The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (30 page)

"I don't care about clothes."

"I suppose you don't have company all that
often."

He looked back at her. "In truth, I am
enjoying the lack of it. I had very little time to myself before.
There were few nights I slept in my own bed, warm and content in my
own room."

"Where did you sleep?"

"On the ground, mostly. Occasionally in
someone's cottage which the army had commandeered. So no, I'm not
particularly craving company, other than my children."

"And you're not even curious of what lays
beyond?"

"And what do you expect to find? Heaven?
Your great reward?"

Anne didn't exactly know what to say.
"Something better," she finally said, then looked away, feeling as
if she had said too much.

"I believe in making something better,
rather than expecting it to be handed to you."

That felt like some kind of slight.
"Hence, why I plow the fields, despite soft hands." Closing her
palms, the wounds stung again, and she wondered if they would be
healed by morning. "I should sleep."

"Then sleep."

"Not here."

"Why not?"

"Because, this is your…
realm."

"You don't trust me to return you, or you
don't trust me to leave you unravished?"

Anne didn't know what to say, her
mouth closed and opened. "Why, when we speak, do we always discuss
ravishment?"

"Because you are a woman and I am a man. And
in any discussion between, it is an issue that cannot entirely be
ignored."

Frowning, she didn't know how to
respond. Was this something that was on his mind? He'd had a chance
to kiss her; he'd decided not to. "You are a gentleman and I am a
gentlewoman, and yes I think it can be ignored
completely."

"Can you? Were you not the one who just said
it always came up? Especially as you sit here, in your shift, which
leaves remarkably little to the imagination."

Anne's arms shifted to cover herself more.
Looking down, her nipples were clearly pebbled hard, showing
through the thin, white material. She groaned. "You pulled me in
here. I was doing quite nicely, thank you very much."

"Except you'd likely dress wounds like you
plow a field. Both will leave scars. More wine?"

"No."

"You don't trust my intentions?" he said,
pouring himself more. That mischievous look was back in his
eyes.

"Should I?"

"Probably not."

"You're incorrigible. Return me to my own
realm, please."

"Do you believe you're safe there?"

"I can quite successfully ignore you.
I thought that was what you wanted. You have, after all, been
threatening me if I sought you out."

His eyes sought hers. There was something in
there, something she didn't want to explore, because once said, it
couldn't be unsaid. An invitation perhaps, or had the threat been
more of a warning. Oh, there she went acknowledging it. Now it sat
there between them. Unbid images flooded her mind and she tried to
push them away. Was it those images he'd been warning her about? "I
should go," she said.

"Why?"

"Because you look dangerous tonight."

His eyebrow arched with surprise. He didn't
move, instead, he brought up his fingers to his chin, which took
the weight of his head as he considered her. "Perhaps you are
right." He exhaled slowly. Goosebumps had risen along her skin, but
it was a whole different type of danger than that she'd feared
before. She didn't even fear him; she feared herself.

"Return me," she said almost pleadingly.

He blinked and the room started for shift
back, the change crawling around her. The fact that she was sorry
proved why she needed to go. A part of her wanted to throw every
notion of sense to the wind and reach for him.

Standing up, she walked over to the
fireplace, feeling the warmth emanating off the coals. Technically
there was nothing stopping her, except he was a ghost and she was a
living person, and even so, it would require taking a risk and she
wasn't sure she could handle another loss or rejection. The
tentative peace she had found here was all she had, and staring
into those dark eyes was threatening to change it with a promise
utterly seductive, a promise to ensnare every one of her senses.
How could she risk the little she had left when without fail,
everything she’d ever tried to depend on fell apart?

Her fingers gripped the cold
mantelpiece as she tried to calm her mind. The varnish of the wood
was smooth under her fingers, but she ached to touch something more
giving than firm wood. A new sensation jarred into her
consciousness—breath in the middle of her shoulder blades, then the
softness of lips. Her lungs sharply drew breath with the sensation
of the kiss, making her arch, as if trying to protect the
vulnerable stop she couldn't readily reach. Hair was standing
painfully on end along her arms and stepped away, rubbing her arms
to soothe them. "Unfair," she said to the emptiness of the
room.

The familiar feeling of
being chased weighed down on her. She was lost in the tunnels of
the underground, the dark rounded corridors where the gas lighting
threw shadows in every direction. Dread gripped her, as if she was
caught down there under the ground, never to find her way to the
surface. There was no one to help her and she would never get
out.

Unseen hands touched her
face and she tried to escape. Panic bit into her gut and she tried
to run, pulling away from the hands. "Hush," a voice said. She knew
that voice. "You're dreaming again."

She woke to darkness, but the feel of
the hands was still there. A second wave of panic washed over her,
until she realized it was him and she was safe. Forcing herself to
calm, she stilled, her breath still ragged.

"What frightens you so?"

She could hear him but couldn't see him.
"Being lost."

"You aren't lost."

"Aren't I?" It was more than the dream
speaking. She felt utterly lost, in every possible way. Actually,
she couldn't think of a single way she didn't feel lost—cut loose
to float out on an ocean of wilderness. What use was there in
pretending she wasn't? Because this thing beating her down,
stripping everything from her, it wasn't done with her; she knew it
in her bones.

Sinking back on her pillow, she inhaled and
held her breath until her lungs hurt. There it was, that fear that
had been lurking. She hadn't been able to put her finger on it. It
wasn't the cool grip on her face she feared; the fear in her heart
was that there was more to come. She didn't mind his cool fingers,
because for now, she didn't feel utterly alone.

The back of invisible fingers stroked
down the side of her neck, the coolness only stroking the need to
feel. She'd fought it, busying herself with finding a way to
survive, but there was no fighting this now; she needed to be
touched. There was no room for thinking, there was such need in
her, the pressure seeking a way to release. All the pressure that
had built, could not be contained.

Breath traveled along her skin, her
chemise no impediment. Cool lips closed around her hard nipple, and
air rushed into her lungs in heavy breaths. Sensations speared down
into her body and her hands sought him. She might see nothing but
darkness, but she could feel him. The softness of his shirt first,
then the firm muscle underneath. His hair teased her skin. She
needed to kiss, her lips ached, but he was teasing the straining
bud, biting it gently with unseen teeth. A gasp escaped her as the
sharp sensation, swirling and building down deep into her
belly.

Finally, he relented and she sought
his lips, urgently needing more, needing to taste. Their lips met
and the taste of him seeped into her senses, beautiful and dark,
the merest hint of smoke. She needed more. Her tongue met his,
reaching to feel, to assure herself that he was there with her. She
couldn't stop this even if she wanted to. It felt as if she had
been holding this back for much too long—forever,
perhaps.

Her legs snaked around him, around his waist
and she groaned as his weight came down on her. With shaking hands,
she tugged at his shirt, the soft material slowly releasing. His
skin was smooth and cool underneath, but felt solid.

It had never been like this with
Stanford; the need had never been there. She'd been a trembling
bride then, too scared and curious to do anything other than what
she was told. It had been cold and clinical, and slightly painful.
Now she was trembling for a whole other reason. In a sense, she
didn't care what he thought of her or what she was supposed to do;
she just needed him. Perhaps she trusted him to not think badly of
her for this.

His cock pressed to her sent spirals
of delicious sensations up her, making her pulse with anticipation
and want. Reaching down, she found the buttons that kept him
contained and tugged until they gave. The kiss broke and his breath
was heavy in her ear as her lips sought his cheek, the rough
stubble stroking her sensitive lips.

Shifting, he readied himself, placing
his tip at her entrance, pushing until she yielded for him. She
couldn't breathe for the feel of it, the pleasure surging through
her. Unencumbered moans escaped her lips as she held tight, until
he was fully encased in her, her sheath pulsing around him. With
his hands on her hips, he withdrew and thrust into her, again and
again. Slow, hard thrusts. She couldn't breathe and she didn't
care. All that mattered was the divine pleasure he was giving to
her. She wanted him deeper, closer, as close as possible, and then
more. Angling her knees, she opened herself up further and his hips
ground to hers.

He wasn't cold now; he was warm and she
could see his shoulder, smooth and broad, the shirt pushed back to
reveal him. A hint of salt came with the beautiful taste of him.
Her arms reached around him, pulling him to her, pulling his hips
to hers. The tension built so high, she wasn't sure she could bear
it, but equally, she refused to back down, refused to retreat, her
hips meeting his with every thrust.

The tension culminated to almost
painful, and powerful waves of sheer pleasure washed through her,
making her loose grip on everything but this onslaught. He stilled,
arching above her beautifully, every muscle in his body straining.
A cry vibrated through his entire body and he shuddered. Then
everything fled him and he sank down on her, where she welcomed him
into her arms, the weight of him pressing down on her.

It had never occurred to her that it would
be like that. Her arms held him to her as she closed her eyes,
still feeling the echoes of the pleasure wrought in her. He was
still buried inside her and their limbs were entwined, and she was
happy to stay there, but too soon he shifted away, withdrawing from
her.

Even as she missed him, the cool air
was welcome across her heated skin. Her chemise was bunched around
her midsection, but her nakedness didn't bother her. She wanted him
to see her.

Calming her breath, she opened her eyes and
saw the curtains around the bed. "You brought me into your
realm."

Turning to her, he placed his arm around her
and drew her to him until her back was against him. He kissed her
shoulder and she gloried in the touch, relaxing into the embrace.
"It wasn't intentional."

As she lay there, she pushed away the
thoughts, the questions that threatened to steal the languid
pleasantness she felt. She didn't want to think; she wanted to lay
there with a strong arm around her and pretend everything was going
to be fine. Maybe it was and she needed to stop worrying. She'd
just experienced the most glorious thing that had ever happened to
her.