What the Marquess Sees (16 page)

He looked like he would say more, but she stopped the question hanging on the tip of his tongue. “Leave it, Dansbury.”

Then she turned on her heal, leaving him to retrieve their basket from the back of the wagon.

*

“So what are our plans now?”

They’d finished eating and were both lying on their backs on one of their ratty blankets, staring up at the clear, blue sky. The air was crisp and fresh, despite the foul blanket beneath them. She didn’t know what he was thinking about, but she was imagining shapes in the clouds passing overhead while she waited for the opportune time to approach the subject of their plans to end all this.

It started with a sigh, a deep, drawn out sigh. She took it as a sign that he was concerned she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. She braced herself for bad news.

He turned on his side to face her and propped his head up with one arm. He was fiddling with a dandelion, but he looked her in the eye when he spoke. “We’re going to be traveling in this wagon for a week…sleeping wherever we can find shelter.
Wherever.
They’ll be no more high class inns for Mr. and Mrs. Churchmouse.”

They both laughed at the idea that their previous nights’ accommodations were more than what they were. High-class, indeed.

“I mean it, Bea. We cannot afford the risk. I don’t know who to trust besides myself. So I plan to keep traveling by wagon until we reach my Aunt’s house. It should take about three to five days, depending on the weather, our skill, and our luck. I have no doubt of our skill.”

Beatryce raised her brow at this. “Isn’t it risky to travel to a family member’s house?”

“Usually, yes. But I don’t think anyone will suspect that to be our plan; that is the beauty of it. I’m not kidding myself into believing that the men following us are unaware of my occupation with the Crown…or of my reputation in that capacity.” He seemed to beam with pride at his vaunted reputation.

Sigh. Men.

“But honestly, even if they knew that is where we’re hiding, I’m not worried. It’s being out in the open, exposed, that is more of a danger to us. Being in a place I’m familiar with is preferable. I’m confident in my own capabilities and my ability to protect you, especially at home in a well-known environment.”

She was lost at “protect you.” Damn his eyes.

And he knew it. His eyes darkened; his hand stopped absentmindedly twirling his dandelion. A cloud passed overhead, blocking the sun, shading his face even further and enhancing the effect, the sign of his desire. For her.

And before she knew what either of them were about, he’d dropped the flower, leaned over, and kissed her.

Slowly.

Gently.

Not the passionate attack she was expecting.

And she was completely undone by it. By his gentleness, his reverence, for she’d never experienced the like.

His lips slid back and forth across hers, a light flutter and barely there. Yes, there was desire, but the gesture also spoke of tenderness. Tenderness was foreign to her, so she brushed it away by deliberately inciting his passion.

She pushed up, pushed him over, and kissed him for all she was worth. He needn’t know she’d put her heart and soul into it. That in her kiss, she was saying thanks for her first taste of tender compassion.

He needed no further convincing. He responded in kind.

His hands searched her body, rubbing her back, her sides, her arse. At one point, his hands came up her sides, his thumbs pressing in just beneath her breasts.

She simply held on to his head, one hand on each side, her fingers buried in thick, golden locks as she attacked his mouth with her own.

Crack!

A loud sound in the distance startled them apart. A flock of birds took flight several hundred yards to her left. It sounded like the thick branch of a tree falling to the ground. Whatever, it was enough to bring them both to their senses.

She was wading into dangerous territory.

Dansbury had turned to look at the sound. Now, he looked back at her, his eyes still heavy with passion. Like hers. Both of them were breathing erratically.

He reached for her, but she stayed him with her hand.

“Enough, Dansbury.”

He backed away immediately, and she nearly laughed at the disappointment she felt flutter around her heart. It was another sign she was growing soft. And soft was dangerous.

She was soiled goods; her heart was dark. And mean. He was a good man; even she knew that. And he was not for her. She wouldn’t taint him with her problems, her humble future. And she would never trust him enough to make it work. They’d be miserable. She laughed at the thought—as if he was thinking of anything more permanent than a few nights of sex. Not likely.

“That was fun, Dansbury, but la, I’ve had enough. We really need to get moving so we can find some place to settle down before it grows dark.”

He smiled, which was unnerving in that it was unexpected.

“Sure, Bea. You speak some truth; we’ll go.” He stood, but she remained rooted to the ground. She knew he wasn’t finished.

“But, Bea…” He was standing, but he leaned down and over her, face to face. She could smell his breath. “I never took you for a coward.” And he walked off.

“Curiosity is the lust of the mind.”

― Thomas Hobbes

The Barn…

They were sleeping in an abandoned barn. La, a barn. Had someone told her she’d one day be sleeping in the hayloft of a derelict barn, Beatryce would have laughed until her sides split. Then called upon the warden at Bedlam.

Yet here she was. In a barn that looked as if it hadn’t been used in a century or more. A hole in the roof offered her a clear view of the night sky above her head. The air around her was damp and chilly, making her nose cold despite the mound of blankets covering her from her chin on down.

She’d been wrapped up in Dansbury’s arms when she went to sleep, cocooned and cozy beneath a hundred blankets.

For warmth. Simply warmth. Honest.

And she’d slept more deeply than she ever had in her life, despite lying on a thin bed of musty hay. Yet now she was wide awake and shivering. Dansbury was gone and based on the feel of his side of their ‘bed’, he’d been away for some time.

She knew better than to think anything was wrong. Dansbury was a big boy and could take care of himself. But now that she was awake, she realized she needed to find the ladies’ retiring room. She chuckled to herself as she imagined a fancy room, complete with maids and toiletries, hidden amidst the trees outside.

Luckily, the moon was out and she was able to make out the top of the ladder to their loft. She crawled toward it trying not to stumble over her voluminous dress in the process.

She failed. At one point, she placed her left knee too far forward, stepped on her dress with it, and planted her face into the rank hay as she tried to move her right leg. She inhaled a breath full of musty straw and came up sputtering.

She sniggered at her clumsiness and pulled a few stray pieces of hay from her hair. Then, she pulled her dress free and tried again. This time she made it to the ladder without trouble. Though as she swung her leg over to the first rung, she managed to knock a heap of hay over the edge of the loft and to the floor below.
Oops
. Based on the weight and feel of the pile, she might have tossed over a few blankets as well. Guess they’d find out what was lost in the morning. It was too dark below to see anything, making it pointless to bother searching now.

She picked her way down the ladder with light feet, desperate to be as quiet as possible. It seemed to take forever, but before long, she was on the ground. Beatryce stepped cautiously across the dirt-covered floor, occasionally turning her ankle on churned earth. Other spots were wet and mushy causing her feet to slip and slide, but with no light to see, all she could do was tread carefully. Clouds had temporarily covered the moon making everything as dark as pitch. Fortunately, she knew there was nothing in the barn to bar her way. She simply walked with arms outstretched until she felt the rough wood of the wall on the opposite side from the loft. Then felt her way along it until she found the door to the outside.

She pushed the door open and stepped out. She could just make out some ambiguous shapes, but only enough to give her a vague sense of direction.

Still no sign of Dansbury.

He’s probably out on patrol.

She laughed at the image of him marching the perimeter, eyes alert, playing soldier. She shook off the ridiculous image and headed toward the trees and the general direction of a small pool of water Dansbury had told her about yesterday. It would be the perfect place to clean up after seeing to her personal needs.

A few minutes into the woods and Bea wished the clouds would break apart and reveal the moon so she could see. She could feel a slight breeze blowing through the trees, and she hoped that higher up, the wind would finally move the clouds along. As it was, she progressed slowly from tree to tree, arms outstretched, trying to ignore what she couldn’t see beneath her feet.

Sometimes the ground was squishy, and she cursed herself for not taking the time to put on her shoes. Other times, she could hear the crunch of sticks and fallen leaves below her feet. She hoped that the ground remained reasonably level, but she had no way of knowing for sure. For that reason, she proceeded with extra care.

After a few more minutes, though it felt like hours, Bea could tell she had almost reached her destination. She could just make out the smell and sound of water as it lapped upon its rocky shore. She was just about to take another step when a break finally opened up in the clouds, revealing an almost-full moon.

Ahead of her, the moonlight glinted off a small body of water just visible through a gap framed by two large boulders. She was near the edge of the woods; there were only a few more trees to pass and a short open area to cross before she reached the entrance to the pool.

At last.

Now that she could see, Bea picked up her pace. She left the woods behind, crossed the gap, and peered cautiously around the boulders.

And realized that she wasn’t alone.

Dansbury…was at the pool.

He looked odd there, lying amongst the rocks. She nearly stepped out and made some quip about it, but her voice died in her throat when she realized he was…

Stark. Naked.

Bare as the day he was born naked.

He lay sprawled across one large boulder, one knee bent and chin tilted to the moon as if offering himself upon some alter to the Gods.

She wanted to be the goddess who worshiped his sacrifice.

She could see the long length of him—from head to toe—as she approached, slowly and quietly, from his side. She could not help but take full advantage of the view…to look upon him in secret…to fill her eyes with the sight of him, without his knowledge and the frequent look of condescension he threw her way.

Goodness. He was a man in his prime, and she had never seen the like. Light and shadows played off the muscles in his arms and thighs as they rippled with his movement. One foot was planted firmly on a lower rock, his foot wide and long…masculine.

He groaned, and she almost fell to her knees right there on the rocks. She subconsciously took another step and he groaned again. Now that she was closer, she could see why.

Oh, God she knew why…

He was pleasuring himself.

One large hand was wrapped firmly around his turgid manhood as he stroked, slow and steady.

Up and down.

Up and down.

The head of his cock peeked out, then disappeared in his firm, sure grip.

She was close enough now to see the muscles in his abdomen clench with each stroke. She longed to go to him, to be the one to ease him. Yet she couldn’t move. She was frozen as she watched, transfixed, at the obvious pleasure written plain across his face and in every inch of his lean, taut body.

Again, his hand stroked up, and she squeezed her legs together in response, an echo of pleasure pulsed in her core.

He stroked down, and she could feel wetness release between her legs.

Lord, he was beautiful. Painfully beautiful. Like a god himself. Untouchable and unreal. At least for her.

He gritted his teeth in pleasure-pain as he continued to plunge and pull his long, hard cock, the muscles of his arm flexing and bulging with every stroke.

Her nipples stood erect and tingled. She wanted his lips on her breasts, his tongue tweaking and circling the buds before he sucked one nipple into his mouth while he caressed the other…while she stroked his manhood with her hands; not him.

Or licked the head with her mouth.

She’d never performed fellatio before, but he looked so desirable there before her, his manhood so large and firm, she suddenly longed to experience the act.

As if he was in harmony with her thoughts, he began to move faster and faster, and Bea could tell his crisis drew near. She could see the obvious signs of desire ripple across his face as he gritted his teeth, and her heart beat faster and in time with his every stroke.

Then, he went taught and for a moment everything froze. Even the earth seemed to stop spinning on its axis and the wind appeared to hold its breath.

Then with a shout, he yelled, “God, Bea!” as he found his release.

Beatryce’s heart fell to her knees with those words. Impossible, glorious words.

And unlike the strong woman she knew herself to be, she ran. Ran from those words. From him. From them. Unmindful and uncaring of the noises she made with her hasty retreat.

“If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.”

― Robert Frost

The Next Morning…

“Bea, wake up. We have a problem.”

Beatryce didn’t even move, much less acknowledge him. He squatted down beside her. It wasn’t easy for he was wrapped in a large blanket with two corners loosely tied together over his shoulder to hold it in place.

He nudged her again, but all she did was emit a soft snore and carry on in blissful slumber. He hated to wake her; he knew she hadn’t slept well last night.