Yankee Earl (40 page)

      
When she reached for his phallus this time, he allowed her complete freedom to touch and explore, caressing experimentally. Now that he had been once sated and could maintain control, he was able to indulge her curiosity. His hand found her woman's place, warm and wet for him. He cupped it, then used his fingers to massage the swollen bud of her passion ever so softly until she cried out, arching her hips in supplication.

      
He turned her on her side, facing away from him, nibbling on her neck as they spooned together. His staff pressed between her thighs until he gripped her hip with his hand, then entered her in one long, slow thrust.

      
“This way it will last much longer,” he murmured in her ear.

      
She shivered with the pleasure of his slow movement, catching the rhythm and pressing her buttocks back into his thrusts. This was pure, mindless delight. Rachel thought of nothing but the man holding her so intimately against his big, hard body. She lived in the moment—this moment and those few precious ones to come on the road to Bristol.

      
I have made my peace with his leaving. All I ask is this, now. After that…well…
She blotted the consideration from her mind and concentrated instead on making this golden time last.

      
Slowly they ascended the heights. Whenever they drew too near, he would stop and clamp his hand over her hip to still her movement, then resume. At last, when they were both panting and desperate for surcease, he stroked swiftly until her body began to contract in tight little spasms around him. Burying his face in the silky fragrance of her hair, he let go and joined her.

      
They lay that way for several moments afterward, unwilling to let reality once again intrude. Jason wanted nothing more than to hold her close and sleep for hours, then make love to her again. What did Rachel want? She certainly had learned to enjoy bed sport quickly enough. A fine quality in a wife…

      
Just then a knock sounded on the door. It was the housekeeper, wanting to know if she should have the soup served in the countess's room or the earl's. Pulling a cover over them, Jason called out, “Serve it by the fire in my room.”

      
Rachel watched as he calmly rolled from the mattress and reached for his banyan as if without a care in the world. Well, he was certainly sexually satisfied, the lout! And altogether so splendid-looking that just watching the play of muscles on his long, lean body made her heart speed up. One lock of hair fell across his forehead as he looked down to belt the robe, and she could see his profile in the firelight. That hawkish nose, powerful jaw and those heavy eyebrows furrowed together made him look as fierce and forbidding as the privateer he had been. A stranger and yet her lover.
My husband,
she reminded herself sadly.

      
She sat up, suddenly shy now that the passions of the evening had been spent. How wanton and needy she must have seemed to him. Yet she knew in her woman's heart that she had pleased him well, just as he had her. But he did not wish the encumbrance of a wife any more than he wished to be an earl.

      
He walked around the bed and picked up a deep gold satin robe lying across an easy chair, holding it out for her. “Our supper awaits,” he said simply.

      
She could do nothing but let the covers fall and slip from the bed, allowing him to fit the robe over her shoulders as she slid her arms into the sleeves and belted it, all the while keeping her back to him. Then resolutely she turned and met his eyes. “I don't know about you, m'lord, but I am famished,” she said boldly, even though her stomach was twisted in knots.

      
He smiled and took her hand. "Then let us eat."

      
They walked through the adjoining door into his quarters, where the fire had been newly stoked to a roaring blaze. A small table with a tureen of soup placed upon it was situated in front of the hearth. A kitchen maid waited nervously to serve them, but Jason dismissed her with thanks, then began ladling fragrant vegetables and beef chunks into their bowls while Rachel set to slicing thick pieces of bread from a crusty loaf and slathering them with butter.

      
He pushed in her chair as she took a seat, then sat down opposite her and tucked into the food like a starving man, which she imagined he must be after all his physical exertions during the long day just past, not to mention those more recently in her bedroom. She began to eat, finding to her surprise that she, too, was genuinely hungry once she tasted the first spoonful of rich broth.

      
Soon they had used hunks of bread crust to soak up the last of the soup in the huge tureen. Taking a sip of tea, he studied her over the rim of his cup. “Why did you come to me last night, Rachel?” he asked softly.

      
She straightened in her seat, startled by the direct question. How could she answer? That she loved him and wanted them to have a real marriage? That she wanted at the least to have a child by him to keep for her own? Such words might weaken his resolve, causing him guilt enough to stay with her. But she did not want him that way. He was like his namesake, the falcon. And he deserved to be free.

      
Swallowing for courage, she decided upon a half-truth, one that would at least allow her to confess the guilt that she felt, whether or not he forgave her. “An unconsummated marriage would satisfy neither the marquess nor my father. They would have me back on the marriage mart within the year.”

      
He nodded. “And divorce is far more difficult to come by than annulment.” Her forthrightness should not have surprised him. She had ever been a bold and outspoken woman. He had come to admire that quality in her.

      
“I did not mean to use you ill, Jason.” She struggled to keep her voice from breaking. “I am sorry.”

      
He smiled infectiously. “You used me quite well, Countess. And for that, I am not sorry.”

      
“But now…if you ever wish to marry a woman of your choosing—”

      
“There is no woman in America waiting for me, Rachel,” he said impatiently. “But there might be a squire hereabouts who will take your fancy one day. Have you ever considered that?” He did not want to consider it, but damnation, it was
her
life—provided, of course, that she was not carrying his child!

      
He looked angry all of a sudden. The guilt caused by her scheme washed over her again. She had bound him when it was apparent that he did not want her—at least not for more than a few nights of passion. “I have no more interest in English squires than you do in American women. I've explained my dreams regarding Harleigh, just as you have told me yours of far Africa. We shall both be content, shall we not?” Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears. She pasted a smile on her lips and took a fortifying sip of tea.

      
It had grown cold.

      
He stared into the flames, debating whether or not to inquire about the possibility of pregnancy. What purpose would it serve? They were wed. She bore his name, even though his grandfather would probably de-earl him. In any case, it would be a simple matter to have Drum keep him apprised of her condition after he was gone. If there was a child, he would return to take responsibility for its upbringing. What more could he do?

      
“Yes, Countess, we shall both be content indeed,” he replied thoughtfully.

Chapter Twenty-one

      
What more could I do?
The thought haunted his dreams as he slept alone in his big bed, tossing restlessly through what remained of the night. Dawn found him out riding Araby breakneck across the soggy countryside, taking his last look at the birthright he was leaving to Roger Dalbert. The day was sunny. Lingering raindrops clinging to trees and shrubs glistened magically in the bright light. Odd, but he had grown to love the rolling hills and rich farmlands, the trickling streams and quiet pools.
Best not to dwell on pools
, he thought grimly, remembering the interlude in the water with Rachel.

      
Try as he might, he could not get her out of his mind. Their conversation last night had settled nothing. To the contrary, it had been most unsettling. Yes, she had had an ulterior motive for consummating their marriage, but that did not account for her succumbing to his entreaty last night. Yesterday had been a long and exhausting day, and they faced another long ride tonight. She could have told him no.

      
Instead, she had risen from that tub like Venus from the sea and met his passion with her own. Was there more to Rachel's feeling for him than mere expedience? He patted Araby's neck and murmured, “Well, I suppose I have three more days…and nights to find out.

      
“Yes, indeed, we must not forget the nights.” He grinned and kicked the stallion into a gallop once more.

* * * *

      
Fox was worried about LaFarge. The canny Frenchman seemed to know something was afoot. He was always one step ahead of his pupil. Take tonight, for instance. He had insisted on playing a second round of whist after soundly beating Fox in the first one, saying that a gentleman must always give his opponent the opportunity to win back some of his losses. Never mind that they played for only a pence a game, a sum which Fox could easily afford because his allowance from Grandfather was quite generous.

      
Grandfather
. The boy swallowed a lump in his throat. He had labored for days over his farewell letter to the old man. If only Jace and Rachel would decide to remain married. But as of yesterday, their plans for flight remained in place. All he could do was to leave the message for the marquess in his room and slip out when Jace signaled him. If only he could first get LaFarge to go to bed!

      
He gave a mighty yawn, one of several he had been forcing the past hour, even though it was only nine. Since tomorrow was a Saturday, he would be allowed to sleep later, the reason his master-at-arms was indulging him.

      
“You seem tired,
petit,
eh?” LaFarge said as he looked at his cards.

      
Not wanting to be too obvious and arouse suspicion, Fox shook his head. “I’m fine.” He fanned out a winning hand. “You were right. I have won back what I lost.
Merci, monsieur.
”

      
LaFarge looked at his pupil, considering his overly-bright eyes. What devilment was he up to? Well, boys were boys, after all. He vividly remembered his own childhood mischief in France. “Tomorrow we shall work with foils again, eh? You still parry like a shepherdess using her sheep's crook.”

      
Fox yawned again and grinned. “I do not,” he said stubbornly.

      
When LaFarge had departed, Fox sat down at his desk and composed another note for his beloved tutor. He was certain the Frenchman had let him win that last game.

* * * *

      
The night was moonless but dry and clear. Jason and Rachel's journey back to London would be infinitely swifter than the one to Falconridge the day before. They dared not depart before dark because it would raise suspicion, but Jason ordered the housekeeper to send another private dinner to his room early in the evening. Then he dismissed the staff for the night. Everyone was pleased, since no one had gotten much rest in the previous twenty-four hours. How considerate the earl and his new countess were. And how much in love!

      
They ate quickly, saying little, making last-minute plans and packing what gear they would need for the swift journey they had to make. When she entered his quarters dressed in her disguise, he chuckled. “You make a fetching Gypsy wench indeed, Countess.”

      
“You always did believe me a wench from the first time we met.”
I will always have these memories to hold after he's gone,
she reminded herself.

      
“A most beguiling wench,” he murmured, observing her brightly colored skirt.

      
“I filched this from a kitchen maid at Harleigh last week.” Raising her wrist to reveal several glittering gold bangles that matched those around her throat, she said, “The jewelry I bought at a country fair this summer.”

      
“You plan well. Now if the ship is in the harbor, naught can go wrong.”

      
“Oh, quite a bit can go wrong before that. The watch may arrest us before we can even reach Fox, not to mention the risk of raiding your grandfather's stables.”

      
“Stealing horses is a fine old tradition among my blood brothers.”

      
“Then you and Fox should be quite at home galloping over the countryside on the marquess' finest mounts.”

      
Their bantering concealed the misgivings both had about their enterprise. Rachel was determined to go through with the accursed plan. She really had no choice. It had been her idea in the first place, and now she would have to pay the price for her pride and folly…a life without Jason Beaumont.