Dropping the coat, he turned to her.
She murmured sleepily when he reached over her to tie one long scarf to the bedhead on that side. He dropped a kiss on her temple, another on her bare shoulder as he drew back.
To anchor the second scarf more or less above where his head had been, it was easier to move over her and settle between her thighs-they parted welcomingly, her hips cradling him instinctively.
He reached up, secured the second tether.
Instinctively rocked his hips against her, the head of his erection seeking, finding, sliding into scalding wetness, penetrating her a fraction as he tugged the scarves tight.
After that, it was easier to slide slowly home. To feel her come awake beneath him as he filled her.
To feel her softness fully surrendered, and to instinctively take what was offered.
To bend his head and, as he rocked, find her lips with his. Cover them. Fill her mouth, helplessly yielded, and take that, too.
To lay claim. In the quiet of the night with the dark enfolding them, to love her.
Slowly, silently, she crested beneath him, her cries as she fell from the peak muffled by his lips. He felt the inexorable tug, the clenching of her sheath along his length, but this time resisted the call.
This time waited until she slumped, boneless and spent, beneath him.
Then he withdrew from her.
It was the work of a moment to lash both her wrists, one in each scarf. Dazed, still floating, she turned her head and watched him secure the second, then she looked at him.
Even in the dimness, he could sense her question.
In answer, he reared back on his knees, grasped her hips and flipped her. He drew her down the bed just enough for the scarves to pull taut, enough to keep her arms extended, her wrists higher than her head.
Then he lifted her hips, rearranged her long legs so she was kneeling on the bed, too, bent over her knees, her arms stretched before her.
He touched between her thighs, found her wet and weeping, set his groin to the luscious curves of her bottom, guided his erection to her entrance, then thrust powerfully into the scalding slickness.
And let instinct rule.
He took her as he wished, hard and deep, slow and thorough, until passion rose and swamped him. Until it drove him, ruthless, relentless, to, with his hands sunk into the bedding on either side of her shoulders, pump into her and fill her.
She shattered again, her strangled cry fracturing the silver silence of the night.
Her body clutched, spasmed, caressed. Lured…
He let go, let her take him. With a roar he muffled in her hair, let ecstacy wrack him.
Until he slumped, as boneless as she, over her.
He couldn’t move, had no strength he could yet command to lift from her. Freeing one hand, he brushed her hair from her face, glanced down at her features.
Noted their softness, the satisfied-sated-curve of her lips.
He remained where he was, savoring the lingering clutch of her body, until he had full command of his limbs. Then he gently drew back from her, reached over her head and tested his restraints, then he slid from beneath the covers, letting them resettle over her.
She woke as his weight left the bed. Watched in silence as he rapidly gathered his clothes. Frowned as he started donning them. “Where are you-” She blinked; straightening her legs, she slid around to fully face him, the scarves twist ing as she did. She peered at the window. “Is it time to go?”
He glanced at his fob-watch, then slid it back into his waistcoat pocket, reached for his coat. “It’s nearly four o’clock.”
She tried to sit up, but the scarves held her back. Frowning even more, she looked at them, tugged. “You forgot to untie me.”
He stepped into his shoes, and didn’t say anything.
Slowly, she turned her head and looked at him, suspicion dawning in her face, her breasts swelling in incipient outrage, mounding above the upper edge of the covers.
“It was that, or lock you all in your rooms. We thought you’d prefer this way, so Bess-and the other lady’s maids-can release you when they come up, and you can join us at Ely once the action’s over.” Voice low, he hurried on, “We thought you’d like to see what the outcome was, and go with us to Elveden.”
“Well, of course we want that, but…” She tugged at the bonds. “We were supposed to go with you-as you well know.”
“No, you weren’t.” He took a step back.
It wasn’t just outrage that lit her face. “You can’t leave me tied up like this!”
“Not just you-all the ladies.”
She stopped struggling, stared again. “All?”
He saluted and backed another step. “Every last one. So there’s no point shrieking or calling for help. Everyone left on this level will be tied up, too.”
Turning, he had his hand on the doorknob when she said, “Delborough, so help me, if you leave me here like this, I’ll…I’ll…”
On a muttered curse he swung back into the room. Returned to the bed, leaned over her-and kissed her soundly.
“Be good.” He was at the door before she’d managed to draw breath. With a last salute, he opened it. “I’ll see you at Ely.” He walked out and shut the door behind him.
Listened. An ominous silence was all he heard.
Lips twisting, reassured by her promise to be his wife, he strode down the corridor.
Returning to his room, he quickly changed into breeches, boots and donned a heavier coat, then rendezvoused as arranged with the other men at the bottom of the main stairs. Devil was the last to join them, still shrugging on his coat as he came, a grin still lingering about his mobile lips. He waved them all on, then fell into step beside Del.
There was a strong sense of deja vu as they strode out to the stables and saddled up. They’d done this before, he and Devil at the head of a group of men, many of whom were Cynsters, going out to face an enemy.
And bring him down.
They led their horses out to the stable yard, mounted, all but oblivious to the icy breeze, the crisp crust on the cobbles, the coldness of the white drifts all around. Cobby and Sligo had come out to see them on their way.
In his saddle, Del looked up at the window behind which Deliah lay.
Sated, but almost certainly stewing.
Very likely planning retribution.
But that was for later.
With everyone mounted, Devil looked at Del. Grinned. “Lead on, Colonel.”
With an answering grin, Del wheeled his horse and smartly led the way out.
Ely, Cambridgeshire
In an icy misery of overwhelming dampness carried by a desolate, sleeting wind, the group reached Ely in the last of the long night.
Leaving their horses tethered in a field outside the town, they slipped through the shadows in twos and threes, ap proaching the massive bulk of the cathedral from the north, as planned.
The main doors would be unlocked, but they didn’t want to risk being seen. Gabriel picked the lock on one of the side doors, and they slid quietly inside.
To Del, who had been inside only once decades before, the cathedral, with its soaring arches and massive walls, felt like the belly of a sleeping stone giant. They all walked slowly around, getting their bearings and familiarizing themselves with the layout, with the numerous corridors, major and minor, the rooms giving off them, and, most importantly, the location of the doors that led outside.
Finally, wraithlike, they drifted to their assigned places.
The soft slap of their footsteps on the stone floor ceased.
They settled in for a long wait.
