Sattler, Veronica (73 page)

And
then there were the dark rumors about one of English society's former darlings:
Lord Byron, who had wed Sir Ralph Milbanke's daughter in January, was known to
be having marital difficulties. This in itself was no cause for scandal, but if
the ugly gossip was to be believed, a major source of their troubles could be
traced to Byron's involvement with a house-guest of theirs at Piccadilly
Terrace, and the woman was none other than Mrs. Augusta Leigh, the poet's
half
sister!
And although the rumors hadn't reached the proportions of a
fullblown scandal yet, Brett, who was acquainted with Byron and some of his
intimates, said he feared it was just a matter of time until they would.

Even
the prince regent wasn't immune to gossip. Most of the country was scandalized
by the shocking manner in which he treated his wife, poor woman. Prinny had
always made no bones about the fact that he hated her, but lately he had taken
to forbidding her to appear at any number of public and private places—not to
mention most official functions. Yes, Prinny was quite beastly to Princess
Caroline, and Ashleigh felt deeply sorry for her. Fortunately the common folk
pitied her, too, and had begun to protest against George's treatment of the
princess, and Ashleigh suspected it was only the country's current panic over
the renewed war with Napoleon that kept Prinny safe from outright public
displays against his behavior.

As
for the war, all anyone could do was remember that Boney had been defeated once
before, and hope for the best. Under the command of the duke of Wellington,
Britain had joined with her allies, Austria, Prussia and Russia, to raise a
million men, who were moving toward the Little Corporal's armies—somewhere near
the Belgian border, Brett thought— and many felt there would soon be a major
confrontation.

Thank
God the conflict with America is over!
she thought, and her mind drifted to
Patrick and Megan. Those two lovebirds were currently on their way to Ireland
to visit with Megan's family. They'd promised to return to England briefly for
Ashleigh's birthday next month, but their ultimate destination was America,
where they planned to live permanently, on Patrick's plantation in Virginia.
Ashleigh and Brett missed them terribly already, and plans were afoot to visit
them there in a year or so.

And
Mary will probably be the next to leave us,
she thought sadly,
and with
her, the children.
But for the moment, at least, Brett's mother and her
little ones were accompanying them to Kent. Ashleigh glanced out the window as
she felt the carriage negotiate a sharp bend in the road and spotted the three
additional carriages that comprised the entourage that was traveling to
Ravensford Hall. Neither Brett nor Mary felt it was safe for her and the others
to return to Italy these days, and even though word had come from Father
Umberto—who
had
returned—that the villa was almost completely restored,
the decision had been made for Mary and the children to remain in England until
peace came again.

Moreover,
Mary had referred cryptically to some unfinished business she had in this
country, though try as she might, Ashleigh had been unable to coax any more out
of her on the subject. It was as if—

"Penny
for your thoughts, love."

Ashleigh
looked up to find Brett smiling at her; his heavy-lidded gaze was lazily
seductive, and Ashleigh suddenly felt tingles along her spine.

"Oh,
I, um—" she flushed "—I forget what they were!"

Low
laughter and a look that left no doubt as to his thoughts made her blush bright
pink.

"I'll
wager your current thoughts are worth much more than a penny, sweet," he
teased.

"Brett!"
she chastised, then blushed even harder as she saw his eyes drop to her
breasts, whose nipples, in her suddenly aroused state, had peaked and thrust
outward under the thin fabric of her summer gown. "You know you... you
only have to look at me a certain way and—and—"

"Come
here," he ordered softly, and patted the seat beside him.

"Brett,
not in the carriage!"

He
grinned, and the turquoise gaze was mesmerizing. "Ashleigh, either you
come here or I'll come there, though at present, I admit, these tight breeches
make it difficult for me to move."

Glancing
down at the apparel in question, she found herself going from pink to scarlet.

He
laughed again, his eyes teasing and utterly seductive as they held hers.
"Now," he said quietly, "are you going to come over here or do I
come and get you?"

Ashleigh
felt her breathing go shallow as she nodded. Then she pulled herself up by one
of the carriage straps and made the transfer. Or almost.

Brett's
arm reached out, and before she knew it, she was sitting on his lap, and then
his arms were around her, and then...
oh, then!

His
mouth went unerringly to one of the peaks that thrust impudently outward while
a hand found its way under her skirts and upward, between her thighs.

"Brett!"
she exclaimed, and then she moaned. He drew her nipple into his mouth, right
through the damp material, while his hand found her woman's place and slowly,
inexorably, made it magic.

"I've
been wanting to do this ever since we left London," he murmured against
her breast. "Oh, God, you're sweet, my Ashleigh... so damned sweet!"

Ashleigh's
self-consciousness, which had been fading fast, fell away completely with these
intimate caresses. She became aware of Brett's hardness beneath her buttocks
and, deciding two could play his game, began to wriggle enticingly on his lap.

His
mouth came away from her with a gasp. Then he looked up, and a bold grin
slashed across his face. "You little minx! You're asking for trouble, you
know."

"Am
I?" She grinned back at him as she took a forefinger and slowly traced the
curve of his lower lip.

Sucking
in his breath, Brett closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back
against the seat. Then both arms came around her and drew her against his
chest.

"You
know," he breathed, "I only thought to play a while and not go any
further, but the way you have me feeling now, I swear, I'm ready to take you
right here, on the floor of the carriage."

Ashleigh
giggled and maneuvered onto the seat next to him. "It was only a matter of
what's good for the goose being good for the gander, Your Grace."

One
chestnut eyebrow quirked as he threw her a mock glare. "I think I've
taught you too much for your own good, you imp!"

"Mmm,
perhaps," she mused, "but then again, perhaps not." She reached
out and began playing with the hair that curled around his ear and at the nape
of his neck.

Brett
growled and turned to pull her into his arms. "Meaning?" he queried,
his mouth hovering inches above hers.

"Meaning,"
she whispered with a smile suddenly gone shy, "that my husband has spent
these past weeks showing me the thousand-and-one ways he knows to please me...
but what he hasn't done is show me ways I might please
him."

"Little
innocent," he breathed, "and, yes, I can still call you that, though
you've shared my bed all these weeks and borne me a child, so don't look so
surprised. But don't you know that you have ways to pleasure me that have
nothing so much to do with what you
do,
as with what you
are?
My
God, Ashleigh, all I need do is watch you come into a room or walk across a
floor and I find myself unable to
think clearly!
To begin with, your
natural, unpracticed beauty alone is a potent aphrodisiac for me. Beyond that,
however, are the myriad things you do unconsciously every day that have me
trembling like a schoolboy for you. There's the unconscious grace of your walk,
the musical lilt of your laughter, the way you sometimes turn your head... and
your
smile!"
He closed his eyes and drew in a ragged breath. "Sweet
merciful Heaven, there have been times when your smile alone could drive me mad
with longing!"

Ashleigh
watched his face through all of this with a growing look of rapt wonder.
"Do I do all
that?"
she questioned softly.

He
let out his breath and shook his head. "That and more, you angelic,
enticing, tempting little witch!" And then his head lowered, and his mouth
captured hers in a kiss that was achingly sweet, plying the honey from her lips
as he moved his own over them in lazy, unhurried circles, touching his tongue
to the corners of her mouth, grazing her teeth with it, sipping at the nectar
between.

Ashleigh
felt the familiar curling in the pit of her stomach, the sweet lassitude
invading her limbs; her arms stole unthinkingly around his neck as she kissed
him back with all the burgeoning eagerness of love awakened and fulfilled. He
was her first love and her last; he was all things to her, and she knew she
could never get enough of him; he was her present, her past and her future, and
she loved him with every fiber in her body... and in her soul.

"Brett,"
she whispered breathlessly, when their lips at last parted, "oh, Brett,
it's the same with me! I...I find I want you almost all the time, because I
love you all the time, and more and more each day! It's all mixed up
together—loving you, wanting you. Is it that way for you, too?"

He
withdrew slightly, but kept her in the circle of his arms as he looked down
into her flushed, upturned face. The turquoise eyes were very serious as he
answered her. "It is," he said solemnly. "And there are those
about us—men, I'm speaking of, specifically—who would say this cannot be so,
that for a woman it is natural that love should govern and intertwine with
everything she thinks and feels and does, but that for a man, love is separate
from the rest of him, his sexuality included. My friend, Byron, is such a man.
He once told me... let's see, how did it go? 'Man's love is of man's life a
thing apart, 'tis a woman's whole existence.'"

Ashleigh
pondered the quoted lines a moment. "He wrote that somewhere?"

"Or
was planning to," Brett told her. "I could never be sure with George
as to whether he was quoting from things he'd already written or merely trying
out on me some tidbits he was storing for future use."

"But...
oh, Brett, how sad... that he should feel that way, I mean."

He
nodded. "Yes, but not only feel that way himself—he believed what he felt
to be true of all men!" He chuckled, then bent to place a soft kiss on her
nose. "And I, poor, misguided fool that I was, readily concurred with him
at the time!"

Ashleigh
sent him a soft, radiant smile. "But not now."

"No,"
he said, smiling tenderly back at her. "Not since the moment I began to
fall in love with you. And when I took you to my bed and suddenly found myself
enjoying your untutored, innocent body in a thousand ways better than anything
I'd tasted before, at first I couldn't fathom what was happening to me."

He
gave her a brief, apologetic smile. "There'd been scores of women in my
life before, all of them worldly wise and, ah, well practiced in the arts of
love. And yet they'd failed to bring a fraction of the satisfaction you've
brought to my bed, sweet, darling wife." Another kiss on the nose.

"For
the longest time it puzzled me, for you see, I'd begun to love you—I realize
now—long before I knew it consciously."

"You
thought you hated me," she said soberly.

A
brief look of pain crossed the turquoise eyes. "And put you through hell
until I got it all sorted out. Ah, Ashleigh, can you ever forgive me?"

"I
forgave you long ago, my darling," she whispered as her fingers came up to
still his lips.

Brett
closed his eyes and put his hand over hers, pressing her fingertips to his
lips. "I'll never hurt you again, Ashleigh, I swear it. God, I love
you!"

This
time, when he pulled her to him, the kiss was fervent and passionate, his mouth
and body telling her what he felt, where words left off. His mouth slashed
across hers again and again while his arms crushed her to him fiercely, and
Ashleigh responded in kind. They fell along the carriage's seat, molded to each
other, their hunger building, building into a white-hot heat that wiped all
else from their minds.

And
then the carriage stopped.

"Brett!
Ashleigh! Are you two asleep in there?"

"It's
your mother!" Ashleigh managed to exclaim in a shaky voice.

Brett
muttered an expletive under his breath and pulled them into a sitting position.

"Ashleigh,
I say, are you awake? Miss Simms says Marileigh's hungry. She wants
feeding," Mary's voice told them.

"I—I'll
be right with you, Mary," Ashleigh called as she did what she could to
rearrange her disheveled appearance. She glanced at Brett, who was leaning back
against the seat, attempting to control his ragged breathing. "I suppose
I'd better join them." She smiled ruefully.

"Indeed,"
he murmured, cocking an eyebrow at her as he managed a grin. "Our daughter
will have her due now, the unmannered little vixen, but, lest my wife
misunderstand, I want her to know I intend to have
mine
not more than
ten minutes after we reach the Hall. Is that clear, Your Grace?"