Bedding The Baron (10 page)

It was the strength in the line of her jaw, and the hint of mulish determination in her firm chin that kept him beguiled. There were pretty women in every village he passed through, but it was rare to discover such a combination of intelligence and staunch courage.

This woman had overcome every obstacle that life had thrown into her path and still was capable of gathering others in need beneath her wing.

And yet, for all her strength and sheer willpower, she possessed hidden wounds that kept her from allowing anyone truly near.

“Because I know what it is to be alone,” he said, his lips kissing a path to the curve of her ear. “I know what it is to be wary of allowing another close because you fear they will hurt or disappoint you.”

She instinctively arched into his body, her unsteady breath brushing the bare skin of his neck.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded.

Fredrick’s muscles clenched as a wave of desire flooded through him. What did he want from her?

Everything,
a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Every beautiful, stubborn, mysterious inch of her.

But he would begin with her delectable body.

“This,” he muttered, he dipped his head to nuzzle the long line of her neck, his fingers dealing nimbly with the buttons that ran down the back of her gown. As the heavy wool loosened, he gave a gentle tug on the material to reveal the curve of her shoulder. “And this.” His mouth savored the smooth skin of her shoulder as he continued to pull the gown steadily downward.

She gave a soft moan, her fingers locked in a death-grip upon his robe.

“Fredrick.”

Fredrick bit back a foul oath as he forced himself to lift his head from the addictive sweetness of her skin.

“Do you want me to halt?”

Her eyes reluctantly lifted to meet his smoldering gaze. “I . . .”

“Portia?” he prompted. As much as he longed to overwhelm her with the passion that he could sense trembling through her, Fredrick had given his promise. He would not have her accusing him of treachery.

She sucked in a deep breath before giving a slow shake of her head. “No, do not halt.”

Holding her gaze with his, Fredrick gave another tug on the gown, smoothing it over her hips to pool at her ankles. Then, with more haste than skill he was unknotting the laces that held her corset in place.

“You are exquisite. As beautiful as the finest jewel,” he murmured, stripping away the corset to leave her standing in her thin shift. Lowering his head he allowed his gaze to drift over her slender body. “Bloody hell,” he choked out as he caught sight of the delicate chemise that was paneled with fine lace and delicately embroidered with flowers. It seemed designed for the sole purpose of inflaming a man’s fantasy.

And he was definitely inflamed, he acknowledged as his groin hardened and his erection thrust against the heavy folds of his robe.

Sensing his shock, Portia pulled her head back to regard him with eyes shadowed by desire.

“Fredrick?”

“You are a woman who never fails to surprise, poppet,” he husked, his fingers reverently trailing a path along the deep plunge of her neckline. “Who could have suspected that beneath all that wool and starch was such a delicate garment?”

She shivered as his touch brushed the curve of her breasts. “It is merely a chemise.”

“No,” he breathed, lowering his head to replace his fingers with his lips, goaded beyond bearing by the sight of her tightly budded nipples peaking through the thin lace. “It is temptation.”

“Oh.” Her eyes fluttered shut as her hands crept upward to tangle in his hair.

Cupping her breasts, Fredrick found the tip of her nipple and sucked it between his lips, using his teeth and tongue to tease her.

“Your scent has been driving me mad,” he murmured as he shifted to discover the taste of her neglected nipple. “I shall never again be near roses without thinking of you.”

“This is . . .”

His hands moved down her slender waist, the heat of her body searing through the thin fabric.

“This is what?” he demanded, relentlessly continuing to pleasure her swollen breasts.

“Dangerous,” she whispered.

It was dangerous, Fredrick realized as his body throbbed with the need to lower her to the ground and thrust into the heated silk of her body. This pounding, consuming passion was the sort of thing that made men toss aside pride and loyalty and honor.

It was the sort of thing a man would trade his very life to possess.

His arms tightened about her body and with one smooth movement he had her off her feet and was heading toward the bed. Her eyes widened, but she gave no protest as he gently set her on the edge of the mattress and sank onto his knees between her spread legs.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as he captured the hem of her shift and tugged it up her legs to expose the pretty ribbons that held up her stockings.

“Do not fear, Portia,” he murmured, untying the ribbon to remove a white stocking. “I only want to please you.”

“Dear God,” she hissed, as he lowered his head to trail a string of kisses down the inner softness of her exposed thigh.

Lost in his haze of desire, Fredrick managed to relieve her of the small slippers and the remaining stocking before spreading her legs wide enough to expose the tiny patch of raven curls that hid her most intimate secrets.

He gave a hungry groan as he tasted of the tender skin of her shivering thigh. He wanted to consume her. To make love to her for hours as he discovered every sweet inch of her body. But for tonight it was enough to offer her a glimpse of what paradise could be.

Forcing himself not to rush her, Fredrick took his time as he nipped and licked at her skin, rewarded by her low, shaky moan as he headed discreetly toward his goal.

“Fredrick, what are you doing to me?” she rasped as her fingers threaded through his hair.

He smiled in satisfaction as he realized that no man had ever made the effort to please her in such a manner. It was little wonder that she had so easily turned her back on the pleasures of the flesh.

Placing his hands on her legs to keep her from closing against him in shock, Fredrick at last shifted to stroke his tongue through the satin heat of her cleft.

Portia gave a small shriek at the intimate kiss, her hands tugging painfully on his hair.

“Oh, mercy.”

“You shall have no mercy on this night, poppet,” he swore, his tongue searching until he found the small nub of her pleasure.

“Fredrick.”

Her grip eased as her fingers ran a restless path through his hair, her breath coming in small pants as he laved her with tender care.

Fredrick moaned as the taste and scent of her filled his senses. His erection was so hard he thought it might explode at any moment, but with a grim determination he forced his thoughts away from his own needs.

Tonight was for Portia.

Opening himself to her every gasp and soft sigh, Fredrick tormented her with soft licks that brought her to the edge of the precipice without allowing her to tumble over. Over and over he plundered her sweet heat, feeling her legs trembling beneath his fingers.

“Fredrick . . .” she at last pleaded on a small sob, “please.”

“Whatever you desire, poppet,” he breathed, taking the tender flesh between his lips as he suckled her to an explosive release.

Crying out in shocked pleasure, Portia fell back on the bed, her entire body shivering as she struggled to breathe. Fredrick rose to his feet and just for a moment allowed himself the pleasure of gazing down at her delicate body sprawled on the bed.

Attired in the thin chemise, with her raven curls spread across the blanket and her features flushed with passion, she had never appeared more beautiful.

His erection throbbed as it brushed against the fabric of his robe. He had never been so painfully aroused. Dash it all, playing the role of tutor rather than lover was a brutal business. If he did not have relief soon he might end up in Bedlam.

Then Portia’s lashes fluttered slowly upward, the dazed glow of wonderment managing to ease the wrenching frustration that held him in its grip.

With a small smile, Fredrick climbed onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, burying his face into the rose-scented tresses.

There would be other nights, he promised himself. Nights when she would trust him enough to give of herself freely.

Until then he would gladly accept whatever she felt ready to offer.

Portia was floating on a cloud of bliss. Mercy. She had never dreamed of such exquisite sensations. Certainly not by merely having a gentleman put his mouth between her legs.

It had been decadent and delectable and wickedly, madly delicious.

And most wondrous of all there was no fear that her life was about to be plunged into some ghastly nightmare to punish her for her sins.

Instead there was nothing but a serene satisfaction and incredible warmth as she snuggled into Fredrick’s strong arms. At the moment she was quite certain she would be content to lay beside him for the rest of eternity.

Long moments passed until Fredrick gently trailed his fingers over her cheek.

“Portia.”

“Mmmm?”

“Will you look at me?”

His finger slipped beneath her chin to angle her face upward.

Vibrantly aware of the robe that had fallen open to reveal a vast amount of his pale, golden skin, she astonishingly felt a flicker of excitement race through her sated body. She did not know what it was about this man that set her senses ablaze, but it obviously hadn’t been ended by their brief encounter.

At last she allowed her eyes to meet his gaze, her heart squeezing at the genuine concern that smoldered in the silver depths.

“Are you well?” he demanded softly.

An unsteady smile touched her lips. “I am not entirely certain. I have never experienced anything like that.”

His concern eased as his finger strayed to outline her lips. “You are pleased?”

A sudden flush stained her cheeks as she recalled her cries of pleasure.

“You must know that I am. I did not know that . . . that a woman could find pleasure in such a manner.”

His chuckle whispered over her cheek as he slid his palm down her back and pressed her against the hard length of his arousal.

“There are many pleasures yet to be discovered, poppet. All you need do is trust me.”

A shiver raced through her. Not of fear. That, she was prepared for. But instead it was a stunning desire to arch her body against his hardness. To brush aside the heavy robe and run her tongue down that smooth chest while he pressed her onto her back and thrust deep inside her.

She swallowed a small gasp as the shocking images tumbled through her mind, making her heart pound and her body clench with need.

“No,” she breathed softly, pushing from his lingering hold and scrambling from the bed.

In a blink of an eye he was standing beside her, watching as she struggled to tug the gown over her head with a puzzled frown.

“Portia, what is it?”

Dipping her head she hid her expression behind her hair as she hastily tugged on her stockings and slippers.

“I must go before I am missed.”

She heard him heave an aggravated sigh as she clumsily tied the ribbons around the top of her stockings.

“So after all we have shared you intend to scurry back behind your barriers?” he rasped.

Portia gave a shake of her head as she struggled to reach the buttons that lined the back of her gown.

“I do not know what I intend,” she muttered, unable to think clearly with him so near. Gads, she had sensed from the beginning that Fredrick was different, but she had no notion just how different. After all, the last time she had offered herself to a man she had experienced nothing more than relief that it was all over.

How could she suspect that she could actually find such paradise? That she could possess a near overwhelming desire to crawl back into that bed and forget the world in a haze of lust?

Still fumbling with the aggravating buttons, Portia felt her hands being brushed aside as Fredrick stepped behind her.

“Here, let me,” he muttered, swiftly dealing with the buttons. When the last slid into place, his hands skimmed across her shoulders in a tender caress. Portia softly moaned as she felt his lips brush the side of her neck. “Portia.”

Her eyes began to flutter downward as enticing prickles of anticipation spread through her body. It would be so easy to lean back into his body. To snuggle her head in the small hollow beneath his shoulder and allow him to seduce her all over again.

Far too easy,
a voice whispered in the back of her mind.

She took a hasty step away, grudgingly turning to meet his smoldering gaze.

“Please, Fredrick, I really must go.”

He gave a lift of his hands, his expression tight with frustration. “I have told you that I will never do anything against your will, Portia. You are not my captive.”

Portia swallowed a near hysterical laugh as she moved toward the door, her body still tingling from the magic of his touch.

“You do not need to do anything against my will to make me your captive, Fredrick,” she whispered as she pulled open the door. “And that is why I am leaving.”

The tiny village that lay nestled in the valley near Oak Manor was just as Fredrick remembered.

The small stone church that the Graystone family had attended for the past three centuries still slumbered with an ancient peace beneath the pale sunlight. The tidy Green still boasted a crumbling wishing well. And High Street was still lined with a handful of shops that catered to the locals.

Beyond the shops were a dozen or so whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs and small gardens that had been the home to villagers for countless eons.

It was a pretty enough village, Fredrick acknowledged as he passed the curious onlookers who gawked from various windows, but so steeped in tradition that it felt as if he were traveling back in time.

No doubt the citizens enjoyed the sense of being separated from the rapidly changing world, but Fredrick was a man who very much appreciated the future.

Even as a child he had felt stifled when he managed to slip from his father’s estate to wander the cobblestone streets. It was as if he could smell the stale mustiness in the air.

Of course, in all fairness, it was not entirely the sense of cloistered monotony that had caused his discomfort.

As a lad he had been drawn to the village by the sounds of children playing on the Green. For hours he would watch them dart across the grass, always harboring the hope that just once he would be invited to join in their games.

In hindsight it was perhaps understandable that the neighboring children had avoided him. To the villagers he possessed the blood of Graystones and was considered far above their touch, while the local nobles would never allow their precious offspring to be contaminated by a bastard.

At the time, he had known only that he was being shunned and the pain had cut deeper than any dagger.

He had, however, discovered one friendly face among the throng of strangers.

Pulling his mount to a halt, Fredrick motioned toward a lad lounging near the corner. The urchin hurried forward with an eager grin, readily catching the reins that Fredrick tossed toward him.

Fredrick dismounted and placed a coin in the boy’s grubby hand as he headed into the nearby pub. Awry smile touched his lips at the hint of deference in the boy’s manner. It was amazing what the proper clothes and unmistakable polish of wealth could do.

It was the first time he had arrived at the village as a man of substance rather than a bastard.

Entering the narrow pub, Fredrick was forced to halt as his eyes adjusted to the murky shadows. Slowly he was able to discern the open-beamed ceiling of the tap room along with the small tables that were scattered over the worn planks. With a cautious step he made his way through the gloom, smelling the scent of ale and stale tobacco.

Oddly familiar scents, he realized, as he halted at the heavy walnut bar that ran along the back of the room. As familiar as the barrel-chested man enfolded in a white apron who was sliding glasses into the notched rack above the bar.

Oh, there was no doubt that there was more grey than brown in the thick mane of hair, and that there were considerably more lines on the pug face, but he would recognize Macky anywhere.

This was the man who always had a jovial word and place at the end of the bar for a lonely child. He had even whittled Fredrick an entire regiment of soldiers to play with when he visited the pub.

Fredrick had never forgotten him for his kindness.

Taking a seat on one of the high stools, Fredrick waited for the man to finish his task. It was far too early for most patrons to have worked up a thirst, which had been Fredrick’s intention.

Macky might have extended a friendly hand to Fredrick as a child, but his loyalty was to the Graystone family, and especially to the current Lord Graystone. The man would not readily spread old gossip.

It would take a bit of coaxing if he were to discover anything of worth. Something that would be impossible if Macky was busy waiting on a dozen customers.

Besides, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, if he had remained at the inn he would have been unable to resist his obsessive need to seek out Portia.

Despite every scrap of logic that warned it would be a mistake to put pressure on the aggravating woman while she struggled to accept the powerful attraction that smoldered between them, there was a ridiculous part of him that fiercely needed to be close to her. Even if it was just to catch a glimpse of her face.

Bloody hell.

With an effort he thrust aside the thought of Mrs. Portia Walker. It was bad enough that he had spent the entire night hard as a rock with the scent of her clinging to his blankets. And that his dreams had been filled with memories of her soft moans as she had reached her first climax. Today he was determined to concentrate upon his search for his father’s past.

At last sensing he was no longer alone, Macky turned about and regarded him with a curious frown. It was not often his pub was patronized by strangers, and certainly not by strangers who could afford a coat cut by Weston.

Wiping his beefy hands on a towel, he moved to stand directly opposite Fredrick.

“What’ll you have?”

Fredrick smiled at the suspicious tone. “A pint of your best, Macky.”

The man blinked in confusion. “Do I know you?”

“Fredrick Smith.”

Macky made a choked sound as he regarded Fredrick’s fine clothes and the ruby stickpin that sparkled in the folds of his crisply tied cravat.

“Little Freddie?” He gave a shake of his head before a wide grin split his face. “Bloody hell, it is good to see you, lad.”

Fredrick chuckled. “Not so much a lad anymore.”

“No, I suppose not.” With expert ease Macky had a tankard of ale sitting before Fredrick. “Are you visiting the Manor?”

Fredrick took a drink of the dark ale, considering his best approach. “Actually, I am in the neighborhood on business, but I could not pass through without calling on my father, and of course, my old friends.”

“About time, lad. It has been too long since you were last here.”

Fredrick felt a small pang in the region of his heart. He had worked so hard to put his childhood behind him. Even those who had reached out to make his days a bit more bearable.

“I suppose it has been,” he said, a hint of apology in his tone. “I fear I have been rather occupied.”

Always reluctant to have his tender heart exposed, Macky gave a gruff laugh. “Oh aye, you’ve been busy making a fortune for yourself in the city. I always knew you would make something of yourself.”

Fredrick shrugged. “I am not certain I have actually made something of myself, but I will admit that I have been lucky in my investments.”

Macky gave a click of his tongue. “There is no luck in business. Only hard work.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a short silence before Macky cleared his throat. “The Baron is right proud of you, you know.”

“Proud?” Fredrick’s smile faded. How could a father be proud of a son he viewed with shame? “I think you must have me confused with Simon, old friend. Bastards do not make their fathers proud.”

“Now there you are far off the mark, Freddie. Lord Graystone has long known that you have become a respectable businessman while Simon is nothing more than a wastrel.” His lips thinned as he gave a shake of his head. “Damnation, you should see that boy prancing about the village in his fancy clothes and sniffing after everything in skirts. A pity.”

Until yesterday Fredrick would have laughed at the mere notion his father could even recall his name, let alone kept track of his success. Now . . . who the hell knew what was going on behind that guarded composure?

He grimly refused to dwell on the notion. He had long ago halted his attempts to please his father.

“Well, Simon is young and the Graystones are rather notorious for their indiscretions,” he said lightly.

Macky looked surprised by the accusation. “Perhaps your grandfather and uncle were gamblers and whoremongers, but your father has always been more like his ancestors. They built an estate here that any man could be proud of. And what’s more, they never forget those in their care.”

“My father has certainly proven his ability to manage the estate, but his younger years were clearly devoted to reckless pleasure.” Fredrick smiled wryly. “I am proof of that.”

“Now, no more of that sort of talk, Freddie. Your father was no scoundrel.” There was another silence as Macky debated in his own mind. At last he heaved a sigh. “He loved your mother.”

Fredrick froze in shock. Never in all his years had anyone spoken of his mother. Not his demon-spawned foster mother, not his father, and certainly not those who were dependent upon the Graystone family.

“Did you know my mother?”

Macky grimaced. “I suppose it does no harm to speak of her after all these years.”

“Macky?” he pressed, his heartbeat unsteady.

“Aye, I knew her.” He held up a hand as if sensing the shocked questions that hammered through Fredrick. “Not well, mind you. But she occasionally came to the village and was always polite to those she met.”

Another gust of astonishment rushed through his body. He had always assumed that his mother had been some servant that his father had encountered in Winchester or even London. After all, if she had family in the neighborhood then surely at least one of them would have stepped forward to claim him?