Page 54 of The Rebellious Countess
It was indeed heaven.
Fourteen
Madame,
I remain Your Grace’s most obedient servant and would like to offer my sincere apologies for the ruse in which I deliberately deceived you and Máira of my true identity. I hope the War Office has explained the situation to you prior to our return. My marriage to your sister was necessary and is legitimate. I will not, however, take advantage of my title as her husband, and will return her to her family post haste so that she may seek an annulment and put this unfortunate adventure in the past.
Please know that I hold your sister in the highest regard and will preserve her honor.
Your most humble servant,
Sir Elias Maximilien Allistair Drake
—A letter personally delivered to the Duchess of Ross at her home, Caerlaverock Castle in Dumfries, Scotland, by Sir Robert Williamson of the War Office. It was supposed to be delivered to the Duchess after the Earl of Astley was recovered and was on his way home; however, Sir Williamson arrived with a black eye and the Duke of Ross at his side before word of the Earl’s status was learned. Theletter was delivered two days after the Drake marriage was consummated.
This was hell. Not heaven. Not purgatory, but pure unadulterated hell. Máira was sleeping in his arms on the saddle once more. The soft globes of her arse cradling his cock as her breast rubbed against his arm with each step their horse took toward Mont-Saint-Michel.
Memories of their night together stormed through his thoughts like an invading army and his defenses deserted him, leaving him to be tortured with his want to taste her, take her again and again…and again. He would never survive the suffering and torment of knowing what it was like to hold her in his arms and never experience it once more.
He would never make love—fuck her again. Hell, he should be flogged for the manner in which he had disposed of her maidenhead. Taking his virgin wife, who was gently-bred and raised to be a lady, in a stable against the ladder to the loft.
A scoff escaped his lips. He had no honor. He had been raised as a gentleman, maybe not by the standards of theton, but his father had taught him to cherish women, and yet he had let his baser instincts control his actions just as they had when he was a teenager. He’d turned into an animal with the one woman who did not deserve to be treated as such.
He glanced down at his beautiful wife with the faint hint of a smile on her lips. She was probably dreaming of the Duke of Ross calling him out and putting a lead round in his chest.
Damnation.
He had sworn in a letter to her sister that Máira’s honor would remain intact. Instead, he’d shredded it to bloody hell by fucking her like a tart in a tavern. He closed his eyes for a moment, yet the only thing that filled his thoughts were images of her, her lush, rounded breasts so pert and demanding of aman’s attention, her soft body bending to his will, and the way her pink, tight quim felt on his tongue, his cock.
Máira stirred in his arms, and he quieted her. “Shhh,ma chérie. We don’t have much farther to go.” They had been traveling all day, and within the next couple of hours, they would arrive at the outskirts of Mont-Saint-Michel, where he would have to gauge the tide and determine when the best time to cross would be. He hoped low tide came in the middle of the night. The full moon was two days past, and the sea level would be high, the currents too strong for him to navigate. He had to cross at low tide.
He also worried about leaving Máira. Danger seemed to follow her, or him, or both of them everywhere they went. He wasn’t quite sure which one of them was worse at attracting the pitfalls of peril. Either way, he brought her with him to keep her safe. Mont-Saint-Michel, however, wasn’t safe for anyone. He knew that before leaving English soil. The coast of France along the English Channel was fraught with Napoleon’s troops. It was the reason he used the port of Le Conquet.
That and Hag was in Le Conquet. Her connections were invaluable. She’d advised him to stop at the windmill of Moidrey, where he would find a monk to guide him across the bay which turned to mud during low tide. They’d experienced the need of a guide firsthand when he was a boy and had gone running across the muddy surface, only to sink in one of the many pockets of quicksand that appeared randomly across the expanse. He had screamed in panic, and his mother raced toward him. It was his father who had stopped her from becoming mired in the muck and him from sinking beyond his waist. He could not afford that type of mistake on this trip.
Once they were at the walls surrounding the abbey, Elias would have to scale the ramparts and make his way through thevendors and merchants of Mont-Saint-Michel before breaking into the church.
Rescuing Astley was up to him. After the fiasco with Máira and his crew, he hadn’t thought it wise to leave theMaribellewithout Peter to watch over things. He would, however, leave Máira at the mill and return with Astley in tow. He just hoped he wasn’t bringing back a corpse.
Máira stirred on his lap, and he groaned with the teasing touch of her body. He looked down to find her watching him. “You are a demon,” he teased.
“A sexy demon?”
“I don’t think I need to answer that.”
She wiggled her arse and he couldn’t resist thrusting his hips up into her welcoming body. He couldn’t take her again. He’d made an oath?—
Máira lifted her skirts, exposing the expanse of her legs and he knew he was going to hell.
“Máira—”
She turned on his lap so that she was facing him, her décolletage tempting him further as she reached between them and unbuttoned his falls with the speed of an experienced courtesan.
“Máira—” Her name on his lips sounded like a plea, a curse, a surrender to the pits of eternal damnation as his cock sprang loose from the constraints of his clothing and Máira lifted herself on top of the long, hard length of him and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Mon Dieu—” he breathed, as she gasped and then froze. He had to be hurting her, yet every part of him wanted to buck up into her wet, sweet warmth as the horse continued its course through the forest. He reached up and cupped one of her breasts, the same breast that had been torturing him as it grazed up and down upon his arm. He squeezed and plumped her curves,pulling down the neckline to expose her creamy soft flesh to the night sky.
“I have wanted to do this since we got on this horse hours ago,” he whispered into her ear as he trailed kisses down her neck until he reached her taut nipple and began suckling. Her scent was that of a meadow, and fresh spring, and he breathed it in as if he would never again inhale her essence. With his hand now free, he found the bead of bliss underneath her skirts eager for his touch. The noise Máira made was one of pure pleasure as she began moving on his cock in rhythm with the horse’s stride.
