‘Damn the man for a fool.’ He caught her wrist, planting a kiss there. ‘What kind of activity qualifies as vigorous, my love?’
‘Anything that gets your blood up, I should imagine.’
‘In that case, I am about to set my recovery back some weeks,’ said Rawden, pulling her onto the bed in one swift movement. He pinned her with his body, wincing slightly as he did so.
‘Get off, you great hound, you will hurt yourself,’ squealed Grace, but her heart wasn’t in it.
‘I care not,’ said Rawden. ‘Curse Hardy for teaching you to ride when you should be at home warming your husband’s bed. Should I be worried about him? Can I trust him around my desirable little wife?’
‘Oh, no, not at all,’ said Grace. ‘Hardy and I are having breathless, illicit liaisons daily while you sit indoors complaining. It is your punishment for duelling.’
Rawden’s teeth nipped her neck, and his hand slid to undo the buttons on the front of the riding habit. He plucked them open as he said, ‘Then I shall have to challenge him to a duel.’
‘No, you won’t.’ A shadow seemed to fall over the day. Grace pushed Rawden off. ‘You were badly hurt, Rawden. Do not jest about such a matter, ever.’
His mouth found hers, and he gave her a searing kiss and returned to nibbling her neck. ‘I am sorry. I promise not to shoot Hardy. Now, I think we were discussing your penance for ignoring me in favour of flirting with my friend.’
‘I have not been flirting, Rawden, I swear.’ She squealed and wriggled as he tickled her.
‘It is high time you flirted with me, you little tease.’ His hot hand slipped down the bodice of her gown, slid over one eager breast, and squeezed gently, sending a surge of desire through her loins. ‘Here is your punishment, woman,’ he breathed.
Grace sighed, rolled on top of Rawden and lifted her skirts. ‘And here is yours,’ she said, sliding her frozen hand over his belly. He did not flinch, merely smiling at her boldness, which had grown over the last few months as she had nursed him back to health. ‘And you know, Rawden, it is no punishment if I like it.’
‘Then I must punish you some more, my love, until you beg for mercy.’
‘I want none, and I will show you none, Rawden Voss,’ she said, kissing him and undoing his breeches. He was stiff and heavy in her hand, and she slid him inside her quickly, deliciously, rapturously.
‘God, you are lovely with your cheeks pink from the cold and your hair coming down. I want you so badly,’ he said, his hand fisting in her hair, the other on her hip, pressing her body to his. She slid over him, her pleasure building and surging as he said, ‘You ride me far better than you ride that damned horse.’
‘There is no excuse for you, Rawden Voss. Now stop talking, and make love to me.’
The morning became lost to passion, and afterwards, they lay abed in each other’s arms. Grace snuggled against his furred chest, sliding her fingers through its silky warmth.
‘You are not really jealous of Hardy, are you, Rawden?' she said.
He laughed. ‘I hope not, for he could certainly best me in a duel.’
‘Serve you right if you did duel, for I still have not forgiven you, and I doubt I ever will.’ She stared up at him. ‘Rawden, you must know that I could not bear to lose you.’
‘And you will not,’ he said, smiling and stroking her hair. ‘I know you did not ride with Hardy today, for he came to see me this morning bearing some alarming news.’
Grace sat up. ‘What news?’
‘It concerns Caville Sharp.’
Grace swallowed hard. His name still had the power to fill her with dread. Now, it crashed into her sunlit, snowy morning like a black shadow. ‘The very mention of his name fills me with dread. Is it wrong to wish you had ended his villainy that day on Putney Heath?’
‘I have little enough honour, my love, but even I cannot shoot an unarmed man in the back.’
‘The fiend had just shot you in the shoulder.’
Rawden gave Grace a deep, searching kiss. ‘By running away that day, he revealed himself to be a snivelling coward, and all know it. What more is there to say?’
‘So what is your news? What has he done now?’
‘You know that he went to ground for many weeks. Well, Hardy tells me he resurfaced in London a month ago, discreetly, of course. His reputation is in tatters, and he is not well received, apart from some of his older, less discerning friends - Gilbert Routledge being amongst them. That fool took him in. Since his father has recently cut him off, and his wife has abandoned him for the sanctuary of her parents' estate, taking much of her fortune with her, Caville has been seeking money from his friends to invest in a scheme in the colonies. Some were taken in by his promises and invested heavily.’
‘Is he a danger, Rawden? Will he spread vile rumours about me, seek to do us harm?’
