Delight and Desire (6 page)

In a moment, he was carrying two full glasses to the bedside. He returned for the bottle, and the candle. ‘Champagne, my sweet?’

She nodded and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. His response was a sharp intake of breath, as she sat up and reached for her glass. She sipped, and swallowed, and sipped again. He simply watched her. Then he took the glass from her fingers and set it down. He had not touched his own.

‘I find the touch of glass on my lips much too cold and hard.’ He put his hands to the hem of her chemise. Slowly, reverently, he pulled it up and over her head. At last, she was totally, blissfully, naked in the bed of the man she loved.

‘Oh, yes,’ he breathed, and gently pushed her back on to the pillows.

Now he would remove his own clothing and join her, surely? But he did not. He was standing on the floor beside the bed. He bent to drop a kiss between her breasts and then on, down past her ribcage and over her flat stomach. ‘Not hard, not cold.’

She relaxed into the pillows and closed her eyes. She would not try to predict what he would do. Fulfilment would come, and the journey would be wonderful.

‘You are the most beautiful vessel any man could ever drink from.’

What? She opened her eyes to see him holding a champagne glass just above her breasts. He was smiling wickedly down at her. Then he caught both her wrists in his free hand and held her arms above her head. Her eyes widened. He was going to—

He tilted the glass so that a single drop fell on to her burning skin. It should have fizzed into steam like water dropped on hot coals. She struggled a little against his hold, trying to free her hands. She had to touch him! ‘Robert! Please! I need to—’ He laughed, low in his throat, and let her go. Then he began to drip yet more tiny bubbles on to her skin, until the tingling drops were running down towards her navel. When he bent to retrieve them with his mouth, she put her hands to his head and raked her fingers through his hair, pushing him even closer.

He licked the wine from her skin with a deep moan of satisfaction. And then he began all over again. Now he dipped the tip of his tongue into the tiny pool of golden liquid and licked his way up to her breast, circling her aching nipple tantalisingly. He did not touch the swollen, straining flesh that so yearned for the feel of his mouth. Then he paused to admire his handiwork before repeating the process with her other breast. ‘Champagne never tasted so wonderful before.’

A few more drops. This time, he licked them from the valley between her breasts down to her navel. And beyond. And then he was kissing her so strongly that her hips bucked off the bed to meet his questing mouth. In moments, she was spiralling out of control. The spasms seized her and took her over the edge into blissful oblivion.

‘Isobel? Come back to me?’

She opened her eyes to find that she was no longer alone in the great bed. Robert was beside her at last, and as naked as she. ‘Oh.’ He stroked a finger down her cheek, so very gently. ‘Mmm.’ Her body felt soft and languid. She turned into his arms, seeking his embrace.

This time, he did not resist. He accepted what she offered, kissing her deeply, holding her close against his aroused body, running his caressing hand down her back to cup her bottom and pull her closer still. He tasted of champagne, and love-making. The hard length of him pressed against her belly. She gloried in the feel of him, skin against skin, flesh against flesh. Soon to be one flesh.

They kissed until they were both moaning. He rolled her on to her back and began to caress her breasts, her belly, her flanks, with long sweeping strokes, but never coming near the core of her. He caressed her until she was almost screaming with need.

‘Touch me, Robert,’ she groaned into his hungry mouth. ‘I need you now. Please.’

He put his hands to her face and held her steady while he settled into the welcoming cradle of her hips. ‘Look at me, Isobel. Trust me.’

He held her gaze and drove into her moist heat with one long stroke. Joy, wonder and then a sharp pain. She screwed up her eyes. She could not help it. He caught her shocked gasp in a consoling kiss and held himself very still within her, waiting. Very tenderly, he kissed her closed eyelids until her muscles relaxed once more.

‘Isobel?’ His voice was very soft. And concerned. For her.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She could see the flame of that single candle reflected there. He was frowning. She lifted a finger to smooth his brow. She felt her body softening, stretching and moulding itself around him. That momentary pain was gone. His heat was within her, leashed by his iron will until she should be ready for him. The flames began to leap within her body. She wanted him. She wanted this.

Without knowing what she did, she tensed her inner muscles around him. His response was instant. He pushed even further into the core of her as she opened to him. Seconds later, she was wrapping her legs around him and straining to match the rhythm of his long strokes. Harder, higher, faster. Together. They were moving as one flesh, and it was glorious. She could no longer think. She could only feel. And then he took her beyond feeling, beyond thought, into ecstasy.

Having Isobel in his arms, in his bed, was bliss. There could be no more doubt. She had been innocent. And untouched. Now she was his. Completely. He dropped a kiss on her hair, but did nothing more. He did not want to wake her. Soon they would have to plan what to do, how to return her to her uncle’s house without detection. None of it would be easy. For now, let her sleep.

A loud banging on the front door made him start up. It was long after midnight. Who on earth could that be, making such an infernal din?

‘Oh, heavens. My uncle!’ She was instantly wide awake.

‘What? How do you know?’ Had she planned this? Was it a trap?

‘I…I don’t. But who else could it be at this time of night? That man, my uncle’s spy, he must have followed me after all.’ She put her hands to her flaming cheeks. Her eyes were wide and staring, proving she was just as shocked as he was. She gave a strangled laugh. To Robert’s ears, she sounded almost hysterical. ‘When my uncle finds me here, he will have no option but to agree to our marriage.’

‘More like to shoot us both,’ he said brutally. She gasped in horror. Faced with stark reality, she was terrified. He knew he had been wrong to doubt her. He tilted up her face so she was forced to look at him. He tried to smile reassuringly. ‘Isobel, you are a darling girl, but you would be the death of both of us. You must not be found here. Not like this.’

‘But I—’

He silenced her with a finger across her lips. No time for argument. She was his now. He must save her. ‘Do you trust me enough to do exactly as I say?’

She nodded, wide-eyed.

‘Help me collect up your things. Quickly.’ He scooped up her discarded clothes and pushed them into her arms. Then he wrapped his silk dressing gown round her naked body. Grabbing the champagne bottle and glasses, he hurried her into his sitting room. He pressed the spring to open the hidden door and bundled her through, followed by the wine and her outdoor clothes. ‘Stay there. Don’t move or make a sound until I come to release you. It may take me some time to convince your uncle.’ He dropped a quick hard kiss on her mouth and pushed her down to sit on his army trunk. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. Daren’t risk a candle.’ With that, he closed the door on her, leaving her alone in the dark. She had courage. She would not cry out.

He could hear Grant’s loudly muttered complaints as he walked slowly to the door. The servant did not need to be told what to do. He would make a great fuss and delay Sir Hugh as long as possible.

Robert raced back into his bedchamber. He had no dressing gown, of course. He ripped open the clothes press and quickly threw a fresh nightshirt over his head. Then he set about putting the bed to rights. In moments, it was done. It looked as though only one side had been used.

Robert’s clothes still littered the floor. No time to retrieve them. Let it look as if an idle gentleman had simply dropped his clothing for his valet to pick up. Sir Hugh would not be surprised.

Robert stuck his feet into his slippers, picked up the lighted candle from the nightstand and marched out into the hallway. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he thundered.

The door was open. An elderly gentleman stood on the threshold, flanked by a thick-set man with the face of a prizefighter.

‘Grant, inform this
gentleman
that I am not at home to visitors.’

The batman had barely opened his mouth to obey when the visitor pushed him aside and stepped into the hallway. He was almost purple with rage. ‘I am Sir Hugh Carmichael. Isobel Ritchie is my niece. I know you have her here, Anstruther. To debauch her, no doubt. Exactly the kind of behaviour I would expect from one of your ilk. I demand that you produce her. At once!’

‘You are mistaken, sir,’ Robert answered quietly. He had not moved. He still stood blocking Sir Hugh’s path to the inner rooms.

‘You defy me, sir?’ Sir Hugh produced a small pistol and pointed it at Robert’s heart. ‘Stand aside. I will look for myself.’

Robert sighed theatrically. ‘If that is Sir Hugh’s man standing on the step, Grant, pray bring him into the hall. And close the door. I prefer not to have my business trumpeted to all the street. Especially when an innocent lady’s reputation is at stake.’

Sir Hugh was shaking with fury. His pistol was far from steady.

Robert faced him squarely. ‘Your accusation is extremely serious, sir. It goes to my honour as well as that of your niece. Perhaps you would now withdraw it?’

‘Isobel is gone from my house,’ Sir Hugh barked. ‘My man informs me that she is with you.’

‘Ah. Now I understand your agitation. However, you are wrong.’ Sir Hugh did not move or speak. ‘Sir, I must ask you to take care what you do,’ Robert continued blandly. ‘Shooting an unarmed man is murder, you know. Even an Anstruther.’

The pistol was lowered a little. The shaking had stopped. Sir Hugh seemed to be recovering his self-control. ‘Major Anstruther, will you look me in the eye and swear, on your honour as an officer and a gentleman, that Isobel Ritchie is not here in your house?’

Robert replied without even a blink. ‘I will do better than that, Sir Hugh.’ He stood aside and gestured towards the open door. ‘In deference to your years, and to your understandable concern for the reputation of your niece, I will permit you to search my rooms. Pray, go through. Search wherever you wish. There are not many potential hiding places, but I do recommend you look under the bed.’

Sir Hugh seemed taken aback for a second, but then he pocketed his pistol and marched into Robert’s sitting room. Bookcases, tables and chairs, a sofa and a desk. There was no possible hiding place. He pulled back the long heavy curtains. The window recess was empty.

Robert followed him into the bedchamber and threw open all the doors to cupboards and presses. Nothing. He threw back the window curtains. Again nothing. He watched with some satisfaction as the older man knelt to look under the bed. Nothing. Of course.

Sir Hugh stood up a little shakily. He eyed the bed in silence, assessing the bumps and hollows. It did not look like a scene of passionate love-making. Robert was confident of that.

‘Anstruther, I—’

‘You will wish to check the other rooms, too. Grant!’ His batman appeared instantly. ‘Sir Hugh has seen this room and my sitting room. Take him through to the other rooms and make sure he sees everything. I would have no suspicion remaining that I am concealing Miss Ritchie.’

With drooping shoulders, Sir Hugh followed the batman out. Robert grabbed his discarded shirt and breeches from the floor and dressed with the speed of a soldier called to face the enemy.

By the time Sir Hugh returned to the sitting room, his high colour was gone. His skin was grey. ‘It seems I was wrong. She is not here.’ He was avoiding Robert’s eye.

‘Sir, I am glad you are now satisfied. Believe me, I do understand your concern. Your niece is young and vulnerable. She should not be out alone in London. Perhaps she has gone to stay with a female friend?’

‘Yes, it is possible, I suppose. I can only hope you are right, Major. I…I ask you to excuse me for having forced my way in here. I had information that—’

Robert stopped him with a wave of his hand. If Sir Hugh made Robert a grovelling apology, it would lead to even more bad blood once the truth was known. ‘Let us forget this ever happened, sir. I am sure you will be wishing to return home quickly, in case there is more reliable news of where Miss Ritchie may have gone. I pray there will be.’ He ushered Sir Hugh into the hallway and then out of the house. The bruiser, who had neither moved nor spoken, followed his master out.

Robert closed the door with slightly shaky hands and leant against it, letting out a long breath. His Isobel. He had saved her. But for how long?

‘Grant, go and organise a chaise and four. I shall need it here in two hours. We leave as soon as it is light.’

‘Aye, sir. Which road shall you be taking?’

‘The road north. As I am sure you already knew.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘We have a battle to win, Grant, and our forces are few. So we shall need to use guile, not a frontal attack. Say as little as possible at the posting house, and return quickly. I shall need you to remain here in London, as rearguard.’

‘Aye, sir. You may rely on me to deal with Sir Hugh, and his bruiser.’

The moment the batman left, Robert rushed across to the secret door. Poor Isobel had been locked inside for what must have seemed like hours. In the dark, with no way of knowing when she would be freed. Robert touched the spring. As the door swung open, he lifted a branch of candles from the side table and held it high. ‘Isobel?’

She was blinking blindly against the light. She had pushed her arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown and tied the belt at her waist, but otherwise she had not moved. Her clothes lay in a pile on the floor. Her hands were clasped together in her lap. Robert fancied it was to stop them from shaking.

He put his free arm round her shoulders. Poor girl, her body was cold, shivering. No wonder, in this dark prison. ‘Come.’ He led her out into the light and closed the door. Her clothes could wait. More important now to warm and reassure her that she was safe. With him. He pulled a wing chair closer to the fire and pushed her down into it. Then he fetched the coverlet from the bed and wrapped it round her. ‘Better?’

Her beautiful eyes had adjusted to the light now. She nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was a thready whisper.

He poured a small brandy and pressed it into her hand. ‘Drink this. It will warm you and give you strength.’ He expected her to protest, but she did not. She nodded, tossed it down, and then began to cough uncontrollably. He saw that she was beautiful, and fragile, and vulnerable, all at the same time, and yet as brave as any soldier. One in a million. ‘Oh, my darling girl,’ Robert burst out, ‘you must take care!’ Her coughing stopped. For a long moment, he simply held her close. Something had changed between them. But there was no time now to explore the strange new feelings that had engulfed him.

Being held in his arms was heavenly. Especially after so long in that dark prison. She had heard a commotion, and raised voices, but she had been unable to make out what was going on. She had been so very afraid for Robert.

‘Courage, my sweet. It is over. Your uncle has gone.’

She rested her head against the hard strength of his body and closed her eyes. They were safe. For the moment.

‘And now we must organise a wedding.’ He chuckled into her hair. ‘In some haste, I fear.’

She looked anxiously up into his face. He would marry her for honour’s sake, even though he did not love her. Did he feel trapped, resentful? To her surprise, he was smiling warmly down at her, his gaze as gentle as a caress. A loving caress. ‘Oh,’ she breathed.

‘Come, my sweet.’ He crossed to the little desk and pulled out a chair for her. ‘You have to write a letter. We need to gain time. We must give the hounds a false scent.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. I imagine you cannot organise a wedding overnight, even with a special licence.’

‘A special—!’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, my darling girl, life with you will certainly be full of surprises. How old are you?’

She bristled. ‘Twenty, sir.’

‘And do you have your guardian’s permission for this marriage you are about to enter into?’

Oh. She shook her head. She knew what was coming next.

‘Precisely so. Sadly this is not Verona with a Friar Lawrence conveniently to hand. This is England, and England’s laws do not permit an under-age girl to consent to marriage. It is a weary road back to Scotland, but at least the days are long at this time of year, and the weather is set fair. I am only sorry that we shall have to use the services at Gretna rather than waiting for a minister of the kirk. But you shall have a proper wedding afterwards, I promise. In the kirk.’