Once Tempted (35 page)

Her body began to quake with those now familiar shudders. He was moving her toward completion, and as if he sensed it, his mouth began to suckle her in earnest, pushing her toward that heavenly abyss.

When the first wave struck, she nearly toppled over, her hands grasping and kneading his shoulders, her legs wobbling. He reached up to steady her, his tongue never leaving her, instead matching each clenching wave with its own encouraging stroke.

At last, when the tempest subsided, she pulled at his shoulders, drawing him up from the floor.

Robert scooped her up and drew her into his arms, carrying her to the bedroll in the corner of the room. Tenderly he laid her down and then joined her in the narrow warmth of the blankets. She nestled into his arms.

“How is that possible?” she asked, her fingers tracing a line over his lips. “How did you do that?”

“Did you like it?”

She nodded. “Very much.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

Her lips came to his and teased him to kiss her again. Robert only too happily complied. His body was hard and throbbing to find his fulfillment in her, but he wanted nothing this night but to pleasure her.

But his little termagant had other ideas.

Her fingers splayed over his shirt, pulling at the ties, tugging at the length tucked into his breeches. Only too willingly he helped her free it, plucking it from his body and tossing it to one side.

She smiled and pulled her dress from her body. Stretching like a proud cat she then nestled against him.

He swore she purred in deep satisfaction as her hands splayed out over his chest, her fingers bringing mayhem to his senses. They immediately went to the front of his breeches, tracing the outline of his only too evident erection.

With one finger, she traced the length of his encased flesh, up one side and down the other. As hers had done earlier, his hips arched to meet her touch.

“ ’Twould be so much better if I could feel you,” she whispered. Her hand moved over his buttons, unfastening them, one after another. “If I could hold you.”

When she flicked the last one open, her hand was there to take him as he sprang forth from that prison of woolen serge.

Her fingers encased him, drew out the entire length of him and then slid back down. “Yes, this is much better,” she told him, taking his lips to her mouth again and kissing him as he had done her, long and slowly.

All the while, her hand stroked him, teasing him, using the slickness she provoked to add to his pleasure.

Robert had never known a woman’s touch to be so erotic, so tender and yet so masterful.

Then again, this was his Olivia.

And she was bringing him nearly to his completion.

He wrestled free from her grasp and rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, so she straddled him.

She gazed down at him, one brow arched in wicked anticipation.

“Take me inside you,” he told her.

She rose up on her knees and caught hold of him, guiding herself onto his throbbing shaft. Her mouth opened in surprise, and then a passionate light started to burn in her eyes as she slid onto him, slowly, testing each inch of him as he filled her.

From the smile on her lips, she didn’t need any further encouragement, for she began to rise again, drawing him up and out and then closing back down over him, a soft sigh slipping from her.

“Does it feel that good for you?” she asked.

He nodded. “Don’t stop.”

“I have no intention to,” she told him. Her body was tight around him, but with each stroke, it was as delirious as it had been with his fingers, his lips, yet this time it was his manhood, stretching her, rubbing against her, rousing her body to passion’s call.

The faster she went, the louder the din became, like a fury’s cry in her ears, the roar of passion begging her to move faster, harder, closer to him.

His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his hips rising to meet hers with eager, hungry thrusts.

Around him her body began to tighten, throbbing for release, and she found it in a shower of lights and sensation. He bucked beneath her, driving his body into hers, his manhood pulsing as he too found his completion, his seed bursting into her in a hot stream.

She collapsed on top of his chest, and he wrapped her into his arms. They lay there entwined, still bound as one, for some time, neither willing to break the connection between them.

“I want to make you my wife,” he said. “Though I have no right to ask.”

“Why not?” she asked, her heart welling to life at the thought of spending every night for the rest of her life so joined.

“I have nothing to offer you. No home. No title. Nothing but the hardships of an army wife.”

“I don’t remember asking for more,” she told him, rising up with her elbows resting on his chest. “But why would you want to marry me? I’ll probably be transported for shooting Chambley when we return to England.”

“That will never happen,” he told her with fierce possessiveness that made her smile.

She had found her hero. Her living and breathing hero. And she knew that as long as Robert was beside her, nothing and no one would ever harm her again.

Chapter 17

T
he next day, at the top of the mountain outside Badajoz, Rafe and his men bid farewell to Olivia, Robert, Jemmy and Aquiles. They were turning in a different direction, their supplies needed elsewhere. Olivia was sorry to see their traveling companions leave.

Rafe gave her a hug before they parted, whispering into her ear, “Lando chose well. And so has Robert.”

As they continued on down the mountainside, a steady rain slowed their pace, but the cold drizzle and rugged conditions did nothing to cool the heat in Olivia’s cheeks each time she thought of her night with Robert.

He rode ahead, greeting outriders and messengers from Wellington’s camp, who were scouting positions and watching the roads for any sign of French reinforcements for the now besieged city.

Olivia noted that Robert was met with deference and something akin to awe by most of the men riding past them. It was as if they had given him up for lost.

Once they made it into the camp, their horses and Evaline were dispatched to the makeshift stables for a well-earned brushing and feeding, while they were escorted directly to Wellington’s tent.

As they waited outside, Jemmy fidgeted on one foot, then the other. “Lord Wellington, you say? We are going to meet Wellington?”

Robert nodded to him. Jemmy immediately set about polishing his boots on the back of his breeches and trying to brush off the worst of the dust from his coat and cravat.

Lady Finch, Olivia knew, would be in a rare fit if she had any idea that her son was about to meet his idol, let alone probably beg for a commission in the nearest regiment.

She should stop him, but Jemmy had proven in the fight with the French that he was capable of taking care of himself in a rough spot. He was a man now, not a boy, and he deserved to follow his dreams.

Shortly thereafter, an aide de camp bustled out of the tent, nearly bumping into Robert. “Major Danvers, his lordship will see you now.”

Robert entered the tent, and after a moment’s hesitation, Olivia and Jemmy followed him inside.

The great tent bustled with activity. Tables covered with large maps and drawings nearly filled the room, and men conferred in quiet knots here and there about the place.

In the center of it all stood a man Olivia would have known anywhere as the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied forces in the Peninsula.

Arthur Wellesley, Viscount Wellington.

“Danvers!” he called out. “Good timing, man. You always do know when to turn up.”

He greeted Robert warmly with a handshake and a good thump on the back.

Olivia held back, unsure of how she would be welcomed into such esteemed company.

“Come back with my information, I hope,” Wellington was saying to Robert. “Once we take this city, it will be our toehold in Spain. I’ll need every one of those guerrilla leaders behind me so we can drive the French all the way back to Paris. The Ransom will be just the glue to stick all their factions together into a workable army.” Wellington paused just long enough to look over Robert’s shoulder and directly at Olivia. “And who is this?” he asked, his gaze cutting an assessing course over her. “I send you for a treasure and you bring me back a jewel,” He took her hand and kissed it with great flourish.

Though Wellington was rumored to be an adept ladies’ man, Olivia hadn’t prepared herself for the onslaught of his charm and personal magnetism.

“May I introduce Miss Olivia Sutton, my lord,” Robert said. “A skilled linguist, she has decoded the directions to the treasure.”

Wellington’s iron gray brows rose into an arch. “This is good news indeed, Danvers. Well and good. Don’t see that it was necessary to bring her all the way here. I asked you to bring me the translation, and you bring me the translator. You always do go the extra mile.”

“Miss Sutton insisted, sir,” Robert said. “She would give her information to no one but you. She felt it her patriotic duty.”

“Ah, one of those,” he said, winking at one of his aides.

Jemmy had stopped at a nearby table covered with maps of fortifications. He was staring at them with awe.

“And that young fellow over there? Who are you, sir?”

Jemmy’s eyes went wide. “James Reyburn, my lord. An honor to meet you.” He held out his hand, and when Wellington took his in greeting, Olivia would have sworn that Jemmy was going to fall over.

Wellington clapped him on the back and glanced over the maps that Jemmy had been examining. “Yes, well, there, what do you think of our plans to take the city.”

“Wonderful, sir,” Jemmy said. “But have you thought of making a line here or perhaps over here. I think it would give your cannon better advantage to take this wall.”

Wellington stared down at the map and then at the boy. “Brilliant. Good job, Danvers! You bring me not only a translator but a strategist.” He turned to Jemmy. “Why aren’t you in my army, Mr. Reyburn?”

Jemmy’s jaw dropped, and he managed to stammer, “Oh, it’s always been my dream to serve with you. The problem, sir, has been gaining the money for my commission.”

“I have few opportunities to recruit good men onto my staff, Reyburn, and you look to be the right type of fellow. So consider your commission a thank-you from me for the lives you will probably save with your advice.” Wellington turned to an aide. “Go see about getting Lieutenant Reyburn a uniform, and in the meantime, Reyburn, you see to those other maps and come back here in an hour if you have any other worthy opinions.”

“Yes, sir,” Jemmy said, his chest puffed up so much that he looked ready to burst.

“Now, let’s see, where were we?” Wellington asked, glancing around the room until his gaze landed on Olivia. “Oh, yes, Miss Sutton. Sutton? That name is familiar. I just received the recent paper, and there was some matter or other about a Sutton chit who shot Lord Chambley.” Wellington looked over her. “No relation, I suppose.”

Olivia flinched. “Actually, it was me, my lord. And I would like to turn myself in.”

“You shot Chambley?” Wellington asked.

“Yes,” Olivia replied.

“This true?” he asked Robert.

Robert nodded.

Wellington scratched his chin. “Should get a medal for it, if you want my opinion. Damn nuisance, that Chambley. I’d probably be inclined to give you a commission as well if you’d finished the job instead of just winging the bastard.”

An aide de camp came up and whispered something in Lord Wellington’s ear. “Yes, yes. I’ll see to that presently,” he told the man. “Now, what were we discussing?”

“I was turning myself in for the attempted murder of Lord Chambley,” Olivia said, holding out her hands for the shackles she was positive were about to be cast over her wrists.

“Oh, that nonsense,” Wellington said. “Put your hands down. I haven’t got time for that now. What I need is for you to tell me where The King’s Ransom is hidden away, so Major Danvers and Aquiles can go off and retrieve it while I take Badajoz away from the French.” He turned to another aide. “Lieutenant Parrage, fetch Major Danvers a fresh pack of supplies and two horses from my stable, as well as a—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Olivia said, interrupting Wellington. Obviously that just wasn’t done, since the entire tent fell silent, every one of the men staring at her as if she had just grown another head. “There is no need,” she told the viscount, who was also staring at her.

“No need?” Wellington asked. “My dear woman, there is a war out there. The location of that treasure you are so handily carrying around inside your head is the most important piece to beating the French I could hope for, and you have the temerity to tell me it isn’t necessary to send Major Danvers out to fetch it immediately?”

Olivia swallowed and then shook her head. “No, it is not.”

“And why do you say that?” he asked.

She went up on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, “Because the treasure is buried in Badajoz.”

An hour or so later, the chaplain was summoned to Wellington’s private tent. The man wasn’t too sure what to expect when he arrived. He knew full well that the entire army camped here outside the gates of Badajoz was about to launch one of its most important battles. In a matter of hours, his work would turn into an endless offering of last rites to men twisting and writhing in pain as they went to meet their final reward and hastily offered words for the dead before they were buried.

But when he entered, he found his commander standing with a proud looking officer and a bright-eyed, red-headed young woman, and he was asked to perform a marriage ceremony.

While he made a few token objections about banns and other rules, Wellington waved his hand at such nonsense, as he usually did. This was war, and every-one in the tent knew that the groom might not live to see another day let alone the three weeks for banns to be read.

Therefore a special license was produced, and the chaplain married Major Robert Danvers to Miss Olivia Sutton, a spinster from Kent. She seemed a respectable young lady, a bit shy perhaps for the hardships asked of a military wife, but then again this was war, and men couldn’t be counted on to take such matters into consideration when they faced an uncertain future and sought the comfort of a wife.