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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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The Countess Lends a Hand

Copyright © 2008 by Bonnie Dee

ISBN: 978-1-60504-270-1

Edited by Linda Ingmanson

Cover by Anne Cain

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2008

www.samhainpublishing.com

The Countess Lends a Hand

Bonnie Dee

Dedication

A big thanks to my critique partner Kate Rothwell, for all her useful suggestions.

Chapter One

“Madame, may I have a word with you, s’il vous plaît?”

La Comtesse de Chevalier turned from gazing out the window of her salon to face her lady’s maid and companion. It wasn’t like Cecile to engage her in conversation, and her tone was serious.

“Is something the matter, Cecile?”

The woman’s countenance was as serene as usual. But no, perhaps there was a tightening in her lips, a slight frown creasing her smooth forehead. Could it be that she was upset, maybe even planning to end her service? What would Meredith ever do without her?

Cecile bit her lower lip, betraying nervousness, an emotion her mistress had never seen her display. “I could use your counsel, Madame, about a matter of the heart.”

Meredith’s eyes widened. When did Cecile have time for a personal life? She rarely left the estate or the townhouse when they were in London.

“Or not the heart precisely,” she continued, “but about the possibility of securing a paramour.”

Meredith couldn’t have been more surprised if her lover, Christopher had walked into the room and announced he planned to follow in his father’s footsteps and seek a seat in Parliament. She blinked to see if the image of Cecile twisting her hands together, self-possessed Cecile actually anxious, would dissolve like a dream.

“You wish to take a lover, and you’re asking me for advice?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Please, sit down.” Meredith gestured her to one of the small, gilt chairs and settled on another, determined not to display her shock at Cecile’s request. For her maid to break her habitual reserve and come to Meredith like this, her desire must be very keen. “May I ask if there is a particular reason you’ve come to this decision…or a particular person you have in mind?”

“Yes to both, Madame.” Cecile’s light gray-green eyes—eyes that could instantly assess the appropriate accoutrements for any gown—were trained on the carpet. Her long-fingered hands—hands that could expertly curl and twist Meredith’s hair into elaborate designs in the blink of an eye—smoothed the folds of her dove gray skirt over her lap.

“You see, over the past year I’ve begun having…different thoughts and feelings about my life and my future.”

And you don’t want to spend the rest of your life as my maid, Meredith guessed, embarrassed that she’d never quite thought of Cecile as a real person with hopes and dreams of her own. Most of their conversations tended to be one-sided.

“I realize it is most inappropriate of me to broach this subject with you, Madame, but I think, over the years, we’ve become close and, quite honestly, you are my one friend.”

Meredith’s heart clenched at the soft admission. “Mon amie, you know I’ve never been what one would consider orthodox. I want you to feel comfortable confiding in me, as I have in you so many times in the past. Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

There was a pause in which only the clicking pendulum of the mantel clock disturbed the silence before Cecile began.

“I’ve seen how you’ve changed since Mr. Whitby came into your life. Before him, despite all your wealth and power and…revelry, you were not happy. Now you glow.”

Meredith nodded, glowing inside at the very mention of Christopher. She had set out to change his life, but he’d ended up becoming the center of hers. She hadn’t meant for that to happen, to become so dependent for her happiness on another. It was frightening.

Cecile shrugged. “Of course, I don’t expect to find true love. But I should like to experience an intimate relationship with a man, if only briefly. My life is such that it is not easy for me to find the time or opportunity to make that kind of a connection.”

“Because you’re at my beck and call, night and day. Oh, my dear, I never thought—”

“It is my place to serve you, Madame, and I’m glad to do so. But someone in my position might go her entire life without knowing the joys of”—she cleared her throat—“the flesh. And I would, just once, like to experience that.”

“Yes, I can understand that.” It was true, a genteel woman like Cecile, with her mysterious past, might spend her life in service. Outclassing the other servants but beneath the family, such a woman occupied a lonely place somewhere in the middle.

Meredith remembered her childhood governess, Miss Dawson, a gentlewoman who’d fallen on hard times. She’d seemed a sexless spinster then, but now Meredith remembered the abrupt nature of the woman’s dismissal and the whispers quickly hushed whenever Meredith had entered the room. Had there been an affair involved?

“You have a specific man in mind then?” Her curiosity was piqued as she wondered what kind of man might have caught the stoic Cecile’s attention.

A pink flush colored her pale complexion and she dipped her head. “Oui, a man I have seen but never spoken to, someone I would never have the opportunity to meet, not without your introduction.”

“I see.” Meredith was more intrigued than ever by the identity of the man who had brought Cecile to such a state. “Who is it? You have me on tenterhooks!”

“Sir Nathaniel Covington.”

Meredith nearly laughed aloud, but produced a choked cough instead. “Oh.”

“You must think I’ve lost my wits. Not only am I asking for your assistance with a most intimate matter, but the man I’ve set my sights on is clearly unattainable.”

The Earl of Hillshire’s second son, a decorated officer, knighted after the battle of Waterloo, wasn’t remotely whom Meredith would have guessed. She’d imagined Cecile would have taken a fancy to someone she saw fairly frequently, someone more suitable to her station.

“Nothing’s unattainable, but it may take considerable machination to achieve your goal.” Meredith leaned forward and rested her hand on Cecile’s knee. “A task I am more than willing to undertake on your behalf, my dear. You have been my confidante during many difficult times in my life. I want to help you achieve your desire.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Cecile’s rare smile lit her oval face and made her pale eyes shine. She was really a very striking woman, although Meredith had rarely noticed it.

“You deserve happiness, and I’m sorry if I’ve been thoughtless in my regard for you. All these years you’ve been a very devoted friend, much more than a servant, and I fear I haven’t returned the favor. I shall make it up to you now, starting with outfitting you in a new wardrobe.”

Her mind raced as she imagined all that must be done to help Cecile achieve her goal. New dresses and coiffure were only the beginning. “We shall have to invent an identity. Perhaps I can introduce you as a relative from my late husband’s family, come to visit.”

“A false identity? I hadn’t thought—”

“A weekend party with Covington as one of the guests will be an absolute necessity,” Meredith continued. “And after that, if necessary, we’ll spend time in London so you may have more opportunities to bump into him.”

Cecile’s cheeks had turned from pink to pale again. “I imagined an assignation of some type, but to actually attempt such a complicated charade—”

“Nonsense!” Meredith took her hand and squeezed it. “You can do this. Change is always frightening, but if this is really what you want, you must attempt it.”

Cecile nodded, but her mouth was tense.

If I could but follow that advice myself, she thought. Taking the next step, the one she knew Chris wanted, was too hard. Every day she avoided talk of marriage, and the more time passed, the harder it grew to discuss the subject. If she’d been with child last year as she’d thought, she would have married him, but when the pregnancy turned out to be a false alarm, everything had changed.

“Cecile, give me some time to come up with a course of action, but meanwhile, send for the dressmaker today. Whatever gowns you require will be my gift.”

“Madame, that is too much. I only wish your advice. I have savings, and you know I can sew my own dresses.”

“No. I insist. I want to do this.” She rose and offered her hand to Cecile, drawing her to her feet. Meredith gave her a swift embrace and a peck on each cheek before letting her go. How strange to realize, all in a moment, that Cecile was as close to a sister as she would ever have.

“Thank you, Madame.” Cecile’s eyes glistened, but otherwise her face was as calm and composed as always as she turned and strode gracefully from the room.

A lover for Cecile? Who would’ve imagined the day would bring such a bizarre twist. Now that she’d promised to help, Meredith wasn’t at all certain she could manage it. Nathaniel Covington was not a close friend and had only attended one dinner here as a guest of someone else. How could she invite him for a weekend without it appearing odd, and how could she ensure he would accept the invitation?

“Sweetheart, have you seen my magnifying glass?” Christopher entered the room with his gaze focused on a book in one hand. He narrowly missed tripping over one of the little gilt chairs. The befuddled professorial image he projected with his sandy hair flopping over his forehead and his clothing rumpled always grabbed her heart.

“I’m afraid not. Did you check all the drawers in your study?”

“Mm-hm. I’ve mislaid the blasted thing.” He sat in the chair without breaking his concentration on the illustration in the book.

“We’re going to have a party,” Meredith announced, “a weekend soiree with a few friends. What do you think?”

He glanced up and offered a small smile. “Whatever you wish. I promise to be polite.”

“You can show them some of your plants from China,” she suggested. “Everything in the conservatory is lush and thriving and the orchids are blooming—a lovely setting for romance.”

Chris looked at her again with more interest this time. “Are you making an offer?”

She laughed. “Not now. I’m talking about at the party. You see, I have an agenda and I’m going to need your help, or at least your complicity, in carrying it out.”

“My darling, you frighten me when you get that eager look in your eyes. It usually means you have a new business scheme in mind—or you plan to tie me up and do unspeakable things. I do hope it’s the latter.”

“I’m serious.” Meredith sat across from him, resting her hands on his knees. “It’s about Cecile. She’s come to me with a request for help in securing what her heart desires.”

“Which is?”

“A man whose attention she wishes to attract. Someone above her class, and so she needs my help in…reinventing herself. All you have to do is play along with the story we concoct. Can you do that?” The idea sounded preposterous, but Meredith had made a promise and would make every effort to fulfill it.

Chris blinked, his eyelids shuttering then revealing his beautiful blue eyes. “This will not end well. You are aware it is not only mad but also unethical, aren’t you?”

“It’s no more insane than spending months fixated on the infinitesimal differences between two nearly identical varieties of Ferula olivacia.”

“Lies are not a good foundation for a relationship.”

“Cecile doesn’t want a relationship, merely a lover,” Meredith countered.

“Ah, I believe I’ve heard something like that before.” Chris’s lips quivered with humor, and she couldn’t stop herself from taking his lower one between her teeth.

He dragged her from her chair and onto his lap, his mouth covering hers. His hands spanned her back and even through layers of fabric she felt the bulge of his cock pressed against her hip. He kissed her breathless then nibbled at her throat until she squirmed.

“Stop! You’ll muss me,” she protested as he slid his hands up her back to plunge into her hair.

“I don’t care,” he muttered against the hollow of her throat. “And since when do you?”

“Since it took Cecile nearly an hour to arrange these curls and I have an appointment with my solicitor later today.”

“That’s later. I need you now.” His low rumble set the hairs on her neck quivering. Chris rose, lifting her in his arms. “Cecile may fix your hair again after.”

He pressed her against the bookcase, hiking her skirts up around her hips. Meredith helped him, pushing the yards of fabric out of the way and freeing her pussy to his touch. Other than a garter belt and stockings, she wore nothing beneath her dress for just such occasions as this.

Oh, how she loved it when her dear, amiable professor turned into a wild, rutting beast. In a trice, his pants were undone and his cock sprang forth, firm and thick. With none of his usual foreplay, Chris guided himself to her opening and pushed inside. As always, she was wet and ready for him. His mere presence in a room did that to her.

Meredith wrapped her legs around his back and held onto his shoulders as he drove into her. A hard thrust. Another. She gasped and let her head fall back against the bookshelf—coiffure be damned.

Chris nibbled and licked her throat with a gentleness that made an erotic contrast to his ramming cock. His soft grunts puffed against her skin while his hard thrusts shook her body. Books fell from the shelves around them. Meredith laughed and plunged down, taking him as deep as she could and riding the growing tide of pleasure.

Before he came, Chris raised his face from her neck and looked into her eyes. His were dilated so dark with desire that the blue iris had almost entirely disappeared. “Love you.” His voice was rough, the words choked out between groans of a more primitive emotion. But it seemed to her he always liked to let her know by a word or a look that he was with her—that the act was more than sex, and he was sharing it with her. Then his eyes closed in bliss, and he moaned as he released.

Meredith clamped her inner muscles around him, striving for her own climax just beyond reach. Another thrust and she found it, dangling like Eve’s apple for the plucking. Ecstasy swept through her, primitively familiar yet ever-new. With it came a wave of love for this man who had brought her such happiness and fulfillment and taught her that sex could be more than a pleasurable pastime.

She hugged Chris tight and pressed her face against the side of his neck. “Love you, too,” she whispered before she kissed the pounding pulse in his neck. And I want to marry you, but I’ve waited too long to admit it and now I can’t say it.

After several moments of clinging together, Chris set her on the ground. They both tugged their clothes back in place. He grinned at her. “I’m afraid you desperately need Cecile, my dear.”

She tucked a tumbled lock of her hair behind her ear and slapped his chest. “You are a naughty man to take advantage of me so.” She stooped to pick up a few books and rose with a twinkle in her eyes. “I shall find a way to punish you for it tonight.”

Chapter Two

Why him? Madame had been too polite to ask it, but the question had rung in the air between them like the peal of a silent bell. Cecile was glad she hadn’t asked because there was no logical answer, no explanation for the abrupt fever of want that had seized and shaken her. After a lifetime of modesty and circumspection, she’d lost control of her emotions and they were racing away with her like carriage horses run amok.

She would never admit to Madame the depth of her feelings for the object of her desire. Unfortunately, her attraction wasn’t merely physical. If it were, she could’ve chosen someone attainable, perhaps a married shop owner or clerk, who would not wish for more than a brief arrangement. But in her heart Cecile didn’t want a cheap affair. She wanted the full attention and affection of the man who had torn her heart from her chest. Sir Nathaniel Covington held it, pumping and bloody, in his hand, and didn’t know it. He hadn’t even seen her.

Cecile sat sewing in the patch of sunlight flooding through the window. A million dust specks danced around her like tiny fairies keeping her company. She sewed a long, even row of perfectly spaced stitches in the hem of one of the countess’s gowns. The blue fabric spilling over her lap shimmered in the bright light. Taking another stitch, she remembered the night Meredith had last worn this dress, the night that had turned Cecile’s life inside out.

From an upstairs window she’d glimpsed the guests when they arrived, but Cecile had long since stopped paying much attention to her mistress’s company. Her concern was to prepare the countess for the evening’s festivities—a dinner party with card games to follow.

Much later that night after a quiet meal in her room Cecile had decided to walk in the garden. The evening was fair and she’d spent far too much of the glorious day indoors. A warm breeze wafted the sweet scent of flowers through the air as she walked the brick pathways. Cecile loved the improvement in the gardens since Mr. Whitby had come to live with Madame. When the couple had traveled to China, leaving Cecile behind, she’d been afraid she might lose her job, but Madame had promised her services would be required upon their return. Still, it had been a long, lonely time without Meredith to care for and no family of her own to visit during the compulsory vacation.

Lonely. Alone. Words she tried not to dwell on. There was no point in thinking about how isolated she was in this world. Cecile sat on a bench and looked at the white, star-shaped flowers clustered on a climbing vine overhead and the actual stars winking in the sky. She noticed the dark figure of a man walking on the same path, coming from the opposite direction. It was one of the guests and he hadn’t seen her yet. She remained still so as not to disturb his walk. She shouldn’t be here. Servants were meant to be invisible.

He drew closer, and Cecile’s heart beat faster. Should she rise and leave or remain on the bench, concealed by the trellised vine? Her dark blue dress would blend into the shadow. She decided to wait.

The man stopped several yards away beside a stone wall that bordered one edge of the garden. He sat on top of the low wall, an arm resting on his bent knee, the other foot on the ground, and gazed across the verdant plantings toward the wilder stretch of land beyond. A cloud uncovered the moon and a shaft of silvery light illuminated his face. His eyes glittered and the hard angles of his face were cast in sharp relief as he continued to stare at the moonlit landscape.

Her breath caught, not at the harsh, angular beauty of his features, but at his expression. The lines etching his forehead and the set of his mouth spoke of sorrow and pain. His head bowed slightly, his shoulders sagged, and she felt his unhappiness as if it were her own. The sense of loneliness he exuded was palpable. It reached across the space between them and touched her. Cecile felt a stirring beneath her breastbone, a quiver through her body as though something which had long hibernated suddenly awoke and shook off its sleep.

He understands me. He knows me. The foolish thought popped into her mind. Silly to imagine about a man she’d only just set eyes on, a man to whom she’d never spoken and probably never would.

The man on the wall moved. He bent and murmured something, his low voice floating through the air to her, his words indistinguishable, and Cecile leaned forward to see to whom he was talking. She smiled when she beheld his companion.

A chipmunk sat erect on its hind legs, staring at the man invading its territory. The tiny animal must have been foraging along the top of the wall for the seeds Mr. Whitby scattered for the birds. It should’ve been scampering away by now, but remained frozen, glaring at the intruder. The man chuckled, a low, warm sound that made Cecile’s insides quiver, and then he said something else to the chipmunk, spreading his palms wide as though to illustrate he had no treat to give.

The little animal unleashed a tirade, squeaking high and loud, and then it vanished in the blink of an eye down the far side of the wall. The man laughed again, and Cecile’s heart lifted at the joyful sound. She remained silent, watching, until he finally stood and walked back toward the house.

She continued to sit after he’d disappeared from view, frozen to the bench, turned to a statue in the moonlit garden. Desire raged through her, a need for something she’d never had before, and an aching melancholy because the object of her hunger was unachievable.

That was the state in which she’d existed over the past month and a half—adrift in a roiling sea of emotions that had broken the sea wall surrounding her heart and flooded her being. She’d found out everything she could about the man in the garden, learned his name, his status and every bit of gossip the other servants knew of him. She’d fantasized about Nathaniel Covington until phantom lovemaking was no longer enough. She had to know the reality of him—his voice, his gaze, his touch. In desperation, she’d approached her mistress, the only person who might possibly help her achieve her goal. Breaching the social chasm that divided them, she’d guessed that Madame, a woman in love, would understand her unreasonable yearning and help rather than chastise her for her temerity.

Cecile had been in service with the countess for over a decade, hired after her last employer, Madame Chandelle, let her go without a reference not because of Cecile’s work, but through sheer negligence. Before leaving France with her husband, Madame Chandelle simply hadn’t taken the time to compose that all-important missive which would guarantee Cecile’s future employment. With no prospects, Cecile had taken a gamble and approached the British-born countess, whom she’d learned was seeking a new lady’s maid. The interview had been brief, but the connection between the women strong and sudden. Cecile felt an immediate kinship with someone as isolated as herself. She’d soon learned the socially ostracized foreigner had a cruel husband and a dismal future, but after le Comte’s demise, Meredith had begun a new life, taking Cecile with her back to England.

If such a fortuitous risk had brought Cecile to her mistress and friend, perhaps it wasn’t completely insane to imagine that taking another chance might set her life on a new course.

Luckily, Meredith had not berated her, but instead leaped to the cause of winning Sir Nathaniel, like a general marshalling her forces. A new wardrobe, an invented identity and an introduction to the man of her desires—it was almost too much. Cecile was frightened at the possibility of her dream becoming a reality. Her usually unerring hands faltered, and the sharp needle pricked her finger, drawing blood.

She dropped the blue gown, lest her blood stain it, and sucked on the wound. The metallic taste on her tongue made her think of the river of blood that had brought her to where she was today, but she slammed the door on old memories. This was no time to look back. She was moving forward into uncharted waters and must be bold and dauntless if she was to navigate them.

Nate was tired all the time, a bone-weariness that pervaded his body. A hard day’s ride followed by a solid night’s sleep wouldn’t alleviate it. Drinking himself into a stupor made it worse. Fucking a willing woman didn’t help, either, and lately tended to abort in the middle. His interest just wasn’t there, so it had been some time since he’d sought out a bed companion. He wanted, needed something more, different, better, but didn’t know what it was or how to find it. Peace of mind, perhaps. That was a hard-won commodity.

Scarlet candle wax dripped onto the envelope in thick globules that reminded him too much of blood. Nate set down the taper and firmly pressed the family seal into the thickening wax. He put the missive with the other correspondence to be posted then rose from his desk. He’d spent entirely too many hours indoors today.

Pulling on his work boots and donning an old coat, he strode through the formal gardens to the woods beyond. A tramp along overgrown trails through the brush brought him out of the stand of trees to open land. Acres of sheep pastures and tilled fields, most harvested to bare stubble now, were all part of the Covington estate. Tenant cottages dotted the hillsides and clustered in the valley below.

Nate descended the slope to walk the rutted road to the village. Drinking at the local tavern was preferable to drinking alone in his too big, too empty house. He’d never have imagined he’d miss his brother’s inane rambling, but the place was quiet with Ronald off carousing in London.

Nate must soon decide whether he himself was going to leave or stay. He’d been home from the army for almost a year now, following his father’s death. Although he didn’t want to resume his commission, he could hardly bear living in the crumbling manor. Still, he couldn’t abandon the tenants to his older brother’s neglect and mismanagement. The title may have gone to Ronald, but the work of running the estate had fallen into Nate’s lap.

He trudged to the top of a rise in the road and saw a wagon stuck in the mud at the base of the slope on the other side. Several men worked to lever the rear wheel with a plank. Curses and grunts came from those attempting to free the wagon and encouraging shouts from the old farmer urging his horse forward.

Nate trotted down the hill and joined the men, putting his shoulder against the wagon and digging his boots into the patch of mud. Together they pushed the heavily loaded wagon forward. The dray horse lumbered up the hill without stopping while the farmer, John Barker, turned to wave and yell, “Well done, all!”

His son Bert wiped his broad, red face with a bandana and blew a long breath. “I’ll stand you all a round at the Swan next time.” He shook hands with the others and nodded politely at Nate. “Thank you, sir.”

“Glad to help. Best catch up with your father before he leaves you behind.”

Barker ran up the hill and jumped onto the buckboard of the wagon just before it disappeared over the ridge.

Nate exchanged greetings with the other men then continued his walk to the village. His boots were heavy with caked mud and his coat was spattered. To a stranger, he might look like a farmer or laborer, but the men knew who he was and kept their respectful distance as they returned to what they’d been doing. The locals liked him well enough, but class would always divide them and, like the whiff of a scent evoking old memories, the thought brought a melancholy reminder of Fiona.

After all these years, the pain was fleeting and dim. Still, she’d left behind a scar that would never completely fade. She’d been his first love and he’d worshipped her with all the unreasonable passion of youth. Now, those bittersweet memories of lost love mingled with the darker truth he’d uncovered, reminding him of questions he was in no mood to think about. It was definitely time for a drink or several.

The interior of the pub was stuffy and dark, the air thick with smoke and the sour smell of decades of spilled ale seeped into the floorboards. Voices greeted Nate with a chorus of “Good day, sir” as he took a seat at a corner table.

The Swan was a meeting place for all villagers from common laborers to the middle class. Most gentry drank at home, although occasionally a landowner would abandon his elegant drawing room for the earthy atmosphere of the pub. As one of the old earl’s sons, Nate should’ve been a rare sight, but he’d frequented the Swan often since his return home.

He turned his attention to the mug of ale the barmaid set before him. “Thank you, Wendy.” He smiled at the tavern owner Dick Norris’s daughter. The unfortunate girl was a replica of her father, with knobby features and a bulky build, but he’d heard rumors she was soon to be engaged to widowed blacksmith, Jake Tanner. If so, it would be a good union and would prove the old adage that there was someone for everyone. Except, perhaps, for Nate. He sometimes wondered if he’d ever meet a woman with whom he could imagine spending his life. In the end he’d probably settle for a convenient arrangement as everyone did.

“Covington. How are you?” Dr. Edward Boughton took the chair across from him.

“Boughton. How’s business?” Nate enjoyed talking to the older man and was glad he’d joined him.

“Too good. Births, illnesses, deaths. I’ll always have work.”

“True enough. How’s Mary Weaver? Has she dropped yet?”

“A boy. Sam’s happy.”

The life of the community was something Nate cared about and, unfortunately, something in which his brother wasn’t the least interested. As long as Ronald’s debts continued mounting and he kept drawing off the estate, he jeopardized the way of life in this farming community where everyone’s livelihood led back to the land.

Nate raised a glass to the new birth, and Dr. Boughton matched him. They drank and chatted companionably as afternoon turned to evening.

“How’s your sleep been lately?” the doctor asked out of the blue, fixing Nate with a keen-eyed gaze from beneath his thick white eyebrows. “You look exhausted.”

Nate shrugged. He hadn’t slept well in years. Not since Ligny. But this recent bout of insomnia had little to do with battle nightmares and everything to do with the ramifications of what he’d learned about Fiona. It’d been many months since his father’s will revealed the truth, but the information was still painfully fresh to Nate.

And he had a life altering decision to make about that news.

“If you want to talk about anything, you know I’ve been through battles, too,” Boughton said.

“The war was a long time ago.” Nearly five years since Waterloo. Nate had had several other postings and a knighthood bestowed on him before he’d left the military to at last return to Hillshire.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t continue to haunt you.”

Nate beckoned Wendy to bring them another round. “I’ve put that behind me. Running the estate is enough to keep me sleepless now.”

“You expect the new earl home?”

“Not anytime soon, and as long as Ronald’s in London he’ll keep bleeding money.”

Boughton grunted and shook his head.

“It’s not just my brother’s lifestyle. My father was no spendthrift either. The estate’s been on shaky ground for a while.” It wasn’t very prudent to discuss family finances, but between the alcohol and the need to unburden himself of some worries, Nate talked too much.

“Families. Nasty business. Makes me glad I never had one.”

Nate smiled and sipped his drink.

It was almost ten by the time he decided to call it a night and begin the long walk home. The moon was obscured by clouds and the darkness was thick, but he knew the path well. His boots clocked a rhythm on the road then he climbed the hill and wove through the thicket of trees. The night air cleared the alcohol fog from his brain and left him wide awake by the time he reached the house—too alert to settle down for the night. His body yearned for a female touch, but his options were limited. There was a house not too far away where he could find a night’s companionship, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

What is it you do want? He had no answer for that besides, “Something more, different, else, other…”

Nate collapsed on his chair in the den before the banked fire, looked through the mail on the silver tray by his chair and found a number of new bills. He shouldn’t read the post so late at night. It would ensure he’d never get any sleep.

There was also a thick, white envelope, and he opened it expecting another invitation to a dance, luncheon or card party. The local gentry were determined to include him in their affairs. Even though he was only the earl’s younger son and with a scandalous past, many of the mothers would have loved him to court their daughters. But the invitation wasn’t to a local gathering. It came from la Comtesse de Chevalier.

He’d met the woman fairly recently at a dinner party he’d attended as a guest of an old friend. The countess and her lover Christopher Whitby were cordial hosts, and the dinner would’ve been a pleasant diversion if Nate hadn’t been still torn apart by his discovery of the truth about Fiona.

Tapping the envelope against his leg, he thought a weekend away from Covington Estate might be refreshing. It was a trifle unusual that the countess had invited him, since she barely knew him, but likely she had an unmarried female guest who needed a partner. It wouldn’t be the first time Nate had been called upon to even the numbers. Besides, he’d heard about what sometimes went on at la Comtesse’s house parties. With her relaxed views on morality, they were rumored to be bacchanalian events. Maybe he’d find the diversion he was searching for there.

He tossed the envelope on the tray with the others. He would go. Time away from his responsibilities could be exactly what he needed to break him free of his bone deep weariness and give him some perspective on the decisions he needed to make.

Chapter Three

“Sir Nathaniel, I’d like you to meet my friend Madame Cecile Lambeaux.” Meredith’s hand resting at the small of her back was an anchor holding Cecile steady as she faced the cool blue gaze of the man from the garden. Nathaniel Covington was even more arresting face to face than he was at a distance illuminated by moonlight.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Cecile extended her hand, slowly, with the languid grace of a lady. “I’m so pleased to meet you.” She managed a small smile, but couldn’t come up with any more words. This meeting was as strange and awkward as she’d feared it might be, and she regretted the madness that had prompted her to ask Madame to arrange an introduction.

Then he took her hand in his, and Cecile’s heart stopped for a moment.

Meet his eyes. Madame’s instructions for wooing a lover surfaced in her mind. Eye contact is very important to signal your interest. This is no time for coyness. Look at him and show him your desire.

At the risk of staring like a moon-eyed calf, Cecile lifted her chin and her gaze to meet his. She let her hand linger in his grip until he finally released it. The contact was brief, inconsequential to him, no doubt, but it gave her a jolt, crackling through her and settling warmly between her legs.

“We shall be hiking with a picnic awaiting us at the end,” Meredith announced to her small party. The assembly was composed of an unusual assortment of the countess’s friends. These were people she knew well, who weren’t averse to some honest physical exercise and who were open-minded about sexual practices. Societal taboos mean little to Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Featherstone, who had married for love and were penniless because of it. Lady Abigail Meeks was accompanied by her intimate friend, Sylvia Pratt. These pairings left Cecile and Covington, the two singles, as natural companions.

They walked together, following their hosts through the gardens behind the house and into the natural beauty of the grounds beyond. Cecile was very aware of Sir Nathaniel’s imposing figure by her side. He was very tall, and she found his presence intimidating in its masculinity. She wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to a man.

“Madame Lambeaux, are you visiting or do you currently live in England?”

“I’m staying with the countess for a time. We’ve known each other since she lived in France.” Cecile sidestepped the question. She’d vowed to lie as little as possible, not only to ensure she didn’t trip herself up, but because she didn’t want to distort the truth anymore than she must.

“It seems the turbulent times there are over now.”

“Perhaps, but since I was a child I’ve witnessed too much discord in my country to ever trust that the government is truly settled. We haven’t known real peace for years.”

He nodded and strode silently by her side. Several yards in front of them, the countess and her paramour were laughing together. The warmth of their voices and shared laughter matched the sunny day. Cecile wished she could think of something witty to say to dispel the somber expression from Sir Nathaniel’s eyes, but the only sound she could manage was the swish of her slippers through the long grass.

“I fought against Emperor Napoleon at Ligny with the Prussians and again with my regiment at Waterloo,” he said suddenly. “The first was our defeat, the other…well, you know the outcome, but either way the result was the same. When you’ve experienced battlefields and bloodshed, you can never see the world quite the same way again.”

“Yes.” The glint of sunlight on a blood-stained guillotine blade flashed through her mind and as quickly disappeared. “But today is with us now, oui? And it is bright and beautiful. Perhaps it is time to put away sad memories.”

She glanced sideways at her companion. His smile transformed his face, softening the severe planes and angles and the grim line of his mouth.

“Absolutely, Madame. Carpe diem. Tell me a little about yourself. Do you like dancing? Are you fond of playing cards? Perhaps you paint or play piano for amusement?”

“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in any of those pastimes.” Cecile struggled to think of an accomplishment she possessed that a noblewoman would indulge in. “I’m considered quite clever with a needle.”

“Embroidery. You must show me some of your work.”

“A dull pursuit I wouldn’t expect would interest a man. And you, sir? How do you choose to pass your time?”

“Currently, I’m very involved in the running of my family estate. Prior to that I was in the army where my time wasn’t my own. But when I’m free to choose, I love to ride and I enjoy a good book.”

Cecile brightened. She had read every book in Madame’s library, including the extremely explicit ones that made her blush. She loved escaping into other more fascinating worlds and lives than her own. “I do, too. What are you currently reading?”

The smile flashed again. “I’m ashamed to admit to the book I just finished. It’s quite gruesome and wildly melodramatic.”

“That sounds intriguing.” How would Meredith behave to show her interest? Overcoming her natural reticence, Cecile laid her hand on her companion’s forearm and squeezed lightly. His jacket sleeve was warm from the sun. “Do tell me about it.”

“Die Elixiere des Teufels, by E.T.A. Hoffmann. It’s a lurid tale about a monk who drinks the devil’s elixir, which awakens his sensual desires and drives him to murder. Of course, it’s a cautionary tale with a suitable punishment for the fallen monk at the end.”

“An non, alors! Sir, you’ve given away the ending, and I had been going to ask to borrow the book.”

“Désoleé, Madame. Pardonnez-moi. I shall lend it to you anyway, if you like, so you can give me your opinion. It’s an English translation of the text, so you don’t have to plow through the original German.” Covington rested his hand on top of hers, the warm pressure of his palm suffusing her skin and spreading up her arm like the flush of fever.

“But perhaps you prefer more wholesome fare,” he continued. “Travelogues or memoirs or maybe spiritual epistles. Something more elevated.”

Cecile smiled, thinking of the shocking tale of the baron and the milkmaid which was one of the books in the countess’s private collection. “I enjoy all kinds of stories, both wildly imaginative and true life accounts. Variety is the spice of life, as they say.”

“Then I shall be happy to share any of the books in my library with you, and if you have volumes to recommend, please tell me about them.”

The sun glinted in his eyes, making them brighter and bluer than ever. They looked like two sparkling sapphires as he inclined his head slightly toward her. He lowered his voice confidentially and the husky murmur made the hairs on her arms raise and started a slow, soft ache low in her belly.

“Madame Lambeaux, I must admit that when I was invited to this party I half expected to be partnered with someone’s socially inept cousin. Instead, I’m charmed by the company with which I’ve been blessed.”

Deep grooves cut on either side of his mouth, and Cecile had a sudden, vivid fantasy of tracing her finger along those indentations then trailing her thumb over his lips. She shivered. Her cheeks burned and she tugged at the brim of her hat to shield her face from the sun.

What would Meredith say to such a remark? She wouldn’t duck her head and blush like a schoolgirl. Cecile glanced up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet in what she hoped was a coquettish manner. “I’m equally pleased with my companion, sir. The day is not dull as I feared it might be.”

He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm as they left the graveled path of the formal garden and strolled down the grassy track leading to the lake. Silence fell between them, broken only by the murmur of other voices in the party, bird song from the tall weeds on either side of them and the shrill whine of cicadas in the trees. The sun’s heat gave a somnolent aspect to the day, and Cecile wondered if she might indeed be dreaming. Sir Nathaniel Covington couldn’t possibly be walking by her side, flirting with her.

What happens if he finds out who you truly are? The scolding inner voice sounded much like Sister Marie Bertrice, who’d guided much of her childhood. When playing with fire, you may expect singed fingers.

Cecile silenced the voice in her mind by talking. “You said you enjoy riding. Tell me about your favorite mount.”

“Jackdaw. He’s been with me since my days in the cavalry. He was once wounded by a musket ball and has now retired to country living. I love that horse more than I do some of my relatives. He’s faithful and honest. Qualities many human beings seem to lack.”

The word “honest” struck her like a wasp’s stinger, but Cecile ignored the jab and pressed on. “Jackdaw is an unusual name. How did you come up with it?”

“There was a jackdaw colony nesting in a hollow tree in the pasture where the foal was born. His coat was as black as the birds and the name was so whimsical it amused me.”

“I love odd words,” Cecile said. “And the way certain words roll off the tongue is pleasing. Like ‘marmalade’.”

“‘Canticle’,” he offered.

“‘Sapphire’.” Like your eyes.

“‘Susurration’.” The word hissed sensually from his lips.

She shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that one.”

“A low and constant murmuring like the wind soughing through trees.” He lifted his face to look at the breeze-tossed branches above them, and Cecile was transfixed by the line of his jaw and the tendons in his neck. What would it be like to press a kiss just there where she could see his pulse beating?

His gaze swung back to her and his eyes penetrated hers. “Or perhaps the quiet moaning of a pleasured woman.”

She couldn’t move with those eyes holding her as firmly as a hand. They both stopped walking, and time seemed to stop moving, too.

Lady Abigail’s nasal voice from right behind them broke the intense moment. “I didn’t know they were ever out during the day, but that is an owl, isn’t it? Look, my dear.”

“Remarkable!” Miss Pratt enthused. The two women had caught up with Cecile and Covington as they stood frozen looking into one another’s eyes. “Do you see it?” she asked them.

“A wood owl, I believe,” Covington said. “You can tell by the size and the spots on its breast.”

At any other time, Cecile would have been thrilled to examine the plump brown bird which nearly blended into the tree trunk, but her annoyance at the interruption superseded her enthusiasm.

The women stayed with them, exclaiming over the owl’s tufted head and wide eyes, until the rest of the party was drawn by their chatter and came to see what the fuss was about. There was no more privacy after that, as the group continued en masse to the picnic site on the far side of the lake.

The cook had prepared a light lunch of poached chicken breast and al dente vegetables, served on fine china by several footmen. The guests sprawled on blankets spread over the grass. The skirts of the women’s promenade gowns in jonquil, rose and periwinkle looked like flower petals fanned around them.

How strange it was to be a part of the elite group, relaxing and chatting as if she belonged among them. Cecile’s life was generally quite solitary. As the countess’s personal maid and close companion, she really had no peers in the household except, to some extent, the housekeeper, Mrs. Crowley. The staff had been warned to play along with this masquerade, but that didn’t mean they liked having Cecile suddenly elevated far above her station. Jamison, the younger of the two footmen, surreptitiously raised an eyebrow as he offered her a plate of fowl and crisp vegetables. Cecile inclined her head politely as she took it.

The countess looked at her, also with a questioning tilt of an eyebrow, and Cecile smiled and nodded. It’s going well.

She barely picked at the elegantly displayed food on her plate. Her stomach was as skittish as a spring lamb. The ease with which she’d talked to Covington as they walked together evaporated now that they sat side by side on the blanket. She listened to the other guests chatter and watched geese sail across the lake, as graceful in the water as they were awkward on land.

“It’s very—”

“Would you like—?”

They both spoke at the same time and then laughed.

“Please continue,” he said.

“I have nothing important to say.” She smiled. “I was going to make some small talk about the lovely day and the beautiful scenery. Too trite and inane.”

“And I was going to ask, do you like strawberries, Madame Lambeaux?” He dangled one by its stem before her. His eyes were trained on her mouth.

Cecile opened her mouth to accept the fruit from his hand. The touch of his fingers against her lips was slight, but sent a powerful jolt through her. She bit into the ripe fruit before her mouth was closed, and juice dripped down her chin. He wiped the rivulet with his fingertip, the casual intimacy of the gesture making her body burn.

The sweet-tart berry burst on her tongue. She chewed and swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Very good,” she murmured.

“Are you finished eating?” Covington glanced at her nearly full plate. “Would you care for a stroll?” The husky timbre of his voice suggested he was asking for more than a walk.

Cecile’s heart thundered in her chest. She could scarcely breathe. As unused to a man’s attentions as she might be, she knew he was making a proposition. What she’d dreamed of since the night in the garden when she’d first seen this man and lost her mind was about to happen. A kiss. Perhaps more.

“Oui.” She nodded and allowed him to take her hand and draw her to her feet. A glance at the countess showed her mistress smiling smugly before turning her attention back to the garrulous Mr. Featherstone. Since Meredith had a broad-minded view about sex and relationships, she’d created a bohemian atmosphere at her estate which allowed guests to pursue whatever natural inclinations they desired. Interludes and liaisons were accepted, even expected. Society’s rules didn’t apply here.

Covington continued to hold Cecile’s hand after he’d pulled her upright. Both of their hands were ungloved, allowing the searing contact of flesh to flesh. His hand felt so large surrounding hers.

He looked at their joined hands and his voice drizzled over her like warm honey. “Do you forgive the liberty, Madame Lambeaux? We’ve barely met. I must tell you I’m not usually so forward.” A smile quirked his lips. “That sounds like something a cad would say as he’s trying to seduce a woman, but in my case it’s the truth. I’m generally not very social and not the type to engage in flirtatious behavior. But today, I hardly recognize myself.”

“Nor I,” Cecile agreed. “By nature I’m reserved, some might say aloof, but you’ve made it so easy to talk to you. I don’t feel like myself this afternoon.”

“Then perhaps,” his thumb skated over the back of her hand, “we can act as unfettered strangers and do things we might not normally consider.”

“Perhaps we could.”

They walked deeper into the woods beyond the lake. The faint sound of laughter came from the picnic area behind them through the screen of trees. Birds chattered high above in the canopy and insects buzzed around them, but the atmosphere on the forest path was hushed. The sun pierced the interlaced branches in golden streaks along which dust motes danced. Interspersed with the sunlight were emerald shadows.

Covington stopped walking and turned to face her. He caught her other hand so he was holding them both, his grip firm and warm. “May I kiss you, Madame Lambeaux?”

Nervous laughter bubbled from her. “If you’re going to kiss me, Sir Nathaniel, I think you might call me by my given name, Cecile.”

“And I’m Nathaniel, but please call me Nate.” His smile came and went like quicksilver, and his expression turned serious. His heavy-lidded eyes focused hungrily on her mouth. “I am going to kiss you, Cecile.”

It was a declaration, not a request this time. He let go of her hands and slipped his palm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She felt his body heat through the thin muslin of her dress and her fine lawn undergarments and imagined what it would be like to have his naked flesh pressed to hers. It would surely sear her skin.

Cecile tilted her head back to look up into his face, so close it stole her breath. Could she really be doing this, inviting a stranger’s kiss? She could count on one hand the number of men she’d kissed in her life. Opportunities had been limited. But now, she was no longer Cecile, personal maid to La Comtesse de Chevalier. She was Madame Lambeaux, a mysterious stranger with the power to tempt a man like Nathaniel Covington. A thrill of power suffused her as she rose up on her toes and leaned into his embrace.

His kiss was a soft caress, a mere brush of the lips like the breeze blowing against her face. Then his mouth settled more firmly on hers, an assured pressure that inspired a soft whimper in her throat. This was real and far different from her fantasies. She hadn’t counted on the smell of his skin, the taste and texture of his mouth, the solidity of his chest beneath her hands. She slid them up over his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

He’d removed his jacket and left it at the picnic site. Dressed only in shirtsleeves and vest, he seemed more approachable than in his frock coat. She could imagine him as a manual laborer; he certainly had the muscles for it.

Cecile felt she was melting like wax in the hot sun, molding to Nathaniel’s body. He could shape her as he willed with his teasing lips and inquisitive tongue that probed gently into her mouth. How strange to engage in such an intimate kiss with a man she’d been introduced to only a few hours earlier. Yet she felt as if she’d known him much longer. That night in the garden when she’d seen his solitude, she’d felt such a strong connection, as if recognizing someone she’d always known.

Now, here he was with his hard body pressed against hers, his hands stroking her back and coming to rest where her waist curved into buttocks. His mouth explored hers, his soft tongue swirling around hers and his lips pressing firmly to hers. He gave a quiet moan, and she melted further at the sound of his need.

When she was nearly dizzy from his kisses, he finally pulled back, but then he began to nuzzle her throat and kiss along the line of her collarbones. Cecile tipped her head back, gasping at the tickling sensation, like velvet trailed across her neck. She threaded her fingers through the silken ends of his hair and cradled his head.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against her neck then pulled back to look into her eyes. “You’re just who I needed.”

So he was lonely, too, just as she had imagined. But he didn’t really know who she was. A pang of melancholy stirred in her breast. She wanted to tell him everything about herself, all the facts of her past and her dreams of the future, but she could only share the pleasure of this moment. There could be no future for her with him.

Still, there was now. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the delightful shivers trembling through her body from the touch of his lips on the top swells of her breasts. He kissed her through the fine linen inset which covered her cleavage modestly, but she felt the heat and dampness from his breath on her flesh. A soft moan escaped her lips when he cupped the bottom of one of her breasts, supporting its weight in the warm cradle of his hand.

He looked up at her. “Is this all right?”

Cecile nodded. “Yes. I’m simply overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of the day.”

Straightening, he took her face between his hands and searched her eyes. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll restrain myself. We may continue walking and conversing…and maybe holding hands.” His smile was sweet, apologetic.

Cecile licked her lips. “I want…” She didn’t know what she wanted or how far she actually planned to go with this charade of being a wealthy widow ripe for an affair. But luckily she didn’t have to complete the thought as once more they were interrupted by the intrusion of other party guests. This time it was Bernard and Amanda Featherstone who overtook them on the forest path.

“Ah, I see we’ve disturbed another sort of bird—a pair of lovebirds.” Mr. Featherstone’s hearty voice was almost a welcome disruption, as Cecile gathered her scattered wits and fanned her flushed cheeks with her hand.

“Sorry. Don’t mind us. Carry on.” He grinned broadly.

Mrs. Featherstone rolled her eyes and nudged her husband’s arm. “I told you we should take the other path, duckling.”

“No matter. We were just ready to walk on,” Nathaniel assured her. “We’ll go together.”

Thus their private moment was finished almost as soon as it had begun, but Cecile’s lips vibrated from his kisses and her body was afire long after he’d let her go. If nothing else came of her experiment in deception, she would at least have the memory of one shining moment on a hot, languid afternoon stealing kisses in the cool shade of a grove of trees.

Chapter Four

Nate stood in the shadowed hallway in front of Cecile’s door staring at the dark wood and willing his hand to lift and knock. The signs were there throughout the afternoon and evening. Surely she wanted him to come to her. But he wasn’t accustomed to indulging in this kind of weekend party where bed-hopping and illicit liaisons were de rigueur. He’d spent far too much time in the company of soldiers to know how to play society’s games.

After his years at school, he’d gone straight into military service, his commission paid for by his father. It was no superficial appointment, but a career of active duty until he was wounded at Waterloo. After months of recuperation, he still hadn’t gone home—not while his father lived, he’d vowed, and that was before he’d even learned the worst of his depravity. Several postings later, Nate got the news that the old earl had passed. Ending his army career, he’d taken up management of the estate for Ron. Flirtations and affairs weren’t part of Nate’s world, but for Cecile Lambeaux he’d make the effort.

She was unlike most young women he’d met at balls or soirées. There was a calm maturity to her demeanor and shadows in her eyes that suggested deep sadness. He felt there was much more to her story than she’d revealed to him when they walked in the garden after dinner that evening.

The scent of earth and flowers had wafted around them on the breeze. No doubt Christopher Whitby could identify every plant, bush or tree, but for Nate the peaceful atmosphere was all he needed to know about the garden. He’d tucked Cecile’s hand in the crook of his arm and walked with her to the stone wall at the far edge. Together they stood watching a small herd of deer foraging in the moonlight in the uncultivated land beyond the gardens.

“Were you married long?” he asked out of the blue, curious to learn more about her relationship with her husband, but uncertain how to broach the subject.

“What? Oh. Yes. I mean, no. Not long. He…ah, died of a fever very soon after the wedding. I never really had the chance to know him.” She pulled her hand from his arm and turned away to lean against the low stone wall. “Honestly, I’d rather not talk about my marriage.”

“I understand.”

“Tell me about your land.” She changed the subject. “Do you have many tenants? What do the farms produce?”

After that, she’d drawn him out with one question after another until he found he’d confided the entire story of Ronald’s mismanagement of the family estate.

“My hands are tied. I’ve done all I can to improve things, but if he keeps siphoning off money, I don’t know how it will end.” Nate shrugged. “But this is no conversation to have with a beautiful woman in a moonlit garden. I should be rhapsodizing about how your hair shimmers in the moon beams and how your scent is sweeter than the roses.”

Cecile laughed. “If you did, I’d say you’d read one too many romantic poems. My hair is plain brown. It doesn’t shimmer.”

“Ah, but it does.” He’d reached out and fingered several strands which curled at the side of her face. Leaning down, he inhaled the scent of talcum mingled with her own woman-smell. “And you smell much sweeter than the flowers.”

He’d kissed her then in that perfect setting made for lovers’ trysts. He’d kissed her until she’d whimpered and arched against him and his cock pressed into his breeches trying to find its way through to her. His hands had roamed down her back to the soft curves of her rear and he’d held her tight against him. Although he longed to explore her body with more intimate touches, he’d kept himself under control. At long last he’d pulled away, keeping a steadying hand on her arm when she staggered slightly.

“Perhaps we should continue this elsewhere,” he’d suggested.

“Yes. Later.” She’d dipped her head in a nod.

If that wasn’t a clear invitation to visit her bedroom, he was completely hopeless at reading women.

“Knock. Just knock,” he muttered as he raised his hand to rap on her door.

She didn’t call, “Come in.” There was a long pause and Nate considered walking away, in fact he’d turned to do so when the door opened.

Cecile stood in the doorway, wearing a dressing gown over a shift. One hand rested on her chest, clutching the edges of the robe together. Her cheeks were bright pink, her eyes restless, meeting his then looking away again. Her throat moved as she swallowed and then opened those lovely, pouty lips.

“I… Please, do come in, Sir Nathaniel.” A smile curved her mouth then disappeared. “Nathaniel.”

“Nate will do,” he corrected, offering a smile of his own. He cleared his throat. “This is a little awkward, isn’t it? If you want me to go…”

“No.” She looked right into his eyes and hers went very still and focused. “I want you to stay.” Opening the door wider, she stepped back. “Please come in.”

As he walked inside and closed the door behind him, Nate felt absurdly grateful—like a man who’d stood outside brightly lit windows on a snowy night and had suddenly been invited to come in and warm up by the fire. There was a sense of reaching home when he took her in his arms and kissed her once more. The taste of her mouth was already familiar and the softness of her lips molded perfectly to his.

It wasn’t as if he’d never been with a woman before, but it had been a long time and none of those temporary attachments had been more than a slaking of physical needs. He hadn’t imagined himself in love since his youthful days with Fiona. Yet somehow, after spending a mere day with Cecile and only engaging in idle talk, he felt the potential for something beyond an idle dalliance between them.

Or maybe it was just his loneliness convincing him that such a connection might exist. There was no point in thinking too deeply right now, not when his arms were full of soft woman flesh and his mouth occupied with trying to kiss a moan from her.

When he’d accomplished that, he pulled away and stood before her, his eyes traveling over the nightwear molded to the curves of her body. He untied the three ribbons holding her dressing gown closed and slipped the garment off her shoulders. It drifted down to the floor, pooling around her feet like snow.

He rested his hands on her shoulders a moment, feeling her heat through the nearly transparent fabric of her night dress then he slid his hands the length of her arms and entwined his fingers with hers. Bending, he kissed the soft mound of her breast. His seeking mouth found her erect nipple, wetting the fabric until it molded to her. Cecile’s soft murmurs were all the encouragement he needed to suck hard and deep. When he drew away to give the same treatment to her other tit, her areola showed dark against the white fabric. The sight made his blood burn even hotter.

Her fingers dug into his hands, they clenched him so tightly. Nate loosened her grip and reached to cup the weight of her breast. It fit snugly in his palm, soft and tender, and he kneaded it lightly while latching onto her other nipple with his mouth. He suckled it hard, while his erection grew, throbbing in time with his pulse.

He was ready to see her out of all her clothes now and released her breasts in order to free her from her final garment. Gathering the loose shift in his hands, he pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. Her arm crossed over her breasts, and one hand dove to hide the “V” of hair between her legs.

Nate smiled at the modest, maidenly gesture. Added to the information she’d shared about her husband dying soon after the wedding, he got the impression Cecile hadn’t had much sexual experience. Yet she’d chosen to have an impulsive affair with him, a man she barely knew. He didn’t know whether to be honored or worried. What if she regretted her impetuous decision later?

He reached out to gently remove her arm from her chest and her hand from her crotch. “Don’t cover yourself. I wish to see you.”

Her cheeks were as pink as rose petals. In fact her whole body appeared flushed and rosy as she stood with her arms by her sides and let his gaze rove over her form. Her full breasts were topped with erect, brown nipples that had a saucy upward tilt. Her body offered plenty of curves that begged to be handled.

“So lovely,” he murmured and began to remove his own clothes. He stripped quickly so she wouldn’t feel alone and vulnerable in her nudity, and when he was finished, he paused, giving her a chance to examine him as he had studied her.

Her avid gaze made his flesh tingle in anticipation of having more than her eyes stroking him. Her attention lingered on his cock, and Nate couldn’t suppress the warm glow of pride that surged at her wide-eyed assessment.

He stepped closer, still not touching her, their bodies only inches apart so each was bathed in the heat of the other. “Shall we lie down?”

She nodded. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and her breath sounded a little ragged. Was it sexual excitement or nervous fear? He slipped his arms around her and pulled her to him once more—skin rubbing against skin, his cock pressing into her belly sending a wave of lust through him. He took a deep breath, his next words requiring all of his willpower as he again gave her the opportunity to end it.

“It’s not too late to stop. If you want me to go, I will.”

She lifted her face, a frown creasing her brow and her storm-colored eyes as focused as those of a meditative cat. “No. I don’t want to stop. I’m simply feeling a little…shy, but I intend to do this.”

Her resolution was endearing and revealed her nervousness. He rubbed his hands soothingly over her back and kissed her some more, trying to allay her fears. It was impossible not to thrust a little, however, with his erection pressed so snugly into her softness.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her covers were already pulled back, suggesting she’d risen to answer the door. Cecile lay against the rumpled sheets, her breasts rising and falling gently with her breathing as she watched Nate prepare himself. He’d brought with him several French letters, and he sheathed his cock in one of them, fumbling with the tie in his eagerness. Then he climbed onto the high mattress beside her and drew the coverlet over them both.

Determined to melt her stiffness and make her crave him as much as he did her, Nate mapped her body with his mouth and hands. He took his time, kissing the palms of her hands, then her mouth, her neck, shoulders, chest…breasts. His hands roamed slowly down her sides and over the curves of her hips. She shifted beneath his palms as they skimmed up the fronts of her thighs, around her sex and over her stomach. Her skin was as smooth as satin, but much warmer.

Nate nudged her legs apart and knelt between them. His cock ached to be encased in her warm wetness, but he ignored its needs. He laved her nipples with his tongue then drew them into peaks with his puckered mouth. When he’d moved Cecile to moaning and arching her back for more, he abandoned her breasts and moved lower, kissing and licking his way down her torso.

In the heat beneath the covers, her musky aroma enticed him. He tickled her belly with tiny kisses and flicks of his tongue until she laughed and wiggled. Satisfied, he moved on…lower.

“Oh,” she gasped when his fingers opened her womanhood and his mouth settled on her moist seam. Her thighs went rigid and her body tensed. She’d been gripping his shoulders, but now her hands reached for his head as though she might push him away. Nate lifted his mouth from her pussy. From her reaction, he guessed she’d never had a man touch her there with his mouth.

“Sh,” he whispered as though soothing a nervous horse and bent to his task again.

Cecile lay still, waiting, but less tense. Her fingers combed through his hair then rested lightly against his scalp. A tremor went through her, and she gasped as his tongue teased her clitoris.

She was slippery wet and open. Nate delved his tongue between her lips and tasted her earthy flavor, lapping her juices. She moaned and arched toward his touch. His cock throbbed, yearning to replace his tongue in its exploration of her velvet passage. A long, slow stroke of his tongue brought him back to her erect bud. He twirled around it, flicked and teased it then settled to a firm lapping rhythm which coaxed more moans from Cecile. Soon she was thrusting against him and very quickly she cried out and her hips lifted off the bed. He gripped them in his hands while he continued to torment her for a few more strokes. She whimpered and shuddered as she climaxed. At last he pulled his mouth away, kissed her thigh then her belly and crawled up to lie beside her.

Her face glowed with rapture, lips slack and moist, eyes closed in ecstasy. It was a pleasure to see her pleasure. Nate pushed a hank of hair away from her perspiring face and blew lightly across her overheated flesh. The color of her cheeks had deepened from rose to bright red. Her eyelids fluttered then opened, and she looked up at him.

“Mon Dieu,” she murmured.

He smiled and smoothed her hair back, dropped a quick kiss on her lips then positioned himself between her legs again. He braced his arms on either side of her, supporting his weight. Her hips cradled his and he guided his cock to her entrance. Slow and easy he pushed inside.

She was open, pliant and ready for him, but even so her channel was very tight. Her inner muscles gripped him, and a groan rose to his lips. Cecile made a small sound, and he stopped moving, opened his eyes and looked down into her face. “All right?”

She nodded.

He pushed farther, and her body stretched to accommodate him. At last he was completely enveloped in her warmth. Nate paused to relish the feeling then he withdrew in leisurely increments. He slid back in again, a little more forcefully this time.

Cecile gasped. Her body tensed around him, and her fingers dug into his back.

Reading her signs of discomfort, Nate pulled out. He waited then filled her again, but stroking gently, treating her like a virgin. She must nearly be one. Maybe she’d only had intercourse a few times with her husband before she was widowed, and perhaps Nate was her first lover since then. The idea was daunting. Why had she chosen him?

“It will be better if we…” He put his hand behind her thigh and crooked her leg. Cecile matched the movement on the other side, which tilted up her pelvis. This made the penetration deeper, but it also made it more likely his cock head would hit the special place inside her that would bring her to climax.

Nate moved in and out a little faster as her juices coated his cock and the heat of friction built between them. Several more thrusts and he forgot about being gentle. He plunged deeper, faster, and the tension inside him grew stronger. His anxiety and weariness entwined with the mounting tension, and when the strands pulled taut and finally broke, all his worries seemed to shatter and scatter like shards of glass. Only simple, unadulterated animal pleasure remained, flooding through him.

He groaned and collapsed against Cecile’s warm and welcoming body, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She smelled of flowers and woman, and he darted his tongue out to sample the sweat collected in the hollow above her collarbones. When the last trembling bit of ecstasy had died away, he rolled off her, but kept contact with her body—a hand on her belly, his knee crooked on top of her legs.

Nate glanced at her face. Her eyes were closed and the serene oval of her face reminded him of a Renaissance angel. He stroked his finger over her profile from her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, over her lips to her chin. A smile curved her sweet lips.

“What are you thinking?”

“I never believed the day would end up this way.”

“Nor I.” He grinned. “I fully expected to be exchanging pleasantries with a charmless spinster, not bedding the most beautiful woman at the party.”

Her smile widened at the compliment. She opened those changeable eyes and looked at him. “And you say you’re not normally the flirtatious type? Your flattery tells me otherwise.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth. I’m a very honest man. I will only say what my senses reveal as fact.” He gazed into her eyes, silvery in the candlelight. “Look at you. No one could deny you’re the most attractive and interesting woman here—an alluring, mysterious French widow.”

She fell silent and her smile extinguished. Turning on her side to face him, Cecile put out a hand to touch the scar on his chest. “This is from the war?” she asked.

“Yes.” Disjointed scenes of carnage, the smell of burnt gunpowder, the sting of smoke in his eyes, the screams of the dying ringing in his ears—all these flashed through his mind, but the visions were more subdued than they had been a couple of years ago.

“I was wounded during the debacle at Ligny. I was there to deliver a communiqué from Wellington to the Prussian general, Blücher and got caught up in the fighting. The Prussians were outmatched by Pécheaux’s 12th infantry. House to house combat, the town in flames, civilians dying…” He shook his head. “It was a disaster.”

“It’s always the people who suffer.” Her voice was tight. “The revolutionaries and then Napoleon claimed to fight for democracy or the Empire, but their causes only made things worse for people trying to live life in the midst of war.”

“You speak from experience.” He studied her shadowed eyes and tense mouth. This woman was full of hidden depths of sadness like deep pools beneath the surface of a placid stream.

She didn’t reply, and he sensed her withdrawal. There were things about her life she wasn’t ready to tell him and that made him want to know her all the more.

“The battle haunts you?” Cecile returned the subject to him.

“It did. Not as much anymore. I guess time heals, as they say.”

“But something troubles you,” she pressed.

“Why do you think that?”

“Your countenance is sometimes distant and sorrowful.”

“Family matters.” The story of his affair with Fiona and its long term aftermath wasn’t something he would share with a woman he’d only just met, but he was struck by the fact Cecile had been paying enough attention to his moods to notice when he was lost in memories.

“I guess it’s easier to share the pleasures of the body than to reveal our deepest thoughts to one another. The body communicates more than words can—sorrow, joy, longing, communion.” She laughed. “Qu’est-ce que c’est? I fancy myself a philosopher.”

Nate stroked his hand up her side, the lovely friction between her skin and his palm making his cock rise once more. “I would love to continue sharing the pleasures of the body with you, as well as get to know you better through verbal communication,” he teased. “This weekend isn’t going to be nearly long enough. Would you care to visit my home and stay for a while? Would la Comtesse miss her guest too terribly?”

“Oh.” Cecile paused so long Nate feared she would refuse, but at last she answered, “Yes.”

The pucker of her brow belied the smile on her lips, and he wondered what she feared: the rapid escalation of their affair, society’s disapproval? Or did she have other concerns? Cecile was a complex woman with many secrets. He would enjoy the challenge of getting her to trust him enough to reveal them.

Chapter Five

Chris followed the sound of splashing water and off-key singing and the trail of scattered rose petals that led to Meredith’s bath. He stood for a moment near the doorway of the boudoir simply watching as she stretched an arm above her head and lathered her armpit. Her breast lifted out of the water and bobbed on the surface. His cock hardened at the sight of her glistening skin and the rosy, puckered areola centered in her breast. Pink and white rose petals floated on the surface of the water, their scent rising with the steam and filling the room with a sweet, heady aroma. Meredith’s face was flushed as pink as the rose petals from the heat and her hair, piled on her head, curled in damp tendrils around her face.

Her song broke off as she caught sight of him. She smiled. “Have you come to wash me, sir?” She held up a cake of soap and the wash cloth.

“I’m here to scold you for beheading my roses for the sake of your bath.” Rolling his sleeves up his forearms, he crossed the room and took the cloth and soap from her hands. Kneeling beside the copper tub, he submerged his hands deep beneath the water, wetting his rolled shirtsleeves.

He rested his chin on her damp shoulder and kissed the side of her neck as he lathered her belly and breasts. White suds decorated her body and added to the sweet scent of rose petals. He released the cake of soap and it floated to the surface of the water. Then he abandoned the washcloth, freeing his hands to fondle her slick, wet curves.

“I love bath time,” she moaned, and reclined against the curved side of the tub, arching her chest into his hands.

“So do I.” His cock stiffened as his hand dove beneath the water and between her thighs, his fingers skimming the lips of her pussy. But he mustn’t allow himself to be distracted from his purpose. He’d approached Meredith in her bath, knowing she’d be at her most relaxed and open-minded. Besides which, the bath held her captive so she couldn’t pretend an important errand and leave the room. Sometimes capturing his lover’s attention was as difficult as locating a sample of a rare plant.

“How was Cecile when you saw her off?” He tossed out his opening gambit while he toyed with her clitoris.

“Hm? Mm. She seemed fine. Nervous, of course, but she will do well.”

Perhaps he was distracting her too much. Chris moved his hand from her pussy and rubbed it idly over her stomach. “Do you think so? I fear she will come to harm before this is through.”

“Nathaniel Covington seems a good sort. He wouldn’t treat her roughly.”

“It’s her heart I fear for. She may come to care for him and when the affair ends, she’ll be hurt.”

“Cecile has a level head. She’s a self-contained, clear-minded woman with no romantic illusions.” Meredith’s body grew tense in his arms. “This is merely a diversion for her—an experiment.”

“As I was for you?” Chris kissed the back of her neck to take the sting from his words. He didn’t want her to interpret the comment as a barb, merely an observation. “Love can grow from a sexual diversion as we both well know.”

“Cecile is prepared for this. We even discussed the possibility of her becoming Covington’s long-term mistress, if they should come to such an arrangement. I let her know her position here will be open should she choose to return, but if she decides to remain with him I wish her all good luck.”

“Do you think Cecile would be content as his mistress? I don’t know her as well as you do, of course, but it doesn’t seem likely. The way she looks at him I believe she’s already halfway in love.”

Meredith sat up straight, sending the water sloshing over the edge of the tub, and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “You think I’ve done wrong in encouraging this.”

He shrugged. “I did suggest as much the other day you might recall. You’ve provided her with gowns, advice and tips on seducing a man, arming her with everything but the truth.”

“Cecile will be fine. This is none of your concern anyway.” Her thorns were out. His lover was like a prickly cactus sometimes, but he could handle her without receiving too many scratches.

“What of Covington when he learns he’s been deceived? He may be too angry to forgive her.” Chris knew the similarity between this situation and the circumstances under which he and Meredith had come together were not lost on her. They certainly weren’t lost on him. “There’s no such thing as a harmless deception.”

She rose to her feet, water sluicing down her naked body. “Your point is taken.” Her voice was an icy contrast to the steamy warmth of her flesh.

Chris stood and reached to take her hand and help her from the tub. She ignored his outstretched hand and stepped onto the spread towel on the floor. Knowing her ill temper was because she realized she was wrong didn’t make her anger any easier to take, especially when Chris had his own residual resentment. The incident with Cecile brought home the fact that Meredith still didn’t see wrong in warping the truth.

He exhaled his annoyance and dropped his hand to his side. The lovely warmth of bath time had evaporated like steam. His cock was still stiff from the sight of his beloved’s body. It hadn’t yet received the message that they were in an argument and there would be no fornicating.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Meredith. I just want you to think about Cecile.”

She wrapped another towel around her and tucked in the ends with far more concentration than the task needed.

“If you’re honestly trying to make your friend happy, you’d do better to help her find someone of her own class who would make a good husband and with whom she could start a family.”

Meredith glared at him then stalked across the room to her dressing table. “It’s always back to family, isn’t it? If that’s what you want, then you shouldn’t be with me. You know I can never give you children.”

“And you know I don’t care. I’ve told you that repeatedly. Children or no children, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want to be with you.” Exasperation made his voice sharper than he’d intended. The fact that she couldn’t conceive bothered Meredith far more than it did him. He believed the main reason she wouldn’t marry him was because she was certain someday he’d change his mind and want heirs.

The silence following their argument was thick with more unspoken words. For several long moments, they remained separated by several yards of space and miles of misunderstanding. Unable to keep away any longer, Chris strode across the room to Meredith. He stood behind her and his eyes met hers in the mirror. He grasped her arms, running his palms up and down her warm, moist flesh.

“Sweetheart, please try to hear what I’m saying. I have all I want in you…everything. Trust me.”

A wistful smile curved her mouth, and her eyes looked sad. “Trust isn’t my strong suit. I know how people can change. Over time you might want more than what I can give you.”

He looked deep into her reflected eyes, willing her to believe him. “I promise you I won’t change. I know myself and I know what I want. I can’t say any more than that. Believing it is up to you.”

The curve of her shoulder and neck were too inviting, and he bent to kiss her, nuzzling her rose-scented skin. He was no longer looking into her eyes, but he felt the change in her, the relaxing of her body, the soft sigh that made her shoulders rise and fall.

“Let’s not argue anymore,” she said.

“Agreed,” he mumbled against her.

And then she turned into his embrace, loosened the towel and let it drop to the floor.

Chapter Six

Cecile tried to remember everything Madame counseled about acting like a noblewoman and everything she’d observed in her years of service to her mistress, but all intelligent thought flew from her head as the carriage clattered up the drive toward Covington House. The building loomed larger as the carriage drew closer. But as Cecile took in the sprawling wings in varying architectural styles indicating they’d been added on over the years, she also noted the estate’s dilapidated condition. The lawn and gardens were ill-kempt and overgrown. The house had a general air of disrepair with shutters missing, crumbling mortar and gaps in the roofing slate.

The countess’s country home might be smaller and newer, but it was bright, clean and inviting, not like this Gothic monstrosity. Still, Cecile was awestruck by the sheer size and history of the place. The imposing building clearly stated that the Covington family was of ancient lineage. And who was she? A maid masquerading as a lady.

She’d been mad to accept Nate’s invitation to stay with him. Over prolonged time together he would see through her deception. She should have been content to enjoy their brief interlude during the countess’s house party then said her goodbyes and let him go from her life, none the wiser. It was the practical thing to do, but Cecile had been unable to resist the lure of more time spent in his company.

As he’d confided in her about the battle of Ligny, she’d thought she’d discovered the reason he had looked so desolate and lonely that night she’d first seen him in the garden. But her intuition told her there was something more. His war experience was not the only reason he carried a burden of sadness. She was anxious to know all of his secrets…and to spend many more hours lying in his arms.

Lovemaking was different than she’d expected. Although she’d read about it and seen glimpses of it and sometimes more during her years with the promiscuous countess, Cecile hadn’t really understood how sex would feel for her personally: the stretching, filling sensation as Nate entered her virgin channel, the pain, which she had to hide since she was supposed to be experienced, the surge of pleasure that came from holding him as he spent deep inside her. She would never forget the sight of his handsome face transported with bliss, and when he opened his eyes to look at her afterward, tender with emotion. Her heart had lifted, opened, reached out for something. Sex wasn’t a romantic fantasy, but an earthy, visceral act that had shaken her to the core and moved her profoundly.

Afterward she’d had to remind herself she was meant to be a knowledgeable, blasé widow and had quickly dashed away her tears of emotion before turning to Nate with a smile.

They’d spent another lovely day together enjoying Meredith’s hospitality and seizing more private moments together. Nate had accompanied her to the library where they’d discussed some of their favorite books. But conversation turned to kissing and kissing to sprawling half naked on the divan by the window. The excitement of knowing the library door was unlocked and they might be interrupted at any moment by one of the party guests only added to the thrill.

Cecile’s heart had raced and her body had leaped beneath Nate’s exploring hands. He’d teased her pussy until she was a puddle of open, aching want, and then he’d quickly released his cock from his breeches and taken her right there.

Reliving the encounter had Cecile’s sex throbbing as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the massive front door of the Covington house. She rubbed her palm over her bodice, trying to ease the aching in her tender breasts, but only succeeded in arousing them more. Her nipples were stiff. They pressed against the fabric of her bodice, showing clearly through the yellow muslin. This would not do at all—to arrive for her visit in a state of arousal.

But then, that was what she was here for, non? A sexual affair with a man who found her desirable and who enjoyed her company. Cecile cast off her constraining worries and advised herself to behave as Meredith would. When the footman opened the door, let down the step and extended his gloved hand to help her from the carriage, she was composed and ready to be carefree and uninhibited.

Sir Nathaniel strode from the house, nearly trotting in his haste to receive her. It was not proper form. A gentleman waited for his guests to be ushered to him by the butler, but then, she guessed this man often broke conventional rules.

Cecile stood beside the carriage, smiling, lifting her hand, as he bent to kiss it. His large hand grasped hers. His warm lips pressed against her skin and a shiver of delight brought her nipples to even harder peaks.

Then Nate straightened and gazed into her face, catching her in his deep blue eyes and pulling her into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

His face filled her vision. Her eyes closed, and he was kissing her. His mouth was as soft yet firm as she remembered, masterful without being demanding. His strong arms supported and sheltered her body. She’d forgotten how tall and imposing he was and how he made her feel vulnerable yet not weak.

Cecile whimpered softly. It felt like she’d been months without him instead of only a few days. He had gone ahead to prepare for her visit, asking her to join him by the following weekend. Cecile had been glad of the extra time during which Meredith gave her additional coaching and expanded her wardrobe.

“Remember, this is supposed to be fun, Cecile. You’ll give yourself frown lines if you keep worrying. You’re doing no harm, simply enjoying an adventure, a diversion. And I’m sure Sir Nathaniel will enjoy it, too. Think of this as a holiday. Leave your old self behind and become the lady we’ve created.”

It sounded good in theory, but Cecile wasn’t at all certain she could slough off her moth-brown persona to become a bright butterfly.

Meredith had paused in her flurrying from wardrobe to trunk with a pair of shoes dangling from her hands. She’d stared at Cecile in her new amethyst-colored gown as if seeing her for the first time. “Cecile, you won’t begin to care for him, will you? You do remember this is just a lark.”

“Naturally, Madame. I’m a pragmatic woman. I wouldn’t confuse fantasy with reality.”

“Good.” Meredith gave her a quick smile and continued packing, reversing their roles and acting as Cecile’s lady’s maid.

The very trunk Madame had filled and fastened the clasps of was currently being unloaded from the back of the carriage as Nate finally released Cecile’s lips and allowed her to breathe. She was dizzy, her head and her world spinning slightly as he stepped back.

“I’ve missed you. Silly, I know. We barely know each another. But there it is.” Again he made her heart flip with the smile that never quite reached his haunted eyes. His face was tan, cheeks ruddy as though he’d recently come back from a ride. She could imagine how he’d look astride a horse, so tall and straight-backed in the saddle with his brown locks wind-tossed. How she’d love to be brave enough to ride alongside him, the pair of them racing across the countryside, wild and free. But she’d never mounted a horse in her life and couldn’t imagine being able to stay astride one of the big animals.

He took her hand and tucked it through the crook of his arm then led her toward the massive front door of the house. “Have you read any good books this week?”

“I’m afraid not. I was too busy preparing to come here, although I suppose I shouldn’t admit that. Measuring and fitting new gowns and sundries is usually unmentioned, as if a lady’s clothes appear magically with no effort on anyone’s part.”

“I’m sure there are fleets of seamstresses that would claim otherwise.”

“And you?” she said. “Do you have a book to share?”

“As a matter of fact, I do…”

Their light talk put her at ease. The knot of nervousness that had twisted her belly for the past week loosened. Despite his intimidating title and position, Nate had the knack of putting her at ease. Even in this frightful, ancient dwelling with its imposing, echoing front hall graced by dour-faced ancestors, he made her feel at home.

He paused in the center of the flagstone corridor and turned to her. “I want you to feel comfortable here. Treat the place as your own. MacKenzie will show you to your room so you may refresh yourself and he’ll escort you to the library afterward where I’ll be waiting for you. Is that suitable?”

She nodded. It would be good to have a few minutes to collect herself and remind herself that she must be not-quite-Cecile here, but someone a little more vivacious and a little less introverted.

The room the butler led her to was like a fairy-tale dream. The cherry furniture was age-darkened but well-polished and still glowed subtly red. An ornate carpet perhaps from Persia adorned the floor, its design of muted colors as intricate and beautiful as any wall tapestry. And the large four-poster bed was hung in gold and white patterned fabric that looked positively royal. She smoothed a hand over the matching golden coverlet and imagined sleeping like a princess in this beautiful bed. Then she imagined sharing it with Nate and her body grew tense and loose, hot and cold, all at the same time.

She was to be his mistress, if only for a short while. It was an extravagant, impossible idea that she, Cecile Lambeaux, would be a lord’s lover, but here she was.

Cecile unbuttoned the long row of buttons on the bodice of her traveling costume and slipped it off. She’d need to sponge it clean of dust later on. After pouring water from the jug into the basin on the washstand, she rinsed her face and arms then considered what dress to change into. She’d chosen a rose silk gown to wear for her first evening here, but it was still quite early in the afternoon so she donned a blue and white striped walking dress, instead.

It was unheard of for a gentlewoman to travel without her lady’s maid, but of course Cecile had no personal servant and it was a detail Meredith had overlooked. Cecile had been embarrassed to request one of the housemaids to play the part and, besides, she was afraid none of them could keep her secret. Thus, she muddled through alone, struggling to fasten the hooks and eyes up her back. This took some time and it was nearly an hour before the stone-faced MacKenzie ushered her into the library where Nathaniel waited for her.

He was standing at the window when she entered the room. The light struck his profile, and she thought of the first time she’d seen him in Madame’s garden, gazing into the distance in the stark moonlight—alone, haunted, melancholy. Later she’d wondered if she imagined those qualities, reflections of her own feelings, but now that she knew Nate a little, she believed her first assessment was correct.

He turned toward her and a smile lit his face. She couldn’t see the curve of his wide mouth without thinking of how it felt kissing her or gaze into his vivid blue eyes without remembering them hungrily studying her nude body.

Cecile swallowed then smiled back.

“Was your room satisfactory?”

“Yes. Beautiful. Thank you.”

“I noticed you brought no maid. Shall I assign one of the girls to help you while you’re here?”

“Oh.” The thought of having a servant was a little off-putting. Although she could use the assistance with her clothes, she didn’t know how she felt about having someone at her command. But it would appear odd to refuse. “Yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”

“Good.” He nodded then beckoned her toward him. “Come. I want to show you the illuminations in the version of Canterbury Tales I’ve been reading. The pictures are quite amazing.”

She was both glad and disappointed that he didn’t simply grab her and start kissing her again. It was good to spend some time talking and getting to know one another, but her body ached for his touch. Soon she forgot about it as she examined the illustrated volume of Chaucer and several other books he wanted to share with her.

Nate poured her a glass of wine and offered her a plate of biscuits from the sideboard. She sipped and nibbled and enjoyed the beautiful volumes in the amazing library. The walls were floor to ceiling shelves packed with books, their dusty, papery smell filling the air and tickling her nose. Golden light poured through the windows, dust motes dancing on the beams like fairies. The room was hushed, only the solemn tick of a clock’s pendulum and their quiet conversation disturbing the silence.

Cecile stood immersed in reading a passage from a new romantic novel, Kenilworth by Sir Walter Scott, when she realized that Nate was no longer looking at the book in his hands, but at her. She stole a glance from the page of her book to his face.

His eyes had a greedy, hungry look that made her stomach tighten and her sex tingle. At odds with his elegant frock coat and cravat, the raw need of primitive man was contained in that look.

As Cecile met his gaze, Nate reached out, took the book from her hands and closed it. The deliberate motions seemed unbearably suggestive because she knew exactly what they meant—reading time was over and a more earthy entertainment was about to begin. For another moment, they stood, hands down by their sides, gazing at each other and listening to the clock tick, and then Nate stepped toward her.

He caressed the side of her face with his knuckles, gliding them down her cheek and her neck. The brush of his fingers was like silk whispering against her skin. Cecile’s eyes half closed and she tilted her face expectantly. Nate didn’t disappoint her. He lowered his mouth to cover hers, just a dragonfly touch of her lips at first then a deeper exploration.

His hands covered her back, their pressure and heat seeping through the lawn dress and into her skin. He dipped his tongue between her lips and touched the tip of hers. Cecile relaxed into the kiss, meeting his caresses and melting into his body. This was the heavenly moment she’d been waiting for, the one she’d dreamed of since he left her last weekend.

She opened herself to him, to his kiss and his touch. She would have loved to offer him every part of her including her true identity, but that was not possible, and so she gave him what she could, opening and yearning toward him with no reservations.

At last, when they’d gotten as close as they could without removing their clothes, Nate pulled away. He stroked a wisp of hair back from her temple and rested his forehead against hers. “Lady Lambeaux, I believe I could become quite accustomed to having you around.”

She smiled and inhaled the scent of their mingled breath, wine-sweet and whiskey-sharp. And I could become quite accustomed to being here. Her reaction was strange given that they barely knew each other, but the connection between them was such that she felt she’d known him all her life.

“Now, if you’ll permit me the liberty, madam, I’d like to take off your dress.”

“Here?” Her gaze shot to the door. “Do libraries always unlock your passion this way? I believe there must be dozens of bedrooms in this huge house which would be a more appropriate place to resume our affair.”

“Trust me. This room is as private as any bed chamber. No one will disturb us.” Nate’s smile was mischievous and made his sad eyes sparkle. “Besides, isn’t there something about the audacity of making love in the midst of great dusty tomes and disapproving portraits that’s very exciting?”

Cecile nodded, but her heart thumped as he took her by the shoulders, turned her around and began unfastening the hooks she’d so recently finished fastening. She couldn’t keep from glancing toward the door every now and then. What if one of the servants came to offer more refreshments? What if visitors arrived and MacKenzie opened the door to announce them? She wasn’t nearly as certain as Nate that they would remain undisturbed, but the threat of discovery merely heightened her arousal. Her breathing was short and her heart beat faster as Nate’s fingers loosened her bodice.

When he slipped the sleeves of the gown down her arms and let it fall to the floor and pool at her feet, Cecile caught her breath. His palms rubbed her naked arms and shoulders, lightly caressing until her skin felt as sensitive as if she had a fever. He pressed his lips to her shoulder then turned her face toward him as he leaned over her shoulder to kiss her.

The angle exposed her neck to his fingertips trailing down its length and over her cleavage. It was a vulnerable position, submissive and trusting. Cecile leaned back against his body and surrendered to his devouring kiss. She reveled in the feeling of his caress on her chest. And then his hand encircled her throat, and an abrupt sensation of dread came over her. She broke off the kiss, pulling away from him—from that hand on her throat—with a gasp. She retreated to stand by the bookshelves, gazing blindly and panting for breath.

“What is it? Am I moving too fast? I’m sorry.”

She felt him approach her, but he didn’t touch her.

Cecile shook her head. She put her hand on her neck, feeling her pulse beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings in her throat.

“Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She shrugged, unable to speak. Her throat was so swollen she felt she was smothering.

He moved away from her then. She felt the absence of his presence at her back. Then he was pressing another glass of wine into her hand. “Drink this. You’re so pale. I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong.”

“No.” The word was small and choked. “It’s just a memory that suddenly…” She stopped and drank deeply of the wine.

Nate took the empty cup from her hand and set it aside then he took her hand and squeezed it. “Please, don’t be afraid to tell me whatever it is. You’ll feel better letting the memory go. Trust me. I know.”

She forced herself to meet his level gaze, so serious, so understanding. Exhaling a shaky breath, she nodded. “When I was very young,” she began and already found that she needed to pause and think. “I lost my family when I was little, maybe six or seven, I can’t really remember. But I saw them. I watched them die on the guillotine: my maman, my papa, as well as several other relatives.”

Nate’s breath hissed between his teeth. “My God.”

“After that I lived with some friends of the family.” It was a relief to tell him that much of the truth. Since many aristocrats were executed during the Reign of Terror, Nate would assume she came from a titled family. The truth was that her father was a wealthy merchant, a bourgeoisie. After Cecile was orphaned, one of her father’s ex-employees took her in. She lived in poverty until the family could no longer afford to keep her and then she was sent to an orphanage.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“It was very long ago. Silly of me to think of it now or to become so upset. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for and every reason in the world to be haunted by such a horrific event. Who would take a child to an execution?”

“I don’t usually speak of this. In fact, I’ve never talked about it to anyone before, not even my dear friend, Madame du Chevalier.” Another truth to which she was able to admit. Yet telling him this much of her life made keeping the rest of her secrets all the more difficult.

“Then I’m honored you shared it with me.” His voice was low and gentle.

“When you touched my neck, suddenly I felt as if…” Once more she trailed off, but she knew from his eyes that he understood the connection perfectly.

“May I hold you now?” he asked, as respectfully as a suitor requesting a dance, as if he hadn’t already known her intimately.

“You may,” she whispered.

He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. He guided her to his chest and cradled her head, petting her hair gently.

He was so sweet, so kind, that tears welled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Her voice was muffled against his waistcoat. “I’ve come here for a light romantic interlude, and then I unburden myself to you like this. You must wish you’d chosen a less femme triste.”

“I didn’t invite you here merely because I wanted a sexual companion.” His voice rumbled against her ear pressed to his warm chest. “I wanted to get to know you better. I chose you, a woman I guessed was full of hidden depths.”

“And pools of tears.” She rubbed her cheek and sniffed.

“Cry as much as you like. I can always change my shirt.”

Cecile smiled and hugged her arms around his waist tighter. He smelled of soap and male and his body was so solid and alive. She could hear his heart beating and feel the bulge of his erection pressed against her stomach through layers of material. Her sad memories and feelings of dread dissipated and the intimacy of the moment returned. Her desire flared again.

Stepping back, she slid her hands up Nate’s chest to his shoulders. His jacket was too thick. She needed to feel him beneath her hands, so she pushed the jacket off his shoulders and pulled it down his arms.

Nate shrugged out of the garment, but when she reached for the buttons of his shirt, he held her hand, stopping her. “We don’t have to. Not right now.”

“No. Now,” she said. “I want to.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement but murmured, “If you change your mind at any time…”

She smiled, doubting she would but appreciating his thoughtfulness. Rising up on her toes, she slipped her hand around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss, and once more the fire flared between them.

The fact that she’d told him about such an important moment in her life seemed to open the floodgates of her heart. All the emotion she’d suppressed for so many years poured out of her and into the act of lovemaking. Frantic and frenzied her hands moved all over his body. His clothes and hers were quickly shed and they embraced, naked, in the hushed library. How odd it was to entwine like primal humans while surrounded by the trappings of higher thought that separated man from animal.

Nate lifted and carried her to one of the several leather chairs near the fireplace at one end of the room. A patina of age had turned the maroon leather an almost chocolate brown. The seat was deep, made for a man to sink into with an after-dinner port and cigar, his hunting dogs lying at his feet in front of a roaring blaze. It was also good for two bodies to share, quite wide enough for Nate to sit with Cecile straddling his lap, her knees planted in the chair on either side of his hips.

In that position, her breasts were level with his face. He leaned forward and seized an erect nipple between his lips, sucking it in greedily. Cecile gazed at the top of his thick, wavy brown hair and the sliver of his profile: dark eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, his mouth latched onto her tit. The pulling sensation sent a thrill of pleasure stabbing through her straight from her breast to her sex, which was open and damp and poised above his lap.

She arched her chest toward his mouth and shifted her knees, her skin squeaking against the leather. His hard cock bumped her pussy and brushed her clitoris. Sparks of pleasure shimmered through her. Grasping the wing chair on either side, the round, metal studs pressing into her palms, Cecile levered her body up and then sank onto Nate’s erect cock, taking him into her body in slow increments. He stretched her, filled her and made her feel complete. Cecile found it satisfying being in the top position, controlling the depth and speed of their lovemaking, rising and falling on him at her leisure. She discovered she liked it.

Nate turned his attention to her other breast, laving the nipple with soft strokes of his tongue then sucking it deeply. He stroked his palms the length of her back then grasped her bottom. He groaned quietly and his head rolled back against the chair, chin lifting and exposing his throat.

She loved the way the posture made him appear vulnerable and open. She bent to nibble the column of his neck and suck at the soft spot above his collarbones hard enough to leave a red mark of claiming. The quiet, sedate, reserved part of her sat somewhere in the back of her mind watching this new Cecile make passionate love to a man and was shocked. She hadn’t known herself capable of such wanton behavior, had wondered if she’d even know what to do when she was finally alone with this man her heart had fallen for. But her body knew exactly how to respond to his touch and his kisses, and she seemed to instinctively know what he wanted and enjoyed. At least Nate was groaning and pushing into her, so she must be doing it right.

He gripped her hips and urged her to ride his shaft a little faster. As she bore down, he lifted up, filling her deeply with every thrust. Cecile caught her breath at the deep penetration and her mounting sense of need. More, more, more, beat in time with her heart.

Nate groaned and abruptly surged up, impaling her deeply. His strangled cry announced his release, and his fingers gripping her hips dug in hard.

Moved by the primitive sound and the shuddering that swept through his body, Cecile squeezed her eyes shut and reached deep within herself for her own climax. She pulled the loose threads of desire together into a solid cloth, a ribbon of satin that shimmered through her, sensuous and deep.

She slid along that ribbon—out of body, out of mind—and when she came back to herself, she’d collapsed against Nate’s chest and he was holding her tight. Had she cried out, perhaps caused a passing servant to pause in front of the library door and smile? Cecile honestly didn’t know. She’d been too lost in the glory of her orgasm. It was no wonder they called the act la petit morte. She felt as if she’d died and risen again like a phoenix.

Nathaniel stroked her hair and held her body close to his, their sweating skin fusing together. “I’m a terrible host. I believe I should have shown you around the place and shared a dinner with you before having a tryst. When I invited you to come to the library, I honestly didn’t have this in mind.”

She smiled and kissed his shoulder. “And yet you warned the servants not to interrupt so we could be entirely alone.”

He chuckled. “Well, maybe I did have some ulterior motives.”

“At any rate, it’s a lovely library and you’ve acquired an amazing collection of books.” She sat up and faced him. “I could spend all day here.”

“Then I’ll show you the rest of the estate and grounds tomorrow, and we’ll camp here for today. Perhaps after we’ve read a while we can find other uses for the library table.” He nodded at the heavy walnut table on which were scattered papers and piles of books.

“I should like that very much. It will be a ‘novel’ experience.” Cecile smiled. Light banter wasn’t so difficult after all. She might not be as witty as the Countess, but she could hold her own.

Nate arched his brows. “So, we’re reduced to puns, are we? In that case, I’ll have to trot out an old chestnut from my boyhood. When I was little, I thought it was the funniest quip ever: to write with a broken pencil is pointless.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I know.”

She laughed at his playfulness and suddenly her heart swelled with emotion. This was so easy, so comfortable, simply talking and laughing together. The sex was mind altering and body shaking, but the comradeship was perhaps even more precious. She could too easily become accustomed to it. How dark and dreary her life would be when this special time was over.

Cecile disentangled herself from Nate’s arms and went to retrieve her discarded clothing. She slipped on her chemise and petticoat. His seed sliding down her inner thigh reminded her that she’d completely forgotten about using the condoms Meredith had provided, but Madame had also given her a tea to brew that was supposed to prevent pregnancy. She would have some now.

“Cecile.” Nate came up behind her and took over the task of fastening the back of her dress. “I’m very glad you’re here and I hope you’ll stay as long as you like…if there’s no place else you have to be.”

Cecile pictured her sewing room with Madame’s many gowns and undergarments awaiting minor repairs. Would her mistress hire another maid if Cecile was gone too long? She couldn’t afford to lose her place. And really, how long could she continue this charade before Sir Nathaniel questioned the truth out of her? She seemed incapable of dissembling with him. In fact, he made her want to tell him everything about herself. A long visit was not a good idea.

“I’ve promised my friend la Comtesse that I shall return in a fortnight, but I suppose she wouldn’t suffer for want of me if I were gone a little while longer.”

“Good.” His hands abandoned the hooks and eyes to settle on her shoulders, and his mouth caressed the side of her neck. “Time is fleeting and must be captured and hung onto with both hands sometimes.”

Chapter Seven

Nate carried to the nightstand the tray with a steaming pot of tea, cups and saucers, a bowl of fruit and a plate of shortbread. Rosie had brought it upstairs from the kitchen, but he wanted to serve it to Cecile himself, and not just because she was sitting naked in his bed and it might be a tad inappropriate to have the maid pour for them. There was something very intimate and erotic about waiting on her. It was a duty he would enjoy.

Cecile sat in a drift of white sheets, her light brown hair tumbled in careless curls over her pale shoulders. She’d wrapped the sheet around her torso, covering her lush breasts, and managed to look both wanton and virginal at the same time. Her admiring eyes gazed at his body, and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

Nate found it adorably coquettish, the way she wavered between acting the part of a worldly woman and seeming suddenly shy and unsure. Those dual qualities were part of her charm and her mystery. She hadn’t given a detailed account of her life after her parents’ death. Perhaps she’d been educated in a convent, which would explain her occasional primness.

“May I pour the tea?” Cecile leaned toward the nightstand. The sheet slipped, and she hastily pulled it up and tucked it in more firmly.

“No. I’ll serve you, milady.” Nate had shed his dressing gown and gave a courtly bow, which looked ridiculous with his cock dangling. He plumped the pillows behind her, urging her to sit back, then prepared her tea, lacing it liberally with sugar at her request.

“Thank you.” Her smile was adorably diffident as she took the cup and saucer from his hands. “I’m not used to having a gentleman serve me.”

“Then your previous lovers must have been cads. A man should always be mindful of his lady’s pleasure.” He overplayed the gallant because it pleased him to amuse her and see her smile.

A dimple flashed at the corner of her mouth and she cast her eyes down to the cup in her hands. “La, sir, such seductive nonsense will turn my head.”

I want to turn your head. I want to seduce you and talk with you and keep you here much longer than a few weeks. “Enough to make you drop that binding on your breasts?” he teased, reaching out a finger to snag the sheet and pull it down.

Her cheeks flushed, but she let the material drift to her lap. “I might as well admit to you that I haven’t had many lovers. It still discomfits me a trifle to have my…assets on display.”

“No need to feel reticent with me. I love the way you look. I love gazing at your beauty, for Madame Lambeaux, you are very beautiful.” He was rewarded for the compliment by seeing her cheeks turn from rose to red.

She sipped her tea then cried out softly as she burned her mouth. She set the cup down too quickly on the saucer, and the tea sloshed over the rim.

Nate took the cup from her hands. “Before you burn those lovely breasts, perhaps I’d better take over. Here. This will cool your tongue.”

He chose a slice of fresh peach, swirled it through the dish of cream and brought it to Cecile’s lips.

“Oh.” Her mouth opened in surprise, and he popped the peach inside, smearing a dab of cream on her lip as he did so. That, of course, required cleaning so Nate bent and swept his tongue over her sweetly bowed upper lip, tasting cream, peach juice and Cecile.

He drew away to watch her chew and swallow, the subtle fluctuations of her jaw and throat as sexually intoxicating as seeing her nude body. Nate cupped her throat in his hand, stroked the length of the slender column. Then he remembered her anxiety about having her neck touched earlier that day and pulled away. He bent to kiss her there instead. Surely, his kisses would cause no reminder of the guillotine.

Her skin was smooth and soft beneath his mouth, and he felt the beating of her heart against his lips. Cecile made a quiet sound in her throat and tilted up her chin, offering more of herself to him. Nate kissed her, while his hand stole to her waist, resting on the crook above her hip bone. His cock stirred and rose even though they’d just finished making love for the third time that day. Lest he lose control of his senses and let his libido run wild, he sat back and reached for another slice of peach. After feeding it to her, he licked the juice from his fingers then offered her the cooled cup of tea.

“This is so decadent. You are too good to me,” she murmured as she accepted the cup. He loved the low pitch of her voice and the charming French accent that gave a musical lilt to her words.

“Why should you expect any less? You deserve to be pampered.” It had been a long time since there’d been a woman he wished to treat like a queen. No one really since Fiona, and he’d been so very young then.

“You are most charming, sir.”

“And you are most beautiful.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “And adorable.” He turned her palm up and nibbled her wrist and forearm. “And delicious.”

Nate smiled at his own silliness. It wasn’t like him to be flowery and flirtatious, but she made him want to shower her with compliments and kisses. He got the impression she hadn’t received as many compliments as she ought to have from the gentlemen in her life.

He fed her more peaches and cream and buttery shortbread fresh from Cook’s oven. Then Cecile returned the favor, offering the light repast to him. They ate until the tray was empty, the bed covered with crumbs and their hands and mouths sticky with peach juice.

After washing up, they lay side by side, gazing up at the slightly moth-eaten canopy that draped the tall bed.

“Everything in your home is so…”

“Ancient?” he finished.

“Historied,” she amended. “I can imagine generations of Covingtons living their lives here, the years flowing past like water, but the family always occupying the castle.”

“Hardly a castle. Only a very large and quite haphazard house. You can see the different architecture added on over the years, the collection of furniture from various periods. Occasionally an enthusiastic bride would attempt a complete redecoration, but somehow the antique furnishings seem to find their way back down from the attic. Covingtons are averse to change.” He snorted.

“There’s something to be said for continuity and family.”

“Not if that family stifles every new or innovative idea and continues to live an outdated archetype. My brother, for example, acting the part of lord of the manor, drinking, gambling, whoring, living off the revenues from the estate but putting no effort into maintaining the world he leeches from.”

Cecile turned her head on her pillow and looked at him. “Does it bother you that as second son you didn’t inherit?”

“Only inasmuch as he’d run the place into the ground given his head. I don’t crave his title. I was happy when I was free of the responsibility.” It wasn’t quite a lie. He’d learned to adjust to wherever he was stationed during his army days. If that could be considered contentment, then he’d been content.

“There’s something more, isn’t there?” Her searching eyes studied him. “Another reason you’re so bitter.”

“Am I? I didn’t mean to sound so. I’m sorry.”

“No.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I want to know what it is that constantly troubles you…something other than your battlefield experiences, I think.”

Nate gazed at her long, slender fingers on his arm, an elegant, lady’s hand, so different from the red, work-roughened hands of his onetime sweetheart, Fiona. Suddenly, he wanted to tell Cecile everything so badly he almost felt the words pressing against his tongue trying to get out of his mouth. He hadn’t spoken of that painful affair or its aftermath to anyone…ever, and her gentle voice urged him to tell her everything.

“It was so long ago.”

“That doesn’t make it any less important. As you said to me earlier, the events that shape our lives are always with us.”

Nate inhaled, stared at the frayed edge of the canopy and wondered if any of the servants could be cajoled into hemming it. “I was seventeen. There was a girl, one of the maids. I know, it sounds like a classic example of the young lord behaving badly with the help. But we were both young and very much in love. I would’ve run away with her and worked for a living, but before it reached that point, my father found out and put an end to it. He coerced Fiona into breaking it off. Probably gave her money and threatened her family. I never learned the details.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, embarrassed at how predictable their love affair sounded when spoken aloud. “I want you to know, I didn’t give her up easily. I was truly in love, or at least thought I was. I tried to see and speak to her, but she’d been sent to stay with distant relatives. Of course, her mother wouldn’t tell me where, and then the next term began and I was sent back to school.

“Even then I didn’t give up. At the next term break I made an attempt to discover her whereabouts and to contact her by giving a message to her mother to pass on. But it was as if she’d disappeared.” He paused, reluctant to tell Cecile the rest of the sordid tale. It was too much to share, even with her. “After I graduated I went right into officer’s training rather than spend any time at home with the father I now hated. The next time I saw the man, he was in a coffin.”

Cecile gasped softly. “Quel dommage. You must have been heartbroken that you never made amends. He was still your father after all.”

“I wish I could say I had regrets, that I’d matured enough to see the good in him and to accept my own share of blame in the matter, but honestly, I’ve still not forgiven him.”

Maybe she would understand why and stop looking at him with those reproving eyes if she knew the rest of the story, but Nate wasn’t prepared to tell it. Not yet and perhaps not ever.

“So, you never found your Fiona again?”

“Enough of such a miserable tale. I don’t wish to dwell on the past.” He rolled to his side and reached for her. “Not when the present is so much more pleasant.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Cecile hooked her hand over his shoulder and rubbed the tense muscle. “Thank you for telling me. I begin to understand now the sadness you carry with you.”

Nate smiled and smoothed the worry lines from between her eyebrows. “Do I?”

“Yes. Even when you’re smiling I can glimpse it in your eyes.”

“We’re quite a gloomy pair then, aren’t we?”

She shrugged. “Qui se ressemble s’assemble.”

“Like attracts like. Perhaps it does.”

Cecile slapped his shoulder lightly. “Now, you’ve fed and pampered me, let me do something for you. I will give you a massage. I’ve noticed you rubbing your neck occasionally as though it were tense.”

“A little,” Nate admitted. “Too much time poring over ledgers and not enough time outdoors recently.”

She sat and held up her palms. “With these magic hands, I will release the strain from your muscles and give you relaxation such as you’ve never known.”

He smiled, enjoying her sudden playfulness. “I won’t argue.”

He rolled onto his stomach, pushing the pillows out of his way and pressing his cheek to the cool cotton sheet covering the mattress. Cecile’s weight settled on his ass. He could feel the dampness of her pussy, and it made his cock twitch yet again.

Her hands bore down on his shoulders, pressing and kneading across their breadth and rubbing the tendons at the back of his neck. Although her hands were slender, they were strong. She dug into the sore, tight places and, true to her word, released his tension.

It felt heavenly. Nate groaned and closed his eyes, relaxing beneath her healing touch.

Cecile alternated between several techniques. She kneaded, pummeled with the sides of her fists and stroked lightly, soothingly with her palms. He couldn’t decide which part was the best as she slowly worked her way down the length of his back, driving the aches and pains from him.

“Where did you learn this? You’re a miracle worker.”

“I read a book.”

“Good book.” He grunted as she dug her fingers extra hard into his lower back.

“It was on Eastern medicine and healing practices. Madame has many such unusual and informational books in her library.”

“Madame la Comtesse? I thought you’d only just arrived at her house. You’re a quick reader and a quick learner.”

Cecile didn’t reply, but moved her body down between his legs and pressed into his naked buttocks with her fists.

Nate’s ass clenched and his cock hardened as she pummeled and massaged his rear, and then the tops of his thighs. He held his breath as he waited to see if the massage would turn erotic. Would she snake a hand between his legs and fondle his balls? He hoped so.

But she moved on, working the length of his legs. Nate felt guilty, lying there like an inert lump while she poured her energy into her vigorous rubbing. He would have to return the favor. Stroking and massaging Cecile’s nude body would not be a chore but a pleasure.

At last she reached his feet where she manipulated every toe and pressed hard into the arches. Nate groaned again at the wonderful sensation. His entire body vibrated like a cat’s purr.

Cecile moved again, kneeling by his side on the wide mattress. She stroked her hands over his skin in light, brisk brushes from his shoulders and arms all the way down to his feet. He was half asleep by the time she’d finished, his muscles invigorated yet soothed at the same time. More importantly, his mind was calm. A peaceful, floating feeling filled him.

She quietly lay beside him, and Nate opened his eyes to gaze into her river-colored eyes, constantly shifting and changing subtly from gray to green.

“That was amazing. I think you do have magic in your hands.”

Cecile smiled.

“But I’m not such a cad that I would accept a gift like that and not return it.” He roused his languid body and sat. “It’s your turn now.”

“Oh no. You don’t have to—”

“Shush.” He put a finger to his lips. “Roll onto your stomach and relax.”

She obeyed, turning over and presenting the long, lovely line of her back and the softly rounded curves of her bottom. Nate swallowed. This might be harder than he’d anticipated, because his cock was already rising and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Suppressing his rampant libido, he knelt over the woman’s body and manipulated her muscles as she had done his. Since his hands were large, it didn’t take long to massage her shoulders and back, her right and left arm and hands. Her skin was silky smooth beneath his palms, warm and fragrant with the scent of some sort of flower. Nate debated whether to lean over and follow his stroking hands with a pepper of kisses, but he knew where that would lead and so he restrained himself.

His cock swelled harder as Cecile moaned softly and shifted beneath his hands when he reached the curve of her waist. Steady on, he advised himself as he grabbed delicious handfuls of her creamy flesh and kneaded it. Oh God, he’d never make it down her legs at this rate.

But once he’d left the forbidden territory of her rear and the shadowed juncture where thigh met body, it got easier. Although his erection still jutted from him like a ship’s prow, Nate was able to ignore it enough to complete his task: thighs, calves, ankles and feet all duly massaged.

Following Cecile’s example, he knelt beside her prone body and smoothed his palms over her skin. With a stretch of the imagination, but he could picture his hands brushing away the sadness, the fears and tension that poisoned her well-being. And when he was finished, he laid his hands on her back just below the sweep of straight, honey-brown hair, and felt the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

Cecile’s eyes were closed. She slept with the fingers of one hand curved below her chin.

Nate smiled. He wouldn’t disturb her peace with the demands of his relentless cock. He’d just have to bank that fire for the night and let it flare to life in the morning.

He dimmed the lamp, rearranged the pillows and pulled up the covers against the chill in the room. Lying beside Cecile, he pressed as close as he dared without waking her and draped his arm over her back. Nate studied her face cast in shadow and the golden glow of the low lantern flame. She was a study in such contrasts: bright and shining one moment, rife with shadows the next.

Her devastating story of losing her family to the guillotine had given him some insight into what made her the complex woman she was, but Nate felt there was more to learn about her—a secret that she hadn’t shared yet. He understood that. He had his own.

When the time was right, perhaps they could both share the parts of themselves they kept hidden. The light of knowledge could shine into the shadowed recesses of their souls.

Chapter Eight

It was a great deal more difficult to dress herself and arrange her hair than Meredith had imagined it would be. She considered calling Cynthia, one of the upstairs maids, to help her. Perhaps she’d promote the girl to act as her personal maid for the duration of Cecile’s absence. But it would be too galling to admit that she couldn’t manage alone. She’d done all right when she and Chris had gone on their expedition to China, but then she’d worn very simple dresses, even male attire on some occasions when they’d trekked through the mountains. Besides, Chris had always been happy to help her dress…and especially undress.

In fact, she could use his services right now.

At that precise moment, as if he’d received her mental cry for help, her beloved showed up in her doorway. He had a knack for doing that which was almost frightening.

“How do you feel about India?” Chris said without preamble. It was this perfunctory manner that made him socially awkward, but it was a quality Meredith found adorable.

“I’m in favor of it, but in what context do you mean, my darling?”

“Visiting. I should like to go to the indigo fields and study the process of extraction from the Indigofera as well as collect some of the other local flora.” He crossed the room to stand behind her, facing her reflection in the mirror of her vanity.

“Well, I’ve heard India is perfectly lovely this time of year—if one likes steamy, tropical temperatures and torrential rains.”

“So you’re saying you’d prefer to remain at home?”

“I’m saying that I love spending as much of my time as possible with you, but this is one trip I may forego.” She patted his hand on her shoulder.

He gazed at her reflection. “Your hair is a bit disheveled, isn’t it? Unless… Is that meant to be artful dishevelment?”

“No.” Meredith said dryly, setting her silver-backed hairbrush on the vanity top with a click. “It is not artful dishevelment.”

“May I help you?” Chris picked up the brush. “I think if you just removed a few pins here and comb out this bit…” His hands moved about her head with the same graceful care they used when pruning his beloved rose bushes. “You see, it looks better long and loose. It frames your face so beautifully. What does it matter if other ladies frizz and curl and pile their hair high? Aren’t you a style-setter, my dear?”

She couldn’t suppress her broad smile. He was such a sweetheart with his artless compliments.

“You’re missing Cecile, aren’t you?” he said, making her smile disappear. Was he going to start scolding her again for sending her maid on an ill-planned misadventure?

“I mean, not just her expertise with your hair and clothing, but missing her company,” he added, erasing the frown from her forehead. He stroked the silky hair he’d brushed, his hand warm and heavy against her head. “Servant or no, she is your best friend.”

Meredith had never thought of it, or at least hadn’t acknowledged it, but Chris was right. She cared very much for calm, patient, wise Cecile with her quiet reserve and her hidden places. Cecile had been there whenever she needed to talk, but how often had Meredith listened to Cecile’s secret thoughts, her desires, problems, fears? Good Lord, she was a terrible friend! She’d even sent the poor woman off to Covington without a lady’s maid in attendance.

“I do miss her,” Meredith admitted. “I hope she’s doing well and having a lovely time. It is possible, isn’t it, that all will be revealed to Covington and he won’t be upset? Perhaps he might keep her as his long-term mistress.”

“Like you keep me?” His suggestive smile and roaming hands took any sting from the words.

She snorted and batted his hand away from her décolletage. “You’re hardly a kept man.”

“Don’t I live on your largesse? I think I’m quite the gigolo. How shocked my old schoolmates would be if they knew pedantic, bookish Whitby was living as a countess’s sexual plaything.” He bent his head over her shoulder to put his mouth where his hand had been.

“You forgot jaded,” she purred as she stroked his soft, sandy hair. “A jaded, middle-aged countess.”

With his lips poised above the upper slope of her breast, Chris met her eyes in the mirror. “Not middle-aged. A mature, self-assured, splendid woman.”

“All right,” she agreed. “Maybe not middle-aged, not yet, but it’s coming.”

“As I should like to be,” he teased. “If you’ll only allow me to help you remove this dress.”

“I just put it on and you have no idea of the difficulty of fastening all these buttons.”

“I promise to both unbutton and re-button every one. Or we could just turn you around like this”—he suited action to words, turning her sideways on the chair to face him—“and push up your skirts like this. And my goodness, what do we find? Underwear with no crotch, you naughty girl.”

“I know you too well. There’s very little point in wearing more than a garter to hold up my stockings.”

Chris knelt at her feet and ran his hands up the length of her thighs, bunching her skirts even higher. He bent and kissed one knee and then the other, then pressed kisses on her inner thighs. Delicious tingles shivered through her from the rasp of the light stubble on his jaw and the tickle of his hair. Chris kept his rather longer than the current men’s style at her request since Meredith liked something to grip when they made love.

He pushed her legs wider apart and pulled on her hips, scooting her to the very edge of the chair and his waiting mouth. His fingers delved between her folds, delicately separating them as if exploring a fragile bud. Why did flower metaphors always come to mind when she thought of her darling Christopher? And then he dipped his face and fed from her like a hummingbird sipping nectar from a flower.

Her eyes closed and she let her head fall back at the sweet sensation of his lips and tongue nibbling, sucking, lapping at her clitoris and the well of her sex below. Meredith arched her back and moaned. She gripped the edge of the vanity and the back of the chair to keep herself anchored as Chris teased and tortured her with his mouth. He’d become so adept at oral sex and she so responsive to his lightest touch that it didn’t take long for him to move her to the edge of orgasm.

Her hips thrust, lifting her bottom off the chair. He pressed her gently back down and took his tongue from her clit, forcing her back down the slope he’d urged her up. She breathed hard like a winded runner as he sprinkled kisses on her inner thighs and her engorged labia. He teased a finger then two inside her and pumped them in and out while pressing his thumb firmly against her erect bud.

Meredith combed her fingers through his thick hair and let it sift between them, cool and silky. How she loved the way he looked, crouched between her legs and tending her like this. She’d had many lovers in her life, some just as clever with their mouth and hands, but none who could move her like Chris did. The difference, she supposed, was love.

Removing his fingers from inside her, he gripped her thighs and returned to licking her cunt, focusing the tip of his tongue on her clit. Stroke by inexorable stroke he brought her back to the pinnacle. Meredith closed her eyes and groaned as she reached her peak and tumbled, freefall, down the other side. The weightless pleasure of flying seized her and she abandoned her body for a moment. And when she came back to herself, Chris was there to catch her and hold her trembling body tightly.

Meredith looked down at him, still crouched between her sprawled legs, his arms wrapped around her waist and his face upturned toward her. His eyes shone and a gentle smile curved his lips as he watched her face. Kneeling there, he looked like a suitor ready to propose, and when he opened his mouth, for one second, Meredith was certain he was going to ask her to marry him once more.

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he murmured.

Her rising hope thudded to the pit of her stomach, and that was when Meredith knew that she wanted to marry him with all her heart. Babies, or lack thereof, be damned. Loss of her autonomy, who cared? His eventual disinterest in her and possible ensuing affairs, a fear of her own that must be overcome. She no longer wanted to refer to him as “my lover” but as “my husband and partner”.

“What is it?” His eyebrow lifted. “You look like you swallowed a sour pickle.”

Meredith laughed. “It’s nothing. I just had a small epiphany.”

“What about?”

This was her moment. She needn’t wait for Chris to propose because he’d made it clear he wanted marriage whenever and if ever she was ready for it. All she had to do was tell him that she’d changed her mind.

“I…I realized that vanity chairs are made entirely too small. The seat is definitely not adequate for all of a woman’s skirts and doesn’t do for extracurricular activities such as this.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Chris rose to his feet and took her hand to help her stand. “I think it worked tolerably well. The chair didn’t tumble over with all your thrashing about, did it?”

Meredith’s gown and petticoats fell back in place, and she smoothed them down. “I do not ‘thrash’, sir. When in the throes of passion, I gracefully arch.”

He grinned and leaned close, whispering near her ear, “Squirm and writhe like a bitch in heat, more like.”

A fillip of excitement percolated through her at the coarse word spoken in his soft, cultured voice. Because Chris used words like “bitch” or “cunt” so seldom, they gave her an erotic thrill when they occasionally came from his mouth—as if a vicar had tossed a swear word into his Sunday sermon.

“Mm,” she murmured. “I’d love to squirm and writhe for you some more, but we really have no time left. We’re expected at the Featherstones by seven and at this rate we’ll be more than fashionably late and if they hold dinner for us, it will be ruined.”

“The Featherstones. Right.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and let it go again then he kissed the ticklish spot just behind her ear before drawing back. His warm hand left her waist and she felt unaccountably bereft.

Before he could move any farther away, Meredith rested her hand on his wrist. “Christopher.”

“Yes?” His blue, blue eyes held her fast and once more the words she wanted to say dried up on her tongue.

“I will go to India with you if you decide to take the trip. Johnson can look after my business interests while I’m gone. I wouldn’t let you suffer through monsoons and possible foreign diseases alone.”

Chris cocked his head slightly as though trying to see her words at a different angle and read their subtext. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she said firmly, squeezing his forearm through the jacket he’d never taken off even as he pleasured her with his mouth. “I want to be with you.” For better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Oh, Lord, she was becoming maudlin.

“Then I’d love to have you with me.” He bent his head and kissed her. Meredith tasted the musk of her pussy on his lips and tongue.

Chris pulled away and cradled the side of her face in his hand. “It’ll be an adventure. You’ll have fun.”

“Always when I’m with you.” She smiled to make it light, but in her heart the words resonated with deep sincerity. Always.

Chapter Nine

“All right now, ease up on your grip and don’t sit so tense in the saddle or the horse will sense it and act skittish.”

Cecile gripped the strap of leather in her gloved fists and stared at the ground miles below her. Nate had promised that Persia was a very small mare, but she wasn’t—not at all. A fall from her back would likely break a person’s arm. Cecile clamped her legs tighter and increased her death grip on the reins.

Nate patted her leg, the foot of which was secure in a stirrup. “You’re safe up there. Trust me. Now I’m going to mount Jackdaw and we’ll walk slow and easy. The place I’m taking you to isn’t far, and I’ll be right beside you. You’ll be fine.”

Cecile would have thrown daggers at him with her eyes, but she was too busy concentrating on clinging to the shifting muscles of the beast beneath her.

Nate left her to mount his own steed, a tall gelding whose glossy brown hide matched his hair. She was sure he must look like a centaur astride the great animal, but now she was focused on the trail before them as her mare walked forward. The faint path wove through the tall grass and between boulders, up and down gentle rises and dips in the land.

Cecile squeezed her legs even tighter around Persia as she descended a particularly steep slope, and the dappled mare broke into a trot. Sliding in the saddle like a sack of wet socks, Cecile gasped and hooked her knee more firmly around the pommel. She decided the side saddle was a ridiculous invention, an accident waiting to happen.

“Hold on now. I don’t think you’re ready for posting.” Nate rode up alongside her.

“I’m not trying to.” She spoke in short bursts as her teeth clicked together. “The beast just started bumping along.”

“Rein her in, then. You have to let your mount know who’s in control.”

It’s not me. But Cecile did as he bid and gave a tug on the reins. Persia immediately slowed to a leisurely walk again.

“Very good. You see. It’s not so hard.”

This time Cecile did cast a pointed glance at him. Nate laughed and spurred his horse ahead to lead the way.

After about five minutes, Cecile became accustomed to the sway of the horse and began to feel more secure in her seat. Unless the animal bolted, she really was quite safe. She began to look at the countryside around her with more interest.

This late in the season the land was tan and gold rather than the vibrant green of spring or summer. In the great stretches of fields, farm families harvested their crops, men, women and children and moving up and down the rows of a crop Cecile didn’t recognize. Interspersed between the fields were stands of trees, their leaves shades of burnished bronze and brown with an occasional startling splash of scarlet or orange. They also passed through uncultivated meadows where grasshoppers whirred up from the grass to hit the horses’ flanks and bounce off the riders’ boots.

The day was hot and soon sweat rose on Cecile’s forehead. Her scalp prickled beneath her smart, feathered bonnet, and she longed to take it off, shake out her hairpins and let the breeze blow through her heavy hair to cool her head.

She gazed at Nate’s erect back and could imagine him in his scarlet uniform riding his horse into battle. She shuddered as she pictured the carnage he’d witnessed during his military career. It didn’t take much imagining on her part as she’d witnessed some horrific events herself.

After several minutes, he glanced over his shoulder. “Almost there. Are you still all right?”

“Perfectly lovely,” she assured him. “And you’re right. Persia is a dear.”

He smiled and faced forward again. They approached a copse of trees that was more than a thicket separating fields. It was a forest with tall, thick-trunked trees the branches of which arched over the path. Beneath their cool green canopy the ground was dappled with light and shadow. Bird calls, buzzing insects and sticks crunching beneath the horses’ hooves were the only sounds to disturb the silence.

Cecile sat relaxed on her perch now, taking in the pastoral beauty of the primordial forest. The trees were so huge that there was very little undergrowth. They seemed rooted in a sea of ferns, and she could imagine the woods had remained unchanged since the dawn of time.

As they penetrated deeper into the gloom, the musical sound of water bubbling over stones came from up ahead. Again Nate looked back at her. “This is a magical place. You must enter with a reverent attitude lest you upset the dryads who dwell in the water.”

She smiled at his fancifulness and thought she glimpsed the imaginative boy he’d once been. Had he brought his Fiona here? Was this a special place where they’d escaped to hide from disapproving eyes? Young love, innocent, passionate and pure, burning like an unwavering flame. She could see the pair of them passing under these branches, entering this clearing, seeing the water tumbling white and frothy over mossy stones, dark and brackish under overhanging bushes. The youthful lovers would embrace with all the passionate yearning they had to suppress every day in the bleak manor house.

Cecile envied them and wished it had been she sharing that first bloom of love with Nathaniel. She’d never had a first love in her own life. There hadn’t been an opportunity.

“What do you think?” Nate’s eyes were bright blue as he reached up to help her down from the horse’s back.

“I think you’re right. It’s an enchanted place.”

The delicate white marshflowers growing at water’s edge were like stars against the lush greenness. Bright dragonflies flitted over the quiet water in the eddy of the stream. Foam swirled busily around mossy rocks and a fallen tree branch in the shallow stretch. The water sounded and looked so cool, begging one to wade in.

Cecile removed her frippery of a bonnet and fanned it in front of her steaming face to drive away a cloud of gnats. She swatted at a deerfly buzzing near her ear.

“The dark side of nature,” Nate said, waving a hand by his face. “We don’t get to appreciate the beauty without suffering the annoyances—and doesn’t that have some kind of cosmic significance? But I have an herbal remedy our old cook gave me when I was a boy and used to spend hours in these woods.”

He reached into his saddlebag, took out a jar of salve and handed it to her. “Not as aromatic as violet cologne, but it will keep the pests at bay.”

Nate gathered both of the horses’ reins and led them to the still water to drink. While they slurped great mouthfuls, he unsaddled and rubbed down the animals.

Cecile removed the cap from the ointment and smeared it on her face and bare arms. She’d worn her lightest muslin day dress at Nate’s request, the best gown she had for a hot day of foraging in the woods. He’d suggested she forego her corset as well, and she was glad she had. The fewer layers, the better.

When Nate was done picketing the horses so they could graze, he turned his attention back to Cecile, striding across the clearing to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Mm. It’s too hot for this, isn’t it?” He rested his sticky forehead against hers. “Do you feel adventurous enough to join me in the water?”

Cecile glanced past him at the dark pool where the dancing water settled to a sluggish flow. “There aren’t any leeches?”

“Didn’t used to be. I haven’t been here in years.”

Not since Fiona, Cecile mentally supplied.

“But we can wade among the rocks where the bottom is gravel instead of mud.” He sat on the grass and pulled off his boots. And as he shed his tailored jacket and waistcoat, he seemed to be stripping off the years and the trappings of a gentleman. Again, Cecile saw his boyish aspect and was charmed.

She sat and began to unbutton her calfskin boots, a time consuming prospect. Nate was down to his drawers and nothing more before she’d finished removing the first one. He knelt at her feet and took over the task, taking off her boots, unfastening her stockings from her garters and sliding them down her legs. His hands and eyes lingered on her bare legs as her toes dug into the soft, damp grass.

“This feels wonderful!”

“Even better once we’re in the water. And how is your bum feeling, by the way, after our jaunt?”

“Aches a little, but hardly enough to notice. I believe I could come to enjoy riding.”

“Good.” He grinned and reached for the bows on the front of her dress.

“No. Those ribbons are purely decorative. This one fastens up the back.” She turned and offered him her backside, amazed at how quickly she’d become accustomed to stripping down to her skin in front of Nate.

Soon she was clad only in her chemise and pantalets, as white and virginal as spring. She took Nate’s hand and he led her into the icy cold stream. Her feet slipped on shifting pebbles as she felt her way between the larger boulders.

“Where does the water come from?” she asked. “It’s so cold.”

“An underground river. It’s amazing to consider all there is that’s beyond our sight, under the earth and under the sea. We have so little knowledge of the world around us. Humans are too busy with squabbles over land to pay much attention to the earth itself.” He bent and scooped up water, splashing it on his face and torso. When he straightened, the droplets gleamed on his shoulders in the sunlight and sparkled on the chest hairs they clung to.

Cecile knew dryads were female sprites which supposedly lived in water, but Nate looked the part of some primal water god. His brown hair was streaked blond in the shafts of sunlight and his eyes caught the light and sparkled a brighter blue than ever. Her breath caught.

Nate stooped again and splashed handfuls of water on her. “It’s lovely and cool. Come in farther.”

Cecile gasped as the cold water wet her thin lawn underwear, but she moved away from the shore and into the deeper water at the center of the stream. With every step the water rose higher, covering her ankles, calves and knees.

“Breath-stealing.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke, and she leaned over to cup water in her hands as Nate had done and splash her face. It was numbing. “Is it safe to drink?”

“Ron and I drank from this stream as children and never got sick.” Nate scooped more water in his hands and dipped his face to drink.

The water was the purest, most delicious Cecile had ever tasted. She drank deeply then scooped more water up in her hands and splashed it at Nate, wetting his drawers as he had hers.

“A water battle is it? Then we must go deeper.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her downstream toward the quieter water. The water now covered her thighs then her crotch.

Cecile shrieked as her pussy was doused in icy water. “I don’t know about this.”

“Your body gets so numb you can’t feel the cold.”

And as they stopped, waist-deep, she found it was true. Her legs lost feeling and she was almost comfortable. Not giving Nate time for a first attack, she swept water up in her arms and pushed it toward him.

He laughed and splashed her back, and soon the dark, still water churned white as they drove it back and forth between them. Cecile laughed and swallowed a mouthful of water as Nate swept a towering wall of it at her. She dodged around him and he caught her by the waist, threatening to dunk her under.

“Don’t you dare! My hair will be ruined.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s already too late to worry about that.”

He was right. Hanks of damp hair straggled down from her chignon on either side of her face. She squirmed in his iron hard arms around her body and kicked his shin with her heel.

Nate released her, and she bent with her back toward him and her cupped hands flailing the water, spraying it behind her and dousing him.

Soon they were both weak with laughter and soaked from head to toe. Cecile’s chest ached. She didn’t remember ever having laughed so hard in her entire life. She felt awake, alive, uninhibited and free in a way she never had before, refreshed by the water, revitalized by the laughter. And, as she stood there, dripping wet, her transparent undergarments clinging to her body, and her chest rising and falling as she panted for breath, Cecile wanted to tell Nate everything. She wanted no secrets between them. Surely a man who had once loved a maidservant could do so again. He wouldn’t be bound by convention and would accept the truth about her station in life. Wouldn’t he?

She could become his mistress, stay with him for as long as he would have her, perhaps even after he took a wife—because eventually he would marry and beget children to ensure the Covington line in case his brother wasn’t able to produce heirs. It wasn’t unusual for gentlemen to set up actresses or other lower class women as their mistresses, and Cecile would be content to be ensconced in an apartment somewhere if it was the only way she could be with Nate.

“Are you frozen? My God, your lips are purple and your teeth chattering. Time to get you out of the water.” Nate grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the shore.

They shook the water off their bodies like dogs. The heat of the sun quickly warmed Cecile’s frigid flesh and began to dry her clinging chemise and drawers.

Nate pulled more supplies from his bulging saddlebag, spreading a blanket over the grass and producing a bottle of wine and some tin mugs. “Not very elegant, but much less prone to breaking than wine glasses,” he said as he poured.

He handed her a glass of the blushing rose vintage, and Cecile took a sip. Then Nate rummaged in his seemingly bottomless bag and produced a small leather-bound volume. “Do you enjoy sonnets?”

“You’re an incurable romantic, aren’t you?”

“Apparently.” He tossed the book on the blanket and ruffled his hand through his thick, wet hair, making it stand in crazy swirls. “I thought I’d stamped out that streak in myself after eight years in the army, but here it is again.”

He offered Cecile a hunk of cheese and a knife to cut it with then settled on the blanket beside her. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate.’”

“You don’t know me that well yet. I do lose my temper on occasion.” She set her mug on the ground and carved a bit of cheese which she handed to Nate.

“I can’t imagine it. You seem the calmest, most even-tempered woman I’ve ever met.”

“I learned long ago that getting angry didn’t help in most situations. It was better to bide my temper and do what I must to get along in the world.”

He paused with the slice of cheese partway to his mouth. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’d like to know more of your life. I feel like you know much more of me than I do of you.”

She could tell him some of her history by remaining vague and speaking in generalities, and she wanted so badly to share with him. “Well, after my parents’ deaths my life was transient. I lived with one family then another and spent quite some time in a…boarding school. There are too many years, too many moves for me to tell you about them all.”

“So you were passed from one relative to another before you married and were widowed.”

Here the exaggeration of her father’s employees cast as distant relatives and the Catholic orphanage masquerading as a boarding school became an outright lie. Cecile couldn’t stand to directly lie to Nate so she picked up her cup and took another sip of the sweet-tart nectar. After she’d swallowed, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s difficult for me to speak of the past.”

“I understand.” He bit into the cheese at last, chewed and swallowed as he opened the book of Shakespeare’s poems.

“Of course, I could start with a classic: ‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun’—but although it’s lovely, it doesn’t really apply, because you are beautiful physically.”

He flipped pages and came to a stop midway through the book. “Ah. ‘Let not my love be called idolatry. Nor my beloved as an idol show.’”

By the time he reached the final words, “Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone, Which three till now, never kept seat in one,” Cecile was blushing. The sonnet praised attributes she didn’t have. She wasn’t true, but a liar pretending to be something she wasn’t, and she longed with all her heart to tell Nate the truth, but she didn’t dare.

“Don’t look so uncomfortable.” He smiled and leaned forward to cup her chin and give her a kiss. “Just relax and enjoy Will’s pretty poetry.”

Urging her to lay back and rest her head on his lap, Nate resumed reading. Cecile listened to his mellifluous voice, watched the shimmer of leaves overhead and felt the heat of his body through the damp fabric of his drawers. The continuous flow of water, the heat of the day and Nate’s beautiful recitation lulled her into a trance.

After a bit, she glanced at his groin, inches from her cheek. His erection was clearly outlined by the material molded to it. She suddenly craved to examine his cock closely, something she had not yet done. Cecile understood that men enjoyed having their members fondled and sucked. When she’d first learned that, she couldn’t imagine doing such a thing, but now understood its attraction. She reached out a tentative hand and stroked the white-clad bulge.

Nate stopped reading. His voice broke in the middle of “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.”

Cecile smiled at the power of her touch and grasped the hot and heavy shape of him through his drawers.

Nate tilted the book and looked down at her.

“Keep reading,” she urged as he tugged on the drawstring of the pants and pulled them down, letting his hardened cock bob free.

A smile twitched the corners of his lips and he turned his eyes back to the volume. “‘Or bends with the remover to remove.’” He sucked in a breath when she took the shaft in her hand. “‘O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.’ Christ!” This time he hissed as she scratched her nails ever-so-lightly down his length.

With her head resting on his lap, she had a very good view of the rigid beauty of his cock: the dark-flushed head protruding from its sack of foreskin, the shaft ridged with purple veins. It was a marvelous thing, silken skin over hard organ—rather like a gentleman’s powerful hand tucked into a kid glove.

Cecile glided her hand up and down its length, rubbed her thumb over the oozing slit in the head then she lifted herself up so she could bring the tip to her mouth. She licked its smoothness and tasted salt.

Nate groaned and his eyes fell shut.

She pulled the cockhead from her lips and ordered, “Keep reading.”

His eyes flickered open and he smiled. “Minx. Very well. ‘That looks on tempests and is never sh-shaken. It is a star to…to every wandering bark.’ Oh, God.”

She’d drawn him deep, sucking the head, the shaft, all of him into her mouth. The head hit the back of her throat, nearly gagging her, and she eased off a little. She kept her hand clamped around the base of his shaft and moved it up and down while she sucked. This was how it was done. She’d read some of Madame’s erotic books and had learned as much from them.

Nate groaned again and the book hung limp from his hand. He stared at her, watching his slick cock emerging from her mouth and being swallowed over and over. Naked hunger made his eyes dark. Cecile relished the need in his expression. It made her feel powerful to hold his manhood literally in the palm of her hand, to be able to give him pleasure and…if she gripped it very tightly…pain.

Another gasp and a louder groan. Nate’s eyes nearly closed again.

Cecile released his cock from between her lips. “You’re not reading.”

“Can’t.” The word was strangled as his hips thrust toward her.

“You must,” she teased, enjoying her newfound control. She’d also read about dominance and submission in Meredith’s books and now understood the pleasure to be found in those games.

“‘…to, um, every wandering bark whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips’… Oh God, Cecile. Please!”

She bobbed her head, sucking hard. Beneath his shaft, she cradled the soft sac, fondling the orbs inside. Releasing his cock from her mouth again, she burrowed her face between his legs and took his balls into her mouth. She moved her tongue over the so-soft skin and tasted his sweat and the slightly mineral tang of the water they’d played in.

Nate pushed into her fist which was still massaging him firmly.

“More.” Cecile’s command was nearly unintelligible, muffled by his balls, but Nate gave a choked laugh and continued.

“‘…rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass comes. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ nor no man ever loved.’ There!” Nate read the last couplets in a rush and threw the book aside.

He slipped his hands into her hair, holding her head steady as Cecile took his cock into her mouth once more. His hips thrust rhythmically as his tension grew and for several moments, the sound of her sucking and his gasps rose above the babbling brook. She felt the change, the swell moving through his cock, a moment before he spoke.

“I’m going to…” He tugged at her head to pull her away, but Cecile stayed put. She massaged his shaft, imagining her hand was pulling his seed from within him, and when his come jetted into the back of her throat, she swallowed it down before she’d even tasted it.

“Oh.” Nate’s harsh groan reverberated through the glade and the sound of his pleasure thrilled her. Between her legs, her pussy clenched in time with his pulses, eager to join in, aching to be filled. It was amazing how she’d lived for so many years, unaware of what she was lacking both physically and emotionally. For, now that she’d experienced it, she couldn’t imagine going without sex…or living without Nate.

Cecile wasn’t certain how long to keep moving her hand, but his climax seemed to be over so she let his depleted cock slip from her mouth. She cradled him in her hand. It was still a hefty thickness but much reduced, and she watched in interest as his cock lost its rigidity and softened. Such a marvelous and strange thing it was, and she wondered how soon before he could grow hard again.

His hands ruffled through her hair and down to her shoulders. He tugged, urging her to rise. “Come up here.”

Cecile sat and moved into his embrace, her hands sliding around his warm, strong back. Nate kissed her then gazed into her eyes. “That was the most…invigorating poetry reading I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said and meant it. She hadn’t known how pleasurable oral sex could be.

He coiled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I wish… I mean, I would like very much like it if you extended your visit.”

Since they’d never set a time limit on how long she’d be there, Cecile wasn’t certain what that meant.

“Indefinitely,” he added.

“Oh, I…” She had no idea what to say. This affair hadn’t been intended to go on much longer than a few weeks. Her charade wrapped around her like a spider’s web, the sticky strands drawing tighter the more she struggled. The need to tell him the truth about her identity grew stronger, but so did her fear of his reaction. “I’ll have to see.”

He nodded. “Take your time deciding, but I want you to know that I’d like you to stay here for as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you.” She managed a coquettish smile. That’s the way a lady behaved. She kept an affair light and didn’t allow herself to become overly involved. Cecile had watched Meredith for years as she dallied with one lover after another, and now she finally understood her mistress’s behavior. To open one’s heart to someone was a dangerous game, and rejection could cut with the savage slice of a guillotine blade.

Chapter Ten

Riding became much more natural for Cecile over the next few days as Nathaniel showed her around the vast estate. The rolling lands and dark woods, the stone-fenced fields and the charming little town of Covington made a fascinating world, each part dependent on the others. The farmers grew the crops that were the base of the local economy. The village stores supplied all imported items needed for daily life, and the woods and wild lands were home to game everyone depended on for food.

Nathaniel’s job was to oversee everything. If his tenants had problems, they weren’t afraid to come to him for a solution. Cecile was impressed by his down-to-earth, friendly manner with everyone they met during their rides and long walks. Generations of tradition ensured that none of the people would ever view him as an equal, but the local folk clearly respected and loved the younger Covington brother.

“As you can see, the irrigation system is antiquated. I have plans for updating the method of getting water to the plants during dry spells, but lack the necessary funds to implement my idea.” Nathaniel rode beside Cecile, pointing out all the improvements he’d like to make based on more modern views of land management.

“It seems to me you’ve done the very best you can given your limited, ah, resources.”

“Which is a polite way of saying I’m broke… One of many aristocrats living on a family name with no money to back the title. This feudal system is as outdated as the field irrigation.”

Cecile nudged her heels into Persia’s flanks as the mare lagged behind Jackdaw. The old horse trotted forward. “It’s most unusual for a gentleman to speak of reform.”

“I guess I’ve never quite fit into society’s strictures. Maybe I should consider moving to America, try my hand at making a capitalist fortune and let Ronald throw this place to the dogs as he appears intent on doing.”

She shook her head. “You couldn’t do that. You love both the land and the people too much. I can see that.”

“Sir!” a voice called from on the road behind them. “Sir Nathaniel.”

Nate reined in and turned in the saddle. Cecile coaxed Persia to a stop several paces beyond and looked back, too.

A plump man with very red cheeks chugged down the road toward them. Cecile assumed he’d come from the thatch-roofed cottage on the other side of the low stone wall that bordered the road.

“Sir, I thought you’d want to know that Agnes Cuthbert is very ill, perhaps on her deathbed. A fever of some sort.”

Nate dismounted to face the red-faced man. “How long has she been sick, Bert?”

“I guess a few weeks.” The man looked at the ground and gripping his hands together. Cecile imagined if he’d had a cap, he’d be twisting it between them. “And, you might want to know, the boy is with her. Neighbors have been stopping by with food and taking shifts tending to her, but the boy… Well, when she passes, he’ll be on his own.”

Nate frowned. “I thought there were other relatives. Has no one sent for them?”

Bert shook his head. “None that anyone knows of, sir.”

“Then where did… Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Of course, I’ll stop by immediately. Thank you for telling me.”

The farmer nodded and turned to walk back through the gap in the wall and into his garden. Nate turned and mounted Jackdaw, gathering the reins and urging the horse forward. His expression was unreadable. One emotion after another chased over it, and all Cecile could tell for sure was that he was upset.

“I’ll see you home and then I must tend to this,” he said shortly.

“Please, Nathaniel, you don’t have to escort me back. I’ll go with you.”

He looked at her, his brows still knit in a scowl, and for a moment she thought he’d refuse, but then he simply nodded. “Very well.”

The ride to the Cuthbert cottage was only about a quarter mile, down the main road and then on a rough dirt path that led up a hill. The little home looked much like all the other stone cottages on the estate with a small garden in front, a shed, chicken coops and rabbit hutches on the side and the bronzed, autumn grass stretched out behind it.

His face tense and his mouth a grim line, Nate dismounted and looped the reins around a post in the yard. He forgot to help Cecile from her horse, but she was now able to do it alone, sliding a little awkwardly to the ground. As she followed him through the overgrown garden to the cottage door, Cecile guessed Nate had some connection to this Mrs. Cuthbert beyond that of landlord to tenant. Could the sick woman be related to his one-time love, the serving maid Fiona? Perhaps she would soon learn more of the story of the young lovers’ thwarted affair.

Nate knocked on the door. There was a long pause before it opened. Both their gazes dropped to meet the eyes of the young lad who’d answered the door. He stared at Nathaniel with wide eyes. “May I help you, sir?”

Surprisingly, the boy’s accent was not the local burr, but the precise tones of an upper crust schoolboy. Cecile took in his gawky length, his wrists sticking out of his shirt cuffs and ankles visible below the hems of his pants. Then she focused on his vivid blue eyes again. There was no mistaking the resemblance. Another piece of the puzzle of Nathaniel’s past clicked into place.

Another pause went on long enough to become awkward before Nate cleared his throat. “Yes. I’ve heard that your grandmother, Mrs. Cuthbert is ill. I thought I’d stop by and check on her. I’m Nathaniel Covington and this is my guest, Madame Lambeaux.”

“I know who you are, Sir Nathaniel. Everyone does. Please come in.” The boy bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement then stepped aside, holding the door open for them. His manner was deferential yet at the same time had a gracious quality—as if he were a young lord welcoming them to his estate.

The interior of the cottage was dim. It smelled of cabbage soup and sickness. There was a kitchen and a sitting area. Near the low-burning fire in the grate was a bed with blankets heaped over a shapeless lump. A whistling wheeze came from the shape, which looked almost too small to be an adult woman.

“My name is Peter,” the boy said as he led them across the small room. “Granny is getting better I think. The doctor gave her something to ease the coughing and she’s sleeping now.”

Nate and Cecile stood at the bedside, gazing at the still, paper-white face of the old woman lying there. She looked dead already. Only her chest rose and fell rhythmically like a bellows blowing with no hand to pump it.

“How long has she been like this?” Nate asked.

“She’s had a cough since before I left for the last school term, but it was only recently that it became so bad.” Peter straightened the covers, making sure they were drawn up over the woman’s shoulder. “She’s cold all the time now, which is why I have the fire going even on such a fine day as this.”

“You’ve been taking care of her all by yourself?” Nate’s voice was tight. He almost sounded angry.

Peter glanced at him, frowning slightly, and if Cecile had had any doubt about the boy’s paternity, it evaporated at the familiarity of his expression. “Neighbor ladies come with meals and to help with keeping her clean, but mostly I look after her. It’s no trouble.” His gaze was challenging and his voice as tight as Nate’s.

Cecile swallowed the turmoil of emotion inside her and smoothed her own expression into one of unruffled calm. “I’m sure you’re doing an admirable job, Peter, but perhaps you’d like a short break. If you want to go outside and get some fresh air, maybe take a walk, we’ll be happy to sit with your grandmother until you get back.”

The boy’s forehead creased even deeper. He looked uncertain about surrendering the care of his granny to a pair of strangers.

“I’ve nursed ill people before,” Cecile assured him. “I’ve quite a bit of experience with it. If anything changes, I’ll send Sir Nathaniel to find you.”

Peter glanced at the square of light in the open window and at his grandmother, then he studied Nate and Cecile as though assessing their characters. “All right. I’ll be at the river. I’ve some fish traps I should check, anyway.” He went to the door, but before he left he turned and gave a formal bow. “Thank you.”

After the door had closed behind him, Cecile looked at Nate. He stood for a long moment gazing at the closed door and then faced her. “So that’s Peter. I…I’d never seen him before.”

“He’s your son,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.” Nate turned and stared at the old woman on the bed then past her into the fireplace. He walked over to it, picked up a poker and prodded the log, waking the dying flames. “I suppose it’s time to tell you the rest of the story.”

“I’d like to hear it, but only if you care to talk. You don’t owe me any kind of explanation.” She smoothed her hand over the old woman’s shoulder, feeling her frail bones and slow breathing. Was this the time and place for Nate to tell the tale? She’d heard that the dying lost their hearing last of all and those who came out of unconscious states were sometimes able to relate word for word conversations that took place in their presence. Would they upset the old woman with stories from the past?

“I didn’t learn about the boy’s existence and Fiona’s death until recently.” Nate stood in profile to her, still staring into the fireplace with the poker clenched in his fist. “Fiona had disappeared off the face of the earth as far as my ability to find her, and then, as I told you, I entered the military. After training, I was stationed one place or another for eight years and only came back here after my father’s death last year.”

He drew a deep breath and stared at the cheap china figurines perched on the mantelpiece, a poorly painted shepherd kissing a shepherdess with a crook.

“How did you find out?” Cecile prompted him when it seemed he wouldn’t go on.

Nate laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. “His will. Peter Cuthbert was one of father’s beneficiaries. The boy was bequeathed a stipend and the continued cost of his education. My father’s way of expiating his guilt, I suppose.” He hung the poker back on the fireplace and turned to Cecile. His eyes were two chips of blue ice. “You see, the boy may be mine or he may be my father’s.”

Cecile’s stomach did a cartwheel, but years of practice made it easy for her to remain expressionless. She didn’t want Nate to think she was horrified or to feel any shame about a situation that had clearly not been of his making. “I see,” she said calmly.

“I’d been naïve and ignorant. Never realized Fiona was no virgin, never knew my father had had his way with her and other serving maids over the years. I imagined that kind of thing happened in other peoples’ houses, but not in ours. Ronald is the one who had to explain all this to me, laughing at my stupidity all the while.”

“You weren’t stupid, but innocent,” Cecile said. “It wasn’t your fault or Fiona’s. I’m sure she loved you, but what could she do, given the situation she was in?”

“Or she learned she was pregnant after my father had lost interest in her and clung to me in hopes I’d take her away from Covington to start a new life.” His hands clenched at his sides. “That’s what I’ll never know. That, and whether the boy is mine.”

Cecile inhaled slowly, choosing her next words carefully, as she continued to stroke Mrs. Cuthbert’s fragile arm. “Nathaniel, does it matter?”

“What?” He took a step closer, facing Cecile across the narrow bed and the old woman’s prone body.

“In your heart, I think you know Fiona loved you, so you can lay that worry to rest. As for Peter’s paternity, whether he is your son or your half brother, he’s still family. He’s also a young boy with no father who needs more than financial support. He needs affection and guidance and very soon, it looks like he’ll need a place to live when he comes home on school holidays. He needs family.”

Nate stared back at her, saying nothing. Her heart raced. She’d said too much. This was not her concern, and he hadn’t asked for her advice, but she knew all too well what it was like to be that young child with no real home or family. Her own history had spilled out in her fervent plea on Peter’s behalf. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken.”

“No.” He held up a hand, stopping her apology. “You’re right. The boy is innocent in all this. He deserves to be cared for better than I’ve been doing. Yes, his school costs have been paid, but an anonymous benefactor sending him to school is hardly sufficient to replace a real father.”

Nate gazed down at the old woman’s face, her slack mouth and closed eyes. “I’ve been selfish, wallowing in my own emotions instead of thinking about him. I didn’t go to his school to meet him, and didn’t even know he was home now. I suppose I realized that seeing him would force me to make a decision about acknowledging him.”

“You feel hurt and betrayed. It’s understandable.”

“What’s bothered me the most isn’t the fact that my father kept this secret, but that Fiona did. Why didn’t she simply tell me what had happened, what he did to her?”

“She was afraid if she told the truth you wouldn’t love her anymore.” Cecile spoke from the heart, feeling Fiona’s emotions because they were her own. “She couldn’t stand to see disgust in your eyes. She was afraid you’d despise her.”

“I wouldn’t have. I would’ve forgiven anything, done anything, given up my name and my inheritance to be with her. What if my father simply offered her a better deal? Instead of living penniless with me, her son’s future would be ensured if she broke off her relationship with me and left town?”

“What happened to Fiona?” Cecile asked gently. “How did she die?”

“A fever, Ronald said. When Peter was five years old. They’d returned to Hillshire from wherever they were hidden some time after I’d begun my military career. The lad remained in his grandmother’s care until he was old enough to attend boarding school. I’m surprised my father saw his duty through, but then I guess I shouldn’t be, considering the man was rabid about the family bloodline. A bastard Covington is still a Covington.” Nate’s tone was as acidic as vinegar. His anger could be a fearsome thing, Cecile thought, and she dreaded having it directed at her.

The old woman suddenly drew in a deep, rattling breath, breaking the silence that had fallen between them, before resuming her shallow wheeze, in and out.

Cecile marshaled her scattered thoughts and tried to give Nate what comfort she could. She knew how much it must mean to him simply to have someone hear his thoughts and feelings at last. She’d often been Meredith’s confidante during the dark years with her vile husband, the Comte. “I’m sorry you’ve suffered through this, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive Fiona and even your father. It is for your own benefit, you know. One’s heart lightens without the burdens of regret and anger.”

Nate plucked at a thread of the blue quilt covering the bed. “I believe that’s true, but I’m still having trouble with this, maybe because I haven’t been able to decide what to do about the boy. I’ve known about him for almost a year now and haven’t even tried to see Peter. It’s unforgiveable—a cowardice worthy of my father.”

Cecile shrugged. “A year is not so long to let go of anger and move forward. Sometimes, I wake from a nightmare filled with rage at those who murdered my family, and that was well over twenty years ago.”

He looked from the bedspread up to her face. “Cecile, you—”

His thought was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the knocker opened the door and strode into the cottage. “Peter, I’ve brought… Oh my goodness, your lordship!”

The woman in the doorway dropped a curtsy and nearly dropped the basket she was carrying. “I’m sorry sir. I just came round to check on Mrs. Cuthbert and to bring the boy a little dinner. I’d no idea you were visiting. I’ll come back later.”

“No, Mrs. Andrews. Please come in.” Nate moved around the foot of the bed and beckoned the woman forward. “Young Peter should return soon. He’s gone to check his fishing traps. We were just biding with Mrs. Cuthbert until his return.”

“The poor old dear. Her time is at hand.” The round-faced woman shook her head and clicked her tongue. “And what will become of the poor child, then?” Her eyes widened and she went beet-red as if she’d suddenly realized to whom it was she spoke. Mrs. Andrews’ reaction left no doubt in Cecile’s mind that all the locals were well aware of the bastard Peter’s lineage.

“My goodness, I’ve lost my mind and my manners. I’ll just leave the basket here and…” She backed toward the door, bobbing another curtsy. “I’d forgotten that I’ve some bread on the rise I should…”

“Please, Mrs. Andrews, stay.” Nate’s voice stopped her babbling and she froze near the door. “I’m sure the boy could use some help with nursing his grandmother. I’d be happy to pay you for your time and effort.”

“No need, sir.” The woman’s voice was suddenly stiff and her obsequious manner ended abruptly. “Agnes Cuthbert has been my neighbor all of my life. She and my mother were great friends since they were wee girls. She was with me when my mum passed. I wouldn’t take payment for tending her in her time of need.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want to make sure the boy has all the help he needs. I’ll have one of the maids come and help out for a while and tell cook to send some meals.”

“I’m sure that would be much appreciated, sir.” The woman’s demeanor didn’t warm much, and Cecile could almost hear her thinking, We can take care of our own and don’t need your charity. For although it was a time-honored tradition for owners of great estates to look after their tenants in both large and small ways, it must gall the locals to accept this noblesse oblige.

Mrs. Andrews took off her shawl and hung it on a peg by the door. “I’ll be here when the boy gets back if you want to leave now.”

Summarily dismissed by her polite yet pointed suggestion, Nathaniel gave a small bow. “Thank you for your care of Mrs. Cuthbert and…her grandson.”

Once outside the small, stuffy cottage, Cecile breathed a great draught of fresh air. She’d spent much time in her youth working in an infirmary. It had been part of a complex of Catholic-run charities like the orphanage where she’d lived. The facility was used by local people for all their ills from chest colds to fatal diseases and Cecile had hated every minute spent ministering to the sick and dying. The smell of carbolic acid never left her hands, and the bodily odor of too many people enclosed together haunted her long after she’d left to make her way in the world.

Nate seemed to be drawing deep breaths as well. “Ach, I handled that badly.”

“No you didn’t,” she assured him, reaching out and taking his hand. “You offered help as was right.”

His hand wrapped around hers and squeezed lightly. “I can’t believe how much he looks like… It’s so strange. And I wish I’d known about him a long time ago, that I’d seen him as a baby. He must be eleven or nearly twelve now. So much time lost.”

Nate let go of her hand to unfasten their horses from the hitching post. “And even so, I’m not ready to see him again. Not right now. Let’s go before the lad returns home.”

He gave Cecile a boost into her saddle and mounted Jackdaw. Together they rode silently across the wild lands then up the road toward the manor. Cecile didn’t ask any more questions. Nate had a lot to think about and didn’t need the distraction of her company right now. In fact, he might prefer she end her visit while he dealt with this delicate family matter. She should offer to leave—but if she did, her fantasy holiday would be over. Madame Lambeaux the aristocrat would disappear never to be resurrected and Cecile would return to her old life.

When that happened, would Nate look for her as he had for his lost Fiona? Would he ask Meredith what had become of her visiting friend, while Cecile hid upstairs in her room? Would Meredith tell him she’d returned to France, and what if Nate asked for an address? What lie would she give him then?

Abruptly the lunacy of the entire charade hit home. This fabrication was as delicate and flimsy as spun-sugar filigree on a cake and as poisonous as strychnine. Cecile felt sick at the web she’d spun, especially knowing how another net of lies had once ensnared and damaged Nate. If she told him the truth now, would it be too late? Would he hate her for having betrayed his trust like the long ago Fiona?

As they neared the turn off to the great drive leading to the house, Nate reined his horse to a slow walk and turned to Cecile. “I want to thank you for being there with me today. It made it easier, having you beside me. You helped me put some things into perspective. As you say, it’s not the past I should dwell on, but the future and what is owed to the boy.”

She felt her cheeks tingle at the unexpected compliment. “I’m glad you let me come along. Peter seems a polite and kind boy.” She wanted to add how difficult it must be for him living with a foot in two worlds—educated beyond the village lads yet probably not accepted by the snobbish sons of gentry at his school. One whiff of the term “bastard” could make a child’s life hell. But she’d already voiced her opinion far beyond what it was her right to say.

They spurred their horses and resumed riding up the broad drive under the arching oak branches. Only when they rounded the curve did they see the activity taking place at the manor house. Several carriages had arrived and their occupants were being discharged before the door. A number of riding horses were milling about on the front lawn as well, trampling the grass and threatening the flower beds rather than staying on the gravel drive.

Gentlemen in London’s finest couture and their equally well-attired ladies lingered before the house. Servants took the reins of the gentlemen’s mounts and led them away, as the men boisterously laughed and bantered.

A frisson of fear made the hair on Cecile’s nape rise. She hadn’t counted on her interlude with Nate being interrupted by outside guests. The London set would quickly see through her ruse. She would display her ignorance of the intricate social connections within the ton or make some other faux pas. They would recognize her as an outsider, who didn’t belong in their set.

Once more Nate pulled Jackdaw to a stop. “Good Christ! The last thing I needed to deal with today. My brother, Ronald, has arrived home.”

Chapter Eleven

“You were right. I was wrong. Disaster is brewing and it’s all my fault. Cecile has fallen in love!” Meredith steamed up the flagstone path between the lush garden beds toward Chris. Her periwinkle blue dress fluttered around her, making her look like one of the flowers herself—a very energetic flower with a histrionic voice. Her curls, which she’d arranged into a cluster on top of her head, were falling from the dark blue ribbon that bound them. Her fine brows were drawn together into a gargoyle scowl and her eyes were gray thunderheads.

“You warned me, but would I listen? No. And now,” —she waved the paper in her hand—“it’s all come about exactly as you predicted. My poor Cecile has fallen in love with Sir Nathaniel. It’s a catastrophe in the making.”

Chris wiped the dirt from his hands on his trousers and pushed a lock of hair from his forehead with the back of one wrist. The conservatory was steaming today even with the ventilation windows open. He rose to his feet as Meredith sank onto the nearest bench beside the trickling fountain where dryads cavorted.

“Listen to this.” She opened the missive and read.

“My dearest Madame, I thank you for your aid in securing the object of my desire. My time with Sir Nathaniel Covington has been most delightful, and thus I am extending my visit. I apologize for any inconvenience my continued absence may cause and understand if you can hold my position no longer. I do, however, intend to return when this visit inevitably ends and greatly desire to remain in your employ if you would have me. Thank you once more for your efforts on my behalf.

Your devoted servant, Cecile.”

“You see?” Meredith said. “Hopelessly enamored.”

Sitting beside her on the bench, Chris rubbed her back. “She’s hardly proclaiming her undying love for the man.”

“You don’t understand. With Cecile it’s the unspoken words between the lines that tell what she is thinking. ‘Delightful’ means she has fallen deeply, but she knows it will ‘inevitably end’ which will devastate her, all because I meddled and put temptation in her way. If I hadn’t encouraged her attraction to Covington, it would’ve have remained in the realm of a private fantasy never acted on. As it is, she’s sure to have her heart broken as you suggested.”

If he felt a fleeting flash of vindication, Chris suppressed it immediately. “Perhaps not, my love. Maybe we can help Cecile.”

Meredith looked at him, her eyes glistening. “Set her up with a stipend at her disposal and forged paperwork to prove her lineage? It’s a wild idea, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“No! I meant it’s not too late for her to tell the truth, with our support in explaining the duplicity. From the letter it sounds as though the man cares for her. He might forgive the lying since Cecile felt it was the only means for her to get better acquainted with him. It’s not inconceivable.” He gave Meredith a pointed look and knew from her expression she understood it was their situation to which he referred. He didn’t mean to keep alluding to the past and considered that perhaps he hadn’t put aside all of his resentment about being manipulated by his beloved, especially since she seemed determined to perpetuate the same behavior on Cecile’s behalf.

“Tell the truth? What a novel idea.” Her lips trembled with amusement, and Chris laughed. For the moment, the tension was broken.

“I’m an awful woman, I know. It’s a good thing I have you to act as my moral compass.”

He slipped his hand around her waist and pressed it against the rise of her pubic bone then leaned to kiss the junction of her neck and shoulder. “Please don’t cast me as some holier-than-thou vicar. I can be quite bad on occasion, as you well know.”

Meredith’s smile widened and she wiggled away from his nuzzling mouth. “Yes, you certainly can, and I wouldn’t mind playing the duke and the saucy shepherdess game tonight.” She pushed him away from her neck. “But for now, I want to wallow in my worries over Cecile. I think I shall write her a letter and discuss the strategies she might employ.”

“Honesty being one of them,” Chris reminded her.

“Yes. Topmost on the list.” She took his hand in hers. He’d left a smear of dirt on her skirt, but she didn’t seem to mind as she entwined her fingers with his. Meredith gazed at his grimy fingernails in contrast to her smooth, clean hands, and Chris sensed there was more she wanted to say—something not related to Cecile.

He didn’t ask her what it was, a sure way to make her withdraw like a snail into its shell, but waited patiently for her to reveal what was on her mind. He’d felt for a while now that she was churning over some idea that she wasn’t quite ready to share with him. Maybe this afternoon would finally be the day she was ready to divulge it.

“Christopher, I have to tell you something,” she finally said bluntly.

His stomach flipped at the use of his full name and those ominous words. He’d thought they were doing well—more than well. He thought their life together was wonderful. But what if Meredith had tired of him? What if she was finished with him?

“All right,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s about telling the truth. I think maybe keeping secrets, even ones that only pertain to the person keeping them and aren’t really the other person’s business, is a bad idea.”

Secret. Another word guaranteed to strike fear in the heart of a lover.

“Tell me, then.” He felt the clamminess of her smooth, soft hand clasped in his, heard the soft intake of breath that betrayed her nervousness. Good Lord, how bad could it be?

“During our trip to China I thought I was…with child. But it didn’t turn out to be the case.”

He waited for the other shoe to drop. When she said nothing more, he finally looked from their joined hands to her worried eyes. “Is that…?” He bit his tongue before he could say “all” which would belittle how clearly important this was to her. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Meredith clenched his hand hard. “I believed it to be true for a fair number of days and built daydreams around the idea. I thought if we had a child we’d have to get married after all—for the baby’s sake. I started to imagine a different kind of future than what we’d talked about.” She fell silent as though winded from the rapid-fire burst of words.

Chris was confused. Was she upset because she hadn’t been pregnant or because he hadn’t asked her to marry him again? She’d made it very clear she didn’t believe in the institution and insisted so firmly on maintaining her autonomy that he hadn’t brought it up again. Had she been waiting all this time for him to catch the change of her inner tide and ask once more? “So… Are you saying you want to get married, then?”

“No!” she practically howled. Her eyes welled with tears and they spilled over. Crying was something the countess almost never did. Chris was frozen, uncertain what to do next. Was it time to be masterful, take her in his arms and tell her that they would be married whether she liked it or not? Or should he remain silent and let her finish unraveling the tangled mess of her emotions which he didn’t really understand? Usually, he knew what she needed from him, but this time he was at a loss.

“No, don’t you see? If I’m not pregnant, there’s no point in marrying, just as I said before. We can continue on as we are until…”

“Until what? You sound like you have an ending in mind.”

She released his hand then, stood abruptly and took a few steps away from the bench. “Until the day you decide you do want an heir after all. Until the day a mistress isn’t enough and you realize you want a real family.”

“We are a real family. You and I.” He rose and followed her, but didn’t put his hands on her, not yet. “I don’t know how many ways I can tell you that I’m not interested in whether or not you can bear children.”

“But I am!” She whirled to face him, and his breath caught at the wildness in her stormy eyes. It was horrible of him to be aroused by how damn gorgeous she was when upset, but her cleavage was heaving in a most distracting way. “Don’t you see? It matters to me that I can’t be the kind of woman you need.”

“Sweetheart, you’re exactly the kind of woman I need.” He stifled his rising impatience and kept his voice gentle to disarm her prickly thorns. “I want to be with only you for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, and… You must know the rest better than I do. I haven’t been to many weddings.”

Feeling a bit of an overdramatic fool, he moved in front of her and went down on one knee. “My darling Meredith, will you do the honor of marrying me, please?”

Her hand went to her mouth, holding back a sob or a laugh, he wasn’t sure which, but her eyes were glowing and crinkled at the corners, so he guessed the latter. She shook her head and drew her hand away from her lips to say “yes” in a choked, breathy whisper.

Chris rose and slipped his hands around her waist, but didn’t pull her into an embrace or lean to kiss her. “I’ll make my vows now. I promise to be faithful and that my affections will not waver as time passes. I’ll be as constant as the sunflower always turning to follow the sun.” He smiled. “You being the sun in that metaphor. And for your part, I want you to promise to be honest with me always. There is nothing so dire you can’t share it with me and nothing we can’t overcome if we aren’t afraid to discuss it.”

Meredith shook her head again and reached out a hand to touch his cheek. “My astonishing professor, how did you become so wise?”

“It’s elemental. Communication is essential among all animal species for their very survival.” He teased her, yet spoke the truth as well.

“And what about your beloved plants? Do they communicate, too?”

“Ah, they have a secret language if one listens. I’ll show you.” Chris took her hand and led her to the far wall of the conservatory where the Rosa foetida grew. He never gathered flowers for her, but shared them in their natural state.

Putting a hand on her back, he urged her forward. “Lean in and smell the blossom. The scent is potent, isn’t it?” Watching her eyes drift closed as she inhaled the aroma sent a surge of arousal through him. There was something so sweetly charming and sensually erotic about a woman enjoying a flower’s scent.

“It smells lovely.” She straightened, caressing the silken apricot-colored petals of the rose, and turned toward him with a smile. “What is it saying?”

“The plant is telling of its will to survive, attracting bees to pollinate and thereby propagate the species—a simple message, basic and direct. As are the thorns, which silently warn predators away.”

Her smile turned sad. “Propagate the species,” she murmured, and Chris realized his mistake.

He drew her against him, wrapping his arms around her and inhaling the scent of her hair, sweeter than the roses. “Have you ever considered, my darling, how many orphaned children roam the streets of all the cities in the world? Little ones with a life span which will probably not be much longer than that of this blossom. It’s quite wasteful for people to preoccupy themselves with producing more of our species when there are quite enough surplus humans already walking the earth.”

Meredith looked up into his face, her eyes still glowing with wonderment like a child beholding the marvel of a carousel for the first time. “You, Christopher Whitby, are an amazing man.”

“I’m a practical man. If having a child is important to you, we will have a child.”

“And if traveling to India is important to you, we will go to India,” she said. “From the little I’ve read in travel journals, it’s a fascinating land with a diverse culture. Perhaps we should shock all of society, even my bohemian friends, by having a Hindu wedding ceremony.”

“I will marry you in any manner and any place you wish. It’s not the sanction of society I’m interested in, but I suppose I’m still traditional—and perhaps insecure—enough that I’d like some kind of official commitment between us.” He cupped the back of her neck and leaned down to taste her lips, also sweet like the roses. “But now, my dear, I think we’ve talked enough. Let us seal our promise in the traditional way.”

“With an engagement ring?” Her eyes widened in mock innocence.

“I was thinking of something more primal, more befitting the earthy, animal creatures we are at heart.” He gave a low growl and nipped at her chin.

Meredith shrieked and pulled away. Lifting her skirts, she raced along the flagstone path away from him and dodged around the bed of flowering Gentiana. Chris pursued her like a hound on the scent of a fox, his heart pumping and his blood boiling with excitement and lust. He wanted to take her down, lay her in the soil as they’d done when first christening this greenhouse. But Meredith was fleet-footed and darted away from him just as his fingers touched the fluttering blue muslin of her dress.

Her skirt caught and ripped on thorns from a trailing branch. There was already dirt smeared on the fabric from where he’d touched her with his soiled hands. It wouldn’t be a loss if he tore the dress from her body, popping buttons willy-nilly, and that was exactly what he intended to do when he caught her.

The conservatory wasn’t large and it didn’t take him long to corner her beneath the towering Ficus carica. She stood before him with her magnificent breasts heaving, her chest and face shining with perspiration and her eyes alight with mischief. She licked her lips. “Will you take me here, sir?”

“I will.” His voice was little more than a gruff snarl. His own clothes clung to his sweating body, binding and torturing him. He grabbed Meredith and pulled her into his arms once more, devouring her with kisses and stripping off her dress with delightful rips of the delicate fabric.

After shedding his own confining clothes, Chris stood naked with his lover amidst the opulent beauty of the nature in the lush Garden of Eden he’d created for her. He approached her more slowly this time, teasing and stroking her as he pulled her down onto the soft earth. Their arms and legs tangled and their moist skin fused in the steamy heat as two became one in the age-old ritual of mating.

And as he plunged into her one last time, shuddering and groaning with his release, Chris thought that this joining, this promise of a shared future, meant more than any diamond ring or formal banns posted. They were as good as wed.

Chapter Twelve

Nate swallowed his bile as he faced his brother and the rowdy entourage of friends and female companions that seemed to always travel with him. Often Ronald’s crowd included middle class young ladies of lost virtue, who foolishly imagined they could land a title if they were amenable enough to their aristocratic hosts. The women weren’t quite whores, but certainly weren’t respectable enough to be invited to into most ladies’ drawing rooms. That was fine with Ronald, who preferred seedier London venues, spending most of his time in brothels and gambling hells and the homes of friends equally as profligate in their ways as he.

Nate reminded himself not to be judgmental despite the fact that Ronald’s habits were draining the estate like a freshly opened wound. After all, he himself was currently indulging in decadent eroticism with a widow—hardly respectable behavior. Everyone had his flaws.

“I hadn’t expected you back from town so soon,” Nate greeted his brother.

“The social whirl became a yawn. I decided some time at the old homestead, hunting and fishing, would be more amusing.” Which meant Ron was in some new kind of trouble and owed debts he couldn’t repay.

Nate stiffened as Ron draped an unwelcome arm around his shoulders, playing the prodigal earl returned to the bosom of his loving family. They’d never been that close, even as boys.

“Who is your lovely companion?” Ron turned his attention to Cecile, who stood looking uncomfortable at the sudden influx of visitors.

“My guest, Madame Lambeaux,” Nate introduced her succinctly.

“Enchante, Madame.” Ronald stepped toward Cecile to take her hand in his and bow over it. Manners dictated his kiss should brush the air just above her hand, but the earl pressed his lips to her flesh and lingered there just long enough to make the kiss suggestive and rude.

A hot flash of anger burned through Nate at the inappropriate familiarity of the gesture. It was hard to remember all the promises he’d made to try harder with Ron next time he returned home. Sibling or not, he quite simply despised the man, every aspect of his wastrel personality. Nate searched for redeeming qualities, but found very few.

Cecile drew her hand away from the earl and moved closer to Nate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“Have you been enjoying your visit to my estate? It’s some of the finest land in the district. I hope my brother has been entertaining you suitably. He tends to be a bit bookish when not astride a horse. I plan to host more interesting diversions over the next few weeks. You must stay and enjoy them.”

The fact that Ron had emphasized his ownership of the estate wasn’t lost on Nate, and the fire inside him burned hotter. It was best he remove himself from his brother’s presence before he said something he’d regret.

“Madame and I have been on a long ride and I’m certain she’s ready for a rest. Perhaps you can make our introductions to your friends a bit later.”

Without waiting for an answer, Nate took Cecile’s arm and steered her away from the chattering, laughing group of strangers, who studied them both as if they were a new and interesting zoological display.

Once inside the house, he led her quickly from the front hall since the company would be spilling through the door right behind them at any minute. He felt like a fool, practically running away from Ron and his entourage, but he really didn’t want to face them until he was refreshed and mentally prepared for it.

Nate escorted Cecile upstairs and to her room. “Unfortunately, my brother doesn’t send notice ahead when he’s planning to come home. I’m sorry to have our interlude interrupted like this.”

“It’s fine,” she protested. “He is your family and has every right to be here.”

“I suppose, but I wanted this time for us alone. I know how loud and long Ron and his friends engage in revelries every night.”

Cecile smiled. “As large as this place is, I’m certain we can keep to ourselves if we choose.”

Nate had his doubts.

“Tell us more about yourself and your family, Madame Lambeaux. We’re always interested in visitors from abroad.” Miss Neismith’s nasal, high-pitched voice was enough to drive anyone to murder. Nate was fairly certain it was only the ample endowments of her body that had earned her an invitation since Ron had always been enamored with big tits.

“Yes, do,” her friend Miss Thomsen echoed her as she had done all evening. The pair of them chirping and fluttering together reminded him of a pair of budgies. “Tell us about your late husband and, of course, we want to hear about all the latest fashions in Paris.”

“I’m from Nice. I haven’t spent much time in the capitol.” Cecile’s low voice held all the culture and refinement that the other women present at the dining table struggled so desperately to achieve with their false airs and put-on accents. Nate felt a glow of warmth and appreciation for her elegance and subdued beauty. He also realized that the two parakeets had just prompted more facts about Cecile’s life than she’d shared with him in their entire time together, not including her sharing the story of the loss of her family during the Revolution. Whenever he’d asked a question about her more recent history, her life in France with her husband and as a widow, she’d neatly changed the subject. As she did now.

“That is a lovely gown, Miss Neismith. Who is your dressmaker?”

Nate’s attention was diverted from the ladies’ conversation by the fellow on his right, a fop with sideburns that grew nearly to his chin and a high pompadour. Nate had already forgotten his name, although he knew he’d been introduced to him on at least one of Ron’s past visits.

“What does one do for entertainment out here in the wilderness?” The man’s affected tone was nearly as high as Miss Neismith’s. “Is there no place to gamble or a brothel where I might find a local wench who doesn’t resemble a cow? I don’t know why your brother insisted on dragging us all away from town. I always find the country so dreary, don’t you? Well, obviously not or you wouldn’t be here, eh?” His chortle of humor sounded like a yapping lap dog.

Nate didn’t reply and his companion didn’t notice, but kept on prattling for the next quarter hour. When it was time for the gentlemen to adjourn for after-dinner cigars, Nate knew he couldn’t take one more moment with these people or abandon Cecile to the catty clawing of Ron’s “lady” friends. He was certain she was signaling him with her expressive eyes to save her.

The six gentlemen pushed back their chairs and rose, while the five ladies remained seated. Nate cleared his throat. “I must decline a smoke and bid you all goodnight as I am not feeling well, and Madame Lambeaux is tired from our long ride earlier today.”

Cecile murmured her farewell and he escorted her from the room. She clasped Nate’s hand the moment they were out of the dining room. “You are my hero. Thank you!”

He squeezed her hand. “If I’d had to listen to that yammering for one more minute, I might have lost my composure and shown that London lad exactly how uncouth and rough country folk like me can be.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Do you wish to take a stroll out in the garden or would you prefer retiring to my room?”

“Your room would be lovely. I must admit you didn’t lie about me being tired from our ride earlier. Although I’m getting better at sitting horseback, my body still aches and groans after any length of time in the saddle.”

“A sore bottom? I can help with that.” Nate stopped at the foot of the stairs and drew her into his arms, heedless of anyone who might come across them. It was his house and he’d be damned if he’d tiptoe around it like a mouse for the duration of Ronald’s visit. He settled his mouth over Cecile’s, tasting wine and a trace of the sauce from the pheasant at dinner. He stroked his hands down her back to the soft curve of her rear and gripped it.

She shifted against him and pressed her hands against his chest, breaking the kiss. “I don’t feel comfortable here. Let’s…” She nodded her head at the stairs.

As they resumed the walk to Nate’s bedchamber, thoughts of the day raced through his mind. Seeing Peter face to face had been an overwhelming moment for him, nearly as heart-jolting as when he’d first learned the boy existed. Until this afternoon he’d been able to postpone making any decision about how to deal with the boy. He’d told himself Peter was receiving a good education and that was all Nate was required to do considering he didn’t even know if the child was his. But seeing the boy’s face today, the features that so closely resembled his own reflection, had made it impossible for Nate to ignore his responsibility any longer. Cecile was right. The boy was family and deserved to be acknowledged and brought home after his grandmother had passed. Nate wouldn’t think of taking him away while she still lived and knew instinctively that Peter wouldn’t allow it. He could sense the stubborn and loyal spirit in the boy after only a few minutes spent with him.

“What are you thinking?” Cecile’s soft voice brought him back to the moment.

He opened the door of his room and pulled her inside. “I’m thinking of what I want to do to you this evening.”

“No, I believe it was something more serious than that. Tell me.”

Her concerned eyes and quiet tone were so welcoming she made him want to share his thoughts and feelings, something he’d rarely done except in occasional conversations with Dr. Boughton. It almost frightened him how much he relaxed with her and how much he wanted to give of himself. What would life be like after she went home? He didn’t think he could stand to be without her. Would she consider staying beyond a fortnight’s visit? Was a marriage proposal such an outlandish idea?

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Cecile continued as his silence dragged on too long. “It’s been a day full of revelations and upheavals. Perhaps we should simply rest quietly together.”

“Maybe not too quietly,” he teased as he turned her around and loosened her gown. He kissed her nape and the smooth skin of her upper back as it was revealed. A woman’s garments consisted of far too many layers, he decided, as he helped her shed them.

When they were both naked and reclining on his bed, Nate encouraged her to lie face down while he gave her another massage. He loved this view of her recumbent form, the gentle rises and falls of the landscape of her body. He ran the edge of his thumb all the way down her spine and she wiggled. Then he spanned her lower back in his hands and smoothed his palms over her waist and buttocks. Oh, those round globes of succulent flesh made him long to take a bite.

Suiting action to thought, he bent and kissed her there, nuzzled and tongued each cheek. Cecile squirmed even more and made a soft sound. The sweet feminine noise made his already stiffening prick become rock hard. His erection bumped against the mounded covers he’d pushed toward the foot of the bed, but he wanted to be inside her.

Nate gave one last kiss right at the apex of the dark cleft separating her buttocks then rose and resumed his massage, pressing the heels of his hands into her flanks and rubbing small circles on her rear. He felt the hardness of her pelvis beneath the soft flesh.

She groaned when he gently rubbed her tailbone.

“Poor sweet, I shouldn’t have suggested riding several days in a row, knowing you weren’t accustomed to it.”

“Your hands are working wonders, and the kisses were just the therapy I needed,” she replied.

He chuckled and lay down along her back, holding most of his weight on his elbows and knees. He loved the feel of her soft, yielding body beneath him, her smooth, strong back pressed against his chest. His cock was cradled between her cheeks as though the groove was made to fit him.

“I have something else for you that may be equally therapeutic.” The curls by her ear fluttered as he whispered.

Putting his hand between their bodies, he slid it into her pussy, checking her readiness. She was as slippery wet as grass after a rain, and she moaned softly at his touch. Nate took hold of his throbbing cock and guided it to where it desperately wanted to be.

He pushed inside the glorious wetness, as steaming as a tropical paradise. Heat and pleasure enveloped his cock, and he thrust into her with one strong push.

She moaned, not a sound of distress, but of pleasure. Her inner muscles drew him deeper, surrounding him like a fist.

Seated deeply within her, Nate paused and waited. He wanted this time to last. Too often he’d been so excited by her, by the feel of her, that the act had gone quicker than he wished. But tonight their lovemaking would be as leisurely as he could make it.

“I love taking you like this,” he murmured. “Covering you like a blanket while you hold me inside.”

Cecile didn’t answer, but the curve of her cheek was flushed and the single charming dimple beside her mouth flashed.

He pulled out in excruciating increments until only the tip of his cock remained in her, and then pushed in once more, slow and easy.

“Actually, I love having you any way, any place,” he continued, because he loved to see her blush. “Choosing a favorite is like trying to pick between seven different versions of heaven. Each may be a little different, but it’s all the same place—perfection.”

She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.

Nate grinned. “Over the top? I’ll stop talking now.”

That was easy to do because he needed his concentration to make this last. In. And out. He pumped slow and easy as Cecile lifted her bottom to meet his thrusts. He snaked a hand between her body and the mattress and felt for the little button that would pleasure her as much as she was pleasuring him. When he touched it, she gasped into the pillow.

My beauty, my love. He no longer verbalized the endearments, but felt them in his soul as he continued to move gently inside her. How sweet, how perfect. She was different from other women, possessing more depth of emotion and thoughtful introspection in his estimation. He could trust her to be truthful with him, as she had been today when she told him how she viewed his obligation to Peter. He felt he could trust her with anything…even his heart.

Nate moved faster as the primitive need to fill and possess her grew stronger, a deeper hunger usurping his slow lovemaking and making it careless, rough. As he thrust harder, his groin slapping her bottom, the powerful yearning inside swelled until it filled him and then exploded into ecstasy. He groaned as his seed spurted in strong, steady pulses.

Lost in a haze of bliss, he almost forgot to keep moving his finger on her clitoris. But Cecile found her own rhythm, rubbing herself against his hand until her breathless whimpers let him know that she’d reached her climax, too.

As he lay atop her, breathing deeply and recovering from his orgasm, Nate realized that once again he’d neglected to use the condoms he’d purchased specifically for Cecile’s visit. He hoped that she used an alternative method of prevention, but then he thought that maybe he didn’t want her to. Would it be so bad if she became pregnant? He’d already considered the idea of marriage, and the thought of having a family with this wonderful woman—a family that included Peter—sounded quite appealing. He only wished he knew more about Cecile.

Rolling to the side, he withdrew from her and lay on his back with an arm stretched languidly over his head. “That was lovely.”

“Lovely,” she echoed, turning her head on the pillow to face him. Her clear eyes met his and told him much more than that.

“Cecile, I’ve been thinking,” he began, then stopped, not knowing what to say next.

“Yes?” she said when he remained silent.

“Our time together has been wonderful and, as I said, I would like it to go on much longer…and perhaps in a different manner, a more official arrangement, so to speak. But I feel that I know so little about you. You’ve seen my family secrets laid bare, but I don’t even know your late husband’s name or the circumstances of his passing.”

Her eyelids lowered, hiding her from him and he wanted to tilt her chin up and force her to face him.

“I’ve respected your wish to remain private about your past, assuming that there was some trouble or pain you don’t want to recall. But now, with the intentions I have in mind, I’d like to learn more of your life, of the events that shaped you and brought you to me.”

Was she going to answer? Nate began to think not as she remained staring somewhere in the region of his breastbone.

“My life has been complicated,” she said softly at last. “I will tell you everything. I know that I must, but for tonight, can we not speak of it? Will you just hold me and let me hold you? I want to lie peacefully together for one more night before I must dredge up my past.”

He wondered what could be so horrible that made her sound as though she faced a guillotine blade. Did she think whatever she revealed to him would change his opinion of her? It couldn’t, and he had to reassure her of that fact.

“All right,” he soothed, reaching out a hand to stroke her shoulder and arm. “But I promise you that whatever you say won’t change my feelings for you. I know it’s very soon to say such things since we’ve known each other less than a month, but…I care for you deeply, Cecile.”

Once more her eyes met his, clear and unwavering. “I care for you, too. Very much. I’ve spent most of my life keeping my heart closed. It was safer to live that way. But when I saw you it was like the sun had come out to melt the ice. I saw you, wanted you and had to have you at all costs.”

Nate was puzzled at her choice of words. They were passionate and heartfelt, but hardly matched his recollection of their first meeting—two strangers introduced to one another at a house party.

She shrugged, dismissing the intensity of her proclamation. “I just want you to know that is the truth.”

He felt the other half of the sentence left unsaid was something along the lines of “no matter what happens”, and he couldn’t imagine what she had to say which she was so certain would change things between them.

Nate took her into his arms and pulled her against him, kissing the top of her head that tucked so neatly beneath his chin. “Tomorrow then. It can wait. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

They curled together in the tangle of bedclothes. Only an occasional spark popping from the low burning fire on the grate disturbed the silence, as they lay at peace as Cecile wished.

She didn’t tell him her story in the morning because Nate was up and away before dawn. The previous evening he’d sent servants and food to the Cuthbert house as promised: young Mary, one of the housemaids, to help with the nursing and McKibben, a footman, to fetch and carry whatever she needed and with instructions to get Dr. Boughton and Nate if things grew worse.

Nate had debated going back to the house himself to be with Peter during his grandmother’s passing, but had decided to wait for word from McKibben. Peter might feel uncomfortable having a stranger lingering there during such an emotional and private time. Nate didn’t know the best way to reveal his relationship to the boy and support him in seeing his grandmother out of the world. Was it better to step in or hold back for a while?

A knock on his bedroom door in the early hours of the morning roused Nate from sleep and made the decision for him. McKibben waited in the hall outside, breathless and with the scent of cool night air emanating from his clothes.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you said…”

“Yes. It’s fine. Has it happened?”

“Not yet, but the doctor says any time.” If McKibben wondered why his lordship wanted to be at the deathbed of one of his tenants, he didn’t show his curiosity. Perhaps he knew, as probably everyone in the district did, that there was a special relationship between the House of Covington and the bastard, Peter Cuthbert.

“Ready Jackdaw. I’ll be right down.”

Nate returned to the room, dark and chilly now with the fire burned to ash, and grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe.

The lump on the bed stirred and Cecile’s sleepy voice floated to him. “What is it?”

“Mrs. Cuthbert is at the end. I want to be there for Peter afterward.”

“I’ll come with you.” She sat up, her voice awake now.

“No. I’d rather go on my own this time. Sleep. I’ll see you as soon as I can tomorrow.”

“All right.” She paused. “I will pray for Mrs. Cuthbert’s soul, for Peter…and for you.”

After he’d dressed, Nate stooped to kiss Cecile’s cheek then hurried from the room.

His heart beat fast as he rode through the murky gray pre-dawn down the road and along the cross-country trail toward the Cuthbert cottage. He remembered other very early mornings when he was wide awake and charged with energy like this: the anxious sleeplessness prior to a battle, youthful meetings with Fiona before her work day began. It may have been on such a morning as this that Peter was conceived by a young couple grappling in the throes of love.

Nate could see now with the passage of time that while he had loved Fiona passionately and she appeared to care for him, they had been a poor match. When the initial flame of youthful obsession had burned out, what kind of life would they have had together? He pictured them raising Peter in a tiny flat, Nate working as a clerk and Fiona taking in sewing. It would have been a hard life, softened by their love, but still far removed from everything he knew. His interests, books and riding, would have been shelved in favor of food on the table and clothes on their backs. What would they have found to talk about after the thrill of lovemaking lessened?

With Cecile, on the other hand, he could well imagine growing old together, sharing interests as well as passion. She was a match for him, where Fiona had been a youthful ideal, and, if he were to be brutally honest, a rebellion against his father.

These thoughts filled his head as he spied a single lighted window that marked his destination. By the time he’d dismounted and tied up Jackdaw, memories had fled, replaced by the immediacy of the moment at hand.

He knocked on the door of the house then entered without waiting for an answer. Several people were clustered around the cot in the small room. Dr. Boughton bent over the patient, while Mary Cotton stood nearby with a basin in her hands. Peter stood on the other side of his grandmother’s bed with Mrs. Andrews’ hand resting on his shoulder. All of them glanced at him as he walked into the room. He nodded, but didn’t ask how the patient was. This was a deathwatch, and he’d seen enough of his fellow soldiers out of the world that he knew frivolous questions were painful at such a time.

He walked across the room and stood just behind Peter. After a glance at Nate, the boy had returned his attention to his grandmother. His smooth, young hand was wrapped around her gnarled one. The old woman’s slack face looked already dead, but her breath still rattled in and out, harsh and ugly. Mary’s soft voice murmured a prayer. Rose Andrews joined in.

Within two minutes of Nate’s arrival, as though aware he was there and commending her grandson into his care, Agnes stopped breathing. The silence was deafening. For a moment, no one moved or spoke, then Dr. Boughton leaned to close the dead woman’s mouth, Mary crossed herself and left the room to empty the basin of water, and Mrs. Andrews wrapped her arm tighter around Peter, drawing him close to her breast. Nate seemed to be the only one with no purpose here. He felt useless and a bit foolish as he waited and tried to decide what to say to a boy who’d just lost his beloved grandmother.

Peter didn’t cry. In fact, he seemed to be enduring rather than leaning into Mrs. Andrews’ stifling embrace.

Leave him alone. Can’t you see he needs some time to himself? Nate wanted to shout at the woman, who was murmuring soothing, pointless platitudes. And then suddenly like a light going on in a dark room Nate realized that this was the time. If he was to become the boy’s father, or something like one, now was the moment to step forward and take charge.

“Peter. Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?”

Both the boy and Rose Andrews looked at him.

Nate held out his hand. “Walk with me,” he half suggested, half commanded, and Peter pulled away from the woman’s arms and came to him.

Nate didn’t take his hand or put an arm around his shoulders, as they walked from the house and into the fresh morning air. The sky had turned pearly gray tinged with a blush of rose that signaled dawn was not far off. They walked up the hill, side by side, without speaking. Nate followed the boy’s lead, imagining him playing on this hillside as a child or perhaps driving the family cow back to its stall after a day’s grazing. His heart clenched at all the time he’d lost with this boy who might be his son.

They perched on a pair of boulders at the top of the hill and stared at the horizon as the rose grew slowly brighter. Nate told himself not to speak first. He didn’t know why, but he sensed it was the right thing to do, like holding out a hand patiently until a skittish colt quieted and came of its own accord.

“My granny was really old and sick. It’s good that she’s gone to heaven,” Peter remarked calmly after several minutes.

He’s in shock. Nate had experienced it himself often enough after bidding a mate goodbye. “Yes. She’s at peace now, but you’ll miss her terribly.”

Peter nodded. “But I suppose I’ll go back to school when the new term starts.”

“Do you like your school?”

He shrugged and picked a bit of moss from the stone. “It’s all right.”

“If it doesn’t suit, if you’re unhappy there, you can go someplace else. It’s up to you.”

Peter tossed the piece of moss then glanced at him. “You’re the one who pays, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Nate’s stomach churned as if it were the morning after a hard night’s drinking. His role in this child’s life was reduced to being “the one who pays”.

“People say things, like that my father is someone from the manor. Do they think children are deaf or don’t understand things?” He looked at Nate again. “So, is it true?”

“Yes.”

“Are you him?”

“I don’t know for sure.” He spoke the truth because a child could always sniff out a lie. “I loved your mother once, and you look very much like me.” There was no need to mention the rest, not until the boy was much older or asked the right question.

“I don’t remember my mother very well,” Peter said. “She died when I was small. But she used to tell me my father was a soldier who’d gone to war. Were you a soldier?”

“Yes.” Nate cleared his throat which seemed to have swelled, maybe from the cold air. “If I’d known about you, I would have come to see you. No one told me you existed.”

“Mm.” The boy grunted and began scratching at the moss again.

“If you wanted to, you could come and stay with me for a while…until school starts again. And if you don’t care for your school, we’ll find a better one.”

“I’m bad at Latin, but I suppose I should be bad at it no matter what school I go to.” His tone was polite but distracted, and Nate realized this was a terrible time to be introducing himself as a possible father. The boy’s grandmother wasn’t yet cold. He was too shocked to even begin mourning, let alone face the man who’d made him a bastard.

“I was always bad at Latin, too,” Nate said to fill the silence.

“However, I’m excellent at boxing,” the boy added.

Nate smiled, imagining this healthy farm boy taking on drawing-room bred noblemen’s sons. “I imagine you are.”

“Thank you for inviting me to visit, but I have matters to attend to concerning my grandmother’s interment.” Peter spoke formally as though refusing a second portion at high tea.

“You can’t stay alone.”

“I’m nearly twelve. I can look after myself.” The set of the boy’s jaw let Nate know that arguing would make him dig in his heels. This was a critical time in their relationship. Every word he uttered and every action would be judged and weighed. He needed to offer comfort and support, but not overwhelm the child with his sudden interest.

“Very well. I can see you’re very capable, but if you need anything, let me know. And if you change your mind, you can come to the house any time. I believe there are more than enough rooms.”

Peter ignored the small joke. “Are you the new Earl of Hillshire?”

“No. That’s my brother, Ronald. I’m Nathaniel, the younger brother.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence while the sky lightened to pink and a sliver of gold shone above the horizon, then Peter sighed and slid down from the boulder. “I’d better go back. There are things to tend to. I suppose I shall order a coffin and arrange for the vicar to perform the ceremony.” He looked at Nate as though for confirmation that these were the right things to do.

The sadness in the boy’s eyes and the way he sought his guidance made Nate’s heart tighten like a fist. Once more he swallowed a lump in his throat before he answered. “I’m sorry about the loss of your grandmother. I can help you with the plans if you like.”

Peter shrugged and walked on ahead.

Nate trailed behind him, noting the boy’s erect bearing and wide shoulders. It wouldn’t be long before he was a man with all of a man’s responsibilities, but for now he was still a child, vulnerable although he didn’t know it, dependent although he wouldn’t admit it. Nate discovered he was intrigued at the prospect of helping him grow up and happy at the idea of being a father to a child who needed one.

If Cecile would marry him, he would instantly have a family. How strange and twisting life’s turns could be. A month ago he’d been completely focused on keeping the estate afloat. Now he was thinking of adding even more financial strain, but infinitely more joy to his life. A wife, a son, a future that was full and busy rather than lonely and empty.

The land lay golden before him, touched by the morning sun that shone on the new day.

Chapter Thirteen

Cecile woke late that morning, stretched languidly then remembered why the other side of the bed was empty. Nate had gone to be with Peter. She’d had trouble falling back to sleep after he left so she’d done as promised and prayed for the Cuthberts and for Nate, who was feeling his way into a relationship with his son. It would be difficult to discover belatedly that he’d fathered a child, but much worse to have doubts about whether the youth was his.

After rising, Cecile dressed in last night’s gown and let herself out of Nate’s room. She scurried back to her own, hoping she wouldn’t meet any of the visitors on the way.

As she washed and dressed for the day, she thought about the previous night and how close she had come to telling Nate everything. She could tell his depth of emotion for her was real. Surely he’d understand her motivation for fabricating an identity in order to meet him. But she simply couldn’t say it last night and risk the comfort and closeness of the moment. The harsh light of day was the time for revealing difficult secrets, not the soothing, shrouding darkness of night.

Her stomach was unsettled, lurching from both nerves and lack of dinner the night before, since she’d hardly eaten anything under the company’s intense scrutiny. She needed some breakfast and she needed Nate to come back so she could unburden herself to him. But, of course, he’d be caught up in the heavy emotion of forging a connection to Peter. It probably wasn’t a good time to add to that drama. She might have to continue to wear her secret like an ascetic’s hair shirt for a while longer.

Unfortunately, Cecile wasn’t the only late riser. The dining room was full of the earl’s guests, most of them looking glassy-eyed and hung over. Cecile took one peek into the room, from which the aroma of a buffet of food wafted, and nearly turned around and left. But Miss Neismith spied her and she couldn’t run away without looking a fool.

The young woman’s narrow eyes brightened at the prospect of amusement, and Cecile knew she was about to be baited again by these oh-so-polite women with their veiled insults and innuendos.

“Good morning, Madame Lambeaux. How did you pass the night? Was it uneventful or rough?” Miss Neismith smiled pointedly as she paused then added, “Your sleep, I mean.”

“Peaceful. Thank you.” Cecile had learned that short answers were a prime way to get the other person talking. As Meredith’s servant, it hadn’t been her place to express opinions, merely to listen, and she’d made the one word response into an art form.

A footman held a chair for Cecile and she pointed out what she wanted on her plate from the array of food.

“You never did tell us about your late husband, Madame,” Miss Thomsen chimed in. “What was his title? Where was his estate? Did you ever meet Empress Josephine or Napoleon? I understand she was a great beauty, and he a little toad of a man.”

Cecile popped a strawberry into her mouth and nodded.

“Tell us about Nice. Is it as lovely a city as Paris? Do you plan to return to France or visit our country indefinitely?”

On the surface, their questions were valid and polite, but it was the way they were delivered like a salvo of gunfire that made Cecile feel like a target. The tone of their voices carried the suggestion that the women were looking for dirt. Their clever noses had caught a whiff of something “off” about Cecile and they were determined to get to the bottom of it. What else was a woman to do for fun at a boring country house party?

“Yes, Madame Lambeaux,” Covington joined in with false bonhomie. “Do tell us all about yourself and how you came to befriend my brother.” He stressed the word “befriend” with lascivious glee.

“We were introduced by my friend, la Comtesse du Chevalier.” Hopefully Meredith’s title would be enough of a bone to throw at these ravening hounds. Cecile felt as harried as a fox. And speaking of which, shouldn’t these people be on a hunt or something? Wasn’t that the point of visiting the country?

“Where is my brother, by the way, still sleeping or up and about his affairs already?”

“I couldn’t say.” She was certain Nate wouldn’t want his brother to know his intention to openly claim Peter as a Covington.

The earl shook his head. “Trust my brother to be so foolish as to leave a lady guest unattended while he dawdles around on estate business.”

The estate you’re supposed to be maintaining, the one that provides you the means to indulge your vices, Cecile thought.

He leaned toward her, and his eyes removed the dress she’d just put on. “I would never abandon a beautiful lady. Who knows what trouble might befall her?” Another suggestive leer made Cecile’s appetite evaporate. The fact that Miss Neismith was now glaring daggers at her made it worse. Clearly the woman had designs on the young earl and imagined she could achieve them, not understanding that she was merely a weekend’s entertainment for the man.

Cecile folded her napkin over her half empty plate, and the footman pulled out her chair so she could rise. “Pardon me. I find I’m not very hungry after all, and a trace of last night’s headache still lingers.” She fled the room before someone could suggest a headache powder.

Ronald Covington, the Earl of Hillshire, was a most unpleasant man who couldn’t have been less like his brother. They might appear physically similar, with the same strong nose and jaw, but Ronald had the dissipated features of a man who indulged in too many vices. His nose was red from drink and his eyes weren’t keen like Nate’s, but cunning. Perhaps the earl took after his father, while Nathaniel resembled his mother in temperament. Cecile considered retreating to her room, but the thought of remaining trapped indoors where perhaps Miss Neismith and company might seek her out simply to torment her more was untenable.

She headed for the gardens instead. There were many, both geometrically formal if rather overgrown, and wildly natural. She opted to walk in one of the areas farther from the house, guessing that the lazy company wouldn’t venture much beyond the graveled paths where they could sprawl on benches and discuss how boring the day was.

Nathaniel had shown her a favorite spot of his, a glade that contained the rocky base of a fort he’d once built as a boy. He’d abandoned it before it got much higher than the height of a young boy’s chest, and since then, the elements had tumbled most of the stones. The fallen fort gave the impression of some pagan altar long abandoned and the quiet clearing reminded her of a similar spot on the countess’s estate where she loved to walk.

Cecile spread her skirts around her as she sat on the grass in the sunshine and wished she’d thought to bring a book along. It might be a long morning without one and, unfortunately, she had no way of knowing when Nate returned.

Inevitably, as she drowsed and daydreamed, she imagined some kind of mythic, perfect future world in which Nate listened to everything she had to tell him and forgave her lies. He asked her to be his mistress, something she was almost certain he’d been on the verge of doing last night, and she accepted. They lived in the manor house from which Ronald was magically banished—it was her daydream after all, and Peter was like a son to them both. They were a happy family. Cecile was just starting to embroider an unexpected pregnancy that would bring a baby girl into their lives when footsteps startled her awake and a shadow fell over her.

“Hot sun is the worst thing for a headache.” Covington’s drawling voice sent a shiver through her, and the hair rose on her arms.

She looked up at him, her collar scratching the back of her neck. He towered above her, standing way too near and putting her at a disadvantage. Scrambling awkwardly to her feet, she faced him and suppressed the urge to back away. “Thank you for your concern. I was just about to walk back to the house.”

“I’ll escort you.” He fell into step beside her as she turned to leave the clearing. “It’s been a long time since I was here. Not since Nate and I built that fort.”

Nate hadn’t mentioned his brother had joined in his solitary games in the glade, and Cecile imagined the tumbled stones might have more to do with Ronald finding the fort and being destructive than with the elements tearing it down.

“You see, my brother and I weren’t always at odds, as I’m sure he’s told you we are now. For my part, I have no quarrel with him. It’s Nate who’s taken it into his head to be jealous of my position in the family, but what can I do? I’m the first son.” He slowed his stride, forcing Cecile to walk slowly, too. She could hardly rush ahead of him at a near trot as she wished to do.

She remained silent as the earl continued filling the air with noise. “I’ve rarely seen Nate in a woman’s company. I was beginning to wonder where his interests lay. But I see now he was reserving himself for something special. You are very lovely, Madame Lambeaux.”

Cecile didn’t dignify his compliment with a thank you and now she did walk faster, etiquette be damned.

“I should like to get to know you better, especially if you have some intention of becoming a member of the family.” His gaze crawled over her. “Or is that not the kind of relationship you two have? It’s all so mysterious—you and the past you won’t speak of, my brother’s sudden infatuation with you. What am I to make of it? As head of the family, I must protect my brother from any foolish…entanglements he might imagine are love. You may not know this, but he’s fallen for an inappropriate woman before and almost ruined his life because of it.”

Her breathing was shallow, her corset too tight, and she wished she’d never decided to take a walk. She should have stayed sequestered in her room.

Covington’s hand fell on her arm, stopping her. “Madame, I don’t know your history, you see, and that troubles me. But I do know what my brother looks like when he’s bewitched by a woman. Mistresses and affairs are all very well. Everyone indulges. But I won’t have Nathaniel besmirch the Covington name by marrying a strange French woman with uncertain connections.”

She gazed at his hand on her bare arm and then at his face. “I assure you, sir, I have no intentions in that regard.”

He nodded, his dark eyes piercing hers and a little smile playing over his full lips. “Very good. In that case, I gather you are of the same mind set as your friend, the infamous countess, so you must have a very open mind about sexuality.” He released her arm and caressed her cheek with his fingertips, drawing them down to the tip of her chin. “You’ve experienced one Covington brother. Perhaps you’d care to find out what the other is like?”

Never should’ve gone on that walk. Her heart pounded so hard that blood sang in her ears. Should she run? How far would he dare to go with this? They stood near a tall hedge now and he could grab and drag her behind it if he chose. She might fight him off and later tell Nate what had happened, but then the rancor between the brothers would be worse than ever. But maybe a simple refusal would curtail the earl’s attentions.

“No, thank you.”

“Not interested, eh? Too bad.” He traced his thumb over her lower lip, and she was ashamed when it trembled, betraying her fear. “I should love to kiss these lips, so tender and pouty. I can imagine what they’d look like stretched around…” He broke off with a sigh. “But no. I see it isn’t to be. Still, perhaps something will happen to make you change your mind.”

He stepped away, dropping his hand from her face, but Cecile remained frozen. He beckoned her forward. “Come along, then. I will continue to escort you to the house. You really shouldn’t walk alone. Some of my friends… Well, let’s just say their ardor often gets the better of their common sense.”

Her legs felt too weak to carry her, as if she’d narrowly missed being run over by a cart or had suffered through some terrible fever and barely remained alive. She walked the rest of the way to the house in complete silence, extremely aware of the man by her side and the unexpected danger he represented. How had someone as wonderful as Nathaniel emerged from such a horrible family?

And if she, by some miracle, became Nate’s permanent mistress, how often would she have to deal with the lecherous earl?

Nate came back late that afternoon and found her in the library where she’d hidden in a dark corner with a few books. They ate a light meal delivered to his bedroom that evening rather than suffer another formal dinner and he talked mostly of Peter. Cecile could tell he was proud of the boy’s self-possession while planning the funeral service with the vicar. There was much Nate had to think about, and this wasn’t the time to tell him about herself.

The following day as Nate prepared to go back to the Cuthbert house, Cecile offered to end her visit. Making the suggestion broke her heart, but she believed she had no business being here when Nate was so busy trying to forge a bond with his son.

“No. Don’t leave. You should come with me,” he insisted. “I want you to know Peter, too.”

She didn’t argue since she didn’t want to go home. Once that happened, Cecile guessed this illusion of being someone else, living another life, would end. She’d come to her senses and never return.

Spending time with Nate at the Cuthbert farm, she was happily able to avoid Lord Covington and his arrogant guests. Cecile found the cottage and the other places they stopped at in the village much more comfortable than the manor. She enjoyed young Peter with his practical ways and sad smile and felt she could see what Nate might have been like as a boy—always a bit different, too introspective and set apart from the ebullient camaraderie of the other lads of his set.

The funeral was held the next day. It was attended by all the local people of a certain class. Certainly none of the gentry would have any purpose in being there. For Nate to stand with Peter was a clear indication to all that he acknowledged the boy as his at last. There were nearly as many pairs of eyes on him as on the coffin of the deceased.

When the vicar spoke the final words of blessing and the people began to drift away from the grave site, Nate remained with Peter. Cecile hung back to give them time alone. She watched as Nate rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder and bent to say something to him. Their hair color matched almost exactly, Peter’s being a slightly lighter shade of brown, and the set of their bodies even seemed similar—a certain way of standing. Maybe it was the result of attending a British boy’s school, where a stiff upper lip and a masterful bearing were part of the training. Cecile worried about how tense Peter was and how little emotion he allowed himself to exhibit. If he were her son, she’d let him know it was all right to grieve.

Cecile turned her gaze away from this private moment between father and son to look at the church cemetery around them. Many of the stones were mossy and the carved letters so faded one could scarcely read them. Simple wooden crosses tilted unevenly over some of the plots. But the iron fence around the churchyard stood erect and the grass was neatly trimmed over the graves. The dead were cared for and honored in this little hamlet.

She wondered about her parents’ graves, which she’d never seen. Who was there to tend them? All she could do was remember them from afar.

Nathaniel and Peter moved toward her, and she looked back to them and the piled earth and open hole behind them. A gravedigger stood at the far edge of the cemetery, his hat respectfully off, his weight leaned against his propped shovel. After they left, he would go to work, filling in the pit in the ground. Cecile was suddenly choked with emotion at the timelessness of it all.

Agnes Cuthbert had been an old woman. There was nothing to mourn in her passing except the little boy left behind. But Cecile was moved in a greater way, by the thought of all of mankind struggling through a span of years only to inevitably reach this point. Was there something more than dirt covering a corpse at the end of it? Did the soul really fly up to a heavenly reward as the nuns had taught her?

And then she realized it didn’t matter. Whether there was an afterlife or not, it was imperative to make every second of one’s life on this earth count.

As Nate smiled at her from across the space between them, Cecile was glad for what she’d done. How could she regret the lie that had allowed her to be with him? For a few short weeks she’d had her heart’s desire. But it was now time to tell him the truth and find out if his affection for her could withstand the revelation. This evening when they were alone once more, she would tell him at last.

“Brother, stop a moment and visit with us. I’ve barely seen you since I’ve been home. What do you and your lady friend do all day to keep yourselves occupied?” Ronald intercepted them when they would have walked past the drawing room later that day. “I insist you have one drink with me and my friends.”

Nate drew a breath, and Cecile knew he was about to refuse, but the earl kept talking, putting an arm around Nate’s shoulders and drawing him into the room and her along with him. It was impossible to break away with the eyes of all the guests upon them without appearing unforgivably rude.

The entire party was assembled in the large room. A couple of gentlemen and their ladies played cards at a table. The rest lounged on divans and chairs, sipping drinks and chatting.

The earl guided Nate and Cecile to a pair of chairs and went to the sideboard himself to pour Nate a whiskey and Cecile a sherry.

Cecile sat stiffly erect on the edge of her seat and she accepted the glass he gave her without meeting his gaze. Her fingers touched his hand as she took the glass and she remembered what that hand had felt like stroking her cheek the other day—too soft and sinuous like a snake and entirely unwelcome. Her skin crawled at the memory.

Ronald remained standing in front of Nate after he’d handed him his drink, forcing his brother to look up at him. The attempted mental domination was not very subtle. “I understand one of the tenants died and you attended the funeral today. Very good of you. How is the dearly departed’s remaining family? Peter, I believe the boy is called.”

“Yes.” Nate held the glass but didn’t drink.

“What’s to happen to the poor lad? Any plans?” Ronald’s dark eyes sparkled and Cecile realized he was thoroughly enjoying maliciously baiting his brother. He knew everything. Indeed, he was the one who’d explained it all to Nathaniel. He was simply teasing now, making amusement for himself on a dull day. “You know what I suggest—”

Nate’s jaw clenched so hard Cecile could fairly hear his teeth grind. “This is not the time or place to hold a family discussion. We can talk tomorrow…and in private.”

“Very well.” Ronald stepped back as though in retreat, but from the gleam in his eyes, he wasn’t done playing yet. He was like a cat toying with its prey. “I do admire you, though, for the interest you take in the lower classes. Just because we’re their betters is no reason to treat them like animals. They’re people, too.”

“Quite,” chimed in the man with the long sideburns, the Honourable Roger Sanderson. “I admit I’m quite fond of my valet. The man’s been with me most of my life. He’s excellent with my clothes and circumspect in performing whatever other duties I may require of him.”

A loud laugh erupted from Mr. Peter Sedgewyk at the card table. “And what kind of other duties might those be, Sandy? I’ve always wondered about you. You seemed far too fond of the bare-bottom paddlings the upperclassmen used to inflict on us back in our schooldays.”

Sanderson flushed bright red. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant in setting up assignations with young ladies.”

“Young ladies of a certain caliber are all very well,” Ronald cut across his friends’ chatter, effectively silencing them. “But one does like to know who one is getting involved with, doesn’t one?”

“Absolutely,” Sanderson was quick to support his host.

Cecile’s pulse sped faster. He knows something.

Ronald had paced across the room, and his eyes were trained on her. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to confuse a hybrid rose with a gillyflower. Not that it isn’t just as pleasurable to…pluck the gillyflower as it is to pluck the greenhouse-grown bloom. But you certainly wouldn’t take it home and put it in a vase.”

“What’s a gillyflower?” Miss Thomsen’s voice broke through the mounting tension in the room.

“Sh.” Miss Neismith set her hand of cards face down on the table and leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement at the prospect of scandal.

Cecile’s eyes flicked from the card table back to the earl, who’d moved closer and now stood in front of her.

“I think as the head of the family it is one’s duty to protect the family from opportunists and social climbers.” His eyes bored into hers and that sly half-smile lurked on his lips.

Her pulse pounded in her temples and her blood rushed so loudly she could barely hear Miss Neismith’s soft. “Oh my!”

“My poor brother always did have a weak spot for serving maids.”

“Haven’t we all?” Sanderson chimed in. “There used to be this little skivvy in my parent’s house who—”

“The first time it was my father who showed him the error of his ways and now I guess it’s up to me to set him straight, for I can see he’s been duped this time.”

Nate set his glass on an end table and rose. “That’s enough! I won’t listen to you blather on with your innuendos and insults any longer.” He reached out a hand. “Cecile.”

“Hear me out. I have proof.” Ronald spoke loudly and pulled a white envelope dramatically from his waistcoat pocket. “A letter addressed to Madame Lambeaux from—”

“You opened her private correspondence?”

“La Comtesse de Chevalier. In which she states—”

“You had no right!”

“That it is time for Cecile to tell the truth. That the pair of them was wrong to concoct a fabrication for the purpose of ensnaring Covington.”

During this rapid-fire exchange, Cecile remained frozen in her seat. She felt as if she were in a still, quiet place outside of the busy, rushing world. She watched the conflict with detachment. Floating. Apart from herself. She should have been humiliated, upset, frightened, angry, but all she felt was adrift.

“So, who is she really?” Miss Neismith’s nasal whine was breathless with eager curiosity.

“From what I surmised, she is the countess’s personal maid.”

Soft gasps, murmurs and a nervous titter from Miss Thomsen filled the long space between his pronouncement and Nate’s quiet response.

“Whatever was in that letter, it was a personal correspondence and you had no business opening it.” His voice was cold. He stepped forward and plucked the missive from Ronald’s hand.

“It was an accident. I opened it along with the rest of the post, and after I’d read a few lines, I knew I had to look after your interests. You should be grateful to me for unmasking her.” The look of triumphant glee in the earl’s eyes told a different story. He’d enjoyed bringing pain to his brother. For some reason it delighted him to make Nate unhappy.

“Cecile.” Once more Nate’s hand reached toward her.

She didn’t take it, but rose to follow him from the room. The burning eyes on her back and the titillated whispering of the earl’s friends meant nothing to her, but Nate’s silence filled her with terror.

“It’s all right,” Ronald called as they walked out of the drawing room. “If she’s that good in bed, keep her. Just don’t be foolish enough to imagine you could make her your wife. I hope you’ve grown up at least a little bit since Fiona.”

Nate remained terribly silent, and Cecile walked mutely by his side down the corridor and up the stairs. On the landing, out of sight and sound of the guests, he stopped and faced her. The letter clenched in his fist trembled slightly.

“Is he telling the truth? Are you…? Who are you?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, just couldn’t. She could tell from his voice that they would regard her with betrayal and hurt. If only she’d spoken sooner, told her himself, he might have forgiven her, but not like this. And if she tried to tell him that she’d intended to speak the truth but hadn’t found the opportunity yet, it would only sound like a miserable, weak excuse.

“Well?” The sharp bark made her jump. This must be how he sounded when he addressed one of his soldiers who’d broken the rules. What was the sentence for a court marshaled soldier? A prison sentence? Hanging?

“I’m sorry.” She stared at his cravat, carelessly loosened at the end of a long day. “I have no excuse to offer you, although I will say that I’ve long been sorry for this ruse and wanted to tell you the truth.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She shook her head. “Peter’s grandmother died. You were busy getting to know him. It didn’t seem the right time. All excuses, I know.”

There was a long, long pause and the pendulum of the grandfather clock on the landing beside them clicked ponderously back and forth.

“Why?”

“I did tell you the truth about that. I saw you, wanted you and had to have you no matter what. I could think of no way for that to happen. Not given my station and yours. I asked the countess to help me.”

“And she came up with this?” His voice rose as anger finally overtook him. “A false identity? A bunch of lies?”

“Would you have looked at me otherwise?” She dared to raise her gaze a little farther, to his chin and his full lower lip that jutted out just now. “If Madame had said, ‘Oh by the way, I’d like to introduce you to my maid, Cecile. She’s a lovely woman. You should get to know each other’.”

“More excuses. The point is you lied to me! Do all women lie?” He spoke faster. “And why me? What in heavens possessed you to…? When did you first see me?”

“Months ago. Another party at Madame’s estate. In the garden one evening I was sitting on a bench. You came out and stood there in the moonlight. You looked so sad, just as I felt. I thought…I imagined in that moment that there was a connection between us even though we’d never met or spoken.”

He was staring at her astonished, she knew, and she could still look no higher than his chin. His mouth was slightly open with surprise at her revelation, which sounded crazy when spoken aloud for the first time.

“I’m not usually prone to flights of fancy like that. You can ask the countess. I’m usually most pragmatic. I don’t know what came over me. Madame has said in the past that I’m the most level-headed person she knows.” And now she was practically babbling, a sure way to make things worse. Cecile pressed her lips together.

“What did you think would happen between us? Did you imagine you could spin a web of lies with no consequences?” He thrust the letter at her.

Cecile took it.

“I don’t want to discuss this now. I have to… I need to be alone. ” Without another word, Nate turned on his heel and walked swiftly downstairs, escaping her presence. She watched his back as he went through the foyer and out the front door.

It closed behind him, leaving her alone.

Of course, he couldn’t stand to be near her. He hated lying above all things. He’d told her that several times. What could she do now to get him to listen to her apologies? How could she fix this?

She couldn’t, of course. Ronald’s words had been like a blade severing what might have been from what was. She’d known in her heart all along that this would end badly no matter how much Nate had told her he cared for her, no matter how much she’d fantasized some kind of happy resolution. Now the daydream was over and there was nothing for her to do but return to her old life.

“Not quite the fairytale ending you’d hoped for is it?” Ronald had come from the drawing room and stopped at the foot of the stairs. He looked up at Cecile, still poised on the landing, unable to move in any direction. “In real life, the scullery maid doesn’t get the prince.”

“I would have told him myself. Why did you do this?”

“I told you before, to protect the family name. Can’t have my half-wit brother marrying a social-climbing servant. Wouldn’t do.”

“I told you I didn’t expect that to happen. I would’ve been content as his mistress. You didn’t have to…” There was no point in continuing. He hadn’t needed to make it so ugly, could’ve talked to them both in private, but it was the mayhem and destruction this man enjoyed.

“Why do you hate him so much?” she asked.

The malicious glint still danced in Ronald’s eyes, but there was no wisp of a smile on his grim mouth. “Because I had her first, and I don’t like to share my things.”

Her stomach did a slow turn as his words struck home. “Fiona.”

“It was different with father. He bedded whomever he wanted and it didn’t mean anything. But Nathaniel imagining he was in love with the chit, planning to live happily ever after with her, made me ill.”

Because you imagined you loved her, too. And she didn’t love you back. Cecile could see it clearly: the beautiful young maid to whom all three men had been attracted. Two had taken her against her will, the other with love and by her choice. It was a twisted, horrible saga with the end result of a child named Peter. She was certain Nate didn’t know this part of the story. Perhaps it was best if he never did.

“I should go now.” She almost didn’t realize she’d spoken the words aloud until Ronald responded to them.

“I’ll order you a carriage. It’s best if you’re gone before he gets back, don’t you think?”

For the first time, she was in agreement with him. There was no need to prolong things or force Nate to ask her to leave. She would simply go, leaving him to get on with his life. He had a son to adopt, an estate to run and a profligate brother with whom to deal. He didn’t need the added drama she provided.

It was time to resume her normal life, get back to her sewing and arranging Madame’s coiffure. She had a good, quiet, useful life and should be happy simply to have a job to return to. But in her mind, as the coming years stretched out before her, long and devoid of color and light, Cecile had an epiphany.

It wasn’t better to have loved and lost, because it only made one realize how much she was missing.

Chapter Fourteen

When Nate got back to the house after walking for miles, Cecile wasn’t in her room, so he checked his. She’d left a single sheet of paper on the nightstand with a message in beautiful, flowing script.

“I apologize for any pain I have caused you. I may have lied about myself, but my feelings for you are real. Please forgive me.”

Nate rang for MacKenzie and learned from the butler that Madame Lambeaux had left in one of the carriages.

His first impulse was to saddle Jackdaw and go after her. She couldn’t have gotten far. He would catch up with her and…and what? Tell her he forgave her? Tell her he wanted her no matter what? He wasn’t ready to do that.

As much as he’d felt they had a special connection, an understanding of each other which he’d never shared with anyone, it was based on falsehoods. He didn’t really know Cecile Lambeaux at all—if that was even her real name. How much of what she’d represented herself to be was the actual woman and how much a character she’d fabricated in order to win him over? It could be that it was all a superb acting job and there wasn’t a trace of the woman he’d come to love in her real personality.

Honestly, he didn’t have the time or inclination to find out just now. For one thing, he was still very angry, but he also couldn’t leave Peter, who was just beginning to trust and rely on him. It was important that he be here for the boy now, every single day. He couldn’t go gallivanting cross country after a mystery woman.

And there was the matter of Ronald.

Nate hadn’t had a chance to talk with him yet, but he knew his brother rarely came home unless he was in bad financial straits. That would have to be dealt with. The first thing to do was get him away from his guests so they could talk about all their family issues without interruption. It was time they really spoke to each other, and maybe Nate would at last understand why his brother hated him so.

But first he needed to sleep. It was late evening now after a full and emotional day which had included seeing Peter through his grandmother’s funeral and being confronted with the truth about Cecile. Any discussion he had with Ronald right now might lead to punching the man in his arrogant face.

In the morning, rested and with a cooler mind, he would get his brother alone and have it all out. Meanwhile, as Nate stripped and lay down to sleep, stomach rumbling from the dinner he’d missed, he found it impossible to stop his mind from roaming over memories of Cecile. He replayed every moment, the nuances of their conversations, the intimacies of their lovemaking, searching for clues about who she really was.

The problem was she’d projected complete sincerity throughout their time together. He couldn’t see any point at which there was a suggestion of her exhibiting an opinion simply to mirror his or pretending an interest in something. She hadn’t seemed like a woman out to snag a husband. If she’d wanted marriage, she wouldn’t have succumbed to him sexually, but would’ve played a different sort of game.

What had she wanted then? Just a temporary sexual experience? An offer of being set up as his mistress? And where was she now? Jolting along a bumpy road at night or sleeping in a bed at an inn along the way? Was she wide awake and thinking of him, too? Did she want him to come after her? Was that what she expected?

Countless questions roiled in his mind like undigested, too-rich food. Between pondering the enigma of Cecile and considering the enormity of taking Peter into his life, it was many hours before Nate finally slept.

“We need to talk. Let your friends go on their outing without you.” Nate’s tone was brusque when he addressed Ronald the following forenoon.

“I’m the host. I can hardly desert my guests.”

Nate stared hard into his dark eyes. “Don’t cross me. I’ve been patient for as long as I can stand to be. It’s time.”

Ronald shrugged his elegantly-clad shoulders. The entire party was overdressed for an afternoon picnic at the river. The women’s shoes and even some of the gentlemen’s high heels weren’t built to trudge rough paths through the woods. They and their couture belonged in London, where they should’ve stayed.

“Sanderson,” Ron called to the fellow with the long sideburns, “will you host the excursion today? It appears my brother needs to consult with me on important business.”

“Absolutely.” The man practically wagged his tail, he was so obviously pleased at being chosen to fill in for the earl.

The group wandered off slowly in the direction where the footmen escorted them, and Ronald turned to Nate. “What do you want to talk about?” That annoying, ever-present smile lurked at the corners of his mouth.

“We’ll walk, too. This way.” Nate started the opposite way from the party. Ronald fell into step beside him.

“Well, this is a surprise. I thought you were going to drag me into that dreary office and show me the books.”

“You know the state of the books. You know the entire place is hanging together by a thread. There’s nothing new I can tell you about that,” Nate said in an even tone, suppressing his anger. “But if you want to live the lifestyle you enjoy, you will need continued income from the estate. The only way to achieve that is by operating it sensibly.”

“Which is what I rely on you to do. You’re an exceptional land agent…and at no cost.”

Nate had let the land agent go when he assumed his duties. Now he was trapped and working like a slave as he tried to balance the needs of the tenants with the wasteful expenses of their lord. Ron’s offhand comment set his blood boiling, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“Estate finances are only part of the reason I wanted to talk with you.” He changed one unresolved subject for another, which would probably waste more of his breath. “What you did yesterday, revealing Cecile in front of your guests, was…unbearably rude.” The words were too weak, but he could find no better ones. “Why didn’t you come to me privately?”

Ron poked at a leaf beside the path with the silver-headed walking cane he carried, an affectation as out-of-place in this rough country lane as Ronald himself. “Do you really want to know why? You won’t like the answer.”

“Yes.” Nate didn’t add anything else, but remained silent, waiting for an explanation.

“Because it amused me to do so.”

“Why? How can you be amused by people’s pain? Cecile has never done you any harm and me…you’ve always seemed to hate me and I have no idea why.”

Ron stopped walking, forcing Nate to stop, too. They faced each other. A breeze lifted Ron’s carefully styled curls and fluttered the ends of his cravat. His eyes glittered as he stared at Nathaniel, and it was impossible to tell if it was with anger or tears.

“No, I suppose you don’t, do you?”

“What happened? It wasn’t always like this. Or at least not this bad.”

Ronald looked away and then back at him again. “So this is to be a day for truth, is it? Very well. I’m sure you’ll find my reasons unfair. I know they are, but there’s nothing I can do about them. It’s simply the way I feel.

“The truth is I always resented you for causing my mother’s death. Rotten little baby comes into the world and takes my mummy. Childish, I know. Maybe I’d have eventually grown beyond that if you weren’t such an insufferable prig of a boy. I’m afraid I just couldn’t stand you. But the worst came when you sailed in and stole Fiona from me.”

“Fiona?” Nate was almost too shocked to process the words. “You?”

“Laughable, isn’t it? I had designs on the little housemaid, too. Being nearly as young and foolish as you, I believed myself in love with a pretty face and nice body. Of course, I was as ignorant as you of the fact that our dear pater had fucked the lass already.”

“Did you—?”

“No. I never had her. Not in the biblical sense, although I tried once. She wasn’t interested in me, and I was too proud to force myself. But I still saw her first, fell in love with her first. Then you came home from school and I saw the look in her eyes when she beheld you. It was the exact look I’d wanted her to bestow on me.” He laughed harshly and walked on, whipping the tip of his cane through the grass.

Nate fell into step behind him, unable to find words to respond. He almost felt the need to apologize although he’d done nothing wrong.

“Can you guess who told Father about the two of you?” Ron shot him a sly sideways glance and instantly, Nate’s urge to apologize crumbled. “It would never have worked anyway. You know that now, right? Can you imagine the pair of you living on nothing but love and poverty wages, your inheritance cut off?”

“You ruined my life,” Nate said, but there was no force behind the words, no hotheaded desire to punch Ron in the face and beat him to a pulp—or not much anyway. He realized his life hadn’t been ruined. It had gone on in a vastly different course, maybe even the right one, who could say?

“Well, that’s all ancient history now, isn’t it? Except for the boy, who brings it into the present. You’re thinking of acknowledging him, aren’t you, whether he’s yours or not?”

“I plan to.”

Ron shrugged. “He is a Covington. I suppose it’s right, and Father would approve.” He gazed up at the sky. “It’s probably time for me to think of finding a wife and producing an heir. No doubt I’ll find myself saddled with some horse-faced young chit with a tremendous dowry.”

Nate almost smiled. Ron sounded so dismal, as if marrying was akin to the eating of greens that their nanny use to enforce.

“And I suppose I should gather my friends and take them back to London. We’ve quite run out of entertainment here already. Of course, I’ll need a sum in order to be able to make the trip and to carry on for another month or two.”

“Of course,” Nate said, ready to pay anything to see the back of his brother for another length of time. “Tell me how much and I’ll see what I can manage.”

“Money is the root of all evil,” the spendthrift earl quoted. “We shouldn’t have to scramble so for it. To have a title and no means to enjoy it is dreadful.”

Nate bit his tongue rather than resume the harangue about how he should mind his expenses. It never made a jot of difference. “Up here,” he directed Ron, who was out of breath from the unaccustomed exercise of climbing a hill.

“Oh, no. Not the family plot.”

“Thought it would be fitting to stop for a moment.” Nate opened the gate in the wrought iron fence surrounding the small cemetery and led the way through it.

They stopped before their father’s tombstone, the granite cleaner than the other stones, the words fresh cut and pale against the darker gray: Harold Robert Scott Covington, Seventh Earl of Hillshire.

“There he is, the great man himself. I miss the old hellion,” Ron remarked.

Nate tried to feel something besides disgust at the memory of his father and couldn’t manage it. After years of rabid hatred toward the man for tearing him apart from Fiona, the horrors of warfare has dulled Nate’s anger to a softer glow. But upon learning how the earl had forced himself on young women, including Fiona, that glow had flared up as strong as ever. Even now, nearly a year after his father’s death, Nate couldn’t get past his revulsion at the man’s selfish abuse of power.

“I don’t,” Nate replied. “I still hate him.”

Ronald stood beside him, gazing at the headstone. “So do I.”

The breeze blew stronger and golden leaves from the butternut tree shading the plot showered over their father’s grave like a glorious benediction.

Nate appreciated the irony.

Another afternoon a few days later was cloudy, gray and cool with drizzling rain falling in sporadic bursts. Nate and Peter were fishing from the bank of the stream and the trout were biting well on this quiet, misty day.

“I’ve caught another!” Peter tugged on his line and pulled the fish to the surface where it danced across the wavelets as he pulled it toward shore. “Big, too.”

“Cook will be pleased to have all these fish to prepare for dinner. Will you come to the house for dinner?”

“I can take mine home and fry them. I know how.” Peter’s voice was slightly belligerent. He still stubbornly maintained his own residence and resisted Nate’s efforts to induce him to come to the manor.

“Then perhaps you could cook them for us both,” he agreed affably. “If you don’t mind having a guest.”

Peter quickly unhooked the flapping fish and dropped it in the basket. “I suppose it would be interesting to see how your cook prepares them. I guess I could come to your house instead.”

Nate’s heart surged triumphantly at this small step forward. “That would be lovely. And if it’s very late when we’re finished with dinner, you’re more than welcome to spend the night.”

“Maybe I will.” He closed the lid of the basket and cast his line again.

Fresh drops of rain spattered on the surface of the water and concentric circles spread out from each one. Nate almost felt at peace on this somber day, but the ache of Cecile’s absence was a pain that wouldn’t subside.

“At my school we have this tradition,” Peter began.

“Yes?”

“Once a year in the fall term there is a day when parents may come and visit the school. The boys show them their classrooms and introduce them to their teachers.”

Nate remembered that from his own school days. His father had never come, and Nate had watched other proud families with gnawing jealousy. Of course, he was hardly the only boy whose parents didn’t attend, but inside he felt as if he was.

“I should like to come and see your school, see if it measures up. Perhaps if I’m lucky I’ll get to watch you in a boxing match.”

He caught a quick flash of Peter’s grin before he turned away, busily studying the water. “If you like.” His tone conveyed that he could care less.

The rain came down harder and Nate turned up the collar of his coat. “Maybe we have enough fish now and should head back.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed and began pulling in his line. “Where is Madame Lambeaux? You don’t bring her with you anymore.”

The sound of her name sent a dagger into Nate’s chest. “She was only a visitor. She’s gone home now.” He drew in his own line, keeping the filament steady and even around the spindle.

“Oh.” He paused then added, “She was nice. I liked her very much.”

“I did, too.”

“Do you plan to marry her?”

“I’d thought about it.”

“Did you ask her?”

“It was too soon. It’s important to consider all sides in making a big decision like that.” Nate picked up the basket, heavy with fish, and turned away from the water.

Peter marched steadily by his side, rain dripping off the brim of his hat and onto the shoulders of his jacket. He needed a new one. His wrists stuck out of the sleeves.

“Do you know Tommy Weaver who lives in the village?” the boy asked.

“I know his family. Not sure which one is Tommy.”

“He’s a lot older than me, but we used to talk when I still went to the village school. He liked this girl once—I can’t tell you who ’cause I promised him I’d never tell anyone—but he didn’t say anything to her. He told me he was waiting and thinking about it because it’s one of the biggest decisions a man can make. The night of the harvest dance when he finally asked her to dance with him, she was already spoken for by Tom Norris.”

“Another Tom.”

Peter eyed him like he was stupid. “Yes. The point is he waited too long. She married Tom Norris.”

Nate nodded, amused that Peter hadn’t noticed the denouement of his story gave away the girl’s identity. “I appreciate the advice, but there are other complications where Cecile…that is, Madame Lambeaux and I are concerned.”

“Do you love her?”

“I…I believe so,” he stammered, feeling harried by the boy’s relentless questioning. He would do well as a solicitor some day.

“As much as you once loved my mother?” Peter’s bright eyes searched his face. Nate understood that he wanted to hear more about the mother he barely remembered. He wanted to know that she had been worth loving.

“I was very young when I knew her, but I loved her deeply. Your mother was a special woman. My affection for Madame Lambeaux is different because I am different now, but it’s no less strong.”

“Then you should probably ask her to marry you before it’s too late.” The boy’s frown and the slight shake of his head indicated how foolish he thought his would-be father was acting.

“I probably should.”

They walked the dirt lane toward Covington Manor, mud squelching from beneath their shoes as the rain came down harder. Nate shivered when a trickle of water crept underneath his collar and down his spine. The day was cold, wet and miserable, but it had been one of the best times of his life. He bumped his shoulder against his son’s as they trudged toward home and dinner.

Chapter Fifteen

“I can fix this. I know I can.” Meredith carried a gown from her wardrobe to the open trunk on the floor and stuffed it inside, heedless of wrinkling the rose satin. “All I have to do is tell Covington that it was all my fault. I can get him to forgive Cecile. You know how persuasive I am.”

“Yes, sweetheart. But don’t you think this must be resolved between the two of them in their own good time?” Chris took the gown from the trunk and folded it carefully before putting it back inside.

“There might not be any more time! Cecile is considering going to France. She says she feels the need to try to find her parents’ graves. Who knows how long she’ll be gone or if she’ll ever come back? And once Covington gets over being angry and goes after her, how will he find her there?”

Her stomach rolled like a tempest at sea. She hadn’t felt this ill since she’d nearly ruined her own relationship. “I will find a way to make it better.”

“Fine.” Chris seized her hands, pulling the tangle of ribbons from her fingers and tossing them on the bed. “Only listen to me first.”

He pulled her into his arms and tipped her chin up so she would look into his eyes. “It isn’t all your fault.”

She waited for him to say more, but nothing else came. “That’s it? That’s supposed to make me feel better.”

“Does it?”

“A little, but by saying ‘all’ like that, you’re suggesting that most of it is my fault.”

Again he remained silent. Christopher and his eloquent silences.

“Sometimes I hate you.” She rose on her toes and kissed him. “You have no finesse with words.”

“But I have other kinds of finesse.” He leaned and nuzzled the side of her throat, and flutters shot through her as if no man had ever kissed her there before. How did he continually do that, make her feel like it was all brand new when they’d been together over a year?

She tipped her head back and let his lips travel up her neck and down again. “Mm, this is nice, but I need to go.” She pulled away and picked up the ribbons again. “I should only be gone a couple of days. Just long enough to deliver my message, convince Covington to forgive Cecile, and I’ll be back and we can pick up right where we left off. All right?”

“Yes, except I’ll go with you so you don’t have to travel alone.”

“You mean so I won’t have to face him alone. No. I must be the one to do this. Besides, you need to keep working on your paper for the journal. It’s not going to write itself. And how will other botanists ever know the intricacies of the Cuprasis if you don’t tell them?”

“Cupressocyparis,” he corrected. “And I think the world would still spin if the article was never published. Certainly taking a few days off won’t make a difference.”

She turned to him with a smile and rested a hand on his arm, her eye caught by the sparkle of the brand new ring on her finger. “You are a darling and I appreciate the thought, but I’m really all right taking this trip alone. Please, stay here. I’m going to tell Cecile not to make any rash moves and leave for France while I’m gone, but you must be here to make sure she doesn’t decide to slip away in the night or something. She’s so unhappy, there’s no telling what she might do.”

“Will you tell her what you’re up to?” he asked.

“No.” She held up a hand to shush him before he could even open his mouth. “But it’s not lying, simply omission. I’ll tell her I have to make a quick trip and that I don’t require her to travel with me, both of which are true. She needn’t know where it is I’m going.” She didn’t add that if the mission failed she didn’t want to have raised Cecile’s hopes.

“As you wish.” He took her hand, turned it and kissed the palm, then straightened the ring that continually slipped sideways on her finger, before releasing her hand.

She sighed, realizing that she would be lonely in whatever cold inn bed she occupied tonight. It had been many months since she’d slept alone. “Now I’ll go upstairs and talk to Cecile. The woman’s barely left her sewing room since she’s returned. I’ve tried to entice her outdoors for a walk or a shopping trip to the city, but she claims she’s too far behind on clothing repairs to leave her work. The poor thing will go blind.”

Meredith climbed the stairs to the garret where Cecile did all the mending as well as designing some of the dresses her mistress wore—the rest being purchased at Meredith’s regular dressmaker. When women would ask who her designer was, Meredith was always very circumspect about where the gowns came from, the mystery only adding to their cachet.

When she entered the room, Cecile’s head was bent over her work as she stitched the hem of a topaz gown intended for Meredith’s upcoming nuptials. The shimmering fabric spilled across her lap and onto the white sheet she’d spread beneath her chair on the floor to protect the dress from dirt.

Meredith’s heart clenched at the sight of her maid and companion working so diligently. How many times had she seen her thus over the years? And how many times had she ever considered what passions and pains dwelled in the woman’s heart? Meredith decided she would turn over a new leaf with all her staff. She’d always paid them well, better than many aristocrats did the servants who kept their lives running smoothly, but she hadn’t really thought of them as complicated, genuine, individual people. This was a byproduct of her upbringing, but one she intended to weed out of her character.

Cecile looked up, her cloud-gray eyes meeting Meredith’s. “Do you wish to try on your gown, Madame?”

“No. Not unless you need to do another fitting. I trust it will look stupendous, as all of your creations do.” She crossed the room and crouched on the floor by Cecile’s chair so she was looking up into her eyes. “I wanted to find out how you’re doing?”

“Very well, Madame. I’m sorry about the, ah, breakdown when I arrived home. I must have been overtired from the journey.”

Meredith reached out and touched her arm. “Don’t apologize, and don’t pretend your tears were from exhaustion. I know heartbreak when I see it. You’ve fallen in love with Nathaniel Covington, and I surmise that he loves you, too. I’m so dreadfully sorry the letter I sent you was disclosed in that way. I never meant to ruin everything and to cause you so much pain.”

“Non, Madame. It is not your fault. I should never have embarked on such a foolhardy scheme just to satisfy my curiosity about this man.”

“A scheme which I suggested,” Meredith pointed out. “And I no longer believe this was ever about mere sexual curiosity. You were half in love with Covington before you even met him. I was a fool to take it so lightly and to imagine that you did so. I should have known that my Cecile is much more serious than that.”

She shrugged. “No matter. It is over now and everything has returned to how it should be.”

“No it hasn’t! You ‘should be’ with the man you love…as his mistress, his servant, his wife, in whatever capacity works for the two of you and your situation.”

“But that is never going to happen.” Cecile’s mouth thinned, revealing a hint of irritation. “And honestly, Madame, your suggestions of a future that will never be only make it worse. I’d prefer to leave the subject now.”

Chastised, Meredith nodded. “I understand.” Cecile had never spoken to her this way in the entire time she’d worked for her. Meredith considered it a breakthrough.

“I’ve actually come to tell you that I will be going away for a couple of days. I won’t need you to pack for me, which I’ve already done, or travel with me. I prefer you stay here and keep working on my wedding dress. And please, Cecile, if you still plan to go back to France, don’t disappear while I’m gone.”

“I would never leave you with a half-finished gown, Madame.” A ghost of a smile haunted her lips, but never touched her eyes.

Meredith rose from her crouch and leaned in to put her arms around Cecile’s slight body and give her a hug. “I care for you very much, mon amie. Goodbye.”

Cecile slipped a tentative hand around her back and patted it lightly. “Thank you, Madame.”

Meredith drew away. “Please call me Meredith from now on, if you can break a habit of many years.”

“I shall try to remember, Mada…Meredith.”

The journey to the Covington estate was arduous, the road pitted from the recent heavy rains which had left enormous ruts and furrows from wagon wheels in the road’s surface. By the time the carriage pulled up before the imposing stone edifice, Meredith’s bones felt as if they’d been used to beat a drum, and her stomach was as nauseous as a seagoing traveler’s.

“Is it just me or did traveling used to be more pleasurable?” she asked her coachman as he handed her down from the carriage.

“Yes, Madame,” was his non-answer. He preceded her to the manor and announced her to the butler when he came the door. “Madame la Comtesse de Chevalier to see Sir Nathaniel Covington.”

Since Meredith had sent no prior message she would be arriving, the situation was outside normal protocol. But after a flicker of surprise, the butler’s face resumed an impassive expression. “I regret to inform you that Sir Nathaniel is not here.”

Frustration flared and her stomach rolled more ominously than ever. Damn! She hadn’t counted on this. “What about the earl?”

“I’m sorry, Madame. He has returned to London. None of the family is in residence at present.” There was a slight pause before the man continued. “As a matter of fact, Madame, I believe Sir Nathaniel is currently on his way to your home.”

“Oh.” Meredith was nonplussed. She’d been so set to do battle, girding herself with a sword of words all the way here, prepared to thrust and parry until Nathaniel Covington had no choice but to surrender. She’d have hauled him back to Cecile like a battle trophy. Now she had no idea what to do.

“You may come in, Madame.” The butler stepped aside. “I’m sure the Covingtons would wish you to receive refreshment after your long journey.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be appreciated,” she said absently. But as the butler ushered her into the house and toward the parlor, her mind was miles away picturing Cecile and Nate’s reconciliation, which she had no doubt was taking place at that moment.

Chapter Sixteen

Nate’s pulsed thrummed in his veins like the rainwater rushing past in the ditch beside the road. He could glimpse the countess’s country home through the trees. He was almost there. Very soon he would see Cecile. The idea both thrilled and frightened him. Although he’d imagined dozens of different scenarios in his head over the past days, he still didn’t know exactly what he was going to say.

Would she be happy to see him? Embarrassed or upset? Would she even be there? What if she’d decided not to return to the countess’s employ for some reason? What if she’d disappeared altogether and he never found her again? Oh yes, his heart was galloping nearly as fast as Jackdaw’s hooves hitting the ground as these questions milled through his mind.

As he reined the horse to a sedate walk and stopped in front of the house, Nate considered that he probably should’ve freshened himself before coming here. His horse’s withers and his boots and trousers were spattered with mud. He hadn’t bothered to stop at an inn last night, but had wrapped himself in his cloak and slept in the shelter of a hedgerow for a few hours. He was dirty, unkempt and unshaven like a soldier straight from the battlefield. Once he’d finally come to a decision to go after Cecile, he’d been like a madman, determined to get to her as soon as possible. He’d simply saddled Jackdaw and flown across country.

Nate dismounted and tossed the horse’s reins to a boy who trotted toward him from the stable. “Please, rub him down, cover and feed him well. It’s been a long ride.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy led Jackdaw away, and Nate walked toward the house, stamping the worst of the mud off his boots on the walkway leading to the door. While he waited for someone to answer his knock, he removed his hat and pushed a hand through his hair.

The door opened to reveal a butler with a long, narrow face and an expression as blank as MacKenzie’s. Was that part of a butler’s training, to remove all human emotion from his face? “Good day, sir.”

“I’m Nathaniel Covington, come to call on Madame Cecile Lambeaux.”

There was a momentary flicker of something like surprise before the shutters closed over the butler’s eyes. “Come with me, sir. I’ll seat you in the parlor.”

Nate followed the man through the front hall, fragrant from some plants that bloomed profusely in urns along the walls, and into the formal receiving room, also a veritable jungle of potted ferns and flowers. It made for a tranquil, welcoming setting intended to put any guest at ease, but Nate was as twitchy as a racehorse waiting at the gate as he took a seat on a light green plush chair.

The moment the butler had left the room he rose and began roaming it, far too nervous to sit and wait. He was seconds away from seeing Cecile and he still didn’t know what he planned to say to her.

Although I don’t condone it, I understand the reasons for your ruse and forgive your action since you’re right in assuming there was no other way I would ever have made your acquaintance. It sounded correct…and cold. It wouldn’t do at all.

I’ve missed you, Cecile. More every day. I forgive everything and want you to come back to me. Much better, but not all of the truth. He still harbored some anger at her for her deception, and she should know that.

Hello, Cecile. I had to see you. Shall we make a fresh start at getting to know each other? My name is Nathaniel Covington, second son of the seventh Earl of Hillshire, and you are…?

As he gazed out the window at a rain-drenched garden in autumn shades of rust and brown, a voice from behind startled him from his reverie. “Hello.”

Nate turned to see Christopher Whitby in the doorway. He wore a tatty old sweater and dirt-stained breeches. He walked toward Nate with a tentative smile. “You’re here for Cecile?”

“Yes. The butler went to get her.”

“He got me, instead. I’ve never seen Hawkins so close to being flustered. He didn’t know what to do about you. Please sit down. You look like you could use a drink.”

Nate sank back down onto the green chair, his legs suddenly wobbly. A drink sounded damn good to take the chill from his bones. He gratefully accepted a glass of whiskey and sipped it.

Whitby sat down in the seat opposite Nate’s. “I take it you didn’t speak with Meredith.”

Nate almost asked “who” before he remembered that was the Comtesse de Chevalier’s first name. “No. I’ve been here only a few minutes.”

Whitby laughed. “I meant at your house. She left yesterday to go try to talk you into forgiving Cecile for a deception that was largely her idea, but I gather you must have been already on your way here.”

“No. I never saw her. I started yesterday myself and have been riding almost through the night.”

“I can see that. You look like a man who’s had an epiphany and rushed to his lady’s side.” Whitby’s tone was teasing in a friendly way.

Nate looked down at his boots, which he should have offered to take off in the foyer. Bits of mud still crumbled and fell from them to mar the dark green carpet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve cleaned up before coming here.”

“On the contrary. I think women love this kind of romantic gesture. You should go to Cecile just as you are, surprise her and sweep her off her feet.” His smiled diminished. “If that is what you intend to do. Is it? What are you going to offer her?”

Nate suddenly felt as if he were talking to Cecile’s father demanding to know his intentions. “I don’t know. Before the truth came out, I was ready to offer her marriage, but now…I don’t know if I really know her. Maybe we need to reintroduce ourselves and start over.”

“That sounds wise.” Whitby paused, turning his glass in his hand. Light caught on the crystal and danced around the room. “Would you ever marry her despite her station? Because I don’t believe Cecile could be happy as a mistress. I may not know her well, but my impression is that, in her soul, she seeks a family.”

Sipping another draught of liquid gold that burned his throat and warmed his stomach, Nate thought that this was hardly how he’d expected this afternoon to go. He hadn’t imagined being questioned by Chris Whitby about his future plans—although a similar grilling by the formidable countess wouldn’t have surprised him.

“I would like to say one thing on Cecile’s behalf,” Whitby continued. “Meredith has the capability of making the most outrageous idea seem feasible. She’s as forceful as a hurricane and adept at getting people to fall in line with her plans. Cecile is naturally an honest, trustworthy person who would make a loyal and loving companion.”

Nate was surprised at how much the man’s assessment of her character reassured him. He barely knew Whitby, but the fellow impressed him as level-headed and sincere.

“I appreciate your opinion,” he said honestly.

Christopher nodded. “It could be difficult for the two of you to be together. Living outside of society’s rules hasn’t been easy for Meredith and me at times. But you will find friends with similarly open beliefs or different lifestyles, and you’re always welcome to visit here.”

“Thank you.”

“I suppose you should get on with sweeping her off her feet. I’ll take you to her.”

Nate set his empty glass aside and rose to follow his host from the room. His nervousness was back in full force, making his skin twitch and his fingers tap against his sides. Why was he so pent up? Cecile was the one who’d done the lying and the running away, yet he felt as if it was he who’d come to beg her forgiveness for some transgression.

Christopher glanced at him as they walked side by side along the hallway on the second floor to the stairway leading up to the garret. “Women can tie one in knots, can’t they?”

“They certainly can,” Nate agreed.

“Worth the trouble, though, for the right one.”

Nate smiled. The right one. Had he found her in the most unlikely of ways? It seemed to be his lot in life to fall for the unorthodox choice.

At the top of the next flight of stairs, Whitby gestured toward a half open door from which light spilled into the corridor. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” After the briefest of pauses and with the slyest of smiles, he added, “Have no fear of being disturbed.”

Nate gathered himself, drawing a deep breath, while the other man started down the stairs, then he pushed open the door and looked into the room.

It was a wide open space filled with the accoutrements of a dressmaker’s shop. Bolts of fabric and dummies swathed in colorful material were illuminated by the beams of sunlight that shone through several large windows. An imposing wardrobe at one end of the room presumably held more gowns and there were shelves on which filmy white undergarments lay folded.

In a beam of light, Cecile sat with cloth of gold spilling over her lap and onto the floor. The sun shone on her brown hair, picking out glints of gold there as well. Her head was bent over her work and her hair drawn away from her face into a severe bun on the back of her head, revealing the supple curve of her pale neck and shoulders. She wore a plain dress of hazelnut brown that contrasted with the showier colors of the other gowns. It made her stand out, a soft mourning dove in the midst of peacock finery.

There was a moment just before she reacted to the sound of footsteps and looked up in which he was able to study her face in repose. In the golden glow of sunlight reflected off the shining fabric, she shone like a Renaissance painting and looked as haunted and mournful as a suffering saint.

So beautiful. So sad. His heart filled with emotion. The overwhelming desire to erase that expression from her face and replace it with joy filled him. Nate stepped forward, and Cecile looked up and saw him.

Her eyes widened and she froze with her needle digging into the material in her hands.

“Hello,” he said softly and took another step into the room. His body thrummed with the desire to cross the room and sweep her into his arms, but he held back, still uncertain what he had come to say to her.

Cecile’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t answer, as though his unexpected presence had shocked her into muteness.

Nate continued to approach her slowly. “What are you sewing?”

“Madame’s wedding gown.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Every trace of the well-spoken lady he’d met was gone. Was this mouse-quiet woman the real Cecile? But no, those other aspects of her personality were just as real; she was simply taken aback and embarrassed just now.

To put her more at ease, he knelt at the edge of the drop cloth pooled around her chair. Now he was on a level with her eyes so she couldn’t look away. “I’ve missed you.”

Her eyes glistened, and her lower lip trembled. She swallowed hard before she spoke. “I’m so sorry, sir, for my deception.”

“Don’t. Don’t call me, sir. We’re far beyond that and you know it.” He reached out to remove the shimmering golden fabric of the countess’s wedding gown and the needle from her hands. He set them carefully on the floor then grasped Cecile’s hands. They were cool and dry and slid neatly into his as if they were made to fit together.

“It was wrong and foolish, imagining I could be with you,” she continued.

“But your plan worked. And you were right in thinking we never would have met any other way. You created an opportunity where there was none.” His heart and mind were abruptly clear and open, for as he said the words he realized they were absolutely true.

Her gray-green eyes seemed to have flecks of gold in them today. They studied his, flicking restlessly back and forth as if reading him. “You…forgive me?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, releasing her hand to slip one of his around her waist. Her ribs pressed into his palm as she breathed out. “I want you to come home with me.”

“As your mistress?”

“As my wife.” The words came easily from his mouth, and he knew that was what he’d meant to tell her all along even while he pondered and argued with himself all the way here. How much easier life was if one simply gave into what seemed natural and right.

“But you don’t even know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“You can tell me the details of your life, but Cecile, I already know everything I need to about you, about who you are inside.”

He rose then and pulled her to her feet, kicking the wedding dress out of the way and drawing her into his arms. Her palms rested against his chest as he bent to kiss her, a light brush of the lips at first which quickly grew deeper. The desperate need that had swirled in him during the past week without her, unacknowledged and rejected but never gone, rose to the surface of his consciousness.

His tongue teased at the seam of her lips and they parted, welcoming him inside. He kissed her deeply then, passionately, leaning into her. Cecile’s hands curved over his shoulders and her body bowed into his, her curves pressed against his hard planes. The softness of her breasts mashed against his chest, his aching erection straining into her belly, sent waves of fire through him.

He’d taken Whitby’s comment that they wouldn’t be disturbed as a joke, not expecting to do more than talk to Cecile and maybe kiss her. But suddenly he wanted much more, right here, right now, in that block of sunshine falling across the floor. He wanted to take her, possess her, show her she belonged to him. The primitive urge rushed through him and he broke away before he could suit action to thought.

He gasped for breath and held her away from him. “You must feel it, too. We belong together.”

Her bosom, well covered by the sedate neckline of her dress, rose and fell rapidly. Her cheeks were pink and her lips wet from his kisses. She ran her tongue over them, and his cock throbbed. “Yes, I feel it. But, Nate, how can this ever be? I’ll admit I had hopes of becoming your mistress, but never expected an offer of marriage.”

“Well, you’re getting one. I couldn’t be content to only have you halfway in my life.” He added another lure to the line. “Besides, Peter is living with me now. What kind of example would it set for me to have a mistress in the house? And I won’t set you up in some cottage. I want you with me always, every day and every night.”

She raised her hands to cover her cheeks in a delightfully girlish gesture. “This is too much. I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Just say you will.”

Cecile couldn’t believe this was happening. It was too similar to fantasies she’d spun in her mind to be real. She would’ve imagined she’d fallen asleep in her chair in the warm shaft of sunlight, except her mouth tingled from Nate’s kisses and she felt his hard hands gripping her waist. Surely a dream couldn’t awaken details down to the very smell of a man, sweaty, muddy, horse-scented. And a dream couldn’t be vivid enough to encompass the timbre of his voice and the look in his eyes when he regarded her.

Sir Nathaniel Covington was here in her sewing room, looking as if he’d devour her like a seven course meal if she only gave the word. There was, of course, only one possible response to his request.

“Yes. I will marry you.”

And then she was back in his arms, her feet swept off the floor and her ribs crushed. She dangled in his embrace like a child’s doll, well-loved and hard-used. Mon Dieu, she wanted to be used hard, filled and pounded with his cock as if it was a battering ram breaching a fortress.

She grasped the back of his head, threading her fingers through the thick strands of his dark hair and twisting while she kissed him as deeply as he was kissing her. Their tongues lashed around each other like a pair of ropes seeking to knot themselves together. Then she sucked on his lower lip, tasting whiskey, feeling the meaty thickness of it. She wanted to bite into it, but let it go after a moment.

Nate set her down and turned her around. She heard a click as he shut the door then his hands moved down her back, unhooking her bodice and letting her dress drop to the floor. With effortless ease like the most experienced lady’s maid he removed her corset, chemise, petticoat and drawers. He unfastened her stockings from her garters and rolled them down her legs.

“Sit,” he ordered, and she sat on her sewing seat while he knelt to remove her shoes and stockings. The gruff command in his voice sent a thrill through her that made her nipples peak. How astounding to hear the husky timbre of his voice here in her solitary sanctuary. He was like a fantasy come to life.

Nate sat back on his heels for a moment, gazing at her sitting nude before him. He grasped her knees and spread her legs farther to stare at her pussy.

Cecile was embarrassed and aroused at his lustful appraisal of the pink folds and dark slit. He rested his thumbs on her labia and pulled them apart. His face lowered and she anticipated his tongue on her, but he continued to examine every nuance of her sex until she was soaking wet and nearly squirming with the need for more.

Glancing down, she realized her left foot was planted right on top of Madame’s wedding gown. Lifting her foot, she kicked at the material to get it out of the way. She should make him stop, gather up the dress and hang it, but somehow the discarded garment was her last concern right now as Nate leaned in between her legs and pressed a kiss to her sex.

She sucked in a soft breath through her teeth and her eyes nearly closed. The pulses throbbing through her down there grew at the touch of his lips. He licked lightly along her seam and twirled his tongue around the bud at the apex of her entrance. His fingers caressed her plump labia then slipped in between, sliding inside her on slick juices. His touch was heavenly, not just because it stimulated her sex but because it was him here at last, making love to her.

The decadence of it—sitting on the chair where she’d spent so many hours at her work, now being pleasured by her lover—was thrilling. She gripped the seat of the chair on either side, as she lifted her hips toward his torturous tongue and clever fingers, thrusting deep and finding a spot that made her whine. Days without Nate, certain that she’d never know his touch again, had primed her for such a moment. Her body and soul yearned for him and it only took a little stimulation before she gasped and cried out softly. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, and she released like a bird flying free of its cage to vanish into the sky.

Cecile panted for air in the still, close warmth of the room, while sparkles of delight continued to tingle through her. And when they’d finished, she opened her eyes and looked down at Nathaniel Covington, kneeling at her feet like a knight errant. His lips were moist with her body fluids and his eyes sparkled with lust.

How erotic it was to be nude and sexually sated while he was still clothed and hungry for her. But now that he’d taken care of her needs, Nate wasted no time in standing and tearing off his clothes. His eagerness was exciting, and her sex tightened in anticipation of being filled completely. Her body had quickly become accustomed to the feeling of his shaft inside her and now craved it desperately.

Naked now, he pulled her off the chair and into his arms. His mouth roved over her face, kissing forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks and jaw at random. He kissed her neck, sucked on the pulse in her throat. His hands slicked down her back and grabbed her bottom, pulling her hard against his erection. The thick shaft slid over her sensitive clitoris, and she gasped at the piercing intensity of the pleasure.

Then he was lying her back, down onto the floor, onto the white drop cloth spread beneath her chair. Onto Madame’s wedding dress!

“Stop!” she gasped. “The dress will be crushed.”

With a growl of annoyance, Nate disengaged from her, releasing a nipple from his mouth and rising up on his knees. Cecile rolled to one side. He tugged on the shining silk and pulled it from beneath her.

“Not on the floor,” she said when it appeared he would throw the garment aside.

Giving another impatient grunt, he rose and draped the dress over the nearest dressmaker’s dummy, and then he was back, kneeling over her. His blue eyes caught the sunlight and shone so brightly they were like the iridescent breast of a peacock. He looked like he would devour her as he slowly lowered his body over hers.

She glanced down between them, seeing his magnificent cock angled straight for her sex. It bumped against her clit, sending another pang of bliss rocketing through her then Nate angled lower, nudging his cock between her legs. Without a guiding hand, the head sought her center and pushed inside. She stopped watching then, as her eyes closed and she immersed herself in the sensation of having him inside her.

Nate exhaled a sigh as he thrust deep. Her body enveloped him, her muscles drawing him in until they were joined, interlocked like individual pieces of a garment sewn together strong and firm. At last those irregular pattern pieces made sense when they became a finished gown. This was what she’d waited for her whole life. He was her missing half and for the first time Cecile felt right in being with him. There were no more lies. He knew who she was and wanted her without reservation, which was only right because they belonged together. She had no doubts about that now. Her body had known it all along. It had simply taken her mind longer to catch up.

The floorboards beneath her back were hard underneath the thin sheet. His body weight pressed her into the floor, but the slight discomfort only added to her pleasure in a perverse way. She wanted to be pinned beneath him, here on the floor of her mistress’s house in a shaft of sunlight. The sun was hot and Nate’s body was hotter, thick and heavy and real. She could smell him, taste the salt of his skin with her tongue, feel the sheen of sweat beneath her hands as they slid down his back to grip his ass. His muscles were taut and flexed beneath her palms as he pumped in and out of her body.

Cecile watched his face, the frown of concentration, the shadow from his eyelashes cast against his cheeks. She was entranced by the flare of his nostrils as he breathed, the moisture beading on his forehead and upper lip, the wetness of his parted lips. She lifted her head from the floor and kissed him, tasting her musky essence on his mouth.

He kissed her back, long and lingering, while he continued to rise and fall, filling her over and over. Cecile spread her legs wider then wrapped them around his lower back, locking her heels together. Her spine pressed harder into the floor, as her hips lifted off it, creating a new angle, a deeper penetration. And deep within her the lingering sparkles of her orgasm gathered like fireflies congregating.

“Cecile,” he breathed her name and joy swelled in her heart. He moved faster now, thrust harder, as his climax built.

She relaxed and rose along with him, higher and higher. She dug her fingers into his flesh, kneading him, feeling him, and her mouth opened wide against his chest as though in a silent scream. His sweat bathed her, and their slick bodies writhed together in the heat of the sun, slapping and sliding against one another.

“Now,” he groaned. “Oh God, now.”

Inside, she felt the swell move through him and she clamped her muscles hard around him, drawing his essence from him and into herself. One more thrust and he struck that particular spot inside her like a mallet hitting a gong. The reverberations of another orgasm, subtler than the last, vibrated through her. Her body arched up and her mind flew away again.

They remained locked together, fused by sweat and lust and gasping for breath for several minutes, and then the one became two again. Nate peeled away from her and rolled to his back, flinging an arm above his head and blowing out a long breath. Cecile rested a hand on her chest, feeling her heart pounding.

After a bit, Nate reached over and took her hand, clasping it lightly. “Cecile Lambeaux, now that you’re going to be my wife, tell me about your life.”

She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. It’s very short. My life didn’t really begin until I met you.”

Cecile squatted on her haunches to read the faded lettering on the flat gray stone near the edge of a sprawling city cemetery in Paris. A damp wind whipped across the slope, lifting her hat from her head and sending it flying between the rows of similar markers.

“I’ll get it.” Peter ran after the beribboned straw bonnet as it tumbled over the brown grass, and snatched it up as it caught against another stone.

“Are you all right?” Nate crouched beside her and opened his cape to wrap half of it around her. Instantly the heavy wool garment cut the chill wind. The warmth of his body and his heavy arm draped around her shoulders helped, too. “You need a heavier coat.”

“I don’t know what I thought I’d feel when I finally found them.” Cecile reached out and traced the letters of her mother’s name with one finger, as if that would make some connection, but she still felt nothing. “They’re just stones. I was so young when they were taken from me I really have very little memory of either of them.”

Nate clasped her arm, squeezing her shoulders lightly.

“Except…I think I remember my Papa sailing me through the air like a bird. And I remember Mama’s voice singing a song.”

“Think of those things, then. Remember them that way,” Nate advised.

The sound of Peter’s racing feet on the ground stopped right behind them as he returned with Cecile’s hat. “Here, Madame.”

“Thank you, Peter.” She took it from him and put it back on, tying the pink ribbons tight beneath her chin and running the hat pin through the straw more firmly.

“I used to visit my mother’s grave when I was younger, but it never helped so I stopped going,” Peter said. “I had Granny, after all, and my friends and pets. I wasn’t alone.”

Cecile tilted her face to look up at him and reached out her hand. “And now you have us.” His ungloved hand was cold as she clasped it in hers. She could feel the cold even through her glove. “Mon Dieu! You’re cold. It is time we returned to the hotel and had some chocolate, non?”

“Only if you’re ready to go. We came here for this.” Nate rose, taking her arm and drawing her up with him. “If there’s any place you want to visit we’ll go there. Peter can take the cold. He’s a strong young man.”

The boy’s head bobbed in agreement. But his cheeks and nose were bright red and Cecile had had enough of shivering on the hillside herself. As Peter had said, she wouldn’t find her family in a graveyard. Her living family flanked her on either side; the tall brown-haired man and coltish brown-haired boy. And she had more family back in England: Meredith, who was like a sister to her.

Soon their pilgrimage to France to find Cecile’s family would be over and they would return home in time for Meredith’s wedding. After that… A thrill of excitement at the unknown future shivered through Cecile, or maybe it was just the chill breeze sneaking underneath his cloak. She clasped Nate’s hand and squeezed it. His warmth enveloped her.

Cecile reached down to take Peter’s icy hand, too. He looked up at her and a small smile flashed across his lips. He seemed embarrassed yet pleased by her holding his hand. The boy was hers now, too. Peter would have to leave them to return to school, but he would be home on every break and they would live as a family in Nate’s moldy old manor, working to make the estate as it once was. There would be setbacks such as dealing with Ronald when his debts mounted or satisfying disgruntled tenants, but they would face these problems together.

And who knew, maybe there would be a child of their own one day. The idea of it put a smile on her face.

Nate bent his head toward her. “What are you thinking?”

“That I have a family at last.” She looked up at him and her smile grew wider.

He nodded and leaned to kiss her. “We have a family.”

Chapter Seventeen

Meredith threw herself across the bed in a shimmering tangle of golden cloth. She loved her new dress. It swished around her body in a most sensual manner and she’d spent most of the wedding ceremony in a state of heightened arousal, her nipples stiffening at the touch of the silky fabric. Of course, the fact that she’d chosen to go without a corset or chemise may have had something to do with it. She loved the idea of being utterly naked beneath her wedding frock. It was so decadent, so wrong, so like her. The vicar’s eyes had flicked to her chest more than once as he read the vows. But when she repeated the words back, Meredith had eyes only for Christopher.

He looked as somber as a Puritan in his austere black coat and trousers. No light colors, flashy waistcoat or ornate cravat for her serious groom. She loved the way he looked. Dark and dangerous weren’t words she usually associated with her Chris, but in that attire he looked very sophisticated. Add a black mask and he could easily be the persona he sometimes played in their bedroom games, the mysterious highwayman who tantalized and tortured her to multiple orgasms.

He spoke his lines with gravity and an intense light in his eyes that melted her insides into jelly, but when he’d finished the last “I do” a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. And the kiss he gave her at the end of the ceremony wasn’t the chaste, dry peck that was customary at weddings in front of a church full of people. He draped her across his arm and ravaged her mouth with his in a predatory claiming that elicited murmurs and titters from the assembled guests. These were particular friends of theirs, people who were sexually open minded, and even they were surprised by the display of possessive masculinity in the holy sanctuary.

When Chris set her back on her feet, Meredith laughed so hard her breasts nearly popped from the neckline of her gown. Joy bubbled through her like water in a fountain. She was in love. She’d pledged herself, officially, to her lover for the rest of her life, yet she didn’t feel shackled or afraid. Chris was nothing like her first husband. She was completely safe and happy with him and she wanted the world to know that she loved him. If she had any kind of voice at all, she might have burst into song.

The ceremony was followed by a wedding breakfast. Although it wasn’t the fashion, Chris had insisted on a local fiddler playing some music afterward so they could dance. He said since he’d bothered to learn dancing under Meredith’s tutelage he was, by God, going to make use of it for once. She was glad he’d suggested it. Whirling around in her extravagant gold dress in the arms of her handsome highwayman was heavenly.

Their guests appeared to enjoy the dancing, too. The Featherstones, Amanda showing the bulge of her impending progeny, were red-faced and laughing as they twirled past. Lady Meeks and her friend, Sylvia, waltzed together heedless of what anyone might think. Even Christopher’s parents turned in formal, stately circles around the floor—without once cracking a smile. Cecile and Nathaniel Covington had barely moved at all, wrapped in a bubble of their own, swaying in a small circle and gazing into one another’s eyes in unspoken communication.

Meredith’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard for so long. She rubbed them now as she lay on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling. “It all turned out perfectly, didn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Chris stood, loosening his cravat and unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“Not only the wedding, but Cecile. I mean, it all came out right in the end for her and Nathaniel.”

“Are you patting yourself on the back now?” He lifted an eyebrow and tossed the cravat onto the floor.

She watched him take off his shirt and itched to help him, but was too bonelessly comfortable lying on the bed. Let him come to her. “Well, honestly, if Cecile hadn’t practiced a little deception, she would never have attracted his attention.”

“Do you forget the heartache they went through because of that deception?”

“Pshaw. It was only about a week and then things worked out marvelously.”

Chris stopped with his shirt unbuttoned and stared at her. “My God, am I going to have to punish you to make you see the error of your ways? Lying is never the right thing to do.”

“Punish me?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, sir, please no!”

He pretended to misunderstand her, playing along with the game. “Please do? All right then, I will.” Still half undressed, he lunged onto the bed, grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over.

Meredith continued to laughingly protest, squirming and kicking her legs at the peril of her gown, as he flipped up the flowing skirt to reveal her naked bum. She felt air caress her skin and then the solid smack of his palm across both cheeks. The sting was followed by a caress, long and sensuous. He kneaded her flesh lightly, dipped his hand between her cheeks and sampled the wetness of her pussy, then fingered her anus, swirling his index finger around the rim and making her wiggle some more.

It was delightful. She lifted her bottom for more. But the pleasure was replaced with pain. Another sharp smack made her fleshy cheeks vibrate.

“Ow. That one hurt.”

“It was meant to, darling. The lesson won’t be remembered without some pain.”

Her cheek was pressed against the bed, and she looked over her shoulder at him with one eye. “Not too much pain,” she said.

“Never.” He bent to pepper her bottom with kisses, a sweet salve that eliminated the sting of his slap. His tongue circled her opening as his finger had done, teasing, tickling and driving her mad. Her hips lifted from the bed as she offered her ass to him to do with whatever he willed.

More smacks burned across her cheeks and more caresses and kisses. His alternation of technique was erratic so she never knew what would come next. The anticipation was a large part of the excitement of this kind of play.

Chris plunged his fingers into her pussy, gathering up her juices, and then began to work them into her smaller aperture. Meredith groaned and closed her eyes, lifting and lifting to his touch. He murmured something unintelligible and rubbed her burning cheeks lovingly while he pressed his fingers into her.

“More,” she gasped. “I want you in me now.”

“Mm,” he responded and withdrew his exploring fingers.

Meredith opened her eyes and watched him release his cock from his breeches. He moved over her and covered her. His shaft slipped easily into her open, soaking cunt, thrusting deeply.

She caught her breath at the lovely sensation of being filled. Chris pumped in and out several times, his low groan making her skin prickle with excitement, and then he pulled out. The tip of his cock slid wetly up the crack between her cheeks and settled at her other entrance.

He pushed. The tight outer ring of muscle resisted. He pushed harder, and the soft head breached her opening. Her body clenched around him tight, oh so tight. His cock seemed impossibly large, as if it could never fit inside such a narrow channel, but Meredith knew from experience that it could. She loved anal sex—when she was in the mood, which she utterly was at this moment.

She pushed back onto him, rising and taking him in deeper.

Chris grunted as he thrust harder, a soft animal sound that thrilled Meredith. The slight burning sensation coupled with the heat in her spanked ass cheeks. Deep pleasure bloomed in her at being filled that way.

“Give me more,” she begged.

Chris groaned at the erotic request and obeyed, pushing deep. His hands gripped her hips, hauling her up against him. Her knees dug into the bed and into the folds of her wedding dress pooled beneath her. Cecile’s poor, beautiful creation. Meredith really should’ve taken it off before they started this, but it felt wonderful, sliding against her overheated skin, her taut nipples. The soft material enhanced her pleasure as her body swayed beneath Christopher’s increasingly hard thrusts. So primitive, so animalistic, so unlike him. That’s what she might have thought at one time, but baser, more passionate urges lurked beneath his rational, scholarly exterior. Oh, how she loved those baser urges.

His thick cock filled her as his groin slapped against her bottom. His fingers dug into her flesh and ragged breaths tore through him. One hand snaked around her and found her clit, fingering it, helping her to come with him into ecstasy.

Meredith moaned and closed her eyes again, surrendering to the sensations filling her body. Her pleasure mounted higher and higher then exploded at the sound of Christopher’s hoarse cry of release. Her climax shuddered through her as he speared her one last time and remained there, buried to the hilt.

“Oh, God, my love,” he murmured after the powerful pulses of ecstasy had receded to lesser quivers. “I’ve wanted to do this all day. The wedding ceremony was torture with your nipples thrusting at me through the fabric of your gown.”

She drew a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sure several weeks of celibacy contributed to that. It was an excellent idea on your part. Makes the coming together all the sweeter.”

He bent over her, his naked chest and the edges of his shirt front skimming her back, and kissed her shoulder. “So you’re saying you’d like to institute mandatory moratoriums on sex on a regular basis?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He chuckled and rose, pulling his cock from inside her, and climbing off the bed.

Meredith relaxed and enjoyed the residual effects of her orgasm, those tiny flutters that continued to ripple out from her sex and the tingling, stretched feeling in her anus, the semen slipping down from there.

Chris returned and wiped her clean with a cloth, then he lifted her up and helped her out of her dress at last, gathering the yards of delicate fabric and laying the gown carefully over a chair.

When he returned, they lay side by side facing one another, naked at last. Meredith studied his face, the intent eyes, the strong nose and jaw, the sensuous mouth that smiled at her. She brushed back locks of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “You are such a contrast. It’s like getting two men in one—the professor and the primal man.”

His brows shot up. “Do you miss having two men at once? Because that’s one game I’m afraid I won’t play. I couldn’t stand to share you.”

She smiled. “No. I don’t miss those days at all. I’m perfectly content with only you.”

Chris offered the smile back to her. “And you are all I want. Well, you and this trip to India. I’m fairly excited about that.”

“I know you are. I am, too. It should be very interesting.” As well as extremely hot, fly-ridden and probably dangerous to their health, but she wasn’t going to take away from his enjoyment by pointing that out.

He stroked her upper arm with his fingertips, gazing at her skin as if it was the petals of one of his exotic blooms. “You know, I never imagined my life would be like this. As a boy, I fantasized traveling the world, but I never in my wildest dreams added a woman like you into the picture.”

“Well, I should hope not. You were a child.”

He smiled. “Honestly, even as a university student, I pictured myself alone with my research and writing scholarly papers, not making love at every opportunity and on every available surface with a magnificent, sensuous woman.”

Chris looked into her eyes and the little smile turned into a broad grin. “This is so much better.”

“At the risk of becoming emotional and sobbing,” Meredith said, “My life has never been better, either. You are…” Her throat tightened and her vision blurred. “You see. I knew this would happen. I just wanted to tell you I’m so happy we married. This is the best…day…of…”

She couldn’t finish the rest, but she didn’t need to. Chris pulled her into his arms and she snuggled her face against his chest. Happily ever after, just like a fairytale. It was almost too beautiful to bear and a few tears trickled down her cheek.

When she could speak again, she drew a snuffling breath and said, “I only wish everyone could be as happy as we are. Or as my dear Cecile is with her knight, Sir Nathaniel. I think I shall make it my mission to sow the seeds of love among all our friends until everyone is paired into happy couples.”

She felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath her head as her husband heaved an exaggerated sigh and said, “Oh, dear.”

About the Author

To learn more about Bonnie Dee, please visit www.bonniedee.com. Send an email to Bonnie Dee at bondav40@yahoo.com or join her Yahoo! group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bonniedee.

Look for these titles by Bonnie Dee

Now Available:

Finding Home

Opposites Attract

Evolving Man

Perfecting Amanda

The Valentine Effect

The Final Act

The Countess Takes a Lover

Coming Soon:

The Thief and the Desert Flower

Butterfly Unpinned (with Lauri Bacchi)

Who is learning more…the novice? Or the master?

The Countess Takes a Lover

© 2008 Bonnie Dee

Countess Meredith du Chevalier, a widow with a reputation for being sexually adventurous, is intrigued when she is approached by a gentleman who wishes her to “make a man” of his son. Sensing a passionate man beneath Christopher Whitby’s reserved exterior, Meredith takes on the challenge, inviting the botanist to her country home to revitalize her abandoned greenhouse.

Chris finds people to be a chaotic, animalistic species, and has chosen to devote his life to the study of plants. One kiss from the vivacious countess, however, and his inner animal is aroused. But lust is only a fraction of what he feels for the vulnerable woman hiding behind a brittle façade. He resolves to coax her to grow until her petals unfurl in a glorious bloom.

To her surprise, Meredith finds Chris brings much more to life than just fallow soil. But just as their love begins to thrive, he learns about the secret arrangement. Meredith must risk her heart for the most dangerous lesson of all—love.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Countess Takes a Lover:

Despite what his father thought, Chris was neither a fool nor particularly naïve. He’d known when he agreed to come to the countess’s estate that it was not merely to examine her greenhouse. The kisses at the Botanical Gardens had clarified that.

It had taken him a few days of consideration to decide whether he was ready to accept what she offered, but he was tired of his celibate life, tired of imagining what intimate congress with a woman might be like, tired of holding to some high ideal of intellectualism over base urges that he’d set for himself. Yes, he’d known when he responded to her invitation what he was letting himself in for. Meredith du Chevalier was a sophisticated, experienced woman who took her pleasure whenever and wherever she chose and for some reason she’d chosen him. He was damned well going to take advantage of her tutoring in the art of lovemaking.

What he hadn’t counted on was how quickly things would escalate from a few kisses to her taking him by the hand and nearly dragging him upstairs to her bedchamber. Not that he didn’t want to go. But his head spun with the heady liquor of lust, or perhaps from the lack of oxygen due to kissing, and he wished he might have a moment to get his bearings before the act began.

There was her bed, the tall posts draped in blue fabric, the white and blue coverlet pulled back invitingly. In a few moments they were going to be lying together on it. He would be inside her body. His cock swelled in anticipation yet at the same time his stomach twisted. What if he didn’t do it right? What if he made a fool of himself by exhibiting his virginal inexperience? Oh God, he wished he’d taken his father up on that offer of practicing with a prostitute. He would surely reveal his incompetence, perhaps move too fast or release too soon, or worse, lose his momentum completely.

She turned to him, her eyes bright and a smile playing over her lips. Her black hair had fallen completely loose from its pins due to his hands being plunged into it. She looked charming with the curls framing her heart-shaped face. Her jonquil-colored dress was like a ray of sunshine in the dim room, which was shuttered against the heat of the day. The slats of the shutters were open just enough to let in a faint breeze and a few rays of light that illuminated the elegant furnishings and plush carpet.

“Are you ready?” The countess stroked the side of his face. “You look uncomfortable.”

“No. I’m fine. I’m ready.” He breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

Once more she curled her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to her as she rose up on the balls of her feet, reminding him of how short she was. “Just kiss me. The rest will follow naturally,” she whispered, before blending her lips with his.

He closed his eyes and did as she bid, and of course, she was right. It felt good and natural to hold her in his arms. His hands knew what to do, where to touch, how to stroke up her back and then down again to hold her rear. Her buttocks were buried beneath layers of fabric but he still felt a thrill at the unbelievable liberty of touching them. He pulled her tight against the hard erection filling the front of his breeches. It was nearly painful in its throbbing need. The yielding softness of her body both relieved and made the ache even worse. He needed to be inside her, not rubbing against her.

He kissed her mouth, slipping his tongue between soft lips to touch hers. She teased him, darting her tongue out and pulling it back in a little game that made him smile. He’d never realized playfulness might be a part of lovemaking.

After kissing her softly and gently then hard and deep for several minutes, he pulled his mouth from hers and moved it to her neck. The smooth, warm skin beneath his lips, the pulse of life in her throat and the salty taste of her skin sent new waves of desire coursing through him. He licked down the column of her throat and along her delicate collarbones. Her soft intake of air, such a sweet, feminine sound, made him feel strong, powerful and very masculine.

He dared to dip his mouth lower, to kiss the flat plane of her chest down to the soft swell of her cleavage. The top mounds of her breasts pushed up by her tight bodice were displayed in a tempting froth of lace that framed them like a picture. He kissed them. By God, his mouth was on her breasts and they were so incredibly soft. Their plump fullness yielded to the pressure of his lips. They were scented with rosewater and he thought he would never again smell a rose without thinking of her breasts.

Her hands threaded through his hair, pushing on his head slightly and encouraging his exploration of her breasts. “You may remove my dress,” she murmured, tugging on his hair to pull him away.

Chris straightened and the countess turned her back to him that he might unfasten the row of hooks down the back of her bodice. His hands felt huge and clumsy as he concentrated on the painstaking assignment. He was in too much of a hurry and his fingers trembled from nervous excitement. Giving an impatient grunt, he considered ripping the dress open.

“Patience, ma petite.” She laughed and her smooth white shoulders shook. “Open your present slowly. Savor each moment.”

He resumed the task and this time followed her advice, bending to kiss each inch of flesh as it was revealed. She wore no corset beneath her high-waist dress, just a light camisole, the fabric so sheer it revealed her rosy skin. He kissed her right through the cloudy material, his mouth wetting it and molding it to her flesh.

As soon as he had enough hooks unfastened, he peeled the bodice down her body while she pulled her arms from the small, puffed sleeves. He pushed the dress over the flare of her hips and let it fall to the floor in a pool around her feet. Within seconds he had her camisole peeled off, too, and turned her to face him.

Other than white marble statues in a museum, he’d never seen a naked woman. The mystery of the soft mounds a woman’s décolletage only teasingly advertised was revealed to his sight. His breath caught as his gaze riveted on the pale globes of flesh, small and high with rosy aureoles and peaked nipples centered in each. They were lovely. He thought he could simply feast on the sight of them for hours, but his body had other ideas. His hands reached for them and his tongue swept over his lips, eager to taste them.

Touching her breasts tenderly, he stroked the flesh, as soft as a kid glove, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips. Then he cupped one in each hand and tested the weight and firmness. Finally he could resist no longer and drew one erect tip into his mouth. He rolled his tongue over it and sucked lightly. Such bliss!

He never stopped to worry if he was doing it right, and the countess moaned softly, assuring him that she was pleased. While his tongue laved the slope of her breast and suckled her nipple, he continued to fondle her other breast, rolling the tip between his thumb and forefinger lightly.

“You can pinch a little. I don’t mind.”

Chris glanced up to meet her eyes, the dark gray of a stormy sky.

“A little pain mixed with the pleasure is a good thing.” She smiled. “As long as the lady wants it.”

One woman, two men—the choice of a lifetime and the chance for a perfect future.

Perfecting Amanda

© 2007 Bonnie Dee

When Amanda McCormick heads west as to create a home of her own and begin a “perfect” marriage with a man she’s never met, gambler Spencer Teague intercepts her. Pretending to be her fiancé, he tricks her into surrendering her virginity.

Amanda hides the misguided affair and forges a relationship with her young husband, Travis. But her secret haunts her when she learns she’s pregnant. Meanwhile, Spencer is haunted by visions of a little girl who demands he find and help Amanda.

Their lives entwine as the three come together in an unexpected relationship that touches—and tortures—them all. Amanda questions whether perfection is attainable and if it’s possible to love two very different kinds of men.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Perfecting Amanda:

Travis led her to the sofa and settled her there. He popped the cork on the champagne and poured two glasses then crossed to the windows and released one side of each drape to dim the room. The windows were open but let in little breeze, only dust. A ceiling fan turned slowly above them, but did little to cut the heat. “I’m sorry it’s so hot. It doesn’t make it very romantic.”

Amanda agreed. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, dampened her armpits and the length of her spine. She felt sweaty and not very beautiful with her hair straggling down from her coiffure.

Sitting down next to her on the sofa, he handed her a glass of champagne. He raised his glass and touched it to hers. “To our union.”

She sipped the ice-cold fizz much too fast. It tasted sweet yet dry and felt so cool going down her parched throat.

Travis set his glass aside, loosened his tie and removed his jacket and vest. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

She watched as if from a distance, feeling too disoriented to react. The only thought that formed in her mind was how handsome he looked in just his shirtsleeves. His shirt was so clean and white she wanted to reach out and touch it—touch the man beneath it and see what his hard muscles and warm body felt like. Her fingers ached to know, finally, what a man was really like.

Moving closer to her on the settee, Travis reached to cup her face in one hand and bent his head to kiss her lips.

She felt his warm breath on her mouth and then soft wetness. Her eyes drifted closed and her lips parted in a little gasp. It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed before, she reminded herself. Doug McCray had graduated from holding her hand to kissing her before he left for college and she never saw him again. But this felt completely different. The pressure of Travis’s lips was more assertive and considerably less sloppy than Doug’s inexperienced kisses.

Travis stroked his thumb along the side of her jaw and moved his mouth against hers. The wet tip of his tongue brushed her lips.

Amanda started and her eyes flew open. But, as he caressed and kissed her, slowly, seductively, possessively, her eyes fell shut again. She relaxed and allowed the pressure of his mouth to increase and his tongue to slide as smoothly as the brush of fingertips over her closed lips.

When he pulled away, she leaned toward his absent mouth. Her eyes opened once more and met his.

They were hooded, dark with desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

She half-smiled, embarrassed and thrilled at the compliment. On occasion Doug had said she looked pretty, but no one had ever called her beautiful. It wasn’t a word she connected with her appearance, but Travis’s intense gaze told her he was speaking the truth as he saw it.

He sat back, took another sip of champagne and pushed a hand through his dark brown hair, lifting it from his forehead. “It’s unbearably hot in here.”

She drank from her glass, too, then set it down and fanned her face with her hand. “Yes. It really is.”

“Perhaps if…” He reached out and unbuttoned the neck of her blouse.

She batted his hand away, abruptly alert and shocked. “Mr. Baxter!”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry for taking such liberty, but you’d be so much cooler in just your chemise.” He nodded at the silver basin that had held the champagne bottle. “And we have all that ice. It would cool your body.”

Her hand went to the front of her blouse, poised over her heart. She stared at the ice then at his ice-blue eyes that made her hotter instead of cooling her. Her heart beat between her legs as well as in her chest, pounding fast and erratic. “I suppose we are to be wed tomorrow. Maybe it would be all right…just because of the heat.” She unbuttoned the top button of her high-necked blouse. Then the second…and the third, her fingers trembling and her flesh going simultaneously hot and cold as she exposed it.

She was frightened, yes, but she also incredibly excited in a way she’d never felt before in her life. Taking off her blouse in front of her fiancé was more thrilling than the time she’d ridden Cousin Dale’s bicycle down the big hill near their house and nearly crashed at the bottom. She felt anything might happen now as she careened out of control and she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do a thing to stop it.

Amanda’s gaze never left Travis’s face while his stayed riveted on her moving fingers and the increments of flesh revealed to him.

Blood rushed through her veins and roared in her ears. She couldn’t believe her audacity in disrobing for a stranger, prospective husband or not. And yet her hands kept moving until the entire row of buttons on the front of her blouse was unfastened. She grasped the open front of the blouse and the little lilac jacket and slid both down her shoulders and off her arms.

Travis gazed at the pale swell of cleavage rising above her corset then his eyes returned to her face. “It’s a wonder you don’t pass out wearing that thing. Turn around and I’ll loosen it for you so you can breathe. The idea of corsets is ludicrous, don’t you think?”

As if in a trance, she turned her back to him. In a moment she felt his hands working at the ribbons harnessing her into the corset. Her eyes closed and she breathed in, intimately aware of his proximity and the heat of his hands moving near her back. She felt the ties loosen and her rib cage expanded as she drew a deeper breath. She caught a whiff of Travis’s cologne underlain with his own male scent. Another wave of arousal swept through her at the basic masculine odor that awakened the femininity in her.

His hands moved around her sides, removing the corset from her body. “There. That’s better. It’s much too hot a day for propriety.” Warm laughter percolated in his voice. His breath puffed against her bare shoulder as he spoke.

That was when she fully realized she was sitting in nothing but her thin chemise, her breasts unbound from the restraining corset. Her back was still to him. He hadn’t seen her yet and she felt both dread and excitement at the prospect of turning around. He would be able to see the shape of her breasts and even her nipples through the sheer fabric.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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