Margaret Moore (23 page)

“Oh, will you? Will you, Mama?” Will cried, his eyes pleading.

Elissa looked from one male to the other and saw the boyish enthusiasm Richard was trying to hide. It was very tempting to acquiesce, but she was not sure she was ready for her young son to learn how to wield a rapier yet, however necessary it might become later in his life.

“We will not be using real weapons, of course,” Richard added.

“We won’t?” Will asked with obvious disappointment.

“Would you run before you can walk? No, first you must learn the proper stance, and how to move quickly. Many a duel has been lost because of clumsy feet.”

“If that is the case, you have my permission,” Elissa agreed. “Now, off to Mr. Rowther.”

“And study hard!” Richard seconded as Will scampered away.

They heard his feet clattering though the entrance hall as Richard held out his hand. “Avaunt ye, my lady, and lead me to the ledgers!”

“If you insist,” she said, rising, “but I must remind you that I do not intend to give up managing this estate entirely, no matter what may happen.”

He frowned. “What are you expecting to happen?”

Too late, Elissa pressed her lips together. She did not mean to hint that she might be with child, for she still was not completely certain. She had been delayed by tension and fatigue before, and with the trip to London, it might be that way this time, too. “I may fall ill, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he replied as he escorted her from the room. “In which case, I shall be too upset to do any managing at all, the estate will fall into ruin, and I shall have to take up play writing again, but the taste of the fickle audience
will have changed and I shall die starving in a London gutter.”

She eyed him quizzically. “Does your imagination always run to such lengths, my lord?”

“Unfortunately, it does far more often than I would like. It is the writer’s curse, I fear, as well as our blessing, to be able to imagine all sorts of consequences.”

“I perceive I shall have to do my best not to fall ill or die.”

He faced her. “No, you must not,” he said gravely, and then he grinned again. “The king would not be pleased.”

“And you?” she asked, keeping her tone as light as his.

His gaze seemed to intensify like the rays of the sun through glass. “I would be devastated.”

She had to kiss him after that. Since they were alone in the corridor, she saw no reason not to.

Until her lips met his in passionate rapture. Then she knew that to kiss him here was something of an error, because she did not want to stop.

Fortunately, he drew back and cocked his head to regard her with a wry, sardonic smile. “Perhaps we should abandon the ledgers.”

“It was your idea to look at them.”

“I would rather look at you.”

“And I would rather kiss you, but then nothing would be accomplished.”

They slowly strolled toward the withdrawing room.

“An mteresting word,
accomplished,”
Richard reflected. “I can think of many things I would like to accomplish with you, Elissa.”

“This estate cannot run itself.”

“True enough,” he said as they entered the withdrawing room and continued toward her closet. “I fear my concept of life in the country was comprised solely of lazy days in the garden out of the smoke and stench of London, not of hours spent hunched over a ledger book.”

“We shall have some time in the garden, although I must confess it is in a sad state. I have been more concerned with farming than flowers.”

“Now that I am here, perhaps you will have more time to spend with the flowers, although you are prettier than any flower I have ever seen.”

She gave him a sidelong glance as she went to the cupboard behind her desk and drew out the ledger for the present year. “That doesn’t sound like a very original compliment.”

“I think my talent for flattery is getting rusty.”

“I do not know whether I should be pleased or sorry about that,” Elissa murmured as she opened the ledger to the last page that had writing on it.

“I suspect the problem is that I have not got
enough words to describe you, or the way you make me feel.”

At his softly spoken, sincere reflection, Elissa swallowed hard and had to force herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Yes, well, I was about to enter the household expenditures for the week. This column is for income, and this is for expenditures,” she said, turning the book toward him and pointing at the appropriate locations on the ruled page.

“I have heard that some people keep diaries in code. Do you keep your ledgers in code, too?” Richard inquired as he bent down and studied the page.

She gave him a puzzled look. “No.”

“Then, madam, you have the most abysmal handwriting I have ever seen.”

Blushing furiously, Elissa snatched back the ledger. “I suppose you have a better hand?”

“Indeed I do. I have often been complimented on my penmanship. Have you some paper and ink handy? I shall be happy to demonstrate.”

Briskly putting back the ledger, she wordlessly got him paper, a trimmed quill, and a bottle of ink. With a theatrical flourish and apparently quite unconcerned by her peeved manner, Richard sat in her chair and proceeded to write.

She came behind and looked over his shoulder. “What is that you are writing?”

“You are unfamiliar with the works of Shakespeare?”

“Who?”

Richard made a long-suffering sigh. “Your education has been sorely neglected if you cannot write better than you do, and you have never heard of William Shakespeare.”

“My education was in keeping house and household accounts, not the arts,” she muttered as she gazed at his lean, strong fingers propelling the pen with such ease and artistry.

“Then I shall simply have to correct this sad neglect,” he said, pausing to dip the quill into the ink with a singularly graceful gesture, “and, my sweet, I shall be delighted to do so.”

“I have heard of Ben Jonson,” she offered, now looking at the shape of his ear as he continued his work. Richard had very attractive ears.

“It is my opinion that Shakespeare’s works will prove to have the lasting fame,” Richard replied. “I would consider myself very fortunate indeed if I could achieve even a modicum of his understanding of human nature and to write so well.”

“But writing is an unfit pastime for a gentleman of quality,” she pointed out.

“Unless it is to fill ledgers. Now tell me, what do you think of my penmanship?”

Elissa tore her gaze from the smooth angle of his jaw to look at his paper. “This is the
neatest hand I have ever seen,” she said, duly impressed.

Her husband looked as pleased as Will when he remembered his lesson. “Then why do I not take care of the entries into the ledger?”

“I must admit that if all I had to do was read the entries and compare them to the bills and lists, my work would be a vast deal easier.”

He pulled her into his lap. “Do you write many letters?” he asked, toying with a stray curl on her forehead.

She began to breathe a little faster as her arms stole around his neck. “Not many, but some.”

“I offer my services as a secretary, too,” he murmured, caressing her cheek. “I assure you, my dear, that I can write very charming letters when necessary—or most uncharming letters when necessary, too.”

“You really are a devil,” Elissa whispered as he began to kiss her neck, “to tempt me so.”

“I would tempt you to more than that,” he whispered as he began to undo the laces in the front of her bodice.

“Richard!” she protested, truth be told, halfheartedly.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled softly. “I am trying to tempt you.”

“You … you are succeeding,” she panted as his hand slipped into her bodice.

“Good.”

“Here?”

“Why not?”

“But it is morning …” she murmured, her back arching as he gently fondled her breasts.

“I know what hour of the day it is.” He ran his lips along the curve of her collarbone, the action making her squirm in his lap.

She was not the only excited one, she realized. “And we are in my closet—”

“With a closed door that can be locked, I think. Will you lock it, or shall I?”

Without a word, Elissa rose and went to the door, where she turned the lock. Then she faced him, leaning against the door for necessary support, for her legs trembled as he came toward her.

He took her hands in his, then pulled her into his embrace. He ground his hips in a circular motion that elicited another groan from deep within her throat. She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, then thrust her tongue into his hot mouth as he gently guided her toward the desk.

She blindly untied his jabot and insinuated her hand beneath his shirt. He tensed at the first touch of her fingertips on his bare skin, then relaxed as she stroked him. With more anxious need, he yanked the lace right out of her bodice and when it fell open, nuzzled her
undergarment lower until her breasts were completely exposed to his lips and his astonishingly supple tongue.

Slowly, his hands caressed her as if he were attempting to memorize her shape by feel alone.

“Please, Richard,” she panted, no longer willing to wait. “Take me now. At once!”

She reached under her skirt, hurriedly undid the drawstring of her drawers and wiggled out of them.

“That is a command I am only too happy to obey,” he replied softly, watching her with hungry eyes.

He set her on the edge of the desk and untied his breeches just as quickly. He shoved up her skirt and moved between her legs, and she wrapped her limbs around his waist.

Then, with a low, animalistic moan, he pushed inside her. Splaying her hands behind her, she raised her hips, meeting thrust for thrust, panting, sighing, urging him on. Her legs tightened around him, pulling him against her. His mouth captured her nipples, his tongue caressing the tips until she thought he would drive her mad.

Suddenly a growl burst from the back of his throat as he stiffened. Simultaneously pressing her lips together to stifle a scream, exquisite tension burst and radiated through her.

Sighing, Richard laid his head against her
naked breasts as she leaned forward to embrace him.

“Zounds, Elissa, you rob me of all finesse,” he panted.

She laughed softly, toying with his hair. “I do not need finesse as long as I have you.”

Two weeks later, Elissa stood in her bedchamber looking at her slumbering husband. All around her there were subtle changes brought about by his masculine presence, from the musky scent of the soap he used for shaving to his jacket slung over the back of a chair and his black boots on the floor.

At one time, there had been the remnants of his writing life on the chair: a worn pen, a clay vessel of ink, and a page or two of paper. These, she noted with pleasure, were gone, further proof that he had indeed given up that unseemly pasttime.

Instead, she thought with another secretive smile, he was finding other ways to spend his days, either with Will, or helping her with accounts and correspondence, or distracting her with other, more delightful activities, or simply with his masculine presence and wry observations.

She had not thought herself lonely before they were married, but she knew now that she had been, and very much so. Richard was a wonderful companion, for both her and her son.

She sighed softly, appreciating how fortunate they were that Richard had come into their lives. He could not be kinder to Will if her boy were his own son.

She had never thought to feel this… this love. Yes, love, she realized with increasing happiness.

She loved Richard.

She studied his familiar face. When he was awake, there was often a wry mockery in his dark, sardonic eyes, but when he slept, he seemed again an innocent youth, except for his full, soft lips. They seemed less innocent, as if he were pouting for her kiss.

Nor could she ignore the sight of his naked torso. Although the rest of him was covered by the sheet, she knew full well what was hidden, and that thought added to the warmth coursing through her as she regarded him.

She put her hand to her stomach. Tomorrow, she told herself. Only one more day to be absolutely certain, for she would not want to be wrong and have to disappoint him.

Richard shifted, made a little gurgle at the back of his throat, then opened his eyes, squinting in the dim light that shone through the small opening in the drapery.

“Who goes there?” he muttered.

His hand suddenly darted out to grab her and she let herself be pulled onto the bed. “An assassin?”

She fell on him, an event he acknowledged with a grunt.

“If you are going to manhandle me like a ruffian, that is what you deserve,” she said pertly as his arms stole around her.

“You crept upon me like a thief.”

“I shall likely have a bruised wrist.”

He took her hand again, gently this time, and as always, his touch made her burn with desire. “Then I shall kiss it better for you, shall I?”

His lips touched her wrist with a light, gentle, nevertheless arousing, kiss.

“There,” he murmured, raising his dark eyes to look at her. “All better?”

“All better.”

“I perceive daylight, do I not, my lark?” he said, still holding her hand as he shifted to a sitting position against the wooden headboard while she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed that he had moved even that far away from her. “It is nearly ten o’clock.”

“I fear I keep court and theater hours.”

“You have not been at court or the theater for some time now.”

“But I was for years before this, my sweet.” He sighed wearily, but his eyes smiled mockingly. “If I did not exhaust myself completely with certain delightful activities, I would not fall asleep until dawn.”

“And these activities would be?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“You know full well, my wanton wife,” he murmured, bending forward to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

“If I am a wanton, you make me so.”

“I take that as a great compliment,” he said with a sincerely pleased smile.