AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"T-take me t-to b-bed," she gasped. "Please...Evan."
"Not yet, sweetheart," he whispered against her breast. She reached one hand, feeble, fumbling, toward his trousers, but he caught it, placed it back about his neck. “Later, my darling," he said as he transferred his lips to her other breast and moved his free hand to grasp her tensed buttocks, pulling her more firmly against his fingers.
He quickened the pace, and her nails bit into his neck. With savage joy, he felt it the instant she shattered against him, her soft, gasping cries filling his ears. She sagged, and had he not caught her, would have fallen.
He lifted her into his arms. Her half-glazed eyes, still befuddled, gazed up at him. "Oh, Evan."
He gave her a wolfish grin and kissed her hard, then carried her to the bed, the open, purple silk gown fluttering like fairy wings about them as he walked.
She'd recovered enough by the time they reached the bedroom to insist on undressing him. And got back her own as, after swiftly removing his jacket and boots, she slowed her pace, slipping off his neckcloth and pausing to kiss his neck, chin and ears, then unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt and tracing her lips down the furred skin beneath. Her tongue playing about his navel, she freed one by deliberate one the straining buttons of his breeches, then stripped the tight garment down to his knees.
He gave a startled cry when she fondled his bared buttocks. And a shock like bolted lightning erupted through him when she took him into her mouth. For a few blinding seconds, he knew only unbearably, unbelievably intense sensation before a series of powerful contractions catapulted him beyond consciousness.
******************************************************************
They took it slowly the next time, talking, laughing, kissing between touches. Her caressing fingers never left his body; he explored languidly, tasting, stroking, memorizing every inch of hers, letting passion build until this time they reached oblivion together.
The motion of her arising from the bed woke him sometime later. She caught the hand he thrust out to pull her back and kissed it, nibbling on his knuckles.
"I'm starving," she pronounced. "Francesca promised to leave something for us in the kitchen. I'll fetch it."
"Let me. You shouldn't carry a fully laden tray."
She chuckled softly. "I've carried heavier items, I assure you. No, rest." Her hand stayed him when he would have, clambered up. "You don't know where to look, and there's not room enough in that kitchen for us both. 'Twill take but a moment."
Languidly, she stretched, her naked breasts outlined by moonlight through the balcony doors, then motioned toward the corner. "There's a necessary behind the screen." Tossing on his gown, she tied it, blew him a kiss and walked out.
Evan lay back, watching the sway of hips beneath satin as she exited. He had to be the luckiest bastard in England, he thought with enormous contentment. No—the luckiest bastard in the entire world.
The luckiest full-bladdered bastard in the world. He got up to take care of that, then strolled over to peer at himself in the mirror on her dressing table. He grinned, giddy, and stuck a finger on the nose of his reflection. "You," he told it solemnly, "are one lucky bastard."
What a mooncalf he'd become. Laughing, he trailed his fingers down to the table's surface, tracing them over the embossed silver of her hairbrush, a small bottle that exuded the faint but pungent scent of the lavender she wore. How he loved the smell of it on her. He'd buy her gallons of the stuff, so she might wear it always. "For me," he whispered.
Then he noticed a small picture on a stand, and without thinking, raised it to study. A laughing, black-haired, green-eyed man in a red officer's uniform gazed back at him.
Chapter 6
His stomach muscles clenched as if someone had struck him. Fingers trembling, he set the picture down, nearly knocking over the easel.
Sapskulled idiot, he told himself savagely. Whose miniature did he expect to find on her dressing table—the maid's? 'Twas ludicrous to feel this sense of—betrayal, almost, and as for jealousy, 'twas insane. The man was dead, for pity's sake!
He cast another sidelong glance at the miniature. "Well, soldier boy," he muttered, "you may be the hero, but you're no longer here to protect her. I am—and I will. She's mine now, and there's nothing—"
He stopped abruptly. He couldn't believe what he was doing. Ranting. At a portrait. A portrait of a dead man.
He must be losing his mind.
The soft sound of a gasp finally penetrated his abstraction. He turned to find Emily at the doorway, her gaze going from his face to the miniature.
After a silent moment she walked past and set the tea tray on the dressing table. There she stood, her body between him and the table, while the clink of china and the trickle of pouring liquid indicated she must be fixing cups.
"You were right, the tray was rather heavy," she said over her shoulder. "Would you like biscuits? And there's a bit of the paella left I thought you might enjoy."
Smiling, she turned and approached him, a full dish of tea in one hand and the teapot in the other. "Tis a bit cramped here. Shall we dine in the sitting room? I'll come back for the tray."
He mumbled something and took the steaming cup she offered, then mutely followed her from the room. But in a backward glance as he exited the bedchamber, he noted the little easel now stood empty.
******************************************************************
The tinkle of the shop bell interrupted them as they sat over tea in the office several weeks later.
"That should be Baines with my evening things," Evan said, and sighed. "I must admit, I'm vastly tempted to cry off. I'd rather enjoy Francesca's cooking and listen to you read the next chapter of Miss Austen's novel. That Miss Bennett—" he winked at her "—seems just as saucy as you."
"Indeed? I rather thought I might beat you at chess. Again."
"You didn't last time," he felt compelled to point out. "Though perhaps 'tis better to face you over a chessboard than be skewered by your violent opinions."
"What is violent about insisting a sitting member of the Lords should know the facts behind the measures upon which he will vote? Or to point out the enclosure legislation, added to the high prices caused by war, will cause starvation amongst the yeomen farmers who depend upon common land to graze their herds?"
Grinning, he sighed elaborately. “And what should ladies know about enclosures and grain prices and shepherding?"
"Recall who takes care of herds and farms when husbands and fathers go off to war."
That reflection sobered him. "Aye, womenfolk carrying burdens they should not have to bear, as you know only too well. Which is why I must go, despite having to suffer the harangues of dull old government men. Geoffrey leaves London soon and I must decide what to do about those supply figures. 'Tis a puzzle I've not yet unraveled."
"As I recall, the only puzzle about supplies was how they never managed to arrive," Emily said with a chuckle.
"There's that," Evan acknowledged wryly, "but more troubling are the outlays that never seem to balance against supplies purchased." He frowned. "I begin to suspect—but I shouldn't discuss it. Not even with you, my dear, whose opinion would be of much greater value than those of the octogenarians pontificating tonight"
"I doubt my observations would be of much use. I saw only a tiny piece of the overall campaign, after all. Those who receive intelligence from sources throughout the country surely have a clearer view."
"To be of much use, intelligence received must be intelligently analyzed." Evan grimaced. "Aside from Old Hooky, whose comments are almost painfully incisive, I fear the civilian detachments spend more time peacocking about and vying for authority than thoughtfully discharging their responsibilities. And if our—problem—turns out to be from causes more venal than simple incompetence, the miscreants should go to the Tower."
"I wish more in government felt as you! Andr—we always felt the gentry back in England were so far removed from the war they had little conception and less interest in the hardships faced by the troops." She inclined her head to give him a measuring glance. "You are different."
Her approval warmed him to his toes. "Not the idle, frivolous dandy you first thought me?''
She gave him a severe look and shook a finger. “Trolling for compliments, my lord?"
He caught the fingertip and kissed it. "Unashamedly."
A mischievous sparkle danced in her eyes. "Then I must confess I'm fair astonished to discover you do a day's work now and again, when you're not sleeping until noon, visiting your tailor, gambling at your club or drink—"
His hand across her lips halted the flow of words. "Wretch. I should love to he abed until noon, could I but induce you to dally there." He pulled her closer.
She returned his lingering kiss, then gently pushed him away. '"Tis better I go to my work of a morning and let you tend yours. The country—and our army—need prudent and intelligent men. But I must go let Baines in, before the poor man's attitude sours any further."
Evan glanced at her sharply. "Has Baines shown you any discourtesy? I'll sack him this instant!"
