Argent (Hundred Days Series Book 3) (20 page)

They were only being driven out of doors today by a heat which not even a stout ocean breeze could chase from the cottage.

              “I need a bath,” Alexandra murmured into her pillow, sprawled over the mattress. Spencer sat next to her and traced the nude the lines of her body with his eyes. She looked no more eager to move than he was for her to do so. But it was sweltering, and Spencer admitted that after two days of near crippling exertion some sort of ablution was in order. That realization had planted an idea. “Bring your shift,” he instructed. “And a wrapper if you have it.”

              “I do,” she smiled, brow arched in a question.

              “Then get them,” he said, lacing his fingers through a handful of wild black locks, forcing her lips apart with his tongue. She matched him blow for blow until it took real effort to sit up. “And be hasty about it.”

              A swat to her backside earned a half-hearted glare. He dodged her blow just in time, blocking it with a clean shirt.

              “Do I have to wear them, or get them?” Alexandra tossed over her shoulder.

              “We're entirely alone, so I'll leave that to you, madam. If you're asking for my preference...”

              She turned and faced him, pressing a rumpled shift ineffectually over her nakedness. “In fact, I am.” She began to lower her cover.

              “No.” He backed away, a whole step outside the bedroom door. “At ease, Alexandra. A quarter of an hour. Just … Bite your tongue that long. Keep hands to yourself.”

              One step, then another, she closed the distance relentlessly. “What's a quarter of an hour now, or later?”

              “No, Alexandra.”
Yes
, his body insisted.

              “Spencer...” She lowered the shift, dropped it on the bed.

              He swallowed, restraint slipping like sand through his fingers. “I'll be downstairs.”

              He took the steps two at a time, considering whether he'd made a mistake. Alexandra was a monster of his own making, and he wondered if he'd survive her.

When she joined him outside, he was disappointed to see that she hadn't made good on her threat. She was close, however. She carried a chemise in-hand and was swallowed by a white muslin wrapper stitched with tiny lavender sprigs. Sunlight caught its loose folds and silhouetted curves beneath.

              He coughed and kept his gaze to her face. “A rather short walk just grew a bit farther.”

              Staring at the ground, she smiled and didn't meet his eyes. “Where to?”

              A breeze tousled her hair, sweeping it across flushed cheeks. She was so beautiful; he couldn't take enough of her in, touch her enough, breathe her enough. Spencer reached to brush strands from her face, burning at the barest contact.

He took her hand, walking side-by-side with Alexandra in silence until they reached the barn. Bryn pranced, eager beneath his canvas duffle, and Alix ran a hand over the horse's dappled coat. “Sending me home already?” she teased.

              “It had crossed my mind.” He tried to hide a flat tone at her mention of home. How could they go back? Seeing one another two or three times over a week – they could never dare more. Minding their looks, their conversation, hiding their feelings. Spencer felt the first pangs of frustration strain his ribs.

              Not now. He wouldn't let that spoil their day. Taking Bryn’s reins in one hand and Alexandra's fingers in the other, he started them off inland.

*              *              *

              The walk took longer than a quarter hour, but Alix didn’t mind. Aching hips and tender thighs slowed her pace. Heat burning down from above made her lazy. A languid slackness in her muscles battled the grip of high grass, and she was in no hurry to be anywhere except with Spencer.

              They gained the top of a third and final slope that stretched past the house, coming even with the world above. Green in lush shades rolled out as far as the eye could see, interrupted only now and then by sharp gray cliffs cutting the landscape like stone blades. It was less arid here, tangled and wild. Hesitant trees formed arching copses, out of reach from all but the worst ocean gales. Roses of a variety she had never seen sweetened a light breeze that swept over them, and their thick fuchsia blossoms formed hardy clusters of velvet that carpeted the grove.

              Spencer led them between the proud arms of two wide oaks and down a low hill into a flat meadow. A mirror pond kissed its stony edge and caught the reflection of ruined stone arches on the opposite bank. Just when she thought she had seen all the land had to offer, Alix was astounded once more.              

Spencer stopped, dropped Bryn’s reins, and hauled a pack down from her saddle. “Ready?” he asked, grinning.

              “For?” For him to lay her under the trees, kiss her?

              He jerked his head at the water. “Let's go in.”

              “Oh.
Oh
.” The idea of cool water on her skin sounded heavenly. She unfolded her shift.

Spencer's fingers on her wrist halted the process. “What are you about?”

              She grasped a fistful of muslin. “Putting it on. Going in?”

              “
That
is for after.” He pulled the shift away and tossed it on top of his bag. A finger hooked her belt, snapped free its loop. Hands slid inside her wrapper, cupping her shoulders and gathering it down her back. “And so is this.”

              What was she doing? She'd traveled to the borderlands alone; that was scandal enough. Then alone with a man she adored for the express purpose of making love. Naked in the heath for anyone to see. What was next? She’d suffered moral erosion in a matter of days. Alix dropped her clothes, satisfied with where impropriety had led her thus far.

              She turned to find his eyes on her, and a warm flush ran through her body. She lived for the way Spencer was looking at her now, his silent regard more flattering than any compliment.

              “Go in,” he rasped, swallowing hard. “It's shallow, just there by the stones. I'll join you soon enough.”

              It took effort, not wrapping arms over her body as she crossed to the pond under his gaze.

At first the water was comfortable where she dipped her toe at the edge. Not very deep and undisturbed all day, it had been warmed by the sun. Two steps in, a brisk current bit at her knees. Goose flesh prickled her limbs, and she welcomed it. Wading in up to her hips, she shivered.

              “Frozen yet?” Stripped down to only his breeches, Spencer watched her from the bank. His scars stood out in the daylight, a patchwork map drawn over taut muscles. Alix wondered at the story of each and how he would take her asking. She met his eyes again. “Come in and find out.”

              He set to work removing his pants. She didn't look away this time. Two days had taught her the shape of him, head to toe. Shyness washed away on a tide of anticipation, and she studied him until he was bare.

              When he reached her, Spencer trailed damp fingers over her breast, gripped her backside and pulled her close. “Better than being shut inside now, isn't it?”

              She slid a hand beneath the water and along his thigh, pressing just so at crisp hair in a way she'd discovered always made him gasp. “Mm. I'm still undecided.”

              “I can make up your mind.” He waded past, raised his arms and dove, gliding through deeper water to the pond’s center. Long, confident strokes pushed him out beyond the middle of the pond, and Alix realized she had better get started if she were going to keep up.

              Spencer was already out of the water when she reached the far shore, knees to chest, skin glinting like wet bronze in the light. She stopped short in the deeper water, flipping onto her back and floating out of his reach. “I would wager you've done this before.”

“Swimming?”

              “No.” She fanned fingers through the green water, drifting closer. “Wandering about like it’s the garden of Eden.”

              She caught his laughter over her gentle splashing. “Never once, if you can believe it. Not out of doors, anyhow. Runs contrary to a soldier's every instinct.”

              It was just for her. The information shivered through her, concluding as a sweet ache low in her belly. She pulled herself from the water and Spencer stood up. He ducked beneath a medieval arch and she followed, smooth bits of marble digging at her heels as the warm sun dried her skin.

              Spencer stopped, and his broad hands circled her waist. He lifted, laying her back on an old stone pediment. Hot stone seared her back, wicking the dampness from her skin. The backs of her knees burned where they hung against the block's side.

              “Here? I don't think we --”

              Spencer's palms smacked the stone above her shoulders, saying plainly that he didn't care if they should or not. Alix wriggled under his weight, lost to the pleasure of the moment.

              He fanned her wet hair, chin scrubbing at her neck while his lips went to work beneath her ear. It was a dirty tactic, something he had used against her countless times since he’d discovered its effectiveness. And it worked. She gave him credit for being a good soldier, employing tried and true methods to win her.

              “I have to wonder,” he breathed against her throat.

              “Mmm.”

              “How no man has ever caught your eye.”

She thought back for a moment. “There have been one or two.” Edward. Chas’s friend David, a dashing lieutenant. “A French captain,” she murmured out loud, Spencer's tongue muddying her thoughts.

              Palms raked over her ribs, and he drew her arms over her head and onto the smooth slab. “A sailor.” She felt his grin against her breast. “And yet you guarded your virtue.”

              “Not easily,” she admitted. “He was very good with his hands.”

              “Of course he was. Tugging on his rope all day.”

              His fingers on her thigh cut her laugh and replaced it with a gasp. His knee worked between her legs, followed by a hand. Alix knew his cues by now, what would follow. Stretching farther underneath him, she closed her eyes and fought an impulse to rush. He came into her slowly, pressing until it reached a sharp pain deep in her belly.

              Alix rose up, welcoming it, lost to sensation.

Trees rustled, intruding on her reverie, and for a moment she worried at being discovered. Then Spencer pressed again, found her mouth, and worry melted away.

*              *              *

              Stretched out along the blanket, Spencer cradled Alexandra on his shoulder, watching ripples in the lake and fumbling his breeches closed one button at a time.

              Slender fingers swatted his hand. “Let's not be so hasty,” she murmured into his chest, words bent by a smile he couldn't see.

              “For your own good,” he mumbled, “and for
my
own good, we must. For now.”

              She rolled away, onto her back beside him, an arm under her head. Spencer ran a hand from her throat over her breasts and wondered again how they'd found themselves together, how fate had thrown them in each other’s way.

              “I've been thinking.” Alexandra yawned, stretching up into his palm. “Now that I
can
think.”

              “Sounds ominous.”

              That earned a black look.

              “You aren't married.” Her voice was rich and sleepy, making his heart race.

              “No, I am not.” He wondered if she caught the relief in his voice.

              “Never?”

              “I was in danger of it, twice. But no, never.”

              “Why haven't you?” she asked.

              Content, exhausted, he wasn't keen on deconstructing the choices that now found him alone. “Why haven't
you
?”

              “I believe I’ve explained why.” A chill flattened her words.

              “Before Paulina and Silas. Why didn’t you marry then?”

              “I'd rather rely on myself.”

              Not the answer he had expected. “Meaning what?”

              She wriggled impatiently beside him. “We’re not speaking of me. We're speaking of
you
.”

              “Not anymore,” he dodged. “Explain what you mean.”

              Alix sighed and rolled closer, bringing her body into dangerous proximity. “Until Van der Verre, I don't think any man had ever told me what to do. Not even my father. He
asked
, but he knew better than to make a fight for himself.”

              He smiled, imagining the strong-willed young woman she must have been back then. “Wise man.”