Читать книгу: «Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1», страница 47

“I mean you no harm, as I assured you this morning. Quite the opposite, Mrs.—it isn’t ‘Martin,’ is it?”

Her eyes fell. “No,” she said softly.

“Nor is it the ‘widowed.’ Mrs. Martin?”

She jerked her head upright, dismay in her eyes. She opened her lips. Closed them again.

“You’re still married, aren’t you? That’s what—who you’re hiding from. That’s the matter that ‘cannot be fixed.’ Isn’t it?”

She sighed. “Why could you not accept the surface appearance of things, as everyone else does?” She smiled, her expression half rueful, half self-mocking. “All of England, and I must take refuge in the one small community whose squire’s son is friend to the Puzzle-breaker’s brother. So now you’ve guessed the whole of my secret. But as long as you honor your pledge not to betray me—and I think you will—what is there to discuss?”

“You believe yourself in danger, do you not?”

Her smile faded. “Yes.”

“Then you must come with me.”

That startled an incredulous laugh from her. “Go with you! To London where the chance of Ch—of discovery would be so much greater? You must be mad! Why do you think I chose so obscure a location?”

“Obscure or not, you just admitted that, should your husband discover your whereabouts, you would not be safe here. I can keep you safe.”

“I beg to differ, but you cannot! Clever though you be, you are not above the law. Should my husband find me, no one has the right to keep me from him.”

“You think I would let him find you? A man who has used you so badly you felt it necessary to go into hiding to escape him? Think, Laura! I’ve many more contacts than you. I can see you settled secretly, somewhere safe. Where you can stay while I persuade him to pursue a bill of divorcement.”

“Divorce?” She uttered a short, scornful noise. “Now I know you’re mad! He’s … an important man, fiercely proud of his family and his lineage. He’d never tarnish it with the stain of divorce. He’d see me dead first.”

Beau shrugged. “If he is proud of his family, he’ll want sons to carry on his name—which I trust you’ve not yet provided?” When she said nothing, he continued, “He’ll not get heirs without a willing wife. ‘Tis in his own interest to divorce you and find another. And should he refuse to proceed, he’ll be made to do so. A man who causes his wife to flee cannot be a saint. There must be some stain on his honor he would not want revealed, something that would be more damaging to his name than divorce. If necessary, I’ll guarantee him it will be revealed.” Beau smiled slightly. “As you know, I’m rather good at ferreting out secrets.”

Laura shook her head. “He will not be coerced. Only remember—society, law, custom are all on his side! Alerting him to my presence would only encourage him to arrange the one thing that truly would make him free …” Her fervent voice faded to a whisper. “My death.”

“Do you think me so poor a champion?” Beau asked, appalled, frustrated and more than a little stung by her lack of faith.

She looked up, her eyes lit with tenderness. “You are a wonderful caretaker to those who depend on you—your sister and brother and niece. But you cannot protect me. Even if I had some valid claim to your protection.”

“Do you not, Laura, my sweet?” He reached for her hand, and she let him take it, bring it to his lips. “Your fierce spirit laid claim to my heart that first long night we toiled together at Kit’s side. Every day that passes, each moment we share deepens that claim. A bond and obligation quite apart from what my family owes you, a link between you and I alone. Surely you feel it, too.”

A statement, not a question. Her lips trembling, she squeezed his hand. “Y-yes. But it cannot—”

“It can! We can be together, if you will only believe in me, trust me. I want you with me, Laura. I want to protect you and care for you and love you. I’ll pledge my life to prevent any harm coming to you. And I will do whatever is necessary to set you free.”

Tears welled in her eyes, the candlelight reflected in their watery sheen. “I believe you. But you do not know him. You don’t know what he’s … capable of. I promise you, he would never consent to a divorce. Soon I’ll be … safer, as safe as I shall ever be in this life. But only if I stay here, if you promise to take no action that might bring to his notice some hint of my whereabouts.”

“Laura, that’s nonsense! Only a divorce will truly make you safe. Won’t you tell me the whole, help me set the process in motion?”

“I cannot!”

Damn, but the woman was stubborn. Fighting exasperation and fatigue, Beau tried again. “Laura, I must leave tomorrow. How can I go, knowing you are alone and unprotected? I realize you’ve built a life here, and it’s only natural that you are reluctant to abandon it. But if I managed to piece together the truth, someone else might as well. Or what if, one day as you passed the village posting inn on your way to tend a patient, the door of a private carriage opened and your husband stepped out? What then?”

If Beau had harbored any vestige of doubt about the depth of Laura’s fear, the stark look of panic that widened her eyes and paled her skin at that possibility would have erased them.

The urgency of persuading her goading him ever more acutely, Beau pressed his argument. “It could happen, Laura. Please, come with me! I swear on my family’s honor to keep you safe and to see you freed.”

Pressing her lips together as if to still them, she pulled her hand free and backed away from him, stumbling as she encountered the wall behind her. Swaying with the force of her agitation, she remained there, eyes riveted on his face, while doubt, confusion and dismay played across her expressive face.

He let her retreat. “Trust your heart, Laura,” he urged her softly. “Trust me.”

Knowing there was nothing more he could say or do, Beau simply stood, willing her with all his strength to agree.

Finally, as he watched in consternation, a distant, shuttered look descended on her features, as it had this morning. She gave her head a small, negative shake. “I’m sorry, but I must stay. Please, do not urge me further.”

Beau grit his teeth and resisted the urge to shake her like a disobedient child. How could she not admit the superior logic of his plan? He took a deep, calming breath. “Laura, I know you are afraid, but—”

“Lord Beaulieu, must we part in anger? I will not go, and nothing you can say will change my mind. If you intend to depart at dawn, I suggest you return to the squire’s and get some rest before your journey.”

As if they’d just finished some innocuous social chat over tea, she turned away, apparently intending to lead him to the door.

Irritation and the daunting knowledge that he hadn’t succeeded in convincing her roughened his voice. “Damn it, Laura, I can’t just abandon you here!” As she tried to bypass him, he seized her by the shoulder.

With an inarticulate cry she wrenched out of his grasp, scuttled sideways and whirled to face him, arms raised protectively over her head.

As if to ward off a blow. The realization exploded in his brain and radiated in shock waves through his body.

He’d known, intellectually, that her husband must have abused her. But not until this moment, as she half crouched before him, her breath coming in gasps, her eyes dilated and feral as a cornered animal’s, had the reality of what she must have lived with, fled from, truly registered.

While he stood there staring at her, incredulous and horrified, she slowly straightened, lowered her arms back to her sides. Her wide, watchful eyes never left him.

Blind rage filled him, a sick revulsion at the indignity she must have suffered. Though given the evidence he’d just witnessed there was little need to ask, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from voicing the awful truth.

“He hurt you.”

She nodded, a quick jerk of the chin.

“Often. Badly.”

She pressed her trembling lips together and squeezed her eyes shut, displacing a single tear that tracked down her cheek, a glaze of liquid diamond in the moonlight.

“Ah, Sparrow,” he whispered against the ache in his throat. “I’m so sorry.” And walked over to gather her against his chest.

She trembled within the circle of his arms, trying not to weep. He’d guessed her most shameful secret, and yet he’d not turned from her in disgust after she cowered before him like some sort of brute beast. Instead, he sheltered her in his embrace, offering her refuge while she regathered the few tattered shreds of dignity Charle ton had left her. For that mercy alone, did she not already love him, she would surely have given him her heart.

Not for more than a year, since Aunt Mary had entered her final illness, had Laura been embraced by another human soul. How she had missed the sweet peace conveyed by simple physical closeness. For long moments after she’d recovered her composure, she could not make herself move away. But when finally she did force herself to push against his chest, he released her instantly.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

Even now, ‘twas best not to be too specific. “A number of years.”

“And he … misused you from the first?”

She sighed. “Nearly.”

“Did your family not suspect?”

“I ran back to them the first time. But he came after me, so charming and regretful, that he convinced them—and me—'twas all a silly misunderstanding, that I was young and overreacted. I believed him—until the next time. And then it was too late. I was watched too closely.”

“Until one day you felt you could stand it no more?”

He cannot be a saint … there must be some stain on his honor he would not want revealed … But no, Charleton was too clever. Even if she told Beau what had happened, it would end up her word against her husband’s—and which was the court likely to believe? Better, still better to say nothing. “Until I could stand no more,” she agreed.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Were these medieval days, I would find him and kill him, but we are supposed to be more civilized now. Won’t you leave with me, let us fight this together?”

So he might protect her from Charleton. Her champion. Another tear escaped her. “N-no. I’m sorry, but I cannot. I’ve suffered much to construct a haven here. Please, please do nothing to jeopardize it.”

“Only legal action can prevent that,” he repeated, and then smiled, his voice softening. “Though I truly believe it best, I’d never force you. You know that, don’t you?”

Gentleness with strength. Not sure she could reply without her voice breaking, she merely nodded.

“I’ll be back for you, Laura. Soon. With plans to win your freedom so foolproof and irrefutable you shall have to agree to them.”

He wouldn’t be back, of course. There was no safe haven for her beyond this place—and in any event, once Lord Beaulieu returned to London and the press of his business there, he would soon forget the dowdy, troublesome little nurse who’d dared oppose his authority. During his rare moments of leisure, he’d doubtless have any number of lovely ladies eager to distract him from remembering.

An upsurge of longing swelled in her, and a bitter regret for the closeness they’d almost attained. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

“You are right, my sparrow, I must get some sleep, else I’m likely to fall asleep in the saddle tomorrow. But before I go, would you grant me one favor?”

“If I can.”

Slowly, as if to ensure he did not alarm her, the earl reached over to caress her cheek with one knuckle. “Would you take down your hair for me?” he asked. “Let me see the moonlight cast shadows on that lovely auburn hair, as the sun did that first morning in your garden?”

His reverent touch, as if she were a precious object to be handled with awe and respect, melted any remaining caution. When he started to move his hand back, Laura caught it, held his palm against her temple. With her other hand, she stripped off the nightcap, splayed her fingers to comb out the braiding, then shook the tumbling plaits free to cascade over her shoulders, down the back and sides of her worn woolen wrapper.

“Like this?”

Moonlight silvered his sliver of smile. “Like that.”

Emboldened, she sought his other hand, brought it up to twine in her rippled locks, arched her neck and bent her head back, thrilling to the feel of his fingers against her scalp, the delicious shivery pull of his hand through her hair.

He caught her chin, steadying her. And bent his head toward hers.

He was going to kiss her, as he had the garden. A rush of memory awakened every sense, and a greedy exultation filled her.

She’d never be the mistress he’d hinted she become, never have days or weeks or months to delight in his company. But perhaps, if she could entice him to it, she might have tonight, just one night in which the coming together of man and woman held all the joy and tenderness that most intimate coupling should contain. A joy she had never yet experienced, and once he left her, likely never would.

Please, her mind whispered like a prayer as she raised her mouth to his. Give me one perfect night.

Chapter Fifteen

She opened her mouth to allow him entry. Encouraged by his moan of response, the sudden tightening of the fingers cupping her face, she tentatively moved her tongue to stroke his. She felt his body shudder, and in one swift move he slid his hand from her face to wrap his arm about her shoulders, binding her closer.

Yes, she wanted closer, wanted the plush of his tongue probing, exploring, igniting shivers of sensation that tingled all the way to her toes. She reached up to tangle her fingers in his dark hair, pull him nearer so she might launch her own exploration into the delicious peaks and valleys of his mouth.

The warmth of him heated her despite the barriers of greatcoat and wrapper, but she craved more contact, yearned to feel the bone and muscle of his body against hers. Impatient, she pulled loose her robe, tugged at the buttons of his coat.

With a shuddering gasp he broke away, pushed her back. “Ah, Sparrow, I want you too much. I must leave now, while I still can.”

“No!” she cried, catching his hand. “Please … don’t go. Not yet.”

He went entirely still, turning the full force of his gaze upon her. She stared back, desperate with hope and yearning.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “If I stay, I cannot promise to stop.”

“I know,” she said. “Please, stay.”

For another long moment he studied her. “So be it,” he said hoarsely, and kissed her hand.

Trembling at her unaccustomed boldness, she tugged him into motion and led him down the shadowy hall to her small bedchamber.

Through years of marriage she’d endured the invasion of her body, from the painful initiation on her wedding night until the last time Charleton had taken her, barely recovered from childbed. Each time, she’d accepted but never welcomed the forcible joining of a man’s flesh to her own. But now she wanted it, wanted the heavy weight of the earl’s flanks across her thighs, tautness of his belly against the roundness of her own, her breasts crushed under the muscle of his chest. Something feverish and urgent pulsed within her at the thought of that vital, thrusting part of him buried deep within her. She wanted the sound of his breathing gone crazed and ragged as he approached the peak, his cry of fulfillment as he surmounted it. And she wanted the sweet peace of his head pressed to her bosom as, sated and spent, he collapsed against her.

If she were fortunate, perhaps instead of springing up immediately afterward, he would be content to lie beside her, gifting her with the music of his breathing as it slowed. And if she were exceptionally lucky, perhaps he might doze while she held him close, daring to lightly trace the lines of his body, storing in her memory the contours of the strength and vitality she’d once been privileged to briefly hold to her breast.

While the earl closed the door behind her and deposited the candle on the bedside table, Laura stood, suddenly uncertain. Was the earl ready? Sometimes before the act, Charleton had required her to … stimulate him.

She turned to see the earl regarding her gravely. “Second thoughts?”

“Never.”

His eyes lit. Smiling widely, he shed his greatcoat and pulled loose his cravat. “Then come to me, Sparrow.”

Pulling off her wrapper as she went, she ran to his arms. He caught her, lifted her, laughing softly. Set her back on her feet and bent his head.

He kissed her gently this time, light, teasing, touches like the brush of rose petals against her lips, her chin, her cheeks. She murmured a protest, wanting more, and he obliged, tracing the outline of her mouth, sucking softly. The blade of his tongue found hers, the clash setting off shudders deep in her belly.

She swayed on her feet and he caught her against him. She shuddered again at the evidence of his readiness, surprisingly large and hard against her belly. Fire sparking at the center of her, instinctively she rubbed herself against it.

He moaned and took the kiss deeper. Panting now, she urged him to the bed, trying with one hand to pull up her night rail while she settled back against the pillows. She parted her legs and drew him toward her, her trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons of his breeches.

He caught her hand and stilled it, then moved her cupped palm slowly over his rigid length. “S-sweet,” he gasped, the sound nearly a groan. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her fingers away and kissed them. “But not yet.”

“Not yet?” she echoed, bewildered. “But … are you not—ready?”

“You are not,” he said.

“But … I am!” she wailed, fretful with need and mystified at the delay. “D-do you want me to do … something else?”

He chuckled. “Nothing, my sweet sparrow. Just let me look at you.”

She stared at him, wondering if they were speaking the same language. “You … are looking at me,” she pointed out.

“True,” he returned gravely, though his lips twitched as if at some private joke. “But I can’t see nearly enough.”

“Then light another candle,” she said crossly and bit her lip, tears threatening. Was she doing something wrong? Suddenly she felt awkward and unsure. Had her boldness revolted him? Surely he wouldn’t—“You’re not going to leave?” she blurted.

His smile changed, from amusement to tenderness, and the warmth of his gaze held her motionless. “Never, my sparrow. I’ll never leave you.”

The words caught her like a blow to the chest. Scarcely able to breathe through the tightness, she’d not have managed a reply even had her brain been functioning well enough to formulate one. All she knew was she wanted to be joined with him, her body a gift offered joyfully, gratefully for his pleasure.

Leaning on one elbow, she reached back for him. But before she could seize his breeches flap, he reached over to grasp her ankle. Puzzled once more, she stilled, watching as he bent low over her leg. And kissed the soft skin at the instep of her foot.

She gasped, the sensation both ticklish and powerfully pleasurable. The vibrations he set off there seemed somehow to directly intensify the prickly, achy tenderness of her breasts, the pulsing fullness between her thighs. Then he lifted her foot and stroked the hot wetness of his tongue across her toes, took the littlest into his mouth and sucked it.

An immediate response rocketed through her. She seemed to lose control of her limbs, felt herself sag back against the pillows, her heartbeat loud and rapid in her ears, as if she’d been chasing Misfit while playing fetch. Seeming oblivious to her disintegrating faculties, the earl made a leisurely progress across her toes, stimulating each in turn, then inching her night rail higher to kiss her ankle, tantalize her shins with his tongue.

By now well beyond the ability of speech, but for her rasping breaths she lay silent, in thrall to his touch. With excruciating, intoxicating slowness he explored the curve of her calves, the dimple beside her kneecap. She rejoiced with incoherent gasps as he moved over her knees to the trembling smoothness of her inner thighs, his caress of that exquisitely sensitive flesh so intense it neared pain.

He halted when she flinched away, chuckled deep in his throat when she seized his neck to urge his mouth back down to her. He slowed his pace still further, letting her accustom herself to the shocking newness of his intimate touch. Some remote part of her mind watched in horrified titillation as the wanton creature who now resided in her body begged with whimpered moans and a clenching of hands for him to continue his deliciously slow progression toward a goal she could hardly yet believe.

When at last he reached there, gently urging her thighs wider so he could caress the outer petals and seek the hidden bud within, she could wait no longer. With an inarticulate cry she pushed him back, jerked free the buttons of his straining breeches. “Now,” she begged, desperation giving her voice. “Please.”

“Sparrow,” he said on a gasp as at last she felt the weight of his bare chest against her. She clutched his sweat-slick shoulders as he fitted himself to her aching passage, and unable to wait a second longer, thrust her hips to carry him within.

So incredibly sweet was the joining, tears sprang to her eyes. But as he began to move in the ancient rhythm she thought she knew so well, the subtle friction immediately and dramatically magnified the throbbing sensations within her. Her skin grew feverish, her fingernails biting into his back as she writhed under him, trying to remain properly passive while her body demanded movement.

“Ah, yes, sweeting,” he murmured against her mouth as, helpless to prevent herself, she rocked her hips to mimic his motion. The tautness within her spiraled tighter, tighter, a nearly unbearable torment, tearing a deep moan from her throat. Then suddenly, tension exploded in a brilliant shower of sensation that cascaded through her, a flashflood boiling through every nerve.

For a few moments afterward she lay stunned, barely conscious, barely breathing. Dimly she was aware of Beau rolling her with him to her side, and then she surrendered to the heavy lassitude stealing over her.

Sometime later she struggled back to consciousness, to find she was still wrapped in the earl’s warm embrace. His steady heartbeat vibrated against her chest; his breath warmed her hair. Utter contentment filled her, and once again her eyes stung with tears.

No matter how long or short the life she was destined to live, she would thank heaven for this precious night.

She looked up into his faintly smiling face and the love she’d tried to avoid and ignore caught her full in the throat, strangling her voice. How could she bear to let him walk away?

She cursed the tears that welled up, brushing them away with an impatient hand. She would not spoil the wonder of this night by regretting what could not be.

She wanted to pour out her love, tell him she’d never known such closeness nor tasted such pleasure, that she would treasure these moments the rest of her life. But nothing beyond tonight was possible, and so she swallowed the ardent vows she must not make and searched for something permissible. “How can I thank you?” she whispered at last.

With the gentleness that so captured her heart he rubbed his knuckle against her cheek. “How can I thank you?”

She struggled to lift herself on one elbow. He would leave now, as he must, but resigned though she was to the inevitability of it, still she sought some way to delay.

“Can I get you something? Do anything before you … go?”

“Some wine, if you have it. But, Sparrow—” his voice deepened “—I’m nowhere close to being ready to leave.”

The teasing promise in his tone stopped her breath. Surely he couldn’t mean … what she thought? Her experience argued against the possibility of any further coupling—but then, everything else tonight had been far beyond any previous experience. At the mere hint of it, nerves she’d thought too exhausted to function were beginning to stir and spark. “I’ll g-get you wine,” she said hurriedly.

“Wait a moment,” he said, catching her hand as she reached for her wrapper. “Let me look at you.”

She’d never been naked in front of a man before. But as he held her at arm’s length, his ardent plea echoing in her ears, her self-consciousness faded. She nodded, dropped the wrapper, and stood fully unveiled before him.

Slowly he examined her, from her bare toes up her calves, her thighs, across her belly to taut, tight peaks of her breasts, her shoulders, her neck, her chin, cheeks, hair. “You are so lovely, Sparrow,” he murmured. “Now, wine please, and hurry before you catch a chill.”

Any tendency to chill evaporated as, before he released her hand, he leaned forward to capture one erect nipple and tease it with his teeth. She gasped, delight at this new sensation coursing through her, and grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.

With leisurely slowness he moved his mouth to tantalize the aching peak of her other breast. She was melting, nearly boneless when he at last stopped.

“Wine,” he said, skimming his hand over her belly to touch the tight curls beneath. “We’ve not much time, and there’s so much more—” he moved his finger to stroke within the warm folds “—to experience.”

Somehow she managed to totter to the kitchen and bring back wine without spilling it all over. He greeted her with a kiss, pulled her close under the bedclothes to warm her, and fed her wine. And then, after they’d sipped, and talked, the earl proceeded to demonstrate just how ignorant this long-married wife had been.

He taught her, a voraciously greedy and willing pupil, how he could set off the same incredible explosion with his fingers, his tongue. How she could ready him again for joining with the urging of her hips, the goad of her mouth. Through the swift and shimmering hours of that short, matchless night he showed her how pleasure could be stimulated and conveyed, rapture a current flowing from him to her, from her to him, until it swept them together over the precipice in a timeless, sense-stunning cascade to completion.

Sometime in the quiet dimness near dawn Laura woke to find him still beside her. Joy that he had not crept away while she slept swelled in her, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Sparrow,” he murmured, angling his head to take her kiss on his lips as he pulled her into a rib-bruising embrace.

She clung to him, knowing the time to delay had passed. “You must go now,” she said when at last he released her.

“Yes. I’d best get back to Everett Hall before first light, lest I encounter some farm boy on the way to market who might carry tales. I’ll be off for London an hour or so after.” He paused, looking down at her. “Let me stop here for you on my way.”

Quit Merriville. Part of her yearned to silence her mind’s automatic clamor about the danger, respond only to the leap of gladness that urged her to go with him. But once again, fear and caution won out.

“I cannot. Please, I’m sorry, but—”

He stopped her apology with another kiss. “I know, Sparrow. Though I leave you here alone under protest, I’ll not take you with me by force. But when I return—and I will return, soon—you will agree to depart with me.”

She said nothing, the bittersweet agony of his impending loss thickening her throat and preventing reply. While he dressed she threw on her wrapper and poured him more wine, then walked with him to the porch door.

He bent to kiss her, then lifted her into his arms and hugged her close. “Keep yourself safe, Sparrow. And dream of me until I return.”

“I will,” she said as he set her back on her feet. The whole of my life, she added silently.

Heart already aching, she watched him mount his horse, and with a final wave, ride off into the waning night.

After an exhausting journey that finally saw him installed back in London several days later, Beau sat at the desk in his study, reviewing the latest evidence in the embezzlement investigation. All the reports confirmed his suspicions. Now he must anticipate the perpetrator’s mood and movements in order to construct the most foolproof trap to bring him down.

Sighing, he put the dossiers aside. Having done all he could at the moment to move the case forward, he might now turn his attention to the personal concern that had haunted him all through his long voyage south.

Though Laura seemed to feel she was safe in Merriville, every instinct had rebelled at leaving her there alone and unprotected. And he’d been bitterly disappointed that he’d not succeeded in winning her confidence. Though she’d confirmed the basic facts after he guessed them, she’d not let slip the smallest detail that would make the search for her real name—and thus the path to protecting her—easier or swifter.

That placed him at a disadvantage, but not an insurmountable one. After all, there were but a limited number of men wealthy and influential enough to necessitate a fugitive wife’s going into hiding. Amassing a list of potential names and checking them would be a tedious process, but he would have it done. Armed with all the possibilities, he had every confidence he would eventually deduce the identity of the man he sought.

But how much time would that require?

He begrudged every day he would have to wait while the necessary information was assembled. Each one he spent apart from her heightened the urgency of his desire to claim her, tightened the spiral of anxiety about her safety. Grimly he vowed that he’d give the search no more than a month. Regardless of whether the investigation was complete by then or not, he would return for her.