Page 49 of Wicked Wager

With two strokes of his hand he sent the whole collection to the floor. "Indeed, you are correct. I shall remedy that deficiency-later," he concluded, drawing her up for a kiss.

She responded avidly, her fingers biting into his shoulders, her tongue seeking his. Seeming fired with the same impatience that consumed him, without breaking their kiss, she urged him onto the bed, pushed him back against the pillows.

He was well and truly lost now. Ah, that this time, heaven would not end in her regret!

Knowing it was unlikely he'd be able to entice her to a second, more leisurely loving, he wanted to slow the pace, prolong and savor every moment. But even as her tongue caressed his, her fingers clawed open the buttons of his breeches.

They both shuddered at the touch of her hand to his naked skin. With a murmur of approval, she deftly eased his erection free and before he could move or think, took him in her mouth. Though he desperately wanted to touch and taste her in return, all" thought dissolved at the first velvet stroke of her tongue.

Using lips and teeth and tongue, she moved up and down his length, taking him deep, sliding him almost free, nibbling at the exquisitely sensitive tip. Just when he thought he could stave off completion no longer, she released him and scrambled onto the bed.

"Love me," she gasped, her breathing frantic and her eyes wild. "Love me, Tony." Lifting her skirts, she straddled him, thrust downward to take him deep within her.

He shuddered, his whole body trembling as he hovered at the sharp edge of pleasure so intense it was nearly pain. Ah, how he longed to bare her breasts, feel the softness of her naked skin under his hands while she rocked into him! Yet there was a naughty, erotic excitement to this clandestine coupling in the bright morning light, both of them almost completely clothed.

After pulling her face close enough to kiss, he struggled through the layers of skirt and shift until his hands reached the smooth skin of her buttocks. Then, clutching her close and praying he would last long enough to pleasure her, he let her ride him as she would.

Her breaths accelerated with the thrust of her hips until, far too soon, her fingers clenched on his shoulders. Opening his mouth to swallow her cry, he let himself catapult with her into the abyss.

Timeless, weightless, they clung together, suspended in bliss as ancient as mankind, as fresh as the new morning. His one thought as slowly the sensations softened, faded, was a fervent hope that this time, she would wake without tears.

A few moments later, still within the circle of his arms, she pushed up on her elbow. Her gaze scanned the garments he'd been packing, now scattered about the floor. "Ah, Tony," she whispered, her eyes imploring, "you won't really leave me, will you?"

She was not going to banish him. She wanted him here.

At that realization, joy expanded his chest, clogged in his throat so that he had to struggle for speech.

"Never!" he said at last, drawing her back into his embrace.

For another few moments they lay quietly, Tony drinking in the wonder of her warm breath against his chin. "I suppose," she said at last, pushing to a sitting position, "I can inform Lady Charlotte you'll not be needing that trunk."

"Did you come here this morning to seduce me into staying?" he asked with a smile.

"No! Well, perhaps. Oh, I don't know!" Her cheeks coloring, she looked away. "I only knew I did not want you to go. You'll stay for Christmas? Help me afterward with purchasing the property and resettling the soldiers?"

"I must begin setting my own estate to rights, but yes, I shall help you with whatever you wish." He made himself inspect her face. "You are sure you want that?"

She gazed back steadily, her certainty unquestionable. "I do."

"Then," he said slowly, teetering between caution and fondest hope, "you must...care for me, at least a little."

She sighed, her lips quirking into a rueful grin. "I do care-far more than I would like. Since I don't seem to have much control over the emotion, I've decided to stop trying to resist or explain it away and just accept it."

Before he could bring order to the muddle of shock, relief and exuberant gladness her admission evoked, she reached out to gently touch his cheek. "I don't know yet where my feelings will lead.

Sometimes it seems I will never cease mourning, never escape the grief and regret for what will never be.

It's selfish, I know, to ask you to dance attendance on me when I can offer-"

"No!" he interrupted, seizing her hand. "I am happy to help you. Besides, there's the matter of my character to finish reforming."

"Then we still have a bargain?"

Tenderly he smoothed the hair at the nape of her neck. "It appears we do."

*EPILOGUE*

The pleasant July sunshine warming her face, Jenna stood before a small stone building, gazing down at the fields and dwellings she now called home. Below her stretched meadows of gently-waving grain, the harvest from which would later fill the storehouse behind her. The wooded crest to her right was crowned by a spacious manor house built of the same stone, stables and outbuildings clustered behind it; across the fields to her left, workmen labored to complete the new school which, after the harvest, would fill with the children of the workers and the war orphans Evers and Sergeant Anston had collected.

Thanks to Lady Charlotte's help in recruiting employers, the first of the widows who had begun training last winter under Sancha's watchful eye would soon leave to take up positions as housekeepers, cooks and seamstresses. Lady Charlotte had also insisted on collecting subscriptions to help defray the cost of the school construction and to pay the salary of the headmaster she'd employed. All in all, Jenna had good reason to feel satisfied with the work of the last six months.

Somewhat to her surprise, after having lived such a vagabond existence all her life, she had discovered she loved her quiet, settled days as mistress of a country estate on the Hampshire downs. From the moment the agent had led her through it, Farrendean House had seemed like an old friend. She'd made an offer to purchase the property on the spot, removing here immediately after the holiday festivities at Lady Charlotte's.

In the intervening months, the sense of purpose she'd found in offering a haven to lives blighted, like hers, by the war had gradually helped fill the terrible emptiness that had tortured her after losing Garrett.

The long rides through Farrendean's rolling hills and meadows soothed her restlessness of soul, gradually strengthening the tentative sense of peace she'd felt last Christmas when she'd first given herself permission to move forward into a life without him.

She'd known last spring that she had chosen the right direction when she journeyed to London for supplies and encountered Colonel Vernier, in the capital briefly for consultations about his ongoing diplomatic mission. Not only did she feel no envy at being fixed in rural England while he moved in the glittering international arena of Vienna, she had felt for him personally only respect and warm admiration.

Without a qualm she gently turned down his request to call on her.

Upon the anniversary last month of the great battle, she'd refused all invitations to the various memorial services and come instead up here. Alone with her memories, she'd gazed out across the vista of fields, a view very similar to that from the cemetery above the Waterloo plain where Garrett lay. Acceptance of her losses that dreadful day settling deep into her soul, she'd descended the hill knowing she was ready not just to go on with her life, but to risk sharing it.

Casting a glance down the farm road to find it still deserted, she sighed. If only she could be as certain about Nelthorpe's inclinations as she was about her own.

He'd been a solid supporting presence these past months, encouraging, offering counsel on her purchase of the estate and its supplies, teasing her out of lassitude when recurrent sadness ambushed her.

He alternately amused and exasperated her, impressed her with the diligence with which he'd thrown himself into learning the business of estate management, moved her to chastise him when he tried to distract her to drive or ride instead of work. He challenged her intellect with his wit, soothed her lonely spirit with his friendship, and had generally made himself so indispensable to her well-being that she could no longer imagine a future without him.

In short, though her feelings for Tony Nelthorpe were in many ways different from the almost hero-worship she'd felt for her husband, she knew she had come to love him.

She was not at all sure how he felt about her.

Somewhat to her chagrin, he'd readily agreed to the one caveat she'd added to their original bargain: that he refrain from attempting to seduce her. Of course, given that she'd all but compelled him to take her on two previous occasions, his ability to tempt her was moot. Though occasionally lackadaisical about other things, since the New Year he'd shown an all-too-assiduous sense of responsibility in refraining from encouraging her to any further intimate contact.

Indeed, aside from taking her hand to help her in and out of the carriage, or giving her a leg up into the saddle upon occasion, he'd scarcely touched her since their last kiss under the mistletoe just before Christmas. Despite her having offered him several excellent opportunities to repeat that gesture on his last several visits, he seemed perfectly content to continue in his avuncular, elder-brother role.

Perhaps, having twice had his fill, he no longer desired her? At Christmas she'd practically begged him to continue their relationship. Perhaps he merely felt obligated to watch over the grieving widow who'd saved his life until she found her feet again. After all, he'd never offered more than companionship-never even hinted at cherishing for her emotions warmer than friendship.

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