The de Valery Code (23 page)

“It’s a Welsh name, but I don’t know its significance.” He looked to the boy standing to his right. “Penn?”

Penn’s blue eyes widened slightly, but then he shook his head. His face flushed and he looked away.

Rhys gripped the lad’s shoulder. “You’ve been an incredible help; I had to ask. There’s no shame in not knowing. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

Penn’s chest and shoulders puffed up. “Yes, sir. Will you still be going to Caerwent then?”

“I think we must. It certainly seems to be leading us there.” Though he didn’t know what Anarawd meant, he was overjoyed at having a destination and at having deciphered the code. He looked to Miss Derrington, who was staring at the words on the paper. “What do you think, Miss Derrington?”

Her face lifted as she smiled. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.” He glanced at the clock ticking methodically on the mantel. How did it get to be nearly eleven? “I think it’s past time for you to go to bed, Penn.”

Penn moved reluctantly from the table, but turned before he reached the door. “Will you please take me with you?”

Rhys’s chest squeezed. If it weren’t for the danger the Order of the Round Table posed, he would take the boy. But he couldn’t risk it. “I’m sorry, Penn. There are difficulties that prevent you coming with us. Truly, I’m sorry.”

Penn’s face was a wooden mask. Rhys imagined he was gravely disappointed, but the boy had learned to keep his emotions hidden. Was that a new talent since losing his mother, or had he cultivated it throughout his short lifetime? Perhaps he’d ask Miss Derrington, since she seemed to do the same.
 

“Good night,” Rhys said, as Penn departed without a word.

“Why can’t he come with us?” Miss Derrington’s tone matched the scolding look she gave him. “Can’t you see he needs to feel a connection to something?”

The heartfelt plea in her question was nearly his undoing, but he couldn’t endanger the boy. “I can’t expose him to the Order. We have to assume they’ll be tracking us somehow. If they were lying in wait at de Valery’s house, I imagine they’ll be watching Caerwent too.”

She blanched. “Is it safe for us to go?”

Perhaps not. Was she frightened? She had yet to display that emotion, even when faced with certain violence. He turned in his chair to fully face her. “You know this quest is no longer what we thought. There are people who would prevent us from succeeding.”

She gave her head a shake and looked him square in the eye. “I know what we’re dealing with and I don’t want to give up now, if that’s what you’re asking.” She glanced at the deciphered code, the hint of a smile lighting her gaze. “I can’t.” She looked back at him. “Can
you
?”

He stared into her hazel eyes, saw the thrill and the passion simmering in their depths, and he leaned forward. “No.”
 

He lifted his hand to her hair. A few strands had escaped her coiffure as they’d worked at the table. The blond locks brushed her ear. He tucked them back and allowed his fingers to linger against her scalp. His thumb grazed her cheek almost of its own volition. She was a magnet for his desire, and he was incapable of resisting her allure.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered, coming closer.

She didn’t move, and her gaze was steady. “Maybe I’ll keep you safe.”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t doubt that. No, I don’t doubt that at all.”

He lowered his lips to hers in what was supposed to be a gentle kiss, but the minute their mouths touched, a fiery need consumed him. He rose in his chair and cradled her scalp. She gripped the lapels of his coat and held him close, opening her mouth to coax him inside. Not coax,
demand
. Her tongue met his with a fervor that matched his own.

Lust roared through him. She tasted so sweet, felt so lush, and responded with such passion that he was unable to think, only feel. All of his senses seemed hyperaware. He heard the muted sigh in her throat as he stroked her neck, smelled the apple in whatever she’d used in her bath earlier, relished the dig of her fingertips into his chest.

He stood, dragging her up with him and turned her so that her back was to the table. He reached behind her and pushed the books to the side, careful not to harm them. All the while, she kissed him relentlessly, dragging her tongue against his. Hunger raced through him, drove him to plunge deep into her mouth as he lifted her onto the edge of the table.

She pulled away from him, but kept her hands curled against his cravat. “The table? Don’t you have rules about that?”

He stared down at her, his need pushed to the breaking point. He’d wanted women, tumbled them of course, but he’d never experienced this soul-burning
need
. He was a man of discipline, of control. Or at least he had been until he’d met her. Now he was a man of implacable ardor and she was the sole object of his desire. “I’d break every one of them for you.”

Her lips parted to emit a whisper-soft gasp. He kissed her again, stroking into her mouth, and clutched at her back, his hands moving over the planes of her shoulders and the arc of her spine.

Her hands dove beneath his coat, her palms gliding across his upper chest, over his waistcoat to the tops of his shoulders so that he could feel her heat through the linen of his shirt. His coat fell back and he shrugged out of the garment, letting it fall to the floor behind him.

Her initiative only fueled his desire. He brought a hand to her bodice and cupped the swell of her breast. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, which he took as encouragement. But with the multitude of garments covering her, he couldn’t feel her the way he wanted. He found the drawstring for the front of her robe and loosened it. The silk gapped at the center and he slid his hand inside, separating the fabric.
So much better.
He grazed his palm over her breast, trying to detect the nipple nestled beneath three more layers of clothing.

She arched up into him, seeking his hand. He pressed harder, seeking her heat. Her fingers tangled in his cravat and tugged at the fabric. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice of reason tried vainly to be heard, but he refused to listen. She stirred him in ways he’d never imagined, and he couldn’t stop the avalanche of sensation.

He tipped her head back, running his thumb along her jaw and kissing the underside of her delectably dimpled chin. He moved his hand back down to her breast, this time seeking the closures holding her gown together. He kissed her neck, using his mouth and tongue to suckle and lick. Her low moan crested over him, urged him to move closer between her thighs, her skirts bunching between them.

She’d successfully loosened his cravat and tugged it free. Cool air rushed over the heated, newly exposed flesh at his collar. Her hands curled around his neck, her fingers threading through the hair at his nape.

Her flesh was so soft, her scent so inviting. He worked the front of her gown open and came upon her stays, which, as a self-sufficient lady such as she would require, laced in the front.

He pulled at the laces, eager to remove this barrier. When her fingers joined his, he abandoned the fight in favor of cupping her as she worked the garment free. At last, the stays parted to reveal the pale linen of her chemise. Better still, he glimpsed the rose-tinted tips of her breasts, which strained at the garment.

He gazed down at her for a moment—again the voice in his head tried to intercede and again he swept it away. Instead, he gently tugged her chemise down and then pushed her breast up. The pale flesh swelled above the fabric, but wouldn’t come free. He kissed her, suckling until he heard her moan low in her throat. He pressed her upward until the nipple grazed his lip, then he closed his mouth over her through the linen.

Cradling her back over the table, he held her breast captive to his tongue. He kneaded and squeezed as he laved and suckled. She gasped and pulled at his hair. Then her hands were at the buttons of his waistcoat, working in a frenzy. Desperate need crashed over him. He eased her onto the table and brought his hand around to her skirts. Tunneling beneath them, he found her knee and then her thigh, her flesh soft and warm.

His waistcoat opened and she pushed it from his shoulders. He had to pull back from her breast and remove his hands from her to strip the garment away. When he put them back, she stilled, her hands falling to her sides.

He looked at her face. Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling.
 

“Margery?” He’d never used her Christian name before, but “Miss Derrington” seemed inappropriate given the circumstances.

She moved her gaze to his and came up on her elbows. “I’m sorry . . . Rhys.” She tried his name but sounded tentative. “I should go.”

“Of course.” The response was automatic and didn’t reflect the storm raging in his body. He was hard and ready for her, desperate to bury himself inside of her soft heat. At last the voice in his head gained volume.
What the hell was I thinking?

He helped her to stand. She immediately pulled her stays together, but didn’t bother tightening the laces. Instead, she refastened her gown and drew the drawstring of her robe. Once she was as rearranged as she was going to be, she offered him a weak smile. “I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. After deciphering the code, I think it’s fair to say we were swept away by our excitement. But it was . . . nice.”

Nice?
Though they hadn’t completed the act, Rhys was likely to remember it as the most erotic sexual experience of his life. He’d never been so consumed, so
desperate
.

“Forgive me if I characterize it a bit more colorfully than that. Spectacular comes to mind. Or magnificent.” Reluctantly, he scooped up his waistcoat and shrugged it on.

Her cheeks pinked. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night.”

Before he could answer, she’d hurried from the room, leaving him with the books, the glass, the code, and the simmering remnants of a desire he knew for certain would never be extinguished.

In her chamber, Margery readied herself for bed without calling for the maid to help her. She wasn’t sure she could stand another person to see her body right now, not when it was still so hot and flushed and
wanting
.

Yes, she still wanted Mr. Bowen—Rhys. Hearing her name on his lips had nearly changed her mind. There was an intimacy to it that reminded her of how it felt to have people close, to allow people to see inside of her.

Dressed for bed, she pulled her already loosened hair from its pins and brushed the waving mass. The mirror at the dressing table showed her kiss-swollen lips and rosy cheeks. Thinking about how they’d gotten that way caused her breasts to tighten and heat to spiral into her core.

She dropped the brush on the table and turned away. The bed took up her vision and reminded her of what she
could
be doing right now.

Aunt Agnes had shared the specifics of coupling with her. She believed it was better for a young woman to be prepared. She’d also said it was a singularly divine experience, and now Margery knew what she meant. She had no trouble at all understanding why her aunt had chosen to enter into a liaison with the man who’d captured her heart.

But Mr. Bowen—Rhys—hadn’t captured her heart. She
did
like him, more than she cared to admit, however enjoying his company and his . . .
attentions
didn’t constitute love.

Feeling overwhelmed, she left her room and stepped into the cool corridor. The maid was just coming toward her. Her dark eyes widened. “I apologize, miss. I didn’t hear you ring.”

Margery offered a smile to ease the young woman’s concern. “I didn’t. It’s fine. I was wondering if you might direct me to young Penn’s chamber?” She hadn’t planned to visit the boy, but decided she needed something to distract her agitated mind.

“At the end of the hall.”

Margery turned her head to glance farther down the corridor.

“No, that’s Mr. Bowen’s suite. Master Penn is at the other end.”

Now she knew where Rhys’s room was located. She turned away from it lest her body decide to overpower her mind and lead her in the opposite direction. “Thank you.” Margery passed the maid and went to the room at the end. She knocked softly. “Penn? It’s Marg—Miss Derrington.”

She heard a muffled sound and let herself in. A single lantern next to the bed cast meager illumination over the chamber, but she could see that while it wasn’t overly large, it was well appointed, with a wide bed and a desk, something she found endearing.
Of course
Rhys would ensure the boy had a desk. Actually . . . She looked around and wondered if this had been Rhys’s boyhood room. She moved closer to the bed, where Penn had propped himself up against a pillow. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said.

He shook his head, his eyes wary.

“I wanted to thank you again for your help tonight. We couldn’t have deciphered the code without you.” The exhilaration of finally solving the code swept through her anew.

He almost smiled. “It was fun. I just wish I could go with you.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. “I know, I do too.” He looked at her skeptically. “Truly, I do. I know how you feel. At least, I think I do.”

He cocked his head to the side. “How?”

“I imagine you feel alone, sad, abandoned even.” She watched his features tighten and instinctively touched his hand, which clutched the coverlet to his chest. “My parents died when I was ten.”