“A two-year-old?”
She nodded, her eyes ostensibly upon the match, her consciousness riveted upon the outraged male beside her.
He took one—two—three furious breaths. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Back to the carriage.Now.”
Dain did not make it to the carriage. He barely made it to the outer edge of the spectators, and the carriage was a good distance beyond, thanks to their late arrival and the mass of vehicles that had preceded them. Crested coaches were jammed against lowly farm wagons, and the disgruntled beings left to mind the cattle were relieving their vexations by quarreling loudly among themselves.
Having vexations of his own to relieve, and convinced he’d explode long before he found the carriage, Dain hurried his wife to the first unoccupied area he spotted.
It was a burial ground, attached to a tiny, crumbling church in which Dain doubted any services had been conducted since the Armada. The grave-stones, their inscriptions long since eroded by salt air, listed drunkenly in every direction but upright. Those, that is, making any pretense of standing. Nearly half had given up the attempt ages ago, and sprawled where they’d fallen, with the tall weeds huddled about them like pickpockets about a gin-sotted sailor.
“It’s as though the place didn’t exist,” Jessica said, looking about her and apparently oblivious to the big, angry hand clutching her arm as he relentlessly marched her along. “As though no one has noticed or cared that it’s here. How odd.”
“You won’t find it so odd in a moment,” he said. “You’ll wish you didn’t exist.”
“Where are we going, Dain?” she asked. “I’m sure this isn’t a shortcut to the carriage.”
“You’ll be very lucky if it isn’t a shortcut to your funeral.”
“Oh, look!” she cried. “What splendid rhododendrons.”
Dain did not have to follow her pointing finger. He’d already spotted the gigantic shrubs, with their masses of white, pink, and purple blooms. He’d also discerned the pillared gateway in their midst. He supposed a wall had once been attached to the gateway, either enclosing the church property or the property beyond. For all he knew, the wall might still be there, or parts of it, hidden by the thick mass of rhododendrons. All he cared about was the “hidden” part. The shrubs formed an impenetrable screen from passersby.
He marched his wife to the gateway and hauled her to the right pillar, which was better concealed, and backed her up against it.
“A two-year-old, am I, my lady?” He tore off his right glove with his teeth. “I’ll teach you how old I am.” He stripped off the other glove.
He reached for his trouser buttons.
Her glance shot to his hand.
He swiftly undid the three buttons of his small falls, and the flap fell open.
He heard her suck in her breath.
His rapidly swelling shaft was pushing against the fabric of his French bearer. It took him nine seconds to release the nine buttons. His rod sprang out, throbbing hotly at attention.
Jessica sank back against the pillar, her eyes closed.
He dragged up her skirts. “I’ve wanted you the whole curst day, drat you,” he growled.
He had waited too long to bother with drawer strings or anything like finesse. He found the slit of her drawers and thrust his fingers inside and tangled them in the silky curls.
He had but to touch her—a few impatient caresses—and she was ready, pushing against his fingers, her breathing quick and shallow.
He thrust into her, and scorching joy bolted through him at the slick, hot welcome he found, and the low moan of pleasure he heard. He grasped her bottom and lifted her up.
She wrapped her legs round him and, clutching his shoulders, threw back her head and gave a throaty laugh. “I’ve wanted you, too, Dain. I thought I’d go mad.”
“Fool,” he said. Mad she was, to want such an animal.
“Your fool,” she said.
“Stop it, Jess.” She was nobody’s fool, least of all his.
“I love you.”
The words shot through him and beat upon his heart. He couldn’t let them in.
