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She did not resist when his tongue plunged in her, thirsty and ardent. On the contrary, she received him, licked him. Caused his perdition.
And he did not care anymore.
He deepened their kiss, tasting the sweetness of her, inhaling the femininity of her. Feeling the softness of her. His muscled arm held her tighter, they touched everywhere. His other hand closed around her nape, revelling in the satiny skin there.
Annabel lost all sense of property. If she ever had any around him. His scent mixed clove, horse and man, his velvety hair all around her fingers, his stubble teasing her mouth. She moaned.
She forgot who she was. Forgot who he was, what he was, the kiss chasing everything from her head.
His powerful body so enticing against hers, she kissed him greedy, as if this was the last one on the planet. The ridge of him imprinted on her, never forgotten and so much missed! This threw her body in such urgency, she climbed up on her toes to reach for more.
It was his turn to groan.
She opened even wider to him, mindless, her whole being going up in flames as he bent her back and turned his head to plunder her mouth with shameless concupiscence. Everything melted in her.
A falcon roving high up in the sky, oversaw a man and a woman entangled in each other. His hair billowing in her hands, her skirts flagging behind her, one of his legs finding room between hers. They kissed with an eternal endeavour as the falcon circled over them repeatedly, making their image spin round and round.
They came up for air, both breathing raggedly. She looked up to his eyes, not caring she lost their banter. He stared down at her stern as if he was the one defeated. His arms loosened her slowly as his hands spanned her waist, sliding from her inch by reluctant inch.
“You will mount that horse right away.” He rasped hoarse, his mouth almost glued down on hers, his breath teasing her skin. “Go back to the castle.” His elegant nose rubbed hers indolent. “And if you leave the walls again, I will lock you in your room.” The threat so silky it sounded more like a promise. A promise of endless delights.
She could not find her voice for the life of her. And he did not give her the opportunity, for his strong hands caught her middle and lifted her to the mare that had been grazing nearby. On her side-saddle, she guided her mount to the castle, closely followed by the unnerving man on his stallion.
He did not pretend this to be a ride for amusement by making small conversation. He rode in his usual brooding manner and left her alone with her thoughts. Scattered and confusing as they came. At least, he did not realise what she had been up to, or so she hoped.
CHAPTER SIX
Self-disgust invaded Annabel, as she hurried to her room and closed the door. How could she have succumbed to his allure that easy? A traitor to king and country! Her hands covered her face. She had the proof today! There must be no shadow of doubt as to what happened in this castle, his machinations, his sly plans. It did not surprise her that much either. Half-French, his loyalties must be divided. But this did not excuse him, did it? He fought Napoleon on the British side. A commission paid by his father; alright, one forced down on him, by the way. His Dukedom on the highest ranks of English society, he did not have the right to play this worm-like game.
And then came that kiss! She rubbed her forehead, pacing the carpet. No man tempted her since Charles’ death by a fever. Not one ever enticed her, except for him. In the past. She repeated her mistake in the present as well. Only the present constituted the worst of foolishness. She would have to be stupid to consort with such a man. She should find a way to escape this castle and ride back to London, report on her findings and move on to the next assignment. The office would discern how to deal with the Duke.
She would do that. She must plan with elaborate thoroughness, or the unnerving man would track her and bring her back. He showed his tenacious trait these last days.
When her husband died after four years of sterile marriage, she had been at a loss what to do. Without an heir, her title was honorific at best. His will gave her a considerable allowance and a house in London as per the marriage agreement. Her brother-in-law and his wife undertook the earldom. Newly married, a baby would not take long to come.
Through hear say, she came to know of a network of government
collaborators, men and women, who worked for the country. With the detailed information, she applied a year after Charles passed, to respect a modicum of mourning period. She ploughed through eighteen months of training, physical skills, lead gathering techniques, courses in politics, economics and diplomacy. Not that they treated women with any equality or even trusted them to deliver. But they needed them because nobody ever suspected them for being in service, which made them virtually invisible. This afforded her a sense of purpose she seldom owned in her life, making it less hollow and more focused. She did not regret it, quite the contrary. Her mission in Castle Blackthorne had to be the most important so far after she accomplished with success previous tasks in varied degrees of complexity. She would also complete this one with flying colours if this afternoon was anything to go by.
Putting a stop to her musings, she sat at her escritoire to write an extended letter to London. She would ask Peter to take it to the village to mail in on the morrow, since today everything would already be closed, the hour turning late afternoon. Better, still, she would send the footman to London to have it delivered in person. The information possessed too much importance to leave it to the mail coach. The man should hire a cart and coachman and ride straight to town. Yes, better.
* * *
He must put a man to follow her, Romulus cogitated, as he descended the stairs to the bowels of the castle. He found her exceedingly close to Burns’ today. Too much of a coincidence to let it to chance. He did not know what she was up to, but it did not bode well. Nothing could thwart his plans. This duty attached vital consequences to it. Essential that nothing, absolutely nothing, got in the way.
Passing through a long gallery that had once been the armoury and now he used to practice fencing and wrestling, he walked in search of the cellar. It still held the old weaponry hanging on walls and armours standing on corners.
Why he did not act fiercer and try to extract her designs from her, he did not reckon. That hellish kiss must have addled his senses. The chaste kisses they exchanged in the past did not hold the palest resemblance to this one. This had been pure volcano waiting to go up in the air with a resounding explosion. He just got lost in it, but he could not allow her to use seduction to divert him from his tasks. Even if he started the deflagration, and she fuelled it in the most maddening way.
He wanted more.
He wanted her.
That was an asinine idea.
Thoughts forced into dispelling, he entered a long passageway. In recent years, his father used one of the dungeons as a cellar, since the kitchens did not have one. The old Duke restored the dungeons, keeping their original features; and servants often cleaned them. They still displayed their peep-hole iron doors, wide open, and inside they exhibited chains hammered to the stone. One would travel in time down here and feel like the Norman invaders. Or the poor Britons! Who knew?
As he found what he had been looking for, he climbed the stairs up to the hall. Passing by the former chapel, he saw her inside, standing in the middle of it, appreciation all over her.
