His black eyes hard and unfathomable as Tess danced nimbly away from him, he growled, “Who the hell are you? What's your name?”
Her mouth still tingling from his kiss, her heart acting in a most peculiar manner, Tess replied breathlessly, “Dolly. They call me Dolly.”
Nicolas frowned. Now why did that sound false to him? Why did he have the feeling that she was lying? Puzzled by his reactions, he asked slowly, “And your family? Who are they?
Where
are they?”
His belligerent stance before the fire and his questions filled her with an inexplicable fear. Improvising quickly, she stammered out, “T-they're not from a-a-around hereât-t-they're in London!”
“And how is it that you come to be working in the Black Pig? Isn't the pastoral serenity of Kent a great change from the bustle of London for you?”
“I like the country,” she answered defensively, realizing suddenly that it was true. She
did
like the country. Was it possible that she had told the truth without knowing it? That her family
was
in London and that she had left London because she preferred the quiet of the countryside? She bit her lip, wishing desperately that there was someone to whom she could turnâsomeone who could help banish the thick gray fog that clouded her brain. She felt so helpless and alone, so frightened and uncertain.
Some of her emotions showed on her revealing face. Moved in a way he had not thought possible, Nicolas asked softly, “What is it, my dear? What makes you look so?”
The expression of warm concern on his face was nearly Tess's undoing, but with an effort she fought back the urge to fling herself into his arms and pour out her poor, wretched tale. There was so much that she did not understandânot the feeling of recognition she had for him, nor her sudden need to be kissed by him. She acknowledged that he had not recognized her, but her dread of a faceless nemesis would not go away. What if he were the man she had been running away from? What if he were playing some sort of cruel game with her? Pretending not to know her, to lure her farther into his trap?
She needed to get away from him, now. Smoothing her skirts nervously, she kept her eyes downcast as she said with suspicious airiness, “I don't know what you're talking about, Your Lordship. I hope you'll find everything here at the Black Pig to your satisfaction. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Darley needs any help serving your dinner.”
Not waiting for his dismissal, she shot out the door and, avoiding the main room of the tavern, scurried down a hall that led directly to the kitchen. Her return was timelyâseveral huge trays, all heaped with meat and sauces and soups and vegetables, were spread out on every conceivable surface. The moment she stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. Darley exclaimed in harassed tones, “Oh, thank goodness, you're back! His Lordship's dinner is all ready to serve. If you'll take that tray on the table, I'll follow with this one.”
The next several minutes were very busy, and though she was in and out of the parlor where the earl was eating, there were no private moments between them. Mr. or Mrs. Darley was always hovering about, fussing and fawning over His Lordship. Tess was grateful. She didn't trust the earl or herself, but as long as there were people about, she didn't fear a repeat of their earlier embrace.
As she hurried about her chores, that embrace stayed in her mind, even though she tried to erase the memory. She couldn't understand what had come over her, and again she wondered what sort of life she had led before she had woken with no memory. Had she been a promiscuous wench? The kind of woman who was eager to fall into the nearest pair of masculine arms? Her reaction to the earl of Sherbourne only added to the many unanswered questions that swirled in her brain, and she wished fiercely that she had never laid eyes on him. She had enough to worry about without mooning over a pair of knowing black eyes and a sensuous mouth that had the power to arouse the most indelicate sensations within her!
There were many trips to be made back and forth between the earl's parlor and the kitchen. By the time the earl had retired for the night to his room upstairs and Tess had carried the last tray out of the room where he had eaten his meal, she was bone weary and her feet ached. But her chores were not done until she had helped Jane and Willy, the two youngsters in the kitchen, finish the washing and scouring of the pots. By then the hour was late and she was longing for nothing more than her bed.
At that moment Mr. Darley appeared in the kitchen, carrying a tray of liquors. “You, Dolly, take this upstairs to His Lordship!” he said, a smirk on his lips. “After that, your time is your own....”
Tess was too exhausted to catch the innuendo in his voice. Only the knowledge that, after this one last task was done, she could seek out her bed, caught her attention. Brushing back a stray curl from her now nearly nonexistent braid, she took the tray and made her way up the stairs to the room Darley had indicated. She was so fatigued from the events of the day that not even the sound of the earl's voice bidding her enter aroused much interest in her. Just a few minutes more and she would be in her own bed....
Like the parlor, the bedchamber given the earl was an unexpectedly pleasant place. It was small, with open beams and a gray rock fireplace that took up nearly one wall. The floor was of heavy oak planks, worn pale gold with age, and the four-poster bed was piled high with colorful quilts of scarlet and yellow. There were other furnishings, but when she entered and spied the earl sprawled carelessly on a chair as he warmed his bare feet before the fire, his cravat discarded, his fine white linen shirt half undone, Tess saw nothing else.
As she watched the light from the leaping flames caress his chiseled features, the broad brow, the proud nose, and mesmerizing mouth, her weariness vanished as if by magic, and she was aware of feeling gloriously alive. An excited flush on her cheeks, she gripped the tray tighter and with a light step walked into the room. A small table was pushed under a pair of chintz-curtained windows. Crossing the room toward the table, she said, “Mr. Darley sent this up for you, sir.”
Setting down the tray, she turned around to look in his direction. “Will that be all, Your Lordship?” Her words were meant to be respectful, but even she heard the teasing quality to her voice, and the flush on her cheeks deepened with embarrassment. How
could
she have said those words, in just
that
manner?
The earl's heavy lids lifted, and something in that black steady gaze made Tess's heart beat with thick, painful strokes. His eyes moved leisurely over her, from the top of her unruly red hair to her curling toes in her borrowed shoes.
She was lovely as she stood there before him, with violet eyes wide and startled as that of a newborn fawn, her soft mouth as pink and inviting as the first rose of spring.... With an effort he jerked his eyes from the beguiling curve of that sweet mouth and let them drift lazily down her slim form, to the small, tempting bosom, the narrow waist, and the teasing hint of her thighs beneath the faded pink gown.
Nicolas had been very contented a moment ago before she had knocked on the door. He had been well fed and warm, with the sound of the storm raging outside the inn soothing rather than disruptive. He had been looking forward to slipping into the comfortable-looking bed, but all that had vanished the moment she entered the room.
Suddenly he was ravenous, and his appetite had nothing to do with food. Desire, powerful and demanding, beat in his veins, the heaviness of his swelling manhood lay against his thigh, and he was conscious of a feeling of inevitability. He was going to make love to her . . . tonight . . . all this long, stormy night. Any second now he was going to get up, walk across the room, lift her up in his arms, and carry her to that bed to find out if the magic that seemed to flow between them was real or imagined. But in the meantime there was no hurry, no reason to rush; after all, they did have all night....
To Tess's astonishment, he smiled at her, a whimsical smile that pulled at her heartstrings. “Join me,” he said huskily, indicating a chair on the other side of the fire. “Sit and talk with me awhile.”
Tempted unbearably, Tess halfheartedly sought to retreat. “I'll just pour your b-b-brandy and leave, if you don't mind, Your Lordship. I'm very tired.” That fascinating mouth quirked slightly, and those heavy-lidded eyes moved over her. Tess could feel her resistance, faint though it had been, melting away.
“Pour yourself some brandy, too, then come and rest here in front of the fireâI'm sure there won't be a fire in your room.” He grinned. “And don't worry, I won't biteâat least not very hardâI swear it.”
Every instinct Tess possessed told her to leave the room immediately. She knew there was great danger to her unpredictable heart with every second that she remained in this man's presence, yet she remained precisely where she was. Even worse, to her astonishment, she found herself smiling back at him and pouring
two
snifters of brandy.
Wondering if she had lost her mind, urged on by some force over which she had no control, she picked up the two snifters and walked across the room. After shyly handing one to the earl, she sat down primly on the chair he had indicated.
Rather amazed at her brazenness, but deciding that she had rather be hung as a lion than a lamb, Tess gradually relaxed back into the welcoming softness of the chair and took a hearty swallow of the brandy. The bite of it caught her by surprise and she choked.
Nicolas smiled at her and said, “Brandy is to be savoredâswirl the liquor around your snifter like this and let the aroma drift up to you, let the scent enfold youâthen and only then do you take a sip. You don't gulp it, you take your time, letting the flavor linger on your tongue, then you swallow.”
Tess watched as he demonstrated, fascinated by the workings of his long brown throat when he finally swallowed the amber liquid. He took such carnal delight in the entire act of appreciating the brandy that she knew he would make love the same way.... -
Startled at her thought, she glanced away, suddenly conscious of a tingling in her bosom, of a warmth spreading downward through her body to pool achingly between her thighs. What in heaven's name was the matter with her? She was certain she had never felt this way before in her life. A twisted smile curved her mouth. But then what did she really know about herselfâher memories began only twelve or so hours ago when she had awakened under that oak treeâperhaps she felt this way all the time, with many different men.
It was an unpleasant thought, and Tess pushed it away. Sending the earl an uncertain smile, she followed his directions and tasted the brandy once more. He was right, she decided happily as the smoky flavor of the brandy coated her tongue and then flowed warmly down her throat. It was much better his way!
He grinned at her and lifted his snifter in a silent toast. She returned his gesture, and together they each took another swallow, smiling at each other idiotically over the rim of their snifters.
They sat together for some time, talking aimlessly about very little, a companionable silence falling between them now and then. The storm continued to make itself heard, with the rain lashing against the shutters, the wind tearing at the roof, and rolling booms of thunder. But as Tess and Nicolas sat cozily by the fire, the storm hardly impinged upon their senses at all.
Eventually Nicolas arose, picked up the brandy decanter, and refilled their glasses. After putting the decanter on the hearth, he seated himself once more. They drank another snifter or two. Tess didn't keep track, and she wasn't quite certain when or how it happened, but shortly after the third or fourth snifter, she found herself sitting on his lap, her head nestled snugly against his shoulder, her feet dangling carelessly over his strong thighs, her shoes on the floor next to his boots.
With the potent liquor spreading its numbing warmth all through her body, Tess suspected that she was drunk. She giggled.
Very
drunk.
Looking up at Nicolas owlishly, she asked, “Am I foxed, do you think?”
He smiled at her lazily, one hand caressing her fiery curls, and slowly nodded his dark head. “We both are, sweetheartâalthough I believe that you are perhaps a
bit
more foxed than I am.
I
still know what we are doing....”
“Oh!” Tess returned, a slightly fuzzy expression on her lovely face. “What are we doing?”
Nicolas set down his brandy snifter carefully, then took her snifter away and set it next to his. Cupping her face between his hands, he brushed his mouth tantalizingly across hers. “We are,” he said thickly against her lips, “going to do what I have wanted to do since the moment I first laid eyes on you. . . .” He bit gently at the corner of her mouth. “In just a few minutes I am going to pick you up and carry you over to that very large, very comfortable bed, and then . . . after I have stripped every scrap of clothing from this delectable body of yours, I am going to make love to you. Very
thorough
love.”
Tess's heart began to thump madly in her breast, her nipples became suddenly hard and aching, and the heat between her legs flared hotter and more intensely than before. She looked up into his dark face, a thousand different emotions rioting through her. Tracing the outline of his sensually curved bottom lip, she asked breathlessly, “But suppose I don't want to make love with you? What happens then?”