Damsel in Disguise (15 page)

She decided to ignore that first comment. He was drunk. Nothing he might say could hold any meaning for her—even if it did make her catch her breath for one split second and wonder if there was perhaps the slightest chance he didn’t entirely hate her.

“He must be taking her to Fitzgelder to find out what else she knows,” she suggested.

“So why didn’t we pass them along the way? Who was Sophie with that she ended up here before Lindley found her?”

“I don’t know. How should I know?
You
were the one out gathering information all day. Why don’t
you
know anything? Oh, I should have never let you talk me into coming up here to rest.”

“You needed it. Didn’t you and Sophie stop anywhere after you left London?”

“Of course we did. I just . . . I thought it would be safer if one of us kept a watch on things at night.”

“So you didn’t bother sleeping. How noble of you. Now why don’t you head on back to your bed and finish out the night? It’s got to be after one o’clock. We’ll see what we can find when the sun comes up.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ll be right here.” He leaned against the door frame and pointed to his spot of floor.

“Don’t be silly. No one’s going to bother me. Go to your own room, for heaven’s sake.”

“Can’t. I gave it up.”

“What? Really, I’m flattered, but . . .”

“Don’t be. I didn’t give it up for you; I gave it up for those two women we met during that unfortunate altercation on the road last night.”

This caught her off guard. “What? The women with the baby?”

“The same ones. They arrived a few hours ago, and mine was the only room that didn’t already have people sleeping in it. So there they are, and here I am.”

“So you really weren’t out here to protect me from marauders in the night.”

“There is that added benefit, and you said yourself you find it flattering.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You mean drunken ass.”

“I mean every kind of ass. Did you even attempt to find out any more about where we might possibly find Sophie?”

He nodded. It came off somewhat sideways. “I did. But that Jeb fellow hasn’t showed up yet so I’ve got nothing more to add to our collective pile of information. There’s nothing more to do until morning.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “It’s hopeless. We may never find her now.”

“Go back to bed, Julia. It’s late.”

So that was all there was to it? This was as much as he could do for Sophie, even with his own family secrets at stake? He truly was a drunken ass.

“I will. I’m going back to bed, and I don’t care where you sleep.”

She marched past him and back into her room, but he made no attempt to follow. Funny, she expected that he would. Now, damn her female weakness, she was disappointed he hadn’t.

“Good night, Julia,” he said, sober as a schoolmaster.

“You’re really going to sleep on the floor?”

He gave her that smile, and she wanted to kick herself for melting under it. “I’ll be right out here if you need me,” he said.

She took two more steps into her room, and he started to pull the door shut. She stopped him. Even an ass shouldn’t be left to sleep in the hallway, she supposed.

“Wait. It’s a big bed, and you’re drunk. No reason we can’t both get a decent night’s sleep.”

He eyed her first, then the bed. His gaze slid back to her. “The bed’s not
that
big, and I assure you I’m not
that
drunk.”

A thrill ran up her spine. “You’re going to wake everyone in the building if you insist on continuing this conversation in the hallway. Now get in here.”

He strode into the room. That excitement coursing through her spine fanned out to include every inch of her. He was here, and there were still several hours of dark, seductive nighttime ahead of them. She closed the door, blocking out the thin light from the hall. They were alone and Rastmoor was nothing more than a shadow now, a huge, perfect shadow with an aura of moonlight silhouetting him against the faded window drapes. She moved toward him.

“I suppose you can take the right side of the bed, and I’ll take the left . . .”

“No,” he interrupted. “I don’t play that game.”

And once again he was surrounding her, taking her into his arms and pulling her close. She gave up her lips to his crushing, heated kiss. Longing overwhelmed her, and she tried desperately to draw his very being into her soul.

He pulled her shirt over her head and struggled at the fabric she’d used to bind herself. He swore when he could not remove it, then resorted to ripping the thread and literally tearing it off of her. Thank heavens. She needed to feel his hands on her skin.

She also needed to get rid of his clothing this time. Unfortunately, he was a bit too tall for her to drag his shirt up over his head, but she could certainly reach his trousers. So she did, having become an expert at undoing the blasted things over the past few days.

With one half of the front flap unbuttoned, they fell low, bunching around his muscular thighs. His smile glowed in the moonlight.

“I take it you’d like me to remove them?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well, fair’s fair, my dear,” he said, going to unfasten her own trousers.

They did not bunch at her thighs. Most of her padding seemed to be in the rear area. She probably looked ridiculous, but Rastmoor didn’t seem to care. He was studying her pale body in the faint light with an obvious appreciation.

He was studying it up close, in fact, and his hands slid down the full length of her as he knelt down to finish removing the trousers. She was standing over him; the perfect position for removing that shirt once and for all. She gathered it and tugged it up and over. He shrugged his arms through.

“Does it bother you that we’re removing exactly the same articles of clothing from each other?” she asked, hoping he didn’t make a habit of that sort of thing.

“Not in the least, so long as this is what I know I’ll find underneath,” he said.

With that, he reached around to grasp her buttocks and pulled her toward him. By heavens, the man buried his face in her most intimate area! She was about to push him back, when the sensation of it all distracted her. Overpowered her, in fact.

He was kissing her there. How odd . . . how wonderful! A mite too wonderful, in fact. It was making her legs go weak. She had to grab his shoulders for support.

“To your liking?” he said, tipping his face to look at her.

She nodded. Really that was all she could do. Her voice was lost somewhere.

“Come here,” he said, rising to stand before her.

She couldn’t help but notice he was standing all over, too. Last night had been too quick and too furious. This time she could get a full view of him. At least, as full a view as the partially hidden moonlight would allow.

“Just a moment,” she said and turned away from him to move to the window.

She pushed the draperies aside and let the bright moon filter in. Ah, that was much better. Now she could get her full view.

A sound from the yard below the window caught her attention, and she ducked back. So there were still servants at work down near the stable? Well, it would simply not do to let herself be seen this way.

She moved closer to Rastmoor. Let the world go on around them. She had all she needed right now. There’d be plenty of time tomorrow to think about servants and Sophie and strange goings-on at night.

Rastmoor smiled. It appeared she was not the only one who appreciated the stronger lighting. His gaze roved over her, and she reveled in his approval. He might be an ass, and he might think awful things of her, but by God, the man wanted her as much as she wanted him.

He took her hand and pulled her to the bed. She went willingly, of course. She’d always gone willingly. Right from the start, she’d not been able to maintain discipline around Rastmoor. Heavens, she’d only known him three days when she first let him have his way with her. In a carriage, of all places. She supposed she should have been terrified, as cautious as she’d always been about such things, but she wasn’t. They were in love, and that first time with Rastmoor had been wonderful.

Even now, the love might be gone, but the wonder was not. Her senses sparked at his touch, and her intimate places burned when he pressed her down into the mattress, covering her body with his and ravaging her mouth with more fiery kisses. Thankfully, her physical being had completely taken over any rational thought. She could enjoy the moment without a single thought to how miserable she’d be when this was all over and Rastmoor was gone from her bed—and her life—again.

Well, she tried not to think about that, anyway.

His constant attention to her most sensitive areas was most helpful in distracting her. She did her best to be just as distracting in return. It appeared she was successful. Rastmoor’s kisses trailed hot over her body, leaving her panting and moaning for more of him. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though.

He stretched his long, solid body along beside hers. Slowly and methodically he explored her arms, her shoulders, her thighs, her back. She conducted her own excursions into the wonders of his perfectly sculpted chest and the manly parts yet farther south. He sucked a deep breath through clenched teeth when she fisted one hand firmly around him.

He was kissing her lips again then. For minutes or hours or days they remained like that, intertwined, breathing the same air and possessing each other’s body. She felt him grow harder still in her hand, and she rocked against him. When their release finally came tonight, it would be untamable.

Then Rastmoor shifted. He held her hips in his strong hands and practically hoisted her off the bed and up onto him. For a moment she paused there, unsure what to do. But then it became clear.

Always in the past their coupling had been hurried, secretive, and usually fully clothed in whatever space they could risk being found in. This was something completely new. She gazed down at him and stroked his powerful form. Then she raised herself slightly to find just the right position.

And lowered back down onto him, bringing his manhood into her body and shuddering at the sensations that flooded her throughout.

Indeed, they’d certainly never done this before, with Julia leading the way. Fortunately, again, the animal instincts took over, and she did not have to contemplate the deeper meanings and implications of her actions. She let passion guide her and went to grating her body against his and memorizing each powerful angle of his frame with her hands.

Pleasure became the ocean around her, rolling her on waves of feeling so intense in their beauty that each time the sensation increased, she could barely survive it. She wasn’t sure she had survived it. When the climax hit her, she called out, rocking against him to the point of exhaustion and struggling to breathe.

Rastmoor was throbbing inside her, roiling beneath her, crushing her against him as the waves of release ripped groans from the depths of his being. That only served to heighten the sensation for Julia, feeling his climax while experiencing her own. Her muscles gripped him, and the cool night air around them was charged with the fury of their passion.

At last she was fully spent and crumpled against him. His arms encircled her, heavy and damp. She would have gladly stayed this way forever.

But she couldn’t. Eventually Rastmoor put her off of him. She hated even an inch of air between them, but suddenly air was all she felt between them. He did not reach for her or hold her close as she might have expected. It really was over already.

“By God, you’ve learned a bit over the years, haven’t you, my dear?” he said at last.

It stung. There was no emotion in his words, only the same satisfied tone he might have used after winning a friendly game of cards. Had she really been fool enough to expect more than that from him?

“I think we should get some sleep,” she said before she had to answer, before the pain could show in her voice.

“Yes, we should. Thank you.”

With that, he simply pulled up the covers and turned to face the opposite wall. Just like that, she was forgotten and discarded. An ache burrowed deep into her soul. It wasn’t likely to go away any time soon, either.

And, damn him, she couldn’t even be certain he had thanked her for a most enjoyable tussle, or simply for suggesting they leave off such foolishness and get some rest. Either way, she could never, never allow herself to give in to this man again.

Pray God he never asked.

 

 

WELL, HE’D DONE IT AGAIN. HE’D LET HIMSELF BE Julia’s bed toy once more. She’d turned those deep, dewy eyes on him, and he’d crumbled. Now all he wanted was to lie here, holding her against him forever.

He wouldn’t, of course. Forever for them ended three years ago.

That left nothing for him to do but lie there, staring into the darkness and fighting every instinct. Nothing could erase the past, and nothing could bring back what he’d lost. He’d lost Julia long ago. More accurately, the Julia he’d given his stupid young heart to had never even existed. He’d do well to remember that.

Any enjoyment he got from joining his body with this woman was purely biological. She was an actress, after all, skilled in using her body to deceive. She’d simply picked up a few new skills in the time since he’d last known her.

Likely she’d picked them up from Fitzgelder, damn his bastard soul. Rastmoor struggled to keep his breathing even. He was never going to let Julia know she did this to him, that such hate surged through him at the thought of another man touching her. He’d rather die than let her know she still owned him.

He’d have to be on his guard. No more whiskey, and no more losing control with Julia. He’d find his bloody cousin and get that locket back—and give the man his wife while he was at it.