The Lady & The Panther~ Chapter 6~ Rated NC-17
The Lady & The Panther
~Chapter 6~
When we last left our heroine, Lord and Lady Rosemont’s carriage had been stopped on the rainy journey to London by a certain infamous and extremely charming highwayman.
It seems that Lizzie is going to have her longed-for reunion with the Panther, but not quite as she planned . . .
Rated NC-17 for an explicit scene. No copyright infringement intended; no monies earned. Comments always welcome!
Horace was sputtering, one hand still clamped to that damned wig as he cowered in the corner of the coach. It was not an impressive sight.
Amelia fought back a giggle as she clamped her hand over her mouth and shot her eyes at me.
I quickly averted my own eyes, fearful of letting my emotions show on my face. Part of me longed to lean forward to catch a better glimpse of the robber, to look into his frankly mesmerising gaze again.
Part of me longed to simply leap into his arms . . .
My heart pounding in my chest, I struggled to maintain a ladylike composure.
The man for whom I had longed had reappeared. But not quite in the circumstances I had imagined.
I felt my cheeks flush beneath my rouge, and suddenly found myself wondering if he would find my traveling costume, a deep rose-coloured taffeta trimmed in a deep green braid that matched my eyes, pleasing. And then I thought of my Panther, naked and so beautiful, burnished by the firelight in my bed chamber . . .
Oh dear, I was having difficulty concentrating. It was as if I had been transformed into some foolish, feather-brained girl.
Truthfully, I had not felt this way even when I was a mere slip of a thing. What an effect that man had on me.
Horace, realising Amelia was goggling at him, finally straightened up. It wouldn’t do to appear less than lordly in front of the servant.
Thrusting out his chin, he glared at the shadowy figure on horseback holding a pistol on him.
“You-you-scoundrel! Do you know who I am?”
I heard a deep chuckle. “You are a wealthy nobleman. I am a thief. I have a loaded pistol trained on you and a very sharp sword at my side. That is all I-or you--need to know.”
“Linden! Morris!” Horace bellowed for the coachmen.
“I fear your men are indisposed at present and cannot be of any assistance to you, milord. Now, if you would be so good as to step out of the coach?”
My sullen husband looked as if he were going to argue with Panther.
Amelia’s eyes were darting back and forth between us. She was biting her lip so hard I am surprised it didn’t start bleeding.
I sighed. “Horace. Don’t be so-stupid. Do as the gentleman says.”
I thought I heard a sharp intake of breath, but it might have only been the wind and rain beating against the coach.
“Yes, Horace. Do take the lady’s advice, won’t you? And- bring any valuables you might have secreted in the coach with you, that’s a good fellow.” Panther said, his voice smooth and silky with just a hint of impudent laughter in it.
Grumbling, the ruddiness returning to his cheeks, Horace opened the door and stepped out of the coach.
There was a squishing noise, followed by a streak of foul words. I heard Panther make a “tsking” sound.
“Language, my lordship. There are, I believe, ladies present? Although I am sorry about the mud. Such elegant shoes-‘tis a pity. It has been frightfully wet, has it not?”
“What in damnation are you doing out-robbing respectable people in this miserable weather anyway? And in daylight? Aren’t you supposed to strike at night?” Horace blustered.
A small laugh.
“You must admit, your lordship-you never expected to be robbed at such a time, on such a dreadful sort of day. The element of surprise . . . can be quite providential.”
Horace gave a great snort. “For you!”
I could resist no longer. Leaning over, I looked out the open door. Panther’s attentions and flintlock were still trained on an unhappy Horace.
He must have heard the rustle of my skirts, or the slight clearing of my throat.
Behind his black domino, the highwayman’s eyes met mine. So changeable in colour, those eyes; on that day, as grey as the sky above him.
His mouth and the tip of that magnificent aquiline nose were covered with a silk kerchief, his long raven locks hidden beneath the tricorn that sat low in his forehead, broad shoulders swathed in a dark cloak to shield him from the rain. One big, elegant hand encased in snug black leather clutched Rogue’s reins whilst the other held the pistol.
There was no flicker of recognition in his gaze. But I thought I detected a smile beneath that kerchief.
“My lady,” he said simply, and made as if to tug his forelock with his gloved hand.
A slight smile came unbidden to my mouth. I felt a warm breath against my back and a small hand pressed against my arm.
“Oh . . . my.” Amelia breathed in my ear.
Panther tilted his head, one elegant dark brow raised.
“Or should I say--ladies . . . milord, if you value your life--stay where you are.”
Panther’s voice changed from velvet to steel in the blink of an eye as he edged his finger further on the trigger. It seemed he had an extra pair of eyes, that great cat of mine.
Horace froze on the spot, still mired in the muck, the rain pelting down on his now sodden peruke. He looked quite miserable. I must admit I took such great satisfaction in seeing him so.
I have already said I am a wicked creature.
One who was so very, very glad to see Panther.
Perhaps- it was fate?
*~*~*~*
I heard that bell-like female voice from inside the carriage and caught my breath before I thought about it.
Even with the rain and the wind whistling in my ears, I knew it was her, my Lizzie, my Mon Ange, on that lonely, muddy road to London.
And here, it seemed, was the (nearly) late husband, Horace. A singularly unprepossessing creature.
I confess I was tempted to kill him on the spot. At the very least, I longed to give him a nasty headache, knowing how miserable he had made my sweet Protectress.
But I had vowed to never shed blood or cause injury whilst practicing my profession unless left with no other choice.
However, I could not resist the temptation to tease and taunt his lordship a bit. One needs some enjoyment whilst labouring for one’s daily bread, after all.
But only a little teasing.
You see, my angel had suddenly appeared in the door of the coach, a bright spot on that gloomy day, and my eyes drank in the sight gladly.
I kept my countenance composed; but I could not resist a small smile beneath my disguise as I greeted her.
She looked like a lovely rose, waiting to be plucked . . .
Apparently thinking me completely distracted by his wife and her maid, his lordship chose that moment to attempt to abscond.
However, I quickly put him in his place with a sharp word and the threat of my trusty flintlock. Although I doubt he would have gotten far, considering how much the mud seemed to like his expensive footwear.
An ill-humoured Lord Rosemont fixed his eyes on the barrel of my pistol with a sour look and resigned himself to remaining at my mercy.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Mon Ange was enjoying the performance. There was a certain glimmer in those emerald eyes, in spite of her otherwise demure countenance.
I was so very happy to see her again.
Surely it was meant to be?
*~*~*~*
The rain had tapered off, but not before Horace’s peruke was quite ruined.
Panther had dismounted Rogue and relieved my husband of his valuables-a heavy gold ring of which he was particularly fond, an elegant and expensive snuff box, the bulging pouch of guineas he had tucked in a pocket inside his frock coat. And his best pocket watch.
“Well, what a fine timepiece. And it so happens, I am in need of a new watch. Many thanks, your lordship,” Panther said with a mock bow.
Brandishing a pair of manacles, he snapped them around Horace’s wrists with one hand whilst keeping his pistol trained on my husband.
“You may return to your carriage. I-wish to speak to the ladies now.”
Horace puffed out his chest and tried to look menacing. “Look here, you. You shall not lay a hand on my lady wife--”
Panther cut him off with a world-weary shake of his head. “I assure you, my lordship, I would never treat your lovely lady with anything but the utmost respect. Now-back into the coach you go, milord . . .”
The next thing I knew, Panther’s strong arms were lifting me in the air and sitting me sideways on his horse’s saddle.
But it was done in a most respectful manner, just as he promised.
“We can’t let those elegant slippers of your get ruined in this mud, milady,” he purred. Oh, he was definitely smiling now beneath that kerchief. I could see it in those eyes.
“May I see what is in that reticule you hold so tightly, my lady?”
I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on his, and held out my little purse.
His leather-clad fingers brushed mine as he took the reticule in his hands. Unclasping it, Panther looked inside, raising one dark brow as he studied the contents.
“Ah-I see you have a sentimental nature, my lady. Nothing here of value-except to the owner.” He spoke in an impersonal manner, giving a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.
Closing the reticule, he took my hand in his and pressed the purse into my palm with a bored little sigh.
His eyes-oh, those beautiful eyes!-told a different story, for I had seen the flicker of pleasured warmth in them as he discovered his pocket watch and well-worn note tucked inside my reticule.
“Indeed. They are of very great value to me, sir. Thank you for allowing me to keep them.” I kept my words measured and low, fearful my voice would break.
He tilted his head, knitted his brows and studied my face with such intensity I almost could not bear it.
“However-I feel I shall have to claim those lovely baubles hanging from your ears, milady. Will you remove them for me?”
I nodded mutely. Suspending my reticule from my arm, I reached up and unfastened the pearl and gold earrings I was wearing.
They were part of the family jewels Horace had given me, and quite pretty. But I was not sad to relinquish them to this glorious thief.
I placed them in the open palm of his gloved hand, my hand lingering just long enough to stroke the buttery soft leather with my fingertips. I imagined peeling the gloves from those hands, so strong and capable and yet, so elegant . . .
“Ah, and this ring. Quite handsome. I believe I shall take it as well.”
Panther’s gloved fingertip was tapping the third finger of my left hand now.
My eyes met his. I truly had to fight back the impulse to laugh.
You have already cuckolded Horace in his own house. Now you will steal this ring, too, my beautiful highwayman. Take it with my blessings.
Panther gently tugged the bridal ring from my finger, a lop-sided smile on his face, holding my hand a little longer than required to do the deed.
I felt a moue of disappointment when he finally pulled his hand away, but that quickly passed.
After tucking my jewellry into his pocket, Panther caught my hand in his own and brought it to his mouth, still hidden beneath the kerchief.
I felt the tip of his warm tongue trace over my knuckles before he took one of my fingers in his mouth and gently sucked it, never taking his eyes from mine, his actions hidden beneath the black silk.
I had to catch my breath as those pleasurable stirrings began again deep within me. It is a good thing I was seated as my knees might have buckled right under me.
From inside the coach, I could hear Horace muttering furiously over the loss of yet another valuable trinket to the audacious Panther.
My husband had already lost me; the day we buried my Alexander sealed that decision. But I am certain he would care not for his wife slipping through his fingers, except as his rightful possession.
Guy finally loosed my hand reluctantly, or so it seemed to me.
“My lady, I shall take no more of your pretty adornments. Although, in my eyes, you do not need them. Your beauty has graced this dismal day for me,” he murmured softly, admiration and desire in those clear eyes, and lifted me down from the horse as if I weighed no more than a stone or two.
He carried me back to the coach and helped me inside, where Amelia awaited, wide-eyed. Horace continued to fume in the corner, rattling his manacles with great irritation.
“I shall now bid you all adieu-mademoiselle, so charmante,” Guy said, lifting Amelia’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. Her thin cheeks flushed a deep pink.
“Madame et monsieur . . .”
“What? You can’t leave me--” Horace was blustering again, raising his manacled hands with an impotent glare.
“Apologies, your lordship. I shall leave a key with your coachmen. As soon as they manage to use it, I am sure they will come to your rescue, too. Again, goodbye. And good travels. It’s been a pleasure for the Panther to meet you . . .”
I imagined his white teeth flashing beneath that black kerchief as he shut the carriage door. We all listened as Rogue’s hoofbeats grew faint. I emitted a huge sigh and laid my head back against the seat. Amelia still looked stunned, but in a very happy way.
Horace, of course, began to bellow for the coachmen. As it turned out, they had been manacled together and were now struggling to free themselves courtesy of the key Panther had left for them.
You could not say it had been a dull journey thus far.
*~*~*~*
We finally reached our place of lodging for the night, a little later and poorer than planned, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
The Chartreuse Bastard was a large tavern and inn of good repute, Horace had said. After the rather eventful journey, we were all happy to reach our evening’s destination. Food, drink and comfortable beds were certainly in order (and a thorough cleaning of Horace’s mud-caked shoes by a maid-of-all-work).
Although I was not sure how well I would sleep. Or Amelia, for that matter.
My maid was still beside herself with excitement, chattering away as she helped me undress.
“Oh, my lady. Panther was everything yew said he was. So handsome--”
“Amelia. His face was covered. How do you know what he looked like?” I said, shaking my head.
Amelia’s grey eyes were shining. “Oh, my lady. The eyes alone . . . as if they could look right through yew. The way he--carried himself. Such a fine figure of a man. And I saw the way he looked at yew . . .”
Amelia gave a rather rapturous sigh as she sat down, lost in thought, clutching my nightgown to her bosom.
“You are quite the romantic at heart, dear Amelia. And-yes, he is a very fine figure of a man.” I sighed myself, a smile tugging at my mouth. “In every way. Now, may I have my nightgown?”
Amelia was still lost in her fanciful dreams.
“Do yew suppose you will see him again in London, my lady? P’rhaps in some sort of disguise? Oooh, wouldn’t that be excitin’?”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Amelia. Enough.” I extended my hand with a beseeching look.
“My nightgown, please.”
Finally, my maid was off to her cot downstairs and I was left with my own fanciful thoughts as I slid beneath the bed linens and put out the candle.
Of the look in Panther’s eyes when he discovered the contents of my reticule.
Of the intimate way he kissed my hand beneath his kerchief.
Of how safe I felt in a criminal’s arms.
I knew not quite who I was anymore. Only that something within me had changed.
I closed my eyes and prayed for good dreams.
*~*~*~*
I heard the door to my chamber at the Chartreuse Bastard open and shut and the sound of the key turning in the lock. I gave an inward sigh.
Of all nights for Horace to decide to demand his conjugal rights. His timing was, as ever, wretched.
Folding my arms across my stomach, I kept my eyes closed tightly, hoping to feign deep sleep.
I felt fingertips brush across my cheek, trace down my throat and then roam down to cup my breast through the material of my nightdress, the pad of the thumb teasing my nipple.
Horace had never touched me like that.
“Hello,Mon Ange.” I heard the deep, dark purr and felt fingers press against my lips. “Quiet, my darling girl, we do not want to wake anyone.”
I opened my eyes. A candle flickered by the bedside, illuminating the handsome features of my highwayman. He was seated there beside me on the bed, clad in snug doeskin breeches and a white linen shirt open at the throat.
A sight for sore eyes, indeed.
“Forgive me, Lizzie. But I could not resist coming to you to-night. When I saw you today, I realised just how very, very much I missed you . . .”
My dream lover had returned. Well, there were worse things of which I could dream.
“Guy--” I reached up and slid my fingers into his tousled hair, savouring its softness, and murmured with longing, “I just wish it could be true and you were really here.”
Kisses were pressed to my forehead, the tip of my nose and my cheeks as hands moved down my side, as fingers began to slide my nightclothes, baring my thighs.
A soft chuckle in my ear before a lick on the lobe.
“Oh, mon coeur, this is no dream. A certain Mr. Jasper paid one of the maids well to slip him the key to your chamber so that he might enjoy a tryst with the lovely Lady Rosemont. You see, Mr. Jasper is spending this night at the Chartreuse Bastard-with you.”
I smiled up at him, still half-drunk with sleep. “Mr. Jasper? Oh, that is-you . . .”
“Mais oui. I am known by many names, you see.”
He began to part my legs, pressing kisses up and down my thighs.
“But you, sweet Lizzie, are one of the few who know my true name.” He raised his head, tossing back his tumble of raven locks, and his smile was a sweet as an angel’s and as seductive as the devil himself.
“We share secrets . . .”
I shook my head a little, halfway in bliss and halfway in disbelief.
“Guy. Do two things for me. First--bite me-just a little.”
He raised one dark brow and shrugged his broad shoulders. “As you wish, Lizzie.”
He unbuttoned the front of my nightdress, smiling down into my eyes as he bared my breasts. Slowly, he leaned down and took my hardening peak in his mouth, suckling it and then, suddenly, nipping it sharply with those white teeth.
“Owwww,” I cried out. Guy looked quite contrite even as he pressed his fingers to my mouth.
“Shhhh. You did ask me to bite you, mon coeur . . .”
“I--I know,” I said, entwining my fingers with his, relishing their warmth and strength.
“I just wanted to make sure I was really awake and you were really, truly here, Guy.”
He laughed low, one of those dark, delicious laughs, and began to remove his shirt.
“Oh, yes. I am truly here, and I would much rather prove it in ways that will bring you pleasure and not pain . . .”
I caught a glimpse of that muscular chest, the patch of dark curly hair at the base of his long white throat; the enticing rosy nipples and the planes of his taut stomach. My eyes wandered down to the prominent bulge in those skin-tight breeches, and I expelled a breath as he lowered his head again.
“And the second thing you can do, Guy--”
He paused a moment whilst nuzzling my neck.
“Yes, my lady?” Guy purred.
“Call me Mon Ange. That is, if you wish to make ardent love to me.”
There was a growl deep in his throat. Guy raised his head and looked into my eyes, his own orbs turned black with desire.
“There is nothing-nothing-I want more.” His lips curved into a lustful, teasing smile. “Mon Ange . . .”
The next moments were a blur as I eagerly helped him unfasten his breeches and peel them from his body, and he just as eagerly aided me in casting my nightdress aside.
Guy stretched himself over my naked body, his hands holding down my hands, his strong, lean thighs wrapped around my legs, his mouth and tongue-everywhere, kissing me, suckling me, laving me until I could bear it no longer and begged for him to enter me.
“Mais oui, Mon Ange, mais oui.” His voice was filled with the breathless urgency that I felt.
And then he was inside me again, filling me up with powerful, pounding thrusts. I looked up into his face, those beautiful dark lashes grazing his flushed cheeks, his soft lips forming an “O” as he panted above me.
My fingers tangled in his silky black hair as I wrapped my legs around Guy and moved in tandem with him, my big, sleek, hungry panther . . .
*~*~*~*
She was bewitching to me, my Protectress. So hungry for me, as I was for her. I had not been able to stop thinking about her ever since that night at Algernon Hall, and now she was mine again.
Her glittering eyes were heavy-lidded; her lips, as red as cherries, without need of artifice. She had come alive for me before, that sad little spectre, on that first night together.
Now, she was a veritable tigress, thrusting up against me eagerly, her fingernails raking over my bare skin, taking my tongue into her mouth and suckling it, pulling my head down to her breasts so that I could lave her sweet nipples.
“Please-Guy. Come inside me,” she pleaded in a husky whisper.
I was only too eager to oblige. Her cunny was so warm and wet, so welcoming to my cock. I groaned as I filled her up, moving slowly at first, and then more and more quickly into her.
I felt her body began to shudder beneath me, her eyes closing, and then opening again as she gasped, her hands clenching my hair. I knew she was on the brink . . .
I sat back on my haunches, pulling her up into my lap, still thrusting up into her as she wrapped her legs around my hips. I watched as she came, her ripe lips parting in a blissful smile, her head tipping back as she gave a low moan of pleasure.
“Mon Ange, Mon Ange,” I crooned her name as I paused for a moment, cupping her sweet face in my hands, looking into those darkened eyes, pressing kisses to her mouth, her throat, her breasts.
I began to move again inside her, my urgency building, my body aching for that exquisite relief she would bring to me.
I had reminded her to stay quiet. But it was I who was forced to clench my teeth to keep from roaring and waking the entire inn as I took my own pleasure that night . . .
Later, as we lay entwined in each other’s arms, I felt an odd pang in the vicinity of my heart.
Why did the coupling-no, the lovemaking--feel so-different, so special with Lizzie?
I have said I love women, and I do. But I had never been in love before. Lust, infatuation, flirtation, oh yes. Many times.
Was I falling in love?
It was a most curious and slightly unsettling sensation.
*~*~*~*
~Chapter 6~
When we last left our heroine, Lord and Lady Rosemont’s carriage had been stopped on the rainy journey to London by a certain infamous and extremely charming highwayman.
It seems that Lizzie is going to have her longed-for reunion with the Panther, but not quite as she planned . . .
Rated NC-17 for an explicit scene. No copyright infringement intended; no monies earned. Comments always welcome!
Horace was sputtering, one hand still clamped to that damned wig as he cowered in the corner of the coach. It was not an impressive sight.
Amelia fought back a giggle as she clamped her hand over her mouth and shot her eyes at me.
I quickly averted my own eyes, fearful of letting my emotions show on my face. Part of me longed to lean forward to catch a better glimpse of the robber, to look into his frankly mesmerising gaze again.
Part of me longed to simply leap into his arms . . .
My heart pounding in my chest, I struggled to maintain a ladylike composure.
The man for whom I had longed had reappeared. But not quite in the circumstances I had imagined.
I felt my cheeks flush beneath my rouge, and suddenly found myself wondering if he would find my traveling costume, a deep rose-coloured taffeta trimmed in a deep green braid that matched my eyes, pleasing. And then I thought of my Panther, naked and so beautiful, burnished by the firelight in my bed chamber . . .
Oh dear, I was having difficulty concentrating. It was as if I had been transformed into some foolish, feather-brained girl.
Truthfully, I had not felt this way even when I was a mere slip of a thing. What an effect that man had on me.
Horace, realising Amelia was goggling at him, finally straightened up. It wouldn’t do to appear less than lordly in front of the servant.
Thrusting out his chin, he glared at the shadowy figure on horseback holding a pistol on him.
“You-you-scoundrel! Do you know who I am?”
I heard a deep chuckle. “You are a wealthy nobleman. I am a thief. I have a loaded pistol trained on you and a very sharp sword at my side. That is all I-or you--need to know.”
“Linden! Morris!” Horace bellowed for the coachmen.
“I fear your men are indisposed at present and cannot be of any assistance to you, milord. Now, if you would be so good as to step out of the coach?”
My sullen husband looked as if he were going to argue with Panther.
Amelia’s eyes were darting back and forth between us. She was biting her lip so hard I am surprised it didn’t start bleeding.
I sighed. “Horace. Don’t be so-stupid. Do as the gentleman says.”
I thought I heard a sharp intake of breath, but it might have only been the wind and rain beating against the coach.
“Yes, Horace. Do take the lady’s advice, won’t you? And- bring any valuables you might have secreted in the coach with you, that’s a good fellow.” Panther said, his voice smooth and silky with just a hint of impudent laughter in it.
Grumbling, the ruddiness returning to his cheeks, Horace opened the door and stepped out of the coach.
There was a squishing noise, followed by a streak of foul words. I heard Panther make a “tsking” sound.
“Language, my lordship. There are, I believe, ladies present? Although I am sorry about the mud. Such elegant shoes-‘tis a pity. It has been frightfully wet, has it not?”
“What in damnation are you doing out-robbing respectable people in this miserable weather anyway? And in daylight? Aren’t you supposed to strike at night?” Horace blustered.
A small laugh.
“You must admit, your lordship-you never expected to be robbed at such a time, on such a dreadful sort of day. The element of surprise . . . can be quite providential.”
Horace gave a great snort. “For you!”
I could resist no longer. Leaning over, I looked out the open door. Panther’s attentions and flintlock were still trained on an unhappy Horace.
He must have heard the rustle of my skirts, or the slight clearing of my throat.
Behind his black domino, the highwayman’s eyes met mine. So changeable in colour, those eyes; on that day, as grey as the sky above him.
His mouth and the tip of that magnificent aquiline nose were covered with a silk kerchief, his long raven locks hidden beneath the tricorn that sat low in his forehead, broad shoulders swathed in a dark cloak to shield him from the rain. One big, elegant hand encased in snug black leather clutched Rogue’s reins whilst the other held the pistol.
There was no flicker of recognition in his gaze. But I thought I detected a smile beneath that kerchief.
“My lady,” he said simply, and made as if to tug his forelock with his gloved hand.
A slight smile came unbidden to my mouth. I felt a warm breath against my back and a small hand pressed against my arm.
“Oh . . . my.” Amelia breathed in my ear.
Panther tilted his head, one elegant dark brow raised.
“Or should I say--ladies . . . milord, if you value your life--stay where you are.”
Panther’s voice changed from velvet to steel in the blink of an eye as he edged his finger further on the trigger. It seemed he had an extra pair of eyes, that great cat of mine.
Horace froze on the spot, still mired in the muck, the rain pelting down on his now sodden peruke. He looked quite miserable. I must admit I took such great satisfaction in seeing him so.
I have already said I am a wicked creature.
One who was so very, very glad to see Panther.
Perhaps- it was fate?
*~*~*~*
I heard that bell-like female voice from inside the carriage and caught my breath before I thought about it.
Even with the rain and the wind whistling in my ears, I knew it was her, my Lizzie, my Mon Ange, on that lonely, muddy road to London.
And here, it seemed, was the (nearly) late husband, Horace. A singularly unprepossessing creature.
I confess I was tempted to kill him on the spot. At the very least, I longed to give him a nasty headache, knowing how miserable he had made my sweet Protectress.
But I had vowed to never shed blood or cause injury whilst practicing my profession unless left with no other choice.
However, I could not resist the temptation to tease and taunt his lordship a bit. One needs some enjoyment whilst labouring for one’s daily bread, after all.
But only a little teasing.
You see, my angel had suddenly appeared in the door of the coach, a bright spot on that gloomy day, and my eyes drank in the sight gladly.
I kept my countenance composed; but I could not resist a small smile beneath my disguise as I greeted her.
She looked like a lovely rose, waiting to be plucked . . .
Apparently thinking me completely distracted by his wife and her maid, his lordship chose that moment to attempt to abscond.
However, I quickly put him in his place with a sharp word and the threat of my trusty flintlock. Although I doubt he would have gotten far, considering how much the mud seemed to like his expensive footwear.
An ill-humoured Lord Rosemont fixed his eyes on the barrel of my pistol with a sour look and resigned himself to remaining at my mercy.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Mon Ange was enjoying the performance. There was a certain glimmer in those emerald eyes, in spite of her otherwise demure countenance.
I was so very happy to see her again.
Surely it was meant to be?
*~*~*~*
The rain had tapered off, but not before Horace’s peruke was quite ruined.
Panther had dismounted Rogue and relieved my husband of his valuables-a heavy gold ring of which he was particularly fond, an elegant and expensive snuff box, the bulging pouch of guineas he had tucked in a pocket inside his frock coat. And his best pocket watch.
“Well, what a fine timepiece. And it so happens, I am in need of a new watch. Many thanks, your lordship,” Panther said with a mock bow.
Brandishing a pair of manacles, he snapped them around Horace’s wrists with one hand whilst keeping his pistol trained on my husband.
“You may return to your carriage. I-wish to speak to the ladies now.”
Horace puffed out his chest and tried to look menacing. “Look here, you. You shall not lay a hand on my lady wife--”
Panther cut him off with a world-weary shake of his head. “I assure you, my lordship, I would never treat your lovely lady with anything but the utmost respect. Now-back into the coach you go, milord . . .”
The next thing I knew, Panther’s strong arms were lifting me in the air and sitting me sideways on his horse’s saddle.
But it was done in a most respectful manner, just as he promised.
“We can’t let those elegant slippers of your get ruined in this mud, milady,” he purred. Oh, he was definitely smiling now beneath that kerchief. I could see it in those eyes.
“May I see what is in that reticule you hold so tightly, my lady?”
I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on his, and held out my little purse.
His leather-clad fingers brushed mine as he took the reticule in his hands. Unclasping it, Panther looked inside, raising one dark brow as he studied the contents.
“Ah-I see you have a sentimental nature, my lady. Nothing here of value-except to the owner.” He spoke in an impersonal manner, giving a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.
Closing the reticule, he took my hand in his and pressed the purse into my palm with a bored little sigh.
His eyes-oh, those beautiful eyes!-told a different story, for I had seen the flicker of pleasured warmth in them as he discovered his pocket watch and well-worn note tucked inside my reticule.
“Indeed. They are of very great value to me, sir. Thank you for allowing me to keep them.” I kept my words measured and low, fearful my voice would break.
He tilted his head, knitted his brows and studied my face with such intensity I almost could not bear it.
“However-I feel I shall have to claim those lovely baubles hanging from your ears, milady. Will you remove them for me?”
I nodded mutely. Suspending my reticule from my arm, I reached up and unfastened the pearl and gold earrings I was wearing.
They were part of the family jewels Horace had given me, and quite pretty. But I was not sad to relinquish them to this glorious thief.
I placed them in the open palm of his gloved hand, my hand lingering just long enough to stroke the buttery soft leather with my fingertips. I imagined peeling the gloves from those hands, so strong and capable and yet, so elegant . . .
“Ah, and this ring. Quite handsome. I believe I shall take it as well.”
Panther’s gloved fingertip was tapping the third finger of my left hand now.
My eyes met his. I truly had to fight back the impulse to laugh.
You have already cuckolded Horace in his own house. Now you will steal this ring, too, my beautiful highwayman. Take it with my blessings.
Panther gently tugged the bridal ring from my finger, a lop-sided smile on his face, holding my hand a little longer than required to do the deed.
I felt a moue of disappointment when he finally pulled his hand away, but that quickly passed.
After tucking my jewellry into his pocket, Panther caught my hand in his own and brought it to his mouth, still hidden beneath the kerchief.
I felt the tip of his warm tongue trace over my knuckles before he took one of my fingers in his mouth and gently sucked it, never taking his eyes from mine, his actions hidden beneath the black silk.
I had to catch my breath as those pleasurable stirrings began again deep within me. It is a good thing I was seated as my knees might have buckled right under me.
From inside the coach, I could hear Horace muttering furiously over the loss of yet another valuable trinket to the audacious Panther.
My husband had already lost me; the day we buried my Alexander sealed that decision. But I am certain he would care not for his wife slipping through his fingers, except as his rightful possession.
Guy finally loosed my hand reluctantly, or so it seemed to me.
“My lady, I shall take no more of your pretty adornments. Although, in my eyes, you do not need them. Your beauty has graced this dismal day for me,” he murmured softly, admiration and desire in those clear eyes, and lifted me down from the horse as if I weighed no more than a stone or two.
He carried me back to the coach and helped me inside, where Amelia awaited, wide-eyed. Horace continued to fume in the corner, rattling his manacles with great irritation.
“I shall now bid you all adieu-mademoiselle, so charmante,” Guy said, lifting Amelia’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. Her thin cheeks flushed a deep pink.
“Madame et monsieur . . .”
“What? You can’t leave me--” Horace was blustering again, raising his manacled hands with an impotent glare.
“Apologies, your lordship. I shall leave a key with your coachmen. As soon as they manage to use it, I am sure they will come to your rescue, too. Again, goodbye. And good travels. It’s been a pleasure for the Panther to meet you . . .”
I imagined his white teeth flashing beneath that black kerchief as he shut the carriage door. We all listened as Rogue’s hoofbeats grew faint. I emitted a huge sigh and laid my head back against the seat. Amelia still looked stunned, but in a very happy way.
Horace, of course, began to bellow for the coachmen. As it turned out, they had been manacled together and were now struggling to free themselves courtesy of the key Panther had left for them.
You could not say it had been a dull journey thus far.
*~*~*~*
We finally reached our place of lodging for the night, a little later and poorer than planned, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
The Chartreuse Bastard was a large tavern and inn of good repute, Horace had said. After the rather eventful journey, we were all happy to reach our evening’s destination. Food, drink and comfortable beds were certainly in order (and a thorough cleaning of Horace’s mud-caked shoes by a maid-of-all-work).
Although I was not sure how well I would sleep. Or Amelia, for that matter.
My maid was still beside herself with excitement, chattering away as she helped me undress.
“Oh, my lady. Panther was everything yew said he was. So handsome--”
“Amelia. His face was covered. How do you know what he looked like?” I said, shaking my head.
Amelia’s grey eyes were shining. “Oh, my lady. The eyes alone . . . as if they could look right through yew. The way he--carried himself. Such a fine figure of a man. And I saw the way he looked at yew . . .”
Amelia gave a rather rapturous sigh as she sat down, lost in thought, clutching my nightgown to her bosom.
“You are quite the romantic at heart, dear Amelia. And-yes, he is a very fine figure of a man.” I sighed myself, a smile tugging at my mouth. “In every way. Now, may I have my nightgown?”
Amelia was still lost in her fanciful dreams.
“Do yew suppose you will see him again in London, my lady? P’rhaps in some sort of disguise? Oooh, wouldn’t that be excitin’?”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Amelia. Enough.” I extended my hand with a beseeching look.
“My nightgown, please.”
Finally, my maid was off to her cot downstairs and I was left with my own fanciful thoughts as I slid beneath the bed linens and put out the candle.
Of the look in Panther’s eyes when he discovered the contents of my reticule.
Of the intimate way he kissed my hand beneath his kerchief.
Of how safe I felt in a criminal’s arms.
I knew not quite who I was anymore. Only that something within me had changed.
I closed my eyes and prayed for good dreams.
*~*~*~*
I heard the door to my chamber at the Chartreuse Bastard open and shut and the sound of the key turning in the lock. I gave an inward sigh.
Of all nights for Horace to decide to demand his conjugal rights. His timing was, as ever, wretched.
Folding my arms across my stomach, I kept my eyes closed tightly, hoping to feign deep sleep.
I felt fingertips brush across my cheek, trace down my throat and then roam down to cup my breast through the material of my nightdress, the pad of the thumb teasing my nipple.
Horace had never touched me like that.
“Hello,Mon Ange.” I heard the deep, dark purr and felt fingers press against my lips. “Quiet, my darling girl, we do not want to wake anyone.”
I opened my eyes. A candle flickered by the bedside, illuminating the handsome features of my highwayman. He was seated there beside me on the bed, clad in snug doeskin breeches and a white linen shirt open at the throat.
A sight for sore eyes, indeed.
“Forgive me, Lizzie. But I could not resist coming to you to-night. When I saw you today, I realised just how very, very much I missed you . . .”
My dream lover had returned. Well, there were worse things of which I could dream.
“Guy--” I reached up and slid my fingers into his tousled hair, savouring its softness, and murmured with longing, “I just wish it could be true and you were really here.”
Kisses were pressed to my forehead, the tip of my nose and my cheeks as hands moved down my side, as fingers began to slide my nightclothes, baring my thighs.
A soft chuckle in my ear before a lick on the lobe.
“Oh, mon coeur, this is no dream. A certain Mr. Jasper paid one of the maids well to slip him the key to your chamber so that he might enjoy a tryst with the lovely Lady Rosemont. You see, Mr. Jasper is spending this night at the Chartreuse Bastard-with you.”
I smiled up at him, still half-drunk with sleep. “Mr. Jasper? Oh, that is-you . . .”
“Mais oui. I am known by many names, you see.”
He began to part my legs, pressing kisses up and down my thighs.
“But you, sweet Lizzie, are one of the few who know my true name.” He raised his head, tossing back his tumble of raven locks, and his smile was a sweet as an angel’s and as seductive as the devil himself.
“We share secrets . . .”
I shook my head a little, halfway in bliss and halfway in disbelief.
“Guy. Do two things for me. First--bite me-just a little.”
He raised one dark brow and shrugged his broad shoulders. “As you wish, Lizzie.”
He unbuttoned the front of my nightdress, smiling down into my eyes as he bared my breasts. Slowly, he leaned down and took my hardening peak in his mouth, suckling it and then, suddenly, nipping it sharply with those white teeth.
“Owwww,” I cried out. Guy looked quite contrite even as he pressed his fingers to my mouth.
“Shhhh. You did ask me to bite you, mon coeur . . .”
“I--I know,” I said, entwining my fingers with his, relishing their warmth and strength.
“I just wanted to make sure I was really awake and you were really, truly here, Guy.”
He laughed low, one of those dark, delicious laughs, and began to remove his shirt.
“Oh, yes. I am truly here, and I would much rather prove it in ways that will bring you pleasure and not pain . . .”
I caught a glimpse of that muscular chest, the patch of dark curly hair at the base of his long white throat; the enticing rosy nipples and the planes of his taut stomach. My eyes wandered down to the prominent bulge in those skin-tight breeches, and I expelled a breath as he lowered his head again.
“And the second thing you can do, Guy--”
He paused a moment whilst nuzzling my neck.
“Yes, my lady?” Guy purred.
“Call me Mon Ange. That is, if you wish to make ardent love to me.”
There was a growl deep in his throat. Guy raised his head and looked into my eyes, his own orbs turned black with desire.
“There is nothing-nothing-I want more.” His lips curved into a lustful, teasing smile. “Mon Ange . . .”
The next moments were a blur as I eagerly helped him unfasten his breeches and peel them from his body, and he just as eagerly aided me in casting my nightdress aside.
Guy stretched himself over my naked body, his hands holding down my hands, his strong, lean thighs wrapped around my legs, his mouth and tongue-everywhere, kissing me, suckling me, laving me until I could bear it no longer and begged for him to enter me.
“Mais oui, Mon Ange, mais oui.” His voice was filled with the breathless urgency that I felt.
And then he was inside me again, filling me up with powerful, pounding thrusts. I looked up into his face, those beautiful dark lashes grazing his flushed cheeks, his soft lips forming an “O” as he panted above me.
My fingers tangled in his silky black hair as I wrapped my legs around Guy and moved in tandem with him, my big, sleek, hungry panther . . .
*~*~*~*
She was bewitching to me, my Protectress. So hungry for me, as I was for her. I had not been able to stop thinking about her ever since that night at Algernon Hall, and now she was mine again.
Her glittering eyes were heavy-lidded; her lips, as red as cherries, without need of artifice. She had come alive for me before, that sad little spectre, on that first night together.
Now, she was a veritable tigress, thrusting up against me eagerly, her fingernails raking over my bare skin, taking my tongue into her mouth and suckling it, pulling my head down to her breasts so that I could lave her sweet nipples.
“Please-Guy. Come inside me,” she pleaded in a husky whisper.
I was only too eager to oblige. Her cunny was so warm and wet, so welcoming to my cock. I groaned as I filled her up, moving slowly at first, and then more and more quickly into her.
I felt her body began to shudder beneath me, her eyes closing, and then opening again as she gasped, her hands clenching my hair. I knew she was on the brink . . .
I sat back on my haunches, pulling her up into my lap, still thrusting up into her as she wrapped her legs around my hips. I watched as she came, her ripe lips parting in a blissful smile, her head tipping back as she gave a low moan of pleasure.
“Mon Ange, Mon Ange,” I crooned her name as I paused for a moment, cupping her sweet face in my hands, looking into those darkened eyes, pressing kisses to her mouth, her throat, her breasts.
I began to move again inside her, my urgency building, my body aching for that exquisite relief she would bring to me.
I had reminded her to stay quiet. But it was I who was forced to clench my teeth to keep from roaring and waking the entire inn as I took my own pleasure that night . . .
Later, as we lay entwined in each other’s arms, I felt an odd pang in the vicinity of my heart.
Why did the coupling-no, the lovemaking--feel so-different, so special with Lizzie?
I have said I love women, and I do. But I had never been in love before. Lust, infatuation, flirtation, oh yes. Many times.
Was I falling in love?
It was a most curious and slightly unsettling sensation.
*~*~*~*