Lynne Connolly (29 page)

Nichols took one glance at him and left.

“What in heaven did you think you were doing?” he demanded, his voice a quiet roar. Richard hardly ever raised his voice in my presence, knowing how much I hated it.

“Trying to stop Alicia rushing inside again. As well I did.”

“You should have let her go.”

I got to my feet and faced him, fighting down my trembling. The enormity of what I’d done struck me only then, and the ominous sound of breaking glass reverberated in my mind. “She’d have died for sure.”

“Better her than you. And the child you carry. I won’t have you doing it. Every time you come near a fire, you lose your head. Remember last year, when you nearly ran into that house to save Julia? You can’t do that!”

“So what will you do? Forbid me to go near to a fire ever again?” Fires were an unfortunate part of modern life. Very few people never saw one. Fires from candles, fireplaces, even deliberately set ones happened all too frequently. I put up my chin and glared at him.

“I might have to do so if you insist on racing into every burning building as if you’re the only one who can make a difference. People were chasing after Alicia, didn’t you see?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Though God knows she seems as intent as you on bringing a swift end to her existence! I’d be surprised if Timothy doesn’t put her over his knee!”

“Oh yes, and would you like to do that to me, perchance?”

I didn’t trust that glimmer that crossed his eyes, entirely different to the anger that suffused him. My imagination. In any case, he wouldn’t get the chance. “If it teaches you not to endanger your life, then yes. I’ll chain you up if I have to.” He spun around and strode out of the room, but before he did, pulled the key out of the lock. “Will you stay here, or do I have to lock you in?”

“Lock me in and you’ll never have the opportunity to do it again!” I cried after him, for once not caring who might be listening or what they thought. He dropped the key on the floor and went out, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care.

I flung myself on the bed and indulged in a hearty bout of tears. Fury over the exasperatingly overweening self-importance of all the men I’d ever met, anger that another of our employees had died in our service, and finally shock when I recalled the deafening crash of the glass next to me and the way splinters had shot into the air, glimmering in the light of the fire, nature’s daggers. I still wasn’t sure how the shards had managed to miss Alicia and me, but apart from a few superficial cuts and some bruises, I’d come to no hurt. And terror that I’d put my baby in danger yet again. If it weren’t for Richard’s autocratic dictate, I’d have locked myself in my bedroom and refused to come out until the last labour pain was over and my baby was in the arms of the wet-nurse.

Which reminded me that I had only seen Helen once that day.

I rose and went to the washstand, where I doused my face in cold water again and again until I felt more ready to face the world. Glancing into the mirror, I saw a woman with a tired, drawn face, shadows beneath her eyes, weariness stamped into every feature. No amount of powder would eliminate that. I’d play with Helen and then come back down and rest for an hour.

But when I opened my bedroom door, I collided with Richard, in the act of coming back in. His arms went around me and for a second or two I let myself rest there, my solace and strength. But he was angry with me, had only caught me to avoid hurting me, so I drew back, took a step into my room.

He followed me and pushed the door closed. He wouldn’t allow me to put space between us, but reached for me again. He was trembling, his arms only stopping when he’d enclosed me. “I’m sorry, Rose, I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath heating my ear. “You frighten me when you take risks like that.”

I thought that the bravest thing I’d heard him say. Easy for a strong man in a powerful position to exert his power. Not so easy to admit his weaknesses, that he had fears none of his intelligence or influence could dispel. Honesty is often very frightening. So I took the plunge too. “I promise to think hard if I’m ever in the presence of another fire. I won’t run towards it.”

He hugged a watery chuckle against my hair. “I’ll make sure you don’t. I can’t do this without you, you know that, don’t you?”

I backed up, drawing him with me. “If you hadn’t come to me, I’d have come to you.”

He lifted his head and smoothed back a strand of my wayward hair. “What a pair we are.” He smiled, the warmth in his eyes something few others ever saw. He kissed my forehead, his lips soft against my skin, then the tip of my nose, then my mouth. A gentle kiss of love that changed into something else when I opened my mouth and sucked his tongue in, stroking it with mine in an invitation that he knew, but seemed fresh every time.

Ribbons whispered undone and then the soft click of hooks as they slid free from the eyes, all helped by Richard’s gentle hands. I don’t even know if he realised he was doing it, but I didn’t intend to stop him. I let my stomacher fall between our bodies and land on the floor. My fichu fell away, giving him access to my breasts, but he slid his hands around my waist, under my gown, and drew me closer. I wore the small panniers I preferred, the ones I was helping back into fashion, but my skirt still rose a little at the back when he crushed me close to his body and brought his head down to kiss me again.

Not a gentle kiss this time, but one fuelled by passion and need. I returned it, opening my mouth for him, tasting him, that wonderful flavour that was his alone, one I craved and one he gave to me without measure. His hands moved up my back, and because I wore my soft leather stays, I felt his touch through them. When he touched my bare back, above my stays, I shivered and he groaned into our kiss.

His hands tightened on me then relaxed completely, and he lifted his head. “I only meant to apologize. You frightened me, my love, and the fault lay with me, not with you.”

“No.” I cupped his jaw, the prickle of his stubble tickling my hand with delicious reminder of his masculinity. “I was at fault. I put our child at risk as well as myself. I should have known better.”

From the flash of surprise in his eyes, I realised he’d temporarily forgotten the child. His intensity on me I found flattering but a little daunting. When he said, “I’m yours,” he meant it to its full extent. He said it now, gazing into my eyes, his sincerity transparent. His sapphire eyes with a fine ring of darker blue around the edge fascinated me. The most eloquent eyes I’d ever seen. “So you need to rest now.” His low purr suggested anything but rest. He took my hand and led me to the bed, his hand firm in mine, his eyes burning. His chest heaved when he took a couple of deep breaths.

I waited by the side of the bed. “Rest with me.”

“I fear you won’t get much peace.” This was as hard for him to leave me as it had ever been. I revelled in it and knew exactly what he was going through because it was the same for me. I could cope, but together we became one, whole. Complete.

“I will, eventually.”

I saw the moment he gave in, the soft smile and the way he drew me back to him. “You’re a witch. A seductive, wicked witch. You have me completely under your command, in—your—spell.” He kissed me in between each word and ended with a luscious kiss on my lips, but he drew away before I could hold him tight and move in. “Turn around.”

He slid my gown off my shoulders. I heard the rustle when he threw it aside. It fell to the floor. He loosened the drawstring of my petticoat with a deft twist and pull, and he dragged it open so I could step out of it, and then he tugged the tape of my panniers free so they dropped away too. That went the same way as the gown. He dragged me against him, and I realised he’d shed his coat when I saw his arms, covered only with fine linen, curl around my waist. He unhooked my stays at the front, taking his time to caress my skin, warm under my shift. I leaned against him and he held me close, slid his hands up my body to cover my breasts, now barely shrouded in delicate lawn. He cupped them, lifted them and stroked his thumbs across the nipples. They hardened at his touch, sensitive already from my pregnancy, now achingly needy. I gave him a little moan, telling him what he did to me.

“I’m never so happy as when I’m making love to you. I didn’t know what happiness was before you taught me.”

He nuzzled my neck, sending shivers through me. “When we culminate our love together, that’s our place, Rose. And I fear you’ve made me crave it so much I can’t do without it for long.”

“You’ll have to, soon.”

He kissed the point where my pulse throbbed on my throat, flicking his tongue out to touch it, caress the delicate spot. “I know. All the more reason to store it up now. I’ll miss making love with you very much, you know that, but more than my satisfaction I want you whole, and happy, and alive.”

“And I you. Never forget that.”

He sucked and released, leaving me gasping for more, but he soothed the spot with his mouth. “If I do that any more, you’ll be wearing velvet bands for a week to cover the mark.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will.” He released my breasts to smooth his hands down my body, heating me, making me aware of my own curves, the way my body’s lush swells excited him. He reached my knees and then came back up, bringing my shift with him. I lifted my arms so he could pull the garment off over my head, leaving me in my shoes and stockings and nothing else. He spread his hands over the small of my back, his soft sigh telling me he was looking at me.

Immediately, my body heated, preparing itself for him. At his gentle urging, I turned around and let him feast his eyes on the front of my body. “So lovely,” he said. “To know you so well is to marvel at every change in your body. Even when you’re not
enceinte,
every day brings a subtle change.”

I laughed. “You mean I’m getting older every day.”

He raised his regard to my face. He wasn’t smiling. “Nearer to goddess.” A chill swept through me at his words. I couldn’t do that for him. But then the sun broke through and he smiled. “I thought that would unnerve you. Come here, wife, lover, beloved,
mi adorata,
all those things, but not goddess. I wouldn’t burden you with that.”

I sighed on a smile and went into his arms, where everything was good and nothing distressing ever happened.

He helped me up on to the high bed and took off my shoes and stockings for me before stripping his clothes off faster than he’d taken off a single one of my garments. I lay on the bed, my legs a little apart so he could continue his visual feast if he wished—and he wished. His eyes devoured me, swallowed me up. And then, as naked as me, he climbed up and straddled my body, his erection a strong column jutting from his body, the tip wet with his essence. I licked my lips and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that never failed to push my arousal up even more.

“Worth adoring,” he said, his mouth quirking up on one side in a smile that reminded me that he wasn’t being entirely serious. Perhaps he should have been a poet and written one of those mock-epic pieces that Pope was so fond of. He cupped his hands gently over the mound of my stomach. The baby responded to his touch. I felt a swirl and he gasped. “Some men still believe women are the inferior sex. I think they’re afraid of this, what you can do. It’s the ultimate power.”

He glanced up and must have seen the tears that misted my eyes. I loved him so much I couldn’t bear it sometimes. The light from the windows gilded his short, tousled curls, ruffled into disarray when he’d taken off his wig and thrown it on to my dressing table, the faint sheen of his chest, caused by the light sprinkling of golden hair, and his manhood, standing proudly—it all looked perfect. I’d heard men compared to marble statues, but I couldn’t think of anything less like Richard. He was so alive, so strong, conveying all the frailties and strengths men had, that I couldn’t imagine him immortalised in stone. I’d seen him in paint, of course, as I’d seen myself, but that seemed a representation of a point in time. Or several. Our wedding portraits currently adorned the Long Gallery at Eyton, if it could be called adorned. I’d rather have a painting as he was now, on his knees, naked, gazing down at my body, his hands moving gently over me, the warmth sending currents to my core.

I lifted my hands and gripped his forearms, guiding his hands to either side of my body, forcing him down, closer to me. And I smiled up at him. “I love you. Join with me, Richard, my husband, my love. Let’s celebrate what we have. Life and each other.”

His shaft touched the edge of my sex and the connection sent shivers of awareness through me. “Your wish is ever my command, my lady, my mistress, my
wife.
” With the last word, the broad head of his erection slid down my wet crease, so wet I was aware of dampening the sheets underneath me.

He pushed gently, then a little harder, and he lodged inside me, not stopping until he filled me up. Only then did I feel complete. With my beloved husband deep in my body, moving, gently at first, watching me as he often did, to gauge my response or to enjoy it.

Although I was becoming better at donning a mask on social occasions, and he was a master of it, we never did it here in our bed. We never had, and we’d made love for the first time remarkably quickly after we’d first met.

“I seduced you that first time,” I whispered, enjoying the sensations coursing through me, moving my body in response to his. I let my legs fall open and lifted my feet to curl my legs over his thighs, hold him there.