Virginia Henley (7 page)

With utter outrage she stared at the dark giant whose sheer size overshadowed everything in his presence, including her—especially her! The uncivilized brute not only had the audacity to speak to her; the lout had actually called her
Cat
!

She recoiled in horror, her gorge rising at the thought that he had actually touched her. “How dare you speak my name?” Her breasts rose and fell in indignant agitation. His dark visage was so threatening that she took a step backward and held her pale yellow skirts away from him so that his loathsome presence would not contaminate her. The baseborn creature was garbed in leather and wore a filthy sheepskin that branded him a primitive savage. She had never encountered such a coarse, unsavory barbarian in her entire life. He was completely different from all the other men of her acquaintance. He was oversized, overbold and overbearing. “You are trespassing, you uncivilized lout. These woods are the private property of the Spencers and Careys. You had best leave at once before I call the gamekeeper and have you arrested.” The wild-looking devil was gawking at her clothes as if he had never seen a lady in a fine gown before. “How does a violent ruffian such as you know my name?” she demanded.

Patrick’s black eyes narrowed as he assessed the delicate female who stood before him. He had known she would be exquisite, but she was far smaller than he had expected and vain beyond belief. She thought her ethereal beauty made her so special that the opposite sex should fawn upon her and grovel at her dainty feet. “I know far more about you than your name, wench.”

“Wench?” she cried in outrage. “You will address me as Lady Catherine, you rude, repulsive brute.” Her glance traveled from the bulging muscles of his bare arms to his unshaven jaw, and she shuddered at his unkempt appearance.

“I will address you as
Hellcat,
you spoiled little bitch!”

“Spoiled?”

“Spoiled, selfish and brainless to boot,” he added with relish.

“
Brainless
?” she gasped, offended to her core.

“Only an imbecile would wear a gossamer gown and ruff into the woods. You care naught for the man who provided the money for it, and even less for the poor drudge who must clean and repair it.”

“You offensive swine! You are so ignorant you do not realize you owe me an abject apology for the attack of your wolfhound.”

“Wolfhound? These happen to be Scottish deerhounds, the finest, most prized hunting dogs on earth,
Hellcat
!”

“You’re a Scot,” she said with loathing. “That explains everything. I have been told what uncouth, uncivilized brutes Scots
men
are. You and your savage beasts had better begone before you are arrested for trespassing in these private woods.”

Without another word, Patrick Hepburn picked her up and set her down upon her white horse, clenching his jaw in anger when he saw her recoil at his touch. “You are the one who is leaving. Get the hell home where you belong before I tan your arse.” He slapped her palfrey’s rump and watched with satisfaction as the dainty little horse kicked up its heels and fled.

He stood staring after her long after she had gone, his dark brows drawn together in consternation. Then, all at once, he threw back his head and his laughter came rolling out in a torrent of pure male glee. He had finally met the female of his visions. Her name was Cat and that was the reason she’d had the saucy creature tattooed on her bottom. “Before I’m done with you, little Hellcat, I intend to tame you. The day will come when you won’t disdain my touch. You’ll purr when I stroke you,” he vowed.

Robert Carey silently blessed Patrick Hepburn for his omniscience in leaving him alone with the divine widow. He would never have a better opportunity than this to begin an overture. A year ago in Carlisle, he had managed a few furtive fumbles in various alcoves, but the place had been overrun with northern troops who patrolled the Borders, and the degree of privacy necessary for complete intimacy had been nonexistent.

“My sister Philadelphia must have a crystal ball. Until a week ago I had no notion that I would be coming south.”

Liz laughed. “Philadelphia is a determined matchmaker, and she did promise I’d have my pick of potential husbands if I came to Court, but I assure you, Robert, she did not have you in mind.”

“Then Providence has sent me so you don’t make a drastic mistake.” He closed the distance between them and slipped an arm around her. “Welcome to Richmond, Liz. Let me give you a tour of Hunsdon Hall.” With a firm hand at her back he guided her to the main staircase, determined to begin their exploration upstairs.

Liz did not demur; rather, she aided and abetted Robert’s plan. “You are just the man I need. Would you help me with something?”

As she entered her chamber and walked to the window, she glanced back over her shoulder, using the age-old gesture to lure a man to his destiny. She placed her hands on the window sash. “It seems to be stuck. I cannot open it.”

Robert’s arms came around her and he covered her hands with his. His lips brushed against her ear. “Some things are better done in tandem,” he whispered suggestively. The sash lifted with ease. His arms closed about her waist and he pulled her back against his hard length.

Liz turned about in his arms and lifted her mouth for his kiss. Once his lips took possession of hers, his tongue began its dalliance, teasing, tempting and luring her into a giving mood. Liz soon became breathless with desire, and Robert’s body was aroused long before he began to undress her. Excitement built in both of them as their garments came off. By the time he lifted her to the bed he was rampant with need. As he knelt above her on the bed her lavender eyes widened in surprise. “You are already rigid.”

Her words brought home to him the knowledge that she had been married to a much older man, and it suddenly occurred to him that though she was a widow, Liz might not be as sexually experienced as he had assumed. “Yes, but there’s no hurry, sweetheart, if you are not fully aroused yet.”

Liz blushed. “No, no, Robert, there is no need to wait.”

He straddled her and then swept his hand down her slim body, caressing her breasts, her belly and her soft thighs. Before he entered her, his fingertips slid into her cleft to make sure she was dewy moist. Robert rose up above her, separated the burgundy curls on her mons with his thumb and forefinger, then plunged down with a heartfelt moan of pleasure. It had been a long time since he’d savored a beautiful woman, and Robert set a slow, rhythmic pace to draw out the mating, rather than gallop to the goal.

“I’m sorry, Robert.” Her whisper was so low, he wondered if he had imagined it.

“Sorry?” He hadn’t the vaguest notion what she meant.

“You are having difficulty ... you cannot spend,” she said softly.

“Sweetheart, of course I can spend. I want to wait for you.”

There was a long silence, while he scythed in and out, then finally Liz whispered, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He brushed his lips across her brow, then looked into her eyes. “I want to bring you to climax first—then I’ll spend.”

She gazed up at him. “Women don’t spend, Robert.”

He stopped, mid-stroke, and stared down at her in disbelief.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, realizing her ignorance. “I’m afraid I don’t know how.”

He gathered her close with a little shout of joy. “My darling, Liz, it will give me the greatest pleasure to teach you how.” He withdrew gently and crossed the room to lock the door. When he returned, he climbed on the mattress and reached high to pull the curtains of the bed closed. He slipped down beside her. “First we shut out the whole world. Intimacy demands complete privacy, and we are going to become extremely intimate before we leave this bed, my love.”

Robert drew back the covers so that he could make love to her with his eyes. His gaze moved slowly from her lashes to her lips, along the column of her throat, then down across the swells and hollows of her lovely breasts. He slowly licked his lips and smiled with delight as her nipples became ruched. He blew on them and watched them tighten into rosebuds, then he blew on her navel and the burgundy curls upon her high mons. He hadn’t even touched her, yet he knew her body was starting to respond.

When he finally touched her with his hand, she arched up from the bed. He cupped her mons with his palm and began to describe the things he was going to do to her; then he told her how it would make her feel. “You have a little bud at the top of your cleft. When I encircle it and stroke your bud, it will en-gorge with blood and make you feel hot. If you let me continue you will become wet and lubricated. If I keep up the pressure of my fingertips and increase the speed, your pleasure will build in its intensity to a little climax, and your bud will open like a flower. Now bend your knees a little and open your thighs. That’s it! Are you ready, sweetheart?”

She licked her lips nervously. “Yes, please.”

As the pressure of his fingertips continued, she became fever hot and wasn’t sure she could bear the intense sensitivity, but then, as he’d promised, she became moist, then slick, and she began to writhe with pleasure. When the little climax burst, she came up off the bed and clung to him. “Robert! Robert!”

He held her tightly and rubbed her back until she relaxed. With his lips against her ear he murmured, “Now I’m going to pleasure you again with my finger up inside your sheath. Each time I draw it out I stroke your bud until it finally explodes.”

Liz was panting with excitement. “You don’t mind teaching me?”

“Mind? I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Now, open for me.”

Once Catherine was safely back in the stables she realized that the only sin the massive deerhound had been guilty of was overfriendliness. The unsavory, uncivilized giant in charge of the dogs was another matter entirely. His overt maleness suddenly made her afraid as she realized she could have been in grave peril.
How did such a brute know I was called Cat? And when I challenged him, he said he knew far more about me than my name!
She could not report him to Dobson, because she had released the gamekeeper’s quail, but she certainly intended to alert the male servants at Hunsdon Hall that there was a vile, dangerous devil lurking in the woods and warn them he was armed with vicious-looking weapons.

Cat hurried inside to seek out Maggie. “You were right. I should never have gone into the woods alone today. There was a vile poacher who laid hands on me. He was at least seven feet of brute strength. I know he was uncivilized because he was a
Scot
!”

“Ye had me going fer a minute, lass, but there’s no need to make up stories about how ye got yer dress torn.”

“His deerhound did that.
Satan,
I believe he called it!”

Maggie studied her for a minute. “The devil did it? And I suppose the devil spirited off the crate of quail that Dobson managed to snare?”

“No, I was the one who did that, Maggie. The poor little birds were suffocating to death. He wore a sheepskin!”

“The devil? I warrant that’s because he was a Scots devil.”

“You’re not taking me seriously,” Cat accused. “You don’t even believe me!”

“Oh, I believe ye; thousands wouldn’t. Better remove the dress so I can repair it, and I recommend a bath while you’re at it, if ye intend to dine with the ladies at Hunsdon Hall tonight.”

Catherine overcame her frustration by assuring herself that the odious brute was probably miles away by now. She polished off a dish of apple tart, and then took her bath. She refused to allow the disturbing encounter to ruin her visit to Richmond, and as she soaked in the scented water, her apprehension began to dissolve.

An hour later the incident was almost forgotten as Catherine surveyed a dozen sketches of fashionable gowns she had designed. She couldn’t decide which creations Philadelphia would like best, so decided to let her make her own selection. As she absently gathered the sketches from the floor and slipped them into a leather case, her thoughts had already moved on to what she would wear this evening.

She opened her wardrobe and pushed aside all the white dresses. Being away from Court gave her the opportunity to wear more daring colors. Cat had a keen fashion sense, however, and knew what styles and colors flattered her and gave her the ethereal look that set her apart from the other young ladies who attended the queen.

She decided to wear the lilac velvet whose sleeves were slashed to show cream satin under-sleeves. Its low-cut bodice and stomacher that came to a point were decorated with tiny seed pearls, and Cat knew that somewhere she had a ruff that was edged with the same cream-colored beads. Outside the front door there was a lilac bush that was just coming into bloom. She cut two small bunches and put them in water. By the time she was ready to fasten them into her hair, the lilac blossoms would be open.

When Catherine heard her mother arrive, she went downstairs. “Mother, I’m so glad you decided to come. Time away from your demanding Court duties will do you good.”

“I consider them an honor, not a duty, Catherine.” Her mouth tightened. “Your gown is far too low-cut for a maiden. I do not approve. Don’t let me catch you wearing it at Court.”

“Of course not, Mother.”
I wouldn’t dream of letting you catch me wearing it.
“Did you all come down together?”

“Yes, apparently Philadelphia is entertaining a guest from Carlisle. Lady Widdrington is a widow visiting London for the first time. Poor soul! I know what it’s like to be widowed. We must do our best to dispel her loneliness and make her welcome.”

Cat spotted Maggie and sent her a desperate signal.

With uncanny Scots intuition, Maggie discerned her dilemma. She greeted Lady Spencer and drew her toward the kitchen. “Come and see what Cook has baked. Perhaps ye could take some to Hunsdon Hall tonight.”

As soon as the kitchen door closed, Catherine ran upstairs to get her sketches. She would have to smuggle them next door. If her mother saw them, she would forbid her from designing for Philadelphia because it might displease the queen.