Louise Allen - Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

Eva began to unfasten her shirt, then turned her back on him as she slowly slid it over her shoulders, giving him the view of her slim, white back, and the merest hint of the curve of her breast as she moved. Jack locked his hands into fists in the sheet as the leather belt fell to the floor and she eased the breeches down over her hips, taking her linen underwear with them.

She was a Venus standing there, white and smooth and exquisite. But it was not a marble statue that looked over its shoulder at him but a warm, soft, curving female. How had she learned to be this provocative, this alluring? He sensed this had not been the way she had behaved with her husband. Eva was doing this for him and because of him. Unable to bear the throbbing need any longer, he curled his fingers round the hard flesh that was tormenting him.

‘No,’ she whispered, coming close, reaching down and unclasping his hand. ‘No, I forbid it.’ Her heavy plait fell forward, swinging down lie a soft pendulum above his groin, the very tip touching his swollen erection. He was going to disgrace himself, lose all control in a moment. Jack gritted his teeth as Eva loosened the ribbon and slowly, still letting the hair brush him like tiny lashes of fire, unplaited it until it swung, a silken curtain between them.

He was hanging on to his self-control by his fingertips, Eva realised, watching Jack’s set jaw muscles, the clenched fists, the magnificent, straining evidence of his desire for her. Enough teasing—she hardly thought she could bear any more herself.

The bed was yielding as she climbed on to it, knelt up and straddled Jack’s body, keeping herself raised above him as she bent her head and let her hair fall in a cloud over his chest. His hands came up to cup her breasts, taking their weight as she hung over him. Her nipples, already sensitive, stiffened into aching nubs as his fingers found them. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned further, giving herself up to his caresses, using her hair to caress in return.

Between her thighs she could feel his hips lifting, straining to rise enough to take her. Aching for him, she lowered herself to meet him, gasping as the hard flesh touched her, wriggling to take him into her, sighing with the exquisite sense of fullness as their bodies interlocked, sinking down until she could go no more and he was fully lodged in the core of her.

She had never done this before, but the feeling of power and control was intoxicating as she began to ride him, rising and falling, slowly drawing upwards, then, as he bucked beneath her, moving rapidly so that his head fell back and he grasped her hips with fingers like iron.

Her body was aflame, she could feel her control slipping, knew her rhythm was becoming ragged even as Jack took control, reared up and turned her over so he was on top. She knew he was close, knew he was holding on to take her with him and bowed up to meet him, feeling the swirling ecstasy possess her as he freed himself, cried out, hung rigid above her for a moment, then fell down to crush her into his embrace.

‘What had you meant to with the champagne?’ Eva murmured later, against Jack’s shoulder. The candles were low, he had drawn the covers up over their entwined bodies and they had dozed lightly, occasionally stirring to murmur against each other’s skin or trail the lazy kisses of lovers who had exhausted themselves, but not their desire to touch.

‘Mmm? I wondered what it would taste like if I licked it off your body.’ Jack lifted himself on one elbow to look down at her from under hooded lids. He looked tousled, sleepily replete, yet that fire was still there, banked down perhaps, but enough to warm her deep inside.

‘Really?’ Eva pondered this. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘That’s what I thought. But it is a pity to waste it when we are both too tired to really concentrate on wine tasting. We’ll take it with us.’

‘To Brussels? But can we…I mean, where will we be staying?’

‘I am sure that, wherever it is, your bodyguard will find it necessary to spend the night in your dressing room.’

‘Armed to the teeth?’ Happiness bubbled up inside her like the champagne they had drunk earlier. This was not to be the last night after all.

‘Well, certainly fully armed,’ Jack said with a certain male smugness, settling down again and pulling her into his arms. ‘And ready to give you his undivided and close personal attention.’

‘There was a battle at Ligny yesterday, that was what we could hear,’ Jack told her as Eva came out to the stables. The inn had been in hubbub that morning, the staff distracted and the breakfast service haphazard. They had eaten up and stayed quiet, trying to overhear what was going on, but making sense of it was impossible. Jack had left Eva to settle their account while he went out to saddle up, hoping to get a more coherent account from the stable hands.

‘Ligny.’ Eva frowned, trying to place it. Jack opened a much folded map from his pocketbook.

‘Here,’ he pointed. ‘And at Quatre Bras to the north-west of it.’

‘Who won?’ Jack was maintaining his usual neutral expression, but Eva could tell it was not good news.

‘Napoleon, by all accounts. Wellington has pulled back towards Brussels. Quatre Bras is a key crossroads,’ he added, folding the map away.

They mounted up and rode north in sombre mood until they were out of sight of the village. Then Jack halted and stripped the packs off the led horse, dumping out everything except weapons, water and some of the food. ‘Will this fit in your saddle bag?’ He flipped open the flap to push in a small loaf of bread. ‘The champagne? Eva, what’s that doing in there? We are supposed to be travelling light!’

‘For tonight,’ she insisted. ‘You promised.’

‘For tonight,’ he agreed.

With the led horse free of its burden they made better speed, riding at a canter, constantly scanning the land ahead as they rode through the fields and along the dusty tracks. They saw nothing, for the local peasants seemed to have kept close at home for fear of what might be out there in the aftermath of the battle, but there was sporadic gunfire from their right.

Jack kept away from the main roads, crossing the rivers by little pack mule bridges, or splashing across fords. ‘We’re not far south of Nivelles,’ he told her as they pulled up to a walk to rest the horses.

The edge of a wood curved ahead of them and they hugged it close, grateful for the shade. The sun was scorching now, the sky a queer brazen colour forewarning of thunderstorms to come. They rounded the curve and there, right in front of them, were the first troops they had seen all day.

A dozen men slumped on the ground or hunkered down around the pile of their packs. Weary horses stood, heads down, barely able to flick their tails to keep the flies away. The men were filthy, bandaged, and their uniforms were torn, disfiguring the familiar light blue cloth and the silver trimmings.

‘Jack! They are the Maubourg troops!’ Eva was riding forward even as she spoke, ignoring Jack’s sharp order to come back. There were so few of them, perhaps half of the troop Henry had seen, but they were here, her men, and these, at least, were alive.

At the sound of the hooves they raised their heads, hands reached for weapons and a man strode out from behind the screen of horses, a pistol in his hand.

The long muzzle lifted, the tiny black eye unwavering on her breast as she pulled the horse to a slithering standstill. ‘Antoine!’

‘Fleeing the Duchy with your lover, my dear sister-in-law?’ Antoine enquired. The pistol did not move. Behind her she could hear Jack’s horse, stamping in impatience as he reined it in. The rest of the men got to their feet, staring.