War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 (20 page)

Surely that was going too far. She was too happy to dispute the point with him. The last thing she wanted was for him to leave her tonight. She believed him, and when she thought about it, she saw the truth in what he’d said. A new law had gone through Parliament recently. Marriage could only occur between people over sixteen years of age, and they must both consent to the match.

It was true. Her reason was catching up with her, but nothing could overtake the joy surging through her system like effervescent wine. “Then we don’t need to wait. I want to celebrate our…” She still had a problem saying it out loud.

He did not. He caught her hands. “Our love. I’m so glad you said that. Then let me help you.” He pulled her fichu free from her bodice. “I will take you to London to buy gowns suitable for a duchess.”

“I’ll look foolish. I’m not made for such things.” The fine clothes she had worn for local assemblies at home had not become her in the least.

“D’Argento may help. Say what you will, the man has a good eye for fashion. You will be graceful, elegant, beautiful.”

She smiled, for only a man in love could describe her thus. No false modesty this, merely the truth. She let him have his way, and she would need some clothes in order to be worthy of the position he wished to elevate her to. She’d need to appear at court at least once. She pushed the thought from her mind.
Not here, not now.
Any uneasiness would come later, and she would cope with it as it occurred.

He made himself busy helping her unfasten the hooks on her bodice until she brushed his hands away. “I could do it faster myself.”

“I doubt that,” he growled, but he let her get on with the task while he stripped. He made short work of undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, pulling them free with little regard to the fine fabric, and then treated the fall of his breeches in the same cavalier fashion. His underwear, stockings and shoes went in a similar manner, and then he dragged his shirt over his head so he stood before her unashamedly naked.

His cock reared up, the tip grazing his stomach, the bulbous tip gleaming rosily, ready for her.

Her mouth went dry, but she did not stop stripping herself, throwing her gown on the bed, then unfastening the drawstrings at her waist so petticoats and hoops soon joined his clothes. Bending, he undid the buckles on her shoes and her garters, his fingers clumsy on the knots. She worked on the front hooks of her stays, and shrugged them off her shoulders, and then she could follow his example. She dragged her shift over her head so she was as naked as he.

They stood, facing each other. He swallowed. “You are lovely.” Reaching out, he touched her waist, gliding the tips of his fingers up to stroke a line under her breasts. “Everything I want, all I need. Only you.”

The words sounded like a promise, even though defiance laced his tones. Defiance against the world that would condemn them, or force them apart, she guessed. She knew how he felt. She would have only him. His powerful body was just for her, his love for her alone. They would have children, in the fullness of time. Perhaps sooner than they planned, if their actions tonight or that time before had a result.

When he opened his arms, she stepped into them without hesitation. They closed around her, sweetly as feathers, strong as bars on a cage, but a cage she would willingly live inside for the rest of her life. “A man and a woman,” he murmured into her ear. “That is all that is in this room tonight. Come, love. Let me show you.”

Bending, he lifted her, and after pulling the bedcovers back, laid her on the crisp, smooth linen sheets. She was right, the bed felt like clouds under her body. He came over her, nudging her legs apart so he could kneel between them, and then kissed her.

When her nipples brushed the firm muscles of his chest, she flinched, but with excess of feeling. More would come. After the first, beautifully passionate kiss, he murmured against her lips, “No pain tonight. Nothing but love.”

Even if he had not made his offer, Ruth doubted she could have found the strength to push him away. She wanted him so badly, she could taste it in her mouth, bitter before, sweet now. He kissed her again, then touched his lips to her ear, her throat, working down as she stroked his short, silky hair, ran her fingers through it, cupping his strong, proud head, and spreading her hands over the breadth of his shoulders. So much wider than anything she imagined. Somehow his clothes made him appear less powerful, but perhaps, with the fashion for graceful elegance, the best tailors could accomplish that. She rejoiced that so much sheer power was hers, and he was putting all of it to use pleasing her.

He nuzzled her breasts, dropped tiny kisses around her nipples and then took one into his mouth, drawing deeply, then releasing it. She gasped, unafraid to reveal her feelings. Every part of her was attuned to him and his caresses, every sigh, every teasing nip, followed by soothing strokes of his tongue. He was not silent, either, but murmured endearments as he worshipped her body. “So smooth, so lovely. Your skin undoes me. Every time I touch you I want you more, need you more.” He stroked her flanks, down her thighs to her knees and back again, much as he might gentle a high-strung steed. Every touch increased the bank of sensation building in her, but she knew more now, knew where this was leading.

He reached the heart of her femininity and flicked his tongue across her clitoris. “Better than the rarest fruit. I crave your taste. Ruth, Ruth, Ruth.” He said her name as if in wonder, increasing in fervour. It crossed her mind they were neither of them making any effort to remain silent, but she could not care for it. If anyone heard them, what of that?

When he settled in to lap her juices, she tugged his hair, squirming when the shots of arousal grew too much to bear. She pleaded with him. “Love me now. Marcus, come to me. I need you.”

“And I you.” At her entreaty he came back to her, but before he brought his cock to her he slid a finger inside her, curling it to stroke her inner walls. With a whimper, she moved against him, but she no longer knew if she wanted to get away or wanted more. He added another finger, and opened them a little. “I promised no pain,” he said. “Is that good? Does it feel right?”

“More than right.” Warmth grew to heat, so close to her peak she didn’t know how she could bear it.

After withdrawing his fingers, he brought his shaft to her entrance. He still needed to push to get that fat tip inside her, even though she widened her legs and brought up her heels and flattened her feet on the mattress. He watched her, smiling. “Your eyes are lovely, sweetheart. They tell me everything I need to know. Talk to me.” Sweat broke out on his brow and he gritted his teeth as he forced himself to slow down. “You’re tight around me.”

“I feel it.” Her breath shortened once more, but for an entirely different reason. “Marcus, oh my love, don’t stop. Take me, make me yours.”

“You are already mine. You said so and you shall not take that back.” Covering her lips with his own, he thrust his tongue into her mouth as he entered her, completing her. The hair that covered their private parts meshed together, his darker than hers. She had noted the sight earlier, and when they came together before, so even though she could not see it the vision rose to her mind, beautifully completing their union, binding them together.

He took her finally and she gave herself to him. Arching her back, pressing her hips against the mattress, she met his thrusts, opening her body for his possession. He held her close, their bodies pressing together from head to toe, and kissed her as his movements grew in intensity. As his way grew easier, he drove harder, the sound of their joining, the slap of skin on skin adding to her arousal.

Every part of her was engrossed by him, and every sense she possessed was completely bound up in him. She screamed, and he swallowed her cry as everything became one. Colours pulsed behind her eyelids, explosions detonated through her as she lost all sense of time and being.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he gave one sharp cry. His cock throbbed, and the wetness between them increased as his seed spurted deep inside her.

Ruth tightened her hold, unwilling to let him go.

He let his head drop to the pillow beside her and panted out his release, a low groan reverberating in her ears. After a moment’s hard breathing, he lifted his upper body away from hers, so they could both breathe. “You will be the death of me,” he said, “but never would my end be more welcome. If there was a way for us to marry tomorrow, I would take it.” His breath heated her ear.

At last she could speak. With the remnants of her shattering orgasm thrumming through her, she told him she loved him. “I can’t stop myself. When I see you, right from the first, I wanted you, even though I couldn’t put words to my longing.” She stroked his back, her fingers trailing down his spine, revelling in her freedom to do so.

“For me too,” he said. He lifted his head. He was smiling. “When I saw you, I yearned for you. I knew I could not let you leave. Even when I thought you a spy, before I knew who you truly were, I wanted you.” He caressed her with his gaze, drinking her in. “Do you believe people can fall in love at first sight?”

She shook her head. When a stray hairpin stuck into her scalp, she moved to free it. “Perhaps they can get an intimation of what is to come, or the potential. No, not love. Lust, some kind of sympathy, for sure, but love must grow.”

“I disagree.” Smiling, he touched her forehead. “I give you this now. Nobody but I will be able to see into you, to read what is in your mind. I will only do so when you trust me enough to allow it.” Warmth from his touch spread through her mind and her body.

Laughing, she shook off his hand. “As if such things are possible!”

His smile faded, and he met her gaze. “If only.” He opened his mouth, then closed it once more, lowering his eyes. “One day, I may tell you more on that score.” His eyes met hers once more. “Not tonight. We’ve said enough, done enough.”

She shifted slightly, reminding them both they were still locked together intimately. “Done enough?”

“Yes indeed. We celebrated our love, and we shall do so again. Be still, sweetheart, rest. I will wait until you sleep, then go to my room. Nobody will know what we did here tonight. In the morning, I’ll talk to the sisters. Later, I will visit the vicar. Should you like to accompany me?”

She swallowed. Perhaps she should, but events were racing up on her. She wanted breathing space, time to sit and think.

He kissed her forehead. “On second thought, I’ll do it on my own. The vicar might not understand. He is a man of limited understanding, taking everything from his books of sermons. I’ll bear his strictures and lectures for both of us. You stay, and if he wishes to see you I’ll bring you to him later.”

Yes. She knew the vicar too. Every Sunday either she or Andrea went down to the village to attend the service, and he was right. The vicar could drone on for hours about nothing. “Don’t you need me to make the arrangements to have the banns called?”

“No. I would normally arrange for a special licence to dispense with banns, but that would take more time.” He took her hand and kissed it, each knuckle, before withdrawing from her body as gently as possible. She missed him immediately and would have drawn him back, but he pulled her into his arms. “Then you shall have it. It will give you time to get some clothes made.”

“I own enough, thanks to you.”

“No you don’t. We can go into York next week. I’ll find a chaperone for you, and we’ll behave like any staid affianced couple.”

She laughed, stroking down his body. “Isn’t that too late?”

“Not for respectability. From tonight onward I’ll keep my distance.”

Disappointment made her heart sink. “You won’t come back to bed?”

He grinned. “That’s different. By day I’ll be as staid as any priest.” His face grew serious. “I did not realise your reputation would be put at stake once your status was revealed as guest rather than servant.” He grimaced. “Sometimes I think society makes up rules to please itself. None of it stops this happening. Thank God.”

“Spoken like a man used to privilege.” She trailed her finger down his chest, tracing the perfectly delineated muscles.

He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “You make me very happy, sweetheart. Never allow anyone to tell you otherwise.” He paused, examining her fingers closely, as if he could see something special there. “There is more to tell you, but not now. One hurdle at a time, hmm?”

“If you say so.” What more was there to do? Only a life to live, a shared one, learning about each other and making each other happy. She had fallen in love with a man, not a duke, and if it made him happy for her to learn to be a duchess, she would do so. She’d faced worse. Only one stone remained in her shoe, as far as she could tell. People would gossip, and gossip could cost a lot. Leaning up, she rolled over him, as he had done to her.

“That,” he said, gazing down at her breasts, “is dangerous.”

“I wanted to feel you.”

“Already?” His cock was rising, gaining strength as it reared between her legs.

Ruth laughed, more carefree than for years. Forever, if she paused to think about it. “I’m not sure.” The freedom to speak as she wished was going to her head.

He pressed the back of her head, urging her to rest it on his shoulder. She was only too glad to do so. With their legs twined together, and his breath raising and lowering her rhythmically like a sea swell, she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Never had Ruth woken up with such a sense of wellbeing. She vaguely remembered her lover—for such he was for now—rising when the night was still upon them and dressing swiftly. She recalled the rustle of fabric when he picked up his coat and slung it around his shoulders. He held his shoes, his stockings stuffed inside them, and stared down at her, that smile on his face she had not seen until recently.

When she blinked awake, he bent and kissed her, very gently. “Go back to sleep. I must leave now or the maids will discover me creeping along the corridor.”

When she returned his kiss warmly, he groaned. “I will see you tomorrow, my lovely one.”

She knew no more until she opened her eyes again to full daylight. Stretching, she took a deep breath. When her skin slid against the sheets, she came fully awake. She was naked. She had never slept naked before, and it felt wickedly decadent.

Her body was well used, but he was right, she did not hurt. She was to marry him, to become a duchess! The notion did not seem possible. How could that be? From governess to duchess in one night? More importantly, she had given herself to him and he accepted her. Given himself back.

Sitting up, she threw back the sheets, nearly tripping over the valise someone had dumped by the washstand. She had not unpacked it yet, since it contained her oldest, shabbiest clothes. Her old straw hat was perched on the back of a chair, silently reminding her of where she came from and how far she needed to go. She would keep it, as a reminder.

Perhaps she would write to her parents today. They should know she was about to marry. First she needed to wash.

The scent of their lovemaking clung to her, musky and unmistakable. She picked up the luxuriously large sponge by the washbasin and picked up the enamelled can. The water inside was warm. That meant a maid had been in and delivered it. She’d have tidied up Ruth’s clothes too, Ruth realised belatedly when she noticed the things she’d worn yesterday neatly folded and piled on the sofa by the window.

Her body heated in embarrassment. Whoever it was would have seen Ruth’s state of undress and smelled the redolent aroma, and probably come to the right conclusion. They would be gossiping in the kitchen.

Shyness assaulted her. Perhaps she would not go to breakfast. She would not starve if she missed a meal. The thought of all those stares from the servants daunted her. While she would have to grow accustomed to gossip and stares, she need not do everything at once. Today she would enjoy the memories of last night and try to absorb what was to come. If she took it one step at a time, she would get there. Whatever else happened, she would not become a millstone around Marcus’s neck. She would make him proud of her.

Smiling, because she could do little else, she dressed in one of the gowns she had made over from the collection upstairs. She could use more now, would need to because of her new status. The servants would return here to make the bed and tidy the room properly. With the new compliment of maids and footmen, Ruth could hardly avoid bumping into one of them.

Except in one place.

The silver hairbrush gleamed in the sunlight as she plied it on her soft, light brown hair. Whatever did Marcus see in her? He’d called her beautiful, but the mirror told her otherwise. She would easily pass unnoticed anywhere she was not known, with only her unusual height to differentiate her from anyone else in the crowd. She possessed some pretty features—her eyes, for instance—but not enough. No clear-cut profile or heart-shaped face. Marcus loved her.

As she loved him.

Grasping a handful of pins, she drove them deeply into the bun she coiled tightly at the back of her head, ensuring not a curl would escape. She would appear perfectly neat, her usual self in fact, nothing to encourage even more gossip. Perhaps it was ill-bred of her to worry so, but she would not deny that part of her. One of her mother’s constant sayings was, “What will people think?” That concern led her to disown Rhea, and eventually to Ruth’s defection. How would they take her news? She would write to them today, as was her duty, but perhaps she would not send the letter immediately. Let her absorb the news for herself first, before her parents descended on her.

She left her room on a shudder. To her relief nobody lingered in the corridor outside, so she made her way hurriedly to the library. Nobody came there. She could spend the next few hours—until Marcus spoke to the ladies and probably to d’Argento—in solitude, using the excuse she needed to write letters to her people.

This wing, being the old part of the house, was not frequented by many, but someone had come and dusted recently, so maybe they would leave Ruth alone here. Going to the desk where Marcus usually sat, she took up a pen and a knife, sharpening it with quick movements, and found the ink. There was a writing desk in her new room, but she did not want to lurk there while a maid cleaned around her.

Ruth disliked attention. She was not used to it, and she did not yet know how she would cope, except she would have Marcus by her side. She sucked the end of the pen, wondering what to say before she pulled a sheet of paper towards her.

Used to economising on paper and postage, she kept her message short.

Dear Mother and Father,

I am at the house of the Duke of Lyndhurst, where I ensured your grandchildren were being cared for. Although I planned to travel to London and seek employment as a governess, my plans have changed. I will be marrying the Duke, as soon as he may arrange it. You are welcome to visit if you wish, but we decided to keep the ceremony small and private, to be held in three weeks at the local church.

It occurred to her she did not know the date of her marriage, so she left the letter open. She would add that as soon as she knew and then dispatch the letter. Had they worried about her, looked for her? Or merely shrugged her off, the way they had with Rhea? They had daughters to spare. Surely if they wanted to find her they would have sent a message here?

Her spirits depressed by the reminder of what she’d left behind, Ruth folded the letter and put it in a drawer, ready for her to add the date and ask Marcus to frank it for her. Peers, being members of Parliament, did not pay postal charges. Only people of lesser status did that.

She could go upstairs to the nursery, but she would much rather face people after Marcus made his announcement. Then the household would know for sure of her new status and she would feel more certain. Steadier. Besides, she wanted to dream. Lord knew she had no opportunity in the general run of affairs. She would indulge herself.

After taking a totally frivolous book from the shelves, carefully avoiding the horrors of
Pamela
, Ruth made her way to her favourite alcove. If she lifted her feet and tucked her skirt tightly around her, she could draw the curtain and make her own, private room. She sat back against the soft cushions with a contented sigh and started to read.

She was three chapters in before she heard the door open. Her first instinct was to reveal her presence here, but when she heard a voice, she stayed put.

“How could he do this?” Lady Nerine demanded.

“He has a free choice,” her sister responded. “Nerine, control yourself, otherwise you will deter him forever. We should not be disturbed here.”

A breeze, more sensed than actually felt, passed through the room. Ruth stiffened. She had never noticed draughts in here before and today was sunny. Not a breath of wind stirred the roses outside. The old glass in this mullioned window made them sway when she moved, but apart from that trick of optics, they were perfectly still.

A fluke, it must be, or a bird in the chimney, something of that nature.

Lady Damaris continued to talk to her sister. From the sound of their voices, they were standing at the other end of the room, but Ruth heard them perfectly. Lady Damaris possessed a clear, bell-like voice, while her sister’s tended to the shrill, especially now, when she was agitated.

“You should make him,” Lady Nerine said. “Tell him, Damaris, we are meant for each other. That was what you told me and that was what I expected. Nerine marries Mars. It is always that way.”

“Last time—”

Lady Damaris spoke. “Last time it was not you and it was not him. Last time Mars was French, and his Nerine was Greek. They died together in the explosion. I thought you would never return, but you have. In a way.”

“What do you mean,
in a way
?” Nerine demanded. “Surely he is or he is not.”

Lady Damaris spoke slowly and carefully, obviously in an attempt to calm her sister. What on earth were they talking about? Mars, Nerine? Ruth glanced down at her book. She’d picked up a translation of Ovid’s
Metamorphoses
, legends of gods and goddesses turning into other objects, trees, birds, stags. People, sometimes, going into mortal world in disguise. Stories, myths, that was all they were. Perhaps “Mars” was a nickname Nerine bestowed on Marcus. Ruth knew enough mythology to recognise the name of the wife of Mars. Or in some legends, his sister or his daughter.

Was Lady Nerine deranged and Lady Damaris attempting to console her and calm her? Had Marcus made a better escape than he supposed?

“Nerine, nymphs are not reborn. When they die, they are gone. When you were born, we called you Nerine in her memory. Oh yes, you are a nymph, and a sea nymph at that, but you are not that Nerine born again.” Lady Damaris spoke as if she was explaining something perfectly natural. She must be as insane as her sister.

“You mean I’m not destined to marry him?”

“Not if one of you doesn’t wish it.”

Ruth would stay where she was and pray they did not discover her. God knew what these two would do to her if they discovered her here.

Lady Nerine came closer to Ruth’s hiding place. She held her breath while the lady spoke again. “All my life you told me we were destined for each other.”

“I might have been wrong,” Lady Damaris admitted. “You are young, in truth as well as in the eyes of the world. We can go to London, find you someone else.”

“Someone who wants a nymph?” Lady Nerine cried bitterly. “Who, pray, would that be?”

“D’Argento opened the Pantheon club for immortals like us,” Lady Damaris said.

D’Argento was involved in this insanity?

“Does that mean other gods are there?”

“Yes indeed. He is gathering them back together. Because the explosion happened here, it means most of the Olympian gods are British. They are here, so it makes sense he should come here.”

“He’s one of the old ones, is he not?” Lady Nerine stood so close to the curtain, surely she could hear Ruth trying to control her breathing? If she held her breath, eventually she would have to gasp when she ran out of air. She could not risk that, so she worked hard, thanking the powers that be that she had put on her old, comfortable stays instead of the new, stiffer ones.

“Yes,” Lady Damaris said in answer to her sister’s question. “He is probably five hundred years old. Maybe older. There are too few of them left. Boscobel has a lot to pay for.”

Boscobel? There was a duke of that name, purportedly too ill to appear in public these days. They must mean somebody else. That name was so unusual it stuck in Ruth’s mind.

“He will continue to pay,” said a voice at the door. “Are you certain we’re alone in here?”

“I scanned the room,” Lady Damaris said.

That breeze returned. There must be a draught after all. Ruth marked it in her mind to mention to Mrs. Brindlehurst later.

D’Argento closed the door. “Then you will ensure we continue to be alone.”

“Did you know of this?” Lady Nerine’s skirts swished as she walked across the room.

Ruth breathed out slowly.

“No, but I suspected. If you did not notice the way Lyndhurst looked at Miss Simpson at dinner last night, you are truly blind. Use your human senses instead of your immortal ones. Look, listen and think. He is in love with her.”

“He’d need to be.” That came from Lady Damaris, followed by a laugh. “She’s a mouse of a woman.”

“Only someone of your height would say that,” d’Argento said dryly. “We will come about. Listen to your sister, Nerine. Come to London.”

“How did you know I said that?” Lady Damaris demanded, but her next tones came softer. “Oh, of course. You were listening before you arrived here. D’Argento, you will teach me that trick.”

“Diana, I would be delighted.” He voice came from two places, as if he’d bowed to her. If he had, it would be a mock bow. He’d called her Diana. What was this madness? Ruth needed to talk to Marcus as soon as possible.

“You should come to London. I’ll find your sister a husband. You too, if you should wish it.”

Lady Damaris gave a scoffing laugh. “I am over thirty, in the counting of men. In truth. You cannot find me a husband.”

“You’re also a wealthy woman. Venus has newly married.”

“She was a widow. In the eyes of the world, I’m a spinster.”

D’Argento laughed, and his tones held no mockery. “You are a goddess, and you are an aristocrat. You are also lucky. Now is the time to progress, to develop your future, to be what you should be.”

“What is that? How can I marry a mortal who will die in a few decades? How can I do that?”

“You could marry a god. You could join with me to discover the others. We have only just begun. Where are Ceres, Proserpina, Neptune? I do not know. Do you?”

A pause fell before Lady Damaris said, “You may have the right of it. I may know where one of them is, but I’m not sure.”

“That is why I established the club. It’s a rallying place. Gods are safe there. No Titans are allowed inside and I placed strong barriers to protect us.” His feet clicked as he crossed the old wooden floor. Ruth breathed shallowly before he turned around and walked back in the other direction. “Let Mars take his woman. He loves her. He may be able to convert her to our side. She could become immortal.”

Ruth clapped her hand over her mouth to stop her scream escaping. These people were mad indeed. Her silence might be her only safety. Heaven knew what they would do to her if they discovered her.