Devonshire

by Lynne Connolly

  “My husband likes to hunt and shoot in the summer,” Mrs. Terry replied haughtily, “I would have thought you, my lord, might sympathise with his preferences.”

  Richard smiled. “I find one gamekeeper and several men under him sufficient. My father may employ a few more, but that is not my concern.”

  “You have your own establishment, my lord?” asked the lady.

  “I have one or two places.” He stiffened, defensive about his fiercely protected private life. “The main estate is in Oxfordshire. I’ve not up to now spent much time there, but I have sent for it to be put in order, for Rose to inspect when we return from the continent.” At least Mrs. Terry had the good sense not to ask about the honeymoon, but she put her eyebrows up at his fond use of my first name, something he rarely did in company.

  He pressed my hand, and I smiled. The promise of the night ahead had sharpened my senses. I felt his nearness, smelled the citrus scent he used, mingled with hot, hard man, and my appetite for him sharpened. “Do you intend to open the house, then, my lord?” asked Mrs. Terry, her eagerness open for everybody to see. She was probably thinking of invitations to come.

  “It’s entirely up to my future wife.” He looked at me and smiled, an intimate smile saying more than words could do. “If she doesn’t like it, we’ll buy somewhere else.”

  “I’m sure it’s charming.” To be honest, I’d never thought of where we would settle when we came home. I was too taken up with preparations for the wedding and what lay immediately beyond it. Greatly daring, I added, “You know where I want to be.”

  “Yes,” he replied, accepting it.

  Martha cleared her throat. “As to the rumours you’ve heard, you’ll find they’re greatly exaggerated. I was not there myself but I understand only one body was found. While that is tragic enough, it’s not as terrible as the rumours you’ve heard.”

  It was a cue meant for Richard and he took it. “No indeed.” His face became graver as he looked away from me, back to Mr. and Mrs. Terry. “We only discovered one body. One too many, but only one. We believe it was put there on purpose for us to find on our return.”

  “What makes you think that, my lord?” demanded Mr. Terry.

  “We all thought it,” Richard informed him. “It wasn’t there when we took the same route earlier in the day, so someone saw the route we took, and assumed we would return the same way. They placed the unfortunate victim there for us to find. Also, the man had been barbarously used. I don’t intend to go into details when there are ladies present.”

  Mrs. and Miss Terry shuddered, and in that moment, the resemblance between them was clearly marked. I saw what Eustacia could become in twenty years’ time, her prettiness absorbed in flesh, her attitude matronly and autocratic.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Eustacia’s eyes gleamed with the inner cruelty she had shown me so often in the past. I hoped it was shallowness and not prurience that had caused her frisson of excitement. My dislike of her had sprung from her cruelty to me, but perhaps that masked an essential cruelty born of her inner nature.

  “We believe it must have been free traders.” Richard studied her, likely seeing what I had seen when her eyes had gleamed. “The squire doesn’t allow the smugglers to cross his land, and this must be inconvenient for them. He posts sentries, and calls out the land-riders, or so he has told me, so they must be anxious to secure his co-operation. Somehow,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “I don’t think this will stop him. He seems determined on it.”

  “I can’t see what he has against it,” Mrs. Terry said. “There’s little we can do about it.”

  “I would agree, ma’am,” Richard said smoothly, and Mr. Terry shot him an appraising glance. “I don’t think anything can be done here on the coast. It must be tackled in Parliament.”

  “What do you suggest?” Mr. Terry leaned forward. His chair creaked.

  Richard leaned back so he could see me and answer Mr. Terry. “Cutting duties. The government would then receive much more revenue from all the goods passing through, as I believe many of the recipients would much prefer to receive their tea, tobacco and liquor honestly, at a fair price.”

  Mr. Terry sighed. “That would seem to be a long way off.” He passed his tea-dish to Martha for another helping.

  “It would indeed,” Richard replied. “The brutality, however, should not be allowed to flourish unchecked. There was a Sussex gang broken up, was there not?”

  “The Hawkhurst gang.” I found it surprising that Mr. Terry should know such things. We were a long way from Sussex.

  “Just so. It was when their brutality became too much to stomach that the authorities found a way in to break it up.”

  Mr. Terry put a hand to his chin—at least one of them. “You seem well informed, my lord.”

  “Not really, but the case was a famous one, and I remember reading about it. I was under the curious misapprehension at the time that these things had a glamour they lack in real life. Pirates and highwaymen close up, are equally reprehensible.”

  “Not having met any, I don’t think any of us can say for sure,” said Martha tartly. She created a natural pause by pouring the tea, and then talk turned to the wedding and how far the plans had advanced. Despite the fact that it was my wedding, I took little part in the conversation. Martha and the Countess of Southwood had made most of the plans. They corresponded almost daily now. “The countess writes me she will arrive next week,” Martha said. “I’ve heard so much from her, but I’m looking forward immensely to meeting her.”

  “She says the same thing about you,” Richard assured her. “But when my family arrives, I fear I must take my leave.”

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Martha. “We’ve enjoyed your visit much, especially one of us—” and she cast a significant look at me, “—but it wouldn’t do for you to be married from this house.”

  Richard gave her one of his most charming smiles. “You’ve been an excellent hostess, and I hope you might still receive me from time to time.”

  “Every day if you should wish it.” Martha smiled, and I knew then for certain that she approved of his devotion to me, and looked on it with kindness. Not every guardian would have approved of such open displays of affection as Richard had offered me, but Martha loved James, and had done since she had met him, in her case after the marriage was arranged. In fact, there was only ten years between Martha and me, but she had such a motherly way about her, she was so comfortable, that when she had taken the reins of the household we all welcomed it with relief. We were still overcrowded and to a certain extent still chaotic, but the important structures had been put in place; mealtimes, social visits, as a skeleton for us to exist around. Even the ascetic Ian had appreciated the more regular habits we slipped into after Martha had arrived.

  This recent incident, so close to home, had upset Martha considerably, and she abruptly returned to the subject. “I do hope they catch the perpetrators.” She looked more anxious than I had seen her for some time. “I don’t like the idea of murderers running free hereabouts.”

  “I wouldn’t concern yourself, ma’am,” said Mr. Terry, “you should be quite safe here. The free traders have no interest in crossing your land, although, I believe you plan to expand your property, do you not? But you will be safe enough.”

  Richard leaned back, regarding Mr. Terry with an indolent expression. Of the people in the room only I knew Richard was at his most dangerous when he seemed most languorous. “You seem to be sure. Can it be, sir, you know some of these villains?”

  “No more than most people hereabouts,” said the gentleman.

  Richard pursued the topic. “Most people hereabouts seem to know them. A great deal of the local wealth comes from smuggling, I think.”

  “You may be right, sir.” Mr. Terry cleared his throat noisily.

  Richard let the matter drop, but he was interested. Unlike the squire, Mr. Terry did let the smugglers run their goods through his land, and I thought he might have
even turned his back a few times while his more outlying barns were used overnight to store contraband. He probably knew some of them, and where he could contact them.

  James had always taken the view that the less he knew about it all the better, but others were not quite so sanguine. The squire took his position seriously and had always been concerned about the proliferation of smuggling. We received many goods from the Channel Islands, run across from France but I had never seen a run, and I never wanted to. We could make little difference. Richard was right. The matter needed addressing in Parliament.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IT SEEMED AN AGE UNTIL bedtime. I felt like a naughty child planning some clandestine activity such as raiding the pantry at midnight. I wondered if I had risked too much, if I was heading for a fall, even if Richard would come. Perhaps it had been a mere impulse, engendered by our unusual intimacy earlier in the day, but I didn’t think so. I had never known him so needy and vulnerable, and after telling me his secrets, perhaps Richard needed me as much as I needed him.

  Richard seemed his usual self, unruffled and serene, but his eyes held an extra gleam. I decided to pay him back in his own coin.

  For the rest of the day, every time I went close to him I touched him. Touched his hand, brushed my fingers against his cheek, then when he moved to kiss them, took them away. All without anyone seeing. When we went into dinner, I caressed his delicious backside, tucked my hand under his coat and brushed my fingers against it. I felt the flinch before I moved my hand away and heard his self-deprecating chuckle. “Take care, my lady. I shall throw you down on the dining table if you continue.”

  I called his bluff. Throughout dinner I touched him when I didn’t need to, brushed my fingers against his when he handed me a glass of wine, smiled my thanks, taking too long. He knew. And I took care that no one else should.

  He joined me in the drawing room almost immediately after the meal, and I soon found out why. He wanted to retaliate. Stretching his arm along the back of the sofa where I sat conversing with Ian, he tickled the back of my neck, lightly, warmly. I laughed at the wrong moment, and Ian frowned. I had to beg his pardon.

  I got my own back when I stood to play for the family, and found the opportunity to trail my hand over his thigh. He leaned back, inviting the touch, raising an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge. For two pins I would have touched him further, but not under Martha’s censorious eye. This was as far as I wanted to go. Or dared, for that matter.

  Playing the harpsichord kept me out of trouble. At least I thought so until Richard came up behind me to turn the pages of the music. As if by accident, his hand trailed over me when he leaned forward. Under the cover of the flaring skirts of his coat, he touched the upper part of my breast. Then he was gone.

  There was only one thing left for me to do. I played for a while, and then got to my feet. Instead of getting off the stool towards the room, I got off towards him, and if by accident, moved too close. For a second, I touched the bulge on the front of his breeches, and heard his indrawn breath. “Your game,” he murmured to me, “but wait, just you wait.”

  AS A RESULT, WHEN ELEVEN o’clock came and I could finally excuse myself, pleading tiredness, I was drawn as taut as a bowstring. The maid I shared with my sisters helped me get ready for bed, and then all I had to do was sit and wait, with the door slightly open so he wouldn’t have to knock.

  I waited for some time. I’d been too eager to go, and the household had to retire before I could hope for him joining me. I thought of going to bed and getting some sleep, but decided I was too tense. Still it didn’t make sense to sit and wait, so I climbed into bed and lay down, thoughts racing through my head.

  A breath on my ear woke me, and I spun around, startled awake. I sighed with relief when I saw who it was. “Richard.”

  “Hush, love.”

  I put my hand to my mouth, to quieten myself. He leaned across the bed to me. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  “Have you locked the door?”

  “Naturellement.”

  I threw back the covers, while he stripped off his robe and got in. He was naked, but he got into bed so quickly I didn’t see him properly. Immediately he drew me close, and I felt at home and safe. His chuckle bewildered me until I felt his hands on my braids. “I couldn’t stop Fraser doing them for me.”

  “While I’m sure they are extremely practical,” he said, his hands busy unravelling, “I prefer it when your hair is loose. I like to feel it flowing over my hands, winding me in its web.”

  “So I’m a spider?”

  He kissed my forehead, his lips just brushing the skin. “Arachne was a beautiful woman, turned into a spider for boasting and being right about it. You never boast, my love. Perhaps you should.”

  “It’s not in my nature.”

  “Then I shall boast for you. I’m lucky to get you, sweetheart.”

  I laughed. “So you keep telling me.”

  He finished undoing the braids and thrust his fingers into my hair, combing them through the locks to untangle them. “Much better.” He looked down at my face. “And if I keep telling you, you might believe it one day.”

  “I’ll do my best. I have to promise to obey you soon, don’t I?”

  He grinned. “So you do.”

  Lifting up on one elbow, he leaned over me, and smoothed the hair back from my face. He’d brought a branch of candles in with him, and it stood on the nightstand by the bed, casting a light on his gleaming hair and his fine-drawn features. Looking intently down at me he said, “This is almost enough. Almost.” He bent his head to kiss me.

  What began as a gentle kiss of welcome soon deepened into something more, his tongue reaching into my mouth, his desire searing through my entire body. I arched and felt his hands on me, pulling up my voluminous nightgown.

  Eagerly I helped him, undoing the little buttons at the cuffs and neck, sitting up so he could pull it off over my head. Casting it aside, heedless of where it fell, he gazed at me, only me.

  He touched my breast, traced the swell below and then cupped it, testing its weight. I closed my eyes and drew a breath. I was so sensitive to his touch.

  “Every time,” he murmured, “every time I touch you it feels like a miracle. That you want me, that you, so lovely, could have lain like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for me.” He kissed the nipple, pushing with his hand to take more into his mouth.

  His tongue curved, caressing me, and I touched his back, partly for support, partly for the sheer joy of contact. His touch made me weak and soft, his need for me made me want to give him everything without stint.

  He drew back, only to fold his arms around me and seek my mouth with his. He gave me a long, penetrating kiss, his hands smoothing, caressing, rousing my body to a peak of need.

  He smelled like no one else. Under the citrus perfume he preferred lurked an even sharper edge. Him. I’d know him anywhere now, in the dark, the light, in the middle of a crowded ballroom by scent alone. He surrounded me with his essence, held me fast, held me close. I moved my hands over the muscles of his back, feeling his reined-in athletic strength.

  When he broke the kiss he was smiling. “I love you.” He laid me down and moved over me to enter me.

  When I opened my mouth to cry out, he covered it with his own, taking up the kiss he’d broken earlier, plunging into me with two parts of his body, tongue and hard, driving erection. I broke apart. My peak came quickly, taking me by surprise, raging through my body. I screamed and he swallowed my cries.

  He held me down when I jerked, unable to control my body’s reaction to his loving, then pulled me against him to drive harder, closer. This loving had no gentleness about it. The teasing earlier in the evening had driven us both to this, serving as courtship and foreplay, making our bodies hungry for each other.

  My peak came and went, driven by him, no quarter given, none asked for. He lifted his mouth from mine, gasping for breath, never stopping that demanding rhythm that had become the centre
of my existence.

  Before I knew it I was in the middle of another climax, coming up hard on the heels of the last. I arched my back, but Richard held on, his hands on my hips holding me tight and close. There were no words; not for this primitive drive powering both of us on. My heart pounded in time to his thrusts, to my drive, and I ceased to care about anything else.

  Climax built on climax, rising to a fiery apex that somehow, Richard managed to sustain for me. I’d thought something this rarefied was impossible to keep up for long, but I lingered there, cried out. It was as well I was out of breath, or I might have roused the household, but what emerged wasn’t the lusty shout I imagined but a half stifled, breathless whimper.

  At the same time Richard fell over my body and buried his face in the pillow beside me to hide his own cry of fulfilment. I felt his body pulse and jerk as he’d made mine do earlier, and then we lay still, the only sound our breathing, harsh and ragged.

  Turning his head on the pillow, still inside me, he laughed shakily. “Every time.” I could only smile and lift my hand to cup his cheek and we stayed like that for a while, until he found enough strength to slide to one side of me. “Thank you, sweetheart. Why on earth didn’t we do this earlier, when I first came to Devonshire?”

  “I can’t think,” I replied. “Unless we were both trying to be good.”

  He smiled, reaching for me, and I went to him and rested my head on his shoulder. “That must have been it. I can’t think of any other reason. So close to our wedding, we’re not risking what we did when we first made love.” He kissed my forehead. “I haven’t broken any of the promises I made to your brother, you know. He didn’t think to make me promise to keep out of your bed.”

  I turned my head to meet his eyes. “James made you promise things?”

  “Oh yes. He cares a great deal for you. As do I.” He touched his lips to mine. “I had to promise to take care of you, to be faithful to you and not to hurt you.”