Bewitching the Baron (16 page)

It was not until she was at the edge of Nathaniel’s gardens that she paused to wonder how she should get into the hall if all had retired for the night. She would rather sit in the cold all night than pound upon the front door for admittance.

She blew out her lantern and left it under a bush, and emerged from the last row of shrubberies onto the open ground before the house.

George Bradlaugh, Nathaniel’s uncle, had had his suite of rooms on the ground floor. She hoped that Nathaniel had taken them over, and would be there. She walked around the house, stumbling in the moonlight on deceptive shadows of ground. As she approached the windows to the suite, she was filled with a certainty that he was in there, and her heart raced with the first hint of nervousness.

The bushes under the window rustled and cracked as she shoved her way through them. The room was dark through the window but for the orange glow of the coals in the fire. She cupped her hands around her eyes to shut out the moonlight, and pressed her face to the glass. The reflective window so close was more than Oscar could resist. He rapped his beak against it, three times in quick succession.

Valerian jerked back, grabbing Oscar’s beak. He wiggled free, and gave out a loud “Rawwwk” of affront.

“Hush, Oscar!” She hissed.

“Bad bird, bad bird,” he squawked.

She turned back to the window. A pale figure stood faintly visible behind the glass. She caught her breath, frightened by the sudden apparition, her heart skipping a beat, and then she realized who it was. He opened the window, the casement pushing outward. She stared. Even in the moonlight she could see that he was naked.

“I would know that voice anywhere,” he said.

“Eee-diot!” Oscar screeched, and leapt from Valerian’s shoulder into the night.

She stood mute, at a loss for words, allowing anticipation and a queer, thrilling fear to overtake her thoughts. She would not falter from her path now that she was here, but did not know what to do next.

“Wait a moment. Let me throw something on.” He disappeared into the dark room. Valerian stepped forward again, leaning through the window. She watched his faint movements as he wrapped a dressing gown around his body.

When he came back he paused for a moment, as if trying to read her face in the darkness, to be certain of her reason for appearing at his bedroom window. He must have seen enough to satisfy him, for he put his hands on either side of her face and held her there, and then his mouth came down on hers. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her, his lips hot on her chilled skin. Every trace of worry, every trace of grief was for a moment pushed aside by his touch.

She raised her hands to his neck, stroking the angles of tendons and muscles, then slid her fingers up into the hair at the base of his neck. His own arms moved down around her to clasp her closer to his chest, and he dragged her off her feet and over the low sill of the window.

“I thought you would never come to me,” he said, breaking the kiss.

She put a fingertip to his lips. “I do not want to talk.”

“I want you to be certain that you know what you are doing.”

“Shhh. . . .” She did not want this talk of rational decisions. She did not come here to be logical. She pressed her hands against his bare chest, exposed by the vee of his robe. She pushed the robe open and pressed her lips softly against the warm flesh. She inhaled the scent of him, tinged with soap and his own scent.

She wanted him to ravish her, to take control and sweep all will away. She did not want to be herself, with her life, responsible and alone with her grief. She wanted to be overwhelmed, pushed outside herself. She kicked off her shoes, and untied the throat of her cloak, letting it fall to the floor.

“Please,” she whispered.

He accepted the invitation, and untied the string that gathered closed the neck of her chemise, pushing the garment down her shoulders, following his hands with his lips. He moved across to her breasts, tugging the thin cloth over her hard nipples with his teeth, the roughness of his unshaven jaw on her skin. She stared wide-eyed at the top of his head, a welcome sense of unreality falling over her.

She came back to herself with a groan of pleasure when he raised his head to suck at her breast. She felt her nerves light a trail down to her groin, the wet heat of his lips and tongue kneading a response from her. His hands shoved her chemise down over her hips, and she felt it fall to the floor, lying over her feet.

She felt him shift as he shucked his own robe, and then his arms came around her and lifted her against him, his head still at her breast, one arm against her buttocks. She felt the hard ridge of his manhood, and quivered with pleasure when he rubbed himself against her, bringing her hidden flesh to the yearning beginnings of arousal.

He carried her to his bed, still warm from his sleep, and slid in beside her. He threw his leg over hers and propped himself up on an elbow, leaving one hand free to roam at will over her body. She closed her eyes, tracing in her mind the route his hand took, trailing lightly over her face, down over her breasts, swirling in gentle circles over her abdomen, then stroking solidly against the insides of her thighs, never quite touching their apex.

Valerian moaned softly, deep in her throat, and shifted her hips to draw his hand to her. His mouth found hers, distracting her with the intrusion of tongue, and then his fingers finally touched her. She could not concentrate on kissing him back, her whole body listening to each minute movement of his hand. A fingertip slid just inside her and she tensed at the unfamiliarity of it, feeling a virgin’s fear. It moved in and out, the tip only, and then he took the wetness he found and moistened the folds that hid the nub of her desire, and she forgot the fears in the rush of luscious pleasure.

She pulled his face into her neck, leaving her mouth free. He chewed gently at the spot where her neck met shoulder, and against her thigh she felt the turgid length of his arousal. His finger dipped into her once again, pushing farther, and she lifted her hips against his hand even as her passage tightened against this unfamiliar entry.

“Relax,” he said softly, and rubbed the heel of his hand against her mound.

She did her best to obey, and he slid his finger deeper within her, then began stroking her somewhere inside, she could not tell where, for the shimmering sensations he produced seemed to come from everywhere at once. With each stroke she only wanted more, and heard herself moaning softly in entreaty.

“Nathaniel,” she pleaded.

He withdrew his hand, and nudged her thighs. She opened them willingly to him, and he rolled over on top of her, forcing her legs wider with the width of his body. She felt him guide himself to her, and then a stretching as the broad tip of him entered her. His thumb played against her folds as he slid within her, but even that pleasure could not keep her from feeling the gritty discomfort of his entry. He moved slightly in and out, sliding deeper with each thrust. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him home with one hard thrust, a cry of pain escaping her throat.

He lay still, his hips pressed against hers. She could feel the throb of his pulse where his flesh met the tight opening to her, as if his very heart were connected to her in this embrace. He began to move again, thrusting slowly and deeply, then more quickly. He propped both hands beside her, keeping the weight of his chest off her.

The pleasure she had felt earlier was lost with his entry, and she could not regain it. With each thrust home the breath was forced from her, and she listened through her pain to the sounds she made and to the wet slaps when their sweaty bodies met. The discomfort had not lessened, and she wished it were over. From some deep instinctual wellspring of knowing she clenched her interior muscles despite the pain, squeezing him when he thrust inside her, hoping to finish this.

His movements slowed and he groaned out her name, “Valerian . . .” He thrust once more, and then froze in his pose above her, his body jerking. She moved her hips slightly, and he grasped them with one hand, stilling her. “Do not,” he gasped.

All at once the tension left his body, and he collapsed atop her, her legs still spread wide, knees raised above his thighs. She could feel her muscles trembling with weakness, but did not ask him to move.

It had been gritty and painful, but she had expected that for the first time. She liked the weight of him on her, the feel of his chest hair against her breasts. She stroked the back of his head, combing out the damp tendrils of hair with her fingers. There was something satisfying in having this large man lying weak as a baby upon her, brought to this state by her.

“I am crushing you,” he said, and rolled off her, his half-turgid manhood stinging as it slid from her. He lay on his back, and pulled her against his side. She lay her head on his shoulder, and almost timidly laid her leg over his, still feeling weak. He held her there with one arm around her, his hand stroking her arm. She let her fingers play with the hair on his chest and rub softly against his flat nipple.

“It will be better next time, I promise you,” he said quietly, and she thought she heard a trace of sheepishness in his voice.

“I knew it would hurt the first time. It was not as bad as I had expected.”

He grunted at that, then pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. She lay within his arm, enjoying this new contact between naked bodies, so much warmer and smoother than she had imagined, her flesh giving way to his. There was comfort in feeling bare skin against skin.

A few minutes later his hold on her began to loosen, and then his arm dropped from around her shoulder. His breathing deepened, and she raised her head. “Nathaniel?” He gave no answer.

She put her head back down and tried to snuggle closer, but the comfort of his presence had lessened with his descent into sleep. Even naked next to him, she began to feel alone now. With each of his deep breaths, her sense of isolation grew, her sadness creeping back.

She was tempted to wake him, but if she did she might tell him about Aunt Theresa, and she did not know if that was something she wanted to do. Instead, she slid from the bed and found her chemise, dressing in the dark. She stood on one leg to put on her shoe, her muscles quivering like they had after riding Nathaniel’s horse, feeling a soreness where he had been inside her.

She looked back at him, a faint shape in the bed. Her emotions were in too great a welter for her to know what she felt about him at this moment. She let the question pass, to be analyzed beyond recognition at some later time. She climbed through the window, dropped onto the ground, and retreated to the forest.

Chapter Twelve

Nathaniel awoke a few minutes after Valerian’s departure. The half-smile on his lips faded as he realized he was alone in his bed. The sheets where Valerian had lain were still warm.

“Valerian?”

Silence was his answer. He threw back the covers and walked naked to check the chair by the fire. “Valerian?”

A draft from the window sent goose bumps up his arms. He went and leant out into the night, searching the shadowed landscape for some sign of her. He heard the rustling of leaves in the wind and saw the black silhouetted branches moving against the sky, but nothing more.

“Damn,” he cursed under his breath. It was an unpleasant experience to have been left while sleeping, and a new one.

He closed the window and went back to his bed, punching up the pillows with unnecessary vigor. The action did little to make up for the absence of Valerian’s warm and plush body between his sheets.

Tomorrow he would find the little she-devil and make her explain herself, and then he would give her the proper bedding he would have bestowed if she had stayed. He had not been surprised to find she was a virgin, and had intended to love her more gently, but the feel of her body finally beneath him had driven him beyond restraint.
It was not as bad as I had expected,
she had said. He snorted in disgust.

As he lay in the dark, unable to sleep for thoughts of how poorly he had acquitted himself, it occurred to him to wonder what had made her come to him. He considered asking her when next they met, but then thought better of it.
Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth,
as they say.

At breakfast he was still mulling over that question when a bleary-eyed Paul came in and collapsed into a chair across the table.

“Late night?” Nathaniel asked.

Paul grunted and scrubbed at his eyes. “Late enough. If I were not such a good friend to you I certainly would not have dragged myself out of bed.”

Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow. “And how, pray tell, does your lovely countenance at my breakfast table prove your friendship? I can think of far more cheering sights.”

“I think you should be warned. Your black-haired healer is a cock snatcher.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She turned into an owl and snatched Eddie the blacksmith’s cock.”

He laughed: It was too ludicrous, even for Paul. “Did she hang from his crotch, wings flapping against his legs as she chewed it off? And I suppose she took it home and roasted it with a bit of pepper for her supper.”

“I would not laugh if I were you. You may be next. Has she shown signs of coveting your manhood?”

“I do not know that that is any of your affair,” Nathaniel said primly.

Paul leant forward, his arms on the table, his red eyes glazed and intent. “This is a serious matter. The boy is a wreck. He will show no one the wound, and but huddles in a corner of the smithy. He says the iron around him will ward off further attacks.”

“Well, she has what she wants. Why would she come back? Unless he has another hidden in his breeches.”

Paul thumped his hand upon the table. “There is no reasoning with you! If she would steal the cock of this man, what will stop her from doing it to you? You are playing with fire, Nathaniel. I would not see you burned.”

“I thought you said it was an owl I should beware of,” Nathaniel said, considering the possibility that despite the early hour his friend might be drunk.