Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 19

  “Claire?”

  “Hmm.”

  “What if you are with child?”

  A pained expression crossed her face. “All the years I was with Richard I never once got with child. I wanted one desperately, but in the end it was for the best. Richard would have controlled the child as he controlled me, and I wouldn’t have been able to stand that.”

  “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

  Her hand dipped beneath his shirt. He shuddered, his body painfully, suddenly alive.

  “It’s too soon for you.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  His manhood strained against the confines of his breeches. “I want you.” His voice was hoarse with need. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.”

  “And I you.”

  He kissed her, taking her lips between his teeth and sucking the bottom one at the precise place that she had done. Her arms went around him and they fell to the floor together.

  “We should do this in a bed sometime,” he muttered.

  “I like it right here in front of the fire.”

  He spread the blanket from her body, unwrapping her like a gift. And what a gift she was. Nathan received very few of them in the past years but this one exceeded them all, past and future.

  Her skin was still abraded from their earlier lovemaking so he bypassed those areas, heading for other, more intimate areas. When he pressed his lips against her mons, she gasped and grabbed his hair.

  “Nathan! That’s … Oh. Ohhhh.”

  He touched her hidden bud with his tongue, causing her hips to flex beneath him. He sucked her sex into his mouth, tasting the earthiness of her. She squirmed beneath him.

  It didn’t take long. She was still wet from their earlier lovemaking and she raced toward her conclusion, her hips grinding into his face as she yelled his name. He wanted to grin, pleased with her reaction and equally pleased that they were isolated so no one could hear her.

  She came in his mouth and he pushed his fingers into her, feeling her passageway clench around them.

  When she was finished, he released his erection from his breeches and plunged into her, arching his back, reveling in her sweet tightness, her wetness. Glory be to God, this had to be heaven.

  He pumped into her, his bollocks tightened to small stones. His seed shot out of him and he cried out, every muscle clenched with the primal need to get his seed as far into her as possible.

  When he was finished, he pulled out and fell to the side, gasping, confused at the feelings that making love to Claire evoked in him. He wanted to do it again and again and again. This was more than bed-sport. More than boyish infatuation. More than wanting to feel good.

  This was beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. And it scared the hell out of him.

  “Give me your petticoat.”

  Claire handed Nathan her old, dirty petticoat. Odd what proprieties one forgoes in the face of blizzards and angry mobs. Oh, and let’s not forget runaway carriages. The reason Nathan needed her petticoats in the first place.

  Thankfully he’d salvaged their clothes from the carriage and she was now dressed in two gowns, several layers of stockings and a clean petticoat. While Nathan was clothed in two sets of breeches and three shirts.

  She looked around the small cabin with a twinge of regret. For nearly two days these four walls had been their life, their safe harbor, the place they made love and the place Claire fought her demons and came through the victor. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the horrible years with Richard were behind her, tucked away to never resurface. They were still there, pushing at the lock she put on them. There would be more struggles. More memories to deal with, but she’d come a long way in the past two days.

  Nathan ripped the bottoms of her dirty petticoats. She couldn’t even be embarrassed by her unclean attire. After all, she ran from a mob in those clothes and through a raging blizzard. Dirty meant she was alive.

  The thought had her remembering one summer at her family’s country home. Her parents had died the winter before and for months her life had been filled with abject grief, dark clothes, somber whisperings and a dour Sebastian. Poor Sebastian, he’d been dour ever since. But that particular summer he’d decided to move the family to the country. Maybe even he needed a break from the grief.

  What she remembered most was running around the estate—she’d been twelve at the time—climbing trees, chasing peacocks, playing with the cook’s son. Every evening she arrived at the kitchen door dirt streaked, clothes torn, hair bows missing and a smile on her face.

  For those few hours each day she’d forgotten she was an orphan, that she missed her mother with an intensity that weighed her down. That she missed her father like only a little girl could. For those few hours she’d been nothing more than a child.

  In an odd way, the past two days had been like that. She certainly didn’t feel like a child, but she did feel free, unencumbered by the heaviness of her life—the title of widow, the grief she had to pretend to feel.

  “Give me your hand.”

  She dutifully held out her hand. Nathan bent over it, wrapping one of the strips of petticoats around it, forming a makeshift mitten. She watched his dark hair, shot through with streaks of red, and remembered the feel of it in her hands, the texture, the way it waved in certain places.

  He dropped her hand and she held out her other one.

  Making love to Nathan had been … Beautiful. And she would leave it at that while she ignored a twist of regret. Nathan had a mystery to solve. She had an adventure to complete, a friend to find, a lover to procure. Except that last thought didn’t hold the fascination it once did. She’d traveled this far to prove to herself that she could find a man who wasn’t disgusted by her. And she’d accomplished that. Just not in the way she planned.

  “Move your fingers.”

  She wiggled her fingers. They were bound but not too tightly.

  He held his hand out to her. “Now you do mine.”

  She took his fingers in her mummified hand and stared down at them, fighting the sudden tears that wanted to spring to her eyes. Would she never again feel his hands upon her body? Would she never again touch him the way she had not hours ago?

  No, Claire, you won’t. Now stop being a ninny and wrap his hands.

  She took the length of cloth and began wrapping, still fighting the tears. This is what you wanted. A life unencumbered by society’s rules. And this is what you got. No crying, Claire. You asked for this.

  This was so silly. What was she crying over anyway? They spent a very enjoyable two days in a cabin. He taught her that making love wasn’t as disgusting or violent as she’d been led to believe. That was it. Nothing more.

  She yanked on the end of the fabric and tucked it in as best as she could, using her thumb and the rest of her bound fingers. “There.”

  He looked at her oddly then flexed his fingers. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m simply ready to leave and be on our way to Italy. We’ve already delayed two days.”

  She turned around and searched for her cloak with eyes blurred by the blasted tears that wouldn’t go away.

  Nathan dropped the cloak on her shoulders, then turned her around so he could tie it beneath her chin. He fumbled with the strings, muttering to himself as he made a sloppy bow and she stood there like a recalcitrant child, which was exactly what she felt like.

  What was going to happen when they reached Venice? Would they go their separate ways? Would she ever know if he found the answers he’d been searching for?

  “Claire …”

  She looked up at him, waiting, but no other words were forthcoming.

  “Nathan.”

  He smiled, but this smile was a bit sad. “I’m not sure what to say in this situation.”

  “Lord Blythe, really. You’ve never made love to a woman while stranded in a cabin during a blizzard?”

  “Only in my dreams and I w
as far more debonair then.”

  She attempted a wobbly smile, held out her hand and waited for him to take it. He placed his mittened hand in hers. She couldn’t feel his fingers or his warmth but she didn’t need to. They were indelibly etched on her brain. A memory she would never forget.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Their entire time together would be something she would never forget. How often does one get locked into a brothel, her money stolen, chased by a mob and lost in a blizzard?

  “No maudlin words,” she said. “No promises neither of us will keep. To say it’s been a pleasure is a vast understatement, but of course you know that. To say I appreciate everything you’ve done doesn’t begin to express my feelings. To say thank you is entirely inadequate.” She shrugged and smiled. “But thank you, anyway.”

  “Anytime, my lady.” He bent over her wrapped hand and kissed the top of it. Then straightened and looked around the small room, at the now cold fireplace, at the dog waiting patiently by the door, at the bed they never utilized. Eventually his gaze made its way back to her. “So. Our next stop in this mad journey is the hospice.”

  “Then Italy.”

  He paused. A fleeting look crossed his face, quickly gone before she could decipher it. “Then Italy.”

  She forced a bright smile. “I pray you find all the answers you need in regards to your father’s death.”

  He regarded her solemnly. “And I pray you find what you’re searching for. Whether it be in Italy or elsewhere.”

  Her heart twisted in a knot of pain that was wholly unexpected. She’d wanted to be so very blasé about this, so non-provincial, and yet she found it so very difficult when what she wanted was to stay one more night, to make love to Nathan a few more times before they had to leave.

  The dog whined, breaking the thick silence that hung between them.

  Nathan dropped her hand and picked up his greatcoat.

  “Kiss me one last time, Blythe.”

  His head jerked up to look at her. “Claire.”

  “One last time. That’s all I’m asking.”

  His gaze flickered to the fireplace and the spot where they’d made love numerous times.

  She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. They were cold because he’d tamped the fire a while ago, but quickly they warmed beneath her onslaught.

  His hesitation didn’t last long. He dropped his coat and grabbed her shoulders, lifting her toward him for a better angle.

  She wrapped her arms around those wide shoulders and pulled him closer. They kissed until her calves began to ache, until the blood drained from her arms and they lost feeling. Until the dog trotted over and nudged Claire in the derriere. She laughed, breaking away from Nathan, and bent down to ruffle the dog’s fur.

  The dog barked and slurped her cheek with that huge tongue. Claire laughed some more and wiped her face.

  Nathan wrapped the blanket around himself and made his way to the door. They stepped through the opening, the dog bounding ahead of them, his massive body plowing through the snow mounds.

  As one, she and Nathan turned to take one last look into the cabin, then Nathan shut the door and they walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “You will never convince me a girl can hit as well as a boy.”

  Claire snorted. “Of course she can. If she has a stick the same size.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about.”

  “You didn’t specify how she has to hit. Besides, I took down that ruffian on the road to Paris. Now that you can’t dispute.”

  “Neither would I dare. I still cringe when I think of that poor chap.”

  Claire huffed out an indignant breath. Poor chap, indeed.

  “But you have to admit that I took down the second ruffian.”

  “Well. There is that,” she muttered.

  Nathan’s shoulders shook. No doubt with mirth. Claire huffed out another breath, with less indignation and more mirth herself.

  They’d been debating like this for the past hour. She knew it was Nathan’s way of distracting her from her overwhelming hunger. It felt like her stomach was touching her spine, and worse yet, she was beginning to get dizzy. So far she’d hidden it from Nathan, but she was worried that she wasn’t going to make it to the hospice if it was much farther.

  Please let the hospice be around the next bend. But each time she thought they were at the end, there was yet another bend, and another, and another. They’d been hiking for hours and they didn’t seem any closer to the hospice than when they left the cabin. She was beginning to despair that Nathan had taken a wrong turn. If one could even do that in the mountains.

  She stumbled but righted herself. Nathan looked over his shoulder, worry in his eyes. She smiled at him and hoped it was convincing.

  “What about childbirth?” she said. “A man can’t do that better than a woman.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Who’s being ridiculous? You said women couldn’t do things as well as men and I just pointed out that there is one thing we women can do better.”

  She didn’t really think Nathan believed everything he was saying but it made for a good debate and it passed the time. Although she fervently wished that they were in the warmth of the hospice with a warm meal spread before them.

  She pressed a hand to her protesting stomach and forced her gaze to stay on the ground. Her steps were becoming unsteady, her legs weak.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “What about sailing a ship? A woman couldn’t possibly sail a ship.”

  “Why?”

  Nathan held back a bough from a fir tree to let her pass. “Because it’s backbreaking work.”

  “What about Lady Anne? She sailed a ship.”

  “Lady Anne was fiction.”

  “Was she?”

  “I simply refuse to believe a woman with orange eyes attacked ships and ate men.”

  Claire chuckled, too hungry for a full-out laugh. “Of course that part wasn’t true. But what if there was a woman who captained ships better than any man?”

  Nathan shook his head and continued on.

  Claire bit back a smile and concentrated on his wide shoulders. Lady Anne was not fiction. Lady Anne happened to be named Emmaline, who was married to her brother, but Claire wasn’t in a position to tell Nathan that.

  He stopped suddenly. Claire had to grab a hold of his arm to keep herself from falling over.

  “There it is.”

  She looked up and drew in a breath, half thinking she was imagining things.

  Rising above the trees was a building reminiscent of the grandest cathedrals of Europe. Made of rough stone and tall, narrow windows, it towered over the trees, and since it was at the very top of the mountains, she could only imagine what the view would be.

  The dog broke through the tree line and bounded up to them, plopping down on his haunches, that huge tongue lolling out of its mouth. Nathan laughed and patted the dog’s head. “Good boy.”

  They were met on the path by a monk who later introduced himself as Brother Dieter and the dog as Larz. Yes, the dog actually had a name and was owned by the St. Bernard monks.

  “We breed them,” Brother Dieter said while they ate. “Years ago we discovered that they have an innate sense of smell. They can even smell people buried in an avalanche.”

  Claire shuddered at the thought of being buried alive. Thank God that hadn’t happened to her and Nathan. She scooped another mouthful of soup into her mouth. She didn’t need Nathan’s amused glances to know that she was being very unladylike eating the way she was. But she didn’t care, she was hungry.

  Nathan was also eating heartily of the richly cooked food, making appreciative noises. Luckily Dieter didn’t seem to notice. He ate less and talked more about the dogs and the mission of the hospice, which was to aid weary travelers and find those lost in the wilderness.

  Meanwhile Larz lay at Dieter’s feet, snoring softly.

  Finally full, Cla
ire laid down her fork and sat back with a sigh.

  Dieter sat back as well, his attention on her. “Mr. Blanton informed me that you are traveling to Venice after having married in London.”

  Claire stilled. Nathan’s fork froze halfway to his mouth before he put it down and cleared his throat.

  “Yes,” he said. “Mrs. Blanton and I thought to take in the sights of Venice for a few weeks before returning to London. Isn’t that right, dear?” He shot her a warning look.

  Claire stared at him. Mrs. Blanton? Nathan and Dieter had talked quietly when they’d first arrived. Surely he hadn’t told the monk they were married. Yet how else was he to explain that they were alone?

  “Uh. Yes. That’s right, darling.” She turned back to Dieter. “My husband’s health is delicate and the doctors felt the warmer climate of Italy might benefit him.”

  Nathan cleared his throat again, but Claire kept her gaze on Dieter and leaned closer. “He doesn’t like to admit his weaknesses but the doctor believes our inability to …” She lowered her gaze. “Well, our inability to have children might be a consequence.”

  “My lady, er, Claire.” Nathan put his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers in a firm grip. “I’m sure the good brother doesn’t want to hear about … such things.”

  “Oh, dear.” She glanced furtively at Dieter, who was looking wide-eyed at Nathan. “I’m terribly sorry. Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

  Nathan smiled at Dieter. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. She doesn’t get out in society much. Not after the incident at Lady Crawford’s ball.” Nathan shuddered. “Horrendous, really.”

  Claire gritted her teeth and managed to smile. “You promised, dear, you wouldn’t mention that again.”

  He patted her hand. “My apologies.”

  “Yes. Well.” Dieter pushed away from the table. “I believe, Mr. Blanton, you said you would like to leave at first light. I believe we can accommodate that. We have a driver who is well acquainted with the pass and can easily take you into Italy.”