Dicing with the Dangerous Lord - By Margaret McPhee Page 0,96
sleek wetness of his hair.
‘I love you, Francis,’ she said and loosened his cravat, unwinding it, letting it slip away to the floor. She unfastened his collar and kissed the shadowed hollow of his throat. Her hands swept over the breadth of his shoulders and down the lapels of his coat, feeling the dampness of the rain in the wool and the warmth of the man beneath.
‘You will catch a chill.’ She peeled the coat from him and let it fall to land with a soft thud on the rug below. The waistcoat followed. She tugged the shirt from his breeches.
He slipped it effortlessly over his head and she saw it no more.
She laid her fingers against his heart and felt its strong steady beat. She kissed it again before sliding her hands over the smooth skin of his chest, over his back, and down lower to the ribbed muscle of his belly.
She felt the way he trembled, heard the way he caught his breath as her fingers made light work of the button on his breeches, opening the fall to brush her hand against the length of him that strained so hard against the linen of his drawers.
He made a soft gasping sound and caught hold of her wrist, moving it gently behind her back while he drew her hard against him, her breasts flat against his chest. He kissed her and unfastened the buttons of her dress, sliding it from her before removing the rest of his own clothing, until they stood naked in the candlelight.
‘I would bear the darkness and the pain and the burden a hundred times over because it led me to you. I love you, Venetia. Completely. Utterly. That is the final truth.’
She felt her heart weep with love for him as he took her in his arms and loved her.
* * *
The next morning all traces of the storm had passed. The winter sky was clear and blue, and a cool white sunlight lit the morning. He felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, even though there was still the worry that the authorities’ questions would lead them to Knight. And no matter what had happened in the past, no matter what the future held, the fact that Venetia loved him made everything all right. He understood now what it was that Knight felt for Marianne. If it went anything near what he felt for Venetia, he marvelled that his brother-in-law had not killed Rotherham sooner. If any man hurt Venetia, he knew what he would do.
The sunlight made her skin glisten so pale and perfect. Her cheeks were still pink-tinged from their lovemaking. She was his heart, his life. She looked up from her coffee cup and caught him watching her, and she smiled. It was a smile that echoed the joy he felt in his heart. She reached across the table and took her hand in his, her fingers so white beside his own olive skin. She still wore his large ring upon her slender wedding finger.
They stopped by the bookcase and the morning sunlight shone upon the open pages of Rotherham’s journal where she had left it lying.
‘To think that it was here all along. I did not notice that there were two books with the same title.’ She smiled a little sadly and closed it over. ‘In plain view,’ she said softly, ‘just as I knew it would be.’
It took a moment for her words to register, and when they did his heart began to thud. ‘But you came here looking for the missing pistol...not the journal.’
‘I came seeking both.’
‘You knew that the journal was missing?’ He stared at her and could not disguise the urgency and shock from his voice.
‘Not that it was a journal, but yes, I knew you had taken a book.’ She smiled and drew him a puzzled look.
‘By what means, Venetia?’ He tried to keep his voice casual, but every nerve in his body was alert, every muscle poised and tense.
‘Robert told me. His witness saw you carrying the book as you left.’
‘Clandon!’ The word was like a curse upon his tongue. The scales dropped from his eyes. He reeled with the shock and audacity of the realisation. ‘I have been a damnable fool!’ he murmured and pressed a hand to his forehead.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was Clandon who shot Rotherham, not Knight.’ He winced at how mistaken his own foolhardy assumptions had been.