Wedding of the Season (24 page)

She stood up on her toes to kiss him, but he evaded her. “Trix, listen to me,” he said in desperation, and she sank back down with a sigh. “It’s the champagne talking, not you. We can’t do this. If we do, we’d have to marry.”

“Why? Because there might be a baby?” She watched him shake his head a little, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying, and she couldn’t help laughing a little. “What? You think I think babies come from cabbage patches?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said, sounding quite testy all of a sudden. “Your mother left when you were nine, and knowing Eugenia, I can’t imagine you ever received a true explanation of the facts of life. And it’s not as if you and I ever discussed it. At least not a proper discussion. As I recall, our conversations on the topic were limited by our three-button rule and a lack of time and privacy.”

“Julie explained all about babies to me ages ago. When you and I became engaged, she told me everything about it. I’d already suspected certain things, of course, because of you.” She began blushing, which didn’t help her feel like an adventurous seductress, and she felt the moment of opportunity slipping away. “But I’m willing to take a chance, just this once. We might never have another. The time is now, Will,” she said. “It’s still about two hours until dawn. And we have privacy here.”

“What about the three-button rule?” he said, sounding desperate.

She smiled and pulled the robe off. It fell behind her in a heavy swish. “This doesn’t have buttons.”

Will turned his back on her with an oath. “For the love of God, Trix, stop it. I’m trying to prove to you I can be responsible so you’ll marry me. But if you don’t put that robe back on, I can’t be answerable for my actions. I just can’t.”

“That’s all right.” She came up behind him and slid her hands along his smooth back, savoring the feel of his muscles beneath her palms. “I don’t expect anything. I just want this, because it’s all we have.”

He gave a shudder beneath her touch, but he didn’t pull away. “Trix, don’t—”

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and with a stifled sound, he turned around, catching her up before she could recover from her surprise.

“I warned you,” he said, and his mouth came down on hers. The kiss wasn’t like any other they’d ever shared. It was hard, bruising, almost violent, and she knew with a surge of excitement that she’d pushed them both beyond any possibility of stopping. His arms came around her, hers slid around his neck. The contact of her bare skin against his was like nothing she’d ever felt in her life. It was delicious. She groaned into his mouth.

He deepened the kiss at once, his tongue caressing hers, sliding deeper, then pulling back in a way that was carnal and demanding. His skin felt scorching hot against hers, making the warmth in her body deepen and spread.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss long enough for both of them to take one gasp for air, then he was kissing her again, slow, soft, drugging kisses that had them both sinking to their knees.

He cupped her face and explored her mouth, probing deep, tasting, then gently suckling her lower lip. The warmth in her grew stronger, hot where her breasts were pressed to his chest, even hotter where his hard arousal was pressed against her belly. She remembered this from years ago, and yet it wasn’t the same, for there weren’t layers of clothing between them. She stirred, her arms tightening around his neck, her body rubbing against his, seeking more of this exquisite friction, her breath quickening.

She felt herself falling again, only this time it wasn’t like jumping off a cliff into the sea. She was sinking to a soft flannel blanket with Will’s hard, strong body covering her, drowning her in heat and fire.

When he didn’t kiss her again, she opened her eyes, to find him hovering above her, breathing hard. His eyes were unreadable in the firelight, but his face above hers bore a harsh expression, almost as if he were in pain. “I’ll try to stop in time,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Before she could reply, he was kissing her again, and his hand opened over her breast.

She jerked in shock, for she’d never allowed him to go this far, and she wasn’t prepared for her own reaction—the luscious wonder of it that had her arching upward into his hand. He cupped and shaped her in his warm palm as he pressed kisses to her throat, her collarbone, and the curve of her breast, and it all felt so wonderful, she couldn’t help moving, wriggling beneath him, wanting more, but she didn’t know what more was coming that could possibly feel as delightful as this. She felt warm and tingly all over.

He kissed her breast again, and her hand came up into his hair, raking the damp, silken strands, pulling him even closer, with a moan.

He obeyed that soft command, opening his mouth over her nipple, then closing gently to suckle her. She cried out at the hot delight of it, delight that spread in ripples of heat until her whole body felt as if it was on fire. She began to move more forcefully under him, yearning to be even closer. He shifted his body on hers, and she felt the hard, aroused part of him intimately pressed to the apex of her thighs. She’d known this part of him existed ever since she was seventeen, and he’d pressed her against a wall in the fruit garden one midnight at Danbury. She slid her hips against that part of him now, heightening her own desire, making her feel terribly wicked and adventurous. Every sensation seemed heightened. She was naked and he was nearly so, and she was moving with an abandonment and desperation she’d never felt before.

He seemed to sense what she felt, and he lifted his head. “Tell me to stop,” he ordered, but even as he spoke, his palm cradled her breast, and his fingers gently toyed with her nipple, teasing her. “Just tell me to stop.”

She shook her head, desperate, frantic, terribly afraid he would stop and these wondrous feelings would end. “N-no,” she managed, arching upward against his hand, hips sliding wantonly against his hardness. “No stopping.”

“You’re killing me by inches,” he muttered against her skin. “If I die before you marry me, it’ll be your fault.” He rolled off her, shifting his weight onto his side. His palm glided along her waist and spread across her stomach.

He paused, looking at her, and his eyes glittered like jewels in the firelight. “Part your legs,” he said, and when she did, he slid his hand between her thighs and his fingers touched her there. And then . . . oh heavens, the sensation was so sharp, so piercingly sweet, she cried out, her whole body jerking, her thighs closing convulsively around his hand.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, pressing kisses to her breast, her collarbone, her neck, her face. His hand moved, pushing, and she relented, relaxing her legs a little. The tip of his finger slid up and down in the crease of her most intimate place, and the pleasure became so acute, little sobs tore from her throat. His voice, so low, only heightened her excitement. “So, so soft,” he murmured. “So wet. You’re nearly ready.”

She only knew what he meant in a vague sort of way, and she couldn’t have replied even if she wanted to, for the caress of his fingers was making that impossible. She seemed to have no control of her body. She could only strain and jerk helplessly against his hand, striving toward something that hovered just out of reach. She had no control of her voice, for the only sounds she could make were tiny whimpers of need and desperation. She didn’t even have control of her thoughts, for the only thing she could think was
More
,
more
,
and don’t stop
.

“I won’t stop,” he said, and she realized she’d uttered those thoughts aloud, a moan of complete surrender, but there was no time to be embarrassed. Suddenly everything within her seemed to explode in a violent paroxysm of ecstasy. He continued to caress her, vowing not to stop, and waves of that first white-hot sensation kept coming over her again and again, finally easing into a blissful, panting oblivion.

She felt him moving beside her, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him on his knees, unbuttoning his breeches. Still dazed, she blinked, lifting her head, trying to see what that hard part of his body looked like. She caught the barest glimpse, and all she had the chance to do was say his name.

“Will?”

He moved at the sound of her voice, as if hearing the panic in her voice. “It’s all right,” he said hoarsely, pushing his knee between her legs. “Just open for me.”

She did, parting her legs as she had before, but instead of lying on top of her, he knelt between her spread legs. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he pulled her upward toward his groin.

His face was harsh, even in the soft firelight, and his breathing labored as if he’d been running. His shoulders and chest were like a bronzed wall, blocking out everything but him. She gasped as his hardness touched her where he’d caressed her moments before, and she tried to sit up to see what was happening, but he groaned, his hands tightening, squeezing her buttocks. “Don’t move, Trix. Christ, don’t move.”

He was so afraid she’d move, pull back, bring him to his senses before it was too late, that he surged forward, pushing into her, not fully, but enough that he heard her gasp of surprise at his penetration. He could feel her barrier against the tip of his penis, and he pulled back a little, then pushed forward a little, groaning at the exquisite tension, straining not to go too far and ruin her, but God, she was so moist and hot, and when he felt her body tighten around his cock, when he could feel her climaxing again, he could feel his wits slipping away. Her body was moving in spasmodic jerks, her hips pressing upward against him, wanting him fully, an instinctive, unintentional torment that he didn’t think he could bear, and he gritted his teeth. Her barrier touched his cock again, a tease and a warning, and he knew it was now or never.

Until you prove you can be responsible . . .

Christ Almighty. With a groan of agony, he tore himself away, pulling out of her just in time. He lowered his body onto hers, his cock pressed against the soft, melting wetness of her, and frustration and pleasure overcame him in equal portion. “Oh God,” he groaned, shuddering as he climaxed between her thighs. “Oh my God.”

Her breath was hot against his neck, her arms tight around him, his weight pressing her into the blanket. “Why?” she panted. “Why did you stop?”

He shook his head, unable to speak, pleasure still rocking his body. He drew the experience out as long as he could, knowing it might be the only time in his life he would ever lie with her, wishing it could go on forever, knowing it could not.

After a few moments he drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes. He raised himself up and moved to lie beside her on his back. He buttoned his breeches and tried to regain some semblance of sanity before he answered her question.

“I don’t want you to have to marry me just because a baby’s on the way,” he finally said. “And,” he added before she could reply, “don’t ever tell me again that I’m irresponsible.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Hell, after what I just did, I think I’m downright heroic.”

Chapter Seventeen

T
hey left a pair of pins in the pixy’s cave before returning to the house. As they’d always done on their midnight adventures in the past, Will stayed outside, watching for that brief flash of light in her window before returning to his own room via the sturdy old oak tree.

This time, there’d been no need for a long, hard swim before going to bed, but Will was far from satisfied. Tearing himself away from her at the last moment had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, almost as hard as leaving for Egypt.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the roar of the sea outside his open window, but in his mind, all he could hear were her soft cries of pleasure. All he could see was her face, radiant in the moonlight of Angel Cove and in the firelight of the pixy cave. Her eyes, big and dark and lovely. Her smile, like the sun coming out behind clouds, just to shine on him.

Trix
, he thought, closing his eyes. All his life, the only woman he’d ever wanted.

He felt a sudden wave of melancholy and tried to shake it off. He had to journey to London to meet with the fellows of the British Museum, and give that speech to the Archaeological Society, but he’d be gone only a week, at most. And there was a full fortnight after that before he had to leave again.

He couldn’t stay longer. Marlowe was funding the excavation, gambling the cost against Will’s certainty that where he’d chosen to dig this year was where they would find King Tut, but Marlowe wouldn’t continue if Will pulled out. And by October, an entire staff would be readying themselves for the new season, counting on him to be there with the funding to carry on.

He knew he wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made six years ago. He might have to go, but he would come back in the spring. And he would try again to win her. He’d keep trying until she married someone else or hell froze over, but if she wouldn’t come with him now, he would have to leave her behind.

At that thought, pain shimmered through him like a cold wind through an empty house.

Trix
, he thought in despair and rolled onto his belly, burying his face in his crossed arms.
I don’t want to say good-bye.

T
he call of her name and an insistent knock on her door awakened Beatrix, pulling her out of a heavy, languorous slumber.

She’d been dreaming, she realized, dreaming of Will’s mouth on hers and his hands touching her. And his body, pushing against hers, into hers, in that luscious, exquisite way.

“Beatrix?” Aunt Eugenia’s voice came through the closed door, a shrill sound that made her wince and pulled her out of romantic dreams of Will as effectively as a pail of ice water. An emphatic knock followed. “Beatrix, dear, are you in there?”

She shook her head, trying to clear her sleep-dazed senses. “Of course I am here, Auntie,” she called, sitting up. “Come in.”

Eugenia opened the door, took two steps inside, and stopped, giving a vexed exclamation. “Oh heavens, you’re not even dressed yet!”

She blinked, rubbing her eyes. “That’s because you just woke me up,” she said around a huge yawn.

“And it’s a good thing I did. You’ll have to dress yourself, for Lily will need to fully occupy herself with packing your things.”

“Packing?” She cast a startled glance at the window. “My goodness, what time is it?”

“It’s nearly ten o’clock, and—”

“Ten?” She slid another glance, a guilty one, at the window. “I can’t imagine what made me sleep so late,” she mumbled, feeling as if the reason was written on her face.

If it was, Eugenia didn’t appear to notice. “Well, don’t just sit there lolling about,” she said with an impatient wave of her hand. “You’ve no time for it this morning. You only have half an hour to dress, pack, and have your things downstairs. Sir George wants to be under way by half past ten. Although,” she added as she turned toward the door and Beatrix jumped out of bed, “it’s taking him longer to prepare the
Maria Lisa
than he thought it would, so you might have a bit of extra time. With Sunderland already gone—”

“Will’s gone?” Beatrix stopped halfway to her armoire and stared at her aunt. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

Eugenia paused, turning in the doorway. “He left early this morning, dear. Well before breakfast, I understand. He decided to go straight to London from here, evidently, rather than sail back with us. Something involving the British Museum—a speech, perhaps?”

“But that’s not until the tenth,” she murmured, her joy at the prospect of seeing him ebbing away into disappointment. “Nearly a week away. Why did he leave already?”

“Heavens, dear, I don’t know, but Marlowe was leaving this morning for London, and Sunderland decided to go with him. They wanted to catch the ten o’clock train from Teignmouth, so his valet packed up all those artifacts of his, and Paul and Geoff took them to Torquay in the carriages, and—why, whatever’s the matter, dear?”

She roused herself from her disappointment, and found her aunt smiling at her.

“He’ll only be gone a short while, a little over a week, he said,” Eugenia went on, still smiling. “No need to look so forlorn, dearest.”

“I’m not forlorn,” she denied as her aunt walked out of her room. Just because Will was gone for a week was no reason to be forlorn. He’d been gone for six years prior to that. “I’m not forlorn!” she insisted just before Auntie closed the door.

It was a lie, of course, but at some point, a girl just had to learn not to wear her heart on her sleeve.

W
ill threw himself fully into work. London in September was, for most people, as entertaining as watching grass grow. But archaeologists and scientists were not the sort to care about the current plays or the latest gossip or the social whirl, and many of them chose to come to London at this time of year for meetings and the sharing of new discoveries. No worry about finding accommodations, everything was less expensive, hansom cabs were plentiful and traffic was tolerable.

He called on old professors from Cambridge who were in town; he had dinner with some of the other archaeologists he’d met over the years. His speech to the Archaeological Society was well received, and his excavation work at Thebes applauded.

He and Marlowe met at the viscount’s publishing offices and made arrangements for funding of the excavations. A photographer was chosen from those on Marlowe’s staff, but Will reserved the right to choose his own illustrator, still holding out hope. Marlowe’s only response was a slight raising of eyebrows, a murmured, “So that’s the way the wind’s blowing, eh?” and an agreement to concede the hiring of any illustrator to Will.

Will met with the curators of the British Museum, handing over to them the artifacts on loan for their exhibition and the catalog he and Trix had compiled. Her drawings were praised more than once, and he was very pleased that her talents were appreciated, but he was glad when that meeting was over, for he was trying not to think about her too much.

He tried to build his protective walls back up a little, hoping to toughen his heart for the very real possibility that he would be returning to Thebes alone and spending the next eight months without her, for he doubted one erotic—and incomplete—night together would be enough to change her mind. But though he’d spent six years building those protective walls, now that they were down, it just wasn’t possible for him to prop them back up. He ached with wanting her, day and night, more than ever.

He stared out the window of his room at the Savoy, one shoulder against the jamb, staring out at the London traffic that clogged Savoy Street and the Strand beyond. The noise of the city was loud, but he barely heard it. All he could hear was Trix—her soft, panting cries of need.

More, more, and don’t stop.

And he’d stopped.

He must have been out of his mind.

He’d had her naked, her willing body underneath his. Never before had it gone that far; even in the most impassioned moments of their youth, they’d never gone past three buttons. This time, he’d been inside her, for Christ’s sake, on the verge of taking her virginity. He needn’t have stopped. And he could have used the fear of pregnancy afterward as a way to force the issue and bring her to heel. The perfect chance combined with the perfect excuse, and he hadn’t done it. Years of unrequited desire, and he’d finally reached the threshold of paradise. With one thrust, he could have claimed it, but he’d pulled back.

Yes, he was definitely out of his mind.

He wasn’t completely out of time yet, he reminded himself, still clinging to hope. And if he failed this year, there was always next year. Just now, however, next year seemed a damned long way off, and though he suspected she’d rather sworn off marriage to anyone, not just him, he couldn’t be completely sure of that.

Despair echoed through him again. Damn it all, if only she wasn’t so stubborn. She clung to English country life and its ideals like a limpet clung to a rock.

Two weeks, he thought, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He had two weeks.

What would it take? He’d told her he still loved her, and that declaration had gone over about as well as a lead balloon.

I always loved you. All my life. I never stopped.

His words had hung in the air as he’d waited for her to say she loved him, too. But then had come one of those long, hellish, awkward silences, an indication their feelings were not mutual.

She didn’t love him anymore.

He shook his head again, rejecting that notion entirely. He’d lost faith in their love six years ago, and it had been the biggest mistake of his life. He refused to lose faith again.

Think, Will
, he told himself.
Think
. What would woo her and persuade her to marry him and come with him? More adventures, more picnics and champagne might help, he supposed, but those things seemed so inadequate—

There was a knock on the door, and he glanced over his shoulder, but when Aman emerged from the bedroom, he returned his attention to the window.

Picnics, champagne and adventures did him no good if all that resulted was what had happened the other night at the pixy cave. That night had been agony enough; another two weeks of it could well nigh kill him. He’d never pull it off anyway. He just didn’t have the fortitude to hover at the very edge of sexual gratification like that over and over and deny himself.

“Sir?”

Will turned to find Aman closing the door to a youth in livery. “Hmm? What?”

“A telegram for you, sir.”

His valet brought the communiqué to him. He opened it and a glance at the bottom told him it was from Howard Carter.

ELECTRICITY NOW AT VALLEY OF KINGS STOP COULDN’T WAIT FOR YOU STOP WORKMEN STARTED NIGHT DIGGING STOP YOU CORRECT RE NEW AREA STOP FOUND STEPS TO NEW TOMB STOP MAYBE TUT EXCLAMATION COME AT ONCE STOP IF YOU NOT HERE 01 OCT COMMA WILL OPEN TOMB WITHOUT YOU AND SELL STORY TO PRESS MYSELF EXCLAMATION CARTER STOP STOP

A new tomb? Will read the missive again, and as he did, he felt a sweet wave of triumph. He’d been right, they’d been digging in the wrong place. And now, because Carter had listened to him and moved the excavations, a new tomb had been unearthed, a tomb that could be Tutankhamen. Excitement shot up inside Will like a bottle rocket, and he gave a shout of laughter. He’d been right, deuce take it. He’d been right.

“Good news, sir?”

He looked up, grinning, feeling like a schoolboy with honors. “Good news? Good news?” He clasped Aman by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Man, it’s the most splendid news that could possibly be!”

Aman remained his usual impassive self. “Indeed, sir? I am happy and relieved for you. Telegrams usually convey bad news.”

Will took a deep breath, trying to curb his excitement and jubilation enough to think things out. There was no delaying his departure now. It was already the eleventh of September. If he was to be back to Thebes by the first of October, he needed to leave immediately.

But what about Trix?

He wouldn’t have that extra fortnight in Devonshire he’d been counting on. He thought of cabling her, but though she might—
might
—come to London to say good-bye to him, he doubted it. She hated good-byes, and always had. And even if she were to journey down from Devonshire, she wouldn’t be persuaded to come to Egypt. Especially since they weren’t even married.

Think
,
Will
. He shoved the telegram into his pocket and raked a hand through his hair. “A Bradshaw,” he muttered. “I need a Bradshaw.”

“Bradshaw?” echoed Aman. “Do you mean the railway guide, sir? Are we departing London?”

“Yes, Aman. We have to return to Thebes.” He yanked out his watch. It was half past three. “Isn’t there a night train out of Victoria to Exeter at ten?”

“Yes, sir. That is the train we took when we first journeyed to Devonshire. But I thought you said we are going to Thebes?”

“Right.” He shoved his watch back in his pocket. “We are. By way of Devonshire.” He didn’t stop to explain. There was too much to do and he didn’t have time. “Forget the Bradshaw. Get hold of Cook’s,” he said, striding toward the bedroom, Aman trailing after him. “I need to make travel arrangements. London to Devonshire, and one night in Stafford St. Mary. Two nights, if we can,” he amended, wanting as much time with Trix as possible. He glanced around. “Where’s my jacket?”