She nodded, understanding his need because her body burned as well. His mouth slanted then, trailed kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, and back up to her lips.
Now she was the one shivering from desire. Heat singed her skin every place his warm mouth touched her. Madness and need consumed her, overriding any doubts. She wanted to rub her lips against every part of his body. She kissed his shoulder, his neck, his chest.
The length of his body covered her for a moment, wiry hair to smooth skin. Once again, his mouth found her breast, sucking greedily until she moaned and writhed beneath him. Her loins pulsed, and she ground her pelvis against him, gasping at the sparks of pleasure that shot through her. “What happens now?”
He smiled slowly. “Now I bring you pleasure again.” He caressed her belly before moving to the juncture between her thighs.
“No!” Laughing, she tried to scramble out of his reach, but his hands locked down on her legs like two steel manacles. “Oh yes, my love. The more pleasure now, the less pain in a moment.”
“But you already brought me pleasure,” she protested.
“And I intend to keep bringing you pleasure the rest of your life. It’s my most sacred duty as your husband.”
Her heart slammed against her chest at his revealing words. “You are not my husband.”
His brow puckered. “Not yet. But I will be soon.”
There was no point arguing. What could she say anyway? Tomorrow I’m intending to flee you and betray your trust? She nodded and forced herself to relax. His fingers massaged across the sensitive place between her legs, but this time light as a feather until she was pushing against him in silent demand that he move faster and harder. He acquiesced without a word.
Need coiled once again within her, driving her to clench the sheets as her body quivered with wanting. Her longing slowly grew stronger like the heat of the sun from morning to afternoon, until she burned within. “Please,” she moaned. This time she knew exactly what she begged for. That same release, but not from his hands. She wanted to feel him sheathed inside her. She pushed his hands away and dug her nails into his sides. “Take me.”
He hovered above her, sweat covering his brow. His ragged breathing told her just how difficult prolonging his own pleasure had become. One strong hand slid below her pelvis and lifted her toward him before he drove into her. She tensed with a twinge of pain, but he was hot, hard and pulsing. He stroked once, twice, three times. The pain disappeared, and she lost count, desperate to meet him stroke for stroke. She clutched his back, moaning.
He nipped at the sensitive skin of her ear. “Let go, my love.”
She pulled him to her, wanting to bury herself within him, until they were one. Every muscle in her body clenched as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Her back arched as her head fell back. He groaned and drove faster, harder until his muscles shook beneath her fingertips. With a final stroke, his body shuddered, tightened and trembled with his release.
He sagged against her, slick with sweat. They lay for a moment panting with exhaustion, until he moved off her onto his back then tugged her against his side. She snuggled up to him and laid her head on his chest to count the beats of his heart. “I love you.” The thought had been flooding her mind. She’d not intended to say it, because it would seem a lie tomorrow, but she couldn’t hold back.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you.”
Doubts about her decisions crept into her head. Maybe she could trust him? The errant thought horrified her. Not only was it breaking her vow, it would be putting Grey in danger, if things should go badly. No. She had to leave him. To protect him.
The candle in the room burned itself out. Madelaine lay very still and pretended to be asleep. Grey’s chest rose shallowly at first and then deeply and his heartbeat against her ear slowed as well. She rose until she could see his face, but could not make out his expression in the dark. Yet his moans indicated he dreamed.
With care, she rolled slowly away from him and swung her legs over the bed. Her feet touched the material of her dress, and she silently bent, retrieved it and quickly put on her clothes. Her body was sore all over, but she welcomed every precious ache that had come from giving herself to him. Within a few minutes, she was at the stables, where the boy who was paid to keep the horses was only too glad to hand over Grey’s stallion for a handful of coins. She started to walk away, but then thought perhaps she better take the other horse as well. She gulped as she handed the last of her coins over. That was the last of two years’ worth of pin money.
Yet, she had to spend it. She could not afford Grey reaching her before she met the prince. After another exchange of coins, she got on Grey’s stallion and led the other horse deep into the woods where she swatted it in the opposite direction of the inn. When she was certain the horse ran away, she turned the stallion and galloped toward home and a future filled with only one certainty—she would always love Grey and he’d likely hate her until his dying day.
Twenty-Three
Madelaine wept for the first hour of her ride. In all her fantasies of her first time with Grey, she never imagined fleeing. His undying love. Yes. Marriage. Absolutely. Betraying him? No. The possibility hadn’t crossed her mind. It didn’t matter she was doing what she had to. Knowing she had no choice did nothing to obliterate the queasiness of betraying Grey nor the certainty that a future with him was lost to her forever. Moreover, she was terrified about what her futurewouldbring. What would happen once she found the king’s paper and took it to the prince? What sort of battle lines would be drawn then between the king and the prince as they fought for control of the throne?
The nagging feeling that she and her father would be standing on the wrong side of the battle plagued her. Even if Father was correct and the king was going mad, to go behind the king’s back and strip away his power without consulting him or trying to come up with some sort of alternative seemed morally wrong. She wished there was some other course, but she couldn’t think of one nor would anyone listen to her, even if she could.
She struggled to push the thoughts of the king and Grey out of her head and concentrate on the road. As she neared her home and made her way down the long drive, she gripped the reins and her heart pounded in trepidation. She gasped as the estate came into view. This was not the home she had left over a year ago.
There was no welcoming light, no smell of fresh baked bread or apple tarts, no servants bustling about or even the whinny of the horses from the stables. Hope and life had deserted this dark, silent place. She had thought she’d been prepared for what she would find, since Grey had told her his brother had forced her father to dismiss all the servants with some cockamamie tale about financial woes, but she shook as she viewed her home so different than her memories. Though Lord Ashford had done her father a favor, by removing the very people who would spread gossip about him being arrested for treason, she couldn’t squelch the anger running through her veins when she opened the front door and saw the shambles her childhood home had been left in.
Overturned furniture and paper littered the floors. After pushing a chair out of her way, she stalked from the entrance hall to the library, then through the ballroom and drawing room. Disorder reigned in every room. Drawers lay half open or pulled all the way out and left on the floor. The books in the library had been removed from the shelves. Chairs were overturned, no doubt in the men’s haste to try to locate the paper that would prove her father’s guilt. But Father was clever. Thank God! If he’d not hidden the paper he would be dead already. Neither Lord Ashford nor the king was likely to give a whit that her father meant only to protect England. Men and their games. They were all arrogant and self-serving, except for Grey.
Ugly treacherous thoughts reared as she picked her way through the disorder and toward the kitchen and the door that led to the cellar. Every step on the marble floor echoed in the eerie silence. She passed a ball of ribbon lying on the floor. Abby’s ribbon! She bent, picked up the ribbon and fingered the silken thread. “Abby. Where are you?”
Madelaine gulped back the sadness threatening to overcome her. She’d not given one thought to her childhood friend or any of the servants, for that matter. And blast Father, neither had he! His betrayal of the king had put them all in a precarious position.
She prayed Abby and her mother had found someone to take them in or even new employment. If they hadn’t, maybe when things settled she could find Abby and bring her and her mother back here, or if not here wherever fate forced them to settle. God! She clenched the ribbon in her hand. It may do Abby more harm than good if she worked for Madelaine and her father, assuming they’d be in any sort of position to employ a servant.
She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. She had to quit thinking about the future and secure the list for the prince. Opening her eyes, she strode down the hall and made her way to the back and through the door to the kitchen. Here everything was perfectly in its place. They’d never thought to look in the kitchen, let alone the wine cellar. With her lips pressed together, she quickly found a candle and then made her way down the dark cellar stairs.
