Jane Feather - [V Series]

by Violet

  “Must I do this all on my own?” She offered a mock plaintive smile.

  “Yes.” His eyelids drooped, lazily seductive, and he remained immobile, hands back on his hips, looking down at her.

  Tamsyn squiggled out of her drawers, unbuttoned her shirt, and stripped it off; then she lay naked on the coverlet and regarded him quizzically.

  “And now you may help me,” Julian directed, his cool voice quite at odds with the fire in his eyes.

  Tamsyn sat up on the bed, placed her hands on his hips, and drew him close to her. She unbuckled his belt with deft efficiency, letting it drop to the floor. “You don’t mind if I start here?” she said conversationally as she unbuttoned his britches.

  “Not in the least.”

  She eased his britches over his hips with a slow delicacy that Julian found as arousing as Tamsyn did. Her fingers stroked over his hipbones, her palm flattened against his belly, and his muscles jumped involuntarily. Slowly, her hand slid over his stomach and between his thighs as she bent and kissed his belly, drawing her tongue upward in a moist, searing stroke, darting into his navel as her fingers stroked and kneaded, until he groaned softly. Reaching behind, her fingertips dug into the taut muscles of his buttocks as she reached against him so that the hard shaft of flesh lay between her breasts.

  Softly she brought her hands round to cup her breasts, squeezing them as they cradled his throbbing stem. Julian’s breath quickened; the exquisite rhythmic friction increased, and he threw his head back with a low groan of pleasure. “Stop,” he whispered. “For pity’s sake, stop now.”

  Tamsyn merely smiled, her eyelashes fluttering wickedly against his chest as she brought him closer and closer to the brink until he shuddered and ecstasy bubbled hot in his veins as the world dissolved.

  “Diablillo,” he chided as his breathing slowed, his eyes, hooded and languorous with fulfillment, gazed down at her upturned face. “You have only yourself to blame.”

  “I’ve noticed you have a quick recovery time, milord colonel,” she said with an impudent grin, falling back on the bed, pulling him with her.

  He kissed her with rough satisfaction, pinching her jaw between finger and thumb. “I don’t know what you deserve.”

  “Neither do I, but I don’t mind just so long as I get it.”

  “Oh, you will,” he promised, taking her mouth again, but this time with a long, slow exploration, his tongue flickering over her lips.

  “Oh! Oh, I forgot. How could I have forgotten!” With shocking suddenness Tamsyn pulled her face away from him and pushed at his chest, struggling to get off the bed. “This room’s at the back of the house, isn’t it?”

  Julian rolled over onto his back, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or scream. “Gabriel, I suppose?”

  “Yes, he’s waiting outside in the mews.” She flew to the window, throwing it wide.

  “Tell him to come in,” Julian said with a sigh.

  “No, he has to go back to Charing Cross to look after the horses.” She leaned out of the window, cupped her hands around her mouth, and produced a perfect imitation of a barn owl, waited a few seconds, and then repeated the sound. It was answered immediately. Tamsyn produced another series of birdcalls, pausing for a response.

  Charing Cross? Why Charing Cross? But then again, why not? There was no point examining the finer points of Tamsyn’s convoluted schemes. Gabriel’s participation, of course, was inevitable.

  Amused and impressed by the unusual colloquy at the window, Julian hitched himself onto his elbows. He gazed at her naked back curved in the open window and lost interest in the conversation. She did have the most entrancing backside, he thought dreamily.

  “There.” Tamsyn straightened. “That’s all settled, then.”

  “Good. Then perhaps you’d like to get back here,” he requested in a tone of ironic courtesy.

  “Oh, have you recovered?” She turned with a grin.

  “I anticipate a full recovery in about two minutes. Now, get the hell over here”

  Tamsyn hopped across the room and leaped onto the bed beside him. “Yes, milord colonel. Anything you say, milord colonel.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  TAMSYN WAS STILL ASLEEP WHEN JULIAN AWOKE IN THE morning. It was raining outside, and the room was dark, the general gloom exacerbated by the massive oak furniture and the heavy velvet hangings. The house was badly in need of redecorating, but he’d always assumed that it could wait until he married. A wife would enjoy putting her own mark on the place, much easier to do than at Tregarthan, which bore the unmistakable imprint of four generations of St. Simons.

  He’d spent so little time in London in the last few years that the general air of neglect in Audley Square hadn’t troubled him unduly, but now it occurred to him that he probably ought to tackle the issue before the deterioration became too bad. The prospect of his marriage was way in the future, something he couldn’t contemplate until Napoleon was finally defeated.

  He turned his head on the pillow to look at the sleeping face beside him. At some point he was going to have to find himself a wife, but he could not get away from the rueful knowledge that drifting in this diminutive bandit’s anarchic, sensual wonderland was in a fair way to spoiling him for the kind of woman who would make an exemplary Lady St. Simon of Tregarthan.

  His memories of the night remained sharply vivid both in his body and in his mind. It was one of Tamsyn’s talents that every lovemaking with her was somehow unique, had something special that lived on in delicious memory.

  He sat up to look at the time. It was six, and he was to meet with Lord Liverpool at eight.

  Tamsyn groaned and turned onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillows. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting up.” Bending, he kissed the back of her neck, and she wriggled at the tickling warmth of his breath. “Are you coming back to Spain with me, Tamsyn?”

  “Why else do you think I’m here?” she mumbled into the pillow.

  “And you’ll give up the idea of finding your mother’s family?” He stroked a finger down her spine.

  Tamsyn lifted her head out of the pillow. “Why did you say it wasn’t right for me to stay in Cornwall? I thought I was doing very well. People at the party seemed to think I fitted in all right.”

  “But you were playing a part. We both know that the person you really are doesn’t have a place in that kind of life, Tamsyn. You would be bored to tears in a few weeks once the novelty had worn off.”

  “But I played the part well,” she insisted.

  “Yes, I grant you that.”

  Tamsyn dropped her head back into the pillow. He was right that it wasn’t the ideal life for her, and she’d certainly never intended that it would be permanent. But she could learn to adapt in the right circumstances. At least Julian had admitted that she could fit in if she put her mind to it. It was a step in the right direction.

  “And you’ve abandoned the idea of finding your mother’s family?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” she said, reflecting that since she’d already found them, it was hardly a lie.

  Relief was sweet. He ran his hand in a slow, stroking caress down her back beneath the covers. “Go back to sleep, buttercup.” She moaned into the pillow but made no attempt to stop him when he slipped from the bed. He pulled the bed curtains tightly around her before ringing for shaving water.

  Julian dressed rapidly in the scarlet tunic and fur pelisse of the cavalry officer, buckling on his sword belt, his curved sword snug against his hip. He was on army business, and his reflection in the mirror brought him deep satisfaction. It was good to be dressed again in this familiar way on an enterprise that was vital to the business that informed his life. He’d rather be on the battlefield, but soon he would be. They would go back together, and there would be no resentment, no anger, no sense of being used, to spoil the pleasure they took in and of each other.

  Before he left, he drew aside the bed curtains. Tamsyn was asleep again, turned away fr
om him, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her complexion delicately flushed with sleep. He stood for a minute looking down at her, unaware that he was smiling but aware that he was stirred by her yet again. But it wasn’t the usual hot, racing blood of arousal he felt, it was something much softer.

  He let the curtain fall again and left the room, closing the door quietly. Before leaving the house, he told the old retainer who managed the skeleton staff in the house that there was a young lady in his apartments who should be provided with whatever she asked for.

  “Yes, my lord.” The man bowed as he held open the front door. It wasn’t the first time his lordship had entertained a bit of muslin in the London house, and doubtless it wouldn’t be the last.

  As soon as the door closed on Julian, Tamsyn sat up, not a sign of sleep in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to continue that conversation, and feigning sleep had seemed the easiest way to avoid it. If it could possibly be managed, her mother’s family would never be mentioned between them again. If it was at all possible, the colonel should forget that her mother had had a family.

  Tamsyn knew exactly what she had to do now. If Julian discovered the truth about the Penhallans and what had really brought her to England, then everything would be over. He would not be able to tolerate the thought of being a tool in such a deception, so he mustn’t find out. But since she’d begun the game with Cedric, then she had to finish it in some way. She could no longer afford to expose his treachery, since that would mean revealing her own identity in public—but Cedric didn’t know that, and the threat of it gave her a powerful weapon. If she played her cards right, she could come away with the Penhallan diamonds.

  It would be a fitting restitution, one that Cecile and the baron would find pleasing. And once that was settled, she could return to Spain with the colonel and work to weave her future into his.

  She sprang energetically out of bed, splashed her face with the rapidly cooling water in the ewer, borrowed Julian’s tooth powder, used his comb, and dressed. Then she ran downstairs. Before she went back to Cornwall to tidy up the loose ends, she had a little plan for the colonel’s entertainment, one that would throb and glow in his memory until she returned.

  An elderly man was crossing the hall. He looked up and blinked rheumy eyes in astonishment as Tamsyn jumped from the bottom stair.

  “Good morning, you must be Belton,” she said with a cheerful smile. “Lady Fortescue told me how wonderfully well you manage this household.”

  Lady Fortescue! The old man stared, and Tamsyn could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he tried to fit this astonishing britches-clad figure who’d spent the night in his lordship’s bed with Lord St. Simon’s sister.

  “If Lord St. Simon returns before I do, will you tell him that I’ll be back this afternoon?” she said blithely, going to the door.

  “Yes, miss,” he muttered, belatedly moving to open the door.

  “That’s all right, I can manage, thank you, Belton.” Tamsyn pulled open the door. “Oh, it’s raining again! What a poxy miserable climate this is.” She pulled up the hood of her cloak, raised a hand in farewell to the dumbstruck servant. “Until this afternoon!” And she was gone, jumping down the three steps to the pavement and racing up the street, head down against the persistent drizzle.

  Belton shook his head in bemusement, wondering if he was getting too old for his job. Had she really been dressed in britches? His lordship must have developed some strange tastes in Spain—a heathen land it was, or so they said. Closing the door, he tottered off to his pantry and the bottle of medicinal brandy he kept there for moments of stress.

  Tamsyn hailed a hackney, directed him to the King’s Head at Charing Cross, and sat back going over her plan. The rain was a damned nuisance with so many errands to run.

  Gabriel was stolidly consuming a platter of eggs and sirloin in the taproom as she entered. “You’re early,” he observed.

  “Yes, and I haven’t had breakfast.” She hitched a chair over with her toe and sat down. “Landlord, I’ll have a plate just like this, please.”

  The landlord grunted. In the dim light he could see a lad sitting beside the giant Scotsman. He went into the kitchen, and a few minutes later a serving girl brought a second plate.

  “ ’Ere y’are, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy, shooting Tamsyn an appraising look from beneath her eyelashes, clearly wondering whether the young man was worth cultivating.

  Tamsyn grinned. She was accustomed to such mistakes when the light was bad. She leaned over and chucked the girl beneath the chin. “Here’s a pretty lass. What’s your name, then?”

  “Annie, sir.” The girl blushed and turned her head aside.

  “Well, fetch me some coffee will you, Annie?”

  “Aye, sir.” She bobbed another curtsy and hurried off.

  “Och, little girl, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Gabriel said mildly, taking a draft of ale. “Teasing the child like that.”

  Tamsyn merely chuckled and attacked her breakfast with a voracious hunger.

  “Things went all right, then,” Gabriel observed. “Looks like you had a night to build up an appetite.”

  Tamsyn nodded, her eyes shining as she spread mustard on her sirloin. “We’ll be going back to Spain soon.”

  “Good,” he said laconically. “I’ll be glad to shake the dust of this place off my feet. And so will the woman. But what of the Penhallan?”

  “I think I have to let it go, Gabriel,” she said, keeping her eyes on her plate. “Will you mind?”

  His face darkened. “You do what you wish, but I intend to see to those gutter sweepings, lassie. But I’ll do it in my own way and in my own time. It won’t affect your plans.”

  Tamsyn was silent. She knew she couldn’t stop him. For Gabriel it was a sacred obligation, and he’d feel the baron’s eyes on him until it was done. But Gabriel’s vengeance must not affect her own confrontation with Cedric, and for that reason she would face her uncle alone. Gabriel’s temper was too uncertain, and if he came across the twins while he and Tamsyn were visiting with Cedric, there would be no way to prevent him from dealing with them on the spot. And then there would be witnesses to the inevitable bloody mess, and Cedric could lay charges, and Gabriel would probably end up on the scaffold in Bodmin jail.

  But he would never permit her to go alone, if he had the faintest inkling of such an intention, so he must believe that her love for Julian St. Simon had superseded the need to exact her parents’ vengeance.

  “So we’ll fetch the woman and be back to Spain, then?” Gabriel resumed, a slight frown in his eye.

  Tamsyn nodded and took a gulp of coffee. “But not until the morning. I wish to give the colonel a little present first, something to remember while we’re gone.”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Not something requiring my help, I assume.”

  Tamsyn smiled. “No, I don’t think so, Gabriel.”

  “Then I’ll bide here. Mine host has a decent enough cellar, and I daresay I’ll find some congenial company.”

  “Well, will you come with Cesar to Audley Square at daybreak? I’ll slip out through the window again and meet you in the mews. We’ll ride back to Cornwall, collect our things, and come back with Josefa.”

  Gabriel nodded. Such an unorthodox departure didn’t strike him as peculiar; it was the way they were accustomed to doing things in the mountains. However, something about this change of plan disturbed him. It wasn’t in character for the bairn to abandon a mission with such insouciance.

  Tamsyn wiped her plate clean with a hunk of bread, finished her coffee, and stood up. “I need to change and fetch some money, Gabriel.”

  He reached into his pocket for the key to his room. “Top of the stairs, on the left.”

  In the bedchamber Tamsyn changed into one of her cambric gowns and swapped her riding boots for a pair of jean half boots that wouldn’t be nearly as effective in the rain and the puddles. She shoved her riding clothes into a cloak bag to take with her, put a
billfold and a purse of coins into a reticule, examined herself in the spotted looking glass with a critical frown, then returned to the taproom, trying to remember not to stride.

  Annie was clearing the table and nearly dropped the tray at the transformation. “Oooo,” she said. “Yer not a bloke!”

  “No,” Tamsyn agreed. “But you’re still a pretty lass.”

  “Oh, wha’ a cheek,” Annie said, bridling. “You got no call to play games like that … takin’ advantage of an innocent girl.”

  “I wasn’t taking advantage,” Tamsyn pointed out logically. “Since I’m not a man, how could I have been?”

  Annie sniffed and returned to the kitchen with her tray.

  Gabriel was still sitting at the table nursing a refilled tankard. “You’re away, then?”

  “Yes.” She bent to kiss him. “I’ll see you at daybreak.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Tamsyn raised a hand in farewell and went outside into the rain-swept gloom of London Town.

  She returned to Audley Square in the early afternoon. Belton opened the door and found himself face-to-face with a conventionally dressed young lady. If it weren’t for her distinctive hair, he would never have believed it was the same person who had left that morning. “Please, could you send someone to bring the parcels from the hackney?” she asked, just her eyes visible over the armful of packages she held.

  “Let me take those, miss.” Belton moved to relieve her of her burdens.

  “No, no,” Tamsyn said, afraid that the old man would drop them onto the wet steps. “But there’s more in the coach.”

  Belton called over his shoulder, and a stalwart young man in a baize apron and leather britches emerged from the kitchen regions. He glanced curiously at the young woman clutching her packages, then went out to bring in the rest of her purchases.

  “Has his lordship returned?”

  “Not as yet, miss. I expect he’s gone to one of his clubs. Usually does of a morning, when he’s in town.”