * *

  Blake awoke to a familiar pounding in his skull. Groaning, he turned without opening his eyes and nearly fell out of the tall bed. What the devil . . . ? His bleary eyes peeked beneath swollen lids to take in the sun-bright chamber. Turning his head sent a dizzying sensation through it. His wits settled at last as he glimpsed the blanket of golden waves beside him on the pillow. From beneath that shimmering curtain he spied the face of his wife. Taylor slept against his side in the bed—where she should be, damn it—one delicate hand splayed on his chest. He glanced down at that hand and felt a quickening in his belly. He sat up, moaning aloud at the pain the movement caused him.

  “Hmm?” Taylor murmured. “What is it?”

  Blake dragged his fingers through his hair and silently prayed for coherent thought as the girl stretched her supple form.

  She opened her eyes and smiled shyly up at him. “You’re awake.”

  Blake grunted in answer. She brushed that golden curtain back from her face as she lost her smile. He remembered little of the past evening, though by the rumpled linens and well-loved blush of his bride, he could wager a guess. She reached for him and he flinched.

  “I . . . ,” he began. “I have pressing matters awaiting me this morning.”

  Taylor stared at him, a swirl of clouded misunderstanding in her eyes. Blake dropped a kiss on her lips and offered her a cocky grin.

  “Forgive me, love.” He bent to retrieve his breeches from the floor, keeping his back to her. “We can’t enjoy another day of leisure in the village at present.”

  “I hadn’t thought so,” came her soft answer.

  He buttoned his breeches and turned to face her. She perched on the bed, the hem of her chemise riding high on her thighs as she tucked her legs beneath her. He saw it then, flashes of memory from the previous night. His lips on her, her flesh so sweet beneath his questing tongue. The driving need to possess her making him forget everything about tenderness and care as he . . . well, hell.

  “Taylor, I wasn’t in my right mind last night.”

  She blinked up at him, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. He fought the nausea clawing at his belly and sat down beside her. When the room settled before his eyes, he took her hand in his. “I’m sorry if I was rough with you. I had too much ale.”

  His words hung in the air. She blinked again and blushed a beguiling shade of pink right to the roots of her wildly-tousled hair. He spat out a curse and came to his feet, his head pounding from the motion. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  Taylor said nothing as he collected the rest of his clothes and stalked into the dressing room. He threw his clothes on the floor and sank onto a small chair in the corner. He hung his head in his hands and tried to make sense of last night.

  He remembered taking a very civilized early dinner with his bride, that much was true. And she’d left the dining room as the other patrons began to arrive. Tankards of ale—many, many tankards of ale, his conscience scolded—had passed his lips before he’d stumbled up the stairs. Aside for the impression of incredible pleasure, he had only flashes of recognition of the time spent in their bed. Had he hurt her? He didn’t think so. She’d moved with her usual grace and agility this morning. He’d forced an intimacy upon her, unknown until their wedding night. Ah God, she was sweet. That much he did remember. He took his pleasure deep within her as she cried out his name. And he’d felt her release to his very soul. He groaned again.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 19

  Taylor called for a bath and paced about the chamber. She worried the full, ruffled sleeves of her new wrapper from Mrs. Smythe’s shop and sought to put aside the confusion Blake had caused her that morning. Oh, he’d shocked her last evening, that was certain. At last coming to their room at so late an hour, using all of his skills to awaken her passion in more ways than one. But the pleasure, the love she’d felt within her, had been as pure and clean as the sky after a dowsing rain. But to see his shame, his embarrassment, with the coming of daylight . . . what did it all mean?

  Whether he loathed himself this morning or her, she wouldn’t wager a guess. She wouldn’t think about it now. He had his work, he’d said. Well, she had her few duties at the public house to keep her sane until they could find Robert. She’d dress and go about her own business. Maybe someone in the village remembered something about Robert’s last case, something they wouldn’t disclose to a stranger but would readily tell Blake’s wife. She couldn’t sit idle for much longer. It made her almost as frantic as Blake had been last night.

  She wouldn’t think about his words, whispered before he fell to snoring again. No. She wouldn’t put store in something so precious, not when she had other matters to focus on.

  * * *

  “Those are quite lovely.”

  Taylor turned from her task in the entry to find her husband at the bottom of the stairs. So tall, so commanding even in so ordinary a setting. Flashes of recollection struck her, his fit body poised above hers, his harshly-whispered words of encouragement as they neared their peak. She brushed a lock of hair back from her face and regarded him, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. He gestured toward the large bouquet of flowers in their silver vase and brought Taylor back to the present.

  An early morning trip into town had yielded the first of summer’s blooms, and she’d taken advantage of the diversion of cutting and arranging them. After another night spent in her husband’s arms—the passion and release as sharp and sweet as each evening since speaking their vows five days ago—she’d readied for her day in her usual manner. Sally’s companionship and Mrs. Mott’s directions filled her days, which was fortunate since Blake kept himself from her save for sharing a polite morning meal. His hours between breakfast and dinner were still a mystery to her.

  He said nothing of it and wouldn’t share his concerns, not even about Robert. She often glimpsed the worry lines that bracketed his mouth, but would venture no question of it. It was none of her concern, would come his answer. And she couldn’t bear to be shut out of his life in such an overt manner.

  “I believe summer is almost upon us,” she said. “I can scarcely believe so much time has passed since I first came here.” And so much has changed.

  Blake opened his mouth to speak, and merely gave a shake of his dark head. He stepped closer and bent his head to hers. The nearness of him, the pull on her heart, almost betrayed her. But she took his kiss and, while achingly short, she still felt her pulse race.

  He gazed at her, his brow furrowed. “Taylor—”

  The door to the pub opened and
Mr. Gaines entered. The vicar wore his usual dull black jacket and wide-brimmed hat, but his eyes were bright in his thin, flushed face. He offered Taylor a smile and bow. “Good morning, Lady Thompson.” He looked to Blake. “Thompson, I must speak with you.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Gaines?” Blake asked.

  The man frowned and flicked his eyes toward Taylor once again. She feigned renewed interest in the flowers. Footsteps sounded on the polished wood planks as the two gentlemen went into Blake’s office.

  Her curiosity was piqued, but she knew no information would come from that quarter. Letting out a sigh of resignation, she returned to trimming the flower stems.

  * * *

  Blake turned to Gaines as he closed the office door. He settled himself behind his desk. “What is the matter?”

  The clergyman removed his hat and sat in the chair facing the desk. “Someone has been askin’ after your wife, Thompson. In the village and at the vicarage.”

  Unease filled Blake. “Who?”

  “He claims a relation to Lady Thompson,” the vicar said. “Her cousin.”

  “Bloody—” Blake let out a breath. “Forgive me, Gaines.”

  Gaines leaned forward in his chair. “Do you know the fellow? He claims concern for her well-being.”

  Blake snorted at that. “Trevor Shelby cares for no one but himself. Did you tell him she’s my wife?”

  Gaines shook his head. “He had that bit of information before he knocked on my door, I wager. He seemed far more interested in your affairs.”

  “My affairs?” Blake asked. “My work?”

  “He asked about your habits. What, um, missions drew you at present.”

  Blake studied the clergyman. His discretion was well known to Blake, as was his regard for Blake’s wife. “You told him nothing.”

  It was a statement, one to which Gaines agreed readily.

  “When he spoke of Lady Thompson . . .” The vicar cleared his throat as his face flushed slightly. “I’ve seen such a look of lechery before, but he seemed angry as well.”

  Blake’s blood pounded in his ears and he sought to maintain composure. Trevor had struck Taylor that long-ago evening. Ah, but if only he had the dandy before him now.

  “I won’t deny the fop had designs on Taylor,” Blake said. “I know little of his actions, since she left Sussex and came here because of him.”

  Gaines offered Blake a sliver of a smile then. “Most fortunate for you. And for Homerton.”

  Blake’s anger began to fade. Taylor’s daily trips into the village yielded more than pretty flowers and fine linens, apparently. He came to his feet and the vicar did likewise.

  “Thank you for coming to me, Gaines,” Blake said.

  The other man nodded and donned his hat. “Mrs. Gaines requests the presence of you and your lovely wife to dine at the vicarage tomorrow evenin’, Thompson.”

  Blake shouldn’t have been surprised at the invitation. Taylor had undoubtedly worked her own particular magic on the village, and here was evidence of her success.

  “We’d be pleased to join you,” he said to Gaines.

  He opened the door and the vicar took his leave. Blake stood there for a moment. Dinner with the vicar and his wife? My God. He was respectable! “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  A reluctant smile curved his lips. He’d never set out to earn anyone’s respect. But it made him happy to think he could become a man Taylor could be proud of. The thought surprised him.

  Anger still soured his belly when he thought of Trevor. Why would he ask about Blake’s cases? Did the bastard hope to find Taylor unguarded and take her from him? Never. That scrap of a coward wouldn’t dare. But if Trevor screwed up his courage and made any attempt, he’d regret it to his dying day, which wouldn’t be long after.

  There in the entry, with the sunlight streaming through the small windows to set her golden hair afire, Taylor had been heartbreakingly lovely. Last night in their chamber she’d been as eager as he, her hands and mouth branding every place they touched on his body. The brief breakfasts and polite dinners, separated by hours spent in different pursuits, seemed absurd when compared to their absolute abandon in bed. And he was grateful for the passion that flowed between them. She only had to look at him and he wanted her. Bloody hell, he’d wanted to take her there in the entry, to spill those pretty summer flowers on the hard wood floor and spread her atop them. My God, he wanted her even now, to lift the skirt of her yellow frock and bury himself as deep as he could go.

  The concern he’d seen in her eyes, the curiosity stamped on her face, told him much. She cared for him, of that he had little doubt. A woman like Taylor couldn’t give herself so completely, trust a man with her body as she did, and not also give her heart. He’d say nothing of it to her, of course. To admit such feelings would cause her pain when he couldn’t return the sentiment. That quickening in his belly came again and his mind fought his heart’s murmurings. What the devil ailed him? Was his mind addled from desiring her so much?

  He stared out the window at the bustling village, a village now home to him despite his years of reluctance. His wife had wrought this change; he only had to remember the vicar’s indulgent smile as he invited the two of them to dine. But what of Taylor? Did she indeed love him? Was that what he truly saw in her eyes when she looked at him?

  For a moment he allowed the possibility and his heart swelled in response. To be loved by such a woman made him want to shout out his acceptance. Lord, he was turning daft. Love had no place in their union; on that subject he had his wife’s agreement. She was safe there with him, despite Trevor’s recent trip into Homerton. Safe until they found Robert, or found out what really happened that night. And if that bastard Trevor dared to come to The Hideaway . . .

  “Let him come,” Blake muttered. “I’ll make him sorry he ever left Sussex.”

  A knock on the door brought him out of his gratifying contemplation of Trevor’s punishment.

  “Yes?” he called.

  Annie opened the door and entered, a missive held in her hand. Blake took the note. It was creased and soiled and he glanced again at the maid’s face.

  “The boy what brought it was filthier than that letter,” she shrugged.

  “Thank you, Annie,” he said in dismissal.

  The girl left and closed the door. Blake turned the missive over in his hands. There was no seal he could recognize, the paper coarse. The note’s plain appearance caused anxiety to rise, a hum that preceded so many of his missions. He tore it open and scanned the contents. Two words were on the page, written in a fine if simple hand. Shelby waits, it read.

  “What the devil . . . ?” he muttered.

  What had Trevor done? And why make so veiled a threat now, in such a manner? Could this be related to the bastard’s visit to Homerton? He knew the snake had crawled into her bed. He also knew Taylor had been a virgin the first time Blake took her. But had Trevor hurt her some other way? Was he trying to get his hands on her again?

  Alarm filled him. Taylor.

  Shelby wouldn’t take her, damn him to hell. She was his. He jammed the note in his pocket and left the office.

  * * *

  “Taylor.”

  Taylor turned to once again find Blake before her. But the intent in his eyes, the rigidity in his body, gave him quite an altered air from his earlier indifference. Her body hummed with recognition as he took another step toward her. Crushed to him in the next moment, she couldn’t help but return his embrace. His heart pounded beneath her ear as his hands worked on her back. She chanced a look at his face, and the carnal intent was there as clear as it had been last night in their bedchamber. There was something more, though. Something else besides the heat scorching her.

  “Blake, what’s wrong?”

  He didn’t answer her. No. He brought his mouth to hers, bestowing a deep kiss that set her on fire. When he broke off the kiss, she could barely catch her breath. He grabbed her hand and hurried up the stairs with her close
behind, and her heart raced as swiftly as her feet. They were soon in their room, but before she could begin to remove her dress he pulled her down onto the plump chair beside the hearth. He shifted so she straddled him, then kissed her again and pressed his forehead to hers, cupping her face in his hands as he closed his eyes. “Taylor.”

  He held her closer, kissing her neck, her throat, as he pressed himself between her legs. His manhood rigid against her center, she wriggled closer to him and relished his growl of desire. He stared at her. His eyes were midnight blue, boring into hers as he pressed deeper into her.

  “You’re mine, Taylor,” he rasped, working her hair free from its pins. “You belong to me. I . . .”

  She fancied it was there in his voice, that tender emotion she longed to accept from him. Soon she lost all thought as his lips began their magic on her flesh. He managed to shrug off his jacket in one jerky motion, then freed her from her bodice. His tongue scorched her as he traced one nipple and she cried out in painful desire. With urgency, he took her breast, drawing hard on her as she held him close. His hands were on her back, her bottom, and she soon found her new saffron gown bunched up around her waist. Her thin drawers and his breeches were the only barrier now between her flesh and the object of its pleasure.

  Blake removed her drawers and his fingers stroked and petted, teased and penetrated.

  “Oh!” she cried.

  Her head fell back as she took in shuddering breaths. After another burning kiss on her mouth, he leaned back from her and she nearly screamed her frustration. He tore at the buttons on his breeches and let out a groan as he freed himself.

  “I need you now, Taylor,” he bit out.

  Taylor managed a nod. He drove into her. She let out a gasp as he filled her, clutching at him as her world began to shatter. She pressed her legs against his sides as Blake gripped her hips. His thrusts were deep and fast and she closed her eyes and matched him stroke-for-stroke, riding his manhood to her own climax. She sobbed his name as she burst with pleasure and he joined her in fulfillment, pouring into her as he held her close. A smile curved her lips, her eyes still closed in bliss. He rained kisses on her face and she let out a sigh.