Smuggler's Lady (17 page)

“It is?” His eyebrows shot up at this matter-of-fact statement. He hadn't known quite what to expect when he confronted her. Shock, denial, embarrassment, anger, fear—a combination of them all. But definitely not this calm acceptance. She was quite unperturbed that he should know of her disreputable activities, her only concern being that she had not given herself away inadvertently.

Merrie's eyes danced as she read his expression. “You are, of course, shocked. But it is a most entertaining business, you understand, and lucrative enough to enable—”

“Yes, I have pieced all that together,” he interrupted. “It is also dangerous and against the law.”

“Quite so, my lord.” She seemed to be brimming over with mischief and elation. “But it would not be nearly so entertaining if it were not.”

“What am I to do with you?” He pulled her into his arms with a violence to equal the exclamation. Merrie gasped, lifted her face before his hand caught her chin. Rutherford looked down into the sloe eyes where recklessness and passion shone clear and true. The lithe, muscular body in his arms seemed to vibrate against him. He could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin shirt, the press of her breasts against his chest, the taut curve of her hips. In the shirt and britches, her frame was as clearly outlined as if she were naked, yet the covering tantalized and invited.

Taking hold of the knitted cap, he tossed it to the floor. His hands moved to the pins in her hair; her eyes widened but she made no move to stop him as he released the shining mass to tumble down her back in a luxuriant, auburn cascade.

“Even more magnificent than I had thought,” Rutherford murmured, burying his fingers in the fragrant mass. “I do not know what you deserve for keeping it hidden in that abominable fashion.”

“It is necessary,” she whispered through a constricted throat.

He shook his head in denial and reproof before cupping her face. He kissed her as he had done that evening in the gig and Merrie responded in the same way. Alone in the cave, safe from all eyes, hidden from the world's knowledge, reality ceased to exist for either of them. Merrie's hands slid beneath his coat, running over the broad rippling back as her tongue fenced with the muscular presence inside her mouth, a presence that explored the whorls and contours of her mouth, stroked over her teeth, pillaged with a rapacious hunger that created a deep tension in her belly, brought her body hard and urgent against his length.

As she reached against him, he seized her hips, his fingers biting into the firm curves outlined by the britches as he held her in place. Now there was no deception between them, only truth, hard and shining as enamel. Merrie tugged at the fine lawn of his shirt, drawing it free of the constraint of his waistband; her fingers slipped inside. At the feel of his bare skin beneath her touch, a sibilant sigh of satisfaction whispered against his mouth.

Damian raised his head slowly, without moving his body away from her exploration. His eyes were hooded, concentrated pools of passion as he unbuttoned her shirt, opened it, and unfastened the tiny buttons of the camisole beneath. Merrie's breath came fast now, her hands moving under his shirt to his chest, palming the hard points of his nipples as he drew out her breasts, globing them in cupped hands. The flickering glow of the lantern illuminated the ivory damask of her skin, the rosy crowns of her breasts, small and erect with desire. His gaze held a question, one answered by her own gaze, the flick of her tongue across her lips, the arch of her back that thrust her breasts against his palms. His mouth enclosed the hard nipples, tongue lifting and tantalizing so that she moaned, caressing the bent head, savoring the slight rasp of his cheeks, rough with late-night stubble, against her tender flesh.

Damian straightened, slipped his hands beneath her shirt, pushing both shirt and camisole off her shoulders to slide unheeded to the sandy floor. Unconsciously almost, Merrie drew back her shoulders, facing him, proud in her nakedness. He smiled, shrugged out of his coat and shirt, eyes never leaving hers. Not a word had passed between them and the silence continued, but it was the silence of tongues only; eyes and bodies were speaking—shouting, rather—their message. With a long, delicate finger Merrie traced the jagged white scar carved into his shoulder, then, standing on tiptoe, pressed her lips against it.

When she stood back, he knelt to pull off her shoes and stockings, lifting each foot in turn, running his hand over the high arches, the narrow soles. His hands moved to her waist; for an instant, Merrie tensed, drawing in her breath. His fingers paused at the fastening of her britches, stroked over the skin of her midriff, traced the delineation of her ribs until, with a soft exhalation, she relaxed again, renewing her permission. The fastening opened, the garment was pushed slowly over her hips and then stopped as he kissed the softness of her stomach, his tongue flicking in the tight shell of her navel. Merrie knew only the deep coil of tension spiraling within her, the moistness of her soft petaled center that seemed to swell and part in eager preparation. Her hands gripped his bare shoulders with a fierceness that brought a low groan to his lips. Her britches slipped to her ankles, were drawn over her feet, and tossed aside.

Damian sat back on his heels and ran a long, leisurely look up and down the slight figure, the bared skin glowing in the lamplight.

“Oh, but you are so beautiful,” he whispered, and Merrie smiled tremulously, thrilled at the sincerity in his voice. He began to touch her, a small frown of concentration between the gray eyes, a slight smile on his lips that broadened as he felt her quiver under his hands. “So passionate,” he said softly. “Such a wild, reckless, passionate little smuggler you are, Merrie Trelawney.” He kissed her belly again, and she moaned under the intensity of her pleasure as he steadied her with one hand on her bottom, the other sliding between her thighs to touch deeply and intimately.

She had never been touched in that way, never before felt this hot rush of a desire that could not be denied, coursing like molten lava along her veins. Coupling with her husband had been an infrequent and perfunctory business, neither pleasurable nor particularly distasteful. Nothing had prepared her for this breathtaking glory that misted her skin with a fine sheen of sweat and sent waves of heat and icy cold crashing over her like the Atlantic breakers. Urgent words were on her lips, words of passion and appeal as her thighs parted under the questing fingers, and she clung to his shoulders like a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood.

Damian drew her down to the sandy floor of the cave, spreading his coat and shirt beneath her as she lay, shuddering with her longing, eyes heavy with wonder. He found that his own powerful excitement was in check, allowing him to play on that taut, wire-sprung, lean little body until she vibrated, thrummed, and was lost in the maelstrom of sensation. Somehow, he knew that this was new for her, that she had never before attained the heights of ecstasy, and to take her with his love to that peak became his sole purpose, his own gratification now unimportant.

Merrie was incapable of anything but the responses drawn from her by his hands and mouth, incapable of questioning, of taking any initiative of her own, of controlling what was happening to her, and, as her lover possessed himself of every curve, every millimeter of skin, every entrance to her body, she knew that nothing but response was expected of her. When it seemed that there could be no further peaks to conquer, when she lay spread-eagled and suffused with joy, Damian stripped off his remaining clothes and took her with his body. She was weeping with a pleasure so intense that it was almost pain, reaching new peaks as he stroked within her, paused on the very edge of her body, sheathed himself with exquisite slowness. And then, when she knew she could bear it no longer, he drove deep to her very core, and she lost touch with herself, with the world, knew only the fusion of their selves as his own completion throbbed and filled her.

They lay still fused for many long minutes until reality returned and Merrie became aware of the hard floor of the cave pressing into her shoulder blades, the heaviness of the body crushing her breasts. She moved infinitesimally, but it was enough. Damian, with a tender word of apology, disengaged, rolling sideways to prop himself on one elbow, looking down at her. A long finger wiped the smudge of tears on her cheeks. Smiling, he bent and kissed the tip of her nose. The lamplight flickered, deepening the translucent radiance of her skin, the glow of fulfillment in the sloe eyes. Merrie smiled back, ran a languid caress over his chest shining with the sweat of ecstatic effort.

“I love you, Merrie Trelawney,” he said.

She nodded. “And I you.”

Damian sighed with satisfaction. “At last we begin to touch truth. You will marry me, my little smuggler, and become a law-abiding citizen forthwith.” He regretted the words instantly as the light left her eyes and her mouth set in a determined line.

“It cannot be,” she said as she had done once before.

He gave her the answer he had given before. “Very well. We will say no more about it.”

Both relief and puzzlement flickered over her mobile features, but he simply kissed her before standing up and pulling her to her feet. “It is not that I object to making love in a smuggler's cave,” he remarked, turning her around to brush the sand from her back where the protection of his shirt and coat had failed. “But if it is to be our fate, I think we must contrive a more comfortable bed in the future.”

“That is easily done.” The sloe eyes danced again with the familiar mischief. “I will arrange matters quite satisfactorily. No one comes here except on the nights of a run or a delivery, so it will belong just to us. I do not expect Jacques for another three weeks. Until then, we shall set up house in a most pleasing manner.

He loved her and, watching the deft movements as she dressed herself, his loins stirred as desire rose again, but the anger of frustration also rose. He was powerless to stop her madness unless she gave him the right to do so. Instead, she had simply incorporated the fact of their loving into the dangerous, duplicitous framework of her existence. They would conduct their clandestine affair by way of secret passages and hidden caves because Meredith chose not to make it legitimate. He had no choice but to accept her wishes for the moment; it was that or lose her altogether, but Damian, Lord Rutherford, was prepared to play only a waiting game.

“Pray do not look so stern, Damian.” Her voice was soft, concerned, as she came over to him, putting her arms around his waist, nuzzling against his chest. “We must accept what we have. To wish for more than is possible can only bring unhappiness.”

“Is it not possible to wish for your safety?” he asked, stroking through the auburn hair massed against his chest.

“You must not worry about that.” Her tongue ran delicately over the scar on his shoulder. “I have been quite safe for three years, and there is no reason why that should change. The operation is most efficient, you should know.”

“I am sure that it is.” He could not conceal the dryness of his tone. “I will endeavor to calm my fears, ma'am.”

Merrie chuckled. “You have much in common with Nan, Lord Rutherford. She will be waiting up for me. She always does so on these occasions and scolds me unmercifully until I am in bed.”

“Then I will leave the scolding to Nan.” Cupping her buttocks, he pulled her against him. “You will promise me one thing.”

“If I am able.” The mischief had left her expression, which was now quiet and grave.

“You will not go off on these insane flights without first telling me.”

“They are not insane, Damian, my love. They are the only way I may keep body and soul together.”

He shook his head. “It is more than that. You enjoy the danger and the risks.”

Meredith thought of the bottles of madeira and the note left on the steps of the custom house. That was something she should perhaps keep to herself. “A little, mayhap. It enlivens an otherwise dull existence.”

Damian caught her chin, examining her face carefully. “You have not answered me.”

“I will tell you when there is to be a run or a delivery,” she agreed. “But perhaps you would be easier if you did not know.”

“Your promise,” he demanded.

“You have it.”

“Then I must be satisfied for the moment.” Releasing her, he picked up his britches, pulling them on roughly before shrugging into his shirt. “Do not, however, imagine that the matter rests permanently.”

“It cannot be otherwise.” Her voice was low but nonetheless determined.

Rutherford simply smiled and tweaked her nose. “There are still things you need to learn, my little smuggler, for all that you think you know all there is to know. Come, I will escort you to your door and, since I do not wish to see you looking fagged tomorrow, you will oblige me by sleeping late in the morning.”

That made her laugh. “You, sir, are responsible for the lateness of the hour. It is already morning.”

“So it is.” He eased her ahead of him into the passage that climbed to the house. “Tomorrow night we shall be a little earlier, I think.”

“And a little more comfortable,” she whispered, turning to face him in the narrow space as they reached the tunnel's end. “Do not let us spoil this. I have never been so happy, so at peace. Can you not also be content?”

He could not resist the appeal. Meredith had known little enough happiness in her adult life, and it was his intention to increase what she had, not to reduce it. “I am content,” he said. “Kiss me good-night, my love.”

She did so, her lips lingering sweetly on his, her hands palming his scalp before she broke away and reached up to the stone slab. It fell back with a muffled thud and Rutherford lifted her through the opening. As he made to hand her the lantern, she shook her head. “No, I have no further need of it, but it will lighten your way. Leave it in the cave.”