Mine Till Midnight (33 page)

*   *   *

It took the combined efforts of Cam and George to load the grumbling, protesting Leo into the carriage. “It’s like hauling five sacks of potatoes all at once,” the footman said breathlessly, pushing Leo’s foot safely inside the vehicle.

“The potatoes would be quieter,” Cam said. He tossed the footman a gold sovereign.

George caught it in midair and beamed at him. “Thank you, sir! And may I say you’re a gentleman, sir. Even if you are a Gypsy.”

Cam’s smile turned wry, and he climbed into the carriage after Leo. They started back to Stony Cross Manor in silence.

“Do you need to stop?” Cam asked midway through the trip, seeing that Leo’s face had turned from white to green.

Leo shook his head morosely. “I don’t wish to talk.”

“You owe me an answer or two. Because if I hadn’t had to spend the day searching through half of Hampshire to find you, I could have been in bed—”
With your sister,
he thought, but instead said, “Sleeping.”

Those curiously light eyes turned toward him, the color of icicles when blue twilight shone through them. Unusual eyes. Cam had seen someone with eyes like that before, but he couldn’t remember who or when. A distant memory hovered just beyond reach.

“What do you want to know?” Leo asked.

“Why do you bear Merripen such ill will? Is it his charming disposition, or the fact that he’s a Roma? Or is it because he was taken in by your parents and raised as one of you?”

“None of that. I despise Merripen because he refused the only thing I ever asked of him.”

“Which was?”

“To let me die.”

Cam pondered that. “You must mean when he nursed you through the scarlet fever.”

“Yes.”

“You blame him for saving your life?”

“Yes.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Cam said dryly, settling back in his seat, “I’m sure he’s had second thoughts about it.”

They were silent after that, while Cam relaxed and let his mind wander. As darkness fell and Leo was cast in shadow, the unnerving eyes flickered silver-blue—

—and Cam remembered.

It was in childhood, when Cam had still been with the tribe. There had been a man with a haggard face and brilliant colorless eyes, his soul ravaged by grief over his daughter’s death. Cam’s grandmother had warned him to stay away from the man. “He’s
muladi,
” she had said.

“What does that mean, Mamì?” Cam had asked, clinging anxiously to her warm hand, which was comfortingly gnarled and tough like the buttressing roots of ancient trees.

“Haunted by a dead person. Don’t go near him, he’s upset the balance of
Romanìja.
He loved his daughter too much.”

Feeling pity for the man, and worry for his own sake, Cam had asked, “Will I be
muladi
when you die, Mamì?” He had been certain that he loved his grandmother too much, but he couldn’t stop feeling that way.

A smile had appeared in his grandmother’s wise black eyes. “No, Cam. A
muladi
traps his beloved’s spirit in the in-between because he won’t let her go. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, little fox?”

“No, Mamì.”

The man had died not long after that, by his own hand. It had been a horror, and yet a relief for the entire tribe.

Now, as Cam looked back on it with the understanding of an adult rather than a small boy, he felt a chill of apprehension, followed by searing pity. How impossible it would be to relinquish a woman you loved. How could you stop yourself from wanting her? The seams of your heart would rip open with grief. Of course you would want to keep her with you.

Or follow her.

*   *   *

As Cam entered the manor with the unrepentant prodigal at his side, Amelia and Beatrix hurried toward them, the former frowning, the latter smiling.

Amelia opened her mouth to say something to Leo, but Cam caught her gaze and shook his head, warning her to be silent. To his surprise, she actually obeyed and swallowed back the sharp words. She reached out for Leo’s coat. “I’ll take that,” she said in a subdued tone.

“Thank you.” Both avoided looking at each other.

“We’ve just finished supper,” Amelia muttered. “The stew is still hot. Will you have some?”

Leo shook his head.

Beatrix, missing the seething undercurrents in the air, launched herself at Leo and wrapped her arms around his thick waist. “You were gone so long! So many things have happened—Merripen is ill, and I helped make a potion for him, and—” She stopped, making a face. “You smell bad. What—”

“Tell me how you made the potion,” Leo said gruffly, making his way to the stairs. Beatrix chattered without stopping as she accompanied him.

Cam looked over Amelia carefully, not missing a detail. She was disheveled, her hair cascading down her back, her eyes tired. She needed to rest.

“Thank you for finding him,” she said. “Where was he?”

“At a private home with some friends.”

She drew closer to him, sniffing gingerly. “That smell … it’s on both of you…”

“Opium smoke. Your brother’s taken up an expensive new habit.”

“We couldn’t afford the old ones.” Amelia scowled, her foot beginning a restless staccato beneath her skirts. She was so small and fierce and adorable that Cam could barely restrain himself from snatching her up and kissing her senseless. “The only reason I didn’t murder him just now,” Amelia continued, “is because he looked too numb to feel it. But when he sobers I’m going to—”

“How is Merripen?” Cam interrupted, running a gentle hand from her shoulder to her elbow.

The tapping stopped. “Still feverish, but better. Win’s with him. We changed his poultice … the wound looks a bit less disgusting than before. Is that a good sign?”

“It’s a good sign.”

Her concerned gaze chased over him. “Shall I get you something to eat?”

Smiling, Cam shook his head. “Not before I have a good, thorough wash.” There were many things they needed to discuss, but it could all wait. “Go to bed,
monisha
—you look weary.”

“So do you,” Amelia said, standing on her toes. Cam held very still as she pressed her lips to his cheek. A long hesitation, and then she asked tentatively, “Will you come to me tonight?”

The shy invitation nearly undid him. Here was an opening—a sign of acceptance—but he cared too much about her to take advantage when she was obviously tired. “No.” He took her into his arms. “You need to sleep more than you need my groping and fondling.”

She flushed a little, and leaned harder against him. “I don’t mind your groping and fondling.”

Cam laughed. “What a testament to my lovemaking skills.”

“Come to me,” she whispered. “Hold me while we sleep.”

“Hummingbird,” he returned, his lips brushing her brow, “if I hold you, I don’t trust myself not to make love to you. So we’ll sleep in separate beds.” He looked down at her with a smile. “Just for tonight.”

*   *   *

It took three soapings and rinsings for Cam to remove the taint of opium from his skin and hair. After toweling his hair dry, he donned a black silk robe and walked through the darkened hallway to his room. It was storming outside, the rain and thunder sweeping in on an easterly, battering the windows and roof.

The hearth in his room had been replenished, the blaze shedding warmth and light. Cam’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he saw a small shape beneath the covers.

Amelia’s head lifted from the pillow. “I’m cold,” she said, as if that were a perfectly reasonable explanation for her presence.

“My bed is no warmer than yours.” Cam approached her slowly, trying not to feel like a predator, trying to ignore the heat that had ignited in his blood. His body had gone hard beneath the black silk, all his muscles tightening in anticipation. He knew what she wanted from him … and he would be more than happy to provide it.

“It would be warmer if you were in it,” she said.

Her hair fell over her shoulders in dark ripples down to her hips. Sitting close beside her, Cam touched one of the shining locks, following it over her chest, the tip of her breast, down to the end. Amelia drew in a quick breath. He wondered if the blush on her face had spread to the skin he couldn’t see.

Restraining his urgent need, Cam held still as she reached out to him with hesitant fingers, stroking the black silk that covered his shoulders. She rose to her knees and impulsively kissed his ear, the one with the diamond stud, and touched the damp, slightly curling locks of his hair.

“You’re not like any man I’ve ever known,” she said. “You’re not even someone I could have dreamed. You’re like someone from a fairy story written in a language I don’t even know.”

“The prince, I hope.”

“No, you’re the dragon, a beautiful wicked dragon.” Her voice turned wistful. “How could anyone have a normal everyday life with you?”

Cam took her in a safe, firm grip and lowered her to the mattress. “Maybe you’ll be a civilizing influence on me.” He bent over the slope of her breast, kissing it through the muslin veil of her gown. “Or maybe you’ll get a taste for the dragon.” He found the bud of her nipple, wet the cotton with his mouth, until the tender flesh pricked up against his tongue.

“I th-think I already have.” She sounded so perturbed that he laughed.

“Then lie still,” he whispered, “while I breathe fire on you.”

The women he had slept with in the past had never worn this kind of prim white nightgown, which struck Cam as the most erotic garment he had ever seen. It had intricate little folds and tucks and lace trimmings, and it went from the neck to the ankles. The way it lay over her, like a layer of pale, crisp icing, made his heart pound with primal force. He followed her shape, searching for her scent, her heat, through the cotton, lingering whenever she arched or shivered. The front was held closed by a long row of covered buttons. He worked at them while her hands slid restlessly over his silk-covered back.

He kissed her, his tongue searching the sweetness of her mouth. The top of the gown slipped open, revealing the gleaming rise of her breasts, the tempting shadow between. He pulled the garment lower, lower, until her arms were delicately trapped and her chest was exposed. His head lowered and he took what he wanted, licking a taut nipple, prodding with his tongue, making it wet and deep pink. Amelia sighed deeply, her eyes half-closed, her body lifting helplessly as he bent to her other breast.

Cam’s breathing turned ragged as he pulled the gown lower, freeing her arms, exposing the curves of her hips and stomach. He spread his hands over her body, his fingers and palms translating heat into sensation. He kissed her navel, the ticklish skin around it, the place where the crisp curly hair started.

Her legs tautened against him, caught beneath his weight. Moving upward, he straddled her body. He took the signet ring off, the one she had refused before, and held it out to her.

“You can have what you want,” he said. “But first put this on.”

Amelia focused on the ring. “I can’t.”

“I won’t make love to you unless you’re wearing it.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“You’re being stubborn.” Cam leaned over her, bracing his forearms on either side of her, kissing her sulky mouth. “Just for tonight,” he whispered. “Wear my ring, Amelia, and let me pleasure you.” He kissed her throat, his hips shunting gently against her. She gasped at the feel of him, hard and swollen behind the black silk. His mouth traveled slowly up to her ear. “I’ll enter you, fill you, and then I’ll hold you still and quiet in my arms. I won’t move. I won’t let you move, either. I’ll wait until I feel you throbbing around me … I’ll follow that rhythm deep in your body, that sweet pulse … I won’t stop until you weep and shiver and cry out for more. And I’ll give it to you, as long and hard as you want. Take my ring, love.” His mouth descended to hers in a smoldering kiss. “Take me.”

Fitting himself against her soft cleft, he felt her heat seep through the robe, wetness and silk stretched tightly between them. Her small hand touched his, fingers unfolding … and she let him slide the ring back on.

Cam stripped her naked and laid her back into his discarded robe, her skin startling white in the glimmering pool of black. He kissed her everywhere, the crooks of her elbows, the backs of her knees, every curve and hollow of the smooth feminine territory. She wrapped herself around him, her mouth innocently inquiring as she kissed every part of him she could reach.

He kissed between her thighs, cupping her hips with his hands while the scent of her lit an explosion of fire inside him. He licked into the tenderness, teasing, sucking lightly, until she groaned with every breath and reached down to his head, urging him upward with imploring fingers.

Fighting for self-control, Cam entered her, sliding deep. She moved and arched and nearly drove him insane. “Sweetheart, wait,” he said shakily, trying to calm her. “Don’t move. Please. Don’t…” A laugh rustled in his throat as she hitched up against him desperately. “Be still,” he whispered, brushing kisses across her parted lips. “Hold me inside you. Feel the way your body tightens around me.”

Breathing hard, Amelia tried to obey. Her flesh pulsed helplessly around the invading hardness. Cam made them both wait, their bodies perspiring and tense as they concentrated on that subtle, luscious clenching. Finally he began to move, using himself to pleasure her. He made love to her, all of her, and as he sank into the fathomless dark delight, he was flooded with a fulfillment he had never known before.

She enclosed him in softness and heat, letting him feast on kisses while he rode the swift hot pulse, stroking her inside and out. He looked down with pleasure-hazed eyes, at her face so tenderly confined in the bracket of his hands, and he whispered in Romany,
I am yours.
He watched her eyes close in the sweet temporary blindness of rapture, he felt it echoing in himself, the waves rushing stronger and stronger until the world caught fire.

Afterward they lay tumbled side by side like the survivors of a shipwreck, stunned in the wake of a storm. When Cam could gather the strength to move—which was not soon—he rolled to his side and nuzzled Amelia’s throat, loving the fragrant damp warmth of her.