A Baron in Her Bed (32 page)

“I’m for a ride about the estate. Who will join me?” Geneviève asked. “I haven’t seen enough of this place. It is
très beau
.” A mischievous smile lit her eyes. “And I shall be gone from here in two days.”

Guy looked at Horatia, and she thrilled at the hot impatience in his eyes. “We shall miss you dreadfully, Geneviève,” she said with honesty, going to hug her sister-in-law. “Of course we will ride with you. Let’s go and change.”

The air was crisp and scented with pine as they rode over the fields. Guy reined his horse alongside Horatia’s while Geneviève rode on ahead. “I want to make love to you, but if we begin, we won’t reappear until tomorrow.”

She giggled. “It’s courteous to remain with our guests until bedtime.”

“
Oui
, bedtime,” he said with ill-disguised impatience, and cantered after his sister who had disappeared into the trees. Horatia followed, suffering a good deal of impatience herself.

It was late in the afternoon when the three returned to the house. They were climbing the stairs with the intention of bathing and changing out of their riding clothes before embarking on a game of whist when Horatia turned to Guy. “You promised to show me the secret tunnel.”

“Not me.” Geneviève gave a shudder and laughed. She continued to her bedchamber, while Guy took Horatia’s hand and led her off towards the solar.

With a lit candle, they walked down past the kitchen into the depths of the Hall. Horatia paused on the stairs.

“Are you afraid?” Guy asked.

“No. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. It would be impossible with the servants preparing our baths.”

“What is it,
mon amour?”

She bit her lip. “I need to know if you’re truly happy to have married me.”

“
Qu’est-ce?”
He put a gentle hand to her cheek. “What is this,
ma fille chérie?
You know that I love you, don’t you?”

“I thought perhaps you might prefer a calm and sensible wife like Marina.”

He laughed. “What has made you think such a thing?”

She continued down the stairs. “You’ve often wished me to become more prudent.”

He stopped her at the bottom of the stairs with a hand on her arm, the candle dipping dangerously. “If you change into a milksop of a wife, I’ll lock you up in the tunnel and get myself a mistress.”

“I shall escape and pull her hair out!”

“That’s more like the woman I love,” Guy said with a rueful laugh. “Vincent’s death had a bad effect on me.
Je suis désolé,
Horatia.”

She gasped and slid her arms around his waist. “Oh, my darling, of course it did.”

He groaned as he held her within his free arm. “I want you to be you. The feisty young woman I fell in love with. I consider myself a very lucky fellow to have you.”

Relieved, Horatia kissed him. “Come and show me this tunnel.”

The long storeroom was shadowy and dim. Guy held the candle high and took a moment to gain his bearings. He went to the far corner. With prior knowledge, he had little trouble locating the secret door. It sprung open, revealing a pitch-black passage. Unpleasant smells of damp and rat droppings flooded out.

“Interesting.” Horatia moved close beside him. “But I’ve no intention of venturing inside.”

“There’s nothing to see as the servants have cleaned it out, unless you wish to follow the tunnel to its end?”

She shuddered. “I’ll view it from the wood.”

Guy blew out the candle. It fell to the floor. His arms found her in the dark, and his mouth claimed hers. Unable to see, she held on to him. All her other senses came into play as she cataloged each new awareness. The arousing male scent of him, the rasp of rough fabric beneath her fingers as his big, hard body pressed against her, his breath sweetened with the wine he had drunk earlier, the slide of his lips over hers, teasing her lower lip with his teeth, and the taste of him when he pushed his tongue into her mouth to trace it with his own. Her soft moan.

Guy’s hands on her derrière pulled her hard against his erection, and the dull ache she always felt when he kissed her returned, an odd hollow craving for something she yearned to experience.

He moved to put space between them, still holding her upright. If he hadn’t, dazed and breathless, she would have fallen. “Damn it all, not here, Horatia,” he said heavily.

Before she could hotly protest, he picked her up and climbed the steps with her in his arms. In the upper passage, they met a maid, who covered her mouth with a hand and dropped into a curtsy.

Guy carried her towards the main staircase.

“You can put me down now.”

“If I put you down, someone will whisk you away,” he muttered. “And I am going to make love to you. In a bed, Horatia.”

Horatia should have been embarrassed. They were expected in the salon for a game of cards. She clutched the velvet collar of his riding coat and gave herself up to the wonderful sensation of being crushed against his chest listening to the steady metronome of his heartbeat. What she had yearned for was finally to happen. She wondered if he would do all those things to her he spoke of in the hut while the snowstorm whirled around them, which seemed like years ago now.

Guy entered their bedchamber, kicked the door shut with a foot, and put her down.

Copper baths waited in the dressing rooms, but the servants had gone. “Guy, I can’t believe we are alone.” Horatia breathed. Guy locked the door. He returned to gaze into eyes like pools of warm chocolate. The pupils were dilated, and her lids heavy with expectant desire. Her tongue traced her lip, sending a flood of heat to his aching groin.

He pulled the pins from her hair, and it fell like a waterfall of dark copper over satiny shoulders. “
Belle
,” he whispered as he coiled a lock around his fingers.

Guy methodically stripped her down to her chemise. The shadow of her dusky nipples showed beneath the thin silk, and he had to stroke them with his thumb, enjoying her sigh of pleasure. Her chemise and stays gone, her breasts bounced free, creamy-skinned perfection he palmed, heavy and soft in his hand. With the last of her clothes gone, he couldn’t believe how beautiful she was.

Watching Guy pull off his boots, Horatia remembered the first time she’d helped him with them in the hunting lodge. She struggled to equate that man with the one before her now; he seemed so changed. There was nothing left of the arrogant rake about him now.

When the last stitch of his clothing was added to the pile on the chair, he stood naked before her. Smooth olive skin stretched over long elegant bones and well-defined muscles. The wound in his side had healed to a delicate purplish scar, testament to how close he’d come to death. Horatia was stunned into silence; she bent to press her lips to the wound, sliding her hands around to cup his buttocks, strong and smooth beneath her hands. She laid her cheek against his muscled stomach loving that her touch aroused him.

His hand settled on her hair. He groaned “
Horatia
.”

She rose to coil her arms around his neck and press herself against him. Their rapid breathing mingled as their lips came together with hungry kisses, biting and nibbling, his tongue tangling with hers. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Naked, she arched against him.

Guy’s need grew even greater with Horatia’s passionate unaffected response. His cock was rock hard, and his balls ached. He didn’t want to rush it. He intended her first time to be special. But first times for women were not always so, he’d heard. He had to take her gently, wanting her to love it as much as he.

Guy brought his face close to hers. “Kiss me,” he demanded as they fell back onto the bed.

Horatia ran the tips of her fingers across his shoulders as erotic excitement sparked in his eyes. She pressed her mouth to his, and emboldened, she stroked her tongue against his. He groaned, and his hands tightened around her as their kisses caught fire. She danced her fingers over the defined planes and soft dark hair of his chest, moving down to feel his galloping heart beneath her hand. She traced the line of dark hair over the ribbed muscles of his hard stomach to his erection. Curious, she took it in her hand, running her hand along the length, sensing the strength beneath the soft skin. Warmth turned to an urgent throb between her legs. With the fervent urge to draw him into her body, she cried, “I want to feel you inside me.”

“Not yet,
mon amour.
”

Guy seized control before Horatia’s ministrations to his cock upset both their plans. But he planned to take his time. Ignoring her pleas for him to enter her, he stroked between her legs, finding her wet and ready for him. She moaned and clung to him, pushing her hips up to meet his gently probing fingers. As her urgent fingers gripped his hair none too gently, he trailed kisses across the soft swell of her belly. His fingers tangled in the soft nest of fiery curls as he breathed in the musky smell of her arousal. He followed his fingers with his tongue.

“Oh, what are you doing?” Horatia gave him a wild look, her face flushed.

“Trust me.” He parted the rosy folds of her sex and teased at the small pink nub, laving it with his tongue until Horatia bucked her hips and moaned. She shook her head, pushed him away, and then pulled him back against her. He persisted until she tensed and her thighs shuddered and she came with a long cry, which turned into a deep sigh. She fell back and gazed up at him, her eyes half-closed as she flicked her swollen bottom lip with a pink tongue, looking utterly abandoned.

Guy groaned. It was time. This was too delicious, too exciting, and he’d wanted it too long.

He positioned himself between Horatia’s thighs and pressed his cock against her entrance as she murmured endearments and encouragement. Her body was ready for him, rosy and wet. He paused to search her eyes. “This may hurt.”

She shook her head, incapable of replying.

With a thrust of his hips, he nudged inside her entrance, met with a resistance, and pushed through. She drew her breath in sharply.

“Shall I go on?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

“Am I hurting you?”

She bit her lip. “A little.”

He stilled.

“No, don’t stop, please.”

Guy began to move slowly.

Horatia gasped. “It doesn’t hurt now.”

As he continued to move, her fingers dug into his shoulders as if she could pull him closer. He pushed farther, and her body closed around him like a hot velvet glove, the pleasure so intense he gritted his teeth and fought to retain control.

Horatia moaned, the discomfort forgotten. Guy settled into a steady rhythm and carried her along until she lost herself in the wonder of it. Nothing mattered, not their telltale rasping breaths, or the bed thumping against the wall, just the urgency that built to a crescendo within her; his lips, his wonderful hands, and the sweet sensations they wrought on her body; the taste of salt when she kissed his shoulder; his smell, clean sweat and the scent he favored; his warm heavy breath against her neck; his long fingers kneading her breasts; his mouth against hers; and his silky hair she raked her fingers through. She stroked down over the smooth skin to his buttocks, feeling his muscles work as he pushed into her. Then, she added the sound he made in his throat when he spent and how his clever fingers worked their magic until she sobbed with pleasure.

Guy gazed at his love as she lay with her glorious burnished locks spread over the pillow. Despite what had happened between them, Vincent would always occupy a special place in his heart and mind, but Horatia’s love and vitality had banished the sadness from Rosecroft. He looked forward to their lives together with an eagerness he would not have believed a short time ago. “
Je t’aime chéri,
” he said huskily. “You are my life.”

“Oh, my darling. And you are mine.” She could barely speak, her body weighed down with a pleasurable fatigue. She settled beside him and closed her eyes.

She woke again as the soft patina of moonlight slid across the room through the open curtains. It must have been close to midnight. While she slept, Guy had pulled the covers over her and put a taper to the fire. He stirred beside her, woke, and gathered her into his arms. She settled with her head on his shoulder and slept again.

They woke to birdsong. Drowsy and exhausted, Horatia settled beside Guy as they fortified themselves with the hot chocolate the maid had brought.

She put down the cup and pushed back the covers.

“Where are you going?” His eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep and awakening desire.

“I was just going to ring for the maid to draw my bath.”

“Not yet.” He drew her back into bed.

Horatia leaned into his hard body as the familiar sensations of warmth and need flooded through her. How she loved this man. Her need for him robbed her of breath as she pressed her mouth to his.

Hunger drove them downstairs at luncheon to find Geneviève and Eustace had tactfully gone to visit the colonel and Marina.

Ravenous, they devoured a late breakfast. Horatia held Guy’s hand, and they walked over the grounds. Evidence of order restored was everywhere she looked. The hedges were trimmed, the parterre garden neatened, the rose garden free of weeds. To Horatia, it was more than a restoration. Rosecroft Hall had been lifted from the mortmain past, which had held it in thrall ever since Guy’s father had deserted it. “I can’t wait to show you how glorious it is in the spring.”

“We may not be here in the spring,” Guy said.

She looked up at him. “Why? Where shall we be?”

“Geneviève wants us to visit her in Paris,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, Guy. I’d love that!”

He lifted a curl to press a kiss on her neck and warmth spiraled down her spine. “I knew you would. But Geneviève may have to wait. It may not be advisable for you to travel.”

She leaned into him and smiled. “You believe I’ll be with child?”

“If I have anything to do with it.” His blue eyes questioned hers. “I expect the others will return soon.” She felt need for him rise within her and read a passionate response in his eyes. He took her hand to walk back to the house.