Nash's Niche (Behind Closed Doors) (3 page)

Her color returned and she giggled, even though her eyes were still shadowed by some indefinable sorrow. "Then who
'll begin?"

"It'
s usually ladies first. Let me shave us both whilst you decide on the design." He cut her curls as short as he could. Her eyes widened as the cold steel skimmed over her skin. It seemed his lady was oh so receptive to that cold touch. If only he had some ice he could introduce her to many more sensations. Nash let the closed blades stroke her cleft, and laughed softly as she gasped and took a deep shuddering breath. It was with reluctance he put the scissors down and picked up the razor and strop and denuded a small circle of hair just above the entrance to her channel. He wanted to pin her under him, and tease every last inch of her with the chill of anticipation before showing her how heat and cold could work so well together.

Later.

She didn't move but watched him with wide eyes. Each scrape of the steel, each tiny piece of skin that showed under his blade, brought more tiny drops of perspiration to her skin. Her body had taken on a soft rosy sheen, her eyes cloudy with desire, and Nash wanted her with a need so fierce it took his breath away. Carefully he set the razor on the table and moved, to thrust his tongue between her lips. She met it with a determination to match his, and then to his delight, pinched one of his nipples. He had to force himself to move back.

"If we carry on no ink will be used, and you will be bare for nothing." Was that thin, reedy voice really his? He needed to get a grip on his emotions.

"Never for nothing, but I do wish to see it finished." She sounded as disturbed as he.

Nash ran his hands over his head. He needed to stop them shaking. Then once more he bent to his task. When he'd finished, she rubbed her hands over the area.

"It feels so different, in a very good way. Now you?"

"Now me." He set the razor to his groin, and looked at his cock. It was once more standing up and pre cum had leaked onto the head.  "I may need some help here." He gestured toward his prick, which waved as if in acknowledgement of his interest. "To ensure I don't ah, nick it or any such thing."

Madame Felice rolled her eyes. Even with only tiny holes cut in the mask the gesture was obvious. "Like this do you mean?" She set her mouth to the head and licked the juices there. The delicate scrape of her tongue was spine tingling. Nash could hardly remember what he was supposed to be doing.

"Not if you want me to finish the inking," he managed to say.

She lifted her head, and his cock slipped out of her mouth with a tiny pop. "A pity, I was beginning to enjoy myself. Perhaps we will both be better satisfied if I just hold it," she paused. "For now."

"Perhaps. Please." He couldn't form any more words in a coherent form, as she took hold of his horn, and held it firmly with both hands.

"Concentrate, 'tis your turn to be prepared." She lifted one finger and waggled it at him. "Then we can both be rewarded."

Nash took a deep breath and steadied himself, before he set the razor to his skin once more and made short work of his removing his own hair. Satisfied, he set the cutthroat and strop back onto the table. "So what are we inking?"

"Two hearts entwined." She sniggered. "Ah so trite, but oh so true. You have made me realize I have one, and now I have shared it."

If he hadn't been entranced with her, that sentence would have done it. As it was an inferno of sensations filled him, and he vowed he would find out more about his lady. The words 'his lady' hit him. He knew they were true.

She touched his arm. His cock jerked and protested at the reduction in contact.

"I'm ready."

So was he and not just for a tattoo.

"Then try to relax." With careful precision he set the needle to her skin. Her fingers tightened on his cock, and she gasped and bit her lip but didn't move.

"It will sting," Nash warned her. "And I will need to break the skin many times." He inserted the ink into the tiny needle prick, and made several more before she had time to voice her thoughts. Her hands were tight, but not uncomfortable on him.

"It is a sweet sting, My Lord. It marks me as proud to be as one with you." Her softly spoken words filled him with a fierce heat. He needed her again. But not, he vowed, until they were both inked. Then to spare their marks he would show her how many other ways there were to make love.

Nash bent his head and applied himself to his task.

Chapter Two

"Felicity, do hurry up. Welland is waiting for us." Lady Judith Welland's voice was petulant. Felicity Oakley sighed. Church had seemed interminable. The building was chilly, the sermon was long and didn't hold her interest, and the hassock lumpy. Now she was outside in the fresh air she was in no hurry to exchange it for the stuffy house of her cousin, the tedious lectures, and subtle determination of Judith and her husband.

It was becoming ever more impossible not to demand to return to London every day. Not that it would do her any good
. She felt as if her voice was unheard, and she herself invisible. Maybe she'd wake up and find she was back home in Yorkshire, with her horses and her dogs? It was so long since she'd been there. Her home seemed like a fond memory. Felicity's papa was adamant she could dally no longer. She needed to be out and about in the ton, even if technically she was seen to be on the shelf. It didn't matter how often she'd said she was happy single and in the country, he ignored her. Now her beloved mama had passed away, and their period of mourning over, he was determined she would take her place in society. So, even if her demand was met, was London the place she wanted to be anyway? As a considerable heiress, any outing there could be fraught with problems. Fortune hunters were considerably thick skinned, and her bluntness rolled over them. However, she didn't have the chance to find out whether London would suit her now. Her previous request had been met with a straightforward no, followed by, "Your fiancé will expect to see you here." It didn't matter how many times Felicity said she had no fiancé, both Judith and her husband ignored her. Her father had decreed she was engaged, therefore in their minds she was. Felicity was beginning to think there was no hope. Even the letter she had asked an obliging tweeny to take to the one person she thought might help her hadn't been answered. She took a deep breath, and skirted the grave of one Philomena Messingham, spinster of this parish and devoted daughter. Would that she could hope for the same on her own gravestone. It seemed to be the perfect state to live in.

"Lady Felicity, You have dropped your missal." An arm nudged Felicity and knocked the book out of her hands, before she had a chance to protest the speaker was mistaken. It bounced on the grave edge and landed opened on the grass that surrounded the stone. A tall
, slim, blonde-headed girl a few years younger than Felicity bent down and picked the book up, just as Felicity did the same. They missed clashing heads by an inch and the girl giggled.

"Sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"Felicity, come on." Judith's voice was shrill.

"Coming, I dropped my hymnal
," Felicity called as the young girl took her arm.

"I have a friend," the girl said rapidly in an undertone. "She says be at the old cottage on the edge of The Lydd estate as soon after everyone has retired as you can. She got your letter. It'll be sorted. You're not to worry." She raised her voice. "Here you are
, my lady, it's not crushed." Before Felicity had a chance to answer the girl curtsied and walked away.

Felicity smiled to herself as she walked back onto the gravel path and across the churchyard to where her cousin stood, tapping her feet. She allowed herself to be helped into the carriage by her cousin's portly
husband, and wondered for the umpteenth time how Judith could stand him. He oozed pomposity and that awful aura of 'I know best.' He made her skin crawl. Once they were settled, Lord Welland got in and the carriage set off.

"Now isn't it good to know next week your
fiancé will be here?" he asked as the carriage drove toward his house. "Perfect timing."

"If you say so," Felicity replied in an even tone. She didn't bother to ask timing for what. She knew Lord Welland wouldn't reply.
He was of the 'tell them nothing unless you choose to, answer no questions' school. Felicity realized she despised him for his petty behavior and idiosyncratic ideas. Apart from which, she had every hope of not being there to greet her erstwhile swain.

Welland muttered something under his breath, and Judith tutted. Felicity ignored them. With luck, she only had the day to get through. She would do it.

She did but at times Felicity had to bite her tongue. Why had she never realized how stupid Judith could seem? She might be a beauty, and expect the adulation of every man who appeared in her orbit, but she really had little between her ears. Or did she? Every so often a sharp or irascible comment to her by Welland made her eyes flash, and once Felicity was sure she saw her cousin stiffen. However, Judith said nothing, and just agreed with every diktat he threw in her direction. It was a problem to worry about later. For the time being Felicity had enough to be anxious over without adding Judith and her husband to her concerns. She replayed the meeting with the young girl in her mind. Who was she? Felicity knew she didn't know her. It had been by happy circumstance she had discovered a distant cousin on her mother's side was in the locality, but the young girl wasn't she.

She and Judith had been strolling toward the village when a gig approached them and slowed. If it hadn't been for the warning stare from the occupant Felicity would have blurted out a warm welcome.
As it was Judith spoke amiably but warily to the lady who held the reins and introduced her to Felicity as Mrs. Whittering, the housekeeper at Lyddbrook Manor. Felicity had smiled and answered a few trite questions, until they had walked on. To her knowledge Margaret was no Mrs., and Felicity hadn't known she was a housekeeper. Surely she was only a few years senior to Felicity herself?

"A nice young woman, too young to be a housekeeper, especially in that household. Some relation of the vicar I believe, whose family has fallen on hard times. Her brother was killed recently—ve
ry suspicious if you ask me." She sniffed. Judith had no truck for intrigue it seemed. "Her parents died when they were young. Tragic. However, the vicar procured her position for her, so we must assume it is above board." She'd refused to be drawn further, and Felicity had filed the information away. It had come in useful, and Felicity had decided that whether she was related to the vicar or not, Margaret may well be her rescuer. It seemed she had been correct.

After another afternoon of the mandatory rest, the dressing for dinner—ridiculous in Felicity's mind as only the three of them dined—and an evening of genteel chat, Felicity was more than grateful that the Welland household kept country hours. By nine thirty she was creeping down the back stairs with her shoes in her hand.

The side door she knew was never locked, as the potboy and the scullery maid lived out, and needed to be inside the Court at some unearthly hour. As far as Felicity was concerned, the way Welland treated his staff was one more black mark against him. That apart, this time it worked in her favor. Felicity exited the door and crept over the rough grass, before she skirted the immaculate lawn and gained the safe
ty of the woods beyond. In the days she'd been at the Court she'd explored the area thoroughly, and knew where to find the deserted cottage. Evidently Welland found no fault in her walking each afternoon. Unless he had ordered someone to watch her? There did seem to be a lot of gardeners about wherever she went. However, at this time of day they were all abed.

The night was dark, but enough moonlight filtered through the trees to make sure she wasn't snagged on a tree root or low branch. An owl hooted, and Felicity jumped. Only when its mate answered it did she relax. Hunting for field mice
, she decided, and nothing to worry about.

The cottage stood in a tiny garden, its windows without glass and the door on one hinge. She hoped to goodness Margaret didn't intend her to stop there. Felicity thought of herself as resilient, but mice and snakes were a no-no. Spiders and ants she could cope with, likewise caterpillars and snails, but not rodents or reptiles. Felicity approached the door with caution and mentally chastised herself. It wasn't as if every mouse and snake in the district were waiting to jump out and shout 'surprise'. She went inside. The woman sitting on a bale of straw
looked up when she entered.

"Flissy love, what on earth is happening?"

The love and concern in her voice was too much for Felicity. She burst into tears.

****

"So you see Maggie, I didn't know what else to do. Papa is adamant, His Lordship uncaring, and I, well I love another. Not that anything will ever come of that. I've accepted it and tried to move on." She spared a brief thought for that one magical night where she had glimpsed what fulfillment truly meant. "Nevertheless, I cannot and will not be wed to a man who thinks no more of me than piece of furniture. I would rather stay single. And, as Papa knows, I'm well able to support myself. But he doesn't listen. None of them do."

Maggie hugged her. "That's for sure.
If anyone is to wed that stupid man it will be me." She giggled. "Yes, you didn't know that, but I swear if Peregrine Gretton is to marry it will be me or no one. Well." She sighed. "When he stops trying to be noble. No don't ask. All I can say is I've loved him since I was ten, and nothing has changed except my circumstances and his stubbornness. I daresay his loyalty and prosiness were with him in the cradle. I would like to think so anyway, and not that it is just my imagination. So Flissy, we need to hide you whilst we can and then see if we can bring your man up to snuff. Do you know his full name?"

Felicity shook her head. "Only that he was called Nash. What?" Maggie's shoulders shook. "Is it funny?"

Maggie took a deep breath. "No, love, not at all. Right then, I think you need to be hidden in the Manor until we know what to do next. His Lordship only has a few servants here. It's very informal, and they are all loyal to me. Come along, let's be moving. We need to get back afore the house stirs. Even if the few of us are loyal, there's no need to involve His Lordship. Not yet anyway." She sniggered. "Not yet. He's due to go anyway for a few days, so that will give you the chance to learn the lie of the land, or should that be house?"

Felicity couldn't get Maggie to expand on her statement. After a few abortive efforts, she gave up and meekly followed Maggie out of the cottage and in the opposite direction from which she had arrived. She was just grateful someone had listened and was prepared to be her savior.