A Most Delicate Pursuit (10 page)

Before she could think more about it, Michael began surprising her in ways she hadn't imagined. Easing her to her back, he set to work nibbling at her neck and then worked his way downward. Beautifully, thrillingly, and delightfully downward. Her breath caught in her throat when he pulled down the top of her bodice and exposed her breasts to the chilling midnight air. With calm deliverance, he set to work, suckling her left breast and then her right.

So caught up in the sensations, she moaned aloud and then felt him rumble against her. Part growl, part moan, setting off a riot of emotions within her.

“I'm going to make love to you now,” he told her, in a ragged, rough tone. “But know this, I won't hurt you. If there's something that you don't like, don't want, you must tell me. I will stop.”

“You will?” she asked, in awe, since she'd never heard of a man caring about a woman's feelings. “I don't understand.”

“I'd rather die than hurt you, Beatrice,” he told her, “because he hurt you, didn't he?”

Beatrice stopped and looked at him. Her soul had been exposed. “I thought that was how it was supposed to be,” she whispered, not able to gather enough air to speak in a normal voice.

“No, my sweet. Not at all. A good man, a good lover, will only care for his partner first. And while it can be uncomfortable the first time, it needn't be a terrible experience.”

“Oh,” was all Beatrice managed to say.

That was when she saw it, the emotion well up in his eye as he looked into hers, seeking her own true center. “May I make love to you, Beatrice?”

Shocked by his question and at the same time understanding the rightness of it, she nodded. In that moment, she knew that her instincts had been right. Her heart had known instantly what sort of man Michael was.

When he touched her, her thoughts suddenly went silent and her body awakened. He was kissing her, first on the mouth, but it was different than the kisses they'd shared before. His mouth was firm, sure, and determined, but more than that: he had a confidence in that kiss. And when she kissed him with as much intent, her body responded in a most unusual way.

A hard spike of desire went through her. Suddenly hot and wanting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down against her. In spite of his rigid muscle and bone, he folded around her like a blanket. Her body set on fire, she wanted more, but she wasn't exactly sure what “more” was.

“Easy,” he muttered against her, pulling up her gown, and now without her shift, the cold air bit at her. She swore she could feel the steam between them. Anxious to find out what would happen next, she grabbed for his belt and started tugging at his breeches.

“I want you,” she gasped when he slid his hand up her thigh to massage between her legs.

“I know, my dear, but it's best if we take our time.”

Before she could answer him, he set about kissing her again, this time on the inside of her knees, trailing kisses up her thigh almost to her center, and then blowing a warm moist breath that sent her arousal into a dervish.

“Michael,” she gasped, twisting her body, pushing her center toward him. “Please…”

He laughed then, a sound of both pleasure and desire, and returned to his work. Without warning, after he'd given due attention to her other leg, he then moved upward, kissing and nipping the tender flesh of her belly, working his mouth downward until at last he hovered over her center.

“I'm going to kiss you now,” he told her, in a rough, throaty tone.

Then he touched her, gently kissing her in the most scandalous place of all. Her body responded, a flood of sensations exploding within her.

“Oh,” she moaned, her body writhing uncontrollably, a tension she'd never felt before twisting inside her. Just when she was sure she could take no more of his sensual attack, he pulled back.

“I will be careful. The last thing a new governess needs is to be carrying a child.”

She let out a breath. “Of course,” she bit out, doing her best to remain patient, although that was the very last thing she wanted to be at that moment.

He nodded and moved up to stretch over her. Slipping his arm beneath her bottom while he held himself above her, he thrust his hips forward, and before she realized what he was doing, he was inside her. Filling her. One with her.

Two things burst into her mind at the same time. First was how nicely they fit together, and second, there'd been no pain. Though she'd tried to prepare herself, to weather the pain as she'd done before, there simply was none. And with his touch, with his joining, Beatrice knew that their being together had been beyond right.

It had been fate.

In the space of a breath, all thought left her. He began rocking back and forth, in and out, thrusting to a rhythm that her body quickly learned, and before she knew it, they were man and woman in perfect unison. Never had she expected such a wonderful thing was possible. When their passion had built to its highest pinnacle she felt him separate from her. He was doing as he'd promised—there would be no child from this joining. To her surprise, it didn't matter that he was no longer sheathed inside her because when he merely pressed his body against her, red-hot desire shot through her. She hoped he'd felt it as well, because a second later, she plummeted into unimaginable bliss.

Michael didn't know how long they'd lain there. The night had fully fallen and the nip that had been in the air had changed into near freezing. Though he'd bundled her in his jacket, and she now dozed, he knew he'd need to get them both indoors soon or they'd freeze.

He did his best to keep from arousing her fully, but when he gently slid aside, she stirred beside him.

“Cold,” she muttered, rolling toward him.

He smiled. “It is, indeed.” Getting to his knees, he gently lifted her.

“Wait,” she said, “your wound…”

He feigned indignation. “You think I'm so weak that I can't even lift a featherweight such as you? You barely weigh more than a bag of wheat.”

With that, he scooped her up in his arms. In spite of his intentions, however, pain shot through his shoulder and into his chest. Stubborn man that he was, he wasn't about to let a little discomfort keep him from his gallantry. Sweat broke out on his face, and the distance to the cottage seemed to have doubled.

“For Heaven's sake,” Beatrice muttered, clearly not happy with his attempt. “You'll set yourself to bleeding again.” She twisted sideways and slipped out of his arms to stand before him.

“But,” he began but stopped instantly when he saw the very-much-in-charge expression she wore. “Very well. At least allow me to escort you.”

“More like I'll be holding you up.” She giggled as she took his arm.

Michael decided not to press the point. They needed to set off at first light, and since it was a day and a half's walk to Slyddon, he'd best reserve his strength. Knowing Beatrice, if he fell, she'd be the one carrying him to safety. He doubted his manly pride could withstand such an embarrassment as that.

Once they were back in the cabin, he went to work stoking the fire and watching Beatrice prepare their bed. She flattened out the makeshift cot and spread the blankets so that the straw wouldn't be stabbing him in the back. A very thoughtful woman, indeed.

Though she said little, he suspected Beatrice's mind was working furiously as she labored. What must she think of him now? Did she even contemplate changing her plans and accepting his suit? Was it possible that by one simple night of passion he had convinced her to come to her senses?

He doubted it. Not that he'd not been an attentive and enjoyable lover. Beatrice's responses to his lovemaking had been evidence of that. And perhaps any other woman would fall to his feet, but he knew her better. Beatrice was not a woman to lose her head over any man.

Well, she had relented once, as she'd told him. And judging how that affair ended badly for her, he doubted she would leave her heart so unguarded ever again.

As seemed to be his lot in life. He was still picking up the pieces of women's wounded hearts and then failing to help them heal. It would be too easy to loathe every man alive, were it not for his own sense of honor and the knowledge that he knew at least three others who would never treat a woman in such a deplorable way.

“Come to bed,” she said and patted the cot's surface invitingly.

He couldn't help grinning, wriggling his eyebrows at her. “Why, Miss Hawkins, what are you proposing?” It was a poor leer at best, but considering his present condition and their rough accommodations, it would have to suffice.

“Going to be like that, is it?”

He stopped at that. “What do you mean? I was only teasing you.”

She shook her head. “I am most grateful for…um, what happened earlier.”

“Grateful?” Suddenly, his shoulder wasn't the only thing that was stinging. “What are you saying?”

She stepped back at that, batting her eyes at him, looking to be on the edge of tears. Then, crossing her arms, he watched her stiffen her spine and put her chin up.

“I'm sorry if you misunderstood, Michael.” She let out a breath and turned away from him. “What I mean to say is, thank you.”

“Thank you?” He moved to stand behind her. Then, placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around and lifted her chin so that they were facing eye to eye.

She nodded. “Yes. You're a kind and generous lover, but I never meant for it to be anything more than the one time.”

He stared into her eyes, searching for some hint that she might be lying. Her beautiful clear, green eyes were wide and unapologetic.

“I see.” For a moment, he could say no more. Her cut went straight through to the bone.

He knew it was not a mean-spirited refusal, nor personal in the least. But still, it stabbed at him. Beatrice was the last person he'd ever thought would be impervious to his charms, especially in the bedroom.

Doing his best to hide his wounded psyche, he nodded and then returned to preparing for their trip.

“Michael,” she said behind him.

“Hmmm?” He did not turn to look at her. He knew well he was not as good as most when it came to disguising one's true feelings. Ash had often told him that he would be the last person to be interrogated, since he wore his thoughts on his expression much like a stage actress wore her face paints. Bold, for all to see.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,” she told him. “I do care for you.”

He knew she wouldn't relent until he convinced her all was as it should be. “As I do for you,” he told her, trying to mimic a nonchalant tone.

He turned then to smile at her and saw in her eyes that she was concerned. Well, that was an honest emotion he could understand. “You thought I was serious about my suggestion that we engage in more bed sport? Rest your mind, my dear. Every man worth his salt would do the same when he's cooped up with a beautiful woman.”

“Oh,” she said, hesitating. “It was a very enjoyable tryst. You are a most skillful lover.”

“Am I? Well, glad to oblige.”

Michael did his best to keep the edge from his voice. Truly, Beatrice was going to be more of a challenge to woo than he'd first thought. He'd have to somehow improve his lovemaking skills. But that would not be enough. He had to find the secret of Beatrice. What it was that had kept her from wanting love in her life for so long.

And, while he might need to sharpen other bows in his quiver, one thing Michael was most good at was unraveling a mystery.

Her cheeks colored at his cheerful statement. “Thank you. For that, and everything,” she said, now clearly choosing her words carefully.

“You're welcome. We need to get a few hours of sleep before we set off. I think I need to start keeping watch out, just in case. You take the cot.”

He motioned to the bed she'd prepared and she looked at it and then back at him.

“You're still wounded, I can sleep just as well on the floor.”

Somehow her discomfort was heartening. “I will be fine.”

With that he grabbed one of the blankets and settled himself near the cabin door. It really was no bother. He'd spent many a night grabbing sleep where he could when he'd been in the army. A few hours before dawn would hardly be a discomfort to him. Besides, it would give him time to think. No matter what the outcome, he would court Beatrice as she'd never been courted before. When he came to set his mind on something, Michael would not relent. Though he would never force a woman against her will, to his bed or otherwise, he most certainly would save Beatrice from the machinations of Bainbridge, or any of his ilk. Michael was a most determined man, after all.

Beatrice didn't realize she'd been sleeping until she'd awoken from a dozing state. She had to admit, her mind was as full of uncomfortable thoughts as the cot was full of spindly dry straw.

Two things stuck in her mind. First was the flash of hurt she'd seen in Michael's eye when she'd refused further attentions. And the second, when he'd given her his most charming, devilish grin and told her it didn't matter.

Bea didn't know which had been worse, the fact that he'd dismissed her so easily or that it was all a lie. Of all the people she'd met since Caro had dragged her into proper society, Michael was the one she'd come to know first and felt she knew the best.

But here, in the wilderness, running from danger and being just out of reach of her plans, Michael had become someone she'd never met before. A stranger.

By the time she'd dozed off, she'd decided one thing. That, no matter what, by the time they said their last goodbye, she would know him better.

“It's time to go.”

Bea opened her eyes and saw Michael standing over her. The sunlight was just starting to stream in behind him, and for some reason he looked different. Of course, there were the physical changes. He now had a scruff of beard that looked so appealing, she wanted more than anything to feel its rough texture against her skin. And, with his shirt only loosely buttoned, she saw the hint of muscles that she remembered touching, feeling against her only hours before.

A sudden rush of desire went through her. Though she tried to deny it, she ached for him in a way she'd never known. Her skin tingled, still remembering his touch where his kisses warmed every bit of her.

“Yes. Of course,” she said, rising from the cot of misery. But movement caused an entirely new type of torture. She gasped when her body protested.

“Beatrice?” Michael asked, instantly beside her.

“Um, I'm fine,” she breathed. The truth was, she wasn't fine. She was far from it, in fact. But, as much as she knew she'd pay dearly for her night of passion, she could never let him know that he'd affected her so.

Grinning, he nodded. “Good. We've a long walk ahead of us.”

“What about the horse?”

“I set him loose this morning. I don't want to take a chance injuring him. Most likely, he's found a fine green pasture to fill his belly. When we reach Slyddon, I'll send one of the groomsmen for him.”

“Oh.” Of course he would see to the animal's welfare.

He sent her a questioning expression. “You don't approve?”

“I'm glad the animal will be cared for.”

“Good. I've fetched some fresh water and set a new fire in the hearth. We'll be feasting on a few more plover eggs and some catch of the day.” He pointed out the door to show his accomplishments.

“You've been busy,” she said, feeling all the worse for letting an injured man care for her. “But you needn't have bothered. I'm sure once we get to the lodge there'll be plenty of food.”

“You're not hungry? Because after last night, I thought…”

She spun on him. “You thought what? That our late-night activity left me weak and starving?”

He narrowed his eye. “I thought that you might enjoy a bit of breakfast before we start out. Thankfully, your brother-in-law keeps the streams well stocked and I rarely get to go fishing. It's one of my favorite sports, you know. I beg your pardon for whatever transgression you think I'm guilty of.”

With that he turned and made his way back to the hearth, stirring the flames and placing food on the fry pan.

Bea instantly felt terrible, snapping at him. She followed him across the cabin. “I'm sorry, I just thought that you shouldn't be laboring on my account.”

“I was doing no such thing,” he said, breaking the eggs and placing the fish on the skillet beside them. “It's morning, I was hungry and I thought it would be polite to share my meal with you.”

“Of course. I don't know why I'm being such a ninny,” she said.

He smiled. “I do.”

“You do? What do you mean?”

“You're exhausted. Since our flight for our lives, you've had to care for an injured man, procure food and shelter, and sleep on a cot that obviously is the worst excuse for a bed that exists.”

“You think so, too?”

“I slept on it two nights before you.” He grinned. “Now, grab a plate and we shall feast. I've packed enough for us to have a light lunch by dinner. It's a day and a half walk, but if we hurry and the terrain has dried out, we might reach the lodge sometime after breakfast tomorrow.”

Bea nodded and retrieved a plate from the cupboard. “You know, with a little work, this could be a nice little cottage. Some glass in the windows, a bit more thatch on the roof, and a real floor…”

“Perish the thought, madam,” Michael grumbled behind her. “You shan't change a thing here.”

“Really? You prefer it this way?”

He laughed. “This is a hunter's cabin, miss. A place of refuge from the fripperies of civilization. To change it would rip the heart out of every man in the region.”

Beatrice laughed. “We wouldn't want to do that, then.”

“Thank you. Although it might be a good idea to at least fix the roof…”

“And the floors. It would make it much warmer in here.”

“Very well, then, the roof and the floors, but no fancy wall hangings or draperies. That will not be tolerated.”

Ten minutes later, after she'd eaten her breakfast, Bea walked out to the stream to wash her face and freshen her clothes. Though she felt like well-worn shoe leather, it wasn't really a bad feeling. In fact, the water looked so inviting, almost beckoning her to step in. Removing her shoes and stockings, she picked up her skirt and dipped her left foot into the water.

It wasn't the biting cold she expected, but chilly enough. One might not know it, but Bea had always been a bit of an adventurer and had many times enjoyed swimming when the bite of winter was still in the air.

Glancing around, she made sure Michael was nowhere in sight. A good, bracing swim would be heavenly, she thought. Quickly stripping off the remnants of her gown, corset, and shift, she hung them on the branch of a nearby bush. Shivering, she walked back to the water's edge. Just thinking about it brought back memories of Caro and her as children. Her much more reserved older sister would first dip in a toe and then inch in, little by little, until she finally was fully immersed.