Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (27 page)

“Your relatives and fairy friends, come to pay a call?”

She grinned and ducked her head.

He sat on the ground, his back against a tree, and reached for her hand to help her down. “It’s been so long since I’ve sat out on a summer’s night just to enjoy it. Will you join me?”

She lost her balance and giggled as she landed in his lap.

“Ooof! You are remarkably solid for a being of grace and light.” He encircled her waist with one strong arm while wrapping the other around her shoulders and pulling her down into his warmth.

She settled back against his chest. This beautiful night there was no other place in the world she would rather be. “It almost seems as if they are talking to each other,” she said, breathless.

“They are. I used to sit out at night to watch them as a boy. We used to call them living lamps, or country comets. This is the time of year they go looking for a mate.”

“It’s fantastical. Almost magical, don’t you think? A creature that makes its own light!”

“Yes, elf. Much like you do. A rare and wondrous creature indeed.”

He nuzzled her throat, and when she made no objection, he trailed sweet hot kisses along the curve of her neck and jaw. She moaned when he nibbled the sensitive skin behind her ear and her mouth parted when he caught her bottom lip, caressing it with his thumb. He lowered his mouth, stopping a breath away from hers. She snuggled tight against him, reaching her arms around his neck and he pulled her closer still.

His knuckles grazed her cheekbone and he cupped her jaw. His mouth brushed hers in a feather-light kiss and a low growl escaped him as he tasted her lips. She smelled like sunshine and summer, and her lips were sweet as strawberries. He hugged her, enjoying the feel of her in his arms as she squirmed against him. His shaft was stiff and swollen, wedged between her buttocks with nothing but a few thin layers of linen and silk between them. Every time she shifted, every time she squirmed or wriggled, every move she made was an exquisite agony that set his teeth on edge.

He tugged at her ribbon, freeing her hair so it tumbled about her shoulders in a wild cascade. Spreading his fingers through it, he claimed her in a devouring kiss. She could feel him, hard and insistent beneath her, pressing against her bottom, teasing the warm juncture between her thighs. Alive with sensation she arched against him, unable to stop a moan of excitement as his tongue found hers, exploring her mouth in an unhurried teasing dance. She sighed against him as an exquisite fire began to burn.

Insistent hands roamed the contours of her dress, stroking and squeezing, exploring every curve. A gasp escaped her when his fingers brushed the pebbled peaks that thrust against the thin material of her bodice. She turned into his arms with an incoherent cry, reaching under his shirt and tugging it open to slide her hand along his heated skin, reveling in the play of skin and muscle beneath her open palm. Never had a man stirred her like this, with nothing more than a touch and a kiss. Never had a man taken such care.

Groaning, he eased her from his aching lap before she made him spend like an untried youth. She whimpered as he lay her down in the bed of moss and violets carpeting the earth beneath the tree. Silencing her murmured protest with a lush kiss, he covered her body with his own. “I have long wanted to kiss you just like this, in a bed of flowers under the stars,” he said in a husky whisper. “I’ve wanted it ever since I saw you dancing barefoot in the park. Even when we argued, when we were angry and not speaking, I couldn’t get that picture from my mind.”

As he spoke, his finger traced a path along her décolletage. Her breath caught in her throat. She closed he eyes and shivered and as her breasts swelled and hardened she thrust them upward, begging his attention. Her nipples strained against soft linen, but it failed to give her the release she sought. She swallowed, watching mesmerized as he drew the tip of his finger down the front of her bodice, gently tugging clasps and ribbons.

“Please, Robert, don’t tease me.”

“But you’re like a pretty package, just waiting to be opened. Waiting and teasing are half the fun.” He meant what he said. Surely, a man should take his time to savor his lover or wife. When he took her, he wanted her as wild for him as he was for her. Still, a gentleman didn’t leave his woman wanting. With a wicked smile, he unhooked the clasps of her gown.

Hope felt his gaze like a sensuous caress. Her body felt tender, excited, aching, and her heart beat madly as his finger gently circled her rigid tips. Bolts of pleasure pulsed through her body when he plumped a breast and drew a nipple into his mouth. His teeth bit gently as he teased and nibbled, and stroked her through her soaking chemise with his hot wet tongue. She moaned and clutched his hair, riding wild sensations that traveled through nerve and skin and sinew to throb at her core.

Entwining one hand in a mass of lustrous curls, he returned his lips to hers, plundering her mouth with lips and tongue as his free hand continued to pinch and fondle until she cried out her pleasure, and then he kissed her some more. They kissed and cuddled through the night, slow and tender, fierce and demanding, playful and teasing, and he brought her to pleasure two times more.

He fell asleep just before dawn, his head resting on her breast, next to her heart. She stroked his hair and bent to kiss the thin white scar that creased his cheek, barely visible beneath his morning’s growth of beard. One lone star remained in the sky. It didn’t sparkle. It glowed. Wisps of mist drifted through the trees, lingering like the last river spirits of the night. She glowed, too, still enraptured by sweet sensation, though all they’d done was little more than kiss. Last night was a first. A dangerous and delightful new experience. She had been auctioned off, bargained with and paid for…but she had never been wooed before. She felt as if something deep inside her was melting. Not just in her body...but in her soul.

For the first time in her life, Hope was truly in love. Not almost in love or half in love or maybe in love—but deeply, madly hopelessly in love, and it both thrilled and terrified her. She’d seen it before. It was much like a sickness. It left its victims trembling and broken. Where once they were happy, now they were but shades of themselves—pining, unhappy and insecure. She could count the happy couples she knew on one hand. She had yet to meet a man who could be trusted completely, and Charles had been bad enough. She couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be to truly love a man and then be betrayed.

But the captain had the trust of his men and servants—people who’d known him for much of his life. Attractive as he was, he was no womanizer, and he had shown honor regarding her funds. His word meant something, even when given to a woman. He paid attention, took notice, made her feel valued. He wooed her where there was no need. Could he be different? She fervently hoped so, because it was too late to go back now. He’d pierced her guard and found her heart and she was thoroughly enjoying being courted.

He took her along with him to visit the village and see the extent of their lands. He even called them that, as if they were hers, too. He came fishing with her, and today he indulged her when she asked him to teach her how to use a sword. It was a very warm day. He’d removed his shirt and she feasted her eyes on his naked torso.

“You must keep your body balanced so you can strike or parry without being hit. Proper footing is the key.” He circled her, regarding her critically. She was wielding a light rapier and dressed in boys’ clothes. He came to stand behind her, making adjustments to her arms and shoulders and setting her feet by sliding his hands down her legs.

“There. Much better.” He nodded his approval. “The more of your foot planted flat on the ground, the greater your strength when attacking. Slide your feet rather than lifting them and you will be hard to knock off balance. Keeping your posture straight and your chest facing forward will keep you stable as you make your swing.”

He placed a hand on her bottom, pushing to straighten her posture. She glared at him though narrowed eyes when he gave it a firm squeeze. He leaned over her shoulder, his breath feathering the hair on the nape of her neck, his hands brushing the outer curves of her breasts as he set her arms and shoulders. Then he slid his hands from thigh to ankle to set her feet.

“So many mistakes. One wonders if it’s wise to place pointy objects in your hands.”

“I am a fumble-foot,” she said. “I expect I shall need lots and lots of practice. Could I ever win a fight? Against someone like you?” He voice was suddenly serious.

“No, love. I am stronger, faster and have greater speed. I’ve had a sword in my hand since I could walk and…in my younger days I had a great deal of dedication. Against someone like me, you need cunning and guile. A smart fighter is aware of his surroundings at all times. It’s better the sun is in your opponent’s eyes than yours, for example. Everyone has a weakness. Most opponents will underestimate you, which can be used to your advantage. You don’t try to best someone like me. You use your surroundings and watch for weakness and when the moment is right, you escape. Besides violet eyes and a saucy bottom, what do you think is my weakness?”

“Your size?”

“How? My reach is longer and I’m very fast.”

“Would it make you tire quicker?”

“Smart girl! If I didn’t practice every day it might.” He chuckled and ruffled her hair. “So your best move is a good defense, sliding from side to side until your opponent tires.”

“But what if I just wanted to show off? To impress other ladies?”

“Ah! A dilettante I see. Come. I will show you some attack positions and some very pretty flourishes.”

Watching his muscles flex and his body move with fluid power as she stood but feet away caused a fluttering feeling inside her that didn’t help her concentration. She licked her lips as he whirled his blade, jumping high off the ground and twisting. He landed on one knee with his sword thrust into an invisible body. His sandy hair, almost blond from the sun, hung loose about bronzed shoulders, and his stomach rippled with muscle as, tossing and catching and twirling the sword, he strode toward her.
Dear Lord, how I want him.

“Enough practice for today?” His eyes watched her with amusement.

He was showing off for me!
She grinned her appreciation
.
“Yes, thank you, Robert.”

~

Her cheeks dimpled when she laughed, which was something she did a lot, and her eyes sparked with mischief. But it was the seductive sway of her hips and the tight fit of her breeches as she walked away that made him decide he ought to give her lessons every day.

Hope didn’t see her husband at dinner. He had gone to the village with Sergeant Oakes to discuss building a bridge and a new road. It would provide employment to some of those whose fortunes had suffered because of the war. She didn’t doubt it was true, but she knew he had other reasons, too. She knew he had men watching the roads from London, and she’d seen suspiciously well-armed laborers with spyglasses tramping the fields and hills. She also had the feeling when she saw him practice that he was preparing for something that lay ahead.
The enemy from London?
There was so much about him she didn’t know. She knew what she wanted, though, and she had waited long enough.

That night she waited for him in a blue silk bedgown as she amused herself with Daisy in the upper hall.

His eyes smoldered when he saw her. “I have seen that look before, madam. You are bent on seduction.”

“And shall I succeed?” She held out her hand. He took it and she pulled him down the hall and through her door.

~

Robert slipped into her room with no hesitation. The day he met Hope his life had changed and even if he could, he wouldn’t change it back. She was warmth and light and laughter, and they had been absent his life for far too long.

~

Hope sat on her bed, her heart racing, as he pulled off his boots and stretched out alongside her, his head resting on his bent arm. He tugged lightly at the loose curls that tumbled down her back, and then he tugged at the shoulder of her gown. With a sibilant sigh, the silky garment slipped off her shoulders to pool around her waist. He caught her wrist and pulled gently, and with a soft moan, she slid into his waiting arms.

Covering his throat and jaw with steamy kisses, she worked at his shirt until she pulled it free. She trailed her fingers across his rib cage, pressing her palm against his heartbeat, then lightly brushed his waist and hip and bent to kiss his belly. Groaning and twisting he arched against her as her fingernails grazed the front of his breeches. She spread her hand wide, cupping his straining erection, and gave a tight squeeze.

“Christ! Sweetheart,” he moaned, jerking against her as his hand joined with hers, hurrying to undo his buttons.

“No,” she whispered, flicking his ear with her tongue. “Lay still, sweet Robert, and let your dutiful wife help you out of your clothes.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath as she plucked at his buttons one by one, fiddling and tugging, pulling them this way and that as his helpless erection jumped to her touch. He gritted his teeth as she loosed the last button. Night air swept his skin like a soft caress. She pulled roughly at his breeches and he raised his hips to help her, cursing in a mixture of pleasure and frustration as his shaft swelled from base to tip.

She captured its waiving tip between her fingers and his eyes flamed with passion as she teased him with her tongue. “Oh, God,” he gasped with a weak chuckle, catching the reflection above him and lying back on the bed.

Watching in the mirror, he combed his fingers through her hair, spreading it out like a dark curtain. Her slim back was arched and the firm buttocks he’d so admired in her tight breeches were on deliciously rounded display. His fascination was brief though. Watching in the mirror seemed to put things at a distance and he was beginning to feel dizzy again.