As You Wish Page 19

  His gaze dropped to the mattress--on the one bed in the chamber. He glanced about, wondering where he could sleep. The two wooden chairs in the room looked hard and unsteady, useless for constructing any sort of pallet.

  “Not on one of those uncomfortable chairs--over here.” She patted the spot beside her.

  He hesitated. She looked so enticing, languishing on her side, her slim waist and the lush rise of her hip enhanced by the posture. Her lips curved in an encouraging smile.

  All at once, he recalled the discussion they’d had the night he brought her back to the gate house. She had hinted at a “future” society where unmarried adults might make love without socially ruinous consequences. Good Lord! Now, he lived in that world with her! Lady Isabella’s pairing them together for the night testified as much. The implications stirred his loins, set his heart racing. Dared he join her on the bed?

  “It’s all right, David.” Her smile faded into sober lines. “We’ve sat next to each other before.”

  And ended up in each other’s arms! He continued to balk, wondering how one conducted modern lovemaking. Should he tell her he loved her? He did love her, he realized, but in a world where unmarried couples cavorted freely, the sentiment might have become laughable. What exactly did she expect from him? Coming from this free society, she probably had experience in this arena--perhaps even more than he, considering all the years he’d spent in the military.

  Whatever the answers, his uncertainty didn’t unsettle him enough to decline her invitation. He stepped forward, gaze locked with hers. Gingerly, he sat down on the bed, leaving a prudent space of six inches between them. He didn’t have the audacity to lie back as she had.

  “Let me help you with your tie.” She sat up and unknotted his cravat, her fingers skimming the skin under his chin. His neck felt hot as she slid the long, narrow cloth out from his collar. “You smell good.”

  “I do?” His voice sounded husky to his own ears. She wasn’t naive, and she would know where his thoughts had strayed. Might she actually expect him to make love to her? He fought to slow the tightening in his groin. “I shouldn’t think so, after all of our traveling.”

  “That fresh spring water must have rinsed away the dirt of the road.” She leaned closer, her breath warm on his throat. “You don’t smell like that cologne you usually wear.”

  “I apologize--”

  “No, I like your natural scent.” She smiled and lowered her gaze, the first indication that she felt shy as well. When she reached to unbutton his collar, he detected a trembling in her touch. At least some of her boldness, he deduced, came only with an effort.

  “What do I smell like?” he murmured.

  She continued undoing his shirt, centering her gaze on his chest rather than meeting his eyes. “Like David Traymore--warm and brimming with life . . . an unpinned grenade about to explode.”

  He didn’t know what sort of grenade she meant, but, yes, he felt an explosion mounting within him. With each brush of her fingers, lower and lower on his torso, his body teetered into a more precarious state.

  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to look into her eyes. “Leah, I am not certain how to go about this . . .”

  “Oh, yes, you are.” Finished with his buttons, she focused her gaze on his mouth. She reached up and grazed a finger along his lower lip. “I know you’re perfectly certain what to do.”

  Her confidence convinced him he did. He slipped his hand up from her chin to cradle the side of her face. Her hair felt silky on his fingers, her cheek soft and warm against his palm. He leaned forward and touched her lips with his, savoring the taste of her, relishing the faint scent of rosewater that still lingered about her.

  He intended to bridle his passions, but he didn’t count on her hungry response. She returned his kiss with all the ardor he had meant to delay, kindling embers that burned deep in his body. Her lips parted, inviting him to meet the moist warmth of her tongue. He dipped into her mouth and withdrew to taste her lips, repeating and varying the motion like an ever-changing dance. She matched him at every move, their minds and bodies rapt in instinctive unison.

  “Let me help you undo your dress,” he whispered against her mouth. Still kissing her, he reached around and slid his hand across her shoulder blades. He found the tab he sought and pulled the zipping device downward. The ease of the task made him smile against her lips. “With these modern fasteners, you no longer need my help.”

  “I like having it, anyway.” She spoke softly, breathlessly. “Help me some more.”

  “My pleasure.” He gave up her mouth in order to look at her. Her hair hung free, flowing like claret to create a brilliant frame for her creamy complexion. One side of her dress had fallen to expose a perfect shoulder.

  He dropped his gaze to her decolletage, grazing her exposed collarbone with the backs of his fingers. As he slipped his hand under her loosened neckline, the draped fabric fell from her other shoulder.

  Modern undergarments left little unexposed, and he let his fingertips glide down the sides of her barely swathed breasts. Marveling at her graceful form, he ran his hands over the contours of her ribs and the yielding warmth of her slender belly. As he pushed her dress downward, he skimmed her firm thighs, then retraced a path up over her hips and waist.

  She reached back and undid her sparse bodice piece, the slackened garment revealing more of her luscious curves. He slid his hands up to savor the soft flesh, and the garment fell from her, unveiling her lovely breasts.

  With one last hard stare into her eyes, he slid his arms around her body and lowered her onto the mattress. He took one pink nipple in his mouth, the tender tip instantly pebbling against his tongue.

  She sucked in her breath and pulled him closer, digging her nails into his back. Intoxicated by her taste, her warmth, her scent, he lost himself in a swirl of sensation, devouring her like some sort of magical elixir laced with sugar, fortified brandy and rose petals.

  She wriggled beneath him, conforming to him snugly. He felt her fingers in his hair, tightening as her body flexed against his. She slid her hand down his jaw and lifted his face up so he looked at her.

  “Come up here,” she whispered.

  He lingered in parting with her breast then moved up to take her mouth again. She kissed him back, squeezing her hand between their bodies to unfasten his breeches. The binding fabric gave way, and he felt the dizzying warmth of her hand on his aching shaft.

  Spellbound, he deepened his kiss. She pressed her hips into his, the timeless movement blinding his mind with the demands of instinct. He had none of the patience he ought in order to make love to her properly. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Leah.” He moaned and pulled back to look into her eyes. “Leah, it feels like I have wanted you forever . . .”

  “Shhhh.” Her gaze bored into his eyes, and her breath came in puffs. Before he knew what she intended, she shimmied out of her strange connected stockings, then reached up to slide his shirt off his shoulders.

  Quick to join her, he kicked off his shoes and scrambled out of his breeches. With a hungry survey of her naked beauty, he swept her into his arms again and fell down on the mattress with her. She parted her legs, and he sank between her thighs, his entire body pounding with consciousness of the precipice they perched upon.

  “Kiss me, David,” she murmured.

  He stretched to take her lips again, keenly aware of the soft heat engulfing his loins at the core of her body. She squirmed to fit more snugly around him, and he pressed back, feasting on her mouth. She wriggled again and, with no thought or self-guidance, he felt himself dip inside of her.

  They both gasped. Staring hard into her wide eyes, he pushed into her, captivated by how slick and hot she felt. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back, pressing her hips upward to take him deep inside her. She wanted him, and the knowledge made him mad with hunger for her. He should have been careful, should have been considerate, but he could think only of gettin
g into her deeper, harder, till they became one in body and soul.

  He needn’t have concerned himself for Leah’s sake. Before he reached a critical state, she cried out and shuddered beneath him. Frenzied by her moans and the dizzying contractions of her body, he thrust deeper into her, quickly following her with his own shattering orgasm.

  He spilled his seed deep within her, holding her tightly. For that instant, nothing else mattered--nothing on earth, nothing throughout time--only that he and Leah had become one.

  When he could, he opened his eyes and saw that she watched him. Her face pinkened and dewy with perspiration, she looked radiant--like an angel or an enchantress. He wiped traces of tears from the corners of her eyes, longing to ask why she cried but preferring to make his own conclusion. He hoped her emotions had matched his own.

  He kissed her gently and lifted his body to lie beside her. She snuggled into his chest, and they lay in silent communion for some time. He wanted to tell her he loved her but didn’t know whether he would sound daft or antiquated. Instead, he kissed her hair, stroked her arms, wondering what the future held for them. Would she marry him? Did people still marry, given that sex out of wedlock was accepted? She had told him her parents had married, but only due to her own conception.

  So, an illegitimate child was still considered undesirable. His stomach turned over, ending his brief period of absolute contentment. A bastard was still unacceptable in this society. He would be unacceptable.

  “What is it, David?” Leah asked. “You’re all tense.”

  He tried to swallow the sour feeling but had no success. “Leah, how does your society view someone . . . someone born like me --out of wedlock?”

  “At a time like this, you’re worried about being illegitimate?” She hugged him. “No one’s going to know anything about your birth, anyway. We can’t very well tell people the truth.”

  “But you and I know the truth. And I don’t want to lie to others. I shall conceal what I have to, but I won’t pretend I am something other than what I am. I am a bastard now, as surely as I was in the nineteenth century.”

  “All right, if that’s the way you feel, but you still have no reason to worry. I’d say there’s pretty much no stigma attached to that label anymore.”

  “You’d ‘say’?” He frowned at her. “That sounds ambiguous. I suspect there is a stigma, Leah, or why would your parents have felt compelled to marry against their will?”

  She shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to face him. “That was more than a quarter-century ago, and my parents are sort of old-fashioned anyway.”

  “So your father does not look kindly upon bastards?”

  She grinned and shook her head. “I don’t think he cares either way.”

  “I disagree. If he married your mother to ensure your legitimacy, then he must care.”

  “I doubt that avoiding social stigma was his only concern. There are other reasons to bring a child up with two parents-- supportive reasons, both financially and emotionally. Besides, what do you care what my father thinks? You don’t have to answer to him.”

  Ah, but he did, if he wanted to marry the man’s daughter. But her statement made it clear she wasn’t thinking of marrying him--even after their soul-wrenching lovemaking. Her indifference dismayed him. He had her tonight, but he wanted her forever. How long would she want him?

  “Come here, David,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “You look so worried. Forget about my father.”

  “It is not so simple--”

  “Then let me make it simple.” She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him toward her, taking his mouth in a ravaging kiss. Her tongue captivated him, and the press of her body against his enthralled him.

  In short, her tactics worked. With her sensuality engulfing his whole being, he cared not one whit about her father--nor anything else but her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Something woke Leah up--a rapping sound of some sort. Blinking against the sunlight, she focused on David, still asleep beside her. She smiled and snuggled closer to him, forgetting the noise. He was here--in her bed. She knew it must be late, but she let her eyelids close. There was no reason to get up . . . ever.

  Someone tapped at the door--again, she realized.

  “Miss Cantrell?” a hoarse whisper penetrated the cracks. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss. Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back, lifting her head. Lady Isabella had probably sent a servant to get her lazy guests out of bed. But whoever it was had asked for her and not David. She wondered why. “Just a minute.”

  She tried to slip out of bed without disturbing David, but he felt her movement and stirred. He squinted in the sun, his hair stark black against the pillowcase. Sleeping had erased any remnant of his frequent frown. He looked around the room, probably trying to remember where he was.

  “Go back to sleep,” she murmured, smiling. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable and felt a tug of love so unrestrained it scared her. What would she do if the past took him back? Maybe if he simply avoided the spring . . . but she didn’t know whether he’d want to avoid it. If he wanted to return to the past, could she convince him to stay? Or could she go back with him? She thought she would, if it was the only way to be with him.

  A tap sounded again. “Miss Cantrell?”

  “I’m coming.” She leaned over and kissed the little black bristles that grazed his cheek. His skin felt hot on her lips, and he smelled familiar and comforting. He watched with a sleepy smile as she put on his shirt and cracked open the door.

  “Yes?” she asked a uniformed maid who fidgeted in the hall.

  The freckle-dusted young redhead wrung her hands. “Terribly sorry to wake you, miss, but your father’s on the telephone.”

  “My father?” She jerked the door open wider.

  “Yes, miss. The housekeeper told him you were still in bed, but he’s quite insistent on speaking to you.”

  A sick lump rose in her throat. “Did he . . . did he say why he’s calling?”

  The maid shook her head. “I don’t believe so, miss, but the matter seems urgent. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have disturbed you.” Her stomach lurched at the thought of several possible disasters at home--then she remembered Jeanine’s threat to call her parents. Of course. Jeanine had talked to her father. How else would he have known to call her at Solebury House?

  She looked back to see if David had been following the conversation. He’d propped himself up on his elbows, the familiar frown restored to his face. She guessed her own expression looked similar.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to him. “I have a good idea what this is about. I’ll be right back.”

  She pulled his shirt more tightly around her and ducked into the hall, closing the door behind her. The maid led her to a nearby alcove furnished with a chair, table and phone. The girl scurried away as Leah picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Leah!” her father’s voice boomed across the Atlantic. “What the hell’s going on over there?”

  She rolled her eyes and cleared her sleep-clouded vocal chords. “Why, I’m having a wonderful time, Daddy. What a surprise to hear from you. I guess Jeanine must have told you where to reach me. Did she tell you I’m enjoying England so much I’ve decided to spend my whole vacation here?”

  Maybe my whole life, she thought.

  “Enjoying England! Is that how you describe this stunt of yours? From what Jeanine says, England’s enjoying you--or at least one English punk is.”

  “Punk?” Despite her tension, she giggled. Her father apparently pictured her with one of the mohawked fashion plates that had haunted Piccadilly Circus in the eighties. “So you’re convinced I’m dating Sid Vicious?”

  “Very funny, Leah, but you’re not dating anyone. You’re acting like a lovesick teenager, clinging onto the first idiot who pays any attention to you.” Her father’s voice cracked. His anger must have run deeper than she’d expected. �
��Well, you better come to your senses fast, girl. What on earth are you thinking, staying behind in a foreign country all alone? Jeanine is worried sick about you!”

  Her brief amusement faded, replaced by annoyance. “There’s no reason for Jeanine–or you–to worry. I’m not alone and, for a foreign country, England isn’t very foreign. In fact, London reminded a lot of Philly.”

  “I don’t care what London reminded you of. You’re not even in London. You’re traipsing around the middle of . . . of wherever you are. I always knew you didn’t have much sense, but at least up till now you were never one for rebound romances. What a time to start! I can’t believe you trashed a whole vacation for some pasty-faced Englishman. Who is this jerk who has you making a fool of yourself?”

  “I’m not making a fool of myself--and I’m not on the rebound, either.” Her grip tightened on the receiver. Her father had a knack for filling her with self-doubt, but this time she knew her own mind. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been making some of the smartest decisions of my life.”

  “Wasting thousands of dollars worth of travel is smart? And shacking up with some fellow you just met?”

  “I’m staying with his family, Dad.”

  “As though you know them any better! Good God, Leah, they could all be ax murderers.”

  She held back a humorless laugh. “I don’t think so. They’re an old family--a lot more respectable than any I know at home. They’re even titled.”

  “So what does that mean--they’re rich? Is it their money that has you out of your senses?”

  “All of my senses are intact.” She felt heat rising under the collar of David’s shirt. “Anyway, the Traymores don’t have money.”

  “So you’re impressed by this title thing--or some other sort of English pomp. Whatever this new buddy of yours has, you’ll see it slip through your fingers quick enough. He doesn’t know you and can’t possibly care about you. He probably expected you to move on to Paris by now. Since you haven’t, he’ll get tired of you any day. Then you’ll come running home and subject your mother and me to a month’s worth of moping.”