“Leave me,” he said. “Tell Timothy I will not want him until dinner.”
The door quietly closed behind the butler. Adam took one more tour of the foreign apartment. It had been his mother’s decision to do this. She must have guessed that he would avoid making changes himself.
She might have told him. Not knowing, he had resisted coming here since he returned to England. This had been their true home, not Drewsbarrow in Warwickshire. He had grown up here and in London. It might have been years before he used the apartment if it had not been redone.
He concluded that he liked the changes. He would not mind using the chambers because they did not hold those memories. They would be found elsewhere, of course. Eventually he would face them, but not for a long while yet.
Her maid is undressing her and inviting her to rest from her journey.
He removed his coats and rolled up his sleeves. He returned to the bedchamber and eyed one wall. The panels had been painted, but not removed. He placed his palm on one of them and gently pressed.
Finally he found the spot where the panel’s edge eased beneath his pressure. A faint click sounded, and the panel swung out.
Good, safe places, the solicitor had said. This was one of them, and there were others.
The first thing he saw was a stack of money. Mr. Leland would be shocked to know that many families did in fact keep thousands of banknotes in their homes.
He pushed those aside, then reached in to see what else hid behind the wall.She is alone now. The maid has left.
Five minutes later the contents of the hiding place lay on the bed. They included no jewelry. There were other such safekeeping places here at the Abbey that also should be examined.
He would take care of that later. Right now, other things claimed his attention, like the lovely guest in one of the chambers above.
Chapter Seventeen
She wandered around her bedchamber. The maid had turned down the bedclothes and closed the drapes. She pushed the fabric aside so the light of one window would allow her to see the appointments. This chamber must have been decorated fairly recently since it showed gothic elements still coming into vogue.
The grounds below did not look like a typical garden. Rather, little pools, hills, and plantings created vignettes of great appeal. None of the flower beds looked planned, although she knew great care went into such horticultural designs.
Hands circled her waist. Warmth pressed her back. A kiss thrilled the side of her neck. Stratton’s face flanked hers and he gazed out alongside her. “It was my mother’s doing,” he said of the garden.
She leaned against him and he wrapped her in his arms. “I feared I would be a prisoner up here, and all alone.”
“It was my intention to be a considerate host and allow you to rest from your journey.” He kissed her neck again. “Then other intentions conquered that idea.”
“Your other intentions are far more interesting.”
One of his arms moved up her body. His hand stroked her breast, making her gasp. His mouth pressed her neck’s pulse. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the delicious sensations.
His caresses both soothed and excited her. She no longer wondered about her decision. Of course she had come. For this. For the pleasure and the intimacy. For the chance to feel wanted and cared for.
The touch on her breast aroused her mercilessly. With her back to him she could only accept the way he teased her toward delirium. Her body tensed with anticipation when his other hand began unbuttoning her undressing gown. His slow progress drove her mad with impatience. Firm from her need, her breasts reacted to the slightest stimulation, even the movement of the cloth of her chemise against their tips.
He pulled her undressing gown down, and it pooled at her feet. He held both her breasts and gently rubbed the tips with his thumbs. “Is this what you are begging for?”
She could barely speak, and her mind knew only pleasure and want. As the pleasure grew and spread she flexed against him, her hips pressing his arousal again and again.
Impatience soon plagued her again, until she wanted to cry. She grasped the shoulders of her chemise and pulled them down, so she would feel his touch on her skin. He stripped it down farther, until she was naked in his arms.
Her arousal grew and grew until it became a beautiful power that consumed her consciousness. She let him support her and embraced the abandon. The way he touched her felt too good to bear, and each touch and caress only made her want more.
She ached for what he had done the last time, for his mouth on her breasts and stomach, for his hand pressing up between her legs, for the insanity of having pleasure unhinge her until nothing else existed.
His teeth closed on her earlobe and nipped gently. “I promise that tonight I will take you slowly, but it has been too long and I need you now.” His hand slid down her body to her thighs. He turned her enough so he could kiss her. He held her like that and ravished her mouth while he stroked at her pulsating lower lips.
Each long, hidden caress sent a silent reverberation clanging through her entire body, each one stronger and more thorough in gathering her need into a furious demand for something more, something complete, something final.
He moved her and bent her and pressed her back. He no longer embraced her. Instead she felt brocade beneath her hands. She leaned over the thick arm of the divan face down, her hips resting on its high bulk and her legs dangling down its side.
