Heather Graham (37 page)

“Sir, I’ve—”

“No, my boy, it’s not in anything you’ve said or done. It’s in the way that you walk, in the hold of your shoulders. Just looking at you, I’d have to say that you were born to the nobility. You’ve had a hard time of it along the line, but it seems you’ve taken charge of your own destiny again. Peter—Pierce. You stopped the
Lady May
at sea, eh?”

“Yes,” Pierce told him quietly.

“So you’re the infamous Dragonslayer!”

“We never hurt a captive, sir. I had to see that a few rumors were started, or else we would have found ourselves in difficulty. A pirate has to be credible, you see.”

Ashcroft Woodbine was smiling, a fellow with a fine enough sense of humor. “The Dragonslayer. And I never imagined! Now, I don’t mean to say that I didn’t think you guilty right along with half of England when I had heard all that happened. But Rose said that you didn’t do it. She says that she knows that you didn’t do it, just because she knows you.”

He lowered his head. She had been defending him all the while that he had been seeking his revenge. “I am glad, sir, that you seem to believe her.”

“I trust in my daughter—Your Grace.”

As he should have trusted her, Pierce realized. “You’ll not betray me then, sir?”

“Betray my only son-in-law? Oh, I think not! But England, son. Are you daft? You and Rose could live here, right here! It’s an empire, son, one that will fall to Rose—and you—one day as it is!”

Pierce smiled slowly. “Well, I thank you, sir. But this is still an English colony. Some man seeking to climb a political ladder would one day stumble upon me and seek to set a noose about my neck. I’ve got to go home. And prove my innocence.”

Ashcroft looked at him for long moments, then nodded slowly. “Well, now, a man can understand that, I’ll warrant.”

“You’ll not stop us leaving?”

Ashcroft shook his head. “I chose you once as a man I would most desire for my daughter because I had been told of your position, your person, your youth—and your loyalty to the crown. Now, milord DeForte, I am glad that I chose you for the man that you are. I’ll not stop you, though I will lie awake many a night worrying! Keep her safe, Pierce DeForte! I charge you with that.”

“I thank you, and I’ll do that, sir.”

Ashcroft frowned, looking toward the barn. “What was all this manual labor today? Has my daughter a bone to pick with you, milord?”

Pierce shrugged, smiling. “Women. They do enjoy power.”

Ashcroft grinned. “You’ve yet to see the bairn, eh?”

Pierce felt his heart thunder in the most curious way. He shook his head painfully.

“He’s a fine boy,” Ashcroft said. “Befitting of you both. He was born alert and handsome, he was!” Ashcroft chuckled. “Perhaps it was well enough you weren’t around the day he arrived. Rose had a few fine words for all of us, and I think she might have saved the choicest for you!”

“Oh, I’m sure she would have!” he said softly. His glance veered toward the house.

“Third window,” Ashcroft said, clearing his throat. “There’s a trellis up to the second floor, first balcony. Now, you don’t want to be going through that window—it’s mine. But if you follow the rail along to the third window, you’ll find Rose’s room. I’m sure that a man in your physical condition can manage it well enough. Oh, you might want to keep my name out of this, but I think that Rose has had her fun for the evening. The stalls are spotless. Besides, I can’t help but imagine that you were going through that window with or without my blessing, eh, milord?”

Pierce smiled slowly. “The idea had crossed my mind, sir.”

Ashcroft grinned. “Good night then, milord DeForte.” He extended his hand. “It was good to see you face-to-face. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“Sir, it will be my greatest pleasure,” Pierce told him, accepting Ashcroft’s firm handclasp.

Then his father-in-law took the shovel from him. Pierce grinned again, and started through the jasmine-scented night for the trellis that would lead to the second floor of the house.

And his child.

And his wife.

The babe was sleeping in his cradle when Rose came up to bed. The nursery was right next to her own room, and Jennie, the Irish lass who often helped look after him, shared a fine room with Mary Kate just to the other side of it. Between them, they were wonderful. They took such good care of Woody that it made life easy for Rose.

She was determined that both Mary Kate and Jennie were coming to England with her. It didn’t matter if Mary Kate recognized Pierce once they were aboard the ship. As long as they were out of her father’s house, and no trouble was created.

She touched Woody on the forehead with a fingertip kiss, then closed the door to the nursery, and walked into her own room.

Mary Kate had seen to it that she had been drawn a bath in the big hip tub, and two hot kettles still burned for her on the rod over the hearth. She walked straight to the fire, sighing with pleasure as she dumped one kettle of water into the tub, then stripped off her clothing carelessly, allowing it to lie where it fell.

She had just sunk into the water when a strange sensation seized her. A sensation of being watched. Her breath caught in her throat.

She realized that she wasn’t alone.

Staring out across the room, she discovered him there.

She nearly screamed.

She’d left him enough work for hours! He should have been exhausted, he should have been sleeping in the hay in the damned barn.

But he wasn’t. He was stretched out upon her bed, relaxed, somewhat concealed by the draperies that hung fashionably from the bed. He was leaning upon an elbow. Lazy. Completely comfortable.

Waiting.

And now staring at her naked form as she bathed.

“What are you doing in here!” she hissed.

He rose. Graceful. Easy. And he strode over to the tub, kneeling down by her side, his silver eyes touching hers.

“You brought me here.”

“Not to my room!”

“Ah, yes, but I finished with those charming tasks you set for me!”

She lowered her lashes. “I had to make my father believe my story!”

“Like hell!” he murmured swiftly.

“You shouldn’t be here!” she warned.

His fingers dangled in the water, then he smiled at her, his silver eyes alight. “I thought you might have further tasks for me.”

“Such as?”

He walked to the fire and plucked up the second kettle of water. “More water for your bath?”

She jerked up her knees while he added the steaming water to her tub. “Thank you,” she murmured warily. “That’s—fine.”

“Then there’s your back.”

“What?”

“I thought you might want your back scrubbed.”

“Really, I don’t—”

But he was on his knees, behind her. A searing heat shot through her as his hands plucked the sponge and soap from the water. He lifted her hair, then slipped the soap over it. Slick. Slow. Oh, dear Lord, it had been such a long time. His very touch awakened the most incredible sensations. Everything within her seemed to come alive. She felt the tips of his fingers. The warmth of his breath. She was ready to scream. To slide down in the water …

“I think you’re finished for the night,” she told him quickly.

“I think I’ve just begun.”

“It’s time for you to go to bed!”

“My thought exactly,” he murmured huskily.

“Pierce!” she cried softly, just a little desperately. “You shouldn’t be here!”

His very sensual touch went still for a moment. “I had to see my son!” he said.

She flushed, looking down at his brown hand where it hovered so very near her breast.

“How did you get in here?” she insisted.

He didn’t reply. His voice was hoarse when he said, “What did you think, Rose? That I would play this game of yours, and not think to see my son?”

“You would have seen him tomorrow morning!” she said.

“I’ve waited too long for too many things,” he told her. “I have no more patience.”

“But—how did you get in here? This is too dangerous!” she told him.

“I don’t care about the danger, milady.” She twisted, facing him where he hunkered down beside her. A touch of a smile curved his lip. “Well, my love, Woody has a headful of copper curls. But he has DeForte eyes, beyond a doubt!”

A flash of anger sizzled through her. “You’ve seen his eyes, you’ve been up here long enough to waken him? You need to get out of here! You’ll have time enough to torture me later. Now, I don’t know how you managed to get in here, but it is time for you to slither your way back out!”

He shook his head slowly. “Not a chance, my love!”

She pointed a finger at him. “You listen to me—Lord DeForte! I will not endure your accusations and your insinuations—”

“What now?” he demanded. “I have commented on my son!” She saw suddenly that he was shaking slightly. She had never seen him do so before, and realized swiftly that his emotion was for his son. He didn’t doubt her. He was still amazed to find himself a father.

“Jesu, lady! Perhaps it is nothing to you! But if you think that a man can discover he’s got a son and not seek to see him, then you’re mad. Perhaps you counted fingers and toes already. I was not here, and therefore had to come up and do so myself!”

She inhaled swiftly. “You’ve—held him?”

“Indeed.”

The audacity of the man!

He
had
awakened Woody. And then put him back to sleep?

“He didn’t—cry?”

He arched a brow. “Well, admittedly, he was not pleased to find a stranger before him. But your serving woman was easily able to assure him. She bade me sit with him, and rock before the fire.”

Rose gritted her teeth. How did this man always land so very cleanly on his feet?

“Mary Kate found you in here?”

Damn Mary Kate! The woman had always been a fool for Pierce DeForte!

“Oh, yes, but don’t worry. She knows the importance of secrecy! She was charming. Just charming! She understood that I had to see to my child and my wife.” He smiled pleasantly.

Then suddenly he reached for her in earnest. A squeal of protest escaped, but she swallowed it down quickly. Strong arms came around her, sweeping her drenched and soaking from the water.

Naked and wet, she was held against the hot steel of his body, staring up into his eyes.

“And, oh, my love, it is time to see to you!” he promised.

He walked to the bed with her. Her elegant bed. He set her upon it, spraying droplets of water upon it. He started to draw his work-torn and dirtied shirt over his head, his intention now indisputable.

She opened her mouth to protest.

But a trembling rushed through her. Hot …

Hungry.

And suddenly he was down beside her, steel-tight arms around her. And he whispered, “Would you protest, my love?”

“Yes!” she lied.

“Even if I begged your pardon in the most humble of ways?” His silver eyes met her with the wild challenge.

She could not move her lips.

“I’ve yet to see you humble!” she whispered. Did he mean it? Did he beg her pardon, believe in her completely?

“Imagine it then,” he warned her with a tender smile. “For I have waited oh, so long, and can wait no longer!”

His lips touched hers, and the fire and aching of a lifetime seemed to explode into flames of longing within her.

Imagine …

Oh, yes.

For at long last, this was real.

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
different if she hadn’t lived with memories and dreams so long.

Vivid, evocative dreams. Dreams in which he kissed her lips. In which the hot, sensual stroke of his tongue moved over her throat, teased her nape, her earlobes, her throat again.

Dreams in which the rugged force of his body moved down upon her own in a bold, slow rhythm, his hands cupping her breasts, his tongue bathing them. Dreams in which he moved against her, fresh and fragrant from a bath, then licked her dry. His kiss, his lips, his tongue upon her belly. His fingers upon her thighs. Delicately pressing upon the copper-downed mound between them, finding the cleft, dipping inside …

Dreams …

Except this was no longer a dream, no longer a memory. And sensation had never before been so vivid, or so sweet. He was a talented lover, had always been a talented lover, and so he quickly found the most sensitive, erotic bud within her. Touched and stroked with the slow rhythm of his fingers. Delved down with the searing heat of his tongue.

“No!” she protested, her head thrashing. But he’d never given her heed before. He did not intend to start doing so now.

And the words he had said before were so very true. It had been long time. A very long time. The magic was growing within her. The spiraling magic. Rising like jasmine on the night wind, sweeping through her, taking a hot, fierce control. Her fingers bit into the muscles of his shoulders, tugged into his hair. She thought that she would explode, die in a cataclysm of shooting silver stars. It would end, she would reach that Eden, those searing moments of sweetest human ecstasy …

He held her back, his weight shifting, parting her, coming atop her.

She was hot and slick and very wet, yet so incredibly tight. He thrust into her, then was startled by the cry of pain that escaped her. She cut it off quickly herself, burying her face against his damp chest. He silently swore at himself, realizing that she had not made love since the birth of their child.

“Easy, my love, I’d not hurt you. Ever …” he whispered hoarsely. He cradled her closely against him. He allowed himself to move fully into her, and held there very tightly for long moments. A little shudder escaped her and he began to thrust anew. His lips found hers, her collarbone, her breasts, even as he moved. His whispers fell against her flesh.

“Jesu, how I have waited for you! How I have died without you! No punishment, no labor, was more cruel than my abstinence from you …”

Her arms wound around his neck. Her back came off the bed in a wild arch, and he realized that she was moving with him, eager to meet his thrusts. He rose above her, watching as their bodies meshed. Then he closed his eyes, and the tension, the hunger, seemed to rip through him. He moved like mercury, aching, so aching, desperate to have the ache assuaged. God, this was it. So long, so very long he had waited …