Patricia Rice (17 page)

Relieved that Christina was still Christina and the one certainty in his shattered world, Harry knelt on the stream bank to help her buckle on her shoe and iron patten, resisting the desire to run his hand up under her skirt. “I thought you might run back to your father to tell him that you’ve been cheated. Unless the lawyers find a way out, I really do stand to lose the estate come fall.”

“I am not very good at money matters, but my father and brother-in-law are. You could call on them.” She wriggled on the other stocking.

Harry bit his lip while resisting helping her tug it up. He had to stand up and walk around to disguise his body’s reaction to her innocent actions. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have you heard from your sister yet? Will she be joining you here?”

“Haven’t had time to hear. It’s spring planting season and Dunstan will be busy. It may be summer before they can come. But I’m hoping Ninian will send me some gardening advice.” Buckling her other shoe, Christina fastened her patten and jumped up. “I have decided what I would really like is a small gathering of local people.”

“Local people?” Harry swung around to stare. He, of all people, knew that the guileless smile Christina bestowed upon him hid a mind that had leaped three steps ahead and into a different dimension. “What sort of gathering?” he demanded. “There isn’t cash to fund musicians and an army of cooks and maids.”

“A simple gathering. We could call it an open house. We’ll throw open the doors to all who have been wanting to see what your father has done to your home. We’ll have some punch and a few cakes and things that Cook can put together. And we’ll invite the villagers and your tenants.”

“Tenants?” Harry couldn’t think of anyone in the aristocracy who entertained landless farmers. He didn’t think they’d come. But he wasn’t averse to asking them, he supposed. “What about our other neighbors?”

Christina waved her hat airily. “We’ll invite everyone. I think it’s time to discover who is friend and who is foe.”

Ah, so she had discovered the animosity the entire populace had displayed toward him. Even Harry’s working beside that farmer this morning hadn’t loosened the man’s tongue. It seemed damned odd that tenants wouldn’t share their grievances. Maybe they were waiting for Jack to return.

Harry hoped Christina wouldn’t be too disappointed if no one came to her party, but he couldn’t deny her the opportunity to try. Human nature being what it was, curiosity might overrule animosity for an hour or two. “I suppose we could safely open the new wing. I’ll help you however you like, but do not put too much hope in a large turnout.”

Christina flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek soundly. “Thank you, Harry! And now, to celebrate, I think we should take a picnic to the ruins. I have plans, Harry.”

She darted toward his horse before his blood could return to his head.

The early afternoon sun was remarkably warm for a spring day. Harry shrugged off his coat and threw it over a tree branch while he puzzled out Christina’s intentions for this picnic.

She’d had the newly hired stable grooms carry a daybed from a back parlor up to the mosaic floor of the Roman ruins on the hill overlooking the house, in the shade of a copse of rowans. Then she had spread out an old comforter and some pillows next to the daybed and opened Cook’s picnic basket containing a meal of cold chicken and ham, salads made from spring greens, apples, and freshly baked breads and cakes.

To her credit, she hadn’t ordered the entire staff up here with crystal and silver to wait on them. He’d been to picnics where the guests had dined as if they were still in the dining parlor. Instead, she’d asked for simple foods they could mostly eat with their fingers. By themselves.

Studying the scene she’d set up, Harry hoped Christina’s mind was traveling the same path as his, but he didn’t count the likelihood as high. Christina’s mind was a thing of wonder he might appreciate but would never understand. Or even want to try, given her propensity for talking to beings long dead.

Which made him wonder how many of those imaginary beings were cluttering up the clearing. The ghostly encounter with the chalice had left him with more questions than answers. He didn’t see how even someone as imaginative as Christina could have dreamed up a hidden room and chalice. He still refused to believe in ghosts, though. He preferred to think Christina possessed amazing instincts.

“Is this entertainment just for us, or did you think Lady Anne and Father Oswald needed airing?” he asked, not entirely jesting as he studied the upholstered seat set on the mosaic floor. He’d always loved that mosaic. He’d expected it to be covered in years worth of leaves and dirt, but someone had kept it clean.

“I don’t think they leave the house much,” she said absently, removing bowls and plates from the baskets the staff had carried up. “I wouldn’t trust General Rothbottom to stay where he belongs, but I’m hoping the rowans will discourage him.”

“The rowans?” He had no inclination to inquire about General Rothbottom. The only General Rothbottom he knew about dated back to the fifteenth century. There was a portrait in the gallery of a bearded old rogue wearing a padded surcoat over a plated cuirass and a dashing feathered hat. If he remembered correctly, the general fought the French and brought the Winchesters a tidy sum of gold and the title of earl. So actually, he was Raleigh Rothbottom, Lord Winchester, when he died. The general’s son had taken the Winchester title for his name, for which Harry was eternally grateful.

“Rowans are sacred trees,” Christina said to answer his earlier question. “There’s a natural spring inside that circle where my ancestors would have worshipped the nature gods and goddesses. My grandmother used to tell us that faeries, and spirits waiting to be born, live inside rowan rings. I shouldn’t think the general would appreciate their company. Judging from his rude behavior when I entered the castle, he seems a surly, unpleasant fellow.” Settling her skirts on the blankets, she looked expectantly at him.

Harry thought he might be gazing at one of those faerie sprites right now. She’d changed into a simple peasant-style muslin gown that he knew was all the rage in London. The simplicity suited her well, and suited him even more. Except Christina had chosen not to wear hoops but a petticoat to prevent the hem from dragging. Instead of wearing an elaborate shift with lace at collar and cuff, she’d covered the low-necked stomacher with a bit of gauze that revealed more than it concealed. Seeing her golden hair caught in a ribbon and spilling over her breasts, he allowed his gaze to linger in the shadows between her ripe curves.

But this wasn’t a bedroom, and he had to take his thoughts elsewhere.

Removing his vest and using it for a seat, he sat cross-legged on the blanket and leaned back against the daybed while Christina fixed a plate for him. “We could divert the spring and build a Roman bath on this spot,” he said. “I’m sure there is one buried under this mound somewhere, but I haven’t the time or resources to dig it up.”

“Unless the spring is a hot one, you wouldn’t have slaves to feed it fuel and pump the water,” she reminded him.

“A good Roman bath had an aqueduct to provide the water, and a small one didn’t require a lot of fuel.” Ravenous for more than food, Harry tore off a bite of chicken and tried to think lofty thoughts while his wife leaned over and displayed her assets. He hoped the display was for his benefit, but she was reaching for the jam.

“Leila’s farm near Bath has a hot spring,” she said. “It’s quite lovely. Perhaps we could run water into the castle grotto and heat it.”

“I’m amazed my father hadn’t done that already,” he said drily. “I don’t think there will be more castle additions anytime soon.”

“It might not cost much.” She shrugged, and the kerchief at her throat slid down her shoulder a little, teasing him with a glimpse of creamy skin. “One of the advantages of having a large family is that there is usually someone among us who can do whatever one needs. One of my brothers-in-law, Ewen, is an inventor who does amazing things with dams and plumbing. But he’s in Scotland right now.”

“I’ve never had the benefit of a large family.” Maybe later this summer he could introduce his bride to the wonders of lovemaking in the outdoors.

Not that he’d ever had a lover who was interested in lovemaking anywhere except in a bed with silk sheets. Now that his thoughts had traveled down this path, Harry wondered if Christina’s lively imagination might take their bedplay to entertaining heights.

Was this her way of “getting acquainted” so that she might be reassured that he loved her adequately? He certainly hadn’t proved it these last few nights. Since she hadn’t run screaming back to London, perhaps she was offering him a second chance. He wished he knew what love looked like so he could show her. It might be the only gift he could afford.

“You have a large family through me now,” she said simply, passing him a roll with strawberry jam. “They can be interfering nuisances, but they’ll be there when you need them.”

Given his experience with family, Harry thought aid unlikely. Since his mother’s death, he’d more or less raised himself. Savoring the sweet strawberry, he didn’t argue but leaned over to lick a dollop of jam from his wife’s delectable lips.

He was certain he had something fascinating to say, but it flew straight out of his head the instant Christina slid her smooth palm over his rough cheek, held his mouth to hers, and slid her tongue between his lips.

Blindly setting aside his roll, Harry cupped Christina’s face and held her steady as she explored his mouth. Her tongue tasted of jam and the rich wine he’d poured for her, setting off sensual explosions he couldn’t resist. Catching her slender waist, he dragged her closer so he could sample her mouth as thoroughly as she explored his.

***

When Harry’s kiss deepened, Christina moaned low in her throat, and her body reacted in several regions at once. She decided his hand upon her face wasn’t enough. He would need three or four hands for all the parts demanding his attention. Her breasts ached with the need for his caress. And in her lower abdomen, a pulse pounded that required some release she didn’t know how to obtain. Clasping the back of his head, running her hand through his thick hair, she kissed him back and arched against his chest in hopes of relieving the pressure.

She had thought of this seduction as being about the estate and the dukedom and growing up to be the woman Harry needed. She hadn’t understood until now that in granting Harry’s wishes, she fulfilled her own desires as well.

He responded to her kiss with gratifying sureness. Releasing her cheek, he skimmed his hand downward, brushing a curl against her throat. His mouth traveled after his hand, nipping and kissing and awaking her skin so that she shivered all over. His hand slid lower, pushing aside her neckerchief, grazing her shoulder and the top of her breast, before he lowered his mouth there.

Harry’s warm, moist breath against her flesh taught her what she was missing. Her clothing seemed cumbersome and an artificial hindrance. Fortunately for her, Harry grasped that better than she did. Discovering the ties fastening her bodice to her stomacher, he loosed them, and her breasts spilled free of her stays.

She thought she heard him murmur in surprise and pleasure, but she was too lost to sensation to care for anything except his next caress. Harry in just shirtsleeves and breeches was a dream come true. Running her fingers down his neck, pushing aside his loosened cravat, she encouraged him to do more than look.

Harry scarcely needed encouragement. To her bliss, he slid his hand beneath her bodice to cup her breast, and his thumb performed miracles with the aching tip. Christina moaned again as the tight knot in her lower parts opened, releasing a flood of moisture. Instinctively, she knew the time had arrived to prove she could be his wife, even if she did not know precisely how to go about it.

Harry showed her the way. Following his actions, she unknotted his cravat, unlaced his shirt, and ran her hands beneath his linen to rub the warm, muscular planes of his chest. Harry rewarded her by kissing her breast and teasing the crest with his tongue until she thought she might have swooned. She didn’t know how else she ended in Harry’s arms and on the daybed like a sacrifice upon a marriage altar.

And a very willing sacrifice she was. Opening her eyes, she saw the blue of sky above. The leaves of the rowans whispered over her head, and the breath of a spring breeze blowing across her bare breasts felt very right. When Harry kneeled on the bed and leaned over her, she smiled dreamily at his studious expression, and his eyes narrowed in that half-lidded look that inspired delighted shudders.

“Do you read minds?” he inquired, returning his kiss to her cheek and temple, removing the ribbon from her hair so it spilled across the pillows.

“No, just auras,” she murmured, not caring what he meant so long as his talented fingers continued their performance upon her clothing and person. She was completely bare from the waist up, and his leg was planted firmly between her knees, even though her skirt and petticoat hampered the act she knew would follow.

“Then I must have a very legible aura.” Not explaining, he splayed his broad hand across her bare back, lifting her so he might remove her arms from the sleeves of her gown. Free, Christina slid her hands around his shoulders and dragged his head down for a kiss.

His tongue invaded and conquered and taught her who was master here, and she loved it all, knowing the time would come when he would teach her enough so they could play on an equal field. For now, she satisfied herself with pushing Harry’s shirt off his shoulders so she could explore the powerful surge of his muscles as he held himself above her.

“If we go much further, I will not be able to stop, Christina,” he said hoarsely against her ear while cupping and caressing her breast. “I would not frighten or embarrass you by taking you here like a serving wench. Tell me ‘no’ now if that is your wish.”

“Ninian said I would know when the time is right and the spirit is willing. That time is now, Harry. I would give you the heir you want.”

Whether he understood or not, when she offered him her body, she offered her future. There could be no going back to their carefree days after this moment. No matter what happened, they would be irrevocably tied.

Tugging free the hem of his shirt, Christina pulled it from his waistband while surreptitiously examining the bulge in Harry’s breeches. Her curiosity often got her into trouble, but her knowledgeable sisters had assured her she would enjoy this act that would permanently bind her to her husband.

She laughed in delight when he ripped his shirt off and flung it to the ground. My, he was a sight to behold—a golden warrior looming over her, prepared to claim what was rightfully his. She was glad she’d chosen this setting for seduction. Harry was a Roman god more powerful than any carved in stone.

He boldly lifted her and while holding her gaze with his, peeled her skirt and petticoat out from under her.

Lying naked except for garters and stockings beneath her half-dressed husband, Christina felt astonishingly powerful. And perhaps just a little vulnerable. He kneeled above her, holding her thighs parted, while his gaze devoured her. His delight and the breeze caressed her skin more subtly than a physical touch. Had it been anyone but Harry…

Straightening, Harry began unfastening the buttons of his breeches placket. Sunlight caressed his golden shoulders and glinted off the fine hairs spread across his muscular chest and running in a ribbon down his middle, to the place where his hand worked the buttons. Forgetting to study Harry’s aura or expression, Christina watched in fascination as he shoved his breeches down his hips, revealing the enormity of what he concealed behind the fabric.

Apparently reading her concern, he sprawled beside her, kissing her ear, toying with her breast, and whispering sweet words her heart needed.

“You are so beautiful, you take my breath away,” he said as he stole
her
breath by stroking his fingers through the liquid warmth between her thighs. “I want to give you birdsong and sunshine and whatever your heart desires forever.”

As if in response to his wish, a robin sang from a branch above them. Christina didn’t know if she believed him, but she knew what her body preferred at this moment. Biting back a cry of desire, she arched her hips to drive Harry’s marauding fingers deeper.

“You are a goddess of nature like Diana. Let me worship you.” His fingers retreated, coaxing gently instead of relieving the maddening tension.

Before Christina could box his ears for his frustrating dalliance, Harry propped his hands on either side of her head, and leaned over to suckle her breast. She did cry out then, cried and writhed and ached for that which was within her reach and yet withheld from her.

Her hips rose and fell in time with the tug of Harry’s mouth and the desire flooding her womb. Just when she thought she must surely burst with the need swelling inside her, Harry dipped his head lower and lapped his tongue where his fingers had plied earlier.