Jane Feather - [V Series] (45 page)

She dropped from sight immediately, then whispered from the other side, “There are lamps lit in the book room.”

“
Buena suerte
,” Gabriel whispered back, and stepped into the shadows.

Tamsyn crept around the edge of the walled garden, once catching her cloak on a thorn from an espaliered climbing rose. She stopped and painstakingly pulled out the thorn, flattening herself against the wall beside the rose. Light poured from the windows of the book room, illuminating neat flower beds and a square of lawn, and she prayed the shadow of the wall was sufficient concealment if anyone was looking from an upstairs window.

Free again, she flitted forward until she was pressed against the wall beside the lighted window. It was closed
but the curtains were open. She sidled sideways until she could peer into the room. Her heart was thudding and her palms were slippery, but she couldn’t decide whether it was nerves or excitement.

Julian was sitting at a desk with his back to the window. He was writing, his pen flowing over the parchment. As she watched, her heart in her throat, he paused, leaned back in the chair, and stretched, arching his neck; then he dipped his quill into the inkwell again and resumed writing. Her blood seemed to speed through her veins as she watched him in his absorption, imagining his face when he turned and saw her. He
would
be delighted … of course he would.

Tamsyn scratched on the window, then stepped back into the shadows.

Julian was preparing a report to present to the prime minister in the morning. Lord Liverpool had asked for yet more information on the action and casualties of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajos to bolster the Peer’s request for more men and more money.

At the first scratching sound he glanced over his shoulder at the window. A branch tapping against the pane, presumably. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes. He was finding it difficult to concentrate, and he couldn’t seem to connect with the words he was writing. He kept hearing Tamsyn’s sensual chuckle in his head, and her smile, mischievously inviting, hung disembodied in his mind’s eye. He supposed the images would fade in time. Once he got back to Spain, he wouldn’t have time to think about her. But even as he told himself that, he knew that in Spain it would be even harder to forget her. The memories would be even more achingly vivid in the land that had produced that extraordinary, impossible creature, with her Penhallan blood and …

Frowning, he squeezed the back of his neck, trying to massage a crick; then resolutely he returned to his report.

The scratching came again, more insistent this time. He ignored it. Then it changed to a drumming, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap. He spun round in his chair. There was nothing at the window. Impatiently, he pushed back his chair and went over to the window, flinging it wide. There were no bushes or trees near enough for an errant twig to be scratching the pane. He stared into the garden but could see nothing.

Then an unmistakable voice said from somewhere below him, “Good evening, milord colonel.”

He dropped his gaze to below the level of the windowsill. Her eyes gleamed purple in her pale face, the hood of her cloak had fallen back, and her silver hair was a beacon in the shadow of the wall.

“I was beginning to think you’d never come to the window,” she said when he seemed dumbstruck. Turning her back, she reached up to rest her hands on the broad sill, then jumped her backside up. Turning in the window, she smiled, and if he’d been less stunned, he would have read the anxiety behind the smile. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“You … you imp of
Satan
!” He found his voice. “How the
hell
did you get here?” Catching her around the waist beneath the cloak, he lifted her off the windowsill into the room, but instead of setting her on her feet, he held her up as easily as if she were a rag doll, his large hands spanning her waist, her face on a level with his. Her cloak fell to the floor, revealing the britches and shirt of the brigand.

“On Cesar, of course,” she said, smiling.

“Don’t play games, girl!” He shook her as he held
her off the ground, but she couldn’t tell whether he was really annoyed or still just surprised. Either way, though, he didn’t seem overjoyed to see her.

“I had to come,” she said. “You went off without a word and—”

“I was under the impression we’d had all the words necessary,” he interrupted flatly. “You’d made it very clear—”

“Yes, but you took me by surprise,” Tamsyn protested, still dangling from his hands. “How was I to know you would just waltz off into the night without a backward glance?” She tried an experimental kick to encourage him to put her down, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

“Oh?” A red-gold eyebrow lifted. “So that little exchange in the salon was merely an opening skirmish? You tell me with that goddamned arrogance of yours that you want no more to do with me, and I’m supposed to interpret that as an invitation?”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” she said, her voice low. “You were the one bringing everything to a close, not me.”

“I thought I was suggesting the opposite,” he replied quietly, his gaze fixed steadily on her face.

This wasn’t getting them anywhere. He was still holding her as if she were a scarecrow stuffed with straw, and she was damned if he was going to put her in the wrong when it was as plain as day to anyone with eyes open that
he
was the one causing the difficulties. He was the one who couldn’t see straight.

“You talk about
my
arrogance. Well I tell you, Colonel, that you’re stubborn and stiff-necked and twice as arrogant as I am!” she snapped.

To her fury tears suddenly clogged her voice and
filled her eyes. She wanted to say she loved him, but the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to tell him that he loved her, he had to love her, because she couldn’t feel the way she did if he didn’t feel the same.

“You,” Julian said deliberately, “are a stubborn, spoiled, manipulative siren.” He thought he’d accepted that the adventure was over, that she would leave his life as decisively as she’d entered it, but now he knew that he hadn’t accepted anything of the kind.

“Well, I’m sorry I came, then,” Tamsyn declared, sniffing crossly. “And if you’ll put me down, I’ll go away again.”

“No, you will not, you lawless hellion!” The wonderful, familiar urgency of passion was sweeping through him as he held her, feeling the lissome slenderness in his hands, inhaling the honeysuckle fragrance of her skin, losing himself in the great drowned pools of her eyes. And now as he held her and the silence became charged, he felt that seductive energy pulsing from her, and he realized that, as always, she’d caught his arousal and without volition was responding with her own. Her eyes were luminous, the long lashes dark and sticky with unshed tears, her lips now slightly parted as she acknowledged what was happening and waited for him to move.

“Never let it be said I looked a gift horse in the mouth.” With a deft twist he tucked her under his arm, as he’d done in Badajos, and strode out of the room with her.

He marched up the stairs, and Tamsyn, keeping very still, could only be thankful that they met no member of the household. Julian opened the door of his bedroom, stalked in, and dropped his bundle onto the bed.

He stood looking down at her, his hands resting
lightly on his hips, a smile playing over the well-shaped mouth.

“Irresistible,” he said in a musing tone. “I don’t understand why such a scrawny, ill-schooled, unprincipled little manipulator should be irresistible. But it seems to be the case.”

Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed seductively, but she said nothing. She’d done enough pushing and plotting and arranging for the moment. Maybe the time would come when he would no longer resist what was happening between them, would no longer believe that the currents flowing between them were only and ephemerally sexual … would look into his own heart. But until then she’d settle for what she had, and “irresistible” was a good start.

She heeled and toed her boots, and they fell with a soft thud on the Aubusson carpet.

Her hands went to the buttons of her britches. With a deft wriggle she pushed them off her hips, then eased them down her legs with her heels.

Julian bent and helpfully yanked them over her feet. While he was there, he pulled off her stockings, then straightened to resume the voyeur role.

“Must I do this all on my own?” She offered a mock plaintive smile.

“Yes.” His eyelids drooped, lazily seductive, and he remained immobile, hands back on his hips, looking down at her.

Tamsyn squiggled out of her drawers, unbuttoned her shirt, and stripped it off; then she lay naked on the coverlet and regarded him quizzically.

“And now you may help me,” Julian directed, his cool voice quite at odds with the fire in his eyes.

Tamsyn sat up on the bed, placed her hands on his
hips, and drew him close to her. She unbuckled his belt with deft efficiency, letting it drop to the floor. “You don’t mind if I start here?” she said conversationally as she unbuttoned his britches.

“Not in the least.”

She eased his britches over his hips with a slow delicacy that Julian found as arousing as Tamsyn did. Her fingers stroked over his hipbones, her palm flattened against his belly, and his muscles jumped involuntarily. Slowly, her hand slid over his stomach and between his thighs as she bent and kissed his belly, drawing her tongue upward in a moist, searing stroke, darting into his navel as her fingers stroked and kneaded, until he groaned softly. Reaching behind, her fingertips dug into the taut muscles of his buttocks as she reached against him so that the hard shaft of flesh lay between her breasts.

Softly she brought her hands round to cup her breasts, squeezing them as they cradled his throbbing stem. Julian’s breath quickened; the exquisite rhythmic friction increased, and he threw his head back with a low groan of pleasure. “Stop,” he whispered. “For pity’s sake, stop now.”

Tamsyn merely smiled, her eyelashes fluttering wickedly against his chest as she brought him closer and closer to the brink until he shuddered and ecstasy bubbled hot in his veins as the world dissolved.

“
Diablillo
,” he chided as his breathing slowed, his eyes, hooded and languorous with fulfillment, gazed down at her upturned face. “You have only yourself to blame.”

“I’ve noticed you have a quick recovery time, milord colonel,” she said with an impudent grin, falling back on the bed, pulling him with her.

He kissed her with rough satisfaction, pinching her jaw between finger and thumb. “I don’t know what you deserve.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t mind just so long as I get it.”

“Oh, you will,” he promised, taking her mouth again, but this time with a long, slow exploration, his tongue flickering over her lips.

“Oh! Oh, I forgot. How could I have forgotten!” With shocking suddenness Tamsyn pulled her face away from him and pushed at his chest, struggling to get off the bed. “This room’s at the back of the house, isn’t it?”

Julian rolled over onto his back, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or scream. “Gabriel, I suppose?”

“Yes, he’s waiting outside in the mews.” She flew to the window, throwing it wide.

“Tell him to come in,” Julian said with a sigh.

“No, he has to go back to Charing Cross to look after the horses.” She leaned out of the window, cupped her hands around her mouth, and produced a perfect imitation of a barn owl, waited a few seconds, and then repeated the sound. It was answered immediately. Tamsyn produced another series of birdcalls, pausing for a response.

Charing Cross? Why Charing Cross? But then again, why not? There was no point examining the finer points of Tamsyn’s convoluted schemes. Gabriel’s participation, of course, was inevitable.

Amused and impressed by the unusual colloquy at the window, Julian hitched himself onto his elbows. He gazed at her naked back curved in the open window and lost interest in the conversation. She did have the most entrancing backside, he thought dreamily.

“There.” Tamsyn straightened. “That’s all settled, then.”

“Good. Then perhaps you’d like to get back here,” he requested in a tone of ironic courtesy.

“Oh, have you recovered?” She turned with a grin.

“I anticipate a full recovery in about two minutes. Now,
get the hell over here”

Tamsyn hopped across the room and leaped onto the bed beside him. “Yes, milord colonel. Anything you say, milord colonel.”

T
AMSYN WAS STILL ASLEEP WHEN
J
ULIAN AWOKE IN THE
morning. It was raining outside, and the room was dark, the general gloom exacerbated by the massive oak furniture and the heavy velvet hangings. The house was badly in need of redecorating, but he’d always assumed that it could wait until he married. A wife would enjoy putting her own mark on the place, much easier to do than at Tregarthan, which bore the unmistakable imprint of four generations of St. Simons.

He’d spent so little time in London in the last few years that the general air of neglect in Audley Square hadn’t troubled him unduly, but now it occurred to him that he probably ought to tackle the issue before the deterioration became too bad. The prospect of his marriage was way in the future, something he couldn’t contemplate until Napoleon was finally defeated.

He turned his head on the pillow to look at the sleeping face beside him. At some point he was going to have to find himself a wife, but he could not get away from the rueful knowledge that drifting in this diminutive bandit’s anarchic, sensual wonderland was in a fair way to spoiling him for the kind of woman who would make an exemplary Lady St. Simon of Tregarthan.

His memories of the night remained sharply vivid both in his body and in his mind. It was one of Tamsyn’s talents that every lovemaking with her was somehow unique, had something special that lived on in delicious memory.

He sat up to look at the time. It was six, and he was to meet with Lord Liverpool at eight.

Tamsyn groaned and turned onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillows. “What are you doing?”