Page 31

“F orgive me, my sweet. That was Phillips, locking the door on us. The man is somewhat deaf. You’re stuck with me for tonight.”

“Oh.”

Belinda wished she’d sounded more disappointed—shocked, even.

But she was completely distracted by the sight of Piers, standing by the door wearing what could only be described as a thoroughly masculine costume.

Nothing proclaimed manhood more than the stuffed codpiece over the closure of his breeches, or hose, as she assumed she must call them.

Piers was wearing a Shakespearian costume, for she’d seen such things at the theater.

Glancing down at herself, now that she was out of the shadowed protection of the screen, she discovered that she, too, was dressed in Elizabethan clothes. The silk-covered bodice cinched in her waist and pushed up her breasts, leaving pleats of material to exaggerate the width of her hips.

But Piers was a far more interesting spectacle.

She was trying to look at his face, but her gaze kept shifting downwards.

Hopefully, he’d put the fiery glow in her cheeks down to her having rubbed them dry on a linen petticoat.

Whether he’d put the sparkle in her eye down to the same thing was another matter.

“Locked in, you say?” Her eyes raked his person again, and he looked down at himself.

“Ah, the boastful Elizabethan codpiece! I’ll pull it off if it embarrasses you. Don’t worry—the edges meet underneath and tie with laces, and I have a shirt beneath that.”

She hid her face in her hands. Pull off his codpiece? Great heavens! Her shoulders shook, and the next instant, tears of laughter were rolling down her cheeks. She was pointing at Piers’s costume, hiding her mouth with her hand, and sinking into giggles again.

“I’ll have you know, being locked in a storeroom with me for the night is no laughing matter. Your reputation will be hard to save after this.”

Oh dear! Of course, he was right. Who knew how many palms would need to be greased in the morning to stop this gem of information from becoming known?

And even if it wasn’t an employee who fed the gossip mill, other people would find out soon enough that Belinda had been in Mr. Darvill’s company an entire day and a night.

Oh—but it was too hard to think of unpleasant practicalities when she was so much enjoying the expression on Piers’s face.

He was not, she noticed, laughing at her in turn. Had she offended him? Again?

When she finally caught her breath, she inquired, “What character are you supposed to be?”

He spread his hands and glanced down at himself. “They’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream currently. It looks like this costume belongs to one of the rustics. Bottom, perhaps?”

Belinda dissolved into helpless giggles. Before she knew it, Piers was standing in front of her, holding her firmly by the shoulders.

“I know who you are, for we had a very distinctive costume made for her.”

Belinda choked back the laughter. “Who am I?”

“Titania.”

She pondered that a moment. “Being the queen of the fairies is a privilege.” If she remembered rightly, the character Bottom was under an enchantment that turned him into a donkey.

No—it was just a donkey’s head, wasn’t it?

Titania fell hopelessly in love with him after a potion was dropped on her eyes.

“When you’ve quite finished laughing at me, I suggest we start thinking about making some kind of bed if we’re going to be stuck here all night. Leave it to me to think of the practical things, while you’re off with the fairies.”

Oh, no—he was going to set her off again! This was, as he’d said, a serious situation. She must just be tired and overwrought.

Reaching up, she stroked the frown from Piers’s brow, then smoothed her fingers over his cheek. “Don’t look so angry. You know you aren’t, underneath.”

In response, his hand came up to cup her cheek.

“How now, proud Titania?” His thumb rubbed along her cheekbone and then touched the corner of her mouth.

Something between them had changed. The air was charged like clouds before a summer storm and as Belinda’s gaze focused on Piers’s lips, her amusement fell away, to be replaced by the memory of that kiss at the parsonage.

How she longed to be kissed like that again!

Would it do any harm, here, in this world between worlds, this place of make-believe?

Piers’s hands dropped to her waist, and he pulled her hard against him. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me, fairy queen or not.”

Swiftly, he bent his head to hers and claimed her lips in a hungry, demanding kiss.

She opened for him immediately—how had he known it was what she wanted?

The heat of his passion enfolded her like a cloak, and she knew she was falling under his spell, exactly as she had with William.

But this was different. Piers Darvill was twice the man William had been—she’d never craved the touch of Will’s lips so much, nor wanted his kisses to last forever.

Piers must not be allowed to stop, to doubt, to pull back. She pressed firmly on his chest and found iron-hard muscles that quivered beneath her touch. Spreading her fingers, she explored them, then wound her hands up into his damp hair, spurring him to a greater frenzy of kissing.

He broke the kiss. “We ought not to do this.” His voice was rough.

“I know.” Her words came out in a seductive purr.

“The lure of forbidden fruit—”

His hot gaze was on her breasts, plumped and rounded by her costume. Then his lips followed his gaze, his tongue caressing, his mouth exploring. Bother it! This bodice was far too tight.

“Would you like some help with that?” he murmured in her ear.

She didn’t want to ask—it was so wicked. But deep down, she felt as if this had been coming for a long time. It was inevitable that he and she should be one, whatever the consequences.

His fingers found the ties at the front of her bodice, undid the bow, then slickly pulled the laces through until the bodice hung limp and open, her breasts hidden only by the under-shift. He ran his fingers down the stiffened edges of the bodice, grazing her erect nipples with his knuckles.

Was he dressing her, or undressing her, and what were his intentions?

Did it matter? She was too caught up in the moment to care.

Then Piers undid the tie of her shift, smoothed the cloth back from her shoulders, and pulled it away from the swell of her breasts, making his intentions abundantly clear.

She leaned toward him as he cupped each breast gently in his hands, groaning deep in his throat.

“Oh, Belinda!” His voice was a caressing sigh. “Oh, God forgive me!” He stepped back, his eyes full of desire and passion, boring into hers. “Do you want this? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“I want this.” The words were out before she’d even thought about them.

“I’ll give you a moment while I create a makeshift bed. There’s still time to change your mind, you know—you must understand that once I’ve made love to you, there’s no going back.”

He broke away and began piling costumes on the floor—kings, thieves, beggars, mistresses, ghosts—the clothing of every character was thrown down, with no regard to status or history.

Belinda pulled the edges of her bodice together as she waited—she had no desire to appear wanton in front of the man she loved.

Even though every part of her body was now ardent for the touch of his fingers, his lips.

“I just need to find a sheet or two, then our bed is ready.”

“As you wish.” Her voice was lush and sensuous. Bother it! She was a wanton, after all. “You might want to remove those ridiculous hose and that codpiece. I can’t look at them without laughing.”

“I’ll teach you to laugh at me,” Piers growled again, and stepped out of the leggings, casting them aside. Before she could speculate on what he might look like beneath his shirt, he’d seized her and thrown her down upon the bed.

“Behave yourself, woman,” he murmured in her ear. “On second thought... don’t. ”

He covered her body with his, then moved lower, drawing her shift up over her head. Now she was exposed—wonderfully, shamefully exposed—and her blood ran hot.

Supporting himself above her, Piers kissed one breast, then took the nipple between his teeth and tugged at it gently.

Fire seared through Belinda, settling and flaring in her loins.

She squeezed her legs together in silent anticipation as he switched his attention to the other breast. The sensation between her legs mounted until her whole self was focused there, and her entire being cried out for her lover to take her.

But he was in no hurry, happy to explore her breasts with lips and tongue and teasing fingers. She buried her hands in his hair and tugged, pulling him closer and raising his head. He smiled, holding her so close she could feel the heat of his body against her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs.

Supporting her head on his arm, he raised her, pressing his mouth against hers.

In response to his demand, she parted her lips and kissed him back, melting as he deepened the kiss.

Her senses reeled as he explored her thoroughly with his tongue, while fresh waves of desire washed through her.

Then, to her surprise, he pulled back, rolled over, and drew her on top of him.

“I’ll crush you!”

“You won’t.” His eyes burned into hers, full of wicked promise. “I want you there!”

He smoothed his hands over her shoulders, then lightly caressed the sides of her breasts.

“Belinda, you are infinitely beautiful to me,” he murmured. “I love you more than I can ever express.”

Maybe he meant it, maybe he didn’t—in the heat of the moment, it was impossible to tell. But it didn’t matter—she’d made her decision, and now Piers was going to make love to her. She pulled back a little, reveling in the sensation of her engorged nipples rubbing against his shirt.