Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

S he had not danced in years, and the euphoria of frolicking over and over took her breath away. She had to stop, one hand to her chest. "I'm not used to this."

"No matter. We will rest." He took her wrist and led her off the sawdust floor. "You fainted earlier today. I don't want to have to carry you home!"

She sputtered in delight. "You're such an old man now. You'd sprain your back."

"Is that so?" He plunked his hands on his hips. "Who says?"

She pointed to herself.

Suddenly, she shrieked. She was off her feet in his arms and choking in laughter. One hand around his shoulders, she cupped his bristly cheek. "You are the most wonderful creature. I never forgot you."

A few noticed that the earl had his arms full of the lady who visited him.

He strode with her like Galahad through the throngs.

"Put me down, Ford. They're watching."

"Let them."

He wended his way past the last of the revelers and set off down the lane toward Barlow Hall.

"You must put me down or you will hurt your back. I am heavy."

"Canon, my dear, are indeed lighter."

She grabbed the collar of his waistcoat. "You exaggerate."

"Why would I do that?"

"Really. Ford! Put me down."

"No." The lane was dark, secluded, bowered by old fir trees and ash trees, their limbs swaying, their leaves bristling in the night air.

"You are going to hurt yourself."

He grunted and took steps off the lane toward the cover of the ancient forest. Then he let her slide down his torso and pressed her to the trunk of a tree. Hands up on either side of her head, he lowered his own. His marvelous mouth was a breath away. "Kiss me."

She opened her mouth then snapped it shut.

"Kiss me."

"That's dangerous."

"Prove it."

All her reserve drifted off in the breeze. "If I do, I might not stop and?—"

His eyes, aglow in the moonlight, flashed wide. "Then what?"

The devil tempted her at that moment because she said, "I'll want more tomorrow."

"Let's see if that's true." He brushed his lips on hers. He tasted of ale and all the promises of happiness she'd needed but never heard from anyone.

For all the years she had lived celibate and uncomplaining, his claim was her vindication. His mouth was warm and searching. His desire sweet and at once scorching. His hands were at her back, along her spine, then one to her derriere the other crushing her every curve to his every plane.

"I adore you," he said in the space between one set of kisses. "I never forgot," was another.

"Let's go home," she managed as his lips took a path down her chest.

"I like you here."

"Too cold," she managed between the second it took him to inch down her bodice and expose one cold begging breast.

"Too far," he said as he licked her nipple, and she sagged against him.

"Not standing up." She remembered the things he could do to her if she were prone and he were between her legs.

His fingers worked at her skirts.

"Not here!" She pushed him away.

He blinked. His black hair dangling in his eyes. "You're right," he beamed and grabbed her hand. "Come on, my girl. Nothing like a good run to stir your blood before we have fun!"

She groaned. "You are an ogre!"

"I'm about to prove how bad I really am!"

She barked in laughter and jogged with him down the dark path to home.

Up the front steps, inside in a rush, they paused in the front hall. With the family butler down at the festivities, they cocked their heads to listen to the rhythms of the house.

His mother and her aunt must've gone to bed.

A rustle in the far servants' stairs had them turning to each other, brows up in question.

"A mouse," he whispered.

"Ouuuu," she shivered.

"Tomorrow we'll set a trap. For now…." He pointed toward the great hall and tugged her to follow him.

They ran through the massive medieval room and into a small alcove.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

He pushed open a panel in the carved wooden wall. "Opening secret stairs!"

"Oh, joy!" She hurried behind him and watched him close up the wall. "Who used them?"

"Kings and queens and my brothers with their ladies!"

At the landing, she sobered and yanked at his coattails. "I'm not one of yours, am I?"

He frowned. "One of my what?"

She arched both brows.

"No, Vic." He patted the end of her nose and pulled her hand to harry her up the steps. "If you will just pick up the pace, you will be my only lover."

In two steps, he thrust open an old door that creaked so loudly the two of them froze with the screech of it. "Come, come!" he urged her.

They took two steps.

And voila ! They were behind a sturdy door, kicked closed and loudly locked.

He had her once more pressed against a hard surface. He was even more delectably hard.

Her sexual experience was only of that one night they'd shared. Those glorious hours, she thought she remembered so well. His hands searching and kneading her arms, his fingertips stroking and caressing and holding her breasts. His lips following all the sweet little touches with hot wet kisses. The enormous gasps of joy he could elicit from her.

The ecstasy of seeing him, his broad chest in the moonlight. The rack of his ribs. The contours of his hip bones as he dropped his breeches and she gasped at the fullness of him.

His length. Standing tall. Pointed at her. Seeking what she'd give. Giving what she desired.

How could that be? That joining. That mutual gift of love and caring.

He was naked, all dark skin and sculpted muscle. While she still had on her gown, though it was down around her waist.

"Let's get this off," he said, his fingers darting for the laces while his lips found skin he'd not yet licked or nipped or sucked.

With much tugging and cursing and pulling, she was free at last. Naked to him, an offering to match his.

"Lovely!" he declared, hands on his hips. Then he upended her, flung her over his shoulder and marched past his sitting room to his bedroom. In a whoosh, his big, soft, comfortable bed was at her back. Like a creature of the night, he crawled over her and kissed her quick. "You are going to marry me."

The words thrilled and challenged. Might she do that now that so much had changed in their lives? "That Wingfield girl has a different idea."

He lifted her chin. "My darling, she is wrong. Always has been. Here on a lark. My mother's."

She winced. "Let's not disc?—"

"We won't." He slithered down her torso to settle between her legs. "Now then. To this business."

"Business?" She lifted her head to see him grinning up at her from over her mound.

"That of making you my wife."

"You need a license and Owen for that."

He spread her thighs wide and blew cool air on her most private parts. "This is our private ceremony."

"No witnesses," she said in sighing satisfaction.

"Mmm. Intruders on the proceedings. No. Now do be quiet."

"Lie back, shall I?"

"Yes, darling. Think of?—"

"The king?"

"If you wish." Then he applied himself most diligently. Got to work, as it were. Long minutes later, he kissed her lips as he prepared to become part of her. "Have a suggestion for me to think of while it is my turn to become…uh…patriotic?"

"Of course."

"What is it?" he asked as he inserted the hot slick length of him inside her.

She had absolutely no idea.