Trev gripped the key. "Damn it," he said, taking a stride to her. He put his arm about her waist and held her up close against him and kissed her passionately, countering the moment of resistance in her, asking and demanding at once, until she made a helpless sound and her arms slid round his neck and a thousand nights of being without her ended in this hard embrace, clinging to one another as if they were drowning together.
She leaned against him, her fingers opening through his hair, pulling him down to her. The sound of the rain seemed to grow to a roar in his ears as her lips opened under his. Trev lost all reason. He drew her down, dragging them both to their knees in a deep, long kiss. He retained just enough sense to know that he must not lay her down on the carpet and take her there. They were in her bedroom, in Shelford Hall-as the world spun around him in sweet, hot lust and he outlined the shape of her body with his hands, he saved one mite of sanity and confined himself to kissing her mouth and her chin and her ear and throat and anything he could reach without pulling her gown entirely open-only down off her shoulder, only that much, or more, until the little modest ribbons and catches gave way and he tasted the ivory white skin just above her breasts.
She was making those feminine sounds that drove him to wildness, lifting herself to him, her body pressed against him in an invitation to much more. Trev squeezed his eyes shut. With an effort that was physical pain, he let go of her. He sat back to gain some control, and then stood up and walked across the room.
He threw open the shutters. He would have liked to open the window and douse his head under the roaring cascade off the roof, but all he did was lean his arm and forehead against the glass, breathing deeply of the chill air.
When finally he regained some composure and turned, she was standing, holding the gown up to her shoulder and trying to refasten it. Her hair had come down, cascading in a wave of tangled copper to one side, giving her a tousled and bewildered look. She glanced up at him, her face all warmed and softened by his kisses.
"Now I feel remarkably foolish," she said resent fully. She turned her face aside. The firelight outlined the curve of her bared throat, and he thought perhaps he would die just looking at her.
"Well, you appear remarkably desirable," he said. "Which is awkward, under the circumstances."
Her lashes swept downward as her chin came up. "I must beg your pardon for inconveniencing you," she retorted. "I didn't wish to… to succumb… to that sort of thing."
"I fear you only make it worse by looking at me that way."
"What way?" She looked down at herself and up, tugging nervously to straighten her skirts.
"As if you'd like to slap me and be kissed at the same time." He strolled over, made as if he would pass by her, and then at the last moment caught her waist and leaned his face into her throat. He brushed a light kiss over her skin. "Where can I find a mask?"
"A mask?" she repeated helplessly.
"I think it best if I don't remain here where we might… succumb, as you put it." He nuzzled her ear. "Unless you'd prefer it?"
He felt her breasts rise and fall with unsteady breath. "Oh, that is brilliant," she said in a voice that would have been sarcastic if it hadn't ended on a slightly cracked and upward note. "So you intend to prowl about the house in a mask instead?"
"Take your choice, mon amour."
"I'm not your love."
"You are," he murmured into her hair. "You always will be."
She swallowed. "I'm your friend merely."
"Is it so?" He drew her against him, opening his lips against her temple. "Callie. A mere friend?"
A tremor went through her, but she was soft in his arms. "Don't," she said. "Oh don't."
He shouldn't, he knew. But her body pleaded in spite of her words. She wanted him-he could feel her desire vibrate under every touch. She'd be in Sturgeon's arms; the vision froze his heart, crushed what little remained of his tattered honor. His embrace tightened as if he could hold on to her by strength alone. When she yielded and turned and lifted her face, Trev was lost to it.
He took her to the bed in a swift move, pressing her backward until he tumbled her atop the counterpane. He leaned over her, braced on his hands, looking down at her face. "I want to see your stockings," he growled. "The plain white ones."
Her lips parted, as if to make a refusal, and then she blinked. Her puzzled look only made her more adorable to him.
"Yes, I was driven demented in your closet." He bent down to kiss her. "I'm passionately in love with your hosiery."
She twisted her ankles together. He could see that she tried to frown. Then she clutched his shoulder, tilting her head back as he ran his fingers along her leg and under her garter. She made a breathless sound and drew up her knee when he explored further, following the smooth muscle of her thigh upward. Her petticoat fell back, revealing the curve of her leg, the pale, pure white stocking and simple garter lit by firelight down to shadowed rosy curls, half-glimpsed and half-imagined. For a moment she looked up at him like an innocent, all fresh and maidenly with her shimmering red hair framing her face.
Then her lips curled and puckered. She began to giggle. "I'm keeping a gentleman in my closet," she said and laughed aloud.
He gazed at her as the sounds of mirth bubbled up. Her body quivered. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to suppress it, but the corners of her eyelids tilted up with hilarity.
Trev bent down and put his lips beside her ear, feeling her laughter all the way through him. "My little cabbage," he murmured, sliding his fingers into the warmth of her, "you really aren't supposed to find it amusing when I do this to you."
She whimpered, arching to him. "Oh don't," she moaned. "It's not amusing."
He watched her with pleasure. There was nothing and no one in his life like Callie when she giggled. "You don't want me to go about in a mask instead," he said innocently, stroking his thumb over the place that made her shudder.
"No," she said breathlessly. "Oh!"
"You could pack me off to your closet, to a cruel sentence of nothing to do but moon over your drawers," he offered.
She laughed and gasped, holding tight to him. "Trev! We shouldn't."
"Of course not," he said, bending to kiss her offered breast. "If you'll just release this delicate grip on my arm-"
She showed no inclination to do so. When he moved atop her, her embrace welcomed him. She smelled of warm skin and female desire, but it was her laughter that impelled him. She was laughing as he kissed her, a sweet shaking deep inside. He pushed into it, into her, a union that carried both of them beyond any doubt or words to pure and simple joy.
Twenty-One
CALLIE HAD SLEPT LATE. VERY LATE. NORMALLY SHE was up by dawn to bring Hubert his loaves of bread. His sad, complaining bellow could be heard faintly even now through the closed shutters. She was still trying to sort through her hair to find the displaced pins and make some sense of this à la mode fashion of Hermey's design when Anne scratched at the door.
Callie blushed and kept her eyes strictly on the mirror at the dressing table as the maid entered. She knew already that Trev had vacated her chambers while she slept, but she seemed to breathe his scent on her and everywhere in the room. If Anne noticed, she made no mention of it, but came quickly to Callie and began to tuck up the trailing weight of her hair. "The countess wants you downstairs directly, my lady," she said. "There's a caller for you, and my lady says you're to be at home to her."