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Being in his arms again was like coming home—or at least what she imagined that would be since she’d never really had a real home to come back to. But his lips, his hands on her waist, his tongue teasing her until she was breathless, those were her home, her sanctuary, her refuge.
She’d tried to remember the pain she’d felt earlier. He had sent her away and made her feel unwanted, but try as she might, she couldn’t manage to summon those feelings again. Not when he was holding her tight and kissing her like he might die without the taste of her.
Her mother always said trouble followed her like a hungry puppy, but Pru knew trouble stuck around because she fed that puppy. She couldn’t seem to help it. She knew feeding him was a bad idea and yet, in the moment, she just couldn’t resist. How could she resist a puppy?
And how could she resist Nash Pope and his skillful lips and tender touch? If he didn’t care about her, would he treat her so gently? Behave as though she were precious and cherished?
He pulled away. “I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, breathless. “I liked it.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to be a gentleman and not accost you in the middle of the road.”
“Then we’ll move out of the road.”
She took his hand and pulled him off the road toward a grove of trees that differentiated one large farm from another. Lifting her skirts, she traipsed through the tall grass between the fields, liking the way the yellow stalks swept softly against her skin.
Once in the cool shade of the trees, she moved to a small clearing where the sun cast a patch of warmth. She could not see the road and thus knew she couldn’t be seen. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t be discovered by someone surveying the fields or hunting in the grass, but she was willing to take that chance because she wanted to be with Nash again. Being with him wasn’t safe, but it made her feel alive. And she rarely took the safe path if a more exciting one lay ahead.
Nash turned toward her. “Where are we?”
“A clearing between the Watson and Stone farms.”
He nodded. “Are we surrounded by grand old oak trees?”
“You know it?”
He nodded. “My brothers and I used to come this way sometimes if we were out when we shouldn’t be and didn’t want to be seen on the road and have our misdeeds reported to my father.”
“And did you ever bring a girl here and kiss her?” Pru asked, moving into his arms.
“No. I never kissed a girl or a woman at Wentmore or Milcroft until you.”
“Then this can be our place,” she said. He nodded and unfastened his coat and pulled it off.
“Put this on the ground so we have somewhere to sit.”
She arranged the coat on the soft grass and pulled him down beside her on it. “What should we call it? This place?”
He leaned in, finding her mouth and kissing her. “Does it have to have a name?”
“It’s more romantic that way.”
His mouth drifted to her neck, and she shivered. His lips left a trail of heat in their wake. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of romance.” His breath on her skin was warm, and she closed her eyes and let herself do nothing but feel the brush of his lips, so warm in comparison to the weak sun of this autumn day.
He pulled her down, coming down beside her and propping his head on an elbow. She knew he had a little vision in his right eye, and the way he looked at her felt as though he could really see her. Perhaps he could, or perhaps he was just trying very, very hard.
She brushed the hair back from his face, and he barely flinched when his left eye was revealed briefly.
“What do you think of Cupid’s Clearing?” she asked, his face in her hands as she marveled at his straight nose and the arch of his brows, marred on the left by a scar that somehow made him look even more handsome because he wasn’t perfect.
“I think it’s trite.”
She laughed. “Well, you try then.”
“What color is the grass?” he asked. “And the oaks?”
She forced her gaze from his features and looked about. “The trees are all shades of autumn colors—brown and red, some yellow and orange, a few green leaves hanging on yet. The grass is golden, almost the color of wheat. You can feel how soft it is, as though it died only recently and hasn’t dried out and turned brittle and tough yet.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, finally. “The way you see the world. The way you see me.”
“That’s because you show me the real you,” she said. “Everyone else only sees gruff and angry Nash Pope.”
He grinned. “Is that what I sound like? That low, growly voice?”
“Perhaps. Sometimes.”
His mouth found her lips again, and she wrapped her arms about him, closing her eyes and letting her skin revel in his touch. When he’d grinned down at her, she’d felt a sudden twist in her heart. And she’d almost said exactly what she was feeling. It had taken a swift bite to the inside of her cheek to reign in the impulse to tell him she loved him.
She hadn’t even realized she did until that moment. And as soon as she did, she wanted to say the words, but some shred of sense was left in her somewhere and she knew he was not ready to hear them. Perhaps he never would be.
Her hands went to work untying his neckcloth and then unfastening the buttons of his collar. She returned his kisses then, teasing the skin of his neck with her lips and tongue until he was breathing heavily. She unfastened his waistcoat and pulled the tail of his shirt from his trousers, sliding her hands under his shirt to feel the warmth of his bare skin.
It was too chilly on this autumn day, even in the sun, to undress, but she wanted to touch as much of him as she could. His hands slid over the bodice of her dress then down to her waist and over the hot place between her legs. He gathered her skirt and tugged it up until she felt the cool air on her calves. She hadn’t worn her drawers as she’d known she was to try on her new dress today, and Mrs. Northgate would have lectured her on drawers. And so Nash’s warm hand soon made an erotic contrast to the breeze as he slid up her leg and toward her core.
“Touch me,” she whispered. His lips found hers and his hand brushed over the damp curls of her sex. He made a sound of approval as he stroked her, his fingers finding the small bud that gave her the most pleasure easily and then teasing it until she was writhing and fisting her hands in his shirt.
“Nash, I want you inside me,” she ordered, not caring that a lady would never say such a thing.
“Yes,” he said. “But first let me give you—”
“Now,” she said, reaching for the fall of his breeches. She opened it, and his erection was warm and hard in her hands. He made a slight groan as she slid her hand up and down him, moving their bodies closer together. When he moved inside her, she couldn’t stop the feral moan from rising in her throat. The way he filled her, stretched her, stroked her was like no other feeling in the world.
“I’ll go slowly,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Yes,” she agreed as he moved inside her, so very slowly that she felt she might go mad. At the same time, she enjoyed the torture, the slow build to climax, the rushing of blood in her ears, and the way everything in the world dimmed but the scent of him and the feel of him and the taste of his lips as he kissed her.
“Pru,” he said, his voice gruff as she tensed around him, the spiral of pleasure rising and rising now. “Pru.”
She liked the way he said her name, liked that even though he couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t look at her, he was with her. He was thinking only of her.
She arched back as the climax reached its peak, thrusting her hips hard against him and crying out as he plunged deeper inside her. He cried out too, pulling out as she reached the last throes of pleasure to spill his seed on the grass beside them. Then he was back beside her, kissing her, holding her, whispering that he didn’t know how he’d managed without her.
She held him close, her heart pounding from pleasure and also that new, unfamiliar emotion she knew must be love. Her heart squeezed painfully at the fullness she felt. She wanted them to stay like this forever. In this enchanted clearing, in this world that was only the two of them.
And that’s when she heard the crack of a stick.
***
NASH RAISED HIS HEAD at the sound. Pru had heard it too. Her body tensed suddenly. Nash looked about, forgetting in the moment that he couldn’t see. Cursing under his breath, he stilled and listened. There were no other sounds of intrusion—no leaves rustling, no murmur of voices or the sound of horses’ hooves. Beneath him, Pru moved to the side and rose up.
“Do you see anything?” he asked.
“No,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps we imagined it.”
“Unlikely that we both imagined the same sound.” He rose, tucking his shirt in and closing his trousers. He moved carefully about the clearing, listening for any telltale sounds, thinking he might flush out a fox or rabbit. But they were too small to have made such a sound. It had to be something larger, like a deer.
Pru moved to his side, straightening her skirts as she used her eyes while he listened closely. “It must have been a deer,” she said, coming to the same conclusion he had.
“Yes.” But if that was all it had been, why were his fingers tingling for a trigger? Why did his hand reach for the pocket of his coat, where his pistol usually rested? Pru took his hand in her warm one.
“You probably startled the poor creature,” she said.
“Me?” He tossed her a scowl, which caused her to laugh. “You were the one entreating God—or perhaps you were referring to me when you called out, oh God!”
She smacked him. “I have no recollection of that.”
He pulled her into an embrace. “Then I should remind you.”
“You should get dressed,” she said. “We have already spent far too long on this walk. Mr. Payne and Mrs. Blimkin will wonder where we are.
Nash wished he didn’t have to hurry away from her. He wished he could spend all day, undressing her, kissing her, laughing with her. It had been years since he’d felt so happy and carefree as he did in her arms.
But she wasn’t his, and he couldn’t make a claim on her even if he wanted to—there was still the likelihood of the asylum in his future.
And he was still blind. But that didn’t seem as much an obstacle any longer. He didn’t feel quite so useless and inept. He’d thought his life was over when he’d lost his sight, but now he was beginning to think he still had a lot to live for. And though he couldn’t see, he wasn’t helpless or useless. He was, apparently, hosting the village autumn festival.
Nash squeezed Pru harder. “You have to help me with the autumn festival,” he said.
“As I told you before, I’ve never been to the festival. I have no idea what’s expected.”
“But you know people who do—Mrs. Blinkin and Mrs. Brown. The vicar and the shrew who makes you sew.”
“Mrs. Northgate is not a shrew—well, not the dowager Mrs. Northgate, at any rate. And I asked her to help me make this dress.”
“Regardless, you can ask for their assistance.”
“I could, but you are hosting the festival, not I. I’m not...I have no official connection to Wentmore.”
“Then be discreet.”
She gave a small laugh. “I’ve not been terribly successful with discretion in the past. But I’ll do my best. Does that mean...” She hesitated. “You said before—”
He lowered his head to her shoulder. “I know what I said, and I didn’t mean to hurt you, though I know I did. I wanted to keep you safe.”
“I am safe with you.”
She wasn’t, but he didn’t want to argue with her now. Soon enough his fate would be sealed. If he managed to escape the asylum, he could end this—whatever this was—then. He could part with her before either of them were hurt, emotionally or physically. Because Nash knew it was only a matter of time before he again made a mistake like he had this summer with Duncan. Only this time he feared Pru would be the one to take the pistol ball, and he couldn’t live with himself if he ever hurt her.
***
WITH TWO DAYS BEFORE the festival, Pru was busier than she had ever been in her life. She had spent the better part of the week at Wentmore, making certain the estate was ready for the upcoming festivities. Mr. Payne had the workmen and the landscaping well in hand, so Pru spent a great deal of time in the kitchens with Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Blimkin, planning the menu and the activities. Certain games, like bobbing for apples, were tradition, as were certain dishes. Mrs. Blimkin assured everyone the villagers would bake pies and cakes and bring their best savory dishes to share. But being that the event was to be held at Wentmore, where few had visited in over a decade, the autumn festival would be attended by even more people than usual. Mrs. Blimkin insisted Wentmore provide a dozen or more dishes to ensure no one left hungry.
“Where is that wretched Clopdon?” Mrs. Blimkin asked after surveying the newly repaired kitchens to be certain all was ready for the real work—the cooking that would begin tomorrow. “I sent him to inventory the tablecloths an hour ago.”
Pru’s eyes had glazed over at an argument about tarts versus cobblers, but now she jumped to her feet. “Shall I go look for him and ascertain his progress?”
“Oh, would you, dear?” Mrs. Brown asked. “My old feet would thank you to save me another trip up the stairs today.”
“Of course! I’ll go right now.” She turned and practically ran for the stairs. She had no real expectation of finding the valet. He had made it clear he was not a butler and loath to do any sort of fetching and carrying or, for that matter, supervising of the footmen. His one task, he claimed, was to ensure Mr. Pope looked his best, and Pru could not argue that he was accomplishing that admirably.
She had yet to catch more than a glimpse of Nash today, and she’d been waiting for the chance to sneak away and spend a few private moments—or perhaps more than a few—with him. Lately they’d been meeting in the butler’s pantry. It was right off the stairs leading down to the kitchens, so a bit of a risk but, as there was no butler, safer than many other areas of the house. Pru would slip into the room, and Nash would grab her about the waist and kiss her until they were both breathless.
Now she practically ran up the stairs and dashed into the butler’s pantry but found it empty. Frowning, she went into the dining room, but it was empty as well. She moved into the foyer and spotted Clopdon coming down the stairs, his arms full of linen. He gave her a warning look. “If you have come on behalf of that termagant to ask me to do some menial task—”
“I haven’t,” Pru said quickly. Perhaps she could count the tablecloths herself... “I was looking for Mr. Pope. Is he in his chamber?”
“He is not. I caught him earlier and forced him to submit to the tortures of my measuring tape. God forbid we have a coat that fits him properly on Saturday.”
“I have no doubt he will look very well at the festival.”
“No thanks to Mr. Payne who seems to think it acceptable to agree to host large events without even a week’s notice.”
“Well, if anyone is up to the task, Clopdon, it’s you.”
“Flattery is always appreciated, Miss Howard. Now I must scuttle away before that harridan finds me and asks me to count silver or some such nonsense.”
“Of course.” Pru watched him walk away, still wondering where Nash might be. She could try the parlor. She started that way when the front door opened, and Nash himself, followed by the vicar, entered.
Pru’s smile at seeing Nash turned to a look of surprise at spotting Mr. Higginbotham. “Ah, there you are, Miss Howard,” the vicar said. Nash paused and looked about him until he found her. Pru’s entire body warmed when his gaze touched her. Even though he’d told her he could only see vague shapes and outlines, she knew he was more than familiar with her shape.
“Yes, I’m here. Good day, Mr. Pope. Mr. Higginbotham. I didn’t expect to see you, sir.”
“Well, my housekeeper seems to have taken up residence here, so it is here I must come if I wish a decent meal.”
Pru knew Mrs. Blimkin made sure to leave meals for the vicar every morning and evening, so this was a flimsy excuse. No doubt, the vicar was as curious as everyone else in the village about Wentmore and its master.
“If I’d known you were here,” Pru said, “I would have taken you to Mrs. Blimkin immediately. She’s in the kitchen with Mrs. Brown.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright,” the vicar said with a wave of his hand. “I also came to tell Mr. Pope that Mr. Smith is improving and to thank him for his generosity toward that family.”
Pru raised her eyebrows. She knew nothing about the Smiths, but she was not surprised that Nash had done something generous.
“And then Mr. Pope offered to show me about the grounds and the location for our festival on Saturday,” the vicar said. “I must say, it is quite a pleasing prospect.”
“Yes, it is,” Pru agreed. Now that the hedges had been trimmed, the trees pruned, the lawns tended, and the ivy on the house tidied, she hardly recognized the place herself. It looked so different from the wild place where she and Nash had sat on the grass and spoken of fairy gatherings. The fairies would have to find other haunts, though, as Wentmore had once again been tamed.
“Shall I show you to the kitchens, sir?” Nash asked the vicar.
“I can find them myself, if you don’t mind me wandering about a bit.”
“Not at all,” Nash said, and the vicar meandered away.
When he was out of hearing range, Pru moved toward Nash. “May I speak to you in the parlor, Mr. Pope?”
His brows rose. “The parlor? Not the butler’s pantry?”
She smiled. Wicked man, and she did love him for it. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with the inventory of the tablecloths,” she said, taking his hand. He leaned the walking stick he used outside beside the door and allowed her to lead him into the parlor. Then he closed the door and pushed her up against it, kissing her hard and fast. Pru kissed him back, wrapping her arms about him and sliding her fingers through his hair. It had been cut again, no doubt by Clopdon, but as Nash would not consent to have it shorn enough to show his wounded eye, the top was still somewhat long.
She pulled back. “You didn’t even give me a chance to make sure we are alone.”
“Are we?” he asked.
She peered over his shoulder and looked about the chamber. “Yes.”
“Good.” He kissed her again, his hands running up her sides and along her arms until he captured them and held her wrists. He secured them against the door and held her there, his captive. He had gained back some of the weight he had lost and no longer looked pale and gaunt. He was now quite a formidable form, and she liked the feel of him pressed against her. He was so warm, so alive, strong but gentle.
“You have me,” she murmured as he moved his mouth to kiss her neck. “Now what will you do?”
“I’ve been hoping for more rain,” he said.
“Never say so! The festival will be ruined.”
“But you might be forced to stay the night again.” He kissed her earlobe and she shivered. “I want you in my bed,” he whispered.
She wanted that too. She wanted to undress him slowly and touch every inch of him, kiss every part of him, then push him down, clamp her legs about his hips, and take him slowly inside her.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but your pulse just kicked,” he said.
“Nothing I should admit to anyone, lest I go to hell.”
“We’ll go together.” He kissed her again, wedging a knee between her legs and pressing against her core until she wanted to roll her hips to increase the friction.
“Hello!” a too-familiar voice called from the foyer. Pru jolted and pushed Nash away. He released her immediately.
“Who is it?”
“I say hello there!”
“I think it’s Mrs. Northgate,” Pru said. “I’d better go see.”
“I need a butler,” Nash muttered. Pru grinned at him.
“And here I thought you didn’t like servants.”
He moved aside, and she opened the parlor door and blinked in surprise as indeed Mrs. Northgate was standing in the foyer of Wentmore, looking up at the large chandelier with an assessing eye.
“Mrs. Northgate!” Pru said, genuinely pleased to see her friend.
“I might have known I’d find you here,” Mrs. Northgate said. She wore a lavender dress today, quite elegant in style. Her coil of silver hair was lower than usual, being that she’d had to fit it under a hat, but with the plumes of the hat, the woman was over six feet tall.
“I’ve been helping Mrs. Blimkin and Mrs. Brown with preparations for the festival,” Pru said.
“I’m sure you have.” Mrs. Northgate looked past Pru, and she realized Nash had come out of the parlor to stand behind her. His hair was still mussed from her hands running through it.
“Welcome, Mrs. Northgate,” he said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, and though I cannot see Miss Howard’s new dress myself, I hear it is quite fetching.”
“It is, if I do say so myself. I must commend you, Mr. Pope, on the state of the house. I was given to understand it was in ruins, but it looks very much the way it did the last time I was here. Perhaps a few improvements here and there.”
“Thank you.” He gave a formal bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Pru watched him start up the stairs and wished she could follow him to his bedchamber. Instead, she turned a smile on Mrs. Northgate. “Would you like me to show you around a bit?”
“Certainly, since you are so much at home here.”
Pru nodded and gestured for Mrs. Northgate to follow her. There were still some rooms not ready for public viewing, but she could steer her friend away from those. The truth was, she did feel at home at Wentmore, but her time here was coming to an end. She and Nash had made every excuse they could think of to be together these past weeks. But the festival would be over soon and so would their time together.