LuckySilver (4 page)

“You’re so tight,” he ground out. “Perhaps we should slow
down.”

She shook her head quickly. Was he going to stop? She almost
moaned in frustration.

Then she felt him move, felt his mouth, and nearly came off
the bed. His dark head nudged her thighs apart until his tongue had access.
Instantly she was enveloped in wholly unfamiliar sensations, ones that built
until she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore. Just as she was going to force
his head away, she shattered, colors dancing in time to his tongue as he lapped
at her orgasm, milking it until her last shudder.

“You’re all mine,” he said quietly. As if he could sense the
fact that she wanted more, he moved fully atop her. He smelled like wood smoke
and spices. She inhaled deeply, tangling one hand in his dark hair as he bent
his head to kiss her ear.

She was beginning to ache, her need rising as he continued
his caresses all over her body. When Rhys drew back, she couldn’t suppress a
small sound of disappointment. Then his cravat fluttered to the floor, brushing
past her cheek in a silken caress.

Marissa’s breath caught as she stared upward. Firelight
bathed his well-muscled chest in warm light, flickering down his flat stomach. He
was blatantly, superbly aroused, a fact that made her blush and feel smug all
at once. All those women throwing themselves at him, yet Rhys had chosen her.

At least for tonight.

She refused to let her thoughts dwell upon that topic any
longer. Cautiously she reached out and ran a finger up one hard thigh, watching
intently, curiously, as his face telegraphed his pleasure.

He allowed her to touch him for a few long moments before making
his move. She felt his hand part her thighs as he kissed her, his tongue
flitting against her lips, teasing them apart before withdrawing tantalizingly,
creating a rising sense of urgency she sensed wasn’t going to so easily abate.

She had expected to be able to keep her wits about her, but
they were being driven away by Rhys’ relentless caresses, his burning kisses,
his dominant weight atop her. She let out an involuntary cry of pleasure as she
felt him part her thighs, then almost immediately gasped in discomfort as he entered
her. His broad head parted her folds slowly yet inexorably, pausing just long
enough to allow her to adapt to his girth.

“Easy,
cariad
. Relax for me.” The Welsh endearment
seemed to come easily to his lips. She opened her eyes briefly, aware that he
was holding himself very still. She tried to watch his face, to keep her eyes
open, but when he moved the sensation was overwhelming.

Rhys bent to kiss the hollow of her throat. He was driving
her mad, tantalizing her skin with wicked, never-ending caresses, sending her
need spiraling through the roof.

“Please, Rhys…” Marissa whispered the words, unable to bear
it any longer.

Then he was moving within her, driving her to further
heights. She arched against him, wrapping her legs around his waist as the
world dissolved into splinters of pleasure. Moments later, he tensed in her
embrace, spilling within her with a low growl of satisfaction. She could feel
him jerking as he finished, one of his hands immediately stroking a stray
strand of hair from her forehead as if seeing to her comfort was of paramount
importance even in the face of his own ultimate pleasure.

Exhausted, Marissa rested her head on his shoulder,
listening to his heartbeat. No words she could utter would be able to
adequately express how Rhys had just made her feel, so she simply lay quietly,
enjoying being with him.

She had wanted this—but it had to end now. There was no way
Marissa would be able to share Rhys with another woman. Rhys was a baron, he
would want a well-bred, proper lady for his wife, and she could never be his
mistress.

Just once.
It had been worth it. She would leave him
in the morning.

* * * * *

Rhys looked down at the sleeping woman, bewildered by the
amount of pleasure she had brought him. He’d called her
cariad
. He
remembered his mother calling his father by the Welsh term, her voice infused
with love.

Was he falling in love?

Gently disentangling himself from the silken sheets, Rhys
rose and stalked over to the cupboard. He couldn’t resist a glance over his
shoulder, admiring Marissa as she lay sprawled and sated on the four-poster
bed. Had he really only intended to kiss her once? He wanted her again and
again—he could feel himself growing hard at the thought, despite physical tiredness
and his earlier relief.

Turning back to the cupboard, Rhys ran his hands over the
wooden surface. One of the panels hid a tiny secret drawer. He found it, pulled
it out, stared at the heirloom ring contained within. He had hidden it away in
the cottage, hoping to one day meet the woman he might bestow it upon.

If someone had informed his younger self that he might fall
in love with an outsider like Marissa, he would have laughed in their face.
Rhys had spent years entertaining flighty, shallow girls who practically threw
themselves into his lap, yet unorthodox Marissa, who had initially walked away
from him, struck him as the best match.

And if his mother—or anyone else, for that matter—objected,
he would simply override them. As a baron, that was his right. Hadn’t his own
grandfather, who had built this cottage, married a commoner from Staffordshire?

A deep sense of rightness settled over him. Carefully he
lifted the slender platinum band from its hiding place. Its rubies sparkled in
the firelight. They would complement Marissa’s brunette beauty perfectly.

Rhys smiled to himself. Even if it
was
the damn
faeries who had brought her, he couldn’t let her go.

Dawn was already filtering through the curtains by the time
Marissa opened her eyes. For a few peaceful moments she lay still, enjoying the
blessed lack of alarm clock, the rural stillness. The only sounds evident in
the peaceful little cottage were birdsong and the gentle noises of Rhys
breathing.

She was used to waking up early, but the feeling of waking
next to a man was wholly unfamiliar. Rhys slept deeply, his dark hair slightly
tousled, one muscular arm curving above her head. He was still definitely as
handsome as ever. Marissa looked away, biting her lip.

Pride forced her out of bed in the end. She moved stealthily
past the fire to retrieve her dress, which was slightly rumpled but still
wearable. Her slippers, however, were battered almost beyond recognition. Fortunately,
she was able to scrounge a decent pair of boots and a woolen coat from the wardrobe.

When she hefted her reticule, it felt bulkier than normal.
Marissa wrinkled her brow, trying to recall what she’d packed yesterday
afternoon. Tissue, fifty bucks for a taxi, and some hand cream shouldn’t weigh
this much. She reached down to peer inside, but Rhys stirred and she froze.

When he had settled again, she stepped outside, boots
crunching in the snow. She shook her head, angry at her indecision. Never
before had she been infatuated with a man, so why should she be now? Because
he’d taken her virginity?

At no time in her life had she, Marissa Blythe, ever truly
belonged somewhere—or with someone. There was no sense deluding herself into
thinking Rhys was somehow different. She hardened her heart, stepped onto the road.

The snow was gradually melting in the strengthening
sunlight. She turned around almost involuntarily, drawn back to the cottage by
an almost tangible force. The twenty-first century seemed to have very little
hold on her now.

She only wished she could be sure of the exact year she was
in. Harriet had said the spoon was from around 1860. The clothing styles
present at the party seemed to back that up, but she couldn’t be sure.

And something—perhaps the magic of the silver spoon—was
trying to help her fit in here.

“Car,” she tried to say. It came out as “carriage”. “Bus”
translated to “stagecoach”. She couldn’t say “television” or “internet” at all.

“Well, we’re not in Kansas Territory anymore, Toto,” Marissa
muttered.

Kansas Territory?
When had Kansas become a state? 1861?
Yes, definitely post-1861, which meant the spoon had landed her sometime before
then, probably the late 1850s.

Slowly she walked across the nearby field to a sturdy oak
tree, reverently reaching out to touch its rough bark. Judging by its size, the
oak was probably several hundred years old. In her time—her
old
time,
she amended—it would have been an absolute giant.

Now that Marissa knew when and where she was, could she find
a way to fit in? The thought occurred to her that she might stay at Montford
Hall, but she quickly banished that line of thinking. Best to move on, to find
honorable employment, than to live her life skulking around as mistress to a
baron.

She squared her shoulders, looking around to get her
bearings. Rhys had mentioned the nearest town was six miles away. She just
needed to keep walking down the road. Marissa hesitated, glancing to her left. Across
those fields somewhere lay Montford Hall in all its grandeur. Rhys would return
there today. She wondered if he would miss her.

The sound of hoofbeats broke into her musings. Had he come
after her? She peered around the other side of the tree trunk shyly, hopefully.

Immediately Marissa shuffled back behind the oak. Five
rough-looking riders had reined in their horses at the edge of the field. She
prayed they hadn’t seen her. Were they highwaymen? Bandits?

“Now listen!” The leader spoke in a guttural voice, his
accent so thick Marissa could barely decipher the words. “Move in. Wait by the
rear entrance to the Hall. The cook will open the door to us after breakfast. Then
we can steal the jewels and leave.”

“What if they put up a fight?”

The leader glared at the man who had just spoken. “Those
London-bred chits? They’ll be too busy squawking and fluttering. Now get a move
on! I bribed the cook well and I’ll not have that money wasted. Remember—we’ll
make a quick escape and then meet up later to divide our spoils.”

Marissa stood as still as possible, barely breathing, as the
men moved across the field. When she was sure she wouldn’t be noticed, she
backtracked and began jogging toward the cottage.

If she hurried, she could warn Rhys in time.

* * * * *

She was no longer in bed with him. Rhys knew this even
before he opened his eyes. Her side of the bed still held some residual warmth,
so she couldn’t have been gone long. Fear rose unbidden from somewhere deep
within him, fear that she had left him permanently. He couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—let
her go.

Unless, of course, she
wanted
to be free of him. The
thought gave him pause. Yet she had enjoyed last night. He’d made certain to
see to her pleasure. And she was unattached, and a virgin, so he doubted there
was someone else in the picture.

His frown intensified. In one fluid movement he was on his
feet, stomping into his boots, pulling on his coat, heading out the door. He
was determined to get to the bottom of why Marissa had left him. For the second
time.

The footprints in the melting snow led east toward the main
road. Rhys studied them briefly, then went to ready his horse. He didn’t bother
saddling the gelding, merely slipping a bridle over its head and swinging on
bareback. His muscular thighs gripped hard as the horse cantered off.

He caught up with Marissa far sooner than expected. Oddly,
she was running
toward
him, her eyes wide and urgent.

He swept her onto his thigh without preamble.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
His voice was rougher than he meant it to be. He softened the unintended
harshness with a brief kiss on her neck.

“I went down the road and ran into some bandits,” she
replied breathlessly. “Rhys…they’re heading for Montford Hall. I overheard one
of them saying the cook was going to open the back door for them.”

“The devil he is.” Rhys reined the gelding around. “Hold on,
cariad
.”

He settled her behind the horse’s withers and set off at a
gallop. When they reached the main road, he reined toward the town. Ahead of
him, Marissa murmured an unintelligible question.

“I’m getting reinforcements first,” Rhys told her. “Keep
holding on, there’s a fence ahead and we’re jumping it.” One of his arms
tightened reflexively around the girl but she kept her seat remarkably well, a
fact that only increased his admiration of her.

The small town at the foot of Montford Hall’s hill was just
beginning to stir. A young boy gaped at them as they approached, nearly
dropping the eggs he was collecting. Rhys rode past him and reached out to rap
on the smithy door. John Hardy, the local blacksmith, was just the man to have
at his back. After a quick explanation of the situation, the smith and a few
other men were following him up the hill, Hardy riding bareback on his giant
draft horse.

Rhys briefly considered leaving Marissa behind in the safety
of the town, but he was worried she would walk away again. He was certain she had
intended to leave him this morning. Unconsciously, his arm tightened around her
waist as he resolved to convince her to stay.

To his great relief, Rhys caught sight of Montford Hall’s
head groom as they rode up the long driveway. Barely pausing, he bundled
Marissa into the man’s care, ordering him to take her inside and to send some
of the burlier servants down to the kitchens as reinforcements.

With one last look at Marissa, Rhys drew a silver pistol and
led the way around the back.

Everything was happening so fast, Marissa could hardly take
it all in. One moment she was on horseback, the next Rhys had lifted her down,
abandoning her to ride away like some avenging hero. She stood by the front
door, disapprovingly watching him disappear around the side of the Hall.

After a moment, the groom cleared his throat. “The baron
ordered us to retire inside, Miss.”

“I’m a damn brown belt in judo!” she answered him. Only it
came out as “I can damn well fight too!”

Diplomatically, the groom kept his mouth shut. After a
moment Marissa begrudgingly followed him inside, trying not to gape at the
sheer size of the foyer; she hadn’t properly appreciated it last night.

There were a great number of servants dashing around,
although that was hardly surprising given the many well-bred visitors staying
over after last night’s party. Annoyingly, several of the ladies, early risers,
began to devolve into hysterics at the mention of bandits.

Purposefully, Marissa strode down the hall, directing them
into the drawing room. Despite the early hour, there were quite a few people up
and about, hopeful perhaps of catching a glimpse of Rhys before they returned
home later in the day.

As she fanned one drooping young woman, ordering her to
loosen her corset, Marissa caught sight of a familiar gray-haired woman near
the window. She paused mid-fan, agape.

“Harriet?”

“There you are! I knew I would find you somewhere.” The
professor rushed over and embraced her tightly. Their reunion was ignored as
more young ladies entered the drawing room, chattering loudly.

Harriet drew Marissa over to the corner so that they could
talk in relative privacy. “I went after you when you didn’t emerge from the
maze. I found the center and abruptly everything changed and went cold. I was
terrified at first, but I managed to follow some footprints in the snow all the
way to the maze entrance. Then I saw Montford Hall.”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Marissa couldn’t help another look
around.

“When I came inside, I inquired about you. I found myself
speaking with Lady Montford.”

“Rhys’ mother,” Marissa whispered.

“Yes. She was very interested in you, not to mention a
trifle sharp with me at first for failing in my chaperone duties.” Harriet
barely repressed a smile. “I realized you and the baron must have been caught
in a compromising situation. So I painted you in the most impressive terms I
could. Lady Montford believes you are a well-off American heiress descended
from wealthy Welsh merchants.”

“That isn’t far from the truth,” Marissa mused.

“It
is
the truth in these times.”

“Well, it makes little difference. Rhys and I spent the
night together, but we are not engaged. I will be considered a fallen woman.”

Harriet shot her a sympathetic look. Any reply she was going
to make, however, was preempted by a single gunshot. Gasps echoed around the
large room and Marissa sucked in a shocked breath. Rhys. All she could think of
was Rhys.

Marissa bolted to the door, beating everyone else there as
she sprinted down the hall, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress. One of
the servants tried to stop her, but she brushed past single-mindedly,
determined to get to Rhys.

She wouldn’t be able to bear it if he’d been killed. Deep
inside, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from him now, would
never be able to take up a position as governess. Ruthlessly, she forced
herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Miss, there’s fighting in the kitchens. The baron ordered
everyone to stay without.” Another servant plucked at her arm.

There were indeed sounds of struggle going on in the
kitchens. Marissa listened briefly at the door, hoping against hope that Rhys
wasn’t wounded—or worse. Impatiently, Marissa pulled away from the clinging servant.
Then she kicked the door in.

For a moment, the kitchen was silent. After the first shock
wore off, Rhys stepped forward and leveled his pistol at the leader’s head.

Until Marissa knocked him out cold with the door, the gigantic
bandit had been fending off all comers. Rhys had begun to worry that the man
was going to break through into the main house and take hostages.

Even as John Hardy bound the leader’s wrists with twine, all
thoughts of the bandits flew from his mind. There was only Marissa. She stood
by the door, her eyes flickering around the room as if she was unsure where to
look. His immediate instinct was to make her feel at ease. She had displayed
remarkable courage just now.

Heedless of the ruckus he knew he was going to cause, Rhys
put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. For a blissful moment he allowed
himself to savor her lips and the feelings she stirred within him. Breaking off
was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He wanted nothing more than to
lift her onto one of the tables and take her right then and there.

He was going to be the talk of Society, not only for an
unorthodox marriage, but for Marissa’s unsurpassed beauty. She was all curves
and long legs, her delicate skin a delicious contrast to her rich brown eyes.

John Hardy, the blacksmith, coughed politely, drawing his attention
back to the present. “My lord, should we take these men to the gaol?”

“Yes of course. Thank you for your assistance, Hardy,
everyone.” Rhys glanced around the room, grateful that things hadn’t gotten too
out of hand. If they hadn’t stopped the bandits when they did, Montford Hall
would have been the subject of derision in London for years.

The well-muscled smith began bundling the bandit leader
unceremoniously out the back door, followed tamely by the traitorous cook,
whose wrists were also tied together.

“Is anything amiss?” Rhys asked, looking down at Marissa. He
took her arm, almost unconsciously continuing physical contact with her.