by Eva Devon
Jack pressed a soft kiss to her lips then started to roll to his side.
She shook her head. “No.”
“No?” Bracing himself on his forearms, Jack gazed down at her, his eyes fairly glowing with languor.
“I like you right there.”
“Aren’t I heavy?”
She arched a brow at him as if to say, please.
“Right.” He laughed softly. “No delicate flower here.”
Cordelia biffed him on the shoulder lightly then impulsively, she lifted her head and bit him lightly on the same spot.
A groan rumbled from his throat. “You are going to be trouble.”
“I suppose I am, aren’t I?” She grinned up at him, unable to hide how delicious she felt.
In one powerful motion, Jack rolled onto his back, swinging her up to sit atop him. “Do you like riding?”
She frowned wondering why in god’s name he would discuss equestrian pursuits at such a time. “Well, occasionally. . .”
And then he lifted his hips off the floor, his cock still inside her. She gasped. “You know,” she whispered. “I will have to pursue it.”
He smiled. “Yes, but not now.”
“Why—”
“One must walk before they run.”
She blew out a breath. “Preposterous. I should say I walked very well.”
He lifted his hand and stroked her fingers along her cheek. “Indeed you did. But I don’t wish to hurt you.”
She frowned. Could he possibly be concerned about such a thing? “I am made of strong stuff, I assure you.
Jack sat, embracing her. “I have no doubts. But I wish to care for you and not be a total cad.”
“I like it when you’re a cad,” she said, unable to resist the happiness bubbling inside of her.
He peered up at her through stunned eyes. “You do.”
“I do.”
“I thought you found me morally reprehensible.”
“Oh, I do,” she said with mock seriousness. “But moral reprehensibility has a most welcome time and place.” She stroked her hands over the muscles of his remarkable chest. “Such as now.”
Jack smiled. “I say sustenance is just the thing now. I mustn’t neglect your other needs.”
She blushed. “I am hungry.”
“There, you see.”
She leaned down, allowing her lips to linger just above his and whispered “For you.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “You do learn fast.”
“I had made you aware of it.”
He groaned. “So you did.”
It was strange. She’d decided to throw herself into this one week. She didn’t know how to do things in half measures. Yet, he didn’t seem to be behaving in a similar fashion. “Are you not pleased?”
He let out a sigh. “Darling girl—”
“Don’t,” she said tightly, pulling out of his grasp, sitting upright.
“What?” he asked, apparently bewildered.
She forced herself to stay atop him, to not suddenly pull entirely away. “Speak to me like that.”
He raised himself up on an elbow. “I don’t understand.”
“Let us continue to be honest with each other as we have done.” She started to fold her arms across her naked middle but realized how silly that was. Instead, she forced herself to be bold and she rested her palms against his warm chest. “Something is wrong and now you are trying to placate me with rakishness.”
He quirked a brow. “I thought you liked my rakishness.”
She shook her head. “Not when you are trying to manage me.”
That cheeky grin of his faded and he looked away. “I apologize.”
“Thank you.” She drew in a steadying breath, trying not to feel apprehension. “Now what is it?”
“It’s something that hadn’t occurred to me until just now but happens to most their first time.” He met her gaze, his face far more serious than she’d ever seen it. “I don’t wish for you to confuse passion for. . .”
“Love?” she tested, her throat surprisingly tight.
He gave a curt nod.
She forced a light laugh from her throat. “Good sir, love would interfere with my rather important plans.”
He nodded again, but to her surprise he didn’t appear particularly relieved. “Of course,” he said.
She traced a finger along his lower lips, determined to reassure him that she was not trying to catch him. “Plans which do not include you.”
He bit the tip of her index finger lightly then released. “Of course.”
And that damned feeling returned to her. Of being afraid of appearing defeated or seen as less than. It was imperative she be seen as in control. So, pasting a smile to her lips she lifted her hips, amazed at the strange empty feeling of him sliding out from her body, still quite hard.
It felt wrong, the separation.
To her surprise, her thighs felt weak and he grabbed her before she could wobble. “Are you in a rush?”
She let out a laugh, covering her clumsiness. “I didn’t realize I could be so light headed.”
He waggled his brows. “I do have a tendency to do that.”
“As does lack of food,” she drawled. “Shall we?”
With that, she hurried to her feet. “I think I shall need to bathe again quickly.”
“Take your time,” he said, standing. “I shall bring us food.”
She shook her head. She needed to acquire distance from him and spending the rest of the day lounging and eating in this room seemed a terrible idea. “Let’s dine alfresco.”
He scowled. “Outside?”
She grinned. “Absolutely.”
*
Jack attempted not to gawk at his wife as he attempted to squash down the return of his consternation. The woman was an undeniable puzzle.
Somehow, between herself, Harris and his own commandeered labors, lunch and all its accoutrements had been toted half way across the estate. . . To find the perfect spot.
A spot she had actually found.
If possible, he didn’t think there could be a more ideal vista on these particular grounds. The ocean was at a perfect distance. Close enough to hear the crashing of the waves, but far enough so that the wind didn’t come tearing at them. And it was perfectly calm today as if she had ordered it to be so.
The ground upon which their table had been set was perfectly flat, nary a shake in the balance of the legs. And the sun was to their right, perfectly traveling at a space that would not shine in their eyes.
Now, the table was covered in a pale linen cloth and covered with sprigged plates, silver wear, and more food than the King might eat in a sitting.
He was still uncertain as to how he had been laden down with three chairs and one small folding table.
Harris, poor sod, had born it all manfully, carrying a teapot, the tea box, milk, sugar, two bottles of white wine one of which was already on the table. The other, they would apparently chill in a stream for later. How she knew there would be a stream, Jack didn’t know.
She had been adamant there would be one.
And lo and behold, as if she had manifested a trickling brook from her exacerbating vivid imagination, she found one not far from their dining spot. The wine was chilling.
And she?
She was laying the last touch to the elaborately set table. A small bunch of purple wild flowers. She adjusted the small bunch, turning it a trifle to the left then looked up, her eyes alight with her achievement. “There. Now, isn’t that civilized?”
He was tempted to point out that it had been civilized inside. But he was aware that such a comment was common to the male who inevitably ended up sleeping alone or paying light o’loves. “Its quite something.”
He stared at the table, wondering if she would have done the same for him on the continent, armies milling about, not a chicken to be found, and a general irritation at having slept in the mud for a good decade or more dominant. He had the most strange feeling that s
he would have. “You would have made an excellent batman.”
She cocked her head to the side, but then her lips curled in her devilish grin. “I would have. Wouldn’t I? Quail egg?” she asked, plucking up one of the speckled ovals from the woven basket on the corner of the table.
He eyed the thing as if it might poof out of sight. Surely she was a magician and not just simply organized. He refused to believe that she was, though all indicated her skill. He didn’t wish to contemplate why he didn’t like it. . . Perhaps. Perhaps, it rested in the general idea that such a woman would never need a man except for in the bedchamber. “Alright, yes.”
He stepped forward and pulled out one of the folding chairs and waited for her to sit.
She did so, hands folded in her lap as she waited.
Jack sat opposite and much to his shock, Harris shuffled forward and then snapped the napkin off Cordy’s plate, placing it delicately in her lap. She gave him a gentle smile. “Thank you.”
Harris blushed, tugged at his forelock and shuffled back without assisting Jack with his napkin. Not that he needed assistance, but…
“Harris, would you check the Sauternes?” she asked.
Harris’ eyes lit up, clearly glad to be given a task by the lady he was coming to admire, and he quickly shambled off in the direction of the stream.
How in the hell had she done that? She’d known Harris less than twenty four hours and the man was already ready to walk to land’s end and back for Cordelia. But then again, hadn’t he swung from a tree to free her? What was it about Cordelia that inspired men to act the fool?
Even his brother had shown a surprising interest her. Jack stopped. That was not a thought worth thinking on. What was worth thinking on was that this woman, if given her way, would be able to have any man she wanted. And soon.
He didn’t like it.
Cordy peeled a quail egg, sprinkled a touch of salt on the smooth white then popped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened with delight. Her whole damn face glowed. From her shining blue eyes to the pink of her cheeks she looked. . . Well, she looked like a well pleasured woman. And her hair. Good God. It rioted about her face in the slight breeze, a curly mass of unruly temptation.
He suddenly wished he’d learned to plait hair. Perhaps his groom could teach him and then he would spend hours brushing and touching Cordelia’s curls.
“I say, are you quite alright?” she asked, one brow arching.
He cleared his throat. “Quite.”
“You look as if you’ve choked but you haven’t eaten anything.”
“So I haven’t.”
She glanced towards the hillside and stopped chewing.
He followed the direction of her gaze and tried to spot what had riveted her attention. There was nothing but green grass rolling over the undulating ground. “What do you see?”
She picked up another egg, her gaze still trained in the distance, as she peeled the shell, her lips pursed and once again she popped the whole egg into her mouth. When she’d finished chewing, her gaze narrowed. “I’m not sure.”
He looked from his wife, to the far off grass. “Not sure about what?”
Her gaze narrowed and she leaned forward, plunking one elbow most indecorously upon the table. “Could be.”
He leaned forward. Wondering what in the hell could cause such a revery. “Could be what?”
She made a small contemplative sound then rubbed her chin. “Unlikely though.”
He was tempted to wave his hand in front of her face in farce fashion, but refrained. “Cordy?”
Ignoring him completely, she leaned forward, gaze still fixed in the distance. “But you never know.”
He drummed his fingers on the table top, the sound muffled by the linen. Being ignored was certainly unique. He was not impressed. And he was not impressed with himself that he was irked. “Know what, exactly?”
“It does look possible.”
“Have I been to bed with a mad woman?”
A smile suddenly turned her lips in triumph. “Yes, of course.”
He pulled back. Oh God. She’d lost her mind. He’d heard some women took love making in such a fashion but she hadn’t seemed delicate in any particular way. “Now, my darling—”
But before he could begin to sooth her, she’d jumped up, her chair thudding on the ground and she was off, striding in a most alarming fashion. Off towards whatever spot had captivated her.
When she was about a good twenty feet away, and he was still agape, she called back over her shoulder. “Bring the bottle and the eggs.”
Had she just beckoned him?
Like a footman?
It was not possible.
Was it?
She kept striding and upon the breeze he heard her call with a surprising degree of impatience, “Well, come on then.”
And for lack of anything better to do, and the fact that she seemed delirious, he grabbed the bottle off the table and the small basket of eggs and went after his wife.
Chapter 20
Cordelia clapped her hands together and marched over the terrain. Anticipation hummed through with such intensity it was all she could to keep from running about the small circular area.
She was correct. It did look like it.
It truly did. Almost without question, they had been dining not twenty yards from a barrow. Doing a little dance of glee, she laughed.
In all her years, she’d never been to England until now and the Fates had been kind enough to bestow an excavation site upon her. Perhaps England wasn’t so terrible after all.
The indentations and curve of the earth clearly indicated human creation, not geological occurrence. Which made her fingers itch to find a shovel, and a set of brushes in varying sizes.
Jack strode up behind her, his face not at all elated.
In fact, his face looked rather like doom. She’d seen a similar look upon her own father’s face when her mother had been up to something particularly crack brained. And she didn’t like the idea of stirring about any of the emotions her mother had done.
That woman had caused more chaos than Pandora and Cordelia had spent a lifetime of living quite rationally, thank you very much.
“Whatever is the matter?” she asked. She gestured toward the barrow. “Is it not wonderful?”
He scowled. “Its a hill.”
It hit her then. He had absolutely no idea what she was so overjoyed by. “You poor man.”
“Poor man?” He readjusted his hold on the wine bottle and quail eggs. “I am perfectly in my right mind but you—”
“Its a barrow,” she exclaimed then threw out her arms facing the small oval rise, wishing she could hug the burial site.
“A barrow,” he echoed.
She nodded, then clasped her hands before her in a slightly prayer like fashion. For there was nothing like a good dig, aside from rocks of course, which could induce the desire to worship within her. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I do not see a barrow.”
Her mouth dropped open, quite unexpectedly. “I beg your pardon?”
He paused for several moment, his gaze swinging from her to the barrow then back again. “Are you quite well?”
“Hmmph.” She dropped her hands, propping them on her hips. “Don’t be ridiculous—”
“I know you are given to eccentricities, but you are acting in a most peculiar—”
She narrowed her eyes, quite disappointed in his lack of vision. “You sound most serious. Like a poker has invaded your posterior.”
Jack frowned. “Now, that hardly seems appropriate.”
She laughed. “Listen to yourself.”
He scowled and then his expression softened to one of chagrin. “I do sound rather—”
“Stiff,” she cut in, more than ready to get down to business. “Now just look before you.”
His gaze traveled over her warily, very much with the same sort of look one might use when expecting a mad man to suddenly start jumping up and down and ma
ke monkey noises.
She sighed. Why did men always have to be so ridiculous? They always had to jump to conclusions and rarely thought out their situations. “If you just be patient and look at the terrain you will see what I see.”
“I do not believe a barrow is magically going to appear, my dear.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you are speaking of the garden variety, which I now assume you must be, I concur.”
His brows drew together, confusion written all over his face. “If not—”
“Look,” she commanded pointing towards the rise.
He looked.
He stared.
He blew out a pained breath.
She dropped her hand and shook her head. “Good grief, what do they teach boys at Eton?”
“Not much,” he drawled.
“Apparently.” She folded her hands before her, ready to take on the polite persona she always managed when irritating gawkers came to view the antiquities of Egypt. He was quite fortunate she was willing to enlighten him, really. Usually, she just shooed such persons off. But…Well. . . She was a guest here.
“I’m waiting,” he said at last.
“With little grace,” she quipped.
“Cordelia—”
“Alright. Alright.” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “What you see before you could be a Viking barrow.”
His dark eyes widened slightly as he stared at the green patch with fresh eyes. “Viking—”
“Yes. Now let me finish.”
He clamped his mouth shut, but his impatience needed no words to be expressed. The line of his broad shoulders, and usually sensual mouth said all that needed speaking.
“About a millennia ago, the coasts were riddled with Viking attackers. London itself—”
“I am familiar with history, madam professor.”
She sniffed. “Not familiar enough.”
Jack sighed put the eggs down then popped the cork from the wine bottle. “I beg your pardon, but I think, if you are going to lecture, this calls for wine.”
She gave a little conciliatory gesture of her hand. “Do go ahead.”
“Thank you.” He took a swig from the bottle then offered it to her.
“In a moment. When I’m finished.”
He held the bottle a few inches from his mouth before saying, “Will it truly be only a moment?”
