Romancing the Earl (33 page)

She twined her arms around his neck, but he pulled them free and pinned them on either side of her head. She opened her mouth, but he kissed her with a “shhhh” sound whispering over her lips.

He moved his lips to her jawline, licking a path to her ear. He nipped at the lobe and dashed his tongue along the outer shell. She shivered.

How he loved her responsiveness. With every touch and kiss, she moved or made a sound, did something that told him she liked it, that she was unbearably aroused. He’d taken great care to explore her body, thrilling in every crest and hollow of her flesh. From the creamy swell of her breast to the gentle dip of her waist to the soft recesses of her sex, he’d been utterly captivated by her.

He found his way—slowly—to her breast. The nipple hardened as he teased her. He suckled her, all while he kept her hands pinned to the bed.

Her legs fell open, inviting him to nestle between her thighs. Did she know what she did to him? Impossibly, he felt his cock stirring. How could he be ready again?

He let go of her hands and cupped her breast, holding her to his mouth while he devoured her flesh. She instantly plunged her fingers into his hair and urged him on. Moving his hand down, he found her sex, already slick and ready. He stroked her clitoris, rousing her, taunting her until her hips began to move against him. He slipped his finger into her, felt her muscles contract around him, and his cock sprang to life.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to make love to her again. It was a lot to ask of her. But he could give her pleasure. He pumped his finger in and out as he lowered his head and sucked at her clitoris.

She gasped, pushing up into him. “Elijah!”

He pushed her legs apart and licked at her folds, loving the taste and feel of her in his mouth. Her thighs quivered and her muscles tightened. He put two fingers into her, stretching her and thrusting hard and fast. She bucked off the bed, her movements becoming more frenzied as she sought her release. He licked into her and pressed on her clitoris as she came apart. Her cries filled the small space, fed his own lust, but he wouldn’t satisfy it. Hell, he was already past satisfied.

He eased away from her, turning to reach for his breeches where they lay on the floor. Pulling them on, he stood and buttoned the fall before turning to face her. “We need to be ready to leave as soon as possible. We’re supposed to be in a hurry to get to Gretna Green, and I don’t wish to impose on the Hewitts’ hospitality more than necessary.”

She sat up and smoothed her hair back from her face, trying to calm the tousled mess. He glanced around and was relieved to see a glass so that she could tidy her hair. “That’s it. You really meant that come morning we wouldn’t talk about what we did.”

He bent and picked up his smallclothes, glad he had another set in his chamber along with a fresh shirt. “Yes, I meant it.”

“Can I at least thank you for a night I shall never forget?”

Her words sounded so final, but that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? That’s what he’d said it would be—one night and nothing more. He struggled between feelings of euphoria from their activities, self-recrimination due to his lack of discipline, and misery because he was certain never to experience a night like that again.

“Elijah,” she said softly, holding her hand up toward him in all of her naked glory.

He turned from her. “You need to get dressed. I can’t . . . look at you like that anymore. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Feeling like a bit of a cad, he took himself from her presence. Their hostess had left water and basins in their rooms. He hadn’t needed it last night after cleaning up in the barn, but he made use of it his morning. However, his efforts to scrub Cate’s scent from his body were futile. Even if he couldn’t smell her, he could feel her and probably always would.

What had he done?

He hurried to finish his ablutions and took himself downstairs before he heard Cate leave her room. As if he could avoid her—they had at least today together. It was possible they could part ways as early as this evening, depending on how long it took to find this blasted sword.

The sword. Without it, he would never have met her; his new life as the earl would be as dull and predictable as he’d expected it to be. Actually, he wouldn’t even be the earl. Without the sword and someone’s lust to obtain it, Matthew would still be here.

His shoulder muscles bunched with tension as he arrived downstairs. He couldn’t lose sight of his goal—pursuing Matthew’s killers. She’d distracted him, pleasantly so, but that was all it had been. Now he needed to refocus his mind.

Mr. Hewitt shambled from the kitchen. “Thought I heard you on the stairs. I trust you slept well?” He gave no inkling that he was aware of what had transpired above stairs, thank goodness.

“I did, thank you. I’ll just go see to the horses.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” Hewitt joined him and they went to the stables.

A little while later, they walked the horses to the front of the house just as the door opened. Cate stepped outside, a slice of bread in her grip. Elijah’s stomach grumbled in response.

With Cate outfitted in her men’s garb, Elijah could almost pretend last night had never happened. Except for the feminine jaunt to her step. And the tilt of her head. And the familiar jut of her chin.

He had to stop thinking about it, about
her
.

Mrs. Hewitt gave him some cold ham and a slab of bread, which he quickly devoured. Then they thanked their gracious hosts, who bade them good luck on their journey. Mrs. Hewitt hugged Cate and wished her a lifetime of happiness while Elijah stood ready to help her mount.

He touched her as little as possible, but just clasping her waist sent a riot of memories through his mind and stirred his lust. Leaving her as quickly as possible, he climbed atop his own horse and led her from the yard.

Keeping up the pace, which didn’t allow for conversation, was thankfully easy. Even when they intermittently slowed to rest the horses, he kept his distance so she couldn’t speak with him. More than a few times, he caught her looking at him and each time his insides smoldered with want.

As they neared Kentchurch, he realized he needed to engage her in conversation. Their association may have been reaching its end, but they still had to recover the sword. He slowed a bit and rode beside her. He couldn’t see her face clearly with the shadow cast from the brim of her hat. “Do you have a plan once we reach Kentchurch?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. I’ve been thinking of little else.” He found this surprisingly disappointing. He’d been lusting after her all morning and she’d been—rightly—focused on their goal. He was an ass.

“You’ve no idea where to look? Ifan didn’t give you any clues?”

“He didn’t know. I wish the map had been more specific. Why send us to Harlech when the sword was never there?”

“Perhaps they didn’t want it to be that easy. It is a treasure, after all.” He thought about the tapestry and how it had taken careful thought and deduction to determine they should go to Harlech in the first place. “Is there anything else on the tapestry that could help us?” Damn, he was especially angry with himself for letting the villains steal it.

She tilted her head, and he could see that she was frowning. “Not that I can think of, but I suppose the clue could be hiding in plain sight like Harlech was.”

“Let’s see if we can puzzle it out.”

She shot him an appreciative glance that evoked a warm response straight from his chest. “All right. There’s Harlech, the ocean, the battle scene with Glendower, the shield, and the flaming sword.”

His shield had been a hidden clue. “Are there any other shields?”

She thought a moment. “Yes, but none with a distinct coat of arms that I can recall.”

He couldn’t recall anything either. “Any flags or banners?”

“Not that I remember. Damn, this is hopeless.”

“It isn’t. There has to be something. What about the back, are you certain there was nothing there?” He’d seen her looking at it several times.

“No, though it wasn’t very neatly done, as it should’ve been.”

Elijah remembered Garber making the same observation. In his mind’s eye, he saw the most glaring imperfection—an odd shape in the upper right quadrant of the back. It had almost looked like the letter X, but one line was slightly longer than the other and it hadn’t exactly been an X . . . “I think there was a small sword sewn into the back,” he said the words as they came into his brain—like a jolt of awareness that felt . . . right.

They hadn’t been traveling very fast as they’d talked, but she pulled her horse to a stop and stared at him.

He halted and looked over at her, excitement spreading through him like a fast-moving fire.

“It looked like a mess of thread, almost like a misshapen X,” she said slowly, thoughtfully.

“Yes, in the upper right quadrant.”

She tipped her head to the side. “What do you suppose that means?”

“I’m not sure. But if we think it indicates the location of the sword, perhaps it’s directional.”

“Meaning it’s somewhere in the northeastern part of the estate?” she asked.

He couldn’t tell if she was feeling as enthusiastic as he was and her lack of excitement was dampening his. “It’s at least
something
to go on.”

“Yes, it is.” She narrowed her eyes and looked determined. “How shall we proceed? We can’t very well ride onto the estate and ask to search the northeastern corner. If it’s even still there after four hundred years.” Her frown returned and he realized she wasn’t allowing herself to be optimistic.

He nudged his mount closer so that he could touch her wrist. “We’re going to find it. Whether it’s there or someplace else. It’s your life’s work.”

“It was my dream.”
Was.
 

“Don’t let it go.” Her dreams were what made her so unique. So beguiling. So Cate. He pulled away and steered his horse forward. “Let’s hurry.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When the Kentchurch Court tower loomed in the distance, he slowed and flicked her a glance. “Follow me.”
 

She nodded, and guided her horse behind his as he led her past the entrance to the estate. Once they were well past the main house, he left the road and veered north. He figured they were likely on estate grounds, so he kept a sharp eye out in case they encountered anyone.
 

When they reached a small copse of trees, he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. She did the same. As she tethered her mount, she asked, “Why are we stopping?”

“I think it’s better if we continue on foot. I want to walk up that hill over there and see what’s in the northeast corner.”

She nodded and after finishing their task, they made their way to the top of the small hill. It provided a good vantage point from which he could survey the area. Right away he noticed one particular partially-ruined stone building.
 

Cate pointed at the round structure. “What is that?”

“I believe it’s a dovecote.”

She lightly shook her head. “Of course it is. I haven’t seen one in a while.”

“Unsurprising as they’ve somewhat fallen out of favor.” He looked at her askance. “They were, however, quite popular in the fifteenth century.”

Now her eyes lit in the way he’d been anticipating earlier. “Yes, they were.”

They started down the hill simultaneously, the decline and their excitement quickening their pace to a near run. At the base, he motioned for her to slow while he looked around, ensuring there was no one about.
 

He led the way to the round, stone building that had once housed several hundred doves, but whose roof was now caved in. She went up to it and flattened her palm against the stone. “Do you suppose it’s really that old?” she asked.

“Likely.” He slowly walked around the building, scanning for any sign of, well, anything. An inscription in a stone near the ground caught his eye. He squatted and pulled off his glove to run his fingers over the numbers. “Fourteen eighteen.”

A shadow fell over him and he looked up, but couldn’t see her face with the sun shining behind her head. “That’s not that long after the battle at Harlech. But where do we look?”

He stood and now he could see her expression. It was a mixture of apprehension and enchantment. “Let’s take our time here.”

“You look outside,” she said. “I’m going in.”

She pivoted before he could respond, and the words “be careful” died on his tongue. He needed to stop thinking of her as someone he needed to care for. They would part soon, and it would be much easier to let her go if he remembered that they shared a fleeting association and nothing more. Only he was fairly certain that was a lie.