They arrived after dark at a bustling and prosperous-looking inn on the main road to York. Caroline blinked at the light streaming from the windows, too tired to speak, as Alex guided the horse around the side of the establishment. He slid down and handed her the reins.
“I’ll be right back.” His voice was low. “I need to make sure there’s been no sign of Simms. Wait here.” Like a shadow, he blended into the night and was gone.
Oh, but she was weary. The thought of sleeping in a bed seemed like heaven. Please, let it be safe. Let them stop here for the night.
Alex returned. “No trace of him. We’ll stay here.” He took the reins and led their mount around the corner.
The back door was open, a square of golden light illuminating a servant tossing water out of a basin. He glanced up, startled, when Alex hailed him.
“What d’ye want?”
“A room for the night. Supper.” Alex stepped forward and dropped a coin into the man’s hand. “And no questions. Fetch the innkeeper if you will.”
The man peered into the darkness and caught sight of her. A knowing smirk crossed his face as he pocketed the coin and hurried back inside. It was clear he thought her a doxy needing to be smuggled in by the back door, and she was too tired to be discomfited by the thought. She glanced down. Her best afternoon dress was torn and stained, and no doubt her hair was in equal disarray. She must look exactly like what the servant took her for, but for a bowl of stew and a bed she would brave worse than a serving man’s scorn.
The stout innkeeper stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. “Aye, sir?” He nodded to Alex, who moved forward and lowered his voice.
Caroline could not catch the whispered conversation but guessed well enough what it concerned.
“Very well.” The innkeeper stepped back. “We’ve the one room available for the, ahem, mister and missus. Smith, was it? I’ll show you up and send a man round for your horse.”
The back stairs were narrow, shadows elongating wildly on the walls as they followed their host, his lamp held aloft. Smells from the kitchen filtered up: fresh bread, cooking meat. Her stomach clenched with hunger. How long since her last real meal? Alex had procured some cheese and apples that day, but they had avoided people as much as possible. It must have been… breakfast, nearly two days ago. The fear and arduous travel had kept hunger at bay, but now she fairly stumbled from the force of it.
The innkeeper opened a door and ushered them into a well-lit corridor. With a quick glance in either direction, he hurried to show them their room.
Alex held his hand out for the key. “Have some water for washing brought up as well.” He turned to Caroline. “Go in. I need to arrange for horses for both of us on the morrow. And fresh clothing.”
The wavering mirror mounted over the dresser in their room showed all too clearly her wretched state. If she were not about to collapse with hunger she might have been amused at the sight. Hair festooned with bits of straw and straggling over her shoulders, a streak of dirt across one cheek—and her dress. She spread the torn and stained skirts out and shook her head.
A quick rap on the door, and a pair of country maids entered. One bore a pitcher of steaming water, which she poured into the waiting basin on the washstand. Steam and the scent of lavender wafted up. The second girl carried a gown draped over one arm, black hat and veil held carefully between her hands. She bobbed a curtsey and set them on the bed.
“Thank you,” Caroline said. “That will be all.”
The need to wash off the grime of fear and travel and change into something more respectable eclipsed the growling in her stomach. She pulled off the tatters of her gown.
How lovely warm water was. Clad only in her chemise, she sluiced her arms and face, then ran the sponge over her neck and chest. A pity there was not a tub—but even this simple bath had done wonders. She turned to inspect the dress the maids had brought. Black, it was clearly mourning garb, with severe black lace edging the neckline. It fit poorly, drooping from her shoulders and meant for a larger woman. But at least it was clean and whole, a sight better than her ruined dress.
She had just finished combing the last bits of straw out of her hair when Alex came in. He paused, gaze resting long on her.
“Caroline.”
“I know.” She gave him a weary smile. “The dress is hideous.”
“I hadn’t noticed. Not with you in it.” He strode forward and set his hands on her shoulders. “The daughter’s Sunday best was too dear to part with, but she was happy enough to be rid of her mourning clothes. And a hat with a veil—under the circumstances it seemed a good idea.”
She let out a breath. “I must write my uncle. He and Pen will be frantic with worry. I have to tell them what happened—and that I am unharmed.” She bit her lip, imagining the chaos that had surely erupted at Twickenham House.
“Send word, but tell them only that you are alive, and safe. Nothing of where we are, or where we are going.” His eyes searched hers.
It pained her that she could not tell them more, but Alex was right. The danger was too great. She nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Now where is our food? I, for one, am about to perish without any assistance from our pursuers.”
“If you do, then at least I shall have the proper wardrobe to mourn you in.”
It surprised a laugh from him and he bent forward, brushing his lips over hers.
“Supper, sir,” a servant called through the door.
“Come.” Alex stepped away from her as the man entered, bearing a tray of food. “Set it on the table.”
It was delicious. Caroline had never been overly fond of mutton stew, but she scraped her bowl clean with an extra piece of bread before proclaiming herself too full to move. Alex matched her bite for bite, and ate another half loaf besides. Brown ale quenched the meal, kindling a contented warmth through her.
“Let me see about finding a shaving kit.” He pushed back his chair.
“I don’t think the daughter will be able to provide that.” She waved her hand at him. “Go make yourself presentable, by all means—though it was unkind of you to not think of that before supper.”
He closed the door softly behind him, and she thought she heard a low chuckle as his footsteps faded.
She penned the letter to her uncle, painfully brief, then blew out the lamp on the table, leaving just the candle burning beside the bed. The one bed. Of course they would share it—the knowledge had been strung taut between them ever since the knowing look of the servant outside. It was foolish to even pretend otherwise. They both needed to sleep soundly in the comfort only a mattress and blankets would afford, and she craved his warmth and touch, the reassurance of his solid presence beside her.
If he harbored any lingering, gentlemanly notions about sleeping on the floor, she would not have it. Especially as she suspected he had not closed his eyes at all in the crofter’s hut the night before, but instead kept watch over her through the dark hours. Lines of strain and weariness bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were smudged with exhaustion.
He returned soon enough, freshly shaven, his black hair smoothed back, wet and gleaming. One lock fell over his forehead. She went to him and brushed it aside. He wrapped his arms around her, and she sighed.
“We’re sharing the bed, you know,” she said.
“Are we?”
“Yes.”
Their gazes locked and a charged silence fell between them. Little fires raced over her skin, circled behind her neck. Heat glowed inside her, as if she had taken the candle flame between her lips and swallowed it, the dancing fire warming her inside. She could keep that light burning forever, as long as he was near.
“You’ll have no argument from me,” he finally said.
She tangled her fingers through his hair and drew his mouth down to hers, kissing his warm lips, urgent and insistent. With an impatient sound he slid his hand around her back, fingers splayed, pressing her against him. It was not close enough. Not nearly. The folds of the dress bunched between them.
“Wait.” She stepped back a moment, long enough to loosen the top buttons and let the dress slip off her shoulders, down to her feet.
Released from the engulfing fabric, she returned to his arms. He moved his palms along her sides, the touch sliding over her thin chemise. She had left her corset off. Nothing but sheer cotton and the heat of Alex’s hands caressing her skin.
The peaks of her breasts tightened as he moved his hands closer, closer. She gasped when he brushed his hands over her, the sensitive nubs tingling. Languid heat uncurled low in her belly, at the secret juncture of her thighs.
“Caroline. You are a goddess, truly.” His voice was husky with desire, the words breathed against her neck as she trembled, yearning, under his touch.
She wound her hands through his black hair. “Then I am your goddess, to worship as you please.”
His hands fell to her hips and he pulled her against him. The bulge in his trousers pressed between her legs, sending her desire flaring. “Worship you I will. With every tool at my disposal.” He stepped backward, nudged her until she was beside the bed, then guided her down. The candlelight flickered across his face, showed clearly the need burning in his eyes as he shrugged out of his coat and knelt over her.
“With my hands.” He set his palms on her shoulders and drew his hands down, excruciatingly slowly, fingers spread to cover as much of her as possible.
She arched up to meet his touch, let out a breath as his hands curved over her breasts, thumbs roving back and forth over her tight nipples. Sparks coursed through her, gratifying one hunger, while another built even more steadily.
As if sensing her need he moved his touch down, over her ribs and stomach, cupping her hips. And then, ah, then his hands moved unerringly to the apex of her legs, the hidden, womanly place that bloomed with heat and anticipation. A breath of cooler air as he pulled her chemise up, baring her to his touch.
“Open your legs, my goddess.”
She did, and he ran his hands up the inside of her thighs, pressing her even wider. He shifted, moved to kneel between her open legs as his hands caressed her, nimble fingers parting her even more. A jolt of fire as he brushed the hard nub of her desire. She let out a shuddering breath.
“Alex. Come to me.” She wanted to feel him over her, their bodies connected, his hardness stroking into her again and again until she was nothing but a conflagration in his arms. She wanted to burn with him, the two of them the blue heart at the center of the flame.
“Not yet,” he said. “I haven’t shown you all the ways I’m going to worship you.” He rose over her again. “With my mouth.”
His kiss was searing and possessive this time—a shiver ran the entire length of her body as his tongue met hers. She slid her hands up to his shoulders and held him tightly against her, the weight of him pressing her into the bed as he took her mouth with his own. They fitted together perfectly, her body curving against his. His trousers were rough against the length of her bare legs, her naked hips, the buttons of his shirt an unexpected hardness along her chest.
When his lips moved to lay a trail of kisses along her jaw she began slipping buttons free.
“Undress,” she whispered into the silky darkness of his hair.
“Yes.” He rose over her, gripped the hem of her chemise, and pulled it off over her head. His eyes burned as he surveyed her naked body. “That’s much better.”
“Not me…you.” She set her fingers to his shirtfront.
He stopped her, pulling her hands away. “Not yet. Not until I am done with you. Now, where was I?” Desire for her was etched across his face. Passion, need, and something more—something she dared not try to name. “Ah, yes. My mouth.”
He bent, lips descending to brush over her peaked breast, teasing, sucking until she moaned with pleasure. Ah, he made her feel so wanton, a fiery Aphrodite sighing under his skillful mouth. His hot tongue laved her until her nipple was taut and straining with desire. Then he moved to the other breast, lavishing the same attentions, coiling her tighter and tighter with need.
Need that could not be ignored any longer. She writhed beneath him.
“So impatient, my lovely goddess.” There was a smile in his voice. “But my worship is not complete. I want to taste your secrets.” His hand slid down to the juncture of her thighs, pressed lightly. “Do you remember the frescoes on Crete?”
“Yes.” Her voice was throaty.
“You wanted to know what they were doing, that last couple. I will show you.”
Hot kisses, laid openmouthed against her skin, down her ribs, over her stomach as he traveled down to the center of her, to the pure heart of her womanhood. He spread her with his hands and then…pure heaven…the flick of his tongue there, between her legs. She moaned aloud, the molten pleasure as he lapped her obscuring all thought. Hot and wet, he explored, tracing her folds, moving his tongue over the sensitive bud. She was made of nothing but flame, incendiary, leaping higher, until—until—
A shower of sparks coursed through her, a wall of fire sweeping close behind, her entire body ablaze with unutterable pleasure.
“Ahh…” It was her own voice, full of bliss.
At length she opened her eyes, flashes of heat still sifting along her skin, to find him watching her. Satisfaction and hunger mingled in his expression. When she met his indigo gaze a slow smile spread over his face.
“I believe my offerings at your shrine have been accepted.”
“I hope there are more.” She reached for him.
Hunger overtook the satisfaction and his smile sharpened. He pulled off his shirt, unfastened the waistband of his trousers, then paused. “There is one more thing I want to worship you with.”
Her gaze slipped to the bulge of him, about to be freed. She felt her body clench in anticipation. “Yes.”
“With my cock.” He slid his trousers down. The candle light cast him half in shadow, flickered against his skin and glinted on the drop of moisture at the head.
Caroline watched the play of muscles in his arms, his smooth shoulders as he positioned himself over her. So male, and made so perfectly to balance her. She opened her legs wider, felt him nudge against her.
With a soft groan he slid inside. She parted for him, opened her softness and let him in, deeper, deeper, until he filled her completely. Until their bodies were so firmly connected it felt as though nothing could ever come between them.
She slid her arms around him and pulled him close. Desire flared, but eclipsing that, ten times brighter, was love. There was no escaping the knowledge, not now. Not for her. She loved Alex with everything that was in her, and that would never change. No matter how far he might go from her, no matter that his heart was still shackled to his past, she loved him.
It was enough.
Together, they began the dance, the slow circling of the sun, the reflected spiral of the moon. He stroked in and out of her, gentle at first, then faster. Hot tears tracked her face as she watched him above her, as she moved beneath him, her hips obeying the tide of love. They rose together, faster, harder, flying for the sun on insubstantial wings held together with hope. But there was no falling into the sea. They dove upward—straight into the blinding heart of the star.
He shouted her name and she responded, voices tangling as their bodies tangled, burning, until at last there was nothing left but cinders, floating softly down.
She laid her hand against his cheek. Alex. Beloved.
The candle flickered wildly and went out. In the sudden darkness, he gathered her close. She tugged the covers over their nakedness and they slept.