stars pierced the dark and down on the beach the sand gleamed and the drag of the surf was a muted roar, soothing in its repetition.
Deb rode forward slowly to the edge of the terrace. The house was behind them, closed and silent, waiting. It was tiny-one room and a scullery and closet below, and a tower room upstairs with huge windows facing east across the sea.
‘It is very beautiful.’ Deb’s voice was soft. She half-turned in the saddle to look at him. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Richard.’
Richard dismounted and helped her down, holding her body close to his. Apart from one tiny tremor that he felt go through her, she made no move either towards him or away, but held herself steady as though barely breathing. He knew that she was trembling inside and it lit a passionate flame in him even as he felt a new wash of gentleness go through him. In the gathering darkness he could no longer see her features clearly, but her hair brushed his cheek and he caught the faint scent of honey and roses, the perfume that he always associated with Deborah. It was enough to turn his bones to water. He almost kissed her there and then, forgetting his vow to treat her gently and make love to her sweetly and slowly. He cleared his throat.
‘Sometimes the moon rises directly above the sea and lays a trail clear across the waters,’ he said. ‘On summer nights when we were boys we would sit here on the terrace, telling tales of pirate ships and sea monsters. I did not know then that I would come to love the sea so well-’
He broke off as he saw her smile. ‘You speak like a poet,’ she teased. Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘Love by the light of the moon…’
Richard caught a sharp breath, took her hand, and drew her across the terrace to the door of the house. The sand crunched beneath their feet. The door swung open beneath Richard’s touch and then they were across the threshold with not a word spoken between them.
There were practical matters that needed attention. Richard remembered where to find candles and there were the makings of a fire in the grate, but once he had seen to Deborah’s immediate comfort he had to go out to attend to the horses and stable them at the back. He hesitated in the doorway, looking back at her. In the candlelight she looked so pale he thought that she might faint. Her face was all eyes and she watched him with the apprehensive intensity of a mouse watching the cat. Richard’s heart smote him. All the casual confidence with which he normally approached his conquests died away and he felt as untried as a green boy.
‘I will fetch some water from the well,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry or thirsty? I do not suppose that there is any food, but there may be a bottle of brandy hidden away somewhere. Are you cold? There are blankets upstairs and the closet is by the scullery.’
The paucity of what he was offering her suddenly struck him. Oh, hell, what a stupid idea this had been! A mouldering house hidden away in the forest with no fine sheets nor champagne, no food, nor the soft scent of flowers, or warmth, nor comfort…He clenched his fists in an agony of self-reproach, within an inch of taking her hand and dragging her back to civilisation and handing her over to Mrs Aintree, never to touch her again.
And then she smiled at him, very sweetly. ‘Richard,’ she said, ‘go and stable the horses.’
He was as quick as he could be, to the general disgust of Beauty and Merlin who objected to the cavalier manner in which he thrust them into the stalls and removed their tack without rubbing them down. Fortunately Justin had kept a small supply of hay at the lodge for those occasions on which he and his brothers chose to ride into the forest. Richard left the horses munching crossly and hastened back to the house, closing the door and, after a moment’s hesitation, shooting the bolt home.
The room was empty and Deborah was nowhere to be seen. The door to the scullery was closed. Panic clutched at him. Surely she could not have run away when his back was turned? Had she locked herself in the latrine? What a damnable thought. Was she so nervous that she could not face him, let alone go through with this one night of passion, the idea of which was even now turning to ashes in his mouth? Had she run away into the forest alone and in the dark? It was the sort of impulsive act that he could quite easily imagine Deborah doing, only to regret her actions later. His hand hovered over the latch and then he heard a sound from above. He let his breath out on a huge, shaky sigh of relief. Thank God she was safe. Much more of this and he would be incapable of blowing out a candle, never mind making love to Deborah. He felt exhausted.
‘Richard, come and see!’ Deb’s voice floated down the stairs, an edge of pleasure and excitement clearly audible in her voice.
The tight anxiety in Richard’s chest eased and he took the stairs two at a time, reaching the door of the tower room and stopping dead on the threshold.
In the time that he had been away, Deb had managed to light a fire in the grate and it glowed with a heart of warmth. Two candles burned on the wooden table by the door, casting their flickering shadow over a bed piled high with cushions and blankets. There was a faint fragrance of lavender in the air.
‘I found the linen in the Armada chest,’ Deb said, gesturing towards the bed. ‘Everything has been stored properly and is quite dry…’ Her voice faltered and Richard saw the flash of anxiety in her eyes and smiled at her. Even now she could not be coy about why they were there. She would not hide behind pretence or bashful words. He loved her for it. In fact, he could not imagine ever loving her more…
She was standing by one of the long windows and he reached her side in two strides, wrapping his arms about her and pulling her back against him. His chin rested on the top of her head. He could feel the tension in her now, the tiny trembles that racked her body. She turned slightly so that they were looking out to sea, where the moon, three-quarters full and hard as silver, was climbing from beyond the long line of the horizon. For a moment there was no sound but the wash of the waves and the humming of the breeze about the eaves. A ship slipped across the edge of the bay, the moonlight reflecting briefly on its sails.
‘A privateer?’ Deb said. She turned her head and slanted a look up at him. ‘Should you not go and raise the alarm?’
Richard smiled. ‘I should, but I shall not.’
There was a pause. ‘I found the brandy,’ Deb said. She turned in his arms so that she was facing him. Her cheeks were a little flushed. ‘I thought perhaps that it might be a good idea.’
‘We won’t need it,’ Richard said. He looked down at her, scanning her face as though trying to memorise her, feature by feature. There was a silence. After a moment, a tiny hint of frown touched her brow.
‘Richard? Are we going to make love or not?’
He stared down into her face for one long moment more whilst the fierce desire returned like the cut of a whip to rage through his body. Then he smiled at her, his slow, wicked smile. ‘Yes, Deborah,’ he said, ‘we are.’
Deb was terrified. She wished that she had taken several large swigs from the brandy bottle before Richard had come back. She wished that she had ridden away when he had given her the chance. She wished that she had never advertised for a fiance in the first place, let alone entertained the ridiculous idea of asking Richard Kestrel to teach her about love.
Except that it was too late now. Except that she ached for his touch and wanted him with a desperation that knew no bounds. She always had, ever since she had first met him. The knowledge shocked and excited her in equal measure. There seemed no room for shame, no matter that she knew it was morally wrong. And now she was about to get what she wanted.
Be careful what you wish for…
The words of warning that Mrs Aintree had imparted to her as a child echoed in her head and almost raised a feverish laugh within her, except that Richard was kissing her now and all other sensations died swiftly under the devastating power of his touch. His mouth was warm and strong against her lips, caressing her, tantalising her. His hands slid down to clasp her waist and draw her closer against his body, so close that she could feel his hardness pressed against her. Again the shock and the helpless arousal flooded through her, turning her limbs weak with longing. She clutched at his shoulders, pulling him tight against her. Her nipples stiffened and peaked against the relentless pressure of his body and a tingling sensation of delight filled her abdomen.
His tongue curled lazily, sensuously against hers, and Deborah felt as though she was melting in the heat, slivers of white-hot desire licking through her blood.
Richard pressed her back against the wall, using his hips to hold her body still. She could feel how aroused he was and the shock roared through her again, her senses swimming. She felt his fingers once more at the buttons of
