The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘My mother left of her own accord. A sickness might have been easier to comprehend and recover from.’
‘Mrs Simpson told you of the way they died?’
‘I asked her.’
‘You would have liked them and they would have liked you.’
The compliment was so unexpected she could not help smiling, her horse whickering and fidgety as she pulled on the reins. ‘Your mama had fine taste in clothes,’ she finally said, indicating the dark blue velvet riding jacket and skirt that she wore.
‘She had fine taste in everything,’ he returned, grabbing the horse and ordering it still.
It obeyed instantly, but the jag of awareness that had simmered beneath this ride suddenly boiled over, the touch of his fingers against hers laying nonsense to normal rationale, the wind off the embankment lifting her hair. When his fist closed tighter she looked at him and saw on his face exactly what must have been on hers.
The grass was long and a small cliff sheltered them from the wind and from any unexpected prying eyes. Looking around, she had a view all over the valley. Apart from scattered herds of cattle nothing human moved.
‘Here?’ Her question was whispered, barely audible.
‘Yes.’ Only that as he dismounted and tied his horse to a bush beside him. Helping her down, he did the same to hers.
‘Come.’ He did not take her hand, but waited to see that she followed and a moment later they arrived at an overhang where the grass was thicker—a bed amongst the sky, a thin sun struggling through into bands of warmth.
His hand came out to touch the velvet collar at her neck, high and tight, before falling down across her breasts and her stomach.
Then her skirt was flicked up, the breeze against her bottom, only a small layer of lawn to stop him.
He brought her before him facing out and came in from behind, the barrier gone in a single tug and she held her arms backwards, clinging to his solidness as he entered her without a word, the heavy push of him making her arch. Here above the world in the cradle of the wind and with no mind for communion other than that of the body, Aurelia accepted what she had known since the moment of meeting Stephen Hawkhurst on the dusty track of Taylor’s Gap.
She had wanted him then and she wanted him now, the dampness of her sex asking for for ever and as he cried out and shuddered she knew a feeling that she had never known before: that of a true belonging.
He held her, his arms around her, still linked by flesh and hands, his voice low against her ear.
‘Thank you, my love.’
The tone in his words was such that she could believe that she was his love, not just a wife picked out from jeopardy and married on a whim. Closing her eyes, she savoured the moment, doubts whipped away by the pressure of his body, enveloping her, safety in the fervency of his need.
And then he stepped back, the link between them fallen, his seed spilling down the insides of her legs as he turned her and took her mouth, desperate and urgent, teeth against her lips biting down, the slight pain of sex as tumultuous as the soaring joyous clench of relief, the shared breath between them allowing only the taste of each other. Ravaged. She hung on as he calmed and held still, head falling against the deep blue velvet of his mother’s jacket and her hair covering his face with red.
‘It seems I cannot have enough of you.’
‘Then it is good that we are married, my lord.’
‘You are not upset that we should couple here, outside?’
‘In the sun and the wind and above a thousand acres of Atherton land? Nay, it seems more than appropriate.’
He laughed, loud and long, the sound in the wind coming back as an echo, free and jubilant; a Stephen she had not met before, but the one Lillian had spoken of at Woodruff Abbey.
‘God, Aurelia. When I first met you at the Gap I should have dragged you back to Atherton immediately and never let you leave.’
‘You were about to leap off a cliff, if I recall it rightly, so perhaps you had other thoughts upon your mind.’
‘I hope I would not have jumped.’ His voice was lower, more serious. ‘But war had deadened everything until we kissed and then…’ He stopped.
‘Then what?’
‘You made me feel again.’
Smiling, she raised her hand to his cheek, softly running her fingers into the hair at his temple and watching the gold in his eyes warm to honey.
‘Like this?’ she asked, her thumb rubbing against his lower lip. ‘Or like this?’ she added, feeling the line of his neck as the muscles in his throat tensed.
‘Like it all, sweetheart.’ He seized her fingers and brought them to his lips, his tongue sliding across the skin, leaving trails of cold.
‘I love you, Stephen.’ In his eyes the flicker of wary green ran into gold, but as she turned to her horse and mounted she knew that it would not be long before he would tell her all the things she wanted to hear.
Aurelia had allowed him her body and her mind in a generous and easy gift of taking. Even now as they turned for home, he thought if he reached for her again and called a halt she would let him slide into the hidden warmth, nothing held back or bargained for. Swearing beneath his breath, he stopped himself from doing just that because on the horizon rain clouds gathered and it was a long ride home.
She was a siren with a heart of gold and the mind of an academic. She was a woman whose ardour matched his and who was not averse to any sharing.
He wished it were night already, all duties to others fulfilled and ten long hours to satisfy himself only with his bride. Yesterday had only been a taste of what he could show her and she was a woman of bounteous charms. He could hardly wait for the moon to rise.
Shavvon was waiting for them on their return and he did not look happy. A group of three other men Stephen recognised leaned against a coach, the horses newly run and breathing hard.
‘You are early.’
‘Delsarte is dead.’
He heard Aurelia take in a breath and saw Alexander Shavvon glance over at her, the indifference in his eyes changing into something else entirely.
‘So this is Aurelia St Harlow?’
‘She is Lady Hawkhurst now.’
‘You have married her?’
‘Indeed.’
Hawk did not expect to hear a quick bark of laughter or to see approval in deep brown eyes.
‘To keep her safe?’
‘More than that.’
‘More?’
‘I love her.’ There, it was said into the open, the ease of it surprising. He felt Aurelia’s hand stiffen on his arm where she held it.
‘You realise that there will be a price to pay, Hawk, for such recklessness.’
Staying silent, he listened.
‘If you stay for the next two years in the British Service, I will consider any debt discharged.’
Stephen’s heart sank at the request. For so long now he had been trying to escape, but if such a duty would keep his wife safe then so be it. When he nodded Shavvon smiled, but Aurelia had stepped forwards, a heavy frown upon her brow.
‘No. I will not allow my husband to pay for my mistakes, Mr Shavvon. Instead I will offer you the chance of apprehending more of the same ilk of Delsarte and easily.’
‘How?’
‘My mother is surrounded by men who would harm England, men who with only a little persuasion may be tempted to take