“Well, I'm sorry I came, then,” Tamsyn declared, sniffing crossly. “And if you'll put me down, I'll go away again.”
“No, you will not, you lawless hellion!” The wonderful, familiar urgency of passion was sweeping through him as he held her, feeling the lissome slenderness in his hands, inhaling the honeysuckle fragrance of her skin, losing himself in the great drowned pools of her eyes. And now as he held her and the silence became charged, he felt that seductive energy pulsing from her, and he realized that, as always, she'd caught his arousal and without volition was responding with her own. Her eyes were luminous, the long lashes dark and sticky with unshed tears, her lips now slightly parted as she acknowledged what was happening and waited for him to move.
“Never let it be said I looked a gift horse in the mouth.” With a deft twist he tucked her under his arm, as he'd done in Badajos, and strode out of the room with her.
He marched up the stairs, and Tamsyn, keeping very still, could only be thankful that they met no member of the household. Julian opened the door of his bedroom, stalked in, and dropped his bundle onto the bed.
He stood looking down at her, his hands resting lightly on his hips, a smile playing over the well-shaped mouth.
“Irresistible,” he said in a musing tone. “I don't understand why such a scrawny, ill-schooled, unprincipled little manipulator should be irresistible. But it seems to be the case.”
Tamsyn's eyes narrowed seductively, but she said nothing. She'd done enough pushing and plotting and arranging for the moment. Maybe the time would come when he would no longer resist what was happening between them, would no longer believe that the currents flowing between them were only and ephemerally sexual… would look into his own heart. But until then she'd settle for what she had, and “irresistible” was a good start.
She heeled and toed her boots, and they fell with a soft thud on the Aubusson carpet.
Her hands went to the buttons of her britches. With a deft wriggle she pushed them off her hips, then eased them down her legs with her heels.
Julian bent and helpfully yanked them over her feet.
While he was there, he pulled off her stockings, then straightened to resume the voyeur role.
“Must I do this all on my own?” She offered a mock plaintive smile.
“Yes.” His eyelids drooped, lazily seductive and he remained immobile, hands back on his hips, looking down at her.
Tamsyn squiggled out of her drawers, unbuttoned her shirt, and stripped it off; then she lay naked on the coverlet and regarded him quizzically.
“And now you may help me,” Julian directed, his cool voice quite at odds with the fire in his eyes.
Tamsyn sat up on the bed, placed her hands on his hips, and drew him close to her. She unbuckled his belt with deft efficiency, letting it drop to the floor. “You don't mind if I start here?” she said conversationally as she unbuttoned his britches.
“Not in the least.”
She eased his britches over his hips with a slow delicacy that Julian found as arousing as Tamsyn did. Her fingers stroked over his hipbones, her palm flattened against his belly, and his muscles jumped involuntarily. Slowly, her hand slid over his stomach and between his thighs as she bent and kissed his belly, drawing her tongue upward in a moist, searing stroke, darting into his navel as her fingers stroked and kneaded, until he groaned softly. Reaching behind, her fingertips dug into the taut muscles of is buttocks as she reached against him so that the hard shaft of flesh lay between her breasts.
Softly she brought her hands round to cup her breasts, squeezing them as they cradled his throbbing stem. Julian's breath quickened; the exquisite rhythmic friction increased, and he threw his head back with a low groan of pleasure. “Stop,” he whispered. “For pity's sake, stop now.”
Tamsyn merely smiled, her eyelashes fluttering wickedly against his chest as she brought him closer and closer to the brink until he shuddered and ecstasy bubbled hot in his veins as the world dissolved.
“Diablillo,” he chided as his breathing slowed, his eyes, hooded and languorous with fulfilment, gazed down at her upturned face. “You have only yourself to blame.”
“I've noticed you have a quick recovery time, milord colonel,” she said with an impudent grin, falling back on the bed, pulling him with her.
He kissed her with rough satisfaction, pinching her jaw between finger and thumb. “I don't know what you deserve.”
“Neither do I, but I don't mind just so long as I get it.”
“Oh, you will,” he promised, taking her mouth again, but this time with a long, slow exploration, his tongue flickering over her lips.
“Oh! Oh, I forgot. How could I have forgotten?”
With shocking suddenness Tamsyn pulled her face away from him and pushed at his chest, struggling to get off the bed. “This room's at the back of the house, isn't it?”
Julian rolled over onto his back, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or scream. “Gabriel, I suppose?”
“Yes, he's waiting outside in the mews.” She flew to the window, throwing it wide.
“Tell him to come in,” Julian said with a sigh. “No, he has to go back to Charing Cross to look after the horses.” She leaned out of the window, cupped her hands around her mouth, and produced a perfect imitation of a barn owl, waited a few seconds, and then repeated the sound. It was answered immediately. Tamsyn produced another series of bird calls, passing for a response.
Charing Cross? Why Charing Cross? But then again, why not? There was no point examining the finer points of Tamsyn's convoluted schemes. Gabriel's participation, of course, was inevitable.
Amused and impressed by the unusual colloquy at the window, Julian hitched himself onto his elbows. He gazed at her naked back curved in the open window and lost interest in the conversation. She did have the most entrancing backside, he thought dreamily.
“There.” Tamsyn straightened. “That's all settled, then.”
“Good. Then perhaps you'd like to get back here:' he requested in a tone of ironic courtesy.
“Oh, have you recovered?” She turned with a grin. “I anticipate a full recovery in about two minutes.
Now, get the hell over here!”
Tamsyn hopped across the room and leaped onto the bed beside him. “Yes, milord colonel. Anything you say, milord colonel.”
Chapter Twenty-three
TAMSYN WAS STILL ASLEEP WHEN JULIAN AWOKE IN THE morning. It was raining outside, and the room was dark, the general gloom exacerbated by the massive oak furniture and the heavy velvet hangings. The house was badly in need of redecorating, but he'd always assumed that it could wait until he married. A wife would enjoy putting her own mark on the place, much easier to do than at Tregarthan, which bore the unmistakable imprint of four generations of St. Simons.
He'd spent so little time in London in the last few years that the general air of neglect in Audley Square hadn't troubled him unduly, but now it occurred to him that he probably ought to tackle the issue before the deterioration became too bad. The prospect of his marriage was way in the future, something he couldn't contemplate until Napoleon was finally defeated.
He turned his head on the pillow to look at the sleeping face beside him. At some point he was going to have to find himself a wife, but he could not get away from the rueful knowledge that drifting in this diminutive bandit's anarchic, sensual wonderland was in a fair way to spoiling him for the kind of woman who would make an exemplary Lady St. Simon of Tregarthan.
His memories of the night remained sharply vivid both in his body and in his mind. It was one of Tamsyn's talents that every lovemaking with her was somehow unique, had something special that lived on in delicious memory.