Fair Juno (Regencies 4)

Martin clenched every muscle he possessed and willed his body to compliance. Carefully, excruciatingly slowly, he disentangled their limbs, trying not to glance at her legs, too worried about waking her to draw the sheet down. He was naked; if she woke now, she was going to get a shock.

It was a relief to leave the warmth of the bed. Quickly, he dressed and escaped downstairs.

He found the landlord in the taproom, serving some of the male passengers from the coach. There were others still asleep on some of the benches. After greeting the man and asking after the weather, Martin casually asked, ‘Have our servants by any chance appeared?’

The landlord shook his head. ‘No, m’lord. No one’s been by this morning.’

Frowning direfully, Martin swore. ‘In that case, I’ll hire one of your carriages. My wife can go on to town while I back-track to find out what’s become of our people.’

The landlord was all sympathetic help. He assured Martin of the quality of his carriage and that the coachman and groom could be trusted to see her ladyship safe into London.

‘Very well,’ said Martin, tossing a small purse to the man. ‘Have the carriage ready. I’ll want her ladyship on her way immediately after we breakfast.’ Martin glanced about the taproom and remembered the sensation Juno had caused the previous day. ‘Perhaps you could send a tray upstairs?’

‘Certainly, m’lord. I’ll send my missus up directly.’

Martin returned upstairs, pausing to gather his strength before tapping lightly on the door and entering. To his relief, Juno, fair as ever, was out of bed and fully dressed.

Helen was seated before the small dressing-table, setting her hair once more into a neat knot. She turned when Martin entered, returning his smile as calmly as she could. She had woken to find him gone, but had found herself in the middle of the bed, her protective sheet twisted high on her thighs. The coverlet had been over the top, but she could not begin to think of where he had been when he had awoken. ‘Good morning.’

Her pulse accelerating, she turned back to the mirror.

‘A fair morning it is.’ Martin came to stand beside the dressing-table, propping his shoulders against the wall.

To Helen’s sensitised senses, he exuded an overwhelming aura of potent masculinity. Struggling to keep her wits focused, she listened as he told her of his arrangements.

‘With luck, you’ll be home shortly after midday.’

Despite the fact that home was where she wished to be, Helen was acutely aware of a dull, shrinking fe

eling as he pronounced the end to their adventure. Suddenly, the morning seemed less bright.

Their breakfast arrived and was laid out on the small table by the window. Bidden to attend, Helen tried to shake off her attack of the dismals and respond to his banter as she should. He had been a knight in shining armour, in truth, and she owed him a great deal. So she put a brave face on her irrational despondency and replied brightly to his comments.

She would have been mortified to know the ease with which Martin read her thoughts. Clearly, Juno had never mastered the art of prevarication. Her expression was open, her eyes a direct reflection of her mood. He accurately sensed her feelings, and her desire to keep them hidden. Wisely, he made no reference to his knowledge, but was inordinately pleased that she should feel saddened at having her time in his company brought to an end. It would make it so much easier to draw her to him when next they met.

Breakfast over, he escorted her downstairs. The day was fine; Juno did not need his coat. He paused, holding her beside him on the steps of the inn. The carriage which was to convey her to London stood ready before them, as neat and clean as the landlord had said. The coachman and groom were burly fellows, both with the open honesty of countrymen. Juno would be safe in their care. He looked down into her clear green eyes. A wry smile twisted his lips. ‘I’ve told them they should take you to London but that you’ll make up your mind where you wish to go when you get there. I’ve paid them fully, so you don’t need to worry about that.’

Helen felt breathless. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, my lord,’ she began, her voice soft and low so that none would hear them. ‘You’ve been of inestimable help.’

Martin’s smile broadened. ‘The pleasure was entirely mine, fair Juno.’ He lifted her hand from his sleeve and placed a kiss on her trembling fingertips.

‘Your ring,’ Helen whispered.

Smoothly, reluctantly, Martin drew the heavy signet from her finger and replaced it on his. He raised his eyes to gaze deeply into hers. ‘Until next we meet.’

Helen smiled tremulously, aware of a desire to lean into his warmth, to clutch at his hand.

Quite where the idea sprang from Martin could not later have said. But it suddenly occurred to him that he was masquerading as her husband. And being her husband gave him certain rights. Furthermore, being a rake, he would be mad not to take advantage of those rights. His lips lifted in a wholly devilish smile.

Helen saw the smile. Her eyes widened. But she got no chance to do anything at all. One strong arm slipped about her, pulling her firmly against him, while the fingers of his other hand tipped her face up. His lips closed over hers, confidently, possessively. And time stood still.

For an instant, she held firm against that too knowledgeable kiss, but the subtle invitation to greater intimacy was too compelling to resist. Her lips parted; he took immediate advantage, tasting her, teasing her, languidly, expertly exploring her, sending her mind whirling into fathomless sensation. She was dimly aware of the tightening of his arms about her. She melted against him, seeking to press herself against his muscled length. It was utterly delicious, this invitation to delight. The heady taste of him filled her senses; she was oblivious to all else but him.

Reluctantly, Martin brought the kiss to an end, wishing he could take their interaction further but knowing that was, for the moment, impossible. But at least he had left her with something to remember him by, until he found her in London and continued her seduction.

Looking down into her dazed eyes, he smiled and, too wise to attempt conversation, led her to the carriage. The groom, studiously straight-faced, jumped down and opened the door. Martin helped his goddess into the coach and saw her settled comfortably. He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Farewell, fair Juno.’ Till next we meet.’

Helen blinked. The message in his eyes was clear. Then the door was shut. A minute later the carriage lurched into motion. She resisted the urge to scramble to the window, to stare back at him until he was out of sight. There was no need. ‘’Till next we meet,’ he had said. She had no doubt he meant it.