Chapter 13
Thirteen
Lamartine fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, bringing out a thin leather pouch.
The woman slouched in the doorway, her bodice hanging as slackly as her bosom, held out a broad hand expectantly.
Shaking loose three coins, he thrust them at her.
The woman gave him a tired look and shook her head.
“Robbery, highway robbery,” he muttered as he shook out two more coins and dropped the lot into her reddened palm.
Tucking the pouch back into his pocket, he straightened his bagwig and made his way down the twisting stairs to the street.
He’d spent far too much time in Paris, with far too little to show for it.
The street urchins had filled his ears with stories of former aristocrats selling their belongings, even their clothes on the streets, but they’d brought him nothing, not a whisper of where the comte’s daughter had gone.
During the long days of waiting, it had amused him to imagine that if Alix wasn’t in prison, then she’d doubtless discover she had more to sell in the streets than her fineries.
He patted his coat to make sure the letter he’d so carefully crafted was still safely tucked in his pocket.
Madame la Comtesse de La Brou would find it most convincing, he thought.
And as to why the comte had decided to deed his lands to his faithful steward, well there would be plenty of time to craft that story during the passage to England.
Rafe stood framed in the doorway, his eyes glittering and his hair windswept from his walk. Alix, who’d been sitting by the fire, sprang to her feet, eyes wide, mouth dry with fear, certain from the urgency in his face that something terrible must be following on his heels.
“I’ve been discovered,” she said sharply, her mind clutching her worst fear.
What could have gone wrong? Had she said something to Victor that made him suspicious?
Perhaps someone had recognized her? Or was it the papers?
The forgeries had held up under so many inspections she’d begun to believe Rafe’s assurances they were perfect.
She turned away so Rafe wouldn’t see her terror; she’d been so close to deliverance, she’d thought she was safe.
How much time did she have? Where could she go?
Trying to conceal the tremor in her voice she said, “You’ve done enough for me, more than enough. ”
In a single stride he was behind her, close. “But I haven’t, Alix, not nearly enough.” And he drew her around and against his chest, his lips finding hers in a burning kiss.
She tried to pull away from him, “You and Jervis must go, now... tonight.”
His hands tangled in her hair, and he pulled her head back to look at him. “I’m not leaving you Alix, not tonight,” he whispered, “not ever.”
She opened her mouth to protest and felt his tongue. She turned her head and he followed, his body impelled more closely against hers. “There’s no need for you to be caught up in this,” she whispered, and struggled again to free herself.
His hands left her hair, trailed her face sliding down her neck and shoulder, taking her fichu with them. “But I am caught up in this,” he whispered hoarsely, “caught up in you.”
Alix heard the triangle of lace shush to the floor behind her, heard a log pop in the fire, and stared up at Rafe in a haze of confusion. “The guard?” she asked, her voice rising in a question.
“No guard, Alix, just you and me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand either,” he said. “I just know that you’re all that I think about. I can’t face another minute in a room, or a carriage, or a shed, beside you without touching you. I want you Alix. I need you.”
He pressed himself hard against her and the heat of his body seemed to sear through her clothes.
She felt her senses flare in response, her clothes suddenly seemed hot and heavy, the layers of petticoats and wool coarse and cumbersome.
And she knew that she needed him, with a raw aching need that burned away all thoughts of her father, Valcour, her mother, and England.
She was tired of thinking, so tired of worrying. She wanted this moment; she wanted him.
With an anguished sigh, she reached for him.
Rafe’s arms tightened around her and he murmured her name, trailing hot wet kisses across her eyes, her nose, her mouth, down the curve of her jaw into the hollow of her neck.
His knee pushed between her skirts, lifting her hips against his, and his body impelled her against the wall.
His tongue dipped and played along her collarbone, swirling in the hollows, his teeth lightly nipping at the delicate skin.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the cool plaster, felt his hair brush against her chin as his mouth traveled lower.
Soft fingers clasped her breast, a tongue rasped and suckled at her nipple, and a fierce wave of passion shivered through her, breaking against a thousand heightened nerve endings.
Alix didn’t know if she was waking from a nightmare or walking into a dream, and she didn’t care.
She felt his hands working at the ties of her gown, easing it down off her shoulders, lifting her arms out of the sleeves until it fell, pooling around her knees.
And then his deft fingers were at the satin laces of her chemise pulling loose the ribbons, unfastening the tapes that held it over her shoulders.
The rough plaster of the wall bumped against the bones of her back as the chemise caught around her hips.
Rafe pulled her close, the thin linen of her chemise tangling around her waist, the hard shape of his erection pressed against her thigh.
Its pulsing length frightened her and a soft whimper escaped her.
A whimper that turned to a moan as he began to move against her, rubbing gently against the liquid ache that flooded her.
Instinctively she rose to meet him, wrapping one slim thigh around his long muscular one, drawing him closer.
His breath caught against her neck. “And I thought you might not want me,” he murmured.
Alix moved against him and he caught her hips.
“Oh, no, my little hoyden, you’ve rushed me into any number of things since I’ve met you, but not this.
” Rafe’s arm slid to her knees and he swept her up against his chest and carried her to the bed.
Alix, still with her eyes closed, felt the drapes brush against her face and flutter across her body as he laid her against the pillows.
“Open your eyes, Alix,” he commanded huskily.
“We’ll do this together, with our eyes wide open.
” Alix’s eyes fluttered open, gray and smoky with passion.
She watched as he removed his waistcoat, untied his stock and lifted his shirt over his head, loosening his queue.
Strands of gold glinted in the tawny hair that tumbled across his face and in the fine mat that curled across his chest, undulating in a chestnut V down the muscles of his belly and continuing lower.
As if in tune with her eyes and thoughts, his fine long hands reached down, unfastened his britches and slid them and his linen drawers away.
Alix stared at the evidence of his desire that jutted thickly from its nest of dark gold hair.
He seemed impossibly large; she’d heard that it could hurt, that she would tear, but at this moment, with the exquisite sensations roiling through her body, pain seemed impossible.
And besides, she thought boldly, she’d had so much pain already, how could this possibly compare?
Alix raised her hands to draw him down. And then he was over her, his hands and mouth resuming their earlier explorations.
He caught her breasts in his hands, their lush curves spilling between his fingers.
His kisses spiraled up and around, tracing a heated path to her nipples.
Her breath caught when she felt his mouth latch on to the sensitive tip of her breast, and she moaned softly as he suckled.
She knew brief moments of sanity when he lifted his head and the cool air drifted across her fevered skin.
She shouldn’t be doing this, giving herself to this man who had a legal right to her body, but had made no commitment to her soul.
And then she felt his warm breath as he descended to take her other breast and the whirl of sensations that followed the path of his tongue and she arched upward so that his mouth could find her nipple sooner.
She heard a growl of pleasure low in his throat and then he raised his body and Alix once again felt the cool clarity of the night air.
She felt a tug as he pulled her chemise down to her hips; the soft fabric draped between her legs and she wondered for a brief moment whether he might stop, if she might stop him.
He sank back and began to nip and kiss the skin along her rib cage, at the same time she felt his hand begin to move along her leg, tracing the contours of her calf, tickling the back of her knee and then caressing her thigh.
His long fingers prowled the skin of her inner thigh, closer and closer to the damp curls between her legs.
Alix moaned and shifted her hips, restlessly tense with desire.
She felt his tongue dip below the fabric now bunched at her hips, at the same time his fingers found her moist folds.
His fingers moved purposely, and she began to throb with need.
Instinctively, she began to rock her hips, upward towards his hand.
He obliged by sliding his finger deep within her.
She moaned again, then whimpered as he withdrew his finger and stroked her sensitive nub.
Alix clenched at the sheets as her hips moved faster and tremors began to seize her skin, her body, her core.
When she felt his mouth close around her nipple, and his finger thrust deep within her, she arched a final time, overwhelmed by the sensations that fizzed like champagne bubbles beneath her skin.