Natalya (31 page)

Natalya swam in a sea of blissful sensation, tingling from head to toe under his skilled hands. Finally, as his fingers strayed to the tiny fastenings of her gown, she became aware of the heat blossoming between her legs. The blue-sprigged gown opened to reveal her slim back, and she waited for his touch. A moment passed, accompanied by the rustle of clothes, then Grey ran a fingertip down her spine, and she let out her breath in a gasping sigh.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his mouth trailing fire over her shoulder. He slid the gown forward, caressing her as he pulled the short, puffed sleeves down over her hands. When his chest with its light mat of black hair skimmed her back, Natalya knew that he was naked. Her head dropped back against his shoulder, and their eyes met for an instant before Grey reached up to cup her breasts. His touch was firmer now, and she welcomed it, feeling her breasts swell against his hands, the nipples taut and tingling between his fingertips.

"Grey," she breathed, arching as her arousal intensified.

"Mmm." He scorched her neck with kisses and shifted so that she could feel him, throbbingly erect, against the small of her back.

"I want to touch you." Natalya's voice was low and rich, like a stranger's... a woman's.

He turned her into the quilts then and removed the rest of her clothes. Natalya's hair flowed over the sheets, a mane of honey on the dusk-tinted bed, and the sight of her delectable body was almost more than he could bear.

Reaching up, Natalya ran her hands over the soft hair on his chest, memorizing each muscle and ridge. Since the night on the
Rover,
she had tried to erase her memories of Grey's body and the chiseled splendor of his face, but they had broken through in her dreams. Now, touching his warm, golden brown skin, she smiled, surrendering to the fates that drew them together. Her hand grazed his manhood and she whispered, "Please, kiss me."

"With pleasure," he replied, smiling. He lay over her, one knee between her thighs, and kissed her long and deeply. As their tongues caressed, he could feel Natalya's moistness against him. He longed to plunge inside her and find release but held himself back. Their passion mounted as he branded her with his mouth and fingers, exploring her throat, lingering over her breasts, nipping gently at her sides, the softness of her belly, her tender inner thighs.

Natalya moaned with pleasure and moved her hips against him. Slowly, brazenly, he kissed her there, and
there,
but stopped before she could realize what he'd dared. Her eyes opened when his face returned to her view. Wrapping her arms around Grey's tapering back, she kissed him with shameless ardor, moving rhythmically against the skilled fingers that had slipped down to touch her intimately. Burning, she cried aloud as release came at last in crashing waves of exquisite sensation.

He pushed into her then, savoring the feel of her contractions. Natalya was riding a fierce tide of rapture, and the fusion of their bodies only took her higher. She loved the raw abandon of Grey's face above her, the rasp of his hair-roughened thighs against her own satiny flanks, the pounding of their hips as he thrust deep inside her again and again. When both of them were covered with a sheen of perspiration, Grey reached his own fiery, heart-stopping climax. Shuddering, he lowered himself with unsteady hands and rested against the fragrant tumble of Natalya's hair.

"Christ, I can barely speak," he managed to mutter after a time. "How do you feel?"

"Shall I tell you the truth?"

It was relief to detect a piquant note in her voice. "By all means."

"I'm actually quite splendid."

"Good. That's how you ought to feel." Gathering his strength, he rose on an elbow and gazed down at her beautiful, flushed face. "You're looking splendid, too. Very womanly."

Natalya put out a hand and touched his hair, fingering the silver strands among the ebony. "I wonder what it all means... and yet I'm afraid to wonder."

Grey gave her a rueful smile. "I think I'd rather not know at the moment." Dropping back against the pillows, he gazed up at the canopy and tried to clear his mind of everything—past, future... everything but this one satisfying moment.

Natalya told herself it didn't matter, and yet there came an ache around her heart, and her sense of ebullience faded. Pulling up the soft sheets and quilts, she lay back beside Grey and thought how little she really knew of herself and her own hidden needs. Why had she succumbed to him... with such reckless joy? An hour ago she wouldn't have believed that they could be lying together in the burnished rose twilight, Grey's long fingers idly caressing the curve of her breast. It was frightening not to know what would happen next, for she clearly had less control over herself—and much less over
him—
than she had previously thought. Turning her head slightly, she stole a glance up at Grey. His hair ruffled back from his brow and his features relaxed, he appeared disarmingly boyish, and she felt a mutinous weakness steal over her. What did it
mean?

A knock came at the door then, rousing them from their separate reveries. Startled, Grey sat up, then glanced down at Natalya and laid a finger over her parted lips. "What is it?" he called.

"It's me, sir—Fedbusk," the unlikely butler whispered loudly. "I seen her with me own eyes! 'Twas my lady! Just now, on the street, sir!"

Grey's eyes sharpened, and Natalya saw the muscles in his arms flex unconsciously. She could almost feel his thoughts. "I'll be down in a moment, Fedbusk, and we'll discuss it then."

"That's not all, sir," Fedbusk persisted, clearing his throat. "There's a man downstairs name of Beauvisage. Says he's lookin' for his daughter!"

Natalya, whose heart was already thundering in panic and confusion, gave a little cry and pressed the covers closer to her body. "Papa?" she moaned. "Good God!"

Chapter 20

April
29-30, 1814

"I don't mean to be rude, rushing you at such a delicate moment, but I'm afraid you'll have to get dressed immediately," Grey told Natalya after he had sent Fedbusk belowstairs with orders to offer Mr. Beauvisage a glass of Madeira.

She was already throwing back the covers and scrambling off the bed, oblivious to her own nakedness. "Where's my gown? And my chemise? Oh, Lord, look at them! It looks as if I've worn them to bed!" In the process of shaking the wrinkles out of her muslin gown, Natalya colored prettily as she realized what she'd said. Grey had already pulled on his own shirt and trousers, and now he paused to help her dress, fastening the back of her gown with amazing speed.

"My hair," she hissed, catching sight of her cascading curls in the looking glass. Near tears, she searched frantically through the bedclothes for her hair pins. "How could Papa be
here
? Could this be a jest on Fedbusk's part?"

"Wishful thinking, my dear. Here are your slippers. I'll go downstairs and distract your father until you have made yourself presentable. I'll tell him that you are looking for a book you loaned me." Grey paused before his shaving stand mirror to rake a hand through his hair, which fell obligingly into place, then he looked back and flashed a daring grin. "Cheer up, minx. Think of this as an adventure that you'll laugh about later."

Watching him go, Natalya felt more like sobbing than laughing. Her father would surely guess; he'd see it in her eyes, and nothing would ever be the same. However, after finding a silver-backed brush and arranging her hair carefully, hope began to blossom in her breast. Her gown looked almost presentable, particularly after she had donned her blue spencer and buttoned it primly. As an afterthought, she grabbed the copy of
Rene
she had given Grey in France and hurried down the elliptical staircase.

Grey was entertaining his guest in his ground-floor study. It was a cozy room, decorated for Nicholai Beauvisage in shades of terra-cotta and gold. One whole wall was a mosaic of handsomely bound books, and Natalya discovered her father and Grey sitting before the freshly laid fire on matching wing chairs. When she appeared in the doorway, a spot of color on each cheek, they rose to greet her.

"Talya," Alec said, opening his arms, "what a surprise to find you here! I stopped on a whim to ask Mr. St. James if he'd care to join me for supper at my club."

Grateful for the shelter of his embrace, Natalya replied, "I originally drove here with Kristin because Grandmama was too busy for us and Krissie wanted to see if there was anything Mr. St. James might need. Outside, we encountered a Mr. Gladstone, who took Kristin off, so I was forced to visit alone." Emboldened, she looked up to give her father a smile. "I was just upstairs in the sitting room when you arrived, looking for this." She held up the book, then backed away to take the chair that Grey had drawn up for her. "It's
Rene,
a particular favorite of mine. I loaned it to Mr. St. James in France and I've been missing it
intensely."

Alec smiled amiably, but his turquoise eyes were keen as they rested first on his daughter and then on Grey. "It was thoughtful of you to look in on our guest," he said to Natalya, pausing to sip his Madeira. "I'll admit that I am pleased to see the two of you getting along. Perhaps it was my imagination, but yesterday I could have sworn that there was little love lost between you."

"I owe Mr. St. James my very life, Papa," she replied politely. "He can always count me among his friends."

Grey bit back a grin, amused by her credible performance. Then, as Natalya and her father chatted on, Fedbusk's words returned to haunt him.
'Twas my lady,
he'd said. And that could only mean one person: Francesca. Grey felt an odd thrill, not unlike the anticipation one experienced on the eve of battle. And at that moment all he wanted was to be left alone to puzzle out his next move. The drama with Natalya and her father seemed dull by comparison, and he began to edge the conversation toward their departure.

"Now that you're here, sir, Natalya won't have to travel home unaccompanied after dark," he remarked at length.

"That's true." Beauvisage nodded. "Unless you
would
care to dine at my club...."

"I fear I'll have to cry off tonight. I find that I'm overweary. The sea voyage is catching up with me, I suppose."

Alec looked at his daughter and smiled. "In that case, I'll ask you another time. I must admit that I welcome the chance to have Talya all to myself for a little while." He finished his wine and set the glass on a Pembroke side table. "We have six years' worth of conversation to replenish."

Soon Natalya found herself standing next to her father in the front doorway, bidding Grey good night. His face was unreadable as he shook Alec's hand, then clasped her own. Did he squeeze it just that way to remind her of what they'd shared in the bedchamber upstairs? A moment later her father was guiding her to the carriage. When he walked away to tell her own driver that she would be traveling back to Belle Maison with him, Natalya looked toward the doorway. She wanted a last glimpse of Grey, but he had already disappeared inside. Unaccountably, Fedbusk's curious announcement echoed in her mind.

I seen her!
he'd hissed. Grey had known exactly what Fedbusk meant; his entire body had tensed instantly. Now she realized that Grey had rushed them out of the house so that he could interrogate his butler thoroughly.

'Twas my lady! Just now, on the street!
Fedbusk's hoarse words stirred up clouds of confusion, curiosity, and a sharper emotion she couldn't name. Grey had told her that he had business to take care of in Philadelphia. Instinctively Natalya knew that the mystery woman Fedbusk had sighted was the real reason the Englishman had remained in America.

* * *

Fedbusk sat awkwardly on the gold brocade wing chair and cast a sidelong glance at Jasper Speed. When Speed smiled back from his own chair by the fire, the crotchety first mate grunted and looked away, scratching his balding, sunburned head. Both men rose quickly as Gray entered with three glasses in his hand.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Laviolet insisted that I taste the shrimp concoction she's preparing for dinner. It's nothing like English food, which delights me enormously." He splashed brandy into the glasses and handed one to each man. "I'm eager to hear from both of you, but I'll ask Speed to speak first since he garnered his information earlier in the day."

"I want to know," Fedbusk growled, downing his brandy, "why you send
him
out into the streets and keep me imprisoned in this house all got up in this queer costume!" He reached down and yanked at one sagging white stocking. "I'm the one that knew Lady Altburne, and I should be the one lookin' for her 'stead of answering the door and bowing to a lot of bleedin' Colonials!"

Slowly Grey arched a black eyebrow. "Old chap, we've been all through this, haven't we? Francesca might recognize you if you were to encounter her on the street, and that simply wouldn't do. I agree that it would be much more efficient to send you on this mission, but I cannot afford to take the risk." He poured brandy for himself, then took the shield-backed chair recently vacated by Natalya. "Now then—"