Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (33 page)

“Would you stay with me?” she asked innocently.

“Are you certain, my Love? I would not have you the subject of more gossip than what has already occurred.” His fingers traced her jaw line.

Cashé laughed lightly. “I believe I am beyond that point already. Besides, if I am fair game for the gossip-mongers, then I wish to know the pleasure of what I am accused.”

“I will not defile you, but I would cherish holding you in my arms. I have dreamed of such since I discovered your loveliness.”

Cashé smiled. “As opposed to my irascible nature?”

“I was blind. Do not remind me of my short sightedness.”

“Take me to your bed, Marcus.”

He stood, lifting Cashé to him. “We will have tonight.”

*

Her “very large” abductor sat across from Satiné on the coach’s bench. She had fought for a lucid thought, but nothing came. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again.

“We be home by nightfall, gel,” he told her; yet, Satiné no longer held a concept of home. “If’n ye be promisin’ not to fight me, I will give ye no more of the water.”

Satiné tried to make her lips form the words, but all she could do was to lift the fingers on her left hand before drifting into the darkness.

Eleanor sat quietly beside Lexford’s bed. She had spent an hour speaking of what she knew of the viscount’s life, but her knowledge was limited to the present–the past year. Other than a few stories her husband had shared, she knew nothing of the previous two years of Lord Lexford’s life. Now, he slept quietly–his brow furrowed in doubt. She had assured him that his memory would return when he had fully recovered, and then he had turned his head to face the other way, closing his eyes and accepting sleep. The viscount had nothing to say, and that worried Eleanor more than his condition. It was as if he had lost more than his memory: He had lost that spark in his eyes–the one she first saw in a stranger who had protected her at Gavin Bradley’s hunting box.

As he slept, Eleanor penned letters to both her brother and to Sir Carter, explaining Lexford’s condition, Satiné’s situation, Cashé’s disappearance, and her husband’s quest. She begged for assistance–begged them to bring a more competent physician to attend their friend.

*

Cashé had told him of her Uncle Charles’s suspicions regarding her parents’ death and of Lord Worthing’s belief that Viscount Averette had manipulated the church funds for his own benefit. Marcus had known part of what she had confided, but that was not what bothered him as he held her in his arms. It was when she confessed, “No one has ever wanted me.” Now, as she slept spooned in his embrace, all he could think of was how vulnerable she was and how much he loved her.

Streaks of light had summoned the dawn as Marcus gently shoved the hair from her face and kissed her cheek gently. “Come, Sweetheart,” he whispered close to her ear. “We must be on the road soon.”

Cashé turned over, burying her face in his chest. “Mmm,” she moaned. “I would rather stay here with you.” She kissed the indentation of his throat.

Marcus’s breath hitched in his chest. He had fought his lust throughout the night, but now it had returned. “Ah, my Love, I can imagine nothing better.” Marcus tightened his embrace. “But we both know neither of us will be happy unless we see this through.”

Cashé stiffened. “What if at the end I must stay in Scotland?”

Marcus tilted her chin upward where he might observe her countenance. “Cashémere Aldridge, you are going to be my countess. I will tolerate nothing less.” He kissed her cheek. “You are compromised by traveling alone, and, more so, by spending the night in my bed.” Marcus brought her close again. “And although it has taken, to this point, a Herculean effort to resist your many charms, I will gladly crumble under the temptation in order to secure everyone’s cooperation.”

Marcus could hear the smile in her voice. “You want us to marry, my Lord?”

He smiled too. “I will have no other.”

*

Jamot had ridden throughout the night and part of the day before seeking a surgeon in a small village some ten miles south of the Scottish border. He had cursed Lady Worthing for the physical pain she had caused him, but as he lay on the makeshift examining table in the surgeon’s home, he had thought more positively of the lady. Eleanor Fowler Kerrington had steel in her spine. She had confronted him, wrestled valiantly with him, and had taken a clear shot. Few English women of his acquaintance held such temerity. Jamot had thought Ashmita could have learned a great deal from Fowler’s sister. “A lover’s quarrel,” he told the doctor when the man asked him how he had earned the wound.

“The bullet when through the fleshy part of your arm. You are lucky that the lady did not aim for your heart.”

Jamot laughed lightly. “A man must have a heart for that to happen.”

*

“It would be better if we go overland on horseback,” Marcus shared as he and Cashé took a simple breakfast together in his chambers. “Do you think you could tolerate several hours in the saddle?”

Cashé looked a bit alarmed. “I am not a very good rider,” she confided.

“I remember,” he teased. “I was to teach you–part of my personal list of firsts with the lovely Cashémere Aldridge.”

Cashé blushed, but she added, “Might I try a regular saddle?”

Her request should have shocked Marcus, but somehow he thought it fit her: unconventional. “I suppose I might find you some breeches and a shirt from one of my grooms.”

Cashé smiled broadly. “You never tell me that I cannot do something just because I am a woman.”

Marcus stood to ring for a servant. “That is because you are my woman, and I am amazed daily by your bravado.” He gently kissed her lips. “While we wait a servant to find you something appropriate to wear, let us go downstairs. I want you to meet Trevor and Jeremy.” He extended his hand to her.

Cashé eagerly followed Marcus to the morning room. “Good day,” he called as he entered the room. “How are you this morning, Trevor?”

Jeremy Ingram scrambled to his feet, lightly punching Trevor’s side as a reminder of Trevor’s manners. “Good morning, Your Lordship,” Jeremy intoned, while Trevor sported an extra large grin.

“Gentlemen, this is Miss Aldridge. She arrived late yesterday evening under Mr. Breeson’s protection. Miss Aldridge, might I present my brother Trevor Wellston and his companion, Jeremy Ingram.”

Ingram bowed again without comment, but Trevor said it all, “She is pretty. Just like you said, Marcus.”

Cashé blushed, but she teased, “You told your brother that I was pretty, Your Lordship?”

Marcus tightened his grip on her hand. “My brother has forgotten his manners,” he warned good-naturedly. “That is no way to greet a lady, Trevor.”

Trevor bowed obediently. “I am pleased for your acquaintance, Miss Aldridge.”

“Are you avoiding my question, Lord Yardley?” she taunted.

Marcus spontaneously brought the back of her hand to his lips. “You know what I think of your appearance, my Dear. Quit fishing for a compliment.”

Cashé’s laughter warmed his heart. “Yet, it was you, my Lord, who taught me to fish.”

“Very true.” He touched the tip of her nose with a gentle flick, before turning his attention to his brother. “Trevor, Miss Aldridge and I are riding to her Scottish home to settle a situation regarding her sister. I will return late tomorrow or the next day. You are not to worry.”

“Yes, Marcus.” Trevor shot a quick glance to Cashé. “Will Miss Aldridge be returning with you? You said that the lady previously lived in Scotland.”

Marcus pulled Cashé closer to him. “Miss Aldridge will return to Tweed Hall. It is my intention to make the lady part of our family. It is been too long since we have had a feminine touch in this house. Do you not agree?”

“Definitely. Miss Aldridge, you must marry Marcus. He has been a real grump of late,” Trevor shared.

Cashé smiled broadly at Trevor’s description of Marcus. “I would wish for nothing more than to be your new sister, Trevor.”

“A sister!” Trevor barked. “I did not think of that.”

Marcus interrupted. “We must leave for Edinburgh. Jeremy, you should continue Trevor’s lessons, as always. Come along, Cashémere. Our task needs completing before we can become a family.”

*

Charters guided the carriage into the stable overhang behind the small cottage, a quarter mile from his main house. As he had planned, dusk had covered his return. Before he secured the girl, he unharnessed the horses and set out oats. Then he retrieved the woman he would make his wife. “Come, gel,” he ordered, grabbing Satiné’s arm and pulling her across the seat where he might find a better hold.

Lifting her roughly, Charters carried her to the cottage. “Ye be stayin’ here for a few days until I apply for a license for us.” He dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed. “There be food and water on the table, a chamber pot in the corner, as well as more water so ye can wash yerself, and clean clothes behind the screen. I will not return until t’morrow.” He gently touched her face with his fingertips. “You cannot escape,” he told her. Charters draped two blankets over her. “It be colder here than in Manchester, but ye be knowin’ that already, Cashémere.” Then, closing and locking the door, he left her inside the little room.

Satiné opened her eyes, but everything spun before her, so she had closed them again. “Tomorrow,” she thought, unable to say the word aloud. She made herself breathe deeply. Despite all the craziness, she was alive, and someone would come for her. She had to believe it. For now, she just wanted to lie on this clean bed and sleep.

Later, she woke to complete darkness, but it was the room draped in black rather than her head. “Where am I?” she asked the emptiness. She searched her memory for what the man had told her. Allowing the moon to provide some light, Satiné forced her eyes to focus on her surroundings. She could make out a table and a chair close to the window, but little else. The room’s chill brought a shiver down her spine, and she groped for the blankets and wrapped herself tightly in a wool cocoon; yet, she did not close her eyes. When she could see better, she would venture from the bed. “Maybe there is a way out of this on my own.”

*

Marcus had led Cashé through a rough terrain far off the main road. He assured her that this route would save them at least twelve miles. Although it had required a slower journey, he had explained, “We will be in Leith by late afternoon, and we can canvass Charters’ household before we decide what to do.” Now, as Cashé followed him along a narrow path where three hills merged, she could not help but to enjoy the masculine form of his wide shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. “Do you need to rest?” he called over his shoulder, noting her distraction. But before she could answer, Marcus brought Khan to a halt and slid from the saddle to catch her horse’s bridle. “Easy, Boy,” he coaxed the gelding toward a nearby hedgerow. He looped the reins around a low branch and turned to assist her to the ground. “You are doing a magnificent job of handling Triton,” he told her. “Let us sit over under the tree.” As she gingerly took a few steps, she heard him snigger, but a deadly glare warned him not to say anything.

“How much further?” she asked as she lowered herself to the ground.

“Here, have a drink of this,” Marcus handed her a flask.

Cashé looked up at him. “What is it?”

“Brandy.” He smiled knowingly. “Little sips. It will warm you and numb you.” Cashé put the flask’s rim to her mouth and tilted the liquid toward her lips. When the brandy burned her throat, Marcus looked away when the tears formed in her eyes. Yet, he admired how she stifled her cough. “Stretch out your legs,” he had ordered. When she did, the earl began to massage her calves and thighs. Cashé took another sip of the drink and closed her eyes.

The combination of his hands on the inside of her legs and the hot liquid seeping down her throat had lured Cashé into a moment of desire. “Marcus,” she whispered, and he heard the shallowness of his breathing.

“Shush, Darling,” he rasped. He had started at her ankles and now worked the muscles on the inside of her thigh. The soreness had dripped away as he had caressed closer to her most private place. “Cashé,” he murmured when his fingers stroked her softness through the breeches.

The lighting shot through her as Marcus caressed her, and the heat from her chest lodged itself between her legs. Cashé opened her eyes to gaze into his desire-filled ones. “I love you,” she whispered as Marcus released the buttons of the placket and slid his hand into the tight quarters–his fingers stroking her wetness. When he pushed one finger into her opening, Cashé instinctively opened her legs further. His finger slid in and out as his thumb circled the nub at her apex. “Marcus,” she breathed his name but did not look away.

The earl’s chest rose and fell as she bucked, pushing herself into his hand.

“Let it happen, Darling,” he whispered. “It is ecstasy, and it is time you knew it.”

Cashé thrust forward again as he slid in a second finger. “Love me,” she begged.

“More than life,” he rasped, as he pinched her nipple through the loosely woven shirt. “I want to see you crackle with life; I want to see the desire in your eyes.” Then she broke: her body shivering with her first climax. She clawed at his arm as wave after wave coursed through her. Marcus ceased his manipulations as he gathered her into his arms. “You are so beautiful when you are in the throes of desire. Thank you for trusting me. When you are my wife, we will spend the first week as a couple in my bed.”

“Will we sleep, my Lord?” she asked dreamily.

Marcus chuckled. “Occasionally.”

“Sounds divine.” She snuggled closer. “Can we do that again sometime?”

Marcus found her mouth. “That and so much more.”

*

Having finally achieved the rendezvous point, Gabriel Crowden and John Swenton rode into the Sunset Inn’s yard. Hostlers scrambled to take their horses. “Let us see if the captain has arrived,” Swenton said as he dismounted.

“You go ahead; I will see to the horses.” Crowden led his own horse to the stable.

“Swenton.” Kerrington called, exiting the inn. “You made good time.”