Romancing the Past

by Darcy Burke

  "Well, not that undressing a woman has ever been on my list of things that troubled me, I am certain I am able to unbutton a row for you." Not allowing her to argue, he unbuttoned her long row of pearls running down the back of her dress. Ella thought with the pang of a jealous wife, how he became so adept at undressing women.

  "I assumed you would want to know about the bakery. Why haven't you asked?" He asked conversationally, which in Ella's mind did nothing to cool the sensuality of the moment.

  "I wasn't sure what Clive knew and didn't want to say something you would rather he not know."

  This was the first time in their troubled past that she was awake when he unclothed her. The first time they were together, she went to him naked, and the last time they had sex, she fell asleep clothed and awoke naked. The storage room couldn't be counted, because he neither undressed her nor found his own pleasure.

  This time— Whoa, this time?

  She was lost. She knew it before the words came to her mind, he wasn't leaving tonight. He never intended to, but she now realized she never intended him to leave either. She should be very angry with herself, but as the cool air swept over her back, he slid the fabric from her shoulders and ran a light touch along her skin. She couldn't find the anger through her rising haze of desire.

  Chapter 12

  Which tingled the fine hairs on her neck more, she wasn't sure, either the cool air or those tantalizing fingers. Her head rolled to the side giving him more access to the tender skin. She was no longer thinking, but only feeling. Rational thought be gone! Tonight was about just being. Being his. His wife, his Viscountess, his lover, whatever he wanted. If she could shut her mind out and just feel, she would. His scent swirled around her. The fire light flickered against her closed eyelids. Hearing her own heartbeat, her body responded to its urgent tattoo.

  Could a person expire from sensing so completely? A delicious pang built within her core. She opened her eyes and her vision was filled with his handsome face looking at her in the mirror of the dressing table. Her arm felt heavy as she raised a hand to cup his rough cheek. Devon closed his eyes at her touch and watching the scene through the lens of the mirror made it more sensual somehow. She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. She could feel his restraint in allowing her the lead. As she worked his lips with her own, she could taste the port wine left from the billiards room. She licked across his mouth and was rewarded when her tongue dipped into his warm mouth without resistance. She knew when his resolve ended, because he took a quick nibble of its tip, making her jump and smile.

  He pushed the silken material off her arms and down to her waist. Without breaking the kiss, which was getting more urgent by the minute, he wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her. With his other hand, he removed the fabric from underneath, and she felt it flow down her legs to lay pooled on the floor, discarded. What she hadn't realized was he had made haste with her shift pushing it above her buttocks. He broke the kiss only long enough to be rid of that offending piece of cloth as well. It was sent to join the gown. Her chair felt cool on her bare thighs.

  Pulling away, both were panting. His eyes devoured her. She had always believed her true power came only with her independence, but seeing the rigid planes on his face and the hard set of his mouth, she felt powerful. At this moment, she was his existence. It was a heady feeling.

  His thigh rubbed against her bare leg, the fabric rough on her tender skin. She reached out, running her palm up the outer part. Solid. Pure male strength. She stopped at his hip and reversed her path. She then, returned up again at reaching his knee. This time, she turned her path inward with a hesitant hand, rubbing her palm over his erection.

  He groaned and his head fell back. Encouraged, she applied more pressure. He liked her touching him, she thought, encouraged. As a widow, she had become privy to many conversations that at the time had made her ears red with a blush, but now she was curious. Would Devon, a Lord of the Realm, enjoy such things? She didn't know the answer, but intended to find out. His placard proved troublesome, but Ella was able to maneuver the buttons out of their hold and his penis sprang forth from its confines. Without hesitation, Ella wrapped her fingers around it. It was hot. Again, Devon groaned his approval. With caution, she began to stroke it. First, slow, and then from Devon's encouraging sounds, faster. Once satisfied at least that part of what she had been told was correct, she bent her head and moistened the tip with her tongue. She was rewarded with his sharp intake of breath.

  The last step she had been told was to take him fully in her mouth and use it to do the stroking. She felt him go still. She stopped, not daring to move. If he didn't like it, she should pull away. Disappointed, she made to sit up. A hand cupped the back of her head and splayed into her hair sending pins scattering to the floor. She sensed more than felt the gentle pull back to her ministrations. She took him deeper into her mouth and glided back up. She repeated this several times. He tasted good. Just as she was settling into a rhythm, his hands settled on her shoulders and withdrew her. She looked up to see Devon watching her. She must have had the question in her eyes, because he answered.

  "If you don't care to see me lose control like a schoolboy, I suggest we retire to your bed." His voice was deep, throaty with desire, his breathing deep, and heavy. He finished what she had started by removing what was left of his clothing. His jacket, thankfully still sat in the library discarded earlier during their games. His shirt and cravat were dealt with. Once naked, he bent, sweeping her into his arms. He was halfway to the bed when he stopped and pierced her with a determined stare.

  "Where did you learn that little trick?" He asked. With a tad bit too much nonchalance to his voice.

  "As a widow, you might be surprised what women will talk about in front of you. I wasn't sure you would enjoy it, but was curious." She was too embarrassed to look him in the eye, so watched her finger make little circles in his chest hair.

  "You should invite these women for tea more often," he said as he laid her naked form on the bed. He kissed her on the tip of her nose. "As for your curiosity, consider yourself free to quench it whenever you feel the need. I am yours to do as you please."

  Her heart sang, and then dropped. There wouldn't be many more times she would be able to quench her curiosity. She was already lost. If she remained, she might never recover losing him again. She sighed to herself and put the idea out of her mind. No point in thinking too much. She would enjoy this moment right now.

  "My turn," he said to pull her out of her woolgathering.

  Before she could question what he meant, he laid her on the bed and made certain to prop her sore ankle on a pile of pillows, and then settled himself between her thighs. She noted he hadn't taken off her stockings for fear of hurting her ankle she assumed. The green ribbon at her thigh looked strangely sensual, even to her. Devon took a moment to trace around the one on the left and smiled a devilish smile that sent chills throughout Ella. Running a finger up the inner part of the stocking, he stopped just below her bare skin. Bending, he licked a line just above the fabric.

  She moaned with pleasure. The sound ignited the flame kindling within. He laved a path up her thigh to his destination. At first contact, Ella thought she might lift off the bed. His mouth was hot and his tongue— whatever he was doing, she didn't want him to stop. Moving to join him, she rewarded his diligence with more sensual moans and sighs. When she was sure she would expire from pleasure, he made his way up her body tasting as he went. Finding her lips, he fed from their sweetness. She reveled in the taste of him and the feel of his mouth devouring hers.

  "You taste like one of your confections," he drawled, resting on his elbows at either side of her head. She felt shielded by the world. They were in their own private world in the enclosure of his arms. His stare was so stark and all consuming she would have looked away, but could not allow it. If there were a moment frozen in time, she would be happy with this one.

  "I need you now," he sai
d to her with little restrained control in his voice. Without a word, Ella wrapped her uninjured leg around his waist and tugged him into her.

  With an unhurried motion, he settled over her, resting his erection at her center. Her slow moan was enough encouragement as inch by inch he filled her. Pausing, he ran a hand from her hip around to her buttocks and up her thigh to the sensitive skin behind her knee. The sensation made her giggle out loud. Was she supposed to giggle? She looked to find him smiling wickedly.

  "Whatever are you smiling like a fool for?" She asked.

  "You giggled. I like that noise. If I do that again will you giggle?" He asked as he, with the lightest of touches, retraced his path to extract an equally enthusiastic giggle from her. She swatted at his hand, but without much real interest in his stopping. She was having fun. Who would have thought?

  Unable to wait any longer, Devon started a slow rhythm. Before long, the gentle long strokes became more frantic, more demanding. Ella could feel herself climbing, but just as she would have expired, she exploded, fracturing into a million stars. At the same, time Devon as well came to his pleasure. He collapsed, careful to rest most of his weight next to her she noted. Both were sweat glistened and panting. As to fend off a chill, he bent and pulled the blanket around their bodies. Pulling her more into him, he settled into the mattress and held her fast as she fell asleep in her husband's arms.

  ♥♥♥

  Again, Devon watched the sun just peak above the horizon on his way to the bakery. Sleep tugged at his eyes, and his body yearned to be curled up with Ella in her bed. He had awoken sometime in the night. His wife was draped over him like a silken throw. Her uninjured leg wound up and over his hip and her dainty foot was wedged heel first between his legs. Her arm rested across his chest, with her fingers woven into his hair. One breast sat at his ribcage. The long flowing hair he loved, wrapped around his neck and face. He was hard just thinking about her. The urge to roll her over and take her again had been a hard one to quell, but he knew he was lost to the clock. Soon, the maids would be about. Taking care not to wake her, he gathered his clothes and left for his own room, only to be greeted by his valet who had been instructed to wake him.

  Now, the cool crispness of the morning bit at his cheeks. He reveled in the feel. All too soon, he would be holed up in the hot bakery until luncheon. As soon as Devon dismounted, the faithful mount lumbered to the patch of grass under the tree. If he didn't bother to tie him to the tree, Devon was sure the beast would be right there when he was finished. Not wanting to chance it, he followed and tied the reins around the trunk.

  Penny must have been out early. The door was not latched, sending a thin ray of light onto the ground. The door only made noise when he closed it behind him. The warmth from the large stone oven permeated the room.

  The girl looked up. "Mornin', Devon," she chirped. The use of his Christian name made him chuckle. He knew he should feel uncomfortable, but he was in Scotland after all. Who would ever know? He understood why his friend felt so at ease here. If not for being the sole person responsible for his holdings, he might think about running away and living out his days here.

  "Good morning to you, Penny. Where should I begin?" He asked as he plucked an apron from the peg by the door and tied it around his waist. Yesterday, the only section of his body not covered in flour was where the apron had been.

  "I 'ave been measuring the dry ingredients, and the yeast cake is bloomin' over there." She pointed to the pot of steaming water by the fireplace. "You can measure the milk and put it to scald."

  Devon walked to the storeroom and found the buckets of milk left by a local farmer. He used the cups he was shown the day before and measured the correct amount into a nearby pot. He returned the remaining milk to the coolness of the storage room. Sitting on a stool, he stirred the milk to keep it from burning on the bottom. Penny bustled around the room humming a familiar tune as she did so. This was only the second day of his employ. However, he was going to miss the atmosphere. It reminded him of his childhood. The only fond memories. Penny went to stir the coals in the stone oven. He could hear the crackle and a pop. Penny jumped at the sound.

  "Oh, I wish it would stop that," Penny complained. She bustled back to the stack of wood.

  "Here, you stir, I will get the wood."

  "I am perfectly capable—"

  Devon cut her off, "You are very much like your employer." She smiled a shy smile. "You might as well use me to the best of my ability while I am here. I am more suited for lugging wood and you for stirring milk."

  He could tell she considered arguing, but took the wooden spoon and sat.

  He walked past the stone oven and another loud pop rang out. He didn't remember hearing those pops yesterday. "Does that happen often?" He asked while piling sticks of wood onto his arm.

  "Nay, not that I have ever heard. It crackles, but I 'ave never heard those pops."

  The fire was too hot for him to get a clear look inside. He piled the wood at the base of the oven and added a few of the bigger pieces. Once those burned down to coals, they would be ready to place the loaves in for baking. It was an old method, but an efficient one.

  Work continued with Penny entertaining Devon with stories of the locals, the lore, and his favorite, Ella. He was sure his wife didn't know it, but she had a friend in Penny like most people wished for. Lord help the person who would say a word against Ella. Devon was satisfied when he hadn't heard of any men involved with her.

  "Ella is a very beautiful woman. Have there not been any gentlemen interested in her?" He asked with a casual tone, he hoped, while kneading the last of the first batch of bread.

  "Aye, they were thick in the air early on. Not as much now that they know she won't play the pretty to them."

  "Why is that, do you think?"

  "Oh, tis' easy. She loved her husband," she answered.

  "How can you be sure? Many marriages are not love matches." He questioned, hoping he wouldn't have to probe more and feeling torn at the thought of Ella loving him four years ago.

  "True, but I catch her sometimes, looking at Maddie. She loves her, but I can tell she's thinking of him." She took a breath, Devon thought, so she could continue, but she thought better of it and put her hands to shaping the bread.

  Eric appeared soon after the first batch had been placed in the oven. Penny filled two bowls with steaming porridge. One for Eric and one for him. He had never been much for porridge, but didn't care to be rude. Along with the bowl of cereal, she set out a jar of fresh honey, apple butter, and several jams. Eric retrieved one of the buckets of milk and proceeded to mix the fresh milk into the hot bowl with a generous portion of honey and currant jam.

  His porridge had only ever consisted of a bit of butter, and well, that was it. Devon chose honey and milk, but he preferred blackberry jam. It was the best porridge he had ever had. His cook will think such a peasant meal beneath her, but she would learn. They sat eating and chatting. Devon filled Eric in as best he could with Penny listening on. He did get the idea Penny knew more than she told. He suspected she knew exactly how to extricate information from poor Eric. The boy was so lovesick he fairly stank of it. The only question was who stank more, him or Eric.

  The smell of fresh cooked bread wafted in the air. Penny rose to take the first batch out and stoke the fire before the next batch went in. She insisted the men rest and talk. Devon wasn't sure why Eric couldn't keep the thread of any conversation with her in his view. The bread out, she began adding the wood Devon had collected earlier. Again, you could hear the wood crackle as it caught. She stuck the poker in to move the fire around. The air helped to ignite the wood. Crackle, crackle. It was a good sound.

  Pop! They looked toward the oven. That sound was louder than before.

  "What was that?" Eric asked.

  "Not sure. It's done it several times. That was the loudest," Penny answered.

  "When we are out a huntin', we sometimes get light stones in our fire rings. Ye know st
one that can't take the heat of the fire. They pop like that when they break. We once had one fly out of the fire altogether." Eric shrugged at his thought, and went back to eating.

  The hair on Devon's neck prickled. He remembered the door this morning, and the fact it made no sound until he latched it. "Penny, did you go outside this morning for anything?"

  Penny didn't turn to him as she was busy piling more wood into the fire. "Nay, Eric brought the milk last eve, and I had everything else ready."

  "Penny, I want you to walk away from the oven." Devon tried to sound as calm as possible. Penny didn't seem to notice anything, but Eric froze with his spoon half way to his mouth.

  "Whatever for? If I don't get this hot enough to burn down, the bread will be tough for sitting too long."

  Pop!

  "Penny--"

  Pop, Pop, Pop!

  Devon didn't bother. He left the table, picked Penny up around the waist, and headed for the door. Eric never questioned just hurried out behind him. Before Penny could get her feet on the ground, she was spitting and complaining. Devon didn't have a chance to explain his suspicions.

  Bang!

  "Go get the inn keeper! Bring buckets. I am afraid we will need them!" Devon commanded as he turned and ran for the door. "Penny, grab my horse, move him into the field!" He didn't turn back to make sure she was doing it.

  Smoke rolled from the kitchen door. It filled his throat and eyes, making both burn. Through the thickness, he could see flames dancing from the side of the oven where a good sized hole had appeared. There were, however, no signs the flames had spread. He raced to grab the pot of water near the stove to drown the flames. More black smoke rolled off the now wet coals.

  Once, he was sure the fire was out, he began to look on the floor in the murky darkness for the culprit. Within moments of walking straight from where the hole lay ripped from the oven, he found what he was looking for. A 'light' rock as Eric called it, but not a small one. This was meant to do major damage. As he looked at the rock, he realized it was still so hot it was beginning to set the floor on fire. Devon grabbed the only thing left by the fireplace. The smell of curdled milk burned his nose, but it did the trick.