The Fifth Wife Page 7

  She laughed aloud and started tickling him. “You tease me horribly, you brute.”

  “I made you smile.” He touched her face. “That was my only goal, I assure you.”

  “Make me scream, Charles. That...other way?”

  He sighed. He was discovering that his Hannah has a will of iron when she was set on something. He bit down on his own needs, yet again, and promised himself night after night when they would be able to share this wonderful moment.

  For tonight it would be hers and hers alone. But he couldn’t begrudge her the joy, for he loved the sight of her face as she climaxed and he wanted to see it again.

  He turned, laying her down and moving close to her side, almost leaning over her as he kissed her. “That’s to start. Now hush, close your eyes—and just feel.”

  His hand drifted down beneath the covers, brushing her leg as it moved. When he reached her knees, he grabbed a handful of her nightgown and began to raise it.

  “Charles,” she whispered.

  “Should I stop?”

  She shook her head. “No. You just surprised me.”

  “Relax. I will stop at any time, love. All you have to do is tell me.”

  “I won’t.” She breathed out. “I won’t.”

  He took her at her word and kept pulling at the soft fabric until he bared the tops of her thighs and the tuft of dark hair hiding her womanly secrets.

  The cover was a hindrance, so he pushed it aside, letting the firelight illuminate her hidden beauty. Her skin was warm and softer than silk; it was no hardship for him to stroke and caress her thighs.

  She moved, responding to his touch, something inside her understanding what she needed to do. She parted her legs instinctively, offering her body to him without impediment.

  He found his hand shaking as he neared his goal, and kept reminding himself that this was for her. The first steps of an education into the wonders of physical love.

  When his hand found her and cupped the burning heat of her sex, she moaned aloud and moved again, pushing up a little into his grasp. Encouraged, he continued to stroke, gently at first, then delving between her swollen folds to find the honey he knew would be gathering there.

  And it was. Her juices dampened his hand, and his fingers as he toyed with her, measuring her responses, finding those places that made her gasp and others that made her cry out softly as he teased them.

  Although he was uncomfortably hard, he was enjoying himself. This was one of the activities he loved—making a woman find her release while he touched her. And Hannah was extraordinary.

  He already knew that, since she’d shocked him beyond measure by climaxing at the touch of his hand on her nipples.

  Never had he imagined a woman reaching that level of desire in such a manner and if it had been possible, he would have taken her then and there. His cock wept tiny tears of need and after he’d made sure she was safe in her room—he had kept his promise to Martin—he’d returned to his own and satisfied himself in the most basic of ways.

  His hand was a poor substitute for Hannah, but it would suffice until they wed. He was getting used to dealing with a raging hard cock, but was looking forward to the time when it was no longer necessary and they could both scream their pleasure.

  She was writhing as he pushed and teased all the places he knew would drive her body toward its goal. He found the firm nub tucked within her folds and when he gently caressed it, her legs tensed, muscles contracting as he brought her sensations the likes of which she’d never felt at the hand of a man.

  There was something magic in this moment, for both of them.

  He knew she was rising fast, and he was filled with a powerful sense of awe. He alone would be responsible for Hannah’s future, both in and out of bed. He would, God willing, give her their children and a life worthy of the woman he was coming to know.

  The overwhelming responsibility threatened to crush him for a moment, but then her hips thrust upward as she cried out and shuddered into her orgasm, her flesh throbbing beneath his palm as he pressed it against her, cupping her, holding the place that was now irrevocably his.

  He watched her face, marveling at the expressions of passion, the height of her release and finally how her muscles softened into tranquility.

  She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Oh my goodness, Charles. It just keeps getting more astounding.”

  How he kept himself from just throwing his leg over hers and thrusting deep inside, he had no idea. But he did, barely.

  “You have to go now, Hannah. I can’t take much more of this. Please understand.”

  She glanced down at the obvious distortion of his night shirt. And then she sighed. “Very well. I’ll go. But soon, Charles. Soon. I don’t want to wait for months and months.”

  “Neither do I. I’m not sure I’d survive.” He groaned and rolled away from her. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m next door.” She slid from the bed and grabbed her robe. “I’m sticky.”

  Charles chuckled. “Yes. That’s as it should be.”

  She wriggled. “Well if you say so.” Then she leaned over him. “Kiss me goodnight?”

  “Witch.” He kissed her hard and then let her go. “You’re temptation wrapped up in a tasty bundle. Now get out of here before I lose my last thread of control.”

  She laughed. “We’ll be out of here in the morning, I think. So we can plan on marrying—perhaps the day after?” She blew him a kiss and left for her own little room down the hall.

  “I wish.” He lay back, loving the scent of her and wrapping himself in it, along with the quilt. Hard as iron, he sighed. If it hadn’t been so cold he’d have taken care of the matter himself. But he was not fond of sleeping on damp sheets and it was too damn chilly to be scampering about taking pleasure from his own hand. So he pushed the discomfort aside and focused on the future.

  He thought again about being an engaged man. It was somewhat odd that he didn’t really feel any different than when he’d been not-engaged. He imagined having Hannah as his wife.

  His family would love her, he knew. She had the right combination of common sense and humor to win over even his Aunt Henrietta, and it was lucky that the Fontaines were secure enough in their lineage that they didn’t give a damn for other people’s.

  It was an old title, but a modest one, so it was likely that although he was now Lord Penvale, most of his activities would cause barely a murmur in the Ton.

  If they could leave tomorrow, then he’d take her directly to Fontaine House. There’d be the question of a chaperone, of course, but he could probably get his cousin’s wife to stay for a night or two. Who would be a better chaperone than the vicar’s wife?

  And cousin Mortimer would officiate, thus removing the necessity for any kind of waiting period. Hannah was of age, so…everything should sail right through and by this time next week, at the latest, he would no longer be tossing and turning in an empty bed.

  He would have his very own wife and there would be no need to quell his hungry cock in anything other than her body.

  On that delightful thought, he rolled over once more, and promptly fell asleep.

  He awoke to a col room and a weak watery sun trying to force its way through the clouds. The snow had stopped and there was the distinct sound of dripping water as the temperatures rose and the melting began.

  Rushing through his morning routine, Charles couldn’t wait to get on the road with Hannah, and he hurried downstairs to find her.

  Martin was there stoking up the fire.

  “Good morning, Martin. Glad to see a bit of a thaw this morning.” He rubbed his hands together and held them to the fire. “Where’s Hannah, do you know?”

  “She’s not wi’ yer?” Martin looked up on a frown.

  “No. I promised you—and myself. Not until we’re wed.”

  “Well she’s not down ‘ere. Haven’t seen ‘er this mornin’.”

  Charles experienced a slight
tingle of apprehension. “She knew we might be able to leave today. Perhaps she’s putting some things together.”

  “Aye. Road’s ‘ll be clearin’ some. Messy ride but yer’ll make it.” Martin nodded. “Sad to lose the lass, mind yer.”

  “We’re not that far, Martin. We’ll be in quite often I expect.” Charles slapped the old man on the shoulder. “And when I spread word about your ale…well, you’re going to be one busy innkeeper.”

  “Yer a good lad too. You take care o’ my girl.”

  “You know I will. I’ll go and see if she’s ready.”

  He took the stairs two at a time and stopped in front of the panel concealing her room. He tapped, and waited.

  He tapped again. “Hannah, it’s me. Are you almost ready? I think we can leave this morning.”

  Silence.

  “Hannah?”

  He slipped his fingers into the hidden slot and the paneling swung open on a small chamber. Hannah’s nightgown was tossed on the floor.

  Her hairbrush was on the small desk, along with a couple of her hairpins. The cupboard was half open and her slippers lay on the rug next to the bed.

  But there was one thing missing.

  Hannah.

  Chapter Eight

  She was going to be sick.

  Hannah’s vision blurred as she opened her eyes and her stomach heaved quite horribly.

  “’Ere, ducks. Just in case.”

  Somebody passed her a chamber pot. She wasn’t sure if it made the nausea worse or not, but she managed to keep everything down by closing her eyes again and taking slow breaths.

  “Good. Yer got a strong stomach. Drink this. Yer’ll feel better.”

  The pot was removed and what felt like a glass was placed into her hand. She sipped and coughed, waiting for the fire to die down in her throat.

  “What the…”

  “Brandy, ducks. Cheap but warms the cockles, don’ it?” There was a rough chuckle.

  Finally Hannah felt as if she might possibly sit upright without the world taking a violent trip around her. “Where am I?”

  “Well, now, that’s the question ain’t it?”

  “Yes. I just asked it.”

  “Sure you want an answer?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Hannah pressed her hand to her head where a splitting headache was rapidly developing.

  “Guess yer be hurtin’ right about now. That laudanum can do a job on yer.”

  “Laudanum? I don’t take laudanum.”

  The woman snorted. “Yer don’t have to if’n someone else gives it to yer.”

  Hannah closed her eyes again. “This is a dream. I will wake up in my room shortly. Charles will come and let me know if we can leave this morning. That’s it. This is all a very bad dream.”

  “Well yer let me know when yer’s ready to wake up then.”

  There was a rustle and a flounce and the sound of things being moved, or tidied or…Hannah sighed and gave up. “All right. What’s going on? Who are you, where am I and how on earth did I get here?” She sipped a bit more of the brandy, since she had a horrid feeling she was going to need it. “And while you’re answering questions, what day is it?” She threw that in just for safety’s sake.

  The woman sat down on a stool near a little fireplace and poked up the flames. Hannah realized that she was on a bed, possibly in this woman’s room? So many things to ask. And she had no shoes on.

  “My name’s Maisie. I works ‘ere.”

  Hannah opened her mouth, but Maisie held up her hand. “I’ll get to it. Gimme chance, girl.”

  Hannah shut her mouth and nodded.

  “This place is the Mayflower House of Extraordinary Delights. I’m one of ‘em.”

  Hannah blinked. “What?”

  Maisie shrugged. “It’s a whorehouse. I’m a whore.” She lifted her chin. “And a damned good one, if I says so meself.”

  “Um, I’m sure you are, Maisie.” Hannah was unsure quite how to respond to that comment. “But since I’m not an extraordinary anything, I don’t understand how I ended up here.”

  “Yer cousin.”

  “What cousin?” Hannah racked her brains to come up with a cousin. “I have a cousin?”

  “S’what ‘e said. Man by the name o’ Benby?”

  “Good Lord.” Hannah felt her eyes widen, but couldn’t stop it. “Batty Benby?”

  “Dunno what ‘is first name is.”

  “No, no,” Hannah objected. “We call him Batty Benby in the family. I’d forgotten about him.”

  “Easy to see why.” Maisie chuckled. “And batty is a dam’ fine description. Nice lad, but a bit…” She waved her finger in a circle next to her ear, “batty.”

  Hannah laughed too. “Yes he is.” Then she sobered. “But I’m at a total loss as to what on earth he was thinking of, bringing me here. And did he drug me with laudanum? How could he?”

  “Well now, that’s summat I don’t know nuthin’ about. But yer here, and yer gotta stay here for a bit. So’s I been told anyway.”

  “Where are we? Where’s this house?”

  “Redbridge.”

  Hannah puzzled over that one. “Wait. Redbridge near Southampton?”

  “Yer sharp, dearie.” Maisie nodded. “Far enough from the port to keep out the dirt and near enough fer the officers.” She grinned.

  Hannah sighed. “I’m so confused. I’ve been kidnapped, not to put too fine a point on it, by the family idiot. Drugged and brought to a Southampton whorehouse.”

  “A very fine Southampton whorehouse.”

  “Yes, pardon me. A very fine Southampton whorehouse.”

  “That’s better.”

  “And I don’t suppose I can leave, can I?” She looked hopefully at Maisie.

  “Where would yer go? No money, no shoes…”

  “Bollocks.”

  “’Bout sums it up.”

  *~~*~~*

  By an odd coincidence, Charles had used much the same expression, with a great deal more force, when he’d discovered that the tracks around the inn led to a crossroads, which was already well traveled.

  He had lost the horses and riders who had visited the Sow’s Ear under cover of darkness.

  As soon as he realized that Hannah was actually missing, not only from her room, but from the inn, he and Martin rushed outside. The melting was in full force but they could both see where two horses and a cart had been tied a little way up the road. There were several sets of footsteps leading to a small door, and around the inn, but they were well tracked and no real indicator of how they’d taken Hannah.

  “That door was locked, Mr. Charles. I’ll take an oath on the bible on that. I had to unlock it this morning” Martin was beside himself.

  “I know that, trust me. You’re not that kind of innkeeper.” He was examining the door. “They got in somehow, but damned if I can make out where.”

  He was being logical and calm and thorough when every fiber of his being was shaking in terror for Hannah.

  She’d been taken, kidnapped from her little room. She’d not made a sound, because he knew, just knew, that if she’d screamed he’d have awoken. The walls were sturdy but not that thick. She’d once complained about his snoring as a jest, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she’d been half-serious.

  And now here, tracks, two men by the looks of it, and two horses. Headed out to the crossroads and from there…he didn’t know.

  God almighty.

  He ran his hands through his hair as he stared at the slushy mud kicked up by the first travelers after the snow. There were wagon wheel tracks, several different horse tracks—but once the set he was following reached that spot…he lost them.

  Now what? He trudged back to the inn, frustrated, furious and worried sick. He’d looked for blood. He’d had to. But there was none. He prayed that was a good sign.

  “Now, Mr. Charles. Yer gotta make a plan, lad.” Martin came up beside him and walked him back to the inn
. “Yer gonna notify the authorities then?”

  “What authorities? The Lord Lieutenant?” Charles shook his head. “By the time they did anything, Martin, Hannah would be in her dotage and I’d be dead from anxiety.”

  “Well then.” He clapped Charles on the shoulder. “’T’is up to us, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Charles gulped. “But I haven’t a clue where to start.”

  “Start with a pint o’ the best ale an’ we’ll go on from there.”

  And that’s exactly what they did.

  As the day wore on, the first stragglers made it to the Sow’s Inn and the bar filled steadily toward dusk. Almost all were regulars, and all seriously concerned about Hannah’s disappearance.

  After the final call, Martin picked up the last tankard and locked the door securely.

  “We’ll hear summat come mornin’, never yer worry.”

  “You think so?” Charles was leaning on the mantelpiece, staring into the fire.

  “I knows it, lad. All these men, they’re friends. Good solid folk. They’ll talk to their families an’ their wives’ll talk to other wives an’ by the time we’re setting down to a bite o’food tomorrer, we’ll have news.”

  “God, I pray you’re right.”

  “Yer don’t know country folk like I do. We’ll know where she’s gone come dinnertime. Promise yer, Mr. Charles.”

  “I surely hope so.” He met the old man’s eyes. “I was fated to marry her, you know. Didn’t even know she existed until a little while ago. And here I am, my world upside down, can’t think of anything but whether she’s hurt or where she is or how I can get her back…”

  “That’s the way it should be, lad. When the right one walks in, yer knows it. Here.” He placed a fist against his heart. “An’ young Hannah, she touched us all. We’ll get her back and come to yer weddin’ if yer’ll have us.”

  Charles held out his hand. “There’s nobody else I’d rather see at the church, Martin.”

  They shook on the promise and the shared fears for one young slip of a woman who had entangled herself around both their hearts.