The Widow and the Rogue (14 page)

As the clock on the fireplace mantel tolled the hour, a soft knock on the door alerted her to Beau’s arrival.

She called out nervously, “
Entrez
!”

He entered, wearing a red-velvet smoking jacket and a paisley scarf wrapped around his neck. Shirtless underneath, golden chest hairs peeked through the neck of the jacket’s dark lapels. She admired the broadness of his firm, muscular chest. The oriental styled silks he wore as trousers outlined his firm thighs.

They stared at each other for a moment as the pile of logs burst into a crackling flame in the fireplace, releasing smoke and heat.

“You are exquisite,” he said with wonder in his voice.

She sighed in relief, at his words. The way he was looking at her made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. She liked that feeling. “What do we do next?” she asked, nervously biting down on her lower lip, her blues eyes locking with his.

“We love each other,” he said, observing her.

“And how do we do that?”

“By touching each other . . . and you, my dear Kathleen, start first . . .”

“What do I do?” she asked, enjoying the fact that she would be in control.

“Whatever you wish,” he answered, barely speaking above a whisper, his sapphire blue eyes gleaming with warm desire as he observed her movements.

Emboldened, realizing that she was the one who’d decide what they did, she drew closer to him. She stood in front of him, breathing in the clean smell of him, slowly removing the paisley scarf he wore around his neck. She let the fabric fall through her fingertips, dropping it to the floor.

“I want you to kiss me,” she whispered into his ear.

“As you wish,” he said, and lowering his head, pressed his lips up against hers as she brought her arms around his neck.

She explored his mouth with hers, their tongues entwining, her hips pressing up against his, a throb of desire beginning to pulse inside the lower region of her body. She could feel his manhood grow hard beneath the silk fabric. Stopping their kissing, she looked down at the bulge where his manhood was hidden.

“Can I touch it?” she asked breathlessly, her blue eyes shining with awakening desire and curiosity.

Silently, he nodded his head and taking her hand, he opened his loosened silk trousers and brought it down to his hardened manhood.

“Cup it here,” he said, barely able to breathe, as she did as he asked.

“It’s so smooth and warm . . . and yet so hard,” she murmured, stroking it.

Her eyes widened at the unexpected feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. She boldly touched him, feeling the weight of the two round spheres hanging beneath the long shaft of hardened skin.

“I care a great deal about you, Kathleen,” he said, his eyes softening, as he tenderly looked down at her, the golden strands of her hair gleaming in the firelight. “Are you certain you wish to continue with this?”

She nodded her head. “Yes, Beau . . . please make love to me.”

“As you wish,” he said. He picked her up, effortlessly carrying her to the large four-poster bed. She could feel his strong arms beneath her, and she felt secretly thrilled at his power . . .

He gently laid her down. Removing his clothing, he positioned himself next to her and pulling her into his arms began kissing her, nibbling on her lower lip, exploring, his mouth placing kisses along her neck and shoulder blades. The throbbing she’d felt earlier increased as he pulled down the bodice of her negligee, first cupping and then kissing her breasts, his tongue swirling around the hardened centers.

She gasped, arching her back upwards in response. Never had she felt such overwhelming sensations, as he tugged on her sensitive flesh with his teeth, making her moan.

She wanted to give him the same pleasure and wondered if she copied him, if it would have the same effect. He groaned as she trailed kisses down his neck and firm chest, pausing to suck on his nipples. His fingers began their own exploration down her body. She stopped her nuzzling when she felt his fingers enter her womanhood. He began stroking her core, gently inserting his fingers, feeling her moist heat.

“You are so wet for me, darling,” he whispered in her ear.

“Is that good?” she replied, never having experienced these feelings before.

“It’s very good.” He smiled into the side of her neck. “It means your body is ready for me.”

Emboldened, she reached up and pulled down his face to her, kissing him with all the passion she felt.

He responded, groaning, as he pressed his aching manhood against her. Without any hesitation, she boldly took his shaft in her hands, sliding it into her body’s wet center. “Kathleen,” he murmured, his eyes widening with surprise at her unexpected boldness. She grabbed hold of his buttocks, pulling him forcefully down onto her body, thrusting her pelvis upwards, until his body completely joined with hers.

“Ah . . .” he groaned with pleasure. “You feel like heaven.”

“So do you,” she replied breathlessly. She gasped with the pleasure of his movements, and began to meet his thrusts, awkwardly at first, and then with more daring and passion.

He lifted his hips and began to increase the tempo of their lovemaking, his manhood sliding up and down inside of her until she felt a delicious pressure build up inside of her. She had never felt it before. She kept meeting his thrusts, and then the feeling suddenly burst inside of her like a thousand shooting stars. Her eyes opened in wonder, and she almost lost her breath with the beauty of it.

She clung to him, floating on wave after wave of pleasure, flooding her entire being. It was an experience she’d never felt before. She cried out his name, letting the pulsing wave overtake her completely.

Beau rolled to one side. He breathed heavy, one hand holding his manhood while the other clenched the sheets. He then let out a soft shout and released his seed. His body relaxed again, and he turned towards her, gently kissing her on the lips.

“Are you all right?” he asked in concern, stroking her hair.

She nodded her head. “I’m fine, Beau. Our lovemaking, it was nothing like what I’d experienced before . . . it was wonderful.”

“It was for me, too,” he answered.

“It was?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you doubt?”

“Because you’re more experienced than I. And you’ve been with many women,” she confessed, referring to his reputation.

“Kathleen,” he said as he gathered her into his arms. “I may have had dalliances in the past, but I’ve never met anyone like you. You have qualities of character I respect. You’re courageous, honest, and outspoken. I must confess, I'm very much attracted to you.”

Her mouth opened in a round “O” of surprise. She had not expected him to make such a declaration.

He gently kissed her on the lips, and reassuringly he held her until she fell into a deep, contented sleep.

In the morning, when she awoke, Beau entered carrying her morning tray. He had placed a rose in a vase along with the food.

“Are you all right?” he asked, putting it down next to her on the bed.

She nodded, savoring the smell of the rose, eyeing him, the memories of their heated lovemaking forgotten as she felt a cold fear of impending entrapment,

“But not quite all right,” he said, touching the center of her forehead where a frown now appeared.

“Beau,” she said, confessing her concern, “You won’t force me into marrying you, will you?”

“You don’t wish to marry me?” he asked with a half-laugh.

Shamefacedly, she fingered the coverlet, unable to look him in the eyes, and answered, “It’s just that I’m tired of being controlled. I like my freedom, Beau. Do you understand?”

He nodded. Taking her hand into his, he kissed it and said, “I will not ask you to marry me, unless you desire me to do so. For now, we will be very . . .” He kissed her on the lips. “Very, good friends . . .” He lowered the negligee’s bodice, kissing her breasts.

“Oh.” She breathed out, her blue eyes shining with reawakened desire. “Will we?”

Before he was tempted to completely undress her and make love again, he walked to the door and before parting, he smiled gently closing the door. Picking up the rose and smelling it, she almost wished he hadn’t left.

“There is something I wish to show you,” Beau said quietly that evening as he entered the drawing room.

Mysteriously, he closed and locked the double doors behind him. He lifted his index finger up to his lips. “I don’t want the servants to overhear what I have to say. It’s a secret, very hush—hush . . .”

“Indeed,” she exclaimed, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. She set aside the book of poetry she’d been reading
.

He brought into the room an unfurled map of Dovehill Hall. The lake and off-shooting rivers, which flowed from it, were marked. Carefully, he spread the parchment out on the long study table next to her.

“What is this?” she asked.

“I found it among your late husband’s papers, locked in a library adjoining his bedchamber. By the by, thank you for the loan of your keys,” he said, handing them back. “I discovered several important documents concerning properties you own. And as I was sorting through them, I made this little discovery.”

He indicated the map.

“It would appear,” he paused before delivering the news, “to be a treasure map. It may possibly be the source of your husband’s mysterious supply of rare antiquities and gems.”

“The ones he would auction off?” she asked, interested.

He nodded his head.

“Is it really a treasure map?” She breathed. She stood to get a better view of the markings inked on the thin parchment. “What leads you to believe that?”

“This . . .” he said, gently removing the love knot brooch from her shawl. He pointed to an identical design drawn on the map. “And this . . .” He laid a finger on what appeared to be a cave with a treasure chest drawn in the center. A drawing of valuable items surrounded and spilled out of the container. Above it a pirate’s flag of a skull and bones flew.

“Pirates.” She shuddered.

She remembered the conversation shared at Captain Smythe’s table. The naval officers had recounted frightening tales about confrontations they’d had with marauding black marketeers and their ships. These lawless plunderers were notoriously ruthless. When provoked, they became bloodthirsty cutthroats.

“But how can this be?” she asked. “Bangford was an invalid. He never left the hall. So where did this treasure come from?”

“He may have been given the map when he bought the monastery, but it is difficult to tell. I am beginning to think that perhaps your brooch was used as a sign to mark entrances into the cave or other places of hiding, quite possibly both. During Cromwell’s time, these secret hideaways may have hidden people, as well.”

“Such as the monks?”

“Or valuables from raiders,” added Beau, thinking of the much earlier occupants of the hill and lake, the Druids. “They would have had to face invaders . . . Vikings, Romans, and rival clans. Maybe these hiding places and their secrets were passed down to the different owners of the land upon occupation.”

“But what of the treasure marked here?” she asked, pointing to the cave located off one of the rivers. “Do you think it’s still there?”

“I do,” he said and nodded his head. “We know it’s real because of your brooch . . . As for the gems, Lord Langtry may have had connections with black-market pirates who obtained them for him. I believe he used the loot to pay for his expensive eccentricities. As for the pirates, they could be using the interconnecting canals and rivers that branch off from the lake, to come and go unnoticed by the law.”

“Dovehill Hall . . . a haven for pirates.” She gasped, astonished. How had her late husband become involved with such dangerous villains?

She tried to picture her invalid husband with a group of pirates. It was unthinkable. Bangford had always been so particular about the objects and people he surrounded himself with. To think of him associating with men of such low character defied what she had previously known about him, and yet there had been times, she reluctantly remembered, when his dinner guests had been less than genteel.

She recalled one evening when she had been told to make a brief appearance at the dinner table. It was one of the few times her husband had not wanted her to wear one of the exquisite silk evening gowns he’d had made for her. Instead she appeared in a modest, long-sleeved gown of stamped cotton.

The gentlemen present had spoken in loud voices and drunk large quantities of rum. The dark hooded looks they directed at her during dinner had made her nervous. It was as if they were ready to plunder her person right in front of her husband. She’d been happy to leave when it was time for the men to retire to the smoking room.

Now she understood why her nerves had been on edge. She had sensed the danger, knowing the unsaid—their guests were in reality pirates

“Maybe this treasure is why my uncle was killed? And the countess and Henry . . . do you think they know about it?”

“It’s possible,” he said, nodding his head, “they may have wanted to take control of Dovehill Hall and the treasure.”

“What do you advise me to do?”

“I think a little exploring is called for, but I don’t want to arouse suspicion. Perhaps I could take a trip to the treasure chest’s hiding place.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said quickly, not considering the danger.

“No—I can’t permit you,” he replied, shaking his head in disagreement. “Your life has been put in danger already. And now with your uncle’s death, I don’t dare let you come with me. You would be too tempting a target.”

“I’m coming,” she repeated with more determination. “You need my brooch and where it goes, I go. The locals say the banshee gave it to me as a gift. I believe them. The spirit gave the brooch to me in order to find the treasure—I’m coming.”

He lifted one of his hands in a gesture of protest.

She flinched in reaction.

His hands fell immediately to his side. He frowned. She had thought he was going to hit her. How was that possible? Had he not yet earned her trust? Did their lovemaking not make any difference? Were the ghosts of the men who had mistreated her forever to stand between them?