A Valentine Wedding (21 page)

“Where are we going?” She gathered the reins, feeling the water dripping coldly down the back of her neck.

“Richmond.” Alasdair fastened the leather picnic box to his saddle and sprang up. “Follow me.” He set off into the rain, urging Phoenix to a gallop. Swallow was more than ready to follow suit, and they pounded through the rain at a breakneck speed more suited to a chase across a hunting field.

They turned out of the park and instead of taking the London road, Alasdair turned his horse toward the village of Richmond nestling at the gates of the park. He drew rein outside a thatched inn in the center of the village. He handed his reins to Emma with the instruction to stay where she was for a minute, then jumped down and ran into the inn.

Now what? Emma thought, shivering. The inn sign showed a green goose. As an establishment it seemed well maintained from the outside, if rather small.

A lad ran out from around the back, tugging on a jacket. “I’m to take the ’osses, ma’am,” he said. “You’re to go on inside.”

Emma with relief dismounted, yielded the reins to the lad, and hurried to the inn. The door opened before she could reach it, and Alasdair grabbed her
hands and pulled her inside. “My poor sweet, come into the snug. It’s private and there’s a good fire there. Eliza is making sure the fire’s lit in the bedchamber.”

Emma’s mind whirled. She allowed herself to be pushed into the snug, a small wainscotted room off the taproom. She could hear the rumble of voices through the hatchway leading into the taproom and smell the pipe smoke that hung in a blue cloud beneath the blackened rafters.

“Where are we? What is this place?” She bent to warm her frozen hands at the fire.

“It’s the Green Goose; didn’t you see the sign?” Alasdair took Emma’s hands and dragged off her sodden gloves. “Eliza will lend you a dressing gown while your clothes dry.”

“Who’s Eliza?”

“The landlady.” Alasdair looked a trifle puzzled. “Why all the questions, Emma?”

She shrugged. “I suppose I’m just surprised you should know this place so well. It’s rather off the beaten track, isn’t it?”

Alasdair’s mouth thinned. It was clear where these questions were taking her. But he wouldn’t allow anything to spoil this reunion. If he was to rebuild what they’d once had, they had to start somewhere. He didn’t answer her but turned instead to a gate-legged table where a punch bowl and the necessary ingredients stood.

He said cheerfully, “Eliza shall take the makings for a brandy punch abovestairs and I’ll make us a bowl … Ah, Eliza, is all ready?”

“Aye, Lord Alasdair. It’s warm and cozy up there.” The gray-haired woman who had entered the snug nodded to Emma but avoided looking at her closely. “There’s a wrapper on the bed for the young lady. If
shell leave her clothes outside the door, 111 have them dried and pressed for her. Yours too, Lord Alasdair.”

“Thank you, Eliza. And well take a punch bowl with us.” Alasdair moved to the door. “Come, Emma.”

Flow many other women had he brought to this little love nest? Did he bring only his lightskirts, his pieces of muslin, or did he bring the likes of Lady Melrose too? Was she herself merely just another in a long succession of women who had gone up those stairs with Alasdair? Emma stood, unable to move either forward or back.

Then Alasdair repeated, “Come, Emma.” He reached for her hand. “Trust me,” he said softly.

That she could never do again.
Trust was such a frail thing; once shattered it was well nigh impossible to repair it. She could never again trust Alasdair with her heart.

But she could enjoy herself with him, Emma told herself. She could be like Alasdair. Enjoy the passion while keeping her heart and soul intact. Last night, and again in the Greek temple, she had been swept with lust. She had known then all there was to know about Alasdair. So why should it now trouble her? She had come here for passion. And that was what she would have.

She took his hand and went with him up the stairs.

The chamber at the head of the stairs was small, but clean and bright, with wax candles, polished brass, and a blazing log fire in the grate. The rain drummed against the mullioned window, making it seem even cozier.

Emma glanced at the bed. There was a patchwork quilt and the hangings were a cheerful chintz. How
many other women had shared that bed with Alasdair?
No!
She would not admit such thoughts again.

“Come to the fire.” Alasdair drew her to the warmth. He took off her hat with its dripping, drooping plume and placed it on a chair. Then he unpinned her hair. It cascaded to her shoulders and he took a handful on either side of her head and held her thus. “Don’t let bad thoughts spoil this, love,” he said in soft plea. “I know you’re having them. But let them go.” He kissed her mouth. “I want you so much. I have missed you so much.”

And Emma let the bad thoughts go beneath the sweetness of his mouth.

He began to unbutton her jacket, his fingers slipping on the frog buttons where the loops had tightened with the rain. “What a damnable garment this is,” he complained, when he realized that in order to remove it he would have to unfasten the row of tiny pearl buttons on the sleeve.

Emma, shivering with her own impatience, said, “Why don’t you undress yourself and I’ll undress myself.”

Alasdair shook his head. “No, I wish to make you naked myself. I must learn patience; it’ll be good for me.” He tackled the sleeves and with a grunt of satisfaction drew the garment away from her. He untied the starched linen stock at her neck, throwing it aside, then unbuttoned her shirt.

“Did you always wear so many clothes? I don’t seem to remember this taking so long before.”

“Neither do I,” Emma murmured. “Perhaps we were in less of a hurry … or perhaps,” she added mischievously, “you were more skillful.”

“God, you’re as provoking as you’re exciting, woman,” Alasdair declared, pushing her shirt off her
shoulders. He inhaled with a deep breath of satisfaction as her breasts were revealed. Blue veined and creamy white, they jutted proudly, their rosy crowns erect within their smooth dark circles.

He lightly brushed each soft mound with his fingertips. “I had forgotten quite how magnificent your breasts are,” he murmured, cupping them on his palms, holding them, feeling their weight, their velvet richness. He lowered his head and kissed each in turn, his teeth grazing her nipples, so she moaned with pleasure, throwing her head back, exposing the long white column of her throat.

Alasdair kissed the fast-beating pulse in her throat; he licked upward beneath her chin, then he nipped the point of her chin, making her laugh, releasing the tension for a minute.

It was a habit he had, Emma remembered. He would bring her to fever pitch with his caresses and then do something funny or absurd in the context so that she couldn’t help but laugh and the spiral of arousal would be slowed … only to be started up again with renewed fervor.

Smiling, he stood back from her, running his eyes over her bared flesh. “Where to now?” he murmured, taking her waist between his hands, moving his warm clasp up her rib cage, teasing them both with the delay.

Slowly he reached for the hooks of her skirt at the back. They sprang free and the garment slid to the ground.

“Hell and the devil!” he exclaimed. “I’d forgotten about the damn riding britches.”

“And the boots,” Emma pointed out helpfully. She was wearing leather pantaloons strapped beneath her riding boots.

Alasdair ignored this. He stood back from her, his eyes hungrily drinking in her form in the tight-fitting garment. “Perhaps I’m not in so much of a hurry after all,” he said. “Would you put your hands on your hips and turn around, please.”

Emma did so, the’ sensual demand sending a current of lust jolting her belly, dampening her loins.

Alasdair placed his hands on her hips, tracing their curve with his palms; then slowly, lingeringly, he caressed her bottom. Emma knew her backside was as clearly outlined in the pantaloons as if it were bare, and she felt somehow more exposed than if she were naked beneath his hands.

“Such a treasure trove,” Alasdair murmured. “But now I think I have to see you properly.” The button at her waist came undone, and with the same slow, lingering movement he peeled the pantaloons over her hips and down to her knees.

He knelt behind her, holding her hips. He kissed each rounded cheek, before running his hands down the backs of her thighs. He kissed the hollows of her knees, and Emma quivered, waiting for the next touch, the next brush of his lips, wishing he would finish undressing her and yet aware on some sensual level that this feeling of being half naked was making every sensation even more acute. It would take but a well-placed touch to send her over the edge, and she knew Alasdair was aware of it.

He turned her with his hands on her hips as he remained on his knees. He kissed the smooth white plane of her belly, stabbed at her hipbones with little darts of his tongue, then moved his fingers through the dark muff at the apex of her thighs, playfully tugging at the damp curls.

Emma clasped his bent head, her own fingers curling
convulsively into his glossy dark locks. His gently exploring touch had slipped between her thighs now, and she was one taut line of tension, poised on the outermost edge of bliss as the great wave of joy held itself at the crest. He parted the soft petaled lips of her sex, and the wave crashed over her. His fingers moved deep inside her while his thumb played on the little nub that was hard and swollen beneath his touch. The wave receded and crashed yet again and Emma cried out, leaning forward to bury her face in his head, smothering the wild sounds of her joy.

Alasdair held her tightly until it was over, then he stood up. His expression was taut, lined with the effort of his own restraint, and Emma could only guess at how difficult it must have been for him to have kept himself in check.

She kissed him gratefully, and with a little laugh, he pushed her back onto the bed. “Let’s finish this now.” He snapped the strap of her pantaloons away from her boots and yanked off the boots, throwing them carelessly over his shoulder. With the same rough haste, he pulled off her last remaining garment and finally she was naked.

“Now let me undress you,” Emma murmured from the languid depths of afterglow.

“No time.” Alasdair shook his head, his own hands busy with his clothes. “Can’t wait, my sweet.”

Emma chuckled and spread her legs invitingly on the quilt. “I am ready for you.”

“You always were,” he said, pushing off his britches and drawers in one movement, hopping on one leg and then the other to drag off his stockings.

He was beautiful. Emma’s gaze roamed over his spare, sinewy body. His sex jutted powerfully from the dark curling bush of pubic hair, and her own
body rose in anticipation. As he came down on the bed beside her, she reached out to clasp him in her palm, wanting to give back some of the pleasure he’d given her.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely, drawing back from her. “Touch me, Emma, and I shall be lost.” He leaned over her, resting on his elbows, gazing down at her face. “I’m very much afraid, my sweet, that I’m going to leave you behind.” He kissed her brow with a regretful little smile that nonetheless contained his own urgency.

“I very much doubt it,” she murmured, sliding her hands to his waist as he held himself above her. “Hurry now.”

Alasdair gave a low laugh. He slid a hand beneath her bottom, lifting her as he slid within her eagerly opened body. He closed his eyes for a minute as the soft velvety sheath closed around him. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “One wriggle and I shall lose what little control I have left.”

Emma lay still, feeling him deep inside her, the throbbing pulse of his flesh filling her, becoming a part of her. She looked up into his face, saw the rigid lines of control etched around his mouth as he fought to hold back the coming hurricane. The muscles in his forearms were corded; the tendons stood out in his neck. He opened his eyes and met her gaze, his eyes deep and glowing as emeralds.

Emma reached around his body. Her hands slid along his thighs, before with precise intent her fingers dug into the taut muscles of his backside, pulling him down to her. In the same instant, she lifted her hips to meet the deep thrust of his body.

Her own body convulsed around him and Alasdair threw back his head on a low, throbbing cry. He
pulled himself out of her body, and his hot seed spurted over her thighs and belly as he fell on top of her, his limbs tangled with hers.

Only their deep, gasping breaths could be heard for a long time. Then Alasdair slowly rolled off her. A possessive hand rested heavily on the damp curls covering her swollen pubic mound. He turned sideways, propping himself on his free elbow, and gazed down into her face. Slowly he smiled.

“You were right about one thing, my Emma. We are very, very good together.” He bent to kiss her brow, moving his mouth up into her hairline, licking away the salty dew of exertion.

“Can we try to put things together again, sweet?”

Emma was silent, but she raised a hand to his face, stroking his cheek.

“Is that a maybe?” Alasdair tried to hide his disappointment, but it was there in his voice.

“It’s not no,” Emma said.

Chapter Ten