Wild Lavender Read online

  “What do I taste like?”

  He growled against her belly. “Woman.”

  She laughed, her skin vibrating against his mouth.

  He’d never had a virgin in his bed before. He had to take extra care, not just for her but for himself, to guarantee her pleasure, to learn what she liked along with her.

  Helena was no passive participant. She stroked him, curved her hands around his shoulders, ran them over his muscles and back to his throat. The touches sent shudders of delighted awareness all the way through him.

  He reached the hair curling between her thighs and nuzzled it. The scent of her arousal wove around him, as intoxicating as the best French brandy but far more heady and unique. Thirst dried his throat. If he didn’t taste her now, he’d die.

  “Open your legs,” he murmured against her thigh. After a short pause, she did so, lifting her knees and setting her feet on the sheet. Groaning, he took his first lick.

  “I didn’t know you could—oh!”

  He loved her little gasps and sighs. Carefully, he worked her up toward her arousal, licking, sucking, and kissing, absorbing her into him. He lifted his head and met her gaze, impossibly intimate. “Don’t hold back. I want it all.”

  Her eyes were round with wonder, but they sparkled, and her skin was flushed adorably. “Yes.” She moistened her lips.

  He went back to his delicious task. He caressed her inner thighs, keeping his touch light, and then moved to her stomach and her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, urging her to let go, but not using words.

  A sharp jerk indicated the beginning of her peak. He concentrated on enhancing her first orgasm, pushing her as far as he could. Tucking his hands under her buttocks he raised her, drinking from her like the finest cup of wine, giving no quarter until she screamed.

  The sound was better than any music he’d ever heard. The dying notes rang around the small chamber. He didn’t stop until they had subsided into sobs and then ebbed away to small whimpers, but by then he was past thinking, because he’d experienced something he had not gone through since he was an untried boy.

  He had no thought for himself, but scooted back up the bed to hold her and share the last tremors. She made sound that was distinctly like a purr and curled into him, nestling against him. Drowsiness suffused him, but he could not sleep. That would be far too dangerous. But if she slept, he’d hold her and keep her safe.

  “I didn’t know that was what all the fuss was about,” she murmured, but he heard her clearly enough.

  “Neither did I.”

  The drowsy, sleepy kittenish expression on her face when she raised her chin nearly undid him. She clearly expected his kiss, and he obliged, sealing their mouths together in their first kiss after making love. She tasted him this time, licking into his mouth with a delicate stroke of her tongue.

  She pulled away, smiling. “Is that what I taste like? My oath, it’s not too bad, is it?”

  “It’s wonderful.” He kissed her again. “Utterly perfect.”

  “You’ve tasted women before, of course.”

  “You’re not supposed to ask that.” He shook his head slightly. She was quite something, his Helena. Not the sweet virgin she was supposed to be, but something far more exciting and precious. She’d eagerly accepted and encouraged him in all he did. Had he not come, he might have transgressed, crossed the line he’d promised himself he would not take.

  She laughed, totally carefree. He’d give anything to keep her that way, but he feared it was beyond his powers.

  “I love you, Helena.”

  She stilled, the smile gone, her eyes pure. “I love you too.”

  He replaced her smile with his own. “After three days?”

  “The time doesn’t matter.”

  He pressed her closer, giving her a tight hug. “We can say that here. We can say anything we want to, but we don’t have to mean it once we’ve returned to the world outside.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t change my mind. I won’t tell anyone, but only because they would hurt you if I did.” She glanced down at their bodies. “I would like to sleep with you. To sleep with you and wake up with you.”

  Rolling on his back, he groaned and pressed a thumb and finger either side of the bridge of his nose, pressing in, as his nurse used to when he’d suffered nosebleeds as a child. He’d grown out of the bleeds, but not the gesture. “I’d like that too, but we cannot.”

  “Perhaps in time we can. Tom, I want you.” She lifted up, her breasts touching his chest. Her nipples were still hard. “Nothing matters more than this.”

  “We should give ourselves more time.”

  “What time do we have?”

  He tried to remonstrate with her. “You’re twenty, love. We have plenty of time.”

  She snorted. “Lives pass while people think that. No, I won’t have it.”

  “Another month, dearest one.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “Give us that. When is your sister-in-law due to give birth?”

  “A week, perhaps two. She says any day, but Julius says maybe not.”

  “He would know,” he said dryly. He tucked his arm behind his head and kept a firm hold on her. This part, the after part, had never appealed to him before, but with Helena he could stay here all day. “So we have some time.” He smiled. He had the feeling he would always smile when he saw her, although he might not always show it. “This house is ours, Helena. To use as we see fit. I’ll never sell it. Whenever you need sanctuary, whether I’m in town or not, come here.”

  “I’d like that.” She smoothed her hand down his chest, pausing at his waist. “A place that is totally our own. But won’t we need maids?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Fisher live in a cozy villa by the Thames.” He stared at the bed canopy. He could see the place. “When they began to prosper, they moved out of town, as people do. But sometimes they have to stay in London, so Mr. Fisher bought this house. They don’t have live-in maids, but someone comes in once a week to clean when they’re not in residence.”

  She wriggled against him, lifted her leg, and draped it over his. “Mrs. Fisher likes to be with her husband. She loves it, in fact. They have been married for two years. He saw her across the room at a Guildhall dinner.”

  “And fell instantly in love,” he said, because that was what he’d done. What he felt for Helena was more than lust. He’d seen her and wanted her, but more than that. He’d wanted women before, but he’d never wanted to care for them so strongly. Never wanted to claim them. But instinctively he’d known that Helena was his.

  Helena was ethereally lovely, as well as lively and intelligent, but although he enumerated all her assets, something else lay there, just out of his reach. Perhaps he would never find out what it was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  “We need time, sweetheart. If we take steps to be together, we will hurt the people we love. We can’t do that.”

  “We might have to.”

  From the gravity of her tone, he could tell she understood what he was saying. They must be completely sure. In the meantime, they would manage.

  “I can ask for more fittings at Madame’s. Men are lucky,” she continued in a disgusted tone. “They may go wherever they wish. I will dismiss my maid and ask for another. That will give us more time, too. My mother will complain.”

  “Does she complain much?”

  She paused. “Yes.”

  Turning his head, he kissed her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should not pry. Here’s another rule, if you wish to accept it. Anything we say here goes no further.” Because he longed to tell her what he’d done. As if reminded of his long night, he stifled a yawn.

  “I thought you looked tired,” she said.

  “Nothing would have kept me away from you.”

  “She traced an imaginary pattern on his chest. “Have you been carousing?”

  He laughed. “No. Far from it. I was at the docks in the early hours of the mor
ning. They delayed the departure of the ship with the prince, and I had to wait to make certain he left—” Startled that he found confessing his secrets so easily, he opened his eyes wide and stared at her.

  “We said nothing leaves these walls,” she said softly, and kissed him. “We knew the Pretender was here. That is, Julius knew, and he told me.”

  “He trusts you.” Tom was not surprised. Helena possessed gravity far beyond her years. “So do I. But you know he hates me.”

  “He hates your family.”

  “And my brother.” He grimaced. “William is fully convinced that the prince will return. I am not. The world is moving along, and it rarely goes back. But that doesn’t mean I’ll turn my back on my family.”

  “Of course not,” she said quietly. “And I will not betray mine.”

  “This is neutral territory.”

  “Yes.” She lowered her head, but when she lifted it again, her eyes were sparkling. “So what is he like?”

  He stroked her back, the supple skin smooth under his palm. “The prince? Charles is not as handsome as he once was. Culloden destroyed him. He should never have turned back at Coventry. I have no idea why he did that. If he’d taken London, the impetus might have taken him through. He will not have that chance again. The defeat broke something in him, and he is chasing the path to perdition. Women and drink mainly. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I?”

  She shook her head, her curls tickling his chest. “My brother keeps an eye on him. As do others in the family. Last night Julius confessed the Pretender was in the country.”

  It did not surprise Tom to know that the perspicacious Earl of Winterton had discovered as much. “He is no longer here.”

  “You sent him away.”

  “I put him on a ship from the docks in the early hours of the morning. He did all he came to do. There was no reason for him to stay.” To say any more might put others in peril. Certainly he didn’t want to compromise General Court. Having someone he could talk to in government saved a great deal of time and expense. The prince had not wanted to leave, but his propensity for strong drink had eased the way for Tom to get him on the ship and away.

  “So you’ve been up all night,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “I’ll go and leave you here.”

  His chivalry would not allow that. “Who will lace your stays?”

  She laughed. “You can lace stays?”

  “I wasted much of my youth.” He drew her closer for a kiss, and she came to him willingly. With her body wrapped around his, Tom was in danger of forgetting everything except her. Helena surrounded him, her taste, her delectable body, and he could wish for nothing more.

  But he must not take her, could not make her irrevocably his. He had to keep his head enough to do that. She was not his to claim, however much he might wish it.

  * * * *

  Tom returned home to find his father demanding his attention.

  The Duke of Northwich spun around to face his son, the skirts of his dark green coat whirling, gold braid catching the sun. “The prince has left the country.”

  “I know. I helped him.”

  “You did what?” his brother Will thundered.

  “The prince wanted to leave the country. I merely helped him.” Suppressing his grin of triumph, Tom faced his brother and let his eyelids droop, as if the matter was of supreme indifference to him.

  “Without referring the matter to me?” his father demanded.

  Tom folded his arms, tucking his hands into the warmth of his coat. “The prince was ready to leave. I had a ship in port, so the matter was done.”

  His father growled and then uttered a curse so inventive Tom memorized it for future use. But his father never knew when to stop, and he proceeded to more earthy but less inventive phrases. Tom waited. His father had a fierce temper, but it never lasted for long.

  “You should have consulted with me.”

  Will’s face turned red. “Why did you not try to stop him?”

  Tom ignored him and addressed their father. “Would you have wanted me to?” Tom shrugged. “What more good could he have done? The authorities could have taken him.”

  The duke paused near the window, the thin autumn sun streaking his snowy wig. It must be well fixed on his head to cope with the duke’s sudden movements. Anything unlike a stately and dignified ducal presence was hard to imagine. He made a sound at the back of his throat, something that would be better suited to a wild animal than a duke, and then he turned and paced.

  Good. Soon he’d see reason. Tom only had to wait him out. Too wise to interrupt his father mid-flow, Tom settled into a waiting pose. He’d have leaned against the wall, but he was not close to it.

  Tom tried not to care that his younger brother was his father’s favorite, but he could understand the preference. William shared his father’s idealistic views, even appeared more nearly like him than Tom did. Will was of a height with his father, while Tom towered over them, and he had the distinctive broad-browed, narrow-chinned face shape, where Tom’s face was longer. He took after his mother’s side of the family, or so his grandmother claimed. His mother had died in childbirth, leaving five children and deep grief.

  Tom saw nobody but himself when he shaved every morning and stared into the mirror. No family echoes lay in his face. His brother had the deep blue-gray eyes of his father, too.

  No matter. Tom would start a new tradition of brown eyes and unconscionable height. He had long since ceased trying to make himself unobtrusive, trying to stoop to conceal his height. Now he stood tall. “Father, do not distress yourself.”

  “He did not want to leave.” Will glared at Tom. “The night before his departure, he spoke of storming Parliament.”

  Tom’s blood ran cold. “He did? How could he do that?”

  “He had supporters. We were arranging a council meeting.”

  The duke whirled around and seized a piece of paper from the stack on the side table. He shoved the paper under Tom’s nose, though how he expected Tom to read when the hand holding the paper was quivering with rage he was not entirely sure. “Look at this!”

  Tom took the paper. It was a letter sealed with red wax but with no significant seal impression. He read. It was not from the prince but from one of his advisors in Lunéville, where the prince currently resided with his mistress, the Princesse de Talmond. “His highness is not pleased. The Princesse displays the bruises of his displeasure every day. He accuses her of not loving him enough and then sends her to her room, where she writes him impassioned letters pleading for mercy. The woman loves him, or so she claims.”

  The report disgusted Tom. Charles had taken out his bad mood on a woman, one he should be cherishing, not abusing. Tom could not imagine doing that to any woman.

  A memory flashed into his mind, of Helena as he’d last seen her. Tom much preferred to see her laughing. Or crying out in delight, as he loved her.

  He wanted her badly. Even more so now he knew what lay under the silks and laces she wore. Something far more costly, and far more precious. He was in a fever for her.

  They had not fully consummated their relationship, although he had touched her everywhere and brought as much joy to her as he could without compromising her. He feared he had done too much already. Any man taking her to bed would know she was not completely innocent.

  But he could no more stop than he could stop breathing. He had soared past want, straight into need.

  The words on the page danced before his eyes, and he was glad to have something to look at until he reined in his self-control. “Does it matter that the prince is a woman-beating drunk?” He asked the words mildly, and it was a genuine question.

  “If he were on the throne, then no,” his father replied.

  At the same time Will cried, “How can you talk of our rightful monarch that way?”

  “He’s the Regent.” Tom was too used to his brother to allow
any irritation from that direction. “Not the crowned monarch.”

  Will waved a beringed hand. “You have the right of it. But we cannot speak of him in those terms.”

  “We have to,” Tom said. “For God’s sake, Will, can you not admit that the Stuarts will not win the throne by conquest?” Frustration seized him by the throat. He had not meant to lose his temper, but it was done. At least he was still capable of rational thought, although his blood was up. “They will not gain it by inheritance, either, if the Hanovers continue to breed the way they do.”

  He faced two men, one white-faced, the other with a ruddy tinge to his handsome features. He had said too much. They would not agree with him.

  His father spoke first, interrupting Will, who had begun to shout invective. “Quiet, Will! I had not thought you had so much sense, Tom.”

  Tom stopped, his mouth open in shock. He’d thought his father’s anger was directed at him, for not informing him about the prince’s departure. But perhaps meeting the man again and realizing what he was had brought the duke to a sense of reality.

  The duke continued, “We cannot expect conquest to win the day, not any longer. With the Peace of Aix, Europe shifted its allegiances. Unless the Prince breeds and soon, the Stuarts are lost. The Prince of Wales has bred a nest full of children, and he is well thought of.”

  Tom tried to recover from his father referring to the Hanoverian Frederick as “The Prince of Wales.”

  His father caught his son’s startled gaze and grimaced. “I have to accustom myself to using the words. You think I have not been thinking about our situation? This visit from the Prince brought matters to a head, and I have spent some time doing what I should have done long ago. I have brought myself to see reason. We cannot lurk in the shadows any longer. We’ve done all we can to rebuild our title and the land, but now we have to move further into the light.”

  “So we are turning coat?” Will said bitterly. He flung himself across the room, his coat flying behind him. “How can you think so?”

  “We have to.” His father turned to Tom, effectively dismissing Will. “You two can marry into the old families and the new. Develop our connections. We may continue to work for the restoration of the rightful monarchs, but we have to do it in a different way. Become as powerful and successful as any other family of our rank and prepare to welcome the king when he returns. We should think of building a strong foundation for them, somewhere they may return to. The king will not win by conquest, but if the will of the people have it, he may be asked back. Why should they not realize their mistake?” The duke glanced at his desk. The big old-fashioned piece of furniture had papers scattered over its worn surface. He selected one and handed it to his oldest son. “I’ve drawn up a list. Next season, you two will go a-courting.”