Moonspun Magic (33 page)

She held herself silent.

He merely nodded, and covered her again. He stood, looking down at her for a brief moment, his expression distant. “You should sleep now,” he said. He turned on his heel and left the bedchamber.

She stared at the closed door. Slowly, out of long-ingrained habit, she began to massage her left thigh.

She didn't sleep, nor had she any intention of sleeping. After a few more minutes she raised herself and swung her legs over the side of the bed. No pain in her thigh. She put her weight on her leg. Still no pain. It was over, this time.

Within ten minutes she was dressed again. She imagined that Toddy wasn't yet back at the stables. It didn't matter. She would walk to Fletcher's Pond.

 

She fell quickly asleep against the trunk of a maple tree, Clarence's irritated squawking sounding in her ears. She hadn't thought to bring bread, and now she was to be punished. His cousins joined in the din, and there was a smile on her lips as she dozed off.

She awoke suddenly, clearheaded. She shivered slightly, for the sun wasn't shining on her anymore. In that instant before she opened her eyes, she knew that Rafael was standing over her, blocking the sun. She opened her eyes. His legs were spread, his hands on his hips. The buckskin breeches became him, she thought, her eyes traveling down the length of him. He was hard and muscular and lean, and no matter how furious she ever was at him, she was at the same time fully aware of his male beauty. His Hessians glistened as black as his hair, with the sun haloing his head, and his eyes were a rich and vivid gray.

He said very quietly, “However can you sleep with all this racket?”

“I'm used to Clarence. He's angry at me for forgetting his bread.”

“Clarence?”

“As in the Duke of Clarence. That very substantial fellow over there, howling the loudest.”

Rafael chuckled. “As in fat and waddles. Our royal duke wouldn't be pleased.”

“He's amiable when fed sufficient bread.”

“Yes,” Rafael said. Silence fell between them. Clarence waddled back to the bank of the pond, then slid
into the water, not making a sound. Rafael said at last, “Tell me about it.”

She merely stared up at him.

“Tell me about how and when it happened.”

He sat beside her, leaning back against the trunk of the maple tree. He said nothing more, merely looked straight ahead at Clarence and his family members.

“I was nearly eight years old. I was riding, always riding, and I was quite good. I had no groom, indeed, I considered myself quite grown-up at eight. I was also unlucky that day. My pony was stung by a bee, so ridiculous really, and he threw me against a fence. Unfortunately there was a nail sticking out from the fence and it slashed down my leg.” She paused for a moment, remembering and feeling again that awful pain, the shock that followed, making her white and dizzy.

“And then?”

“I rode back to Abermarle Manor. Just as I arrived, I was told that my parents were dead.” Her voice was calm, detached, and Rafael wondered at it. “I didn't know what to do. So I did nothing. It was the next morning that my older cousin found me and saw the blood on my gown from my leg. His name was Michael and he must have been all of twenty years old at the time. He took care of me, but it was a bit late. At least I didn't have to have my leg cut off.” He flinched at that, but said nothing. Victoria continued in that same calm detached voice, “It was soon after that that I was sent to my Uncle Montgomery and his family. Elaine was their youngest and the only child at home. She was only five years older than I. Her father, though, wasn't my guardian, something I've never really understood. Well, my leg healed eventually, but when I overexert or do something stupid, it cramps and knots up.”

“You make it sound very inconsequential,” he said. He could see the young girl in his mind's eye, riding home on her pony, in terrible pain, only to be greeted with a pain that seared the soul. No, not inconsequential, she'd made him see her pain, but she'd been careful not to let herself hurt him. He drew in a deep breath in response to his thoughts. “How did your parents die?”

“In a carriage accident. A wheel came off, and the carriage, the driver, and the horses all went over a cliff.”

“My parents were killed by the French. But I guess you already know that.”

“Yes, I know that they were on board an English ship bound for Spain to visit your mother's parents in Seville.” She paused a moment, but didn't turn to face him. “I know you haven't just been a simple sea captain, Rafael. I think you've worked for the government, against Napoleon, because of your parents, to avenge them perhaps.”

He said finally, “At the beginning it was my primary motive—revenge, that is. Then, as the years passed and I saw that I was indeed making a difference, that what I did actually saved British lives, and in some cases changed the outcome of a battle or the fate of a town, well, my revenge motive lessened its hold on me. I believe it was Francis Bacon who said that revenge is a kind of wild justice. I eventually just let it go. I was finally able to admit to myself that I enjoyed the danger, the matching of wits between me and the enemy, the challenge. But back to you, Victoria. If I hadn't been such a bloody fool on our wedding night, would you truly have told me about your leg?”

“Yes, of course. I was about to. It's true that I was afraid, terribly afraid that you wouldn't want me
after you saw me. As for telling you before we wed, I knew I should, but I also knew that I wouldn't. Much too much a coward. I was too convinced that if I did, you would refuse to marry me.”

“You're a fool, my girl. You aren't exactly hag-ridden, you know. Haven't you ever really looked in a mirror?”

“Certainly. But that hasn't much to do with anything. One is born with looks or one is not. It has nothing to do with what's really important—one's character or one's morals or how one deals with others. I thought that you had grown to like me, but I was nearly certain that you didn't like me quite enough for such a revelation.”

“I did like you and I still do, for that matter.”

“But now? Really? Now that you've seen me?”

He turned to look at her. “Face me, Victoria. Now.”

She stalled.

“Now, sweetheart. Look at me.”

She obeyed him.

“Do you think I could be such a silly ass of a fellow? Such a shallow human being?”

“You're not shallow. It's just that I didn't know. I don't know. I haven't been around all that many men, you see. I think Damien would hate the ugly scar on my leg, and I don't think he would try to hide his revulsion. What is more, you are perfect. And I am not. You're far more a beautiful man than I am a beautiful woman. It is rather a travesty to mate the unwhole with the whole.”

He gave her a long, emotionless look, then waved a negligent hand to send a fly buzzing away. “A travesty—perhaps you're right about that. It would appear then that you took me in. False pretenses, Victoria, I believe a solicitor would say. You should
have bared your leg exactly three days before we were wed and allowed me the opportunity to cry off. But you didn't. You wed yourself to me knowing full well that you were taking me in. And now I am well and truly tied to you.”

She said nothing. A single tear trickled down her cheek.

Rafael waited a long moment, then said quietly, “You're an utter fool, Victoria. No, I hope I'm not a shallow man. I think you and I will pay a long overdue visit to the
Seawitch
. I would like you to meet Blick, my physician. Should you mind a doctor looking at your thigh?”

She would, but all she said was, “What would he do? What
could
he do?”

“I haven't the foggiest notion, but Blick has used many odd-named plants from the most godawful places imaginable. You will like him. And let me make this very clear, Victoria. I don't want you to see Blick because he could perhaps make your leg look better. I'm hopeful that he has a remedy that can lessen your pain when you strain your leg. I don't care how your leg looks. I care only about this awful pain. Now, why don't we go to Falmouth tomorrow? I do need to see how things are progressing, and my men will have the pleasure of meeting my beautiful, stubborn, willful wife.”

She gulped down a half-laugh, half-sob. “I've been so very afraid.”

“There was no need, of course, but how could you have known that? Particularly after my absurd attack on you on our wedding night.” He sighed, then reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. She snuggled against him, her arms twined about his shoulders, her head pressed against his throat. “Remember our extremely satisfying, er, mating on the kitchen floor at Honeycutt Cottage?”

He grinned over her head, knowing she wouldn't say a word.

To his surprise, he heard a very small, “Yes.”

He waited a moment, then said, “I should like to take you back to our Pewter room, strip you as naked as the day you emerged from your mother's body, and love you in the full sunlight from our windows. What do you think of that idea?”

What she felt was a tremor deep inside her. He knew that she would want him, want him with all her loving nature. “You want to know what I'm going to do to you? Certainly you do.” She responded to love words, he knew now, delighting in how the words fired her own imagination, making her wild for him. Only for him. He kissed her earlobe, then whispered in her ear.

“What?”

“Once I have you naked, I want us to still be standing. I want to lift you, have you wrap your beautiful legs around my hips. I want to come deep inside you and—”

“But that must be impossible, surely.”

“Wait and see, Victoria.”

Rafael carried her once again in front of him on Gadfly's back. Every few minutes he nibbled on her throat, kissed her mouth, moved his hands higher until they touched the undersides of her breasts. He was driving her distracted, and he knew it. He smiled and kissed her nose. And then he spoke to her softly, into her ear, telling her what he was going to do once he was deep inside her.

Victoria was wildly aroused by the time they returned to Drago Hall.

Damien silently watched the two of them as they swiftly walked the length of the entrance hall and up the staircase. They didn't see him. They'd seen no one. They were aware only of each other.

The panel slid silently open and he peered into the Pewter Room. Rafael was laughing, tickling Victoria as he removed each article of her clothing. And then he was kissing each spot of flesh he uncovered. Her breasts—bared and glistening—were full and white as cream silk, her nipples taut and deep rose. And he, Rafael, was enjoying her, caressing those magnificent breasts, sucking her nipples, making her want him. She arched her back, offering herself more fully to him, and moaned, ever so softly, tangling her fingers in his black hair, pulling him closer to her.

Then Rafael was laughing again, cupping her glorious breasts, pushing them upward, lowering his head for more kisses. Her eyes were dark with pleasure, and she was laughing and moaning as he played with her. He watched her hands, her slender white hands, slip below the waist of Rafael's buckskins, saw his eyes widen, his pupils dilate, saw his swollen sex against her caressing fingers.

Then she was naked, her clothes strewn about her feet on the floor, her chemise half-torn in Rafael's hand. And she was so very lovely that it was painful to look at her. And to watch Rafael enjoying her. But she was protesting now, laughing, poking him in the stomach.

“This isn't fair. Come, it's my turn. This won't be like the kitchen again at Honeycutt Cottage.”

And her nimble hands were unfastening buttons, pulling off his coat and his frilled white shirt. Soon he was sitting in a chair, Victoria's naked bottom toward him, and she was tugging at his boots, laughing, and he was chuckling, and touching her buttocks, splaying his fingers over her, leaning forward to kiss the white flesh, running his hands down her thighs.

There was the jagged scar on her left thigh.

Ugly, he supposed, but her legs were long and slender, sleekly muscled. Beautiful as the soft nest of hair between her thighs, covering her, waiting to be probed by a man's hands and a man's mouth.

The boots were off and soon Rafael was as naked as she. They came together, she on her tiptoes, fitting herself tightly against him, her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him more thoroughly. And there were her cries, her moans, and Rafael's hands all over her, kneading her buttocks, then lifting her, fitting her legs around his waist.

He pulsed and swelled himself, and ached with wild pain, wishing it were he, hating Rafael for being the one to possess her.

He sucked in his breath as Rafael lifted her suddenly, his hand going between her thighs, parting her, he knew, and then without warning he came deeply into her and she screamed—not in pain—throwing her head back, her hair, loose now, a veil of pure chestnut down her back. Her legs hugged him, and her hands were frantic on his chest, his arms. And he was working her, plunging deep, then withdrawing himself, only to return completely into her.