“Are you knocked in the head?” he demanded as he rested his shoulder against the rough bark of a thick tree.
She started, then laughed shakily. “I did not hear you, Marcus.”
“You obviously did not hear me when I cautioned you to stay close to the cottage.”
“I cannot be more than a half-mile from there.”
“How loudly can you scream?” When she stared at him, he nodded. “Now you understand, Regina. You have been alerted to the risk to you, but you choose to ignore it as if it matters little.”
She dropped the flower stem to the ground. “I know how dearly it matters, but I thought I would be safe here. Or,” she went on before he could retort, “as safe as I can be anywhere.”
He resisted reminding her that she was in danger everywhere. He resisted, as well, drawing her into his arms. Just the idea of having this lovely woman in his bed filled him with longing. Watching her lips part as her breath quickened, pulling the silk tighter across her breasts, was an invitation he could not ignore. He reached to pull her into his arms.
Regina heard the splash at the same time Marcus’s face tightened. She gripped the sharp edge of a stone at the top of the wall as a horse and rider came around a curve in the brook. The tall man’s dark hair glinted beneath his hat, and his clothing looked as new as a babe. Easily he kept his seat as the horse picked its way through the water.
“Are you familiar with this countryside?” called the man.
She stiffened as she recognized the accent tainting his words. Arabic!
Wishing she could warn Marcus, she forced a smile. “Good day to you, sir. It is a pleasant day for enjoying an outing, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is.” He shifted on his horse impatiently. “Can you point the way to Attleby Court to me?”
Marcus said from the shadows, “You have gone past it by more than a league, sir.”
The man on the horse squinted as he peered toward the trees, and Regina hoped Marcus was well-concealed. Then she wondered if it mattered. The man did not recognize her, which surprised her, because she was certain he was looking for her. Why else would a man who must have been raised within shouting distance of the Dey’s palace, if his accent was no mistake, be seeking Attleby Court?
“Will you point me in the right direction then?” the man asked.
“See those towers?”
Regina clenched her hands at her side. Had Marcus taken a knock in the nob? If he sent this rider to Attleby Court, they might be betrayed by a well-meaning servant.
“Yes,” answered the man brusquely. “What of them?”
Marcus’s voice kept its friendly tone. “You can see as well how far they are from where we stand. You need to travel about the same distance in the opposite direction. When you reach a fork in the road, you should take the right-hand road. That will bring you to a river. If you look on the far side, you should see Attleby Court.”
The man nodded and, without thanking Marcus, slapped his horse and rode off in the direction Marcus had suggested.
Regina had only enough time to catch a single breath before Marcus grabbed her hand. When he tugged her toward the cottage, she did not falter. She wanted to talk to him about what they should do next, but she could not waste strength on that now.
Shutting the door, he snapped, “Douse the fire on the hearth. If he comes back, he must not see any smoke from here.”
She emptied a bucket on the hearth. The thick stench of wet ashes struck her as she raced to get the pistols Papa had given Marcus. Loading them, she set the pair on the table as he closed all the shutters save one, which he left open far enough so he could peer out.
“Go upstairs! You should be safe there. The upper floor has no windows,” he said, glancing toward the stairs.
“I will not cower up there.” She sat on the bench by the table. “Sitting upstairs blindly will make me insane.”
“I suspect you already are halfway there. If he were to follow us here—”
“No, he could have had no idea where we were. It was nothing but a horrible coincidence that we chanced to meet, I fear.”
“He must not have recognized you.” He grimaced. “If all the Dey’s agents are as witless as this one, we might be hiding needlessly.”
She shook her head. “Do not underestimate the Dey. He came to power through deceit and murder, so he is a master of both.”
“Do you know what this is? Our friend dropped this in his haste to find Attleby Court.” Marcus put a curved horn on the table. Enamel coated the horn, and a pair of strings were braided on either end.
Regina swallowed roughly as she whispered, “A guern el barud. A corsair carries his gunpowder in one of these.” She hid her face in her hands. “Oh, why can’t they leave me alone?”
“He is gone, Regina,” he murmured. “With those directions, he shall be riding for the rest of the day without coming any closer to realizing that his prey stood right before him.”
“I had thought they would give up.”
“Why should they?” He tilted her face back so she could not evade his eyes. “Dear wife, why should they abandon their quest, when such a fair prize waits at its end?”
“The Dey—”
“No, dear wife, I do not speak of politics, but of more intimate matters.”
Her face bleached. “They would not—”
Again he interrupted her, “Do not think of that! I will not let any of those bastards touch you.”
As he went to stand by the open window and stare out through the cracks in the shutter, Regina laced her fingers together in her lap. Marcus had saved her today with his quick thinking. Yet, instead of being grateful, she sat here and deplored the unfortunate predicament as if it were his fault.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Opening them, she let her gaze slip along him. From his boots clinging to his legs up to his knees and his breeches emphasizing the firm strength of his thighs and the narrow line of his waist, her gaze rose along the back of his waistcoat. It was pulled tight across him, revealing the ripple of muscles as he moved to look out another window. Without his high collar, his dark hair, which was already growing unfashionably long, fell onto his shirt.
He was her husband, a man she had sworn to share her life with, a man she longed to offer her heart to … her heart and more. So easily she could have been taken from him without ever showing him how she dreamed of his caresses.
Crossing the room, she leaned her cheek against his back as she swept her hands up the front of his waistcoat. His quick intake of breath resonated through him … and through her. Slowly she turned him to face her. Amazement glistened in his eyes.
“Regina, what—?”
She gave him no chance to ask what she meant. Her lips on his was the only answer she needed to give him. Slowly his sturdy arms encircled her.
“I don’t belong to my past any longer,” she whispered. “I want to belong with you, Marcus.”
“Regina—”
Putting her finger against his lips, she said, “Say nothing. I want no promises today. I want you.”
“Are you sure this is what you want, Regina?” He stroked her hair, smoothing it back from her face where the heat had plastered it to her soft skin in ringlets.
She smiled gently. “I am slowly discovering you are a part of all my dreams.”
Stepping away a half-pace, he held out his hand. She grasped it as they turned away from the window and the danger that might lurk beyond it. For now, for this special moment, she wanted every thought to be only of the love they could share.
His light kisses rained on her face in a sweet shower. “Let me make you happy.”
“You already do … most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” His frown could not disguise the craving in his eyes. “Not all the time?”
“Most of the time,” she repeated. “The rest of the time you make me so angry, I would enjoy throttling you.”
“How fitting! For I feel the same for you.
” He captured her mouth again. His kiss was as demanding as his words, but for the first time, she was ready to give into him.
Her breath burned in her throat as her body seemed afire with yearning. She wanted him to touch her, not missing a single spot, until she was a prisoner to their mingled passion. Grasping his hand again, she pulled him toward the stairs.
He clutched her shoulders and spun her back to him. “Not in that stinking bed. I shall not have this pleasure flavored with mildew and mold.” Pulling his blankets from a chair, he spread them on the floor in front of the hearth.
She was sure she was dreaming when, with a mischievous grin, he went to the case that held his things and pulled out several swaths of silk. “Those are the wraps I brought from Algiers! Where did you get them?”
He smiled. “I knew you would not throw them out as I bid you to, so I thought we might find another use for the fabric here. I hid them among my things while you were hastily packing to leave London.”
She reached for the silk. “If you would like me to change—”
“No, I do not want you to change. Ever.” Kneeling, he draped several pieces of silk across the quilts. Then he stood and tossed one end of the longest piece over a low rafter and behind a bench. With a laugh, he drew her into the silken tent. As graciously as if they were in his father’s dining room, he seated her in the middle.
“We will sample what—” He paused as she quivered. “Regina, do not be afraid.”
“I am not afraid. I don’t know exactly how I feel, but I know I’m not frightened.” She laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Wait here.”
“Wait?” He grumbled in fake outrage. “I have waited for you for too long. Where are you going?”
She smiled. “Just wait here.”
Rushing up the stairs, she undid the myriad hooks along her gown. She dropped the material to the bedroom floor. Quickly her lacy corset cover followed. She kicked off her slippers and removed her stockings. When she stood only in her chemise, she reached into her bag and drew out the lacy wrapper she had packed at the bottom. She did not pause to ask herself if she had planned even then for this moment when she had chosen this silken delicacy to bring with her.
She smoothed it along her. It fit perfectly. A row of lace followed the plunging neckline that was more revealing than anything she had ever worn. Its gossamer material was as thin as the veil of the Dey’s favorite concubine.
Marcus was standing beside the tent of silk when she walked back down the stairs. He came toward her, holding out his hands in silence.
“Is something wrong?” she teased, knowing life would be perfect in his arms. She offered him her hand, and he grasped it, pulling her roughly to him.
She gasped as the rough material of his waistcoat brushed her skin above the deep neckline of her gown. He paused as he stared along her. Each caress of his eyes was like a fiery spark until all of her burned.
Lifting her into his arms, he brazenly placed his mouth in the crevice between her breasts. She gave a sharp cry at the delight flowing through her with the heat of a desert wind as his tongue probed in search of hidden pleasure. Eagerly her fingers slipped past the open neck of his shirt to explore the muscles beneath the surprisingly soft hair twisting across his chest.
He carried her into the tent and leaned her back onto the blankets. Shrugging aside his coat, he pulled off his boots. He sat next to her and reached for the buttons on his shirt.
“No, let me,” she whispered as she pushed her fingers in front of his.
“My pleasure.”
“No, mine.” She loosened his shirt which was stuck to his body with the heat. When her fingers brushed his naked skin, she fought the temptation to rip the rest of the buttons off. Her body ached for the unity they had refused themselves far too long.
As his shirt dropped to the blankets, he pressed her into the silk. A soft moan escaped, unstoppable, when his chest caressed her skin. Gazing down into her eyes, he did not watch his fingertip slipping beneath the loose shoulders of her wrapper. He slid them along her arms, baring more of her breasts to his eager eyes.
She sat and whispered, “It’s easier this way.” She untied the sash at her waist, letting the front fall away to leave her dressed only in her fine lace shift. Exulting in his admiration, she leaned forward until her skin found his.
“Since when do you do things the easy way?” he returned in a ragged voice.
“Since I have wanted something as much as I want you.”
With a moan, he pushed her back. His mouth seized hers, exacting every ounce of pleasure. Far more gently, his tongue teased her quivering lips open. As her hands moved along his bare back, she discovered the strength hidden beneath his clothes.
When his mouth trailed along the curve of her neck, she arched toward him, wanting every inch of him against her. His arm swept beneath her as he pulled aside her shift. She whispered his name as his tongue touched the curve of her breast. His ragged breath cooled the moist fires of his kisses as she tasted his ear. He moaned against the very tip of her breast, and she quivered, wondering how she could stand this pleasure.
Easily he drew off her shift. He drew her hand along him until her fingers settled on the waistband of his breeches. She undid the buttons and pushed them along his sturdy legs as she stared at the very masculine angles of his body. She never had guessed a man could be beautiful.
As he stroked her with his fingers and mouth, exciting the craving to a frenzy, she dared to explore him as intimately. She delighted in the hardness of his chest and the smoother skin below. When she murmured a breathy word, he paused in his avid kisses to ask her what she had said.
“It means ‘beloved,’” she whispered. “In Arabic.” Her words faded into a gasp as his fingers climbed the silken length of her leg to seek the heat searing every inch of her.
He delved deep within her mouth, and she writhed with the increasing need. His fingers continued to stroke her, sending out throbbing fervor to the very core of her being as he found her most feminine pleasures. He smiled as she moaned with the yearning no words could express. She pulled his mouth over hers, wanting to share the indescribable enchantment. Nothing existed but his caress as he taught her of the passions within her.
With her breath, harsh and rapid in her ears, she whispered, “With me, please, my love. Be with me.”
Her hands held his shoulders, willing him to satisfy this need which stripped her of every thought. A moan of exquisite pleasure fled from her when he brought them together to end the emptiness within her. Each movement, every subtle motion accelerated the ecstasy ripping through her.
He bent to taste her lips again. Rapture became intolerable anguish. She wanted more; she could not tolerate a second longer.
He gave a sharp gasp as she was captured by an ecstasy that shattered her into a million shards. Fire swept through her, melting her to the man who would hold her heart forever.
Something tickled Regina’s nose. She smiled as she opened her eyes to discover she was caught in a web of silk. When she tried to shift away, an arm gathered her back against a length of naked skin.
“Do not leave, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered against her hair.
She batted at the silk. “I was just trying to get this away from my face.”
Stretching out his arm, he held the material higher. “Is that better?”
“Thank you.”
He released the silk. As she was about to retort, he rolled her beneath him. “This is a much better way to protect you, sweetheart.”
“But who will protect me from you?”
“Do you need protecting?” he murmured as he pressed his mouth against her neck.
The craving, which had been so sweetly satisfied, came to life anew. She sifted her fingers up through his hair as she whispered, “Only my heart.”
“And whom do I need to protect that from?”
“You.” She trembled when his hand grazed her breast and the truth spilled f
rom her lips. “Because I love you, Marcus.”
“Then love me now, sweetheart.”
A pang sliced into her heart. “But do you love—?”
“No talking now, sweetheart,” he commanded.
She knew she should insist he answer her, but the pang became pleasure as he drew her into the enchantment once again.
Fifteen
Rain splattered against the roof as Regina woke. Although it had been raining fitfully for the past four days, she smiled. She could not miss the warmth of the sun when she had Marcus’s kisses to warm her very soul. When they had been sent to the dowager cottage nearly a month ago, she could not have guessed they would find such contentment.
Looking across the bed, she realized she was alone. Over the crackling of the flames on the hearth below, she could hear Marcus walking about as he prepared breakfast. Her smile widened. Thank goodness he had not been averse to cooking for them. Otherwise, she feared, they would have starved.
This experience had convinced her she was right to have no more inclination to learn housewifely skills than before. Her single attempt at sweeping had been a near disaster. She did not like doing things she could not do well. Once they returned to London, the staff of the duke’s household would assume the tasks that were necessary to keep the house running smoothly. She had more of an appreciation for their work and diligence than ever before, but had no interest in sharing those chores.
Slipping her white wrapper over her shoulders, she settled her arms in the sleeves as she came down the stairs. The scent of fresh eggs frying greeted her, but it was Marcus’s arms that welcomed her.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, brushing her tangled hair back from her face.
She locked her hands behind his neck and smiled as he grazed her mouth with a kiss that recalled last night’s passion and offered the promise of more. “Good morning,” she answered, a lilt in her voice.
“You look as if you slept well.”
“Really?” She tickled the skin behind his ear until he pushed her fingers aside. With a laugh, she said, “I did not sleep very much.”
An Undomesticated Wife Page 15
