Danger Wears White (10 page)

“Good.” It was his turn to move, but he did it with more purpose, pulling out of her a little before pushing home again.

Warmth suffused her, not the heat of a moment ago, but a pleasant, stirring feeling, making her restless.

“Keep your legs open and your knees apart. Let me do all the work.”

Giving herself up to someone was against her nature, but she did as he bade her, promising herself that if they did this again, no,
when
they did it again, she’d know how to participate. This was her first lesson in making love, and she’d make the most of it.

He eased out, and then in. The pain disappeared, replaced by a shifting, restless feeling and the need to push back against him. Instinct drove her now as he repeated his action. Her body responded, folding around him, accepting him, and the tension eased as he moved more, nearly out, and then deeply in.

He was gritting his teeth.

“Does it hurt you?” she asked.

“Too much.” He dropped his forehead against hers and lifted it once more. “No, it doesn’t hurt at all. But I want to do this more than I want to breathe. Forgive me, sweetheart, I must do this.”

His thrusts grew harder, more forceful. Imogen let it happen, let her body respond to his, as if she’d been waiting for this. Waiting for him. This man, this time, this space. It belonged to them. She’d make a shrine of it, keep it to herself, her secret, as was what was happening here and now. Nobody would take this away from her, and she set her mind to remember every part of this, every touch, every sweet murmur, every lunge he made deep into her body.

Their flesh slapped together, and while she was sure such an intimate connection should embarrass her, it did not. “More,” she gasped. “Do it more.”

He laughed breathlessly. “My lady commands me.” He moved down a little, and then thrust again.

Her clitoris touched his body with every stroke, and the heat and tingles inside her increased. Similar but different to previously, more encompassing and more difficult to resist.

She knew better than to fight against it this time. She embraced him, held on, his powerful back muscles bunching every time he drove inside her, increasing the wonderful intimacy. Surely people could not do this with people they didn’t know or trust. But she’d read about such encounters and the devastation they could bring.

Not this time. Only pleasure coursed through her, until she gasped in surprise.

Her channel convulsed around his cock as she clamped her lips together on her cry. She wanted to scream his name, let him hear it on her lips, the result of his exertions.

But with a muffled cry of his own, he jerked out of her, grabbed his cock and lifted it free of her, pushing up on his elbow. Hot wetness flooded her stomach. He ejected his seed on her belly rather than inside her. Even at the peak of his arousal, he had thought of her.

She wished he had not. She wanted him as mindless as she felt. A foolish desire, when his precaution made it less likely that she’d have to face any consequences from this act, but while being grateful, she was also sorry.

He bent, kissed her, and swung out of the bed, keeping his injured arm away from bearing his weight. He did it with such athletic strength she wondered at it, and what it would be like to have him make love to her completely fit and well.

Likely she’d never know. She’d have to remain content with this.

He crossed the room to the basin, and the notion occurred to her that this was the first time she’d seen him walk freely, or as freely as he could with his head bent to avoid banging it on the rafters. After dipping a rag in the water, he came back to her and efficiently cleaned her, wiping between her legs first, and then her stomach. Although he was gentle, she still winced.

“You’re sore.” He made it a statement, not a query. “I’m sorry for that.” He shot her a wicked smile. “If not for that, I’d keep you busy here all night.” He said nothing else until he’d dropped the cloth on the floor and climbed back into bed with her.

The previously white cloth now bore red stains, the only evidence of her virginity that remained. Not much to show for it. All the riding she did had probably eased her way.

“Yes.”

Propping himself on his good arm, he kissed her. “Thank you. We should not have done that, but for the rest of my days I’ll be glad we did. Nothing will alter that. But whatever got into you? You’re a respectable maid, so why do this?”

“I’m not a maid,” she reminded him. “Not anymore. I wanted it, and with you. I haven’t wanted this with anyone else.”

“Young George admires you a great deal. Are you sweethearts?”

Shocked, she recalled that he thought her a servant. In that case, a match with Young George would be a natural conclusion. “No, we’re not. We’re good friends who grew up together.”

He laced his fingers with hers, resting them on her stomach. She watched his arm carefully, but he seemed at ease.

“I swear all the poison has gone. You and Young George drove it all away. I’m still weak, but I could get up and leave.”

She didn’t want him to. If she had her way, she’d keep him prisoner here forever, or at least until she could bring him out. Which reminded her. “My unwanted guest is leaving tomorrow.” Probably today now. It must be after midnight. “I could move you into a guest bedroom and claim you were a traveler I discovered. Which you were.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll leave soon.” Lifting their linked hands, he kissed her knuckles one by one, the softness of his lips a tender touch. “I swear, I’ll come back.”

“You will?” She couldn’t quite believe him. “You must not if it means you’ll be in danger.”

“I’ll find a way. “

When she gazed at him, she could believe him. His expression was entirely open.

A wave of fatigue swept over her. “I need to go,” she said. “I’m tired.”

Fortunately, he didn’t argue. “Yes, you should go and rest. I will be with you. Imagine me holding you all night.” He kissed her.

She loved his kisses, could become addicted to them. But he drew away.

“I want you here, but we can’t risk it. And you need your sleep. Bathe yourself in the morning as I showed you. Hold a pad of cold water against yourself if you are uncomfortable. I took you as carefully as I could, but I don’t make a habit of deflowering virgins, so I was acting mainly on instinct.”

The knowledge warmed her, gave her the certainty that what they’d shared was special. “I’ll come back as soon as I can tomorrow to see you. Either I or one of the Georges will bring you food.”

“I have plenty. Young George brought bread, cheese, and apples. Good country fare.”

The basket stood on the linen chest, testament to his statement.

He helped her to dress, but she left off her stays and stockings and only stuffed her hair into her cap in case she met anyone who might wonder why she was abroad so late. Or so early. With a few last kisses, all of which she entered into her mental inventory, she left, wishing with all her heart that she could stay with him and let him hold her, as he’d told her he wanted to do.

The clock in her room chimed the hour as she entered. One o’clock. And all was well.

Tony lifted his arms, prepared to take up his usual thinking posture, hands tucked behind his head, but the twinge in his arm reminded him of the injury and he only lifted one hand. The infection might have gone but the wound still pained him. He’d had to grit his teeth a time or two when he’d been making love to Emmy, to stop her noticing the soreness. He hadn’t told her that Young George had, at his instigation, slipped out for some brandy and used it to irrigate the wound. It had hurt like hell, but he’d seen it work in the field. It would help prevent further infection.

He was still shaking at the reminder of what they’d shared. He’d never known anything like it. She’d encompassed him with her beauty, humbled him with her generosity. But he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the hot tide of desire that had swept over him, conquering him completely.

Stripping off the bandage, he reached for a rag and crossed the room to dip it in the water bowl. He would clean the wound and then get some sleep. Drowsiness invaded his limbs. It would be the best sleep he’d had for a long time.

While he worked methodically, careful to ensure he’d cleaned every part of the wound, front and back, he had time to deal with his guilt. Because, damn, he should have told her who and what he was. She thought him a rebel soldier. How would she feel when she knew that until recently he’d been an officer in His Majesty’s Armed Forces? Working under the Duke of Cumberland, the man the Jacobites liked to call Butcher, no less.

Water dripped into the bowl as he held the cloth still.
Nobody knows who I am.
He’d rushed away from London without leaving much of a coherent message behind him. After he’d discovered a clue about the whereabouts of a document his family was hunting, he’d taken the initiative. If he died, his parents would mourn, even if his brother would not. If they knew where he was, to mourn for him.

He was on his own. Behind enemy lines, hunting down an elusive document that he now didn’t have a hope of discovering. He’d wanted to present himself as a weary traveler, have them welcome him into the house as a fellow Jacobite, but it wasn’t that simple.

At least he was well enough to move. That bout of fever had set him back. He’d have to get out of here and return to London with his tail between his legs. Let his almighty cousin Julius deal with it, as no doubt he planned. Tony was closer to Julius than he was to his brother, but that wasn’t saying much. Every time he tried for a rapprochement with Nick, his brother pushed him away and provoked him into yet another argument. Not that Tony wasn’t capable of causing a few of his own.

When he flexed his muscles, his arm still hurt like hell, but the wound was crusting over, a sure sign recovery was happening as it should now. She must have worked for hours, easing out all the noxious substances.

He took a fresh strip of linen and re-bandaged his arm, deftly fastening the end as he’d done for others in his time. As a soldier, he’d been lucky to escape serious injury. After he’d conquered his father’s efforts to have him sent to the safest regiments, the most luxurious postings, he’d faced death, as soldiers do, and seen injuries to men who had fought by his side, but he’d come away relatively unscathed. Men had vied to join his regiment and serve under him, because they’d seen him as a talisman. He grimaced. Some talisman.

He’d have to tell Julius what he’d done and how close he’d come to death. Not his father though. He’d grieve him. He couldn’t do that again. The remembrance of his father’s face when he told him he’d joined the army would remain with him for the rest of his days. He’d sold out largely because of his father’s urging.

One thing he was sure of. He would not, absolutely not, leave Emmy to suffer the consequences of what she’d done. One way or another, he’d take care of her. Doing his best to ignore the need to hold her close, he climbed into the narrow bed and forced himself to sleep.

* * * *

Tony was waiting eagerly when Emmy returned the next night. She brought food, a bundle of bread, cheese and ham, and that, added to the barrel of small beer Old George had delivered, was plenty. He watched her bustle about. Her movements made him strangely content, considering the beat prowling within him that urged him to throw her down and strip her of her practical clothing.

Old George was the first thing he mentioned. While she was stowing the food safely away out of the reach of the mice that scurried in the rafters, carefully covering it with cloths, he told her about his day, such as it was. “My wound is now well on the way to recovery. Old George brought me food and drink today. If he stood upright, he’d be as tall as his son.”

Laughter lent a cadence to her voice. “Their family has worked for—the family here for generations. Their loyalty belongs to the Thanes, not any cause.”

“Like in the middle ages, when one family gave their loyalty to another and another, right up to the crown.”

Her head bobbed as she ensured the bread was tucked up and stowed. He liked this domesticity. More than liked it.

He began to consider the impossible. What if he could see her like this every day? After all, he wasn’t too important in the scale of things. His estate wasn’t likely to overwhelm her. She must be an upper servant here. Abruptly he asked the question. “What kind of maid are you?”

Her hands stilled and her head bowed. His hands itched to remove that white cap that covered most of her hair. He wanted to feel the strands against his fingers. “I’m the housekeeper,” she said eventually.

A position of responsibility and some status, all of which she’d imperiled by bringing him here. “You must be very busy during the day. You can’t do this. You must be exhausted.” He determined to make her rest tonight. Nothing else.

That resolve dissolved into mush when she turned around, smiling. “Not too exhausted.”

Her shy smile killed all his resolves stone dead. He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around her. When she lifted her face, he kissed her, tasting her with the avidity of a man dying of thirst, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, claiming her.

With considerable effort, he tore his lips away from hers. “You need to rest.” He said it as much to remind himself as for her.

“I’ll rest when you’re gone.” Melancholy laced her tones, her musical voice dipping.

“I’m not abandoning you.”

She placed a hand on his chest in a way he was already anticipating with pleasure. He covered it with his own so she wouldn’t pull it away. His heart thumped against their joined hands, hers now completely engulfed in his.

“You must.”

“I will not. I’m retreating to regroup. I’ll come back.” He squeezed her hand. “There might be consequences from our actions. Pregnancy.”

There, he’d said it.

Her eyes widened. “You were careful.”

Of course a country girl would know, even a virgin. Virgin until last night, that was. Satisfaction filled him where shame should have taken its place, but the emotion was undeniable. It would have its way. “It’s not infallible. I won’t abandon you. Don’t ask it of me.”