Tallie's Knight Part 14

Tallie shuddered rapturously as wondrous sensations flooded her. Hispowerful thighs imprisoned her, and he pressed against her, indeliberate, rhythmic movements, his body moving in time with histongue. Tallie felt languid, thrilled and apprehensive--all at thesame time.

His hand had left her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she realised suddenly. It was slidingup her legs, over her stockings. It was past her knee and touchingbare flesh! The hand moved higher and she tried to wriggle away fromit, at the same time straining to press herself more closely againsthim. He moaned, caressing her eyelids with his mouth and tongue,nuzzling her throat and stroking the skin of her thighs with warm,strong fingers. Tallie's legs quivered in response, then fell apart,trembling. His hand moved higher, circling, stroking, pressing.

Suddenly the coach lurched, and Tallie abruptly became aware of whatshe was doing. And where his hands were! She stiffened in shock.These were indeed liberties! And Tallie knew her duty.

"Ohhhh," she gasped loudly, and collapsed dramatically back against the

seat cushions, her body loose and boneless.

"Tallie? What is it?" Magnus pulled his mouth from hers and blinked dazedly down at his bride. Oh, Lord! He'd let himself get carried away. The slightest touch of his lips to hers and the pa.s.sion he'd tried so hard to repress had flared uncontrollably. Lord help him, he'd been about to ravish his innocent virgin bride in a carriage in the middle of the countryside! And frightened her half to death by the look of things!

"Tallie, are you all right?" He picked up one hand and began to chafe it frenziedly. He patted her cheeks and took her chin in his hand, searching in vain for signs of animation. Her head lolled in his hands. Oh, Lord, what if she were ill?

Thoroughly alarmed, Magnus sat up and ran his hands through his hair, wondering what the devil one did with swooning females. A vinaigrette, that was what he needed. He searched every cranny of the coach, as if one would magically be found to contain a bottle of smelling salts, but no.

What else? Burnt feathers? He'd seen women revived when burnt feathers were held under their noses--but he had no feathers to burn. What else? he thought in desperation. Cold water? Yes, there was bound to be some lying around outside--a stream or a pond or even a puddle. He shouted at the coachman to stop the coach, and as it slowed he flung open the door.

A noise from his beloved bride halted him in his tracks. He could not believe his ears. The sound came again. Magnus turned in dark suspicion and looked at her. Sure enough, her body was convulsed--in not quite silent giggles.

"You little witch!" Magnus exclaimed wrathfully.

"You were faking it!"

Tallie sat up, groping for her reticule to find a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes.

Magnus stared, outraged, incredulous! She was laughing? At himi He had been lost in the heights of pa.s.sion . and she'd faked a swoon. and was laughing! He opened his mouth to deliver a blistering tirade to end all blistering tirades.

"You see, my lord, I was in no danger." Her voice was a little shaky, but she seemed in full control of her faculties.

No danger? Magnus's eyes narrowed into glacial slits.

"Danger of what?" Right now the little baggage was in danger of being throttled!

By her brand-new husband!

"From that sailor, of course," Tallie responded as brightly as she could, given the fact that her body still trembled with the aftermath of his pa.s.sion. She had reacted automatically, feigning the swoon, but all the time she had lain there with her eyes closed she had been reliving his caresses. She'd felt like bursting into tears when he had sat up, releasing her from his embrace, and begun chafing her hands.

She'd been shaken, in turmoil, wondering what to do, but then laughter had bubbled up from nowhere, and she'd let it come. She continued, "If he had done what you said he might-what you did to me just now--I would have pretended to swoon, just like I did.

Then, while he was wondering what to do, I would have escaped. "

She smiled triumphantly at him and straightened her skirts, hoping he would not notice her trembling hands. She had never known a kiss could be like that, but she could never let him see how strongly it had affected her. She did not wish to disgust him, after all.

She felt quite proud of herself, of her apparent selfpossession, as she said, "Now, shall we return to town?"

He was still looking murderous, so she said earnestly, "You really have no need to worry about my safety, my lord, for truly there is no need, as you saw. I learned how to deal with unwanted liberties when I was at school, you know. Miss Fisher considered it very important." She added confidingly, "Of course, this is the first time I have ever actually needed to do so, but I think it worked splendidly, don't you agree?"

"Splendidly." Lord d'Arenville glared balefully at his bride of only a few days. Unwanted liberties? h.e.l.l and the devil roast it, but he'd teach her to want those liberties from him-if he died in the attempt!

Chapter Eight.

1 he handsome pirate bent over her, and a lock of crisp dark hair fell over his brow. His sea-grey eyes darkened with pa.s.sion as he lowered his mouth to hers. "Ohhhh," Tallie moaned. his arms drew her closer and she felt as if there was no other place on earth she wished to be. He smiled, the long, vertical grooves in his cheeks deepening, and kissed her again.

Tallie groaned.

"Fear not, my love," the pirate murmured.

"No one can catch us. No one will ever take you away from me. For the wind is blowing swift and strong..."

Tallie moaned again. It wasn't fair. She loved the sea.

'. and my ship is fleet and sure. "

"Ohhhh!" Tallie whimpered. She loved ships, too.

'and she rides the waves like a dolphin. up and down. "

"Oh, no, no--no more..." Tallie muttered woefully. She was betrayed--by the ship, by the seal "Here, take this." Lord d'Arenville's eyes were sea-dark with concern as he leaned over her. He held out a basin and Tallie clutched it gratefully, closing her eyes again to shut out the sight of the lantern swinging with the motion of the ship.

She bent over the basin for a long, painful interval, then felt it removed from her grasp. A cool, damp cloth gently wiped her mouth and she felt hands tucking the blanket more se's Knight curely around her shivering body. Warm, strong arms gathered her close and she sighed in relief. She felt herself lifted up and her eyes flew open again in alarm.

"It's all right. I'm taking you up on deck," Magnus murmured as she clutched his neck in distress.

"No, no."

"Trust me, you will feel better in the fresh air," he said, and carried her out of the small, gloomy cabin.

Tallie was certain she would die if she had to go up to the pitching, rolling deck, but she was too miserable and exhausted to argue. She would die soon in any case. Why had no one told her sailing was like this? She felt the ship lurch and shudder, heard the frightful creak and groan of straining timber, and clutched her husband tighter, finding comfort in his warmth and strength. And courage. For he seemed not the least distressed by this dreadful storm which would surely kill them all.

On deck the wind was brisk and cold. Magnus carried her over to the railings and found a place to sit, still holding her in his arms.

Splashes of sea spray cooled her clammy skin. Magnus wiped it with his handkerchief. Wind whipped at her hair and tugged at her skirts. He smoothed her hair back and tucked the blanket more securely around her.

"Feeling better?" he said after a while.

Tallie shivered and leaned against his chest. She did feel a little better. The fresh sea air was helping her head to clear-if not her stomach, which was aching dreadfully from all that she had lost from it. She would never eat kippers again.

"It's perfect weather for sailing," he said.

She stared at him incredulously. Perfect weather? Surely it was a storm! Those white-capped waves were enormous, and the way they dipped and swelled and crashed against the sides of the ship was terrifying.

"According to the captain, this wind will have us in France in under five hours," he continued. He glanced down at her and smiled slightly.

"That's a little under two hours from now."

"Two hours," Tallie groaned.

He laughed--rather heartlessly, Tallie thought.

"Here, this will help settle your stomach." He pulled out a flat silver flask, unscrewed the top and held it to her lips.

"No," she muttered, turning her lips away. She couldn't bear to eat or drink anything, knowing she would only lose it in a few minutes.

"Trust me." He grasped her chin in his hand and tipped what seemed like half the contents of the flask down her throat.

Tallie shuddered as it burnt its way down her throat, then coughed as it hit the pit of her empty stomach, depriving her of all ability to breathe for a moment or two.

"What?" -she spluttered indignantly.

"Brandy."

She subsided, gasping against his chest, and closed her eyes, waiting to die, but after a few minutes she found a warmth stealing into her body which seemed to banish the dreadful queasiness. Wearily she laid her face against his throat, taking comfort in the scent of his cologne water and his skin. She felt the faint p.r.i.c.kle of whiskers against her cheek and rubbed against them, enjoying the sensation.

He had been so very kind to her, she thought drowsily. The last thing she would have expected of Lord d'Arenville was that he would prove so gentle and sympathetic in the sickroom. He was such a fastidious person. She would have expected him to be revolted by her illness. gentlemen were, she'd understood.

But instead he had cared for her with a quiet competence that, now she thought about it, made her almost want to weep. She could not remember when anyone had cared whether Tallie Robinson was well or ill, if she lived or died. And now, this--this so-called Icicle had tended to her needs with a careful tenderness that nearly broke her heart. It was wicked for people to call him The Icicle. He wasn't at all. He was. "You're so kind," she mumbled into his skin, feeling tears p.r.i.c.kling, hot against her eyelids.

Kind? Had she said he was kindl Magnus was stunned. He must have misheard her. No one had ever called him kind before. Any one of his acquaintances would laugh at the notion. He shifted his hold on her slightly, tucking her more securely into the curve of his body, savouring the relaxed weight of her, the feel of her soft cheek against his skin. Errant tendrils of her hair tickled his chin, and he inhaled the scent of it, soap and sea and the faint sour remnants of her recent illness.

Poor little mite. Her seasickness had come as such a shock to her. A blind man would have seen how thrilled she'd been when they had finally embarked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. And not a half hour later she had been drooping, green and wan, over a basin, retching her little heart out, a picture of misery.

And she thought him kind. It wasn't kindness that caused him to look after her, he reflected ruefully. He'd had no choice--there was no one else. And besides, she belonged to him now. He had a duty to her. He was her husband.

He felt her body relax against him, felt her breathing slow to an even rhythm. She was asleep. In his arms. His wife.

Magnus watched the waves, enjoying the brisk salt spray which blew occasionally against his face. He pulled the blanket up to protect her from the wet. It had been nothing like he'd expected, this business of marriage. Lord, what a simpleton he'd been, thinking to get himself a wife in order to get children. He'd thought about the children only; he'd barely considered the wife, except to find a healthy woman who would disturb his life as little as possible. He laughed silently.

What a gudgeon, to think a woman would not disturb his life.

Perhaps if he'd married one of Laet.i.tia's candidates. Ironic to think he'd picked Tallie because she'd have so few expectations. She was simply bursting with expectations; that was the trouble. She had a thirst for life that amazed him.

If he'd chosen one of Laet.i.tia's girls he'd have had a conventional bride trip--to Brighton or Bath, perhaps, or even to his country home.

Then a season in London, by which time she'd have been pregnant and would have retired gracefully to the country to give birth. And when she'd been ill she would have had her mama and a dozen attendants to care for her. And after the birth she would have returned to London and they would have resumed their separate lives in the normal civilised fashion of the ton.

But instead of a cool sophisticate who understood her duty he'd chosen this naive little creature, who'd thrown his life into chaos. He'd not realised just how alone in the world she was-Lord, she didn't even have a maid. He hadn't even arranged to get one for her--he'd just a.s.sumed one of Laet.i.tia's maids would accompany her. His cousin had refused, of course.

And so, because of Laet.i.tia's spite and his own lack of forethought, he'd had to be maid, groom, sickroom attendant and protector to his wife. Everything except husband. And because of crowded inns, stinking waterfronts, vulgar cits-not to mention his delayed wedding night--he'd been bad- tempered and unpleasant a good deal of the time.

And yet she called him kind. He wasn't, of course. Magnus knew that. Along with the knowledge of his duty to his lineage, his lands, and his family name, his father had drummed into him a rigid sense of responsibility for those who were dependent on him. And there was no doubt in Magnus's mind that his bride was more dependent on him than anyone had ever been in his life. Kind? She just didn't understand n.o.blesse oblige.

But he did enjoy the warm weight of her in his arms.

By the time they reached Calais, she had almost fully recovered from her seasickness.

"France!" she announced in relief as they headed towards the customs house.

The French officials examined their pa.s.sports with an insulting att.i.tude of suspicion and searched their baggage with greedy hands.

One turned to examine Tallie's clothing--while she was wearing it--and Magnus stepped forward with a warning growl. There was a short muttered exchange, gold pa.s.sed from English to French hands, and they were allowed to leave. John Black, Magnus's coachman and general factotum, remained behind to supervise the luggage.

With every step on firm, dry land, Tallie gathered animation. Her eyes darted everywhere, drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of her first foreign country. A foreign country, moreover, which only a short time ago had experienced bloodthirsty revolution and war--and murdered almost all of its aristocrats. She was now an aristocrat by marriage.

Tallie pressed close to her husband, thrilled by the sense of danger, secure in his presence.

And what sights there were too, for almost every man had savage black whiskers and gold earrings, and wore a c.o.c.ked hat with a red, white and blue c.o.c.kade pinned to it--the tri colore Some grenadiers marched past, looking very daunting and military, with prodigious moustaches and an erect, menacing gait.

The girls, grisettes, were very smartly dressed too, adorned with sparkling crosses, necklaces, earrings--all kinds of glittering decoration--and pretty starched white caps close upon their heads.

The sounds of French surrounded them, and Tallie frowned as she listened. These people spoke very differently from Mademoiselle, who had taught French at Miss Fisher's, and Tallie could only understand a word here and there.

She was surprised at how cheerful and friendly people seemed, but the Peace of Amiens had been signed almost a year before and things had obviously settled. She had half expected them to be rude, or hostile, but nothing could have been farther from the truth--particularly when the landlord bustled out of the Lion d'Argent, bowing and smiling, welcoming Milord Anglais et la belle milady with genuine pleasure.

"I ... I do not think I am very hungry," said Tallie as they entered the private dining parlour. Her stomach had settled a good deal, but it was still feeling a little peculiar.

Magnus frowned.

"You will feel more the thing with some good hot food inside you." He summoned a thin, lugubrious garqon and ordered coffee, eggs, steak and ale for both of them. The garqon gave a Gallic shrug and pointed out that they were not in England now, and decent Frenchmen did not drink ale. Magnus gave an English shrug in response and said nothing.

Tallie waited until the gargon left.

"I have no wish for food, thank you. I am not at all hungry."

"Nonsense," Magnus said bracingly.

"You will eat, and that's the end of it."

The gargon returned in a few moments and placed a plate of poached eggs in front of her. Magnus addressed himself to a large, rare steak.

Tallie glared at him mutinously and pushed her eggs away. How could she have thought her husband was kind? She was very sure she had not a trace of her insides left. No man with an ounce of sensitivity would expect her to eat runny eggs--or watch him devour a greasy steak--when she was still feeling so delicate. She averted her eyes from the disgusting sight and stared out of the window, where two men dressed in ragged finery played republican tunes on an organ and tambourine.

Magnus signalled to the gargon. A moment later he brought in a large cup of steaming, fragrant coffee and a dish of rolls and placed them on the table. Tallie watched Magnus break open the rolls. Wisps of steam escaped as the golden crust broke. The scent was heavenly. He b.u.t.tered a piece with pale b.u.t.ter and, before she knew what he was about, popped it in her mouth. Reluctantly she chewed and swallowed.

It was delicious.

Clearly he was not going to allow her to refuse to eat. Grudgingly she reached out, b.u.t.tered the next piece herself and ate it cautiously.

Next she took a sip of coffee. It was wonderful--hot and strong, milky and sweet. She drained the cup, then looked up to see her husband watching her, a faintly quizzical look on his face. As their eyes met, the long grooves down his cheeks deepened and the grey eyes almost twinkled.

Wryly she smiled, feeling a little foolish.