The Sergeant's Lady (15 page)

In the aftermath he gathered her against him, and she kissed him, hard. “Will. I—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

“Oh, Anna…” He buried his face in her hair, and they lay in silence for a few moments, until she twitched her hip against his emphatically erect cock.

“What about you? Should I…do you want me to touch you?”

It was too dark to see her face, but he swore he could feel her skin heat in a blush. “Only if you want to,” he whispered.

She grasped his shirttail in a shaking hand, then hesitated.

“You don’t have to,” he reassured her.

“But would you like it?”

He considered lying, since the last thing he wanted was for her to feel she owed him something that frightened her. But instinct told him that more than anything, Anna needed his honesty.

“Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”

She slid her hand beneath his shirt, her fingertips skimming his thighs in a light, tickling caress.

He choked back a groan as her fingers found their mark. She laid her other hand against his lips. “Shh!”

Her touch was shy, almost virginal, and her cautious exploration of his length was heavenly torture.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed.

“Anything you do is fine.” But after a few minutes he closed his hand over hers and showed her the stroke, the rhythm, that brought him to his own gasping release.

He wiped up his seed with his shirttail—he would be glad when he finally got a chance to put on a fresh shirt—before gathering Anna into his arms again.

She stroked his face. “I think this will be my first good night’s sleep since the night we danced together.”

He shifted her until they lay spooned together. “Likewise,” he admitted ruefully, settling a possessive hand at her belly. “Good night, Anna,” he whispered.

She nestled closer against him and covered his hand with her own. “Good night, my dear Will.” She took a deep breath. “Beloved.”

The last word was whispered so softly he could barely hear it. He fell asleep filled with a joy that was half pain.

***

Anna awoke at dawn when the baby whimpered at the other end of the cottage. One of his parents shushed him, but Anna was thoroughly awake. Will still slumbered, his only response to the sound a sigh, a brief interruption in his soft snoring and a tighter grip of his hand at her stomach.

She was nervous about facing him after what had passed between them in the darkness. Would he be the same Will he’d been in the night, or would he turn withdrawn and proper?

She was embarrassed at how wanton she’d been. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed not to scream his name, thrash on that noisy mattress and beg him to take her. And he must know—not in all that detail, but he must have sensed how abandoned her response was.

The baby cried again, louder and longer this time, and Anna heard Pedro and Teresa speak together in low voices.

Will stirred and woke. Anna rolled over to face him and met amber-colored eyes every bit as anxious as she knew her own must be. She smiled, as did he, and they embraced, forehead pressed to forehead. Anna wanted to weep from relief.

“Your eyes are the color of Dunmalcolm whisky,” she said.

“Are they?” He grinned. “Is it good whisky?”

She laughed. “It’s excellent. But you must pretend I never mentioned it to you.”

“Not a licensed distillery?”

“No. My uncle pretends complete mystification about where it comes from, as long as enough comes to him.”

“A just and fair-minded man.” Will turned serious, stroking her face. “You’ve a cat’s eyes. Such a clear green.”

She gathered her courage. “Tonight?”

“You’re sure you won’t regret it?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure at all. But I’d regret it far more if we didn’t.”

And then he was upon her, kissing her desperately. She reveled in his ferocity as she wound arms and legs around him and kissed him back.

He lifted his head with a new fire in his eyes.
“Tonight.”
A gleam of amusement returned. “Unless someone else invites us to share his cottage.”

She laughed with delight. “If anyone tries, we’ll run away.”

They dressed, and Will discussed with Pedro the safest route for the remainder of their journey while Anna helped Teresa prepare a simple breakfast.

Before the morning was far advanced, the Vásquezes saw them off. Now she and Will wore broad-brimmed hats to shield their faces from the sun, and their load was heavier by the addition of two loaves of bread, a lump of goat cheese wrapped in a cloth and a bit of ham. Anna had attempted to pay Teresa out of her little hoard of coin, but she had refused.

“With any luck, this should be all the food we need to get back,” Will said.

“If not, we can buy more, now that the country isn’t so empty,” Anna replied. They were skirting around a village—with no pressing need for food or information Will felt it wisest to see as few people as possible.

“If nothing else, they’d slow us down wanting me to tell of every battle I’ve seen,” he said ruefully.

“And you’d talk yourself hoarse with all the tales. Poor Will.”

“We can’t dally on purpose. I don’t think we’ll reach the army before tomorrow, but if we stumble upon them today, that’s that.”

“I know,” she assured him. But she hoped desperately that his calculations were right, and they had enough miles left to allow them their night. Last night had been bliss, but she wanted more.

Through the cool of the morning Will pushed a relentless pace. Anna understood that it was his salve to his conscience for what he meant to do with her—he couldn’t neglect his duty for the sake of desire—so she hurried alongside him without complaining.

It was a strange day. They didn’t talk so readily as before. Anna couldn’t speak of commonplaces. It was as though all her vocabulary, all five languages’ worth—six if one counted the Gaelic phrases she had learned from Dunmalcolm servants—had narrowed down to a single English word,
tonight
, that sang in her ears with every step she took.

They halted for a midday meal under a tree beside the same quick-flowing stream they had followed all day. For the first time since that morning, Will kissed her, his touch almost reverent. Anna felt ready to bubble over with a shy eagerness. She could hardly look at him without blushing, nor could she keep her eyes off him long. She felt almost bridal, though she avoided that thought. She didn’t want to remember her wedding day, nor her wedding night. Tonight was her gift from the fates to make up for it.

But today was only half over—the slowest day she had ever known. She forced herself to mind prosaic matters, to break open the bundle of food Teresa Vásquez had made for them and pass the first loaf of bread to Will to slice. She spotted something she hadn’t expected, a little earthenware pot, smaller than her hand and tightly lidded.

Her eyes widened as she opened it. “It’s honey!”

Will whistled. “I didn’t know she was giving us that.”

“Neither did I. If I’d known, I would’ve insisted upon paying her.”

Greedily they spread the honey on their bread and ate it slowly, savoring each succulent bite. Once a bit of the sticky sweetness trickled down her chin, and Will leaned across the space between them to lick it away, ending with a ravenous kiss. She buried both hands in his hair, longing to pull him down atop her then and there, in the blazing heat of noon.

Will broke the kiss, and they stared at each other, hungry and shaken. “Tonight,” Will muttered under his breath, sitting back and resuming his meal.

“It’s strange,” he said, his voice carefully conversational, “how a small thing can become a luxury. If anyone had told me as a child that someday I’d count myself lucky to have honey to spread on my bread, I’d have thought them mad.”

“I know,” she agreed, striving to match his tone. “The finest ices at Gunter’s never tasted half so delicious, and before I came here I could’ve eaten honey every day of my life if I’d wished it. I doubt it’s such a common thing for Teresa and Pedro, though.”

“They’re generous people. Teresa seemed taken with you.”

“The little girls were certainly taken with you. Someday, when the war is over and you can go home, you must marry and have a family,” Anna said.

He didn’t reply immediately, and when she looked at him his face was grave. So many things that could never be said hung in the air between them. But he
should
have a wife,
should
father a brood of clever, inquisitive children—sons to train to be farmers after him and pretty chestnut-haired daughters who’d be just a little spoilt from having so doting a father.

“I’d like that,” Will said at last. “Someday.”

They finished their meal in silence.

She meant what she said. But it brought home how temporary what they had found together must be. She was incapable of bearing him those children he so ought to have. And outside of this haven of solitude, the world would not allow Anna Arrington, sister of Viscount Selsley, niece to the Earl of Dunmalcolm and heiress to one hundred thousand pounds, to have anything to do with Will Atkins, sergeant and son of an innkeeper. Tonight was all they could ever have.

In the afternoon they walked more slowly because of the heat, but they kept on until the sun sank low onto the horizon. On the verge of sunset they reached an isolated spot, deep in a steep-sided valley, where the stream they had followed all day deepened and slowed its headlong flow. Its banks were grassy and lined with cork trees.

“This looks like a good spot,” Will said, setting his rifle down and sliding the knapsack from his back.

“Yes.” As Anna set down her own burdens, her knees wobbled. Tonight had come at last.

Will cupped her chin in his hand. “Anna. We have all night. We should build a fire, eat dinner.” He looked nervous too, his eyes grave, his mouth twisted into a wistful smile.

Her face heated. “Of course.”

While Will spread out their gear, Anna gathered an armful of deadfall wood, enough for a summer night’s fire, more for protection and light than heat. She didn’t think she’d need any help to stay warm. Her heart galloped, and she almost expected the dry wood to burst into flame when she touched it.

Will had spread their blanket on a grassy section of the stream’s bank. “Here,” he said, pointing to a flat rock against which he’d propped their gear.

While he built a small fire on the rock, Anna unpacked more of the simple fare Teresa had provided them, and they dined almost silently upon goat cheese and bread spread with the rest of the honey.

When they were done, he reached out and took her right hand in both of his. “Are you sure you want this?”

Her hand shook. All of her shook. Despite her hammering heart she met his eyes as boldly as she could. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. Her breath caught and she swayed toward him, but he held her at bay, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“I thought we might bathe,” he said. “I checked the water, and it’s not too cold.”

An answering smile tugged at her lips. He was right. Better to make this playful, at least at the beginning. And it would feel delightful to be clean when they came together. “Yes,” she said, “that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Good.” He grinned, and she laughed. All the oddness of the day fled then, though if anything she only desired him more.

He bent to his unbuckle his shoes. “I should warn you,” he said conversationally, “I have very ugly feet.”

“Ugly
feet
? Will, I don’t care what your feet look like.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he kicked off his shoes and peeled away his socks.

And then she saw what he meant. They must have been unremarkable feet at some point—long, narrow, ordinary feet that took their owner wherever he needed to go. That much they still managed, for Anna had never noticed Will display even a hint of a limp. Yet his right foot lacked a fifth toe and had but a stump remaining of the fourth, while the fifth toe of his left foot had been broken off just below the toenail.

She leaned over to cradle his feet and caress the mangled toes. When she looked up, the tenderness in his eyes made her blush. “What happened?” she asked.

“Frostbite.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “My shoes fell apart on the retreat to Corunna, and we’d abandoned all our spares. It could’ve been worse. At least I don’t limp.”

“Good God, Will.”

His feet twitched. “That tickles,” he said. “And if you were planning to kiss them, I’d wait till they’re clean. Just now, I’m sure they taste even worse than they look.”

She was about to protest that she’d never kiss anyone’s feet. But something about his broken feet, the idea of her Will marching barefoot through the snow, made her want to do exactly that. At the same time an entirely different part of her mind noted that he was ticklish, because one never knew when such information might prove useful. But then she remembered that this night was all they had.

To cover her jumbled emotions, some of which she didn’t even know how to name, she bent to work over her own shoes and stockings. He watched her, a hungry gleam lighting his eyes, as she hiked her skirts to her knees to untie her garters and peel down her stockings.

“Your feet are beautiful,” he said.

She studied them. They were ordinary, a little bigger than a woman her size should have, with rather knobby toes. “They’re
feet
.”

“They’re your feet.”

“Yours would be much more elegant than mine if…”

“If I had all my toes?”

“Well, yes.”

“Too bad I never knew what fine feet I had until it was too late,” he said lightly. “Would you like me to help with your dress?” he asked in a much different voice.

She swayed toward him. “Of course.”

He went to work on her buttons. He had helped her dress and undress often enough that it was becoming routine, but this time was different. He felt it too—she could tell by the way his fingers fumbled at their work.

It felt at once profoundly right and painfully awkward to strip to the skin and watch Will do the same. She and Sebastian had never been completely nude in each other’s presence. And it wasn’t even dark—the sun was just now sinking over the horizon, bathing the sky in a ruddy fading light and turning Will’s hair nearer auburn than chestnut.

Naked but not quite without shame, Anna scrambled down the bank into the stream. At its deepest point, the cool water came just above her waist, and she crossed her arms over her bosom. It was one thing to long for Will’s touch on every part of her body, quite another to reveal it to his sight in the remnants of daylight. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, either, staring instead at the surface of the water. She dug her toes into the sandy bottom and waited.

She heard a small splash, and the water rippled as Will joined her. “My God, Anna,” he said, “you’re beautiful.” His voice was an invisible caress that sent a tremor down her spine and made her most private parts feel heavy and eager for his touch. She uncrossed her arms and turned to look at him, waist-deep in the stream a few feet away.

He was beautiful, too. At least, she’d never seen a more pleasing sight. He was lean, almost thin, but with a wonderful solidity in his broad shoulders and the wiry muscles of his arms. She knew his strength well, knew how good he felt when they embraced, but it was still a revelation to see him, so beautiful and battle-scarred. The saber scar at his collarbone revealed itself to be nearly a foot long, tracing a diagonal path toward his heart. There were three more like it—one on his left forearm, one lower across his ribs, and one over his shoulder.

She beckoned to him. He waded toward her and took her hands in his, but held her at a little distance. She looked up at his face and reveled in the stark awe she saw there, how suddenly dark his eyes were, whisky-brown irises swallowed by the blackness of his pupils.

“I can’t believe…” he began, and shook his head. “I have no right to touch you.”

He couldn’t retreat now. She wouldn’t allow it. She met his eyes, feigning a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “Yes, you do. I give you that right.”

He smiled tenderly but did not move.

“Do I have the right to touch you?” she asked.

His smiled flirted with transformation to a grin. “I am at my lady’s command.”

Daringly she pressed against him, setting the placid waters dancing and rippling around them. She gasped at the feel of his male organ, already erect, pressing against the softness of her belly. Winding her arms around his neck, she bent her head to trace his scar with her tongue from where it began over his left breast to his collarbone. He inhaled sharply, and his hands settled on her hips, drawing her more firmly against him.

Embarrassment fled, leaving only delight. This grove, this stream, these formed her Garden of Eden. She tilted her head back to smile at him. “That scar has been distracting me from the day I met you.”

He half laughed, half growled, and pulled her closer for a rough kiss, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth.

Lightning-fast, his mood turned playful again, though Anna could tell his desire had not diminished. “I left the soap on the bank,” he said. “Wait here.”

She obeyed, watching him wade out to shallower waters to retrieve the rough cake of army-issue soap. His legs and posterior were just as lean and well-made as the rest of him. She was eager and ready; she would’ve lain with him gladly then and there, but clearly he wanted to stretch this out.

He returned to her, eyes so bright with mischief they seemed to glow in the deepening twilight. He worked the soap into a lather as he considered her.

“Where should I begin? Here?” He cupped her breast with his wet, soapy hand, and she closed her eyes and gasped.

“No, not quite there,” he said. He moved to her shoulders with a gentle, thorough caress, then down her arms and back. She took the soap and followed suit, enjoying the solid, male feel of him beneath her lathered hands.

They kissed, and he began to tease her, washing her belly, her buttocks, lifting her out of the water to soap her legs, but avoiding her breasts, never venturing between her thighs.

She half floated against him, her knees gripping his hips, his organ pressed against the curls that guarded her private places, and her breasts crushed slickly against his chest. With one hand wrapped around his neck for balance, she reached down to take his erection in her other hand, marveling at the weight of it, the smoothness of the skin.

“Careful—” Will gasped, “—don’t want to spend too soon.”

She took her hand away, though she continued to rock her hips against him. So wondrous this was, unlike anything she’d felt before, better even than the bliss of last night. “Strange,” she said, grasping at a remnant of coherent thought, “to have a part of your body that can change so much.”

He chuckled wickedly. “It is. But you have some changeable parts of your own.” He set her back on her feet, and she whimpered in frustration. “For instance,” he said, cupping her breasts in both hands, lifting them up, and dipping his head to nibble, “you have your own parts that get harder.”

“Will,” she gasped.

“And,” he added relentlessly, trailing one hand down her belly to the apex of her thighs while he continued to caress her breasts with the other, “this isn’t always quite so—” His words broke off on a groan as he delved into her folds.

“My God, Will, I want you so.”

He kissed her, pressed his forehead against hers, and they stood together, panting. Her heart broke a little at how open and yearning his face was.

“I can’t wait much longer, Anna,” he said.

“Then don’t wait.”

At that he swung her into his arms and strode to the bank. They had no towels, but Anna didn’t care. A light breeze made her shiver as he lowered her to the blanket, but her blood was heated. She reached out to embrace him with arms and legs both, drawing him down to her. At the feel of his bare skin under her hands and against her naked chest, she shivered for a different cause, delighting in the contrast between his smooth skin and the rough wool against her back. His erection rested against her, and she arched her hips to bring it closer to the spot that ached for him.

His hands stole to her hips and held her still. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Can’t wait. Wanted to take it slow.”

She squirmed against him. “Will, please.
Now
.”

He closed his eyes and shifted her hips slightly. She whimpered as the head of his organ slid along her cleft to her entrance. She clung to his shoulders, gasping for breath, as he entered her in one thrust.

Oh, God. So good. To be ready for this, eager for it, his weight on her, his beautiful body above hers, him within her, filling her, stretching her, perfectly fitting her hungry body. She cried out, almost a scream, and dug her fingernails into his back.

Still he stayed motionless within her. He ran his hands through her unbound hair. “Good?” he gasped between rapid breaths.

He needed to ask? She met his eyes, wild and hungry, and yet so anxious he wouldn’t please her.

No wonder she loved him so.

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings, and wound one hand in his hair to pull him down to her. “Good,” she replied.

A shudder rippled through his entire body.
“Good.”
He kissed her. “Won’t take long.”

Then he began to thrust, fast and wild. Anna hung on for dear life, lifting her hips to meet his rhythm. Wanton she must be, at least for him.

Without slowing his pace, he shifted, sliding one hand down near the point of their joining to find the spot most sensitive to his touch. He caressed her in time with his thrusts, and the pleasure built and built until she exploded with it.

“Will.”
She raked her nails down his back and tried to grip him even harder with legs and hands. Her head flung back, she watched his face as he groaned her name and went rigid with his own release. She arched her body under him, enjoying the echoes of his pleasure, the warmth of his seed pulsing deep within her.

He collapsed over her, covering her face with kisses. She kept her arms and legs wound around him to savor their joining as long as she could.

“Anna,” he breathed. “My lady. My Anna.”

She sighed as he trailed kisses across her face.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You’re
sorry
? Why?”

“Sorry I couldn’t make it last longer.”

She was sorry, too, but only because she wished the night could last forever. “But it was perfect,” she said.

“Perfect?” He raised his eyebrows, hopeful yet doubting.

“Perfect.” She kissed him. “I was afraid you were sorry it happened.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure I should be, but I’m not.”

“Don’t ever be. I’ll never regret you.”

She made a wordless sound of protest as he withdrew from her and rolled onto his side, but he gathered her into a close embrace. “I should let you breathe,” he said. “And I won’t regret you, either. How could I?”

“Good.” She traced his scars, his collarbone, the muscles of his chest and arms. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

He raised one eyebrow. “From everything you’ve told me about your husband, I should imagine not.”