Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

N ic lifted his head, listening. The sounds of running feet and a body crashing through the undergrowth had faded, and now the usual silence lay over the woods. Whoever had fired the shot had made his escape.

"Are you hurt?" came a whisper. He felt Olivia touching his face, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his skin.

"No." He rolled off her and gave her a humorless smile. "I'm sorry I jumped on you."

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, looking around. "Who was it?"

"I don't know."

"Could it have been Wilson, your gamekeeper?" she said, no doubt remembering the night the fool had threatened to shoot them.

"No. If it was, he'd have come to make sure we were unharmed. Whoever fired that shot didn't want to be seen and he certainly didn't want to be caught."

Nic climbed to his feet, and reached down to help her up .

She was disheveled, a leaf in her hair, and a streak of earth across her sleeve. The thought that she'd been in danger made him furiously angry, and although there was nothing he could do about it just now, he was coldly determined to discover who'd been trespassing on his land. And when he did, he promised himself he'd punish them, personally.

"Nic, why did you want to meet here?"

Olivia was on her way back toward the clearing where the stone stood. She paused to shake out her skirts and brush them down, and Nic frowned and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the folded note.

"Didn't you send this to me?"

"Send what?" She turned, and he opened the note and read it aloud to her. There was a silence while she stared at him in bewilderment. "But you sent the same thing to me! Well, almost the same." She took the paper and read it herself, then peered more closely at the penmanship. "I didn't write this. It is very like, but . . . I know I didn't write it."

"And I certainly didn't write telling you to meet me here," Nic said quietly.

Olivia shivered and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Do you think someone brought us here on purpose?"

"It would seem so."

"But why? The scandal is already common knowledge, and we have announced our marriage. "

"I don't think it was to cause a scandal, Olivia." He looked down into her eyes. "Someone was trying to frighten us."

"Or harm us?" she said.

"They missed, remember. At such close range, they must have missed on purpose."

"Oh Nic . . ."

"I know I'm not a popular man," he said dryly, "but I can't see why anyone would want to shoot at me. The only virgin I've ruined lately is you." His mouth curled into a smile. "You don't think your mother—"

"No, I do not! Nic, this is no laughing matter."

He kissed her lips, just a brush of his to hers. "I know it's not. Forgive me, my sweet."

She turned away again, shoulders stiff with disapproval, and walked across the clearing to halt by the pagan stone. Nic followed more slowly, watching the sway of her hips, enjoying the muted glow of her hair in the gloom.

"I often wondered what went on here," he said, and paced around the stones, allowing his hand to trail across the smooth, worn surface of the lintel stone. "Fertility rites? What do you think, Olivia? Did our village ancestors dance naked under the stars, taking their pleasure where they fell?"

Her eyes widened. "You mean . . . ?"

"An orgy? Yes, why not? They'd be masked, of course, to intensify the excitement and the mystery."

"Yes," she said wryly, "I can see if you lived in a village you'd prefer not to know who you were lying with, in case it was your butcher or your baker."

"Or the vicar."

She looked shocked, and Nic chuckled.

"Do you think they made sacrifices on this stone?" she went on, recovering.

"No. I think the only sacrifices here were ones of the flesh. A willing maiden laid out for the master to enjoy."

She shivered, but he didn't think it was from fear.

"Here," he said, and moved around to stand beside her. "Climb up."

Olivia hesitated, her eyelashes shielding her eyes. She licked her lips, like a wild animal in danger, and he felt himself grow hard. He clasped his hands about her waist before she could protest, and lifted her onto the stone. She leaned against him, and he rested his cheek against the softness of her breasts, breathing in her scent.

"What if he comes back?"

"Why should he? He's done what he set out to do."

He clasped her hip, pressing her rounded flesh through her skirts and petticoats, and then slid his hand down her thigh. She lifted his face to hers and began to kiss him, slowly, taking her time, enjoying herself. Nic delved beneath her skirts, working his way toward his goal.

He could sense the tension in her, the excitement, as he drew closer. And then his fingers slid inside and Olivia gasped, a slave to her body's demands and Nic's clever fingers, as he began stroking her slick flesh. She groaned against his mouth.

"Nic," she whispered. "Would it be wrong of me to admit that I want you?"

He grinned. "Very wrong indeed," he teased, retaking her mouth with his. He tasted her passion, felt her need for him as she wrapped her arms about his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him closer against her.

He thought about taking her now, him standing up, but he'd already decided to continue with the fantasy of the willing sacrifice, and he didn't want to spoil it for either of them.

"Imagine it's nighttime," he began, his breathing ragged against her throat, "with the sky full of stars. The master stands over you, masked. He is touching you, just like this . . ." She gasped. "There are others here, and they want to touch you, too, but he won't allow it. You belong to him and only him."

She reached down to where his cock strained inside his trousers, rubbing her hand against him. "And he belongs to me," she whispered, and he heard her smile.

Nic laid her down, arranging her on the stone—it was strangely warm—and then climbed up with her, straddling her as he unbuttoned his trousers. She watched, eyes half closed, waiting to see what he would do. Nic knew he needed to be inside her. The danger they'd been in, the possibility of death, was pushing him to take her now.

When he positioned himself above her, she slid her thigh along his, eager to have him inside her, but perversely he held back, if only to prove to himself that he could.

Slowly he unhooked her bodice, licking her pale skin as he uncovered her lush curves, and then fastening upon her nipples, giving each of them equal time. She arched against him, her eyes closed, her face flushed. He wondered if she was there, in their fantasy, in the starfilled night. Nic reached down to stroke her again, teasing her with promises of fulfillment, and then taking his fingers away.

"Nic, please," she whimpered.

"Master," he reminded her.

"Master, please," she cried, not ashamed to throw herself into their game. "Make me yours. Now. While the moon is full and—and the stars are watching."

Nic laughed. He couldn't remember laughing before at such a point in lovemaking—he'd always been too focused on control—but now he was filled with joy. Olivia reached up and touched his lean cheek, her eyes bright and understanding.

"Take me, master," she said, and smiled.

He entered her with one deep thrust. She cried out with sheer delight. He groaned, moving hard, willing himself to hold on, to make it last, but it was too late. He was already shuddering with the beginnings of his ecstasy, just as she reached her own peak, her muscles squeezing him and prolonging his pleasure.

It was perfect.

They stayed a moment, enjoying the afterglow, until the chill of the air began to seep in through their flesh, and he remembered how vulnerable they were to prying eyes. Nic swung himself down from the stone, lifting Olivia with him.

"I will never be nervous in this place again," she said, straightening her clothing. "There are only good memories here now."

He met her gaze, suddenly serious. "Don't mention what happened here to anyone."

Olivia bit her lip, eyes alight with laughter.

"No, minx, I don't mean this ," he waved his hand at the stone. "I meant the gunshot, the trespasser. Say nothing. I will try and discover his identity myself, and it would be better to avoid any more scandal."

Olivia agreed and, with a long, parting kiss, he left her at the edge of the woods to make her way back to Mother Eggin's cottage. Nic stood for a time, watching over her. There was a mystery here, he thought. If it wasn't an accident, then someone wished them ill. He knew he had enemies, but he wouldn't have thought they were the kind to do something like this.

Was it a coincidence? The notes forged by one person, a scandalmonger, and the shot fired by someone else entirely. Some lunatic who thought he was shooting rabbits, and had frightened himself as much as them. Nic decided he'd instruct Wilson to take on an apprentice, just to be certain, though he doubted such a man would be back. Still, he made a mental note to watch out for any of the villagers who couldn't meet his eyes next time they came facetoface.