Vixen

Chapter 14

"Where's the lass this morning?" Hugo came into the kitchen, yawning, rubbing his flat

palms over his face. His clothes were more than usually rumpled.

"She 'ad breakfast about an hour ago. Said she was goin' t' put nag to grass in the orchard." Samuel cast a sharp look at his employer. It was mid-morning, unusually late for Sir Hugo to rise unless he'd been drinking heavily. But apart from looking as if he'd slept in his clothes, he seemed clear-eyed and refreshed.

Samuel poured coffee. "We need supplies, so if ye've got a few pennies, I'll take the cart."

Hugo grimaced. "How much is a few pennies, Samuel?"

Samuel shrugged. "A couple o' guineas'll prob'ly do for a bit o' flour an' coffee an' the like. But the pig'll 'ave to be stuck soon if there's to be bacon for the winter, and Colin likes 'is money on the dot. An' there's the farrier to pay."

"Won't Colin take payment in kind? A side of bacon?"

"Aye, 'e might. Things is 'ard for 'im at the moment. 'Ard for everyone, what wi' wages bein' cut at the mill."

"Maun." Hugo drank coffee. "And there'll be no reform meetings for a while. Henry Hunt's been sentenced to two years in prison."

"Just makes 'em more riled. They'd see the magistrates swing soon as look at 'em." Samuel set a plate of ham in front of Hugo. "That do ye?"

"Amply, thanks." Hugo cut into the meat. "Take what

you need for the supplies from the strongbox in the library."

He remembered with a guilty pang the three gold sovereigns he'd given Betsy… not to mention the two he'd lavished on the turnip seller for Rosinante- more than enough to pay the farrier and the pig sticker and keep them in flour and coffee for a month. Chloe had insisted it was her money he was spending, but he couldn't see himself recouping the outlay from his ward's pin money.

"I could do with a bath, Samuel," he said, diverting his thoughts to a more easily remediable situation.

"I'll set it up for ye in 'ere," Samuel said. "like I did for the lass. Ye'll be wantin' to use the screen, I reckon."

"Yes, I'd better," Hugo said. Until Chloe's advent, he'd been accustomed to bathing without such niceties, usually under the pump in the courtyard, in clement weather. But they were no longer an all-male household.

Half an hour later, he was ensconced in the hip bath before the range and behind the fire screen, luxuriating in the hot water that steamed gently around him. Toward dawn, he'd finally fallen into a deep sleep and he was now rilled with a sense of physical well-being. He had fought his addiction last night and won, and the sense of achievement was sweet. Chloe's part in the victory had to be acknowledged and he contemplated what he could do to please her that wouldn't involve him in vast expense. Another trip to Manchester… and perhaps he'd bite his tongue when she demanded some hideous monstrosity and let her enjoy her purchase. But then again, remembering what tended to appeal to her, perhaps not. He closed his eyes, flexing his toes over the edge of the bath, idly slurping water over his chest.

The water was cooling slightly, and he thought he

heard Samuel in the kitchen. "Before you go, Samuel, bring me another jug of hot water."

Chloe stood in the open doorway, looking around the deserted kitchen. She was about to tell the disembodied voice of her guardian that Samuel wasn't in the room, when a hot tide of excitement washed over her, sending a jolt to the pit of her stomach that made her knees weak. Here was the opportunity… and a golden one at that.

She approached the screen, where a line of copper jugs stood waiting to replenish the bath. Did she dare? It was about as outrageous as anything ever could be.

"Samuel?" Hugo's voice was slightly impatient as he repeated his request. "Pass me another jug of hot water, please."

Chloe hefted the nearest jug, marshaled every last fiber of courage, and rounded the screen. "Good morning, Hugo."

"What the…?" He stared in momentary disbelief and then realized she was gazing with unabashed curiosity at his lower body, only partly submerged in the water. He opened his mouth to say something… anything… when she emptied the contents of the jug she was carrying over his chest.

Chloe had been so intent on her plan, so blinded with excitement, she'd grabbed the first jug to hand. It was the one that contained ice cold water from the pump.

Hugo bellowed like a wounded ox and leapt to his feet, frantically shaking water off his body. "You… you brut!" he roared. He sprang out of the tub, grabbing a towel hanging over the screen.

Chloe shrieked in mingled fear and excitement and fled. Hugo came after her, knocking over the screen, wrapping the towel around his waist. "Come here, you obnoxious brat," he yelled, beside himself with rage. "Just wait till I get my hands on you."

"You'll have to catch me first." Chloe dodged behind the kitchen table, her eyes shining as she delivered her challenge.

Flinging a chair aside, Hugo dived around the table. Dante, who for some reason seemed to sense nothing threatening to his beloved mistress in this wild scene, barked excitedly. Neither pursuer nor quarry paid him any attention.

Chloe escaped Hugo's grasping hands by a hair and bounded for the door. She raced headlong across the hall and paused for a split second. If she ran into the courtyard, Hugo wouldn't be able to follow her, not in that skimpy towel loincloth. And if he didn't follow her, he wouldn't catch her.

She veered toward the stairs, taking a flying jump at the first two. Hugo threw himself forward, and for a heart-stopping second his fingers circled her ankle, but she was moving too quickly for him to grasp her properly and his hold slipped away. She leapt upward, her heart juddering with a fearful hectic turbulence, her blood swirling hotly in her veins. She was lost in a world of purely visceral responses, her mind no longer controlling her body's decisions. At the head of the stairs she hurtled down the corridor leading to Hugo's apartments.

Hugo was on her heels as she flung open the door and sprang inside. He slammed the door shut as he hurled himself after her. Dante jumped back with a startled yelp as the door banged in his nose.

The wild chase had fanned the flames of Hugo's shocked fury. His breath came swift and ragged and the water was cold on his skin. "By God, you stand in sore need of a sharp lesson, miss," he declared. "Come here!"

"Catch me!" She laughed at him, bright-eyed, and

jumped backward onto the bed. His anger excited her, though she had no idea why it should.

Hugo lunged for her as she danced across the bed, and this time he caught her ankle and hung on. He jerked hard. Chloe shrieked as she tumbled facedown on the bed, her free foot waving wildly in the air.

He seized the other ankle, his fingers gripping as tightly as any fetter. He hauled her toward him across the wide expanse of coverlet, her skirt rucking up as he dragged her. Distantly he noticed that the soles of her bare feet were grass-stained, that her smooth calves were stockingless, that the hollow behind her knees was deep and satiny, that her small round bottom was clad in serviceable linen drawers, unadorned with frills or lace.

Even as he struggled with his suddenly reeling senses that had driven all clarity of purpose from his mind, Chloe twisted onto her back, so he now held her by crossed ankles. Her eyes were dark liquid pools of sensuality, her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed, golden wisps of hair escaping from her braids in a lustrous mist around her exquisite countenance. The sweet swell of her bosom rose and fell with her swift breath. Her skirt was hiked to her waist, and the legs of her drawers were pushed up on her thighs. His eye ran over the flat stomach, the sharp points of her hipbones pressing against the linen undergarment, the long, creamy length of exposed thigh.

"Sweet heaven," he whispered in the despairing recognition of imminent surrender. He opened his hands.

Chloe sat up in a deceptively lethargic movement, her eyes never leaving his face, triumphant certainty lurking in the cornflower depths as she sensed his capitulation. Leaning forward, her eyes narrowing with deliberation, she plucked the towel from his loins. His body sprang free in hard readiness, and with the same deliberation

she touched him, kneeling up on the bed, holding him with one hand, her fingers exploring in the wiry tangle of hair as she learned the feel of him while her other hand moved upward over his chest, brushing his nipples. Her head was bent, watching the effect of her hands' intimacies, her eyes intent on his body as if seeing it for the first time. And indeed, that night in the library, she had seen little of him, had been too lost in her own sensations to be aware of much outside herself.

Hugo threw back his head with a soft, almost helpless groan of pleasure. His hands caressed her bent head, palming the delicate shape of her skull beneath the untidily braided hair. She slipped her hands around his hips, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his buttocks, increasing the scope of her voluptuous exploration.

He turned her face up and bent his head to kiss her mouth. Her lips parted eagerly and her tongue joined with his in a mischievous dance before his hands gripped her face more firmly and he drove deep into her mouth, possessing its sweetness in rough and delightful plunder, and Chloe finally yielded the initiative. Her hands fell from his body, and she arched backward on her knees, her thighs opening in involuntary response, her body's cleft moistening and throbbing as he ravaged the softness of her mouth.

Hugo drew back and looked at her face, one finger delicately tracing the line of her jaw, her reddened lips, the small, tip-tilted nose. His gaze held no humor, but a hunger and single-minded determination that sent answering thrills of anticipation over her skin, lifting her scalp, rippling in her belly.

Bending over her as she still knelt on the bed, he laid his flat palms on the insides of her opened thighs and exerted firm pressure, pushing them wider. She let her palms rest on the bed beside her knees as her body was slowly, inexorably opened and she could feel the ach-

ing vulnerability of her core begging for his touch. With the same slow deliberation he laid his hand over the throbbing furrow and she jumped as if touched with a burning brand.

"Be still," he said quietly. "Be still and let your body speak." His fingers worked through the dampening linen of her drawers until she moaned, biting her lip as the pleasure built in a tight spiral in the pit of her stomach. She felt she was being split asunder, leaning backward on her hands, her body pressing urgently against the magic of his fingers. And then the coil burst and she was flooded with a sensation that rocked her entire body, that curled her toes and brought tears of startled joy to her eyes.

He took her face again and kissed her with the hard, possessive demand of before. She clutched at him, her arms circling him, her hands stroking his back, feeling the turgid shaft of his flesh pressing against her stomach as she reached against him.

He released her mouth and took a step away from her. "Take your clothes off… all of them… quickly." The green eyes were narrow slits of passion as his voice rasped the command.

With fumbling fingers she pulled loose the sash at her waist and tore at the hooks at the back of her gown. She dragged it over her head while she still knelt on the bed, transfixed by the green-eyed gaze, afraid she wasn't being fast enough to please him, wanting only to pleasure him as he had pleasured her. The tiny buttons of her sleeveless chemise were resistant, and one broke off as she struggled with it, but finally she pulled the garment over her head and tossed it to the floor. Kneeling upright, she unfastened the tie of her drawers and pushed them off her hips, sitting down hastily to kick them free of her feet.

"Now your hair," he said.

She pulled the already loosened braids out of their ribbons and ran her fingers through her hair, flicking it over her shoulders.

"Stand up."

She rose slowly, vaguely aware that her knees were weak, her body in ferment; all-consuming desire thrummed in her veins. She stood still, her hands at her sides, gazing into his face as he looked at her in a long, lingering appraisal that sent a violent jolt through her loins.

"Turn around."

She turned as if in a dream, looking down at the bed, her back and buttocks prickling with the knowledge of his eyes roaming over their damask curves. She felt him come up behind her, and his body pressed warm against her back, his hands moving around to caress her breasts, holding their roundness in the palms of his hands, circling her erect nipples with the pad of his thumbs. His lips brushed her ear, his breath warm on her neck.

"Please." The whispered plea for she knew not what was the first word she'd spoken since it had begun, and it reached Hugo through the mists of his own consuming arousal… an arousal that had arisen out of his anger with such suddenness, he hadn't attempted to take ahold of it but had allowed it to take them both where it would.

"What would you like?" he murmured now against her ear. "You have only to tell me."

She shook her head, unable to find words for what she didn't understand. Her hands moved behind her to clasp him more tightly against her body, her feet shifting on the bare floorboards.

"Let me see if I can guess." There was the faintest hint of understanding humor in his voice now. He took a

step forward, half lifting her, and they tumbled together onto the bed.

Hugo rolled sideways, keeping her flat on her belly with a warm palm in the small of her back. Propping himself on one elbow, he kissed each pointed shoulder blade before nipping and nuzzling down her back, his lips brushing across the flare of her hips, blazing a trail down her thighs, his tongue dipping into those silky hollows behind her knees. She squirmed and moaned in soft delight as he revealed her to herself, showing her what pleasure her body could afford her. And when he'd finished with her back, he flipped her over and began his downward journey from the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat.

"Did I guess correctly?" he murmured with a tiny smile of satisfaction as he moved up her body again, feeling how alive she was, every square inch of her skin sensitized. Her head moved in inarticulate answer and her eyes met his with such a richly sensual glow of demand as her hips moved with urgent expression that the reins on his own tightly harnessed passion finally snapped. Using every skill garnered from experience, he'd held himself in check while he taught the tender novice an educated response to match her impulsive, unlearned eagerness, but he could wait no longer.

Slipping his hands beneath her arching buttocks, he lifted her higher as he eased into the moist, welcoming sheath of her body. She shuddered around him, instinctively tightening her inner muscles so that he drew breath with sharp pleasure. Holding her on the shelf of his palms, he moved within her until she picked up his rhythm and the warm-muscled roundness he held clenched and released in harmony with his movements. He drew her legs onto his shoulders, and her eyes widened in surprise as the sensation changed and she felt his flesh deep within her own.

He held her gaze, watching her face change, reveling in the candid openness as expressions chased themselves across her features, registering every shift in sensation. He knew she was capable of no artifice; she could no more feign pleasure than she could disguise it, and the knowledge deepened his own pleasure in a way he wouldn't have believed possible, releasing him in some way from the dark, furtive games of his sexual past.

"No, don't close your eyes," he whispered as the thin, blue-veined lids veiled them for a moment. The long-lashed lids swept up immediately, and she smiled at him with such radiance, he thought he was going to drown in her beauty.

He knew the moment she was almost at the pinnacle. Deliberately, he moved his hand to touch the exquisitely sensitive bud at the point of their fusion. Chloe cried out, her body convulsing around him, her spine arched, and tears again filled her eyes that still locked with his, drawing him into her moment of bliss, submerging him in the midnight-blue depths.

With a wrenching gasp he withdrew from her body the instant before his own climax rushed upon him. He gathered her to him as the tide took him on its tumbling ride of ecstasy and held her until he was tossed to shore. He fell backward, still holding the slight body against him, until his heart slowed and his head cleared.

"Oh, Chloe," he whispered. "What wicked magic did you brew?" He rolled sideways, still holding her, and smudged the tearstains on her cheeks with his thumb. He'd had many women, but never had he seen a woman cry at the climactic moment. This diminutive bundle of passion had twice wept with joy.

Chloe blinked, smiled, and stretched out along the length of his body. "No magic."

"Yes, magic," he disagreed with a rueful headshake. "That was not the lesson I intended teaching you."

"But it was the lesson I intended to learn," she said with more than a hint of smugness.

He laughed and lay on his back, pulling her with him so she lay atop him. He pushed the tumbling hair back from her face and examined her countenance. "It would seem I've been boarded and taken for a prize."

"Is that what they do with ships?"

"In wartime."

She lowered her head and kissed the corner of his mouth, a delicate butterfly kiss that barely brushed his lips. "But this isn't war."

"No," he agreed. "You're a piratical minx, but you're not built for warfare."

"A pirate?" She gave a little gurgle of laughter that entranced him anew. "I think I shall make an expert pirate."

"Heaven help us both, but I think you will too," he murmured. There was a power here too strong for one man to resist on the grounds of scruple. Somehow, he'd steer a path through it.

"But I don't like it when you withdraw at the end in that fashion," she said suddenly, a crease appearing between her brows. "If it was so that I won't conceive, I would prefer to take the potion."

Hugo stiffened and abruptly rolled her onto the bed beside him. Leaning over her, he spoke with soft vehemence. "You will not ever again take that filthy stuff, Chloe."

"Why not'"

The crypt rose in its dank evil, its smell filling his nostrils. Stephen Gresham's voice rang in his ears. The man's vicious hungers spread themselves on the carpet of memory. This girl was his daughter. A creature with

all the appetites, vital and glowing with a devouring lust for life's pleasures.

"What is it?" She saw him go from her, back to the world of his painted devils, and in fear she touched his face. "I'm sorry, Hugo. Please. Whatever I did, I didn't mean it."

He pulled himself back to the sunlit room and the reality of the woman he'd just loved with such shared joy. He spoke evenly. "There are many things you don't understand, lass. You will have to trust me to know what's best in these matters."

"I do… I will," she said hastily. The bright morning seemed to have dimmed somewhat. "But you're not sorry, are you? You don't regret what happened?"

How could he regret such pleasure, or deny the spur of unstoppable passion? He was not harming Chloe, he knew that now. She was an equal partner for all the disparity in their ages. And maybe he was the best person to guide the vast appetite she had for life in all its earthly facets. Perhaps Elizabeth had sensed that too. Even in her laudanum trance she would have had a mother's recognition of her daughter's nature. Had she been afraid that once free of the restraints of her girlhood, her daughter would follow where her appetites and her stellar beauty led? Unguided, they would lead her to ruin. Had Elizabeth recognized Stephen in their daughter?

She was still regarding him with anxiety, and he saw the ingenuous girl again. He remembered the openness of her responses. Appetites as such were not wrong if they were not governed by evil. The sins of the father should not be visited upon the child.

"No," he said. "I don't regret it, lass."