She didn't protest when he lifted her up and carried her over to the bed, settled her on the edge of the deep feather mattress.
He didn't take time to get rid of his clothes, just opened the front of his breeches and freed himself, guided his hardness to the entrance of her passage, and drove himself home.
His head fell back and for a moment he paused. "Sweet God, I've never known a woman who could make me feel the way you do." The softly spoken words sent a fine tremor through her. Caleb kissed her again, as wildly as before, and she clung to his neck. He filled her completely, eased out, then drove hard inside, gripped her hips and began a rhythmic thrusting that had her arching up from the bed.
The heat in the room increased. Skin met skin, slick and damp, until their bodies glistened with perspiration and the blood in her veins began to burn.
"Caleb," she whispered, her fingers digging into the muscles across his shoulders. "Dear God, Caleb!"
He kissed her deeply, his mouth absorbing her soft little cries of pleasure. The beating of sweat-slick flesh matched the rhythm of his relentless thrusts, and her nails scored the skin on his back. When her climax hit, it came swift and hard. Pleasure washed over her, thick and fierce and sweeter than ever before.
Caleb reached release an instant later, but she barely noticed, was only faintly aware of his heavy weight lifting off her. He scooped the sheet up off the floor and floated it over her, then buttoned the front of his breeches and sat down beside her, bare-chested, on the edge of the bed.
She smiled up at him contentedly as he reached out and ran a finger down her cheek.
"I found out what I needed to know."
The covers slipped. She yanked them up again and sat up in the bed, the fuzzy lethargy beginning to disappear from her head. "What… what are you talking about?"
"I wanted to know if it would be the same… if it was as good between us as I remembered."
Her chin inched up. "Was it?"
"Better." He reached out and caught her chin, leaned down, and lightly kissed her. "I know a lot has happened. If we had more time, I wouldn't press you. But your birthday's coming up. I know what I'm asking isn't fair. I know it won't be long before I'll have to go back to Spain, but…"
"But what?"
"But what we have together… when men and women make love, Lee, it isn't always the way it is with us."
She knew that. She was in love with him. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else.
"The night of your birthday, you've vowed to choose a protector. I was hoping… Lee, I want you to pick me."
She said nothing. For a fleeting moment, she had actually imagined he might offer marriage. It was impossible. No man of his station would marry so far beneath him, and in truth, she didn't want marriage either.
She knew what married life meant—at least for a woman. She only had to think of Elizabeth Sorenson. She only had to look at the dozens of men who came to Parklands—most of whom were married.
"I can't do that."
His soft look faded. "If you're worried about money, I assure you I have more than enough. My grandfather left me a very tidy fortune. You won't want for anything—I can promise you that."
"I don't need your money. Surely you know that by now."
"Then why won't you agree?" The muscles went rigid across his bare shoulders. "Or perhaps you've decided to broaden your education? Perhaps you think Mondale or Colonel Wingate can teach you something I can't. If that is the case, rest assured, we have only just—"
"I won't agree because I'm not sure what I'm going to do." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized they were true.
She was a different person since she had met Caleb, more sure of the woman she was inside. Perhaps she wouldn't choose anyone at all. She had plenty of money. She could buy a house somewhere in the country, take her horses along, start a life of her own. It wouldn't be easy—a woman alone, particularly a young one. But if she changed her name, pretended to be a widow, perhaps, went somewhere she wasn't known…
Still, there was Aunt Gabby to think of. She owed her aunt so much and Gabriella would be wildly disappointed. Gabriella had imagined Vermillion taking a place beside her in the world of the demimonde, believed that the two of them would continue as the Durants had done for generations. But surely there was another way to ensure her aunt's future happiness—if only she could find it.
Caleb shifted on the bed. "Are you telling me you don't intend to choose any man at all?"
The more she thought about it, the more right it seemed. She would speak to Aunt Gabby, make her understand. She would find another way to repay her. But Caleb didn't need to know that. After the way he had treated her, he deserved to think whatever he wished.
"As I said, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'll simply have to wait and see."
Caleb stood up from the bed. The cords in his neck stood out in anger. "If that's the way you want it." Reaching down, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on over his head, his usually fluid movements stiff with tension. Stuffing the shirt into the waistband of his breeches, he stormed toward the open doors. "It's fine with me!"
Lee watched him cross the balcony and climb over the rail. A soft thud was all the noise he made in his nearly silent drop back to the ground below her room.
Inwardly, she smiled. Let him think I want someone else—it will do him good.
She stretched and plumped her pillow, thinking of the things he had said, how what happened between them was different than it was for other people. Then she thought of their earlier meeting, how she had found him in the study, searching through the big rosewood desk, and her smile slowly faded.
Was there really a traitor at Parklands?
Caleb had lied before, but somehow she didn't think he would lie about something as important as this. And according to him, her aunt was one of those under suspicion. A little shiver ran through her. She remembered the thousands of men killed and wounded in the terrible battle at Oporto. Aunt Gabby was innocent, she knew. Still, if there were a traitor among the guests or servants at Parklands, it was her duty to help catch him.
As she stared up at the ceiling above her bed, she began making lists of possible suspects. She fell asleep wondering which of them might be capable of betraying his country.
15
« ^ »
Another night of gaming and entertainment. Tonight the famous opera star, Isabella Bellini, would be singing. Afterward there would be dancing. Again. It was beginning to get on Caleb's nerves.
"Caleb! Caleb Tanner!" Across the drawing room, Jonathan Parker strode toward him, a smile of greeting on his face. "I heard you were here. It's good to see you."
"And you, as well, my lord."
"Jon, please. You're not a child anymore and we have known each other for what—nearly thirty years?"
Caleb smiled. "Close enough." But they hadn't seen each other for nearly ten, not since he had left Selhurst Manor to join the army.
Nash stepped back, surveyed Caleb's scarlet tunic and navy blue breeches and the way he had filled out since he had joined the cavalry. He nodded his approval. "The army suits you, Caleb. Your father thinks so, too. He and I have spoken of you often." Both men were active in the House of Lords, as had been Nash's father before him.
"I'm hoping to see the earl before my return to Spain."
"You had better." The viscount turned toward a passing waiter, lifted a glass off a silver tray. "Champagne?"