The Major and the Pickpocket (20 page)

Then she seemed to shrink back from him, and she lowered her eyes, saying in a voice that tore at his heart, ‘Of course. I quite understand if you do not wish to kiss me. After all, I am not exactly the kind of female you are used to, am I?’

He gathered her even closer, crushing her against him. ‘No. You are a thousand, thousand times better,’ he breathed. He kissed her cold cheeks, her tearstained eyes, her little tip-tilted nose, her lips, feeling her warm and soften beneath him like an unfolding flower. He wanted her, so badly. The desire burned at his loins. She
was pressing herself instinctively against him, curving her sweet body into his, reaching to twine her fingers in his dark hair and pulling his face down to meet hers as the intensity of their kiss deepened and grew. Her coat, her foolish man’s coat that all but drowned her, was wide open; her firm breasts were pushing at her thin shirt so he could feel the pressure of them against the hard wall of his own chest, could feel the tautening crests of her nipples as she nestled in his arms, responding thrillingly to his kiss, to the silky pleasure of his tongue’s deep penetration.

She was offering herself. And there was no way on God’s earth that he could refuse. The moment was as sweet as he’d dreamed. He drew back just for a moment to shrug off his own long coat and drop it to the floor; then, splaying his warm hands round her back, he tenderly drew her down with him on to the outspread garment, and clasped her close once more. She clung to him as if to let go would cost her her life, her breath. He kissed her again, feeling her slim legs in their ridiculous breeches twining urgently against his own strong thighs. With ardent fingers he ripped open the buttons of her shirt, cradling and cupping her small breasts with his hands. She cried out as her nipples hardened against his palms, and gripped his wide shoulders; his lips moved down her cheek, her throat, to the softness of her bosom. As his mouth caressed those rosy crests, he felt her trembling, and knew it was not with cold. Her body burned, as did his. He lifted his head to gaze at her, his eyes dark and molten with desire.

‘Tassie,’ he breathed. ‘I do not want to hurt you. But I am a man, Tassie, with a man’s passions. You must say, now, if you want me to stop.’
Though God help me if you do,
he groaned to himself,
for it will take all of my strength to pull back now.

She gazed up at him, her eyes soft with love, her cheeks flushed from his kisses. ‘And I am a woman. You will not hurt me, Marcus,’ she whispered. ‘I know you will not. You see, I need you.’

He was lost. As gently as he could, he parted her garments, pulling her breeches down from her slender hips. He cupped her flesh, held her tight against his own still-clothed figure. And Tassie, feeling his desire, his iron strength, let out a little cry of longing. There was a sweet pull at her loins so intense it was almost a pain. As his strong shapely hands skimmed her breasts and belly, and slipped between her thighs to caress her there, she moaned aloud, rubbing herself against his firm touch, arching her melting core towards him. She was beyond any thought but her love, her need for this man.

Marcus tried his best to restrain himself. But she clung to him instinctively, lifting herself to meet him, thrusting her tender breasts to his mouth until he was wild with desire and his manhood was pulsing hard within the confinement of his garments. Moving now to kiss the lovely, wanton mouth that pleaded for his touch, he freed his garments with one hand, and arched himself over her, his face taut with longing.

He parted her trembling thighs with the utmost gentleness, and positioned himself against her. He felt the shock ripple through her as she became aware of the rigid heat of his arousal, and he saw the sudden fear in her eyes. He was angry, that the act of love should frighten her. He could not bear the thought of some lout deflowering her in the past, taking his own harsh pleasure and leaving her with nothing but the memory of male lust, and pain.

That in itself was enough to make him strong. To help him hold back. He kissed her again. ‘Tassie,’ he
said gently. ‘Take your pleasure from me, my darling. Use me. Take all the time you want.’ He continued to murmur endearments against her softened mouth as gradually he let her feel the strength of him, let her feel what it was like to be loved, as he gently, oh so gently stroked her melting secret place.

She cried out, her eyes wide, as his manhood slipped at last between her silken folds. He bent to kiss her face again, then moved downwards to caress the hard pink nubs of her nipples with gentle teeth, swirling his tongue round the rosebud tips. Ah, but she was lovely. Tender, yet wild and passionate…

She was moving her loins instinctively against him now, wanting more, her breath fluttering on his cheek. Marcus, agonised with the need for restraint, cupped her hips and held back awhile; then, his face dark with longing, he rocked slowly forwards and deliberately began to sheath his ardent length in her silken softness. As he further penetrated her, she went very still, her body arched against him to receive him, her eyes wide and yearning, her lips murmuring his name…

And then, Marcus encountered resistance. So brief, so slight he scarcely noticed it; but at the same time he heard her gasp of wonder, saw the flash of wide surprise in her emerald eyes, and he suddenly realised—this was her first time.

He should have known. Yes, she had lived wild for years with a band of travelling rogues; but they had their own kind of honour, these folk, and he should have known, from that first entrancing kiss outside the Angel in the pouring London rain, that everything about her was proof of her innocence. But now it was too late even to think of stopping, far too late, because she was holding him tighter now, pleading with him, needing him. He responded,
driving harder into her welcoming softness, feeling himself at one with her, and he was lost. She clung to him as if she were drowning, her face wide-eyed, dazed with pleasure as her fingers clutched at the rippling muscles of his back beneath his shirt. He stroked slowly, deeply at her very heart, seeing the pleasure build up in her flushed face, his body arching strongly over her as she began, at last, to utter little, breathless cries; and as she shuddered almost violently against him, clinging to him as the extremity of her pleasure overwhelmed her, he heard her whisper, in a soft yet passionate voice,
‘Oh, darling, darling Marcus…
‘

With that, he felt his own formidable restraint breaking at last. He plunged hard into her, again and again, feeling his own convulsive release shuddering through him, until at last he lay quite still in her arms.

Tassie, too, was motionless in the flickering light of the solitary candle as his heavy warmth pressed against her. The dark pleasure of his intimate caresses still pulsed through her; it had been like fire consuming her body, a heat building up with each delicious stroke, each tantalising caress; she’d hovered briefly on the edge of oblivion, before soaring into unimagined bliss.

And now, Marcus’s head lay on his outstretched arm. His eyes were closed, his dark hair curled loosely around his dear familiar face, and his lips were still softened with pleasure. This man had touched her soul. Tassie felt her love for him tugging so painfully at her heart that there was a huge lump in her throat.

He opened his eyes slowly, as if aware of the intensity of her gaze.

‘Oh, Tassie.’ He drew himself quickly up on one elbow and gazed down at her. ‘Why did you not tell me? You have not lain with a man before, have you?’

She bit her lip, and her eyes were very bright. He was angry with her, of course. Had she not heard on her travels how men despised young women who tried to trap them with their innocence? ‘And so, does it matter?’ she said airily.

Marcus almost groaned aloud. What had he done, in taking advantage of one as innocent as she? Yet the pleasure had been as sweetly intense as he’d ever known. And if she kept looking at him like that, with her wide, over-bright eyes and tremulous lips, then it would not be long before his virility was renewed, and he would be kissing her soft mouth and rosy-tipped breasts with fresh passion, and driving himself into her lovely, responsive woman’s body again…

He had let his male instincts run riot. He had taken complete advantage of their isolation, out in the snowbound countryside. He fought down the overpowering urge to take her again in his arms and kiss the doubt, the uncertainty from her lovely eyes. Instead he said, ‘We must talk, Tassie. We must think about what is to be done.’

Tassie felt herself shrivelling inside. Did Marcus regret what had happened? Had she disappointed him? Had she done something wrong? ‘The fire is dying,’ she said in a small voice, turning her back to him and getting to her feet. ‘We need more firewood to keep the ewe and her babe from freezing. There’s a copse down just below this field—I will go and fetch some.’

But Marcus too was on his feet, pulling up his heavy coat from the floor and shrugging himself into it. ‘I’ll go,’ he said tersely. ‘You stay and tend the animals. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Just then the lamb let out a piteous bleat of hunger. Tassie went quickly towards it and kneeled, helping it
to find the slumbering ewe’s teat. Her heart wrenching within her, she heard him leave.

Shivering, she revived the dying fire in the brazier, then walked to and fro to keep herself warm, her head bowed. She loved him, almost more than she could bear. And she had thought, earlier tonight, that he loved her. But somehow that, too, had gone wrong.
Why did you not tell me, Tassie?
he’d said.
We must talk…
What about? He must think her either a fool, or a scheming temptress. She dashed the tears from her eyes. Then she spied something on the floor, half-hidden by straw. A sheet of notepaper, folded up tightly.

She picked it up, and something about it—some lingering scent, perhaps?—reminded her of another time, another place. Her little room, in the attic of the Blue Bell. Marcus’s wallet, that she’d stolen from him as he tried to help her. The lock of hair. The scent. The note…

This was a different note, but from the same person.

Dear Marcus, I will be staying with my parents in Caytham for the next four weeks, so I will be close to your godfather’s estate. Please come to visit me, as you promised. I have an answer for you at last. Ever yours, Philippa.

The words thudded through her head. A promise. An answer. But what was the question?

Emilia’s taunt came back to her.
‘Of course it’s been clear since they were childhood sweethearts that they‘d marry one another.’
Tassie wanted to tear the scented letter into a thousand pieces, and hurl the shreds into the dying fire.

So Philippa was in Gloucestershire. That was why Marcus had returned from London so swiftly, in the teeth of the snowstorm! That was why he’d been so horrified
to discover that Tassie was a virgin! It would make her less easy to discard.

Shivering badly now, she pulled her old coat tightly around herself and lay huddled before the fire, her head pillowed on her hands, her heart aching with despair.

At long last, when it seemed to be the very dead of night, and all she could hear was the menacing whistle of the wind across the hills, she heard the firm, uneven footsteps crunching across the deep snow, and heard the door begin to open. Quickly she squeezed her eyes shut, and pretended to be asleep. Marcus stood over her a long time, no doubt inwardly cursing her for the trouble she had brought into his life. She wished he would go, before a stupid, traitorous tear rolled out from under her closed eyelids. She heard him moving at last, piling wood into the brazier, and the next thing she knew, he was laying his big, warm coat as extra covering over her curled-up body. ‘Sleep well, Tassie,’ he said quietly. ‘We will talk properly in the morning about our agreement.’

That was all she ever was to him. Part of—
an agreement.
Her tears really started to flow then. Still trying to keep up her pretence of sleep, she squeezed her eyelids together so hard she thought they’d burst. The ache in her throat almost choked her. She heard him putting more wood on the fire, tending it into a low, banked-up core of heat that would keep away the bitter cold till morning, though not from her heart.

L
ady Amanda Sallis was on the point of retiring to her bedchamber when her maidservant came to tell her there was a girl at the door, asking for her by name. Lady Sallis looked incredulous and declared, ‘It’s near three in the morning. What business can this person—this
girl
—possibly have with me?’

‘I don’t know, m’lady, truly I don’t! But she does say it’s really important…’

Sighing, because she was looking forward to a restorative night’s sleep made all the more enticing by the prospect of a tryst with a handsome young guards officer the next afternoon, Lady Sallis drew her fringed silk shawl more closely around the shoulders of her low-cut polonaise and made her way down through the discreetly luxurious house in Albemarle Street, past the supper hall where her wealthy clients refreshed themselves with iced champagne and dainty morsels of poached salmon, past the big, empty gaming rooms that had been so satisfyingly full earlier. She smiled as she remembered the gentle clink of money, the enticing rattle of the dice box. It had been a successful evening, with the high-rolling
Lord Sebastian Corbridge and his fashionable set at the core of the gambling as usual. She despised Corbridge, but he brought money in—for the moment.

She moved on down the wide staircase to the candlelit entrance hall, where James, her footman, stood staring with a certain amount of unaccustomed helplessness at the young woman who hovered just inside the door. A hooded cloak all but covered her slender figure, and a wicker box draped with a cloth stood on the floor by her feet.

‘Yes?’ said Lady Sallis sharply. ‘What business do you have with me at this hour, pray? Your reasons, I warn you, had better be good.’

The girl lifted her head almost proudly and pushed back her hood. Lady Sallis smothered a quick gasp of surprise, because she was beautiful. Even in that drab attire—and her state of near-exhaustion judging by the dark shadows under her emerald-green eyes—she had a lovely heart-shaped face. Her hair, golden as a bright new guinea, clustered in silken curls round the crown of her head, and trailed in soft tendrils down the slender column of her neck. Lady Sallis felt a brief pang of envy, and interest.

‘I have come looking for work, Lady Sallis,’ the girl said in a clear, well-modulated voice. ‘You see, I play cards.’

‘Do you, indeed? And what is your game, pray?’

The girl shrugged. ‘Piquet, whist, faro—I am expert at them all. Hazard, too, if your clients have a fancy for dice. I would look after your interests well, my lady.’

Lady Sallis frowned, intrigued in spite of herself. ‘Where have you run from? Not from doting parents, or some angry husband, I hope?’

‘Oh, no,’ said the girl quietly. For a moment there
was a look of haunting sadness in her lovely green eyes. ‘No one at all will be looking for me, I assure you.’

‘Come through into the parlour, so we can talk. James—see that the fire is rekindled there, will you?’

And Tassie, picking up Edward’s wicker cage, followed in the wake of her ladyship’s rustling skirts.

Marcus. Oh, Marcus.

It was a little over a week since the night she’d spent with Marcus in the shepherd’s hut. They’d been found at dawn by a search party up from Hockton village; Tassie was just stirring from sleep as they arrived, but Marcus was wide awake and waiting for them outside as their rescuers scrambled up the hillside through the deep snow.

There’d been no time to talk in private. Tassie, though reeling from her discovery of Philippa’s letter, had been aware that Marcus was treating her with care, with tenderness even, watching over her as the kindly village men helped her down the hillside. As the sun rose over the hills, warming the air and melting the snow, Tassie felt her hopes rise tentatively with it. After all, it was only a letter—perhaps some very
old
letter, that Marcus had quite forgotten about.

But at the Dower House, Philippa was waiting for him.

A big coach, with a proud coat of arms emblazoned on its doors, was drawn up in the courtyard; and Philippa, with Peg and Jacob hovering anxiously in the background, was pacing to and fro in the mixture of mud and snow, heedless of her expensive kidskin boots, looking quite beautiful in a rich chestnut riding habit and feathered hat, watching as the little party of villagers drew near with Marcus and Tassie in their midst.

She rushed towards Marcus as if there was no one else there. Tassie, numb with dismay, heard her murmur, ‘Marcus. Oh, my love. I heard that you were lost, up in the hills! I came over here from Caytham at first light, the roads are just passable…
Thank God
you are safe. Marcus, please get rid of these—people, and then we can talk properly…’

Then she was reaching up to kiss his cheek. Tassie felt the pain slice through her. It was as well that old Peg was already fussing over her, drawing her inside into the big warm kitchen. ‘Tassie, Tassie,’ she was scolding. ‘What were you thinkin’ of, to go out up there, into the darkness with that snow a-coming down?’ Tassie sat heavily in the chair to which Peg guided her; allowed Peg to rub her frozen fingers into warmth. ‘Now, you must change into something decent and dry! And there’s some of my good hot broth simmering on the stove…’

Strangely enough, Tassie was shivering wildly now that she was safe in the warm kitchen. And she felt tired, so tired. ‘Philippa,’ she muttered between chattering teeth. ‘When did Philippa get here?’

‘She arrived here an hour ago, with her maidservant and groom, from Caytham—she’d heard that Master Marcus was out lost in the snow, and she couldn’t rest, poor girl, for worryin’ about him.’ She bustled to the stove to stir the savoury broth. ‘Now, this is almost ready, my pet. Will you have a bowl of it? It’ll warm you up…’

Tassie hardly heard her. She was hearing Marcus’s voice instead.
Philippa is nothing to me,
he’d said last night.
Anything I felt for her has long since vanished…

‘It’ll be a summer wedding,’ Peg prattled on happily. ‘It’s what her parents always wanted for her. Maybe they’ve had certain disagreements lately, but everyone can see that they’re made for each other.’

By then she was talking to herself, because Tassie had gone up to her room, to change into dry clothes—breeches, of course, and a thick jacket and sturdy boots. Then, though exhaustion still numbed her, she slipped out through the back of the house, and through the melting snow to the crossroads just outside Hockton, to leave her mark for Georgie Jay and his friends: three straight twigs, set one upon the other in a star shape, between the big roots of the forked oak. She prayed they would still be nearby.

Once back at the Dower House she kept to her room for the rest of the day, pretending to be asleep. Early that evening, when the purple dusk had fallen over the snow-clad hills, she took Edward in his covered travelling cage, and a little bag of clothes, and crept from the house in secret, though it grieved her not to say goodbye to Sir Roderick. In the shadows by the crossroads, Georgie Jay and the others were waiting for her.

‘Thank goodness you came,’ she whispered as Georgie Jay put his arm round her and the others clustered around.

‘Aren’t we always here for you?’ soothed Georgie.

‘Take me back to London with you. I have business there.’

‘Of course. But—’ and he drew her to one side ‘—there’s the matter of the big house, girl…’

Wychwood.
She shivered. She had almost forgotten—because there was so much she wanted to forget. ‘Did you—did you find anything out?’

He pushed his cap back from his head. ‘Tass, girl, the house is all shut up. The folk who lived there are dead. No one lives there now.’

So it was a house of ghosts. A place that held no answers, opened no doors.
Some day the brat’s going to
find out the truth…
Planning to use the riddle of the past to solve her future was another illusion; just as, for a short while, she’d thought that her future lay with Marcus.

Georgie Jay was saying to her, ‘We’ll set off this very night—there’s a carrier’s cart going our way—and there’ll be no more talk of you bein’ sent off to Moll’s brother. Your place is with us! Isn’t that right, lads?’

She nodded, but she knew that there was no going back to her old life; her way ahead was once more an open book. Except that first, there was something she must do. A promise to keep.

Now she followed Lady Sallis into a candlelit parlour, with the haughty footman James scowling at her as he went to add coals to the fire. She prayed Edward would remain silent in his cage. But just as Lady Sallis was spreading out her skirts to sit down, and pointing to another chair for Tassie, the parrot let out a piercing squawk.

‘What, in God’s name,’ breathed Lady Sallis, jumping to her feet, ‘is that?’

Tassie said quickly, ‘He’s my parrot—I swear he’ll be no trouble! He’s just upset, that’s all, at being somewhere new.’ She bent to lift the cloth and whispered, ‘It’s all right, Edward. It’s all right.’

James the footman looked as if he’d gladly strangle the bird, and Lady Sallis sat again, rather slowly. She had a feeling she was going to regret this. But she also had a practised eye for the type of female who would appeal to her wealthy male punters, and this young woman, with her stunning looks and quietly determined manner, might well cause something of a sensation. Even the parrot could be an asset.

‘James, bring me a fresh pack,’ instructed Lady
Sallis curtly. ‘And
you,
girl—show me how you deal the pack for faro.’

Tassie quickly discarded her cloak and took the pack James coldly offered her. Lady Sallis watched fascinated as Tassie rippled the cards with sure, swift fingers, then gathered and dealt them with a competence that was staggering.

‘You are almost too good,’ Lady Sallis said flatly. ‘My clients will be suspicious that you are cheating them. Do you cheat?’

‘Me? Oh, no, my lady,’ protested Tassie, with such wide-eyed innocence that Lady Sallis wanted to chuckle aloud.

Instead, she said briskly, ‘Well, just make sure you don’t cheat me, my girl. And use your tricks carefully with the punters. I want no accusation of cheating or other knavery in this place, do you hear me?’

Tassie gazed at her. ‘Does this mean you are offering me a post here?’

‘It does. One of my girls has just left unexpectedly—shall we say that a better offer came her way? So I am a little short-staffed. But I warn you, you are on trial.’ She eyed Tassie’s drab clothes with some distaste. ‘You have, I take it, some more appropriate clothes for an establishment such as this?’

Tassie felt herself colour. ‘No. I fear I’ve mislaid them…’

Lady Sallis pondered this. ‘So. You’ve run from somewhere, in a hurry. Well, you’re clearly no fool, and neither am I. I’ll ask no more questions, as long as you don’t bring any trouble here.’

‘I won’t, my lady. That I swear.’

Lady Sallis nodded. ‘We’ll find you some new attire,’ she promised. ‘Something that will flatter your delicate
colouring. As you are no doubt aware, my customers, who are all male and naturally of the highest classes, come here not only for the gaming, but also for pleasant companionship and conversation. You do understand that, don’t you? That, at times, my gentlemen find their appetites a little—jaded with the cards, and wish to seek alternate pleasures, which are available in my private rooms upstairs?’

Tassie lifted her head and said, ‘I understand, my lady. But perhaps I can prove myself at cards first? I assure you, my skill at play will be my greatest asset to you.’

Lady Sallis took leave to doubt that. The girl was lovely, and her air of well-bred innocence, feigned or real, would hold strong appeal for some of the more jaded
roués
amongst her clientele. But she would move gently, at first.

‘Then play you shall,’ she pronounced. ‘Tomorrow night you can just observe the tables. The night after, you may, perhaps, try your hand at piquet with some of our less important clients. All winnings return to the house—and remember, I will be watching you.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘’Tis my pleasure,’ said Lady Sallis, and found she meant it. The girl was intriguing. ‘What is your name?’

‘Sarah,’ said Tassie, after a brief hesitation that told its own tale to the shrewd Lady Sallis. But she chose to let it go.

‘Very well—Sarah. I’ll get a maid to show you to your room. Breakfast is at ten.’ She rang the bell, and the maidservant came quickly to guide Tassie through the big house, past more gaming rooms, and up more stairs into a region of secretive, silk-curtained boudoirs that made Tassie’s heart beat rather fast.

‘See in there?’ The maid twitched back a curtain as they passed by. ‘Those are the rooms for private games, and it’s my guess you’ll be soon as busy up here as in them rooms below.’

Tassie said, ‘Lady Sallis has offered me a job at her card tables. That is all.’

The maid laughed again as she led her up the stairs to another floor. ‘Saints alive,’ she said, ‘you’re an innocent and no mistake! Where have you come from?’

‘The country,’ said Tassie quickly.

‘Well, the best of luck to you,’ chuckled the maid as she pushed open a door to a small bedchamber and put down the candlestick she was carrying. She cast a wary eye at Edward’s cage as the bird started to squawk. ‘Dratted creature. He’d best not keep
that
up all night. Sleep well, Sarah. You’ll need to learn fast, I think, if you’re to last long here.’

She turned to go. ‘Wait—please!’ called Tassie, putting Edward’s cage down carefully on the floor by the little bed. ‘Would you just tell me—does a man by the name of Lord Sebastian Corbridge play here?’

‘Corbridge? Oh, aye, he’s here most nights with his cronies. Plays deep, too. What on earth d’you want with him? Don’t waste too much time on trying to rook him, for remember, all winnings go straight into Lady Sallis’s fat purse.’ She turned to go again, saying over her shoulder, ‘Sweet dreams—
Sarah.’

As soon as she’d gone, Tassie undressed slowly down to her shift, blew out the candle, and climbed into the small bed. She wanted to confront Sebastian Corbridge, and entice him into the deepest game he’d ever known. It was the one thing she was determined to do, before she turned her back on this disastrous episode in her life for good. She was going to gamble with him for
the highest stake of all—the letter that was proof of Sir Roderick’s crushing debt.