His head swam as she stepped closer to him and lifted her face in sweet demand for a kiss. Still speechless, he bent his head and kissed her lips.
“Will you take off your sword?” she said, stepping back before he could put his hands on her. “It's such an ugly, great thing and so unrestful.”
Unrestful. This woman was the most unrestful he'd ever encountered! But her hands were unbuckling his sword belt, lifting it away from him with a grimace of effort. And it did look absurdly large and menacing beside her delicate fragility. But she was neither delicate nor fragile! He watched in bemusement as she placed the sword carefully in the corner of the room and turned back to him.
“May I help you with your boots?”
In the same trance he sat down in the chair she'd just vacated. With a little frown of concentration, she straddled his lap with her back to him and hauled on his left boot. The curve of her backside, opalescent beneath the spider's-web covering of the gown, was impossible to resist. He placed his palms on the damask globes, and the heat of her skin seared his hands.
“I'm trying to concentrate,” Tamsyn said as the boot came off. “I have to do it like this so I don't get mud on my gown.”
“I'm not objecting,” he murmured, finally finding his voice as he smoothed the gossamer material tightly over her bottom. “I'm sure you're supposed to wear something underneath this.”
“That rather depends on where one's wearing it,” she said with a grunt of effort, falling back onto his lap, sitting on his hands as the second boot came off. “There.” She tossed it to the floor to join its fellow. “Now, shall I take off your coat, and then I'll bring you a glass of wine and a smoked oyster.”
“In a minute,” he said.
“Of course,” Tamsyn said meekly. “Whatever you wish to do is what I wish to do.”
“Now I've heard everything,” Julian observed, but he was smiling. Whatever game this was, it was one he was more than happy to play. He moved one hand to encircle her waist, holding her firmly in place, while his other hand slithered beneath her, the tips of his fingers inching into the cleft of her bottom until she wriggled with a little gasp. Finally he let her go. “I don't want to tear this gorgeous virginal garment… at least,” he added, “not just yet. So you'd better get up.”
Tamsyn slid off his knee, shaking down the gown.
“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She went to the table and poured wine into a glass. She brought it over together with a platter of smoked oysters and, with a shy smile, sat on his lap again. She held the wine to his lips, then began to feed him the oysters. “Do you like them?”
“Mmmm,” he murmured with his mouth full, distracted by her slight weight on his thighs, the scent of her skin, the impossibly shy smile, the deceptive purity of the blonde lace. “I think I'm going to enjoy this game.”
Her eyes widened in hurt innocence. “A game? This is no game, my lord. I wish only to please you. I wish to do whatever you wish me to do.”
She held the wine up to his lips again, then took a sip herself, before placing the glass on the' table beside the platter of oysters. She swivelled on his knee until she was nestled against his chest, her body curled against him.
She was like a small bird, her heart beating against his shirt front. Vulnerable, frail. And it didn't matter that he knew she was neither of those things. It didn't matter that he knew her to be a fierce and uncompromising, tempestuous bandit. For the moment she was all sweet innocence, and she was driving him wild.
She kissed the pulse in his throat, and her body shifted on his lap, an infinitesimal movement that nevertheless brought the blood surging into his loins. Her voice was musical as she murmured soft words of passion to him, weaving threads of enchantment around him and it took him a minute to hear exactly what this innocent, fragile little creature was saying. There was nothing in the least sweet and virginal about the words; they were the hungry, earthy words of passion and need that riveted him with their brazen sensuality, shocked him to his core as they dropped from the soft lips of this shyly smiling girl.
“You siren,” he whispered on a low throb of desire. She nibbled his lip, delicate little bites of the most exquisite sensuality, and her eyes were closed. Again she moved on his lap, but this time with more purpose so that she captured his erection between her thighs.
“Lift your skirt,” he demanded, his voice now a rasp of need.
Obediently, she raised herself just enough to pull the lace up over her hips. Her fingers moved on his waistband and his aching flesh sprang free. He caught her waist and swivelled her on his lap so that her back was to him. He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her just sufficiently to drive into the pulsing warmth of her belly.
Tamsyn drew breath at the power of his thrusting flesh, rocking her on her perch, pressing against her womb, impaling her with his pleasure. He held her buttocks with bruising fingers as the whirling conflagration caught her, swept her up, exploded in her belly so she thought she was flying apart, and she heard his cry against her back as he yielded himself to the fire.
Flame crackled in the hearth, a candle spurted. Julian slowly came back to the room. Tamsyn had fallen back against his chest, lying as weak and weightless as a wounded bird.
“Sorceress,” he accused with a feeble chuckle when he could speak at all.
Tamsyn smiled weakly. “I can play many parts, milord colonel.”
“Don't I know it.” He kissed the top of her shining head. “And now I'd like you to feed me some more oysters.”
“I am here only to serve you, my lord,” she said demurely, sliding off his knee. “Your word is my command.”
Julian stretched luxuriously, and a slow, lazy smile played over his mouth. “I can think of many commands, buttercup. I foresee a long night.”
It was a very long night, and Tamsyn had been asleep for barely half an hour when her internal clock woke her just before daybreak. Julian was deeply asleep, sprawled on his stomach beside her, his red-gold hair thick on the pillow.
She slid out of bed, barely disturbing the covers, and crept out of the bed hangings into the dark room. She was used to moving around at night, and her eyes accustomed themselves quickly to the darkness. The remnants of their picnic still sat on the table, and the heavy furniture was disarrayed. She smiled reminiscently as she dressed hastily in her riding britches. The colonel's commands had involved a fair degree of gymnastics on occasion.
She was ready in five minutes, then sat down at the secretaire to write him a note. Somehow she had to produce a convincing reason for sliding off in the night without telling him. Maybe he wouldn't have insisted on coming back to Cornwall with them, but he might have, and she didn't want him anywhere in the vicinity when she tidied up her loose ends with Cedric Penhallan.
Milord coloneclass="underline"
We have to return to Cornwall to collect Josefa and the treasure, and Gabriel has something to do for himself. We’ll return here two weeks from today. I know you have work to do in London, so I didn't want you to feel that you should have offered to come with us. Two weeks today, I shall be yours to command again. Besos.
She read it through quickly. It would have to do. If he was vexed that she'd disappeared as abruptly as she'd arrived, then she would make it up to him when she returned. At least he would have something to remember in the meantime.
She rolled the paper and with a little smile tied it with the ivory velvet ribbon she'd had in her hair. Then she tiptoed back to the bed and placed it carefully on the pillow beside his head.