He guided his aching shaft to her slick entrance.
Charlotte lined him up to her core and lowered herself slowly onto his length. He could barely restrain his hiss of ecstasy from slipping out.
Christ, she was sweet.
Perry forgot the pleasure that could be had from being with his perfect Lottie. His time with his wife had been purely for duty and he had always failed to get more than a quick, perfunctory release from her body.
Charlotte made him want to bathe in her slick heat and take his time, though it was unlikely he would last that long. He groaned, his head leaning back into the moss, softly cradling his head. His eyes rested on the rays of the sun shimmering through the dancing leaves. This was heaven on earth.
“Oh, Perry,” she whispered breathily as she slid down his shaft, “does this please you?”
“Yes, my love. You are doing it just right,” he said, his core trembling with the force it was taking for him not to spend his release immediately. His breath hissed out of his lungs, the pleasure exquisite.
His climax was building, as it did when one was long deprived of love. Even before, it had never been like this. Their youthful summers were spent experimenting beneath the shade of the trees. It had never been this uninhibited and exultant. He moaned with pleasure as she eased herself once more up his shaft, and he shattered.
“Charlotte,” he murmured softly as he spilled his hot release into her, thrusting his hips relentlessly until he was finished. Destroyed. Her lips found his in a final kiss, and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He clutched her in his arms, reluctant to lose the one his soul had been calling for so long. Perhaps if he held her tightly, she would never leave him again.
Perry’s eyes flicked open, and the sweet nymph disappeared. He was in his bed at Fermoy, staring at his night darkened room. Hisarms were empty. The torturous images in his mind had tricked him, and despair clawed at his chest. He startled at the feel of his damp release on the sheets. Hot shame tore through him as a pent-up sob slipped from his mouth. He was rather pathetic in his mourning. His head sank into his downy pillow as the dreamy haze dragged him back into the arms of Morpheus. Wherever she was, he knew she was safe.
Tucked away in his mind and in his heart.
She was his forest maiden.
She always had been.
The forest would protect their secrets.
Chapter Thirteen
Morning came too quickly, stealing away the dream Perry tried desperately to cling to. He turned his face to hide into the pillow, not ready to leave her behind. A deep sense of chagrin enveloped him as his bleary eyes opened to welcome the light streaming through the slim part in the curtains. Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, he gazed at cheerful wallpapered walls and the coverlet of yellow damask covering his body and crisp white sheets softly tucked around him. It had been at least a decade since he had set foot on the Percy estate. Even then, he had never had occasion to explore the bedrooms.
There were no trees here. No maiden to ease his pain.
Only a familiar sadness washing over him, and a throbbing ache in his arm.
He blinked and took note of a serving woman bustling into the room and looking at him with wide eyes before slowly backing out of the room. Perry could hardly believe the impertinence of a Fermoy servant and yelled at the woman.
“You there!” he shouted, his voice hoarse.
The woman stopped her slow walk and jumped, surprised that he had been able to make a sound.
“My apologies, my lord, you’ve been sleeping a long time. I was merely fetching a footman to send for a doctor. I am relieved to see you are recovering,” the servant said, bobbing her head. She stood there waiting, as though unsure whether to seek out the footman or obey him.
He cleared his throat, and attempted to sit up. Feeling parched, he reached for the glass of water by his bedside. Waving the maid away with a grunt as she tried to assist him, he picked up the glass and took a long drink. The serving woman nodded and left the room in search of sustenance. She returned after a brief absence with a tray of broth and hot tea to tempt him.
“Who are you?” Perry asked, as he took the proffered cup of tea from her hand and swallowed a welcome gulp of the hot liquid scorching his dry throat. “I don’t believe we have met.” He clutched at his neck, the hot drink easing the pain. His stomach reacted, and he pressed a hand to it, despairing that he might bring up his tea. Placing the cup back in the saucer, he leaned back into the lofty feather pillows that had been fluffed up behind him.
“I’m a servant here at Fermoy. We are here at your service and ready to offer anything to make you comfortable, my lord. My name is Aamina.”
Perry stroked his collarbone, wincing as his arm moved slightly with the gesture. His breath caught when his fingers approached his wound. He looked down at his shoulder and noticed the thick bandage beneath his nightshirt. His mind was a fog as he took his collection of memories and tried to put the pieces together to form a sensical image.
“How did I get here?” he asked, and the servant cleared her throat nervously before responding.
“It is a mystery, my lord. You arrived on your horse, injured. We cared for you as best we could, for we are only servants that reside here. We have sent notice to your brother, the duke, to let him know you are recovering. There is a chance he is already on hisway.” She offered him the tray with a cup of broth, and he shook his head, waving it away.
“What has happened to me? I remember being en route to Bodmin. It was a lovely day. I happened on the road that turned onto our estate. I recall a gun shot, then it is a blur.” Perry placed a hand on his forehead, willing the memories to gather and show him the missing scenes from the past few days.
“You came here quite stricken, my lord,” Aamina replied, her face grim. “You’ve had a fever all this time.”
