The Viscount

“Come here and let’s see the damage,” he ordered, dropping his saddle on the ground.

“I’m only wet to the waist,” she muttered as he reached her and began running his hands over her shoulders.

She turned her face up to his and the moonlight illuminated her features a ghostly blue. Her gaze fastened on his. Her slightly parted lips beckoned. Without a thought to resist, Guy leaned toward her and brushed his mouth across hers. The sigh she issued drew him deeper into the kiss, tasting her fully for the first time ever.

Sweet urgency, an innocence hardly touched, honeyed depths waiting…just for him. Guy surrounded her with his arms and held her fast, melding her body to his, his palms cupping and caressing her hips…her curvaceous, very wet hips.

His good sense intruded and he released her. “Best save this for a more propitious time,” he whispered.

She gulped and nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Guy turned away abruptly, shook his head to clear it and picked up one of the small padded blankets used for cushioning the saddle. Then he returned and began to mop the excess water off of her.

She jumped back, her boots squishing. “Stop! I’ll smell like horse sweat,” she protested.

He laughed and tossed her the blanket. “Better that than to drip all the way home. I’d offer to exchange but I’m afraid Brinks’s breeches won’t fit me.” Especially now that he had nearly burst out of his own. Damn, he could use a quick dunk in the river himself. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, will you?” she countered, handing him the wet handkerchief.

He pushed aside the thought brought on by the wet curves of her beneath his hands and the mind-rending effect of that kiss.

Later he would pursue it, he told himself again, just as he had after the strange ceremony that united them legally. Now was still not the time, unfortunately.

Stripping her of those wet garments and making love on the grassy bank of the Derwent was not an option he could consider. “Come, we need to ride out before the sound of that shot brings half the populace down on us. We haven’t the time for explanations.”

She hurried over to the mare and began the chore of saddling up while he finished his own task with the gelding.

In short order they crossed the Derwent and were once more on the road to Maidstone. Guy reached into his makeshift sack, withdrew a link of sausage and handed it to her. “Here, eat this before you starve to death. No use being wet and hungry.”

“What about your wound? We really should see to it. Is it bleeding still?”

“Not anymore. As I said, it barely broke the skin.” He sighed. “We make pair in our deshabille, eh? But you’re no complainer, are you, Lily?”

“Depends,” she said, the word barely discernable through a mouthful of sausage. “Any bread?”

Guy handed her a portion torn off the loaf and then joined her. How strange it was to feel so easy in the company of a woman, he thought as he chewed. Despite the way she had aroused him with her response and the fact that he had left both of them wanting, Guy somehow knew Lily expected no apology for it.

She was a strong lady, his wife, and canny, too. Guy still could hardly believe how well she had weathered that attack in the street and the way she’d calmly accepted his need to eliminate those two. Smarky had warned him last week that they were dogging his heels and determined to make an end to him. Lily had accepted what had to be done without question. A truly welcome measure of trust.

With her there seemed no need for entertaining banter or observing false niceties. He was good at both when he put his mind to it, but this camaraderie with her was infinitely more comfortable. “I think I’ll like being married,” he commented, apropos of nothing.