Page 27 of The Irish Gypsy
After a week in bed her strength came back. Charles found a tutor for Charles Patrick, and the boy took an immediate liking to him.
"Charles,"
Kitty said.
"Mr. Bromley is a lovely young man; he's so easy to talk to."
"Yes, he fits in well. Patrick recommended him,"
he said offhandedly.
"Dammit all, does he have to meddle in our lives?"
she stormed.
"Why, darling, we never see him."
He smiled indulgently.
"However, I'm well aware you jar on each other's nerves. The air fairly bristles whenever you come face to face."
The following week she and Charles were just coming out of Humphrey's Print Shop when she spotted Patrick with an entirely different woman on his arm. She quickly took Charles Patrick's hand and crossed to the other side of the street.
"Kathleen, that was Patrick. You just cut him dead!"
said Charles.
"What do you expect when he's out with one of his whores?"
she demanded hotly.
"Sssh,"
Charles cautioned as he looked askance at the boy.
The following week, when young Charles was out with his tutor, Patrick was delighted to run into the boy. He eagerly scanned the dark head and handsome features of his son. Young Charles' friendly curiosity got the better of him as he eyed the young woman with Patrick.
"You must be one of Patrick's whores!"
Mr. Bromley was aghast.
"Forgive him, sir; he has no idea what the word means."
"But that's what my mother called her,"
protested Charlie.
Patrick was at pains to calm the woman. She was incensed, for that's exactly what she was.
As collector of customs for the Port of London, Charles was kept busy. Kitty was so proud of his achievements, but the extra work load kept him away from home long hours, and he traveled constantly among ports.
Kitty knew a great restlessness within her. When she saw Julia, she invited her to come out of London for the hot months.
"I'm planning to go to my country place in Kent. We could ride every day, and why don't you bring young Jeffrey along? The boys would be great company for each other,"
enthused Kitty.
"Are you mad? What would I do in the country? I spent too many years in the backwaters of Bolton. London is my whole life. You go and become a rustic if you wish, but for God's sake leave me out of your plans."
Kitty laughed.
"You make it sound so boring, but it's the loveliest place in the world, except for Ireland, of course."
"Ireland!"
Julia said with a shudder.
"How about Barbara, then? Do you think she will come?"
"Barbara's off visiting a friend in Cornwall or somewhere. I can't keep track of her these days."
When Kitty returned at the end of August, Julia lost no time coming around for afternoon tea.
"You look disgustingly domesticated,"
she told Kitty.
"Bring me up to date with what's happening in town,"
said Kitty.
"Well, let me see,"
Julia said thoughtfully.
"Oh, yes, the Duchess of Marlborough is entertaining next week. Have you ever been to Marlborough House in Pall Mall? I'm having the most expensive gown made. Oh, yes, and bye the bye, Patrick has a new interest."
"Just one of his flirts,"
said Kitty lightly.
"Ah, there I beg to differ. This isn't one of his whores. On the contrary, quite a respectable young woman, from what I've seen. I do hope something comes of it; he should have been married years ago."
"Who is she?"
asked Kitty, feeling a sickness begin in the pit of her stomach.
"Oh, lady somebody or other. He was after some land in Ireland her father owned or something. He doesn't discuss his business with me, you know. Now, what will you be wearing to Marlborough House?"
asked Julia avidly.
Later that day Kitty visited her friend Lady Derby and casually brought the conversation around to Patrick.
"Who's this woman I've heard so much about?"
"Oh, you mean Lady Patricia Cavendish?"
Kitty laughed lightly.
"Determined to get her hooks into him, is she?"
"Oh, she isn't like that, Kitty. She's a lovely young woman, very well bred. You should see her clothes. I'd love to know who does them for her."
"Showy female, is she?"
asked Kitty, growing angry in spite of herself.
"I certainly wouldn't describe her as showy. Everything she wears is in exquisite taste, you know what I mean. Simple, quiet good taste."
Dammit, what's that supposed to mean? That I'm too flamboyant? Well, you've seen nothing yet!
Kitty pored over sketches at the dressmakers' in Bond Street the following day.
"No, no, that's so old-fashioned, my grandmother wouldn't be caught in it,"
Kitty told the Frenchwoman.
"Perhaps this one, your Grace. The crinoline has a full seventeen yards in it."
"That's the whole point; I heard the crinoline was on its way out,"
said Kitty.
"Well, not exactly, but I do have the latest design from Paris. It is called the bustle. Very outré; the material fits the contour of the body and is gathered behind into the bustle."
Kitty's eyes opened wide as she looked at the sketch. "Oh, yes,"
she breathed. The shop boasted taffetas, moirés and brocades in shades from apricot through amber, lemon to primrose and coral to chartreuse. The moment Kitty spied it, she knew that was the shade that would do the most for her dark coloring. It was a turquoise as brilliant as the South Seas that caressed the white, sandy beaches. She stood absolutely still while the material was draped about her.
"I want the skirt tighter," she said.
The seamstress smoothed it across her hips.
"But Your Grace, if I make it tighter, you cannot walk."
"Put a slit up the back,"
said Kitty recklessly.
"Now the neckline needs to be lowered three more inches and we'll have a creation worthy of you, madame."
The woman shook her head but pinned the neckline lower as Kitty asked.
"I hate being conventional in my clothes. I like to set my own style. See this black velvet? I've always wanted a pair of riding britches made out of such material. I could wear boy's britches, but they are unfeminine. Now, if you fit the velvet across the rounded contours of my derriere, I think it would be most fetching! Make me up a pair; I have a fancy for them."
The woman knew immediately she was setting the trap for some man, so when Kitty glanced at the nightgowns, she knew instinctively what to suggest. It was a sheer wisp of gossamer embroidered with forget-me-nots.
On the day of the ball, Kitty luxuriated in the bath for more than an hour, then oiled, perfumed, powdered and painted. Her curls were swept up to match the bustle with one or two artfully arranged in playful disarray. The only jewelry she wore were earrings--aquamarines encrusted with diamonds. Her tiny whalebone corset was laced so tightly that when she put on the gown her breasts swelled over the top like delicious melons. She put on her high heels and practiced walking and turning a full half hour before she felt confident to handle the new tight gown.
Charles came in.
"You look magnificent! Now I'm sorry I won't be there to see their faces when you walk in."
"There's still time to change your mind,"
she urged.
"No, no, I'm off to Southampton tomorrow and I've dozens of customs documents to look over. Off you go; have a happy time. Enjoy, enjoy!"
he admonished.
At Marlborough House, Kitty was on pins and needles in case Patrick didn't show up. She caused quite a stir among the guests but seemed hardly aware of the cold glances from the women or the hot ones from the men. She spotted him arriving and immediately relaxed and started to enjoy herself. One glance at the woman next to him told her that this was the paragon of breeding, Lady Patricia Cavendish. Kitty smiled up at Lord Palmerston, who immediately responded by asking her to dance.
"Is Charles not here this evening? Then I shall take advantage of you,"
he promised suggestively.
Patrick's eyes were drawn to her like a magnet. He held his breath. Each time she turned in the waltz he thought her breasts would come out of her gown! Without hesitation he strode across the dance floor and cut in on the older man.
"That took a great deal of courage, to steal me from the Prime Minister,"
she said prettily.
"He's a known womanizer and a lecher,"
he said bluntly.
"Will I be safer with you?"
she teased.
Anger and lust raged a battle within him, but lust was winning as he feasted his eyes upon her as a man starving. As the music finished he released her reluctantly. Kitty eyed the serene young woman who came to stand by him. Kitty's eyes took in the expensive eggshell satin with the modest neckline and the gentle face devoid of any makeup.
"Patrick thinks he has to protect me, but I could give lessons in how to handle men,"
Kitty said provocatively.
"I always know exactly what effect I'm having on them,"
and she cast a deliberate, sideways glance at the bulge between his legs. Patrick's eyes narrowed dangerously, but she ignored the warning.
"I hear you are looking for land in Ireland, Patrick. I have an estate there I might be persuaded to sell. Why don't we go over next week and I'll show it to you?"
Well, I'll be damned, thought Patrick, she's seducing me, right here in public. He responded eagerly as his warm glance held her possessively.
"I'd love to see anything you'd care to show me."
"Good! Shall we say next Wednesday? I'll drop you a note giving directions to Windrush."
"Will we travel across together? My ship is anchored at Liverpool."
"I don't think so. I'll be waiting for you when you arrive,"
she told him.
Patricia Cavendish accepted an offer to dance. The moment she moved away, Patrick put his finger under Kitty's chin and grinned down at her wickedly.
"She wasn't any competition for you, kitten; we were just friends."
"Ha!"
said Kitty as she swept past him regally, her mission accomplished.
Kitty brushed aside Mimi's offer to accompany her to Ireland.
"No, no, I'd rather you stayed with Charles Patrick. It's just a whim so see Windrush again in the autumn."
Charles overheard them from the next room.
"Irish people get very, very homesick,"
he told Mimi.
Kitty refused to entertain the guilty feelings that threatened to trap her. She pushed them out of her mind and admitted to herself she was as excited as a child at the thought of Christmas.
She arrived on Tuesday. It had rained in the morning, but the afternoon sun mellowed the bricks of Windrush to a misty rose. She knew she'd never get enough of the place as she opened her own front door and carried her valise inside. She heard a girl's footsteps running to see who had arrived and looked up expecting to see a maid.
"Barbara! Oh, my God, you haven't?"
Kitty asked, dismayed.
"I'm afraid I have,"
she said, glancing over her shoulder as Terry came up behind her.
"Have you been here all those months you were supposed to be in Cornwall?"
"She has,"
answered Terry, slipping his arms about Barbara and nuzzling her neck.
"You know who'll get the blame for this bloody lot, don't you? Me, that's who!"
Kitty shouted.
"Blame?"
said Terry, puzzled.
"Patrick's coming tomorrow. How the hell do I keep him from finding out?"
she demanded.
Barbara giggled.
"Take him to bed as soon as he arrives and keep him there."
"Barbara!"
cried Kitty, thoroughly shocked.
"To hell with it,"
said Terry.
"I'm tired of sneaking about. We might as well have it out."
"Well, thank you both very much!"
she said with arms akimbo.
"I plan a secret little tryst and in its stead I get a big stinking family fight!"
Barbara ran to her.
"I'm sorry, Kitty."
"Oh, so am I. I love you both very much and I understand that you fell in love almost the first time you saw each other, but coming here and sleeping with him--my God, Patrick will run mad!"
She took off her hat and coat and sat before the kitchen fire, planning strategy.
"You can come and go as you please today, Barbara, but tomorrow I want you out of sight completely. I expect him in the afternoon, and you will dine with us, Terrance, and entertain him tomorrow evening."
"But he'll want to be alone with you,"
protested Barbara.
"Precisely! Here's lesson Number One, my girl; you don't give a man everything he wants. Where are you sleeping?"
"In the west wing, right above this kitchen, I think,"
said Terry.
"Oh, that's good. The two large bedrooms at the front are far enough away; we'll use those."
"I don't think Patrick will stand for separate bedrooms,"
said Terry, winking.
"You just let me handle Patrick if you know what's good for you. Now, is everything clear? Tomorrow Barbara becomes invisible and you help me entertain our guest. He's coming here to buy Windrush."
"What a bloody charade; you wouldn't sell the place if you were down to your last penny!"
"You keep a civil tongue in your head and go along with whatever I tell him. You're both going to need someone on your side when your little bubble bursts, speaking of charades,"
she said sarcastically.
"Where are the servants? I hope everything is being run properly around here."
"Stop worrying, Kitty. The household runs as smooth as glass. They aren't in evidence because we like to be alone."
"I want to speak to the manservant. Call what's his name, Mr. Burke! How could I have forgotten after that day last year when I fired the housekeeper and put Mr. Burke in charge?"
She picked up her overnight case and went in search of the man. He was warm and friendly.
"Welcome home, ma'am."
"Thank you, Mr. Burke. I'm expecting a gentleman tomorrow. Will you help me get everything ready? You were such a help to me when I was nursing my grandfather."
"It will be my pleasure, ma'am."
She headed toward the stairs.
"We'll use the two large bedrooms at the front of the house."
He opened the door to the first room and they both went inside.
"It's a beautiful room; a welcoming room. Will you see that someone builds me a fire? You needn't light the one next door until tomorrow."
She went to the door that connected the two bedrooms, opened it wide and stepped through to look about with satisfaction.
"Let me see; I want you to bring a decanter of brandy and glasses. He smokes, so you'd better find some ashtrays. When he arrives, make sure there's plenty of hot water for a bath. And I think he shaves twice a day, so he'll need hot water again at night."
She walked back into her own room.
"Make sure the beds are aired. Oh, yes, the most important thing of all, Mr. Burke. I'd like a key for this connecting door so that I can lock it."
"I'll send a maid for some towels, ma'am."
"Mr. Burke, I want you to keep the maids busy downstairs. I see none in evidence at the moment, but once Mr. O'Reilly comes through that front doorway, I have an idea they'll be thick as moths around a candle. I'm up on all their little tricks, Mr. Burke. I used to be a maid myself."
"An attractive gentleman, I take it?"
he asked with a straight face.
"Mr. Burke, he'd charm the ducks off the pond,"
she said and smiled.
"I'll get you that key,"
he said with a twinkle in his eye.
When he returned with the brandy, he lit her fire. She was looking from the tall bedroom windows over the green paddocks where horses grazed lazily.
"I love Windrush. It's so peaceful. Does everything run as smoothly as it seems on the surface?"
"Just like clockwork. Terrance runs everything outside and I run everything inside. Smooth as glass."
"Really? You can expect some ripples then, Mr. Burke. The gentleman I'm expecting is Miss Barbara's brother."
"Oh, dear. I take it he is in ignorance of the situation?" he asked.
She nodded.
"And I intend to keep him in ignorance as long as it's humanly possible."
"I see. I believe we have some Irish whiskey in the cellar, ma'am."
"I think the brandy will do nicely, Mr. Burke. I don't want to render him unconscious."
"I see, madame,"
he said solemnly.
"I'm sure you do, Mr. Burke,"
she said saucily, and turned the key that locked the connecting door and slipped it into her pocket.
The next morning Kitty was up with the larks, singing and humming happily. She decided to pick some flowers. She chose a mass of Michaelmas daisies for Patrick's room and some late-blooming roses for her own. They filled the air with a heady fragrance. After lunch she put on the black velvet riding pants and went down to the stables.
"I'd like to ride. Which one would be best?"
she asked Terry. He cast her an amused glance. Poor Patrick didn't stand a chance against the little witch.
"Most of the mares are in foal. You can take Lady Jane here; I don't think she caught the last time I put her to stud. I'll saddle her up for you, but don't go too far. I don't want to get stuck with Patrick."
"I'll watch for him, but remember I expect your company at dinner. I want you to stick like glue even if he tries to get rid of you!"
she admonished.
Kitty returned from her ride feeling more alive than she had in years. The breeze had brought the roses into her cheeks and her hair billowed about her shoulders in wild disarray. She trotted along the fence of the paddock. The horse inside snorted wildly and reared into the air. This sleek black stallion was Terry's pride and joy and obviously there was something wrong. She dismounted quickly and looped the reins over her arm. The stallion's eyes rolled wildly and his scream rent the air. She ran toward the gate and lifted the wood.
"Kitty, no!"
a voice thundered. Patrick's hand shot past her and slammed the wood home in the gate. A stableman ran up to them and took away the horse that Kitty had been riding. She looked up at Patrick in confusion.
"The stallion wanted to mount the mare. He would have trampled anything that stood in his way."
Terry came running.
"Is she all right? By God, Patrick, I'd no idea she was so ignorant."
The moment of danger was forgotten as Patrick drank in the sight of her.
Terry hid a smile as he wondered how many seconds would elapse before Patrick would have his hands on her.
"Welcome to Windrush,"
breathed Kitty.
The cooling breeze rustled her silk shirt, and her nipples stood out in clear relief. Patrick's hand stole to her waist and his fingers immediately discerned that she was indeed naked beneath the silk. Terry turned half away, pretending to be unaware of the byplay that was going on.
Kitty easily slipped out of Patrick's grasp and took Terry's arm.
"Let's take Patrick up to the house and get him settled."
Patrick said quickly.
"We're taking him away from his work, Kitty."
"Nonsense! He's never too busy to welcome a guest,"
she assured him.
Patrick gave Terry a warning glance, but Terry shrugged helplessly.
"Windrush will steal your heart; you'll never want to leave. Don't you love it?"
she asked.
"Yes, it's beautiful,"
he said, never taking his eyes from her.
"Shall I ring for some tea?"
she asked brightly as they entered the house.
The look of dismay that came over the men's faces as the thought of sitting through afternoon tea filled her with amusement.
"How silly of me,"
she relented.
"You'd probably much rather have a drink up in your room."
His eyes burned into hers until she lowered her lashes.
"Mr. Burke,"
Kitty called out to the hovering servant.
"please take Mr. O'Reilly's bags up to his room."
Terry watched her lead Patrick on and hoped she realized Patrick wasn't one to follow, but would seize command at the first opportunity. Mr. Burke led the procession and Kitty followed. Patrick, coming up behind her on the staircase, could control his actions no longer. He reached out and caressed her bottom.
She remonstrated.
"You trespass, sir!"
"Then lead us not into temptation,"
he said irreverently.
Mr. Burke set the bags down and tended the fire. Kitty splashed brandy into a glass and handed it to Patrick. He sipped it impatiently, waiting for the servant to leave, while the heat of his eyes roamed over her figure and came to rest hungrily on her mouth. The servant turned from the fire to leave.
Quickly Kitty said.
"Wait, Mr. Burke, I'll come with you. I must see about dinner."
"Dinner?"
Patrick said blankly.
"Of course, dinner,"
said Kitty innocently.
"You didn't think you'd retired for the night, did you?"
Mr. Burke went through the door, but it was swiftly closed before Kitty could follow him. Patrick's body came full up against hers as he flattened her against the door. His voice came raggedly.
"Oh, God, don't play games with me."
His mouth came down on hers in a heated, crushing demand. The ache of passion so long denied rose up in her until she was ready to yield to him.
Then suddenly Mr. Burke was back at the door.
"I brought hot water for your bath, sir."
"Damn,"
swore Patrick angrily.
She slipped from his embrace.
"The hot water will ease away your stiffness,"
she said outrageously.
He leaned against the closed door in agony. The craving hunger gnawed at the pit of his belly. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Would he never be able to master the physical effect she always provoked in him?
The dinner was a simple affair suited to a man's taste. The broiled beefsteak and vegetables were followed by a fruit pie and cream. If Patrick had been questioned about it, he could not have recalled what he had eaten. All he tasted was Kitty.
They dined at a small table in a cozy room off the main dining room.
She poured both men a brandy after the meal and when Patrick took out a long, slim cheroot, she bent toward him intimately to light it.
His fingers covered hers to steady the light, and his eyes met hers with an intensity that took her breath away.
Terry nudged her under the table. She was enjoying this small cruelty she was inflicting on them both. She yawned delicately.
"I'm sure Patrick must have a thousand questions he wants to ask you about Windrush, Terry, so I'll leave you to your brandy and cigars."
Terry looked angry enough to kill and Patrick's brow lowered dangerously.
"I'll say goodnight."
She arose.
"Oh, Patrick, I'm in the room next to yours if there's anything you desire."
He choked on the brandy.
She moved swiftly, knowing it would be only minutes before each sought an excuse to retire.
She closed the long drapes over the windows and poked the fire until it blazed high.
By the time she hung her clothes in the wardrobe, she could hear Patrick moving about in his room.
She took out the sheer nightgown and slipped it over her head.
Her pulse raced madly as she heard Patrick's footsteps come to the connecting door.
She brushed out her hair and in a few minutes she heard him come again to the door.
This time he turned the knob.
Silence.
She shivered at the thought of his touch.
"Kitten,"
he called softly through the door.
She held her breath.
Her eyes widened as she realized this was the room she'd dreamed of long ago.
Now she knew why she was goading him to break down the door.
She wanted him to fulfill all her dreams and fantasies.
The door gave way under a resounding crash.
He was prepared to do battle, but his anger melted away like snow in summer as the impact of her lithe body assaulted his senses.
As he advanced into the room the fire in his blood throbbed along his veins, and his eyes blazed as they noted that the nightgown had flower petals embroidered on the breasts, and the centers of the flowers were her pink nipples, provocatively exposed.
He crushed her in his embrace, held her away to gaze down at her in wonder, then took her inside his robe.
The shock of his lean, hard, naked body against hers made her cry out.
Her legs trembled beneath her.
As she leaned against him for support, he gathered her up and took her to the bed.
Love words tumbled from his lips and he was astounded to discover she must have hungered for him every bit as much as he had hungered for her.
Her response was eager and hot.
She obeyed his demands implicitly, but he was delighted when she made demands of her own.
Her cries shattered the stillness of the house as he entered her, swollen to the full with passion.
Beginning slowly, his movements built to a silken rhythm that carried them both higher and higher in pleasure until Kitty thought she could bear it no longer.
She bit his shoulder and he groaned aloud, but he hadn't even felt her bites.
He shuddered as a crescendo exploded, and then he felt her implosion draw the nectar of love from his shaft.
"I didn't know it could be like that,"
he whispered in awe.
Her face was wet with tears. Her release had been so great, a sob shuddered through her whole body.
"My God, we can't go on like this, Kitty. It's killing us both. You've got to leave him. I won't live without you any longer."
"Oh, please, darling, our time is so short, so precious, we mustn't waste it with angry words."
"I'll leave it for now, but it's something you are going to have to face up to,"
he said with finality.
Just before dawn, Patrick stirred.
He marveled at finding his love in his arms.
He looked his fill at the lovely face.
Black crescent lashes lay still on her cheeks, her hair fanned out across the pillow.
This was what he missed most--the luxury of awakening in each other's arms, the intimate, peaceful moments of the early morning before the world intruded.
It was not just the lovemaking he wanted.
He wanted it all; to share the same bed until morning, to spend days in close companionship, to watch their son grow, to have more children.
She stirred and moved closer.
He whispered softly and cuddled her close.
She snuggled into the crook of his arm, laying her cheek against the dark mat of his chest, and he touched her temple with soft whisper kisses.
She drifted back into slumber, sensing the safe watch he would keep over her.
He tried to sleep, but as his senses stirred, the familiar ache started in his loins.
He controlled himself for over an hour; then, just as he could stand it no longer, he looked down at her still face.
It was sweet torture, but he couldn't bear to disturb her.
Very gently he arose from the bed and crossed to his own room.
He gazed out the windows across the beautiful meadows below him.
His heart sang; he could never recall feeling such elation.
He heard the household begin to come to life.
He slipped on his pants just as he heard a low knock on the outer door.
He quickly rumpled the unused bed as a voice said.
"Your hot water, sir."
Patrick called.
"Come in, Mr. Burke. Thank you. I hope you haven't been kept waiting; I overslept this morning."
Patrick scrutinized his demeanor and was satisfied that the man didn't suspect a thing.
"Terrance probably is wondering where I've gotten to. Tell him I'll be down directly."
"No need to rush, sir; Master Terrance hasn't gone downstairs yet."
"Really?"
asked Patrick, surprised.
The servant closed the door, and Patrick turned to the mirror to shave. He was momentarily dismayed to see the tiny crescent bruises that ran across his chest to his shoulder. The teeth marks had been clearly visible to Mr. Burke. Patrick grinned shamelessly. How did the fellow keep a straight face? he wondered.
He went back to Kitty's room and sat on the edge of the bed. She stretched luxuriously and lifted her arms around his neck.
"Mmmm, you're already bathed and shaved."
"I should hope so; it's after ten,"
he said and smiled. They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, trying to find words to convey their pleasure.
"When you came through that door last night, you looked like a stallion who would trample anything in his way."
Patrick was entranced with her.
"Your cries of delight while having your pleasure last night must have awakened the household. I hope Terry's room isn't too close to this one,"
he said and laughed.
She giggled.
"No, he's in the west wing."
"Good. I'll just go over there and drag him out of bed. Do you realize he isn't up yet?"
It took a minute before his intention was clear to her, but by then, Patrick was already through the doorway. She jumped from the bed and threw on his robe.
"No, wait, Patrick don't!"
she cried.
She followed his quick strides down the hallway and across the landing.
Patrick threw open the chamber door and stopped dead on the threshold. The startled young couple sat up in bed, their nakedness forgotten. A stool crashed savagely into the far wall as Patrick exploded.
"What in Christ's name is going on here?"
His face was murderous.
"You dare to use my sister for your whore?"
he thundered.
Terrance shot naked from the bed.
"You dared use mine!"
The words incensed Patrick to an even greater rage, while Kitty stood helplessly behind him.
"You young bastard, I'll kill you,"
spat Patrick.
Terrance was just as angry.
"Don't you think I've begged her over and over to marry me? But because of you, you bloody tyrant, she refuses. She's afraid of you; everyone's afraid of you!"
shouted Terry.
"By Christ, you don't seem to be!"
Patrick blazed.
"I won't see our whole lives ruined by our being kept apart!"
shouted Terry.
"Your whole lives?"
sneered Patrick.
"My heart bleeds for you! How old are the pair of you? Nineteen? Twenty? I'm past thirty. My life should be settled, but I'm denied a wife, I'm denied the pleasure of watching my own son grow up. The pair of you make me sick!"
He turned from the naked couple, struggling with his anger. His eyes swept over Kitty.
"Cover yourself," he demanded savagely, as he stalked from the room.
Barbara pleaded.
"Kitty, go after him."
"Are you insane? He's trying to control a black rage. I wouldn't dare to go near him."
Barbara reached with trembling fingers for her nightgown.
"I must have been blind not to know Charles Patrick was my brother's child. I'm sorry, Kitty."
"We've all made a mess of things,"
said Terry ruefully, his anger dissolving.
Patrick was gone most of the day. At teatime Kitty bade Barbara eat something.
"Come, you've had nothing all day. Join me now, for I certainly don't intend for the four of us to dine together this evening."
"Patrick's back. He and Terry have had their heads together, but Patrick didn't even have a look for me,"
said Barbara.
"Naturally! Women must be punished. We must be kept in our place for fear we might invade the men's territory. So he'll ignore you, but by God he won't ignore me! Now eat up and then make yourself scarce. Men are very prickly where their sisters are concerned. The state of their own morals has absolutely nothing to do with it."
Patrick dined alone. The thought of a conspiracy which perhaps Kitty had authored still rankled, but the thought of her hiding in her room annoyed him. He wasted no time on brandy and cigars, but went upstairs immediately after dinner. He gave a low knock on her door and entered. She wasn't there. Perplexed for a moment, he went through to his own chamber. She was in his bed! His lips twitched, but he was silent. He undressed leisurely, taking all the time in the world, but there was no movement from the bed. Finally he got into bed and lay with his hands clasped behind his head. After all this time he knew she never would make the first move.
"You are the most provoking wench! You crawl into my bed so I can't ignore you, then do your damndest to ignore me. Feigning sleep will do you no good whatsoever, Kitty."
In a flash he lifted her on top of him. Her eyes shot open and she tried to roll away but he held her firmly pressed against the length of him. His hands slipped up the backs of her legs under her nightgown. When they reached her hips, he clamped her firmly to him, ensuring any wriggling on her part would only bring added pleasure.
"What about Barbara and Terry?"
she asked faintly.
"To hell with them,"
he said.
"What about Patrick and Kitty?"
She giggled.
"There's no hope for Barbara, anyway. Once you've bedded with a Gypsy, no other mate is wild enough for you,"
he teased.
"Oh, really? And what about the O'Reilly blood? I'd say it's too hot to be considered normal,"
she said and laughed.
"Would you?"
he sounded most pleased.
"Are you going to use your nails and teeth on me again, you little witch?"
"That just proves I'm more passionate than you,"
she provoked.
"Is that what biting proves?"
he asked and promptly took her nipple into his mouth. She screamed in mock terror.
After their desires had been sated, she stretched against him like a cat.
He whispered erotically.
"When I give you cream, you purr."
She sat up and threw the covers back.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Going back to my own bed. We can't have the servants find me in here."
"Get back into bed. Now lie down,"
he commanded.
"An hour is no good to me; I'm going to keep you abed for a week."
When they arose the next morning, Kitty discovered the young pair had left. She puzzled over their whereabouts, hoping Patrick's temper hadn't driven them away.
Kitty had horses saddled for Patrick and herself and they rode about the estate; she dreamy-eyed and languid, he bound by the spell of her beauty.
"This must be one of the most beautiful places on earth. You know I never could buy it from you," he said.
"I don't want it to be yours, nor mine; it's ours. Ours to share forever,"
she said wistfully.
When the evening closed in and darkness descended, Kitty peered out the window for signs of the missing pair. Patrick had disappeared into the kitchen an hour past. All of a sudden the door burst open and a radiant Barbara announced.
"We were married!"
"How? Where?"
asked Kitty, completely taken by surprise.
"Patrick arranged a special license for us,"
said Terry.
"The four of us are going to have a wedding celebration!"
shouted Patrick, coming through the door with a bottle of champagne in each hand.
"Where in the world did you conjure that from?"
asked Kitty, amazed.
"Didn't I tell you last night I could perform tricks that would leave you breathless?"
He winked.
She blushed at his meaning.
Terry laughed.
"What's a wedding without a coarse jest or two?"
Patrick shouted.
"Did you hear the one about the duchess who...."
"Enough of that, you rogue!"
screeched Kitty, throwing a cushion at him.
The wedding supper was a delightfully happy time, with toast after toast being drunk to the newlyweds.
Much later, in love's afterglow as Patrick caressed the silken curve of her back, he said.
"God, how I envy them! I'm going to go to Charles when we get back and ask him to release you."
"No, Patrick you mustn't!"
she cried.
"Promise me you won't! If you love me, you won't!"
"You seek to tie me hand and foot. Don't you understand I want all or nothing?"
he demanded.
"Promise me!"
she insisted.
He groaned.
"I promise not to confront him, but I'll do everything in my power to separate you from him and bind you closer to me."
He crushed her in a demanding embrace.
Patrick swept the covers from her and knelt above her in a towering passion. His face was hard and dark, his eyes stained with desire.
"Lord God, how I'm going to make you quiver," he vowed.
His tongue anointed her from throat to thigh, every silken inch, every secret cleft, until Kitty lay in a love-drunk sprawl.
"I'd love to do these wicked things to you if it weren't so wrong,"
she breathed huskily.
He murmured open-mouthed against the soft inside of her thigh.
"When we share a bed there is no such thing as wrong, no such thing as sin, no such thing as forbidden."
He drew her hand to his shaft to show her the enormous effect she had on him. Her fingertips brushed across the velvet head, drawing forth a drop of liquid love juice.
Kitty knew an overwhelming desire to taste him. She raised her fingertips to her lips and sucked the taste of him from them. It was a mix of salt, spice and smoke, all heavily scented with pure male animal. Without coherent thought she slid down his body and drew him whole into her hot, wet mouth.
Patrick's cry echoed round the bedchamber and she knew an insatiable need to hear the dark, hoarse, intimate sounds again. Patrick was determined not to waste his seed in such a frivolous way. He pushed her back down on the bed and entered her with a thrust that sent him deeper than he'd ever been before. As he felt his seed start he groaned.
"You know I cannot give you up now. Not even if you beg me."
As his white-hot life poured into her, she was too far gone in rapture to even hear him.
Their time together was over. Kitty lay cradled in his arms inside the coach. They were traveling to the coast together, but she insisted on taking the public ferry back to Liverpool.
"Give me time?"
she begged with tears in her eyes.
He kissed her temple and murmured:
"Tonight I am coming
To visit you in your dream
And none will see and question me--
Be sure to leave your door unlocked!"
She surrendered her mouth to his, half faint with the thought of separation.
"I feel I am dying of love," she wept.
"I have the cure,"
he promised. He opened the window and called to the driver.
"Stop at the next inn. My lady is ill and in need of attention."
The couple who kept the inn were consumed by curiosity when the well-dressed gentleman swept in with a woman in his arms and demanded their best bedroom. They spent the next three hours conjecturing what was happening above-stairs.