The Rake's Mistress (23 page)

He held her hips and slid inside her, feeling her shudder with pleasure. Her back arched, her hair fell about her shoulders in glorious chestnut waves and she gave a moan of sheer, unbelieving excitement as she felt the relentless possession take her. Lucas revelled in Rebecca’s uninhibited response, which drew an equally unrestrained passion from him. Dimly he knew that he should treat her more gently, but he was powerless to resist, powerless to control his thoughts, his desires and his need for her. He had never felt like this before. Never felt this sense of exquisite completeness. He held her still and took her with a sure, hard control.

Yet this perfect pleasure, this flagrant possession, was not sufficient. He needed to see her face, to hold her, to kiss her.

He drew back and tumbled her over and into his arms. Her face was flushed pink with arousal and there was a dazed, abandoned darkness in her eyes. He swooped down on her.

‘Not enough…’ He had spoken the words aloud and now he saw her eyes open wider and a smile creep into the slumberous blue depths. Her hand came up to stroke his jaw.

‘There’s more?’

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ He looked at her. ‘I need to look at you.’

Her eyes smiled. He bent to kiss her. His hands were on her thighs, spreading them wide. He
surged into her softness and heard her gasp, and cut the sound off with his plundering mouth on hers once more. One of his hands trapped her wrists above her head, holding her still. The other came up to caress her breast and slide over her heated skin in triumphant possession.

He could not get enough of her. As he started to move inside her the conflagration took them. She gave a wild cry and Lucas felt the flames rise and consume him, destroying his self-control and his self-sufficiency and all the barriers that had kept him alone. Mindless urgency overtook him and drove him to its final, shattering climax and he gathered Rebecca closer still, as, body and soul, they were fused as one.

The sensations died slowly to leave them still and peaceful. Rebecca was boneless and soft in his arms and he drew her closer into their shelter, filled with wondrous contentment and a searing peace. He felt her body soften further and slide into sleep, and rested his chin in the cloud of her hair, inhaling her scent and relaxing as sated pleasure and deep satisfaction beckoned him irresistibly to join her asleep. And this time when she awoke, he was still there.

T
he third of the recent Midwinter weddings took place on a bright, cold day, two weeks before Christmas. A wedding breakfast was held at Kestrel Court and the entire Kestrel family assembled to drink to the health of the bride and groom. It was late by the time that the bride managed to escape from her guests and find a little solitude. She slipped open the terrace doors and went outside, making sure that she latched the door softly behind her and that no one had seen her leave.

The gardens were filled with shadows. Rebecca went slowly down the mossy steps that led from the terrace to the lawn. The air was crisp and cold and the grass was frosty beneath her feet. Behind her the light from the ballroom spilled across the darkness and the rise and fall of the music floated on the winter air.

‘All secrets known…’

The full moon was as bright as it had been on the night she had seen
The Defiance
sail into Kestrel Cove.

‘All villains caught save one…’

Daniel was safe, and that was what counted, and perhaps one day they would meet again.

The winter jasmine smelled sweet and wistful.

There was the crunch of frost; a footfall close by. Rebecca swung round. ‘Who is there?’

There was no sound but the breeze in the pines and the distant slap of the waves on the shore, but the silence was heavy with waiting. Rebecca shivered, her breath clouding the night air. ‘Come out, whoever you are!’

A shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows under the frozen branches of the firs and started to walk towards her in the bright moonlight. Rebecca stared and caught her breath on a gasp. ‘Daniel? Daniel!’

He reached her at a run and his arms went about her, hard and strong, scooping her up off the ground and spinning her around in an exultant pirouette. Rebecca hugged him close. He smelled of woodsmoke and tobacco. He was warm and solid and real. He was here…

‘You should not have come,’ she said, torn between laughter and tears.

Daniel De Lancey laughed. ‘Did you think that I would miss my sister’s wedding day?’ he said.

Rebecca stood back a little so that she could scan his face. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for being here.’

For a moment they looked at each other, then Daniel gave her another convulsive hug before loosening his grip a little. He scanned her face in the moonlight. ‘Are you happy, Beck?’

Rebecca did not misunderstand him. ‘With Lucas? Yes, I am. I am very happy.’

‘You are sure you love him?’

The wind stirred in the treetops again. Rebecca shivered. ‘Yes. I love him more than anything. I never thought…never imagined it could be so…’

She saw the flash of Daniel’s teeth as he smiled. ‘That is all I wanted to know. He is a good man, Beck.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘I know.’ Urgency stirred in her. ‘You must go, Daniel. I thought that you were safely away. They have been looking for you.’

‘I know they have,’ Daniel said, ‘but I needed to be sure, Beck.’

Rebecca reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘And now you may be. Good luck and godspeed.’

‘And to you, little sister. Be happy.’ Daniel returned the clasp of her hand for a brief second and then he was drawing away with one final backward glance, one last promise: ‘I will see you again before too long, I swear it…’

The tears misted Rebecca’s eyes and chilled on her wet cheeks and she turned, unable to watch him walk away. Perhaps it would always be as difficult as this to say goodbye to Daniel. She would never know if they would meet again. But Daniel had come to her wedding day and now she had to go back to her husband. Lucas would be wondering what had happened to her.

She retraced her steps around the side of the shuttered summerhouse and started along the topiary avenue towards the terrace, but before she had taken more than three steps, Lucas came out from the shadow of the firs and fell into step beside her, and she knew without a word being spoken between them that he had seen exactly what had happened. She stopped and looked at him. The moonlight fell on his face but she could not read his expression.

‘You saw him,’ she whispered.

Lucas smiled then. ‘I did,’ he said.

Rebecca started to smile as well. She felt so full of love she was afraid she might burst. ‘And you let him go.’

‘I would let him go time and time again to make you happy, my love,’ Lucas said, then laughed. ‘Besides, I do not wish to be remembered as the man who shot his brother-in-law on his wedding day!’

They stood and looked at each other for a long moment and then Rebecca raised her hand to his cheek. ‘I love you, Lucas Kestrel.’

‘I love you too.’

‘You have shown that many times,’ Rebecca said. ‘And I am not sure that I deserve you—’

Lucas stopped her words with his lips. It was cold; they felt fused together, sealed one to the other for all time.

‘I have one more secret to tell you,’ Rebecca said hesitantly.

Lucas gave a little heartfelt groan, but Rebecca smiled. ‘No, I believe… I hope…you may like this one. I am expecting a child.’

Lucas stared at her for a long, long moment, then he bent forward and kissed her lips very softly. ‘When? After the masque?’ he whispered.

Rebecca shook her head. ‘No. Last time—in the studio.’ She paused a little nervously. ‘You are pleased?’

Lucas drew her into his arms so that she was held gently but securely. ‘Nothing could make me happier, Rebecca.’

They stood clasped together and then Lucas laughed. ‘Justin had better hurry. Who would have thought that he would be shown up by his younger brothers?’

‘I wondered if Deb—’ Rebecca said thoughtfully.

‘Yes, I do believe she may be
enceinte
. Certainly Richard is looking extremely pleased with himself!’

Rebecca laughed. ‘Poor Justin. Will Lady Sally accept him?’

‘Who knows?’ Lucas said. ‘She is a law unto herself.’

He let Rebecca go and she glanced towards the lighted windows of the house. ‘It is ungrateful in me, but this wedding party seems interminable. Do you think we might respectably retire now?’

‘Not respectably,’ Lucas said. ‘However, you must be chilled to the bone and it is my duty as your new husband to help you become warm again…’

Rebecca nestled close to him. ‘Could you?’

‘I can try. I know several methods.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘Then let us go inside and, without further ado, try them.’ And together, entwined, they made their way towards the light.

L
ady Sally Saltire awoke suddenly in her bedroom at Saltires. The moonlight was very bright, flooding her bedchamber and bathing the room in a curious, cold white light. She lay still for a moment, staring at the canopy of the bed. She had woken alone on so many nights. For most of her widowhood she had enjoyed the freedom her solitary state had granted her. It was only recently that the loneliness had crept in, invading the corners of her mind, so that she woke sometimes hoping to find that she was not alone, always to be disappointed.

She sat up with a sigh. She was wide awake now and a little sad. That was the trouble with weddings, Lady Sally thought with a flash of annoyance. It was all very well for Rachel and Cory, and Deborah and Richard and Olivia and Ross and Rebecca and Lucas, of course. They had each other. Worse, they were all quite ridiculously, unfashionably in love. Even that encroaching chit Helena Lang was likely to finally catch a husband
before long. Which just left her wearing the willow, since Justin had made his feelings for her quite plain. She still felt shocked as she remembered his words to her at the wedding breakfast, words spoken low, for her ears only.

‘Your lease has expired, Sally. Time has run out. I want you out of that Dower House as soon as possible…’

She gave a little, irritable sigh. Damn him! Recently she had thought… But it was too late for thoughts and regrets now. She had had her chance to marry Justin Kestrel fifteen years before and one could not turn back the clock. She vowed that she would be out of his house before her officious landlord even woke in the morning. Her pride demanded it. He had even told her to make sure that she did not take a single thing that did not belong to her when she left.

‘I shall take nothing from you unless you take something of mine,’
he had said. Perhaps he was tight-fisted and she had never before realised.

She felt that she needed a drink. There was water in the ewer on the washstand, but that was no good. Port, brandy, even sherry would be acceptable, but they were all downstairs.

Lady Sally climbed out of the bed and reached for the saucy négligé that barely covered the equally sheer nightdress she had fallen for on a recent visit to London. The sight and the slippery,
sensuous feel of it gave her an obscure feeling of anger. It was more suitable for a trousseau than for a middle-aged widow on her own in the depths of the country.

The house was as silent as the grave. Lady Sally tiptoed down the staircase, flitting between patches of moonlight and finding her way to the study without difficulty in the bright light. She did not bother to light a candle. She could see the sideboard illuminated clearly because the curtains were not drawn. They billowed in the breeze. Some careless maid had left a window open.

Lady Sally shivered in the draught. She reached for the port decanter, then hesitated, her hand hovering over the bottle of brandy that Justin Kestrel had left behind on his last visit. She felt a sharp pain inside as she remembered that she had teased him about the dubious morality of the Duke of Kestrel patronising the smuggling trade. They had laughed together. It seemed a very long time ago now.

She had been intending to return the bottle to him, but now it seemed a pleasing if small act of revenge to drink his best French brandy instead. She opened the seal and reached for one of the crystal glasses. The neck of the bottle had not even touched the edge of the glass when a hand closed about her wrist and gripped it hard. Lady Sally did not cry out. Some sixth sense had warned her that
she was not alone; besides, she recognised his touch.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

‘At last. I thought that you would never give me my chance, Sally.’

He let go of her. There was a scrape as he struck a light. The candles flared. Lady Sally looked at Justin, Duke of Kestrel, in the mix of candlelight and moonlight.

‘Your chance?’ She was annoyed to hear that her voice was not quite steady.

‘To win the third wager.’

‘I was not aware that there was one.’

She saw the flash of his smile. ‘Your mistake. I told you at the wedding breakfast.’ He quoted drily:
‘I shall take nothing from you unless you take something of mine.’

Lady Sally’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at the incriminating bottle of brandy. ‘I assumed that you meant I should take nothing of yours when I left your house.’

‘Assumptions are dangerous things.’

‘Then—’

He took hold of her wrist again, this time in a featherlight touch. ‘I want you out of this house,’ he said, drawing her inexorably towards him. ‘Out of this house and into mine—and into my bed.’

Lady Sally put out her free hand and caught his arm, pulling him against her hard. ‘In mine first.’

‘If you insist.’

Their kiss was explosive, unleashing the passion of years.

When they broke apart, Lady Sally said a little hesitantly, ‘It is a very long time since I did this.’

‘For me too. It will be fine. In fact, it will be very good…’

His arms were hard about her. His touch on her skin left no doubt of where this would end, and soon. There would be no escape. They kissed again, demanding, hungry, desperate for fulfillment.

‘Justin,’ Lady Sally said, taking his hand and drawing him towards the staircase, ‘do you think we could elope?’

‘Of course,’ Justin said. His arm was about her waist now and the anticipation ran scalding hot between them. ‘If that is what you would like to do.’

‘I do not think I could bear to confess to everyone that I had made a mistake and should have married you years ago, so… I would rather they knew
after
the event.’

Justin laughed. ‘So you would like to marry me?’

‘Please.’

‘Excellent. We shall elope immediately.’

They kissed for a third time, sweet and longing.

‘Almost immediately,’ Lady Sally corrected. ‘For now there is a more pressing matter on hand.’

Justin scooped her up in his arms and took the stairs two at a time, kicking the bedroom door closed behind them and dropping her into the middle of the big double bed, where he joined her a second later.

The lost fifteen years fled away then as she looked at him. He was the Justin Kestrel she had known when she had been a laughing débutante of eighteen, too fearful and flighty to accept the fate that was hers. And then he drew her to him very gently and there was nothing but warmth and light—and the promise of the future.