Embracing Ashberry (39 page)

Her head spinning, Ellie couldn’t fathom how
powerful the pull between them had become, how she literally ached
for his touch, how she would hurt until he was inside her.
Partially dressed, having her chemise removed so decisively, having
her stockings rubbing against his legs, having displayed herself so
flagrantly with her hands behind her neck—all the sensuality of
Ashberry’s voice, hands, and mouth in combination with these sent
Ellie flying out of any orbit Ashberry had yet introduced to
her.

She rocked on his lap as his fingers entered
her, tempting her eager flesh there while his other hand moved to
cup one breast, his thumb flicking the nipple until she shuddered
and moaned. “I adore it when you make that noise,” he murmured
against her ripe skin before his lips caught the other teat. He
laved it roughly even as she moaned again, her head spinning.
“Stephen,” she begged helplessly, but his fingers did not relent.
They only exerted a nominal pressure inside her, enough to send her
into frenzy but without the power to shatter her senses. Against
her thigh, his erection pressed urgently, eagerly and Ellie arched
in return, trying to edge closer.

“Not yet,” he chided softly, his mouth still
against her throbbing nipple. “Not yet.”

Ellie, too impatient to wait for him to end
the torment, took matters into her own hands. Literally. Ashberry
nearly cursed when her hands curled around him, held him, silently
urged him. “Yes,” she said, uncompromising.

She had touched him before, he told himself
ruthlessly, trying to distance his mind from his body by fixating
on the lush wet heat of her against his fingers. The reminder
didn’t work—she had never touched him like this: insistent, hungry,
as demanding as he sometimes felt.

Her fingers had been soft, gentle, soothing,
painfully enticing and adorably naive—at least until now. Now he
added disorienting and rapacious to his list as he wondered dizzily
when he had taught her, even unintentionally, how her touch
affected him.

Ashberry endured the frenzy for a few
moments but he had little control and knew it. Ruthlessly, his hand
left her breast and settled beneath her buttocks, lifting her
higher. No longer sitting on his knees, she came up, kneeling in
the chair, her hands forced to release him or cause pain even as
his mouth left her breast to take hot kisses from the gentle slopes
around her navel. Her hands grasped his hair, lifting his lips
again, until she was able to practically thrust one of her nipples
against his mouth.

Her frantic need astounded him, spiraled
through his system. “Ellie,” he groaned, “Dear God, Ellie.” He took
his fingers from her sex, dragging the clinging wetness of her over
her stomach and up her torso until he cradled one of her breasts in
his palm.

She shuddered in his hands. “I need you,
Stephen,” she pleaded, the words so frank and hoarse that his blood
drummed against his temples. Unable to hold off savoring her more,
he adjusted their position slightly, moving forward a few inches.
He pushed against the entrance to her womb, until she lowered
herself inch by inch. When she knelt on his lap again, when he
filled the abyss of her heart and body, she uttered a sob of
relief, her fingers frantically smoothing his hair and cheeks.

“Now you have to do the work, love,” he
moaned achingly, his hands guiding her to slide up and closer
against him, creating the friction between their bodies—stomach to
belly, male to female. She did so, her eyes wide at first until she
learned she controlled the tempo, until it was Ashberry whose blood
boiled.

Even through the haze of passion, Ashberry
remained focused on the sunlight against her face, shoulders and
breasts as it shone on her from behind him, reminding him of a
glorious angel, a redeemer for all his faults. When heaven reached
them, Ashberry grasped her hips and thrust upward, every ounce of
his energy rising into her, blossoming inside of her until Ellie’s
cry echoed in the room.

Afterwards, he carried her to the bed,
unfastening her garters and releasing the silk from her legs before
helping her shrug off the demolished shift. He tucked her beneath
the coverlet even as she slept, weary to the world and spent
several minutes lightly caressing her cheeks and ears, assuring
himself that she was indeed safe, and his. His face was drawn from
the energy they had devoted to each other, but Ashberry knew he
would not rest beside her.

Quite deliberately, he gathered her
stockings and the ruined shift before retreating to his dressing
room, where he dropped the telltale garments outside the chamber
door. Griffin, he knew, would take the hint and leave the room and
its occupant undisturbed. Quickly, he dressed himself, donning
breeches and boots. Ashberry needed a ride to clear his head, even
if it was an odd time of day.

Edward, he guessed, would come before Ellie
awoke, for his wife was exhausted, sleeping as soundly as she would
all night. It was just as well. Ellie certainly didn’t need to
stumble onto such a conversation.

* * * *

“Mother, I think,” Edward mused, “would have
known if Father had a mistress, even here in London.”

“Are you sure she didn’t?” Ashberry asked
frankly. “It’s not the thing one usually discusses with one’s
children.”

“I suppose it would be in terrible taste to
ask her directly,” Edward sighed. “Really, the implication is too,
absolutely too, terrible to contemplate, Ashberry.” In the library,
Ellie stilled. It was late, the house dark and she had not lit a
candle. She had slept nearly all through the evening, waking to her
maid with a dinner tray. She had eaten it obediently while she
remained in bed, accepting Wendy’s knowing gaze with determined
aplomb. Not that it wasn’t obvious—Ashberry’s clothes and some of
her own were still scattered all over the carpet and Ellie was
unfailingly nude beneath the coverlet and sheets.

Ellie bathed and read while she waited for
Ashberry to return to their rooms, but when he didn’t, she had
finally dismissed Wendy and donned her velvet peignoir. The house
was dark, the servants withdrawn to their own world, but Ellie knew
this world now and did not fear her quiet pilgrimage through the
inky blackness. She had thought to surprise Ashberry in his study,
to see his tired smile when he greeted her, feel his lips against
hers, to settle into an armchair while he worked. Yet here she was,
frozen near the entrance of the library, where she was following
the low light of a burning lamp in the study. Around the corner,
the doors between Ashberry’s study and the library were open,
allowing the conversation to flit through.

If Edward’s first comment had shocked the
woman, the next nearly made her knees buckle. “What possible
connection could Father’s mistress, assuming she was his mistress
as she claims, have to do with the bastard that attacked Ellie?” He
made a disgusted noise in his throat. “If Father had anything to do
with this, I swear to both of us, Ashberry, I’ll see him hang for
it if I have to follow him to China and back again.”

Ashberry’s voice was grim. “I have no
evidence, Edward, that your father engineered it. How could he have
known Ellie would be in the garden that morning? But I do think
that perhaps he knew more about her attacker than he’s said—at
least after Ellie described him to your family, I think he knew
more. What I want to know is, if he did know, why he didn’t pursue
the matter to its end—or why did he not tell you that he had? Why
did he not chase the bloody bastard to hell and back in vengeance?
That is what we must find out, Edward, before we condemn your
father.”

Ellie, her expression pallid, slid down the
wall and sat on the floor. Edward’s voice drifted to her again,
louder this time. He must have turned away from Ashberry, Ellie
thought through the din in her brain. “This woman, she’s agreed to
meet us? Tell us what she knows of Father?”

“Anonymously, of course. She’ll
‘accidentally’ bump into us—gently, she even told Riley—at Covent
Garden one night next week during intermission and we’ll kindly
escort her outside for a breath of fresh air.” Ellie heard Ashberry
take a deep breath. “We simply have to arrange which night and make
it worth her time—Riley will take care of her price.”

“With both us in tow, it won’t be as
scandalous.”

“We are brothers-in-law,” Ashberry said
dryly. “Not even the ton would fathom anything other than feigned
politeness on our parts, particularly if we return to the theatre
after and she leaves before the thing is finished, as she
plans.”

“I foresee only one minor, no major,
problem.”

“Charlotte and Ellie?” Ashberry replied.
Ellie heard him pacing, closed her eyes as he crossed the hearth
and returned. “Not that Ellie would be upset if I simply announced
I was going to White’s for a few hours one evening, but it would be
quite unusual for me.” She could almost see him shake his head.
“And God knows what we would say if anyone who knows Aunt Lucy or
our wives happened to mention our little outing in a drawing
room.”

Edward’s voice was morose. “I only left the
house tonight because Charlotte knew I was coming here, and I
promised it would not take long.” He sighed. “I didn’t foresee
this, I thought you wanted to see me about the Jamaican ventures,
or perhaps because of Charlotte’s little temper tantrum today in
the ladies’ sewing circle.”

Ashberry’s voice was practically a growl.
“That sister of mine needs to be locked in her room occasionally,
Edward, and don’t forget it. For her own safety, and your
sanity.”

Ellie swallowed hard. She was eavesdropping,
but her limbs felt too heavy to move. Her head dropped to her knees
as she began to pick up the edges of her sanity, to gather her
strength. “We’ll have to tell them eventually, you know,” Edward
mused.

Closing her eyes as she lifted her head,
Ellie’s heart nearly stopped at Ashberry’s icy answer. “Why?” He
paused. “She doesn’t need to know the details of how I plan to
dispose of the rodent when I find him, or what Whitney might have
been trying to hide. And I’ll sleep much better at night knowing he
can’t harm her or anyone else ever again.”

“You know I’ll gladly help you finish the
bastard off,” Edward answered dryly. “And dig the damned grave when
you’re finished.”

A long silence ensued, while Ellie rose
shakily to her feet, leaning against the wall for support.
Ashberry’s words indicated the discussion was at an end. “I am not
sure that he deserves the honor of a grave yet. As it is, you’d
better find your way home.”

“And how much of this nightmare do I tell
Charlotte?” Edward sighed.

Ellie didn’t wait to hear the answer. She
slipped away, as silently as she had come.

When Ashberry slid into bed, Ellie stirred
beside him. He drew her close, as he always did, surprised that her
fingers and toes were frigidly cold and her limbs stiff, despite
the warmth of the room and the blankets covering the bed. She
whimpered a little and he set about warming her in his customary
fashion, fastening her hands against his chest and trapping her
feet between his own.

The gesture was sweet, the token of a man
who protected his wife even in her sleep, and so Ellie didn’t cry.
At least not then. He slept long before she did, though she knew he
believed her to be deep in her dreams. When the tears came, they
were grief, amazement, shock and love melded together, so
intertwined that Ellie could not have said which tear was which
emotion. Her hands clutched against Ashberry tightly, for even in
his slumbering presence beside her he was her rock, her
support.

And she wasn’t about to let him murder
anyone, not even the nameless angst of her past.

She was up before dawn the next day, a
situation Ashberry sleepily assumed was the result of her long nap
and restful night. In any event, he remained in bed while she
bathed, dressed and repaired to her sitting room. Diligently,
ruthlessly, she examined all the facts she could ascertain. First,
that Ashberry suspected her attacker had somehow known, or at least
known of, her father. Second, that the connection could be made
through an ex-mistress of her father’s, whom Edward and Ashberry
secretly planned to meet. Third, that Ashberry and Edward had every
intention of pursuing revenge if they could locate the man. And
fourth, that her husband had absolutely no intention of informing
her of any of the facts, at least not until he was well on his way
to the gallows.

Ellie desperately wondered what angel, or
demon, had kept his temper under rein for so many months. She had
wondered about his reserve, his unfailing patience in her presence.
Now she shuddered at her newfound knowledge and was forced to
consider the notion that he had bottled up his anger for her
attacker far too long.

How her father fit into the picture was not
clear to Ellie, but she suspected Ashberry was correct. He could
not have predicted her trip to the gardens that morning—it wasn’t
sensible to arrange such a thing. Ellie hoped against hope that
Ashberry was wrong even about the less offensive part of it—but a
nagging doubt in her heart suggested to her that she should be
prepared for the worst.

Once she had organized the thoughts in her
head, Ellie began to make decisions. She knew without a doubt that
she could not allow Ashberry to know all she’d heard—he’d simply
steal away from her and conduct his business elsewhere. Worse
still, Ellie’s mind imagined, he could send her away under full
escort until it was finished. For him, Ellie guessed, one facet of
loving her meant shielding her from any tarnish on the world that
might disturb her, no matter what the cost. Ellie knew she would
need to carefully execute whatever campaign she chose, for she was
unwilling in this matter to be managed by her husband, and both
knew he was an expert at bending her to his will without her even
realizing it.