The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (6 page)

“I’ll hunt up a brush for you. It will give you enough time to get changed.”
    He turned quickly, left the room and made for the stairs, his wet boots squeaking with every step. He had been a few words shy of turning into a babbling idiot. Even wet and tangled, that river of fiery red hair streaming down her back was enough to push a man over the edge. He shook his head.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her hair or those lovely tilted green eyes or the sight of her wet riding habit clinging to her slender curves. Focus on what needs to be done.
He needed dry clothes for himself and a hair brush. He reentered the chamber where he kept a scant wardrobe and a few personal belongings. Then rummaging through his bureau drawers he found an old pair of buckskins, woolen stockings and a white lawn shirt. He took a second pair stockings. Her feet would be cold.
    He shivered. This room was cold as the devil. If she was to sleep up here tonight he would need to light the fire. He found the tinder box and then realized that there was no wood in the hearth. He quickly checked the other chambers and saw that was the case throughout. What little firewood he had in the house was downstairs. The rest was piled outside, presumably soaked. It appeared he would be the one sleeping upstairs tonight and more than likely he would freeze his arse off.
    Cursing, he stripped off his jacket, waistcoat and shirt. The wet boots and breeches were not so easy and it took a fair amount of effort to remove them. He toweled off and dressed quickly, grabbed a tortoise shell brush and comb from the bureau and then stopped short just as he was about to dash out the door. She needed time to change. Women always took such a bloody long time to change and she was without a maid. He couldn’t risk walking in on her. Not in the state he was in now.
    Jesus! Never in his life had he gone to so much trouble to not have sex. This was probably the most inappropriate situation he had ever been in and he had been in quite a few. He opened the chest at the foot of his bed and fished out two thick woolen blankets. She would get the fireplace and extra blankets as well. He dropped his bundle on his bed and crossed to the window to check the progress of the storm. Sheets of gray rain were sliding down the glass. Lightning turned the sky a bluish white and the trees bent from the wind. The rain was coming down harder than ever. If it didn’t let up soon, the stream would be too swollen to cross and if the bridge washed out, he had no notion of when they could return home. They should have crossed the stream when the storm first broke. But in the best of circumstances it was a thirty minute ride to Reston Manor and in this weather they never would have made it. Only a fool would try.
    He had done the only thing he could, but it was still a wretched situation. By the time he could get her safely home, the household at Reston Manor would be in an uproar and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prevent it. With a groan, he picked up the items he had dropped and went downstairs to the drawing room she had appropriated as their haven from the storm.
    He came to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway. There was no doubt. The gods were laughing at him. Not just laughing, but rolling on the floor with a sidesplitting bout of uncontrollable laughter. This was his just reward for being such a randy buck who couldn’t keep his hands off women. If he thought she was tempting before, now she was ravishing. Her hair had begun to dry and reddish gold tendrils curled about her face and heavy copper waves streamed down her back. His green velvet dressing gown was much too large for her but she had cinched it tightly at her waist and the length of it swirled and puddled about her bare feet. His throat went dry. She was covered from neck to toe but judging by the various articles of clothing laid out to dry she was naked beneath and that thought was enough to put the starch in his loins that he was trying so hard to avoid.
    “Oh, good. You’ve found a brush.” She crossed the room to take it from him.
    “And a comb,” he added hoarsely.
    She frowned. “Have you come down with something so soon? Your throat sounds terribly scratchy. Maybe I should make you some tea.”
    He cleared his throat and picked up the bottle he had brought down earlier and poured whiskey into his glass. “I’m fine. But I’m afraid that Lady Fitzberry and the rest of your household will be frantic. I wish there was some way to let them know that you’re safe.”
    She sighed heavily. “I know. I’m sorry, I got you into this. It’s a dreadful inconvenience. I shouldn’t have gone riding today.”
    
Yes, you should have stayed home,
he thought. But he couldn’t make himself say it. “The storm was sudden. There was no way to know it would be so severe.”
    She swept her hair over her shoulder and tugged the brush through the snarls. “I’ve managed to salvage the fruit, some of the cheese and a little of the chicken. But the bread and pastries are a soggy mess. If this goes on too long we may get hungry.”
    He wanted to laugh. With all the difficulties they were in, she was concerned about the state of their stomachs. She had to realize what a fix they were in. But no, he wouldn’t think of what they would have to face when he brought her home. She was right. Their basic needs were most important. They had managed to find warmth and shelter. Supper was next on the list. “I’ll set the food out while you do that,” he offered.
    “Wait a minute.” She reached for the blankets. She quickly spread them out on the floor in front of the fireplace and then went back to brushing her hair. “It should be warmer next to the fire. You don’t mind sitting on the floor do you?”
    “No. Are you hungry?”
    “Ravenous.”
    “Silly question on my part.” He set their meager fare on a low table close to the fireplace and then selected a pear. “I’ll trade you,” he said as he handed her the fruit. “You eat and I’ll see if I can get some of the tangles out of your hair.”
    “Thank you.” She bit into the pear, laughing as the juice dribbled down her chin. “It’s wonderful.” She held it up to him. “Do you want some of it?” Her cheeks were flush from the heat of the fire, her eyes the same emerald as his robe. She licked the juice from her lips. She was beyond tempting. This was a mistake. If he so much as touched her hair he would be lost.
    He threw the brush down and swore softly.
    She looked at him in surprise. “Are you angry with me?”
    Instead of replying he cupped his hands beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. Her eyes were bright; her expression one of anticipation. She was utterly and completely irresistible. He softly kissed the tip of her nose, her mouth, tasted the sweetness of the juice on her lips. “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured.
    She shook her head slightly. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t want you to stop.” The pear dropped to the floor and her arms went around his neck. His mouth covered hers and he kissed her lazily, savoring the warm pliancy of her lips, touching the corners with his tongue, nipping at her full bottom lip with his teeth. Her lips parted and his tongue swept the cavern of her mouth. It was sweet with brandy and pear. He felt her tremble as a soft sound came from the back of her throat. Without breaking their kiss he reached for her sash hesitating just long enough to allow her to protest or stay his hand. She didn’t. He tugged at it until it fell loose and then pushed the robe off her shoulders and onto the floor. She stood naked, basking in the glow of the fire. She made no attempt to cover herself. Showed no signs of embarrassment. He stepped back, and for a moment all he could do was stare.
    She was exquisite. Her pale skin glowed in the firelight. Her limbs were long and lean; her body perfectly proportioned and as he had thought, her breasts were no more than a handful. But they were round and firm and tipped with dark rosy crowns that were peaked with excitement. He lowered his gaze past her narrow waist and flat belly to the triangle of copper curls between her thighs. Beyond that lay her maidenhead. The knowledge that she was fresh and young and innocent should have made him back away, but it only inflamed him more. The depth of his desire was astonishing; his need to possess her even more so. He raised his eyes. She boldly gazed back at him.
    “You aren’t shy,” he said softly.
    “No.”
    “You’re very beautiful. Turn around. Please.”
    She did. She was possessed of a natural elegance. Her back was straight, her waist narrow and her hips firm and round with two small dimples below the small of her back. Her long legs were well shaped from riding and there was another dimple at the bend of her left knee. He came up behind her and pressed his lips against the soft flesh behind her ear. He felt a catch in her breathing.
    “You only have to say it and I will leave you alone,” he whispered. “I don’t want to, but I can go upstairs and not come down until morning. At this moment all I can think about is coming inside you and if I stay I’m going to make love to you. I won’t be able to stop myself. You must be the one to decide.”
    She laid her hand against his cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”
    “You understand what I’m saying?”
    She nodded. “Yes.”
    He turned her around and gathered her up in his arms. She was supple and smooth, her skin as soft as a child’s. He reveled in the feel of her and his hands roamed freely, his fingertips sliding down the ridge of her spine, tracing the dip of her waist, cupping the roundness of her bottom. He pulled her hips up against him, allowing her to feel the swell of his erection.
    She sighed softly. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
    He did, but it was not a gentle kiss. It was forceful and possessive; far different from anything he had shown her, thus far. He crushed his lips to hers, claimed her mouth with his probing tongue and there was no uncertainty as she responded in turn. She sank against him and kissed him back with a fierce passion that equaled his own. He felt her tongue sweep the roof of his mouth, his teeth; exploring as if she could not get enough of him. He was enthralled with her response for he knew it was genuine.

Every nerve in her body was taut; her blood heated; her skin tingled. Need and awareness coursed through her. He smelled of horse flesh and leather, whiskey and bay rum, and a heated muskiness that rose from his skin. She tangled her fingers through the thick wavy hair that grew to his collar, drew her hands across the fine lawn of his shirt. It hung loose and she slipped her hands beneath it caressing the damp warmth of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the lines of the ridged muscles along his back. She slid her hand inside his waistband felt him shudder. He removed her hand and took a step back. Without his body pressed next to hers the sense of emptiness she felt was shocking. As if she were suddenly incomplete.
    He stripped off his shirt, then kicked his breeches, drawers and stockings to the floor.
    She boldly lowered her gaze to his erection and smiled. He was powerfully aroused. The skin was rose colored and pulled smooth. She pressed her lips together, then smiled.
    He was as magnificent as she knew he would be. Nothing but glorious perfection could accompany that handsome face. He was slender, but with broad shoulders and a whipcord strength and hardness that came from Corinthian pursuits. His waist was narrow and his arms and legs well muscled. His skin was lightly tanned and he had a dusting of fair hair across his chest that tapered as she lowered her gaze. Another cluster of blond hair grew around his jutting erection. He seemed to have grown even larger, but she wasn’t startled by it. Or afraid. Instead she felt an aching throb and dampness between her legs. She had felt it before but never like this. Desire. It was both astonishingly wonderful and unbearable. And frustrating. She wanted him inside her but she didn’t know how to go about it. “What should I do?” she asked softly.
    He gazed back at her, the firelight flickering beside him sculpting the lines of his body and face. “Lay down.”
    She lay on the blanket with one arm flung out beside her the other crooked over her head, her legs stretched out; her knees slightly bent.
    “Beautiful,” he murmured. He knelt next to her, the back of his hand drifted downward over her belly to where his fingers could lightly comb through the triangle of copper curls at the junction of her thighs. She felt a contraction in her loins and sucked in her breath.
    He looked at her tenderly. “Don’t be afraid.”
    “I’m not,” she said.
    “Good.” He smiled at her. “You will enjoy tonight. I will make certain.” He cupped one breast with his hand. Caressed it. Thumbed the taut nipple until she shivered. “As I thought,” he said softly. “A perfect fit. Small, but perfect.” He took the tip of his tongue and circled the nipple. Her breasts seemed to swell. She felt her nipples harden and the contraction in the junction of her thighs again. She lifted her hips but he pressed the palm of his hand on her belly and pushed her down. He took her breast in his mouth and suckled.
    She caught her breath. The wetness between her legs grew. It was an erotic assault on her senses and she found herself writhing beneath his ministrations. He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh and her legs fell open of their own accord. He parted the silken triangle and caressed the swollen flesh and she suddenly arched her hips. She heard herself cry out. It was as if something deep inside her had shattered. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart was racing. It was the most exquisite feeling she had ever experienced. But those few moments of ecstasy did little to slate her desire. She wanted more. She opened her eyes to see him looking down on her.
    “I scarcely touched you,” he murmured.
    “It was wonderful,” she said unevenly. “But I need something. I don’t know. Something more. I think, I need you inside me.”
    “Gladly.” He slid a finger inside her passage and her eyes widened as her muscles tightened around it. “You’re very tight.” His voice was husky. “But, you’re very wet.”
    She swallowed and managed to find her voice. “Is that good?”
    His lips curved. “Very good.”
    He slid another finger inside her and used the pad of his thumb to stroke the swollen nub of flesh. His mouth found her breast, his teeth grazing her nipple. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. She closed her eyes, shutting out the flickering light and shadows, concentrating on the wonder of it all, the sensations that rose inside her. She lifted her hips against him. To lay still was impossible. The need to move was too strong. He was so good at this. She heard herself moan. So very good. How did he know what to do? The question flew from her head as her need spiraled. He continued the assault, making love with his hands and mouth. It was a sweet agony. The wet warmth of his mouth on her body, every kiss, every touch, was sending tremors through her body. He kissed the damp curls between her legs; ran his tongue up her belly to kiss her navel, the indention between her breasts. A musky scent rose from his heated skin.
    He played her body with skill, controlled her senses, made her want more without bring her to completion over and over again until she thought she would weep with frustration. And when she could bear it no longer he opened her legs and placed his shaft against the wet, silken folds of her passage. She tilted her hips and tried to force him with her legs, but he resisted.
    “No,” he said sharply. “Look at me.”
    She did and her eyes widened at the intensity of his expression. The flickering light played over the planes of his face and a raw sensuality radiated from those perfect features. His eyes were dark and hooded. Sweat glistened on his face. This man was a stranger.