Chapter Thirteen

H e walked quickly out of the chamber, his wooden-soled shoes clattering down the stone steps in his haste. Kitty stood in the centre of the room, weak with relief and awkward with shame.

Her ruse had worked. Guy had left her alone, which meant she could take possession of her jewels. At last, she had found a way.

But at what cost?

Masquerading as a servant was one thing. Today, her duplicity had reached new heights. Little had she realised what influence she wielded over the earl. He was powerful and wealthy, while she stood before him with chapped fingers and a maid's apron. But then his body had yielded to her soothing hands. Suddenly he was pliant and biddable. As his customary alertness was replaced by clumsy, smouldering passion, she had spied the saddlebag and known, instinctively, that she must press this unforeseen advantage. Even though the territory was unexplored. Even though with every breath she took, she longed to give herself over to the fantasy she was spinning between them. A man and a woman, free to be together, wanting only each other.

Though Guy's mention of the sea had been a stroke of luck.

Kitty bit down on her lip. She was deceitful, dishonest, all the things she hated. But if she didn't move soon, it would have all been for naught.

Far below her, an outer door banged shut. Was it Guy leaving for the cove, or Thomas returning? Kitty couldn't dally a moment longer. She ran over to the writing desk and turned over the saddlebag in her hands. The leather was soft and supple, but the buckle was stiff. It would be easier to take the whole thing, but the saddlebag belonged to Guy and Kitty only wanted what was hers. Plus, if the saddlebag remained where it was, the jewels may not be so quickly missed. Her fingers shook with anxiety. Finally, the buckle opened, and she tipped out the contents.

There they were, the Answick jewels. Still in the familiar cloth bag which carried the faint scent of Shoreston.

Kitty's heart pounded. This was the moment she'd been hoping for, ever since father handed the jewels over to the strange man in the carriage. But now the man wasn't strange to her—he was kind and respectful. He had demons but he also had integrity. The sound of his voice made her heart leap. And she was on the cusp of betraying him.

Would he have returned the jewels to her if she had confessed her true identity? Mayhap he would. Now that she knew him better, she could almost believe it. But if she took them now, she would never know.

Her stomach churned with indecision. To give him this opportunity, she must tell him the truth. She was the daughter of Owain the drunkard. Her own father had gambled her away.

No. It couldn't be done. She couldn't bear to see the pity shining from his dark eyes. Once he knew who she was, he would never again look at her with respect, let alone desire.

She dropped the jewels into her apron pocket as unshed tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

*

He had kicked off his shoes and his feet were bare like his muscular chest. He stood in the shallows with the waves rushing up over his toes, his breeches rolled up above his knees. A smile played across his handsome face and the sun shone down on him like a blessing.

He had never been so attractive, nor so unobtainable.

Kitty crept along the beach, shame pulsating through her. She was a petty thief. A common criminal. She had been in his employ under false pretences all along, but now there was no turning back. She had hidden the jewels inside her closet, knowing as she fastened the door that this must be her final day at Rossfarne Castle. She had a half day this afternoon and low tide was expected at sunset, meaning the causeway would be passable. Her fate was sealed.

She should be full of joy, for she had done what she set out to achieve. Rosalind's future was once again bright with possibility. But a small voice had started up in her ear and it would not be silenced.

"What about your own future?" it whispered. "What about Guy?"

But Guy had no place in her future. He had never been hers, and now he never would be.

He turned towards her, breaking through her thoughts with a smile as warm as the day. "You have come, at last."

"It took a while for me to gather a change of clothes."

Her arms were full of his things. A soft blue shirt and long breeches which she'd hurriedly grasped on her flight from his chamber. The masculine scent of him was impressed upon them; she'd been breathing him in since leaving the outer walls.

"No matter." He gestured impatiently. "Come and enjoy the water. It is very refreshing."

She looked around for somewhere to keep his dry clothes and spotted a long, flat stone which would suffice. She folded them neatly and placed them down, painfully aware that this could be the final service she would perform for him.

She had nursed his strong body back to health. Felt his muscular arms closing around her. And now she was planning to sneak away from his castle.

It would be improper to go and stand with him, as if they were equals, friends, or even something more. Yesterday she would have refused, citing work in the kitchen or perhaps a headache. But she had abandoned propriety when she deliberately ran her hands down the length of his spine, delighting in his response.

And she might never get another chance to stand at his side.

She kicked off her pattens and her stockinged feet sank into the soft sand. It was difficult to walk, but she crossed the beach with as much dignity as she could muster, hovering just behind him when her courage failed.

He didn't turn to face her, but he was aware of her presence, she could tell by the set of his shoulders.

"Have you removed your stockings?"

She blushed, even though he was looking away from her. "No, my lord."

"You should. I can't imagine how dreadful it would be to paddle in stockings."

Her pulse began to pound. Her body became as warm within as the parts exposed to the bright sun. "I was not intending to paddle."

"That's a shame, on a day like this." Now he turned, and the impish smile on his face chased away her prim concerns. "After all, there's only the two of us here."

She shouldn't do it. But she was going to. The sun was hot and relentless. Her dress was clinging and restrictive. What harm could it do to allow herself the slightest breeze?

"Don't look," she cautioned.

He swung his gaze back to the waves. "I will not."

She wobbled with the effort of pulling off her first stocking. When it eventually came away, she fell into the soft sand with a small grunt, but Guy kept his promise and didn't turn. She stayed where she was to remove the second, forsaking etiquette in a sudden urge to be free.

The sand felt glorious beneath her toes. Warm, but wonderful. She strode out to the shallows and squealed with surprise as the cold water rushed over her feet, soaking the hem of her dress.

"It's good, isn't it?" He looked at her sideways.

"Very good." The tide drew back, leaving her feet firmly planted in the sodden sand. She half closed her eyes, giving herself over to the moment. "I haven't set foot in the sea since I was a child."

"Me neither. But today, that changes."

Without further warning, Guy lunged forwards and dived into a coming wave, surfacing moments later with rivulets of saltwater cascading down his muscular torso. Her lips parted at the vision. She should look away, but her eyes were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He laughed and shook the spray from his shock of hair before jumping in once more and gliding beneath the surface of the sparkling sea.

It was as if she had stepped into a different world, where the usual rules didn't apply. There was only the bright, searing sunlight, the crashing of the waves and the distant call of the gulls. Only Guy, uninhibited from pain and unbound from decorum. Splashing in the water like a young man without a care.

"Kitty, it's glorious." He rose from the waves like some mighty deity, all rippling muscles and bronzed flesh. "Come join me."

She laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea. "You know I cannot."

He walked steadily towards her, his fingertips cresting the waves. "I know of no such stipulation."

Her mouth went dry with sudden longing. She wanted to tell him to stop. To come no nearer. With every step, he unleashed a sort of tension deep inside her core.

He reached out for her hand, and at the touch of his fingers she knew she was lost to propriety.

"My dress will be ruined," she tried one last time.

He pulled her gently towards him, into the shallows. "Have you no other?"

She had but one other, and she should know better. But it was already too late. Her skirts grew heavy with water and then floated up around her. The cold rushed up her calves, making her gasp with surprise and delight. Suddenly, the urge to lower herself into the revitalising waves was overwhelming. She bent her knees, marvelled at the sensation of water rising around her thighs, and allowed herself to fall back. She straightened her legs and leaned back on her hands, delighting in the ebb and flow of the foam. Luxuriating in the release from oppressive heat. Her skirts swam up and around her, but she didn't care. She shaded her eyes from the sun and found Guy gazing back at her with steady approval.

"You should come in further."

"I cannot swim." She worried briefly that her casual confession might have given away the circumstances of her upbringing since it was considered ill bred for a lady to know how to swim…but even the low-born daughter of the cordwainer—a girl the same age as Kitty—had stood in the shallows and watched her brothers splashing in the sea during the hot summers of their childhood. Mayhap it was something few daughters were allowed to enjoy, regardless of their birth.

"Then I shall come to you."

He splashed towards her, his soaked breeches clinging to every bulging muscle. She allowed her eyes to rest on the flat plane of his stomach and felt again that fluttering tension wriggle inside her. Her breath shortened and her heart beat faster against her ribs. She grew conscious of her ridiculous, water-laden skirts, her flushed cheeks and the cap which had moulded to her head with sea water.

Newly emboldened, she pulled it off and flung it behind her in the direction of Guy's folded clothes, not bothering to look to check where it landed. The rush of release as the faint breeze stirred through her hair was as liberating as the saltwater rushing about her bare legs. She ran her wet fingers through her long curls, uncaring that Guy was watching her.

She would give him this and more.

If he placed her now as Owain's daughter, then so much the better. At least that would give her the opportunity to be honest.

"You should always wear your hair loose."

She pushed a long tendril back over her shoulder. "I doubt Cook would approve."

"Then it is lucky for us both that we are not in view of the castle."

His words sank through her like a stone. She swallowed hard as rational thought rose up to quell her spiralling passions. She had already burned one bridge when she took the jewels from Guy's bedchamber. Would she so willingly burn more by giving up her virtue? With a man who did not know her real name?

"Kitty," he breathed, as if to prove her wrong. "In a moment, I'm going to kiss you. If you don't want me to do so, you must speak up."

Here was her final chance then, to return to her family a pure maid.

But what benefit would purity bring her, when she never hoped to marry? Never wanted to marry?

She couldn't imagine ever wanting another man. There was only Guy. This would be her last chance to know what it was to be loved.

She surrendered her purity readily, cupping her cold hands around his warm cheeks and drawing him towards her.

"I want you to kiss me," she said. A surging wave ran up her bodice, urging her on.

His face lowered to hers. She knew instantly that this would be no chaste, exploratory meeting of lips. Not sweet. Not hesitant. His mouth claimed hers with an urgency that took her breath away. She sank against him, grateful for his muscular arm snaking around her back, giving her strength she could lean against.

His tongue moved against her lips, and she parted them eagerly, gasping at the thrill as his tongue found hers. He pulled her closer as a wave crashed over them both, soaking them through. Drenching salt water cascaded down her kirtle, like a fast-flowing river. Guy laughed and brushed back her dishevelled hair.

"I think we should move out of the water," he said, his voice low and rough.

She tried to stand but her heavy skirts pulled her back down into the slippery, soft sands. Instantly his strong hands were beneath her, lifting her to safety. She balanced herself against him as the waves crashed against their legs and once again his warm lips found hers. His arms gripped her tightly and before she knew what was happening, he had scooped her up and was carrying her up the beach.

"Your arm," she protested.

"Hush," he growled in reply. But he shifted her in his grasp so that his left arm was merely beneath her knees with his other arm bearing most of her weight. She let her head fall against his salt-flecked shoulders, tasted the sea upon his sun-baked flesh. He stifled a groan as her tongue moved against the hollows in his neck. "You drive me wild with longing."

Good. She had no experience of such things, but she implicitly wanted to give him pleasure.

He carried her to where the rearing cliffs cast some welcome shade onto the hot sand, sank to his knees and lowered her gently down. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he whispered, gazing into her eyes.

In answer she rose up on her elbows and kissed him deeply. He groaned out loud as he wrapped his arms around her, and she allowed her hands to travel across the muscular expanse of his chest. Kitty had always been tall, but crushed in his embrace, she felt dainty and feminine.

He pushed himself to the side, keeping one hand securely in the small of her back and with the other, he began to carefully unlace her kirtle. She wriggled at his slow pace, wanting to feel the warmth of his hands on her flesh, but he chuckled softly and spoke against her mouth.

"All in good time, my sweet girl."

At last, the clinging material loosened away from her. He parted the gown and ran his hands over her shoulder blades, skimming his fingers beneath the straps of her chemise. A coil of tension grew tighter in her core.

"Guy," she whispered, twisting her fingers in his thick, water-logged hair.

He lowered his face to her breasts, only the thin fabric of her chemise coming between his hot breath and her untouched flesh. Then he rose up, leaving her momentarily bereft, and reached out to fully open her kirtle, moving all the time with unhurried, sensual slowness. His eyes travelled hungrily down the length of her body, lingering over her breasts and the darkness between her thighs. She followed his eyeline and flinched when she realised her chemise had grown transparent with seawater.

"You are beautiful," he said. Then he dipped his head and took the rosy nub of her breast inside his warm mouth, sucking and pulling, exploring all he could. Kitty writhed with new longing, arching her back against him and closing her eyes in ecstasy. His hand travelled down her body, over the swell of her hips and the concave dip of her belly, to rest just above where the new cravings of her body told her she most wanted him.

She wriggled in the sand, needing to tip his fingers lower, but with his other hand he caressed her left breast, stroking with his fingers and tickling her with his tongue. Her breath came in hot, jagged bursts when he once again took her tender nipple inside his mouth.

Now, at last, his lower hand was moving, slipping downwards between her legs. The salty wetness of her chemise chafed at her thighs, and as if divining that this would be no good, Guy reached down and hitched up her underskirt. She sighed with deep relief as his gentle probing finally found her curls. A delicious tension was spreading out inside her, suffusing her limbs with heavy passion. His lips lowered to hers for the briefest kiss and then suddenly, his fingers were inside her.

She gasped with surprise and understanding. This was what she had wanted. How did he know how to touch her in such a precise way? It was as if she'd been made with the curve of his fingers in mind. Tension mounted in her core and for a moment, she couldn't hear the waves or the gulls, she forgot about her wet dress and the cool sand, all she could feel was Guy's touch and her urgent need for him. Waves of pleasure rippled over her as her body raced towards a destination she didn't understand. But oh, when she arrived, the release was sudden and startling and all-consuming. He stilled his fingers but stayed inside her as she clenched tightly around him, her lips parting in surprise.

"Beautiful, beautiful," he murmured, skimming his lips across her clavicle and then laying his head down beside hers.

Kitty blinked, struggling to catch her breath. Her heart pounded as the world steadied around her.

Guy gently removed his hand, stroking her body as he brought it back up to her shoulders and pulled her towards him.

"Is all well, Kitty?" he asked.

She had no words and no voice to say them with. She could only move closer into his embrace, fitting her head beneath his shoulder blades where it seemed to belong.

"Talk to me," he urged, lifting her chin and gazing into her eyes.

Did he expect to see regret in her gaze? He could look forever without finding it, for she had none. She had made her choice when they stood together in the waves, nay, earlier, when she ran her fingers along his muscled shoulders and felt him quiver at her touch. But she had never anticipated the execution of that choice to be so…wonderful.

This handsome man had touched the secret parts of her. She had given herself to him. He'd taken her to heights of pleasure she'd never dreamed of, and now he asked if she was well.

She pressed her lips to his. "I never thought it could be like that."

His hand moved into her hair. "It isn't always. Only when two people really," he paused, "want to be together."

She traced circles on his chest, enjoying the way he responded to her touch and shocked by her own daring. Her hand moved lower, towards the flat plane of his stomach, and she heard his breath catch in his throat.

"I want to be with you," she whispered. "And I want to give you pleasure, like you just did for me."

He groaned, but reached out to still her exploratory touch.

"I would like that very much," he chuckled, interlacing his fingers with hers and flattening her palm against his ribs. "Believe me."

"Then why do you stop me?" She pushed herself onto her elbows and looked down upon him, at the curve of his lips, the strong arch of his cheekbones and his dark eyes, flashing with desire.

"To give you a chance to reconsider." He sat up, drawing her against him. "What we have done so far…" He pursed his lips. "Kitty, you are still a maid. Still intact for your wedding night." He dropped a light kiss on her mouth to stop her protest.

"I will never marry," she protested. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything. "It matters not. I only want you."

"And I you," he spoke against her shoulder. "And I will be unable to resist you for much longer." He pulled away from her and glanced down towards his breeches. "Do you not see the effect you have on me?"

She followed his gaze to where a significant bulge strained at the wet fabric. Acting purely on impulse, she reached out her hand and stroked it with her fingers. At once, Guy groaned. A deep, guttural sound.

Emboldened, she spanned out her hand and ran it down the length of him, delighting in his clenched muscles, his thinly held restraint.

"Stop, I beg you," he whispered. "I would not ravish you here, where the midday sun threatens to scorch your flesh."

He was right. The small amount of shade they had enjoyed was disappearing rapidly as the sun rose higher in the sky.

"Where then?" she breathed.

His eyes bored into hers and she held his gaze, proving her intentions. She would not stop now, for all his fine words.

"There is only one place in the castle where we are guaranteed privacy."

"The tower room," she guessed, uncaring, so long as she might show him how much he meant to her. Before she left him, forever.

He paced over to the pile of clothes, sunlight dancing on his toned flesh. "You should put this on." He held out the shirt she had brought for him. "I do not believe the dress is salvageable."

It was a sodden mess of sand and saltwater, pulled all out of shape and heavy in her hands.

"But what about you?"

He smiled, lighting her desires afresh. "I am the Earl of Rossfarne. If I fancy a dip in the sea and return to the castle half clothed afterward, who is to stop me?"

She bit down on her lip. "I have no such freedoms."

He helped her on with the shirt, buttoning it securely to cover her decency. She breathed in the scent of him. If only she might keep it, always.

He cleared his throat. "There is a separate door. If you reach the castle from the cove and head straight for the north tower, you will see it." His grip tightened on her shoulder. "But no one will see you."

Her heart thudded inside her. This would have been where the old earl took his wanton women—as well as scared girls from the village, compelled to comply with his enforcement of Prima Nocta. And now she was preparing to follow in their footsteps.

"I will go in the usual way. And I will meet you at the tower room," he paused. "Unless you change your mind."