The Runaway Countess (29 page)

He would take a lover like her.

He took another long, lazy draw off his cigar.
A lover like her.

Off to his right, about twenty paces to the east, a flash in the trees caught his attention. A doe perhaps. Or a faerie. He snorted at his own imagination.

There it was again, hidden in the shadows. He frowned.

Perhaps the village women were out collecting herbs, thought to be at their most powerful tonight. Or maybe a few of the men, not lucky enough to find a merry maid to pleasure, had brought their mischief here.

Perhaps his own merry maid was escaping.

All too possible. He dropped his cigar in the sand and stalked toward the east where he had seen the flash of movement. A twig snapped about five yards to his right. He froze. Quiet muttering filled the night.

He knew that voice.

What the hell did Mazie think she was doing? And where were her guards? Had she waltzed right out of his house? He paced forward, ready to dive into the shadows.

She stepped out into the clearing.

He blinked, his eyes playing tricks on him. She looked like a faerie, Titania herself, wearing a flowing dressing gown of white cotton, her dark hair unbound down her back.

At the moment she looked like a scared faerie, her eyes round and huge as she stared at him. She lifted her leg and stepped back, a doe ready to run.

Hell she would. He lunged forward and caught her wrist. Unconcerned by her futile twisting and turning in his grasp, he would never let her go.

“What are you thinking?” He hauled her wriggling, writhing body against him. “Did you plan to escape dressed in your goddamn night clothes? These woods are filled with troublemakers tonight.”

She stilled her movements, giving the appearance of calm. But her heart beat wild where it pressed against his chest. “I was not running away.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His anger was quickly wavering into something else. Something equally hot, if not hotter. She was soft and feminine in his arms, his for the plucking. And he desperately wanted to pluck her. Plunder her. Dive into her and sear his name onto her lips.

“I simply could not sleep.” Her voice wavered as well, husky. He felt the rise and fall of her breasts as she struggled to control her breath. “I thought to swim.” Pushing against him, she held up something white. A towel.

His mind betrayed him with images of naked flesh glistening wet in the moonlight.

“How did you get out?” He loosened his hold and she stepped back at once.

She eyed him warily. “The servants’ stairs by my room. Then the doorway on the east side of the house.”

He exhaled with a hiss, trying to clear his mind of its sexual haze to recall the house he had lived in for his entire childhood. “No one saw you?”

“No.”

He looked away in order to think. Most of the servants had the night off. It was the perfect time for her to escape. “Are you meeting someone?” His voice was a growl. He felt like a beast, wild, hungry.

“Like the Midnight Rider, your nemesis? Oh, yes, I am meeting him here.” She was all sarcasm. “He is fool enough to face capture just to visit with me for an hour in your woods.”

Trent frowned. At this moment, he would risk many things to
visit
with Mazie for an hour himself. But he wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t making sense even to himself.

“I thought to wear this white dressing gown to entice him, despite the fact it nearly glows in the moonlight and would quickly give me away.”

He frowned harder. She did have a good point. She was not a novice when it came to sneaking around. She wouldn’t make such an obvious mistake.

“And I brought this towel to cover my face, should anyone see me.” She crossed her arms, impatient. “Or perhaps I could use it as a weapon of some sort.”

He sighed and tried not to notice how her crossed arms plumped up her breasts. “Truly, you wanted to swim?”

“Truly, I wanted to swim. It is smoldering hot tonight, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He noticed a lot of things, like how the hard pucker of her nipples was visible beneath the thin fabric. “The house is hot as an oven. I could not stand it myself.”

She nodded but said nothing, turned toward the lake and gave him her profile.

He did not want to go back to being enemies so soon. He was desperate, in fact. “Stay and swim with me.”

She shifted her feet. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you. I’ll return to the house.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand. She shook beneath his fingers. She was more nervous than she would let on.

He would finish this business between them. “Stay with me.”

She tilted her head. Her eyes were pools of shadows and he could read nothing there.

Sweat broke out over his skin. She would say yes. She must say yes.

For he had made up his mind. She would be his.

“Very well.” She pulled her hand from his. “But I shall swim over here and you shall swim over there.” She pointed to the far shore.

He made himself step back and motioned for her to precede him, toward the grassy spot where he had sat earlier. She passed and he followed her swaying hips.

“There is a nice sandy spot here.” He pointed toward the lake. “It drops off rather quick. Do you know how to swim?”

She nodded, looking out over the lake rather than at him.

Would she swim in her shift? His throat tightened. Or would she swim naked? The swell of his cock was uncomfortable in his breeches.

It wouldn’t matter what she wore, either way she would be wet and nearly naked.

And his.

Full of naughty thoughts, he picked his way through the weeds at the lake’s edge, then maneuvered over the slippery rocks toward the spot she had decided he should swim.

Suddenly, a splash rent the quiet night. He turned to see Mazie pop her head out of the water and brush her hair back from her face.

She was beautiful. The moonlight made her pale skin glow and cast deep shadows under her cheekbones.

She was wet. Alone. His.

He shrugged out of his shirt.

It was heaven, pure heaven. The feel of cool water and silky cotton brushing over her skin was exquisite on this hot summer night. Mazie ducked her head under the water and swam a few strokes in the silent darkness, not coming up until her lungs screamed for air.

As she surfaced, her eyes sought out Trent. He was pulling his shirt over his head, baring himself to her greedy gaze.

She treaded water and watched, guilty, nervous, unable to look away. His shoulders and arms were sculpted with muscle, dangerously beautiful in the moonlight. His chest was broad, thick and covered in a light dusting of dark hair that trailed down over his banded abdomen. She longed to explore his body, to touch and taste and
know
him.

He turned and she ducked back under the water before he saw her watching.

Her heart hammered in her ears. She was beyond bold to have stayed. Swimming in the lake. In her shift.

But she knew what she was doing. She wanted it, wanted him. What would it be like, his member inside her? Her belly tightened, a band of nerves, and she came to the surface, brushed the water out of her eyes.

Good heavens, she was a fool. She should have run when she had the chance. For the millionth time, she had considered it as she had lain on her bed, sleepless in the sweltering heat. And later, as she snuck through the dark woods. But her escape would not help Roane, or Mrs. Pearl.

It was too late now. Too late for all of it. She had decided her own fate. She would have him. Men did it all the time. Took their pleasure without deeper emotion. Without giving away a part of themselves. She would do that. She would take him as she wanted.

She swam on her back, keeping herself at an angle so she could see Trent. He stood at the lake’s edge, watching her, his eyes lingering and stroking. Even from this distance, his body vibrated into the night.

He wanted her.

Again, her abdomen banded with tightness and her nerves fluttered. Despite her bravado, she did not know how to play this game.

She swam backward, away from him. Water coursed over her and caressed every inch of her skin. Wind brushed her face, her eyelashes.

Trent walked forward and let the water lick the bottoms of his breeches. She wanted to touch him, there, in the smooth crook of his waist, where his abdomen curved into his hip bone. His slid his gaze over the lake, over the rippling moonlight. Then he dove in.

He disappeared under the surface for a moment, then reappeared, laughing.

Laughing. Had she ever truly heard the man laugh? It was a wonderful sound.

“It’s like a baptism.” The happiness in his voice bounced off the water like starlight. “A cleansing.”

Mazie smiled and swam away a few more strokes. She would let him enjoy this. It was good for him. He needed such a frivolous diversion.

She floated on her back, her ears under the water, listening to the muffled world of the fish. The stars were bright overhead, so far away, an endless reach. Trent was somewhere in the lake with her. She felt the lap of water like his touch. Would his hands feel as soft?

Something grabbed at her ankles. She stiffened with shock, sputtered for breath. Something tugged. She screamed, was pulled underwater. She lashed out in the inky blackness, hit something soft yet solid.

Trent.

She kicked back to the surface, her legs tangling in her shift, and gasped for air.

He was nearby, laughing and laughing. The sound echoed through the quiet night.

“Cad!” She splashed him, hard.

“The look on your face.” He laughed and she splashed him again.

She swam two strokes to him and before he realized what she was about she pushed his shoulders down under the water, dunking him as he had her.

Pulling with her arms, she darted away before he surfaced. When his head popped up at arm’s length distance, his face was dark, no longer laughing. He appeared to be angry and her amusement turned serious. She fought to put more space between them, shrieked when he caught a length of her shift and pulled.

She resisted the tug, but he only pulled harder. Something gave way, as if he had let go, and she kicked herself free.

But the water felt different all of the sudden. Smooth and rolling on her skin, her shift no longer tangled around her legs.

My God. She was
naked
.

Her shift must have torn. Her fingertips brushed her belly.
Bare.
She glanced back at Trent and he held her gown, a wolfish grin on his face.

His smile flashed white in the moonlight. Desire shot through her, pulsed between her legs. It was almost painful, this need for him. She stared at him and his grin changed, became tighter and fiercer and infinitely deeper. Pulled at her.

Too much. It was too much. She was out of her depth.

She turned and swam toward the shore, awkward, gulping down breaths, desperate for the security of solid earth underfoot.

Water rolled over her, pulling and pulling down into her pelvis where she ached. Water slid over her breasts, over her belly, around her thighs, caressed the base of her body, lapped at her naked flesh.

At last the bank rose up and she put her feet down. When she turned, Trent was right behind her, his eyes glittering.

He threw her shift toward the shore and it snagged on a branch, the skirts fanning out on the water’s surface. He threw something else, his breeches, and reached for her. Of course he did. There was no surprise, but he did not touch her. He held his hand out as one does to a skittish animal, inviting her closer.

Blank, wide as the span as the starlit sky, her mind was empty. But her body was not. She stepped forward and gave him her hand. He pulled her to him and water swirled around their bodies. He pulled her until they touched.

Flesh, flesh. Flesh everywhere. His belly against her belly, his thighs against her thighs. His arm around her back, her toes on his feet. Flesh against flesh. Glistening in the moonlight. Flesh conversing in a language she did not yet understand.

He ran a finger over the side of her jaw, down her neck, around the outside of her breast. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. It left her shaking in its path. He lowered his lips to hers. The first kiss was soft. So soft.

Desperate for more, she pressed into him, pressed the tips of her breasts against the matted hair of his chest, pressed her mouth, her tongue, against his. He wrapped his hands beneath her buttocks and hauled her up against his hardness.

It was like a fantasy, a dream, but better.
This is real.
Over and over the word chanted. Real.

He wrapped her legs around his waist and carried her out of the lake. A gentle breeze blew over them, one hundred fingers caressing her hot skin. He threw her towel on the grass, kneeled on it, and laid her back.

She did not surrender like some shy maiden. She touched his abdomen, reached for his erection and wrapped her hands around it. He sucked in a breath, and she felt empowered by his fierce reaction. She pressed her lips to his chest, his ribs.