Regency Steele
Chapter 6: Friday

“Salut!  En garde,” called Lord Ratcliff.  The duelists flicked their foils upward in an acknowledgement of respect, then took their positions on the damp fields where a small cadre of servants and guests watched.  The men settled into their positions, weight on the balls of their feet and arms extended with foils in hand.

“Allez!”  At the command to begin, Remington patiently waited for Anthony to approach in a deliberate attack and riposted with a flick of the wrist to parry the blade.  Twice he defended himself in this manner until Anthony took a half-step back.  Remington pressed the advantage, but Anthony brought his foil up in time to prevent the touch.

“Ah, excellent blade work, my man.  I must say I’m impressed that someone of your … bulk can be light on his feet,” Remington goaded.  He easily countered the attack and riposted, only to have Anthony try to bind his blade.

“It helps to have the muscle to actually accomplish something rather than standing around looking pretty all day.”

Remington lifted his foil free, retreating a step.  “I rather think Lady Holt would take offense to your accusation.  She is quite accomplished you know.”  He engaged again, thrusting forward in a low attack that had Anthony dancing backward in an effort to avoid it.

“She’s better than you.”  Anthony attacked again.

Remington merely slapped away the blade.  “If you’re expecting me to argue the point, you’re quite mistaken.”

Anthony held his ground, neither attacking nor defending.  “Then what in the hell are you doing with her?”   

“I might ask the same.  It appears you’re only interested in using her for your own dissolute purposes.”  Remington pressed the attack, but Anthony countered it and riposted.

“I’m using her?  You’re using her to keep from being deported.  Where I come from, that’s one step lower than a pimp.”

Remington stepped back and set the tip of his blade in the grass.  “Lord Royce, might we exchange the blades for something a bit more primeval and ultimately a bit more satisfying?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”  Both men tossed their weapons to their seconds; then without hesitation, Remington brought his fist hard across Anthony’s chin, sending him staggering across the grass.

Anthony came back with a flurry of punches, one of which split Remington’s lip and sent him sprawling.  “Come on.”

Standing slowly, he brushed off his legs.  “Have a care for the face, old chap.  I’m getting married in a few hours.”  He brought a fist square into Anthony’s stomach.

The two men exchanged punches, shoves and nasty retorts.  When Remington fell to his knee, one of the grinning footman yelled, “ A fiver on the lad in grey.”

A groom across the way countered, “You’re covered, me boy-o!”

Anthony saluted the footman and reached down to pull Remington to his feet.  Conveniently, Anthony slugged him again, sending him into the arms of the groom and Daniel.  They shoved him back into the fray in time for him to trip Anthony and catch his breath at the same time.

“How are the odds?” he asked Lord Ratcliff.

“Even money, my boy!  Even money!”  The older man clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a shove toward Anthony.

Remington was fast getting winded, and more than a couple of the blows he’d taken were beginning to hurt.  This needed to end soon.  He caught his nemesis in a head lock.  “Antony, old chap, if I get this right, you think I’m using Laura.”

“Get off me,” Anthony panted, groaning a bit in the process.

“I’ll let you go if you don’t hit me again.”

“All right.”

Remington let go, and Anthony stepped out of range.  They ignored the muttered grumblings of the onlookers.  They weren’t too happy to be deprived of their morning entertainment.

“I’m not using Laura.  Yes, I’ve got a persnickety problem, and I’ve yet to find an answer.  The wedding tonight is a sham to keep Lord Brighton happy.  Laura knows it; I know it.  It’s a damned shame it’s coming at such an inconvenient time, but there it is.”

“She isn’t marrying you?”

“No.  I haven’t proposed either.”

Anthony leaned in, putting his back to the crowd.  “Then what’s with the old guy?  The Duke of Sinclair?”

Remington dabbed from his lip with his knuckle, shaking his head.  “That ‘old’ guy could run circles around the both of us.”  Tired of the fight, he held out his hand.  “Done?”

Anthony nodded and shook it.  “Done.  I think I owe you an apology.”

“Accepted.  Now I’ve got to clean up for my bride.  She wouldn’t want blood on the wedding dress now, would she?”  Remington gathered the reins of the horse he’d rode in and swung up into the saddle.  Refusing to grimace at the aches and pains, he raised a cheerful hand to the men and sent the horse into a smooth lope toward the stables.

*****

“He did what?”  Laura sat up shock at Lady Ratcliff’s words.   

“You may call me Sabrina, Lady Holt.  Your betrothed fought a duel this morning at dawn over you.  Or at least it started as a duel and degenerated into a fight with the fists.”  She sniffed and lifted her chin.  “One expects better of our gentlemen.”

“I haven’t known one yet who wouldn’t use his fists when provoked.  Who won?”

“I suppose you’re right.  Oh, they shook hands, although one of the grooms overheard Lord Royce apologizing to Lord Remington.  Come now; Meg has brought you chocolate this morning.  It’s time to freshen up, and then we can select a gown for you before breakfast.”

Feeling like an utter fraud, Laura resigned herself to going along with Sabrina’s wishes for the day.  “My name is Laura.  My apologies for all the fuss.”

Sabrina grinned.  “It wouldn’t be fun without a bit of scandal.  Why, we would have been terribly bored without all the entertainment.”

“Then I suppose I’m glad I’m here to help,” Laura sighed.

Lord Brighton brought up the dresses to Lady Ratcliff’s room personally, with a seamstress in tow.

Laura pulled her wrap a little more closely.  “Lord Brighton, might I have a word with you—in private?”

“Ah, of course, Lady Holt.”  He followed her into her bedroom, where she retrieved the shepherdess figurine from her drawer.

He paled, “I ... ah—”

“Perhaps I can help, Lord Brighton.  I’ve located the missing items, all of them.  I presume you and the housekeeper are the only persons with a key to a particular safe?”  She waited for his nod.  “Good.  And since your housekeeper has accounted for all these items in her weekly inventory, I believe it is clear that these items weren’t actually stolen.  Misplaced, perhaps.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Good,” she said again.  “Then let us dispense with the details of the case and focus on why Lord Remington and I are really here.  How much did Lord Sinclair pay you to manufacture the need for us to come?”

Lord Brighton tittered.  “It would not be proper for me to name a particular sum.  However, I believe the word ‘handsome’ will do.”

“What else did he require of you?”

“Ah, he asked that I give you a fair amount of leeway to conduct your affairs—your business, I mean.”

She nodded.  “I see.  Anything else?”

“No, Lady Holt.”

“I’ll assume our business is concluded then.”

“Oh Lady Holt, you can’t go home now.  We have a wedding and a ball!  If you go home, it will be in disgrace, and the guests will be shocked.  It will take years for the gossip to settle.  The servants will be in an uproar.”

Laura didn’t really think she would be able to get away with leaving anyway.  She still had Daniel and his little secret to manage.

Mr. Lindermann must have seen her dismay and pressed the advantage.  “Perhaps I can offer you and Lord Remington the use of the groundskeeper’s cottage this weekend.  I’ll have it stocked for a romantic honeymoon for two.”

She almost turned it down flat, then thought the better of it.  Hadn’t Remington tried to arrange a romantic weekend in San Francisco for them?  Had she not implied she was amenable to a night in Reno?  She bit her lip, admitting, “That would be lovely.”  

“Then perhaps we will both come out of this arrangement satisfied.  Come now, Lady Holt.  I have a gown that is exquisite in its own right.  With your beauty, you’ll look like a queen.”  

She stopped him before he could leave.  “One more thing, Lord Brighton.  Would you have Ms., Mrs. … Mildred brought up as a particular guest of mine?  She’d love to attend the wedding.”  No need to mention she’ll murder me if she misses it.

“Of course, Lady Holt.  Consider it done.  Lady Krebs will be in attendance as your particular guest of honor.”

******

Daniel intercepted Harold in the hallway.  “I need to ask a favor of you, Brighton.”

“If it involves Lady Holt, I should warn you, she’s discovered your scheme and is having no more of it.  I had to grovel a bit to keep her from packing her things and leaving.”

“Oh, she won’t leave, not yet.  I’ve made certain of that.  But we have one last thing to do, old boy.”

*****

Mildred adjusted the flowers in Laura’s hair for about the hundredth time since Meg had settled them in place an hour ago.

“Enough.  They’re fine.”

“Don’t you want them to look perfect?  Of course, you already do.”

Under her breath so that Sabrina and Sally wouldn’t hear, Laura reminded Mildred, “Do remember, Lady Krebs, that this is merely a sham.  They don’t need to be perfect.”

“You don’t look like it’s a sham,” Mildred replied with a knowing smile.

Laura looked away.  In truth, she was having a hard time separating fact from fiction right now.  With a ring on her hand, wearing a gorgeous silk wedding gown flecked with gold embroidery, and the very person who’d led her in a dizzying dance waiting in the chapel, it all seemed disturbingly real.  If her mother showed up now, Laura thought she might run screaming into the garden.  As it was, Mildred was fussing enough to be her mother.

“Do you have everything?  Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a penny for your shoe?”

“What—oh, I don’t know.”  Laura glanced down.  “The betrothal ring is old; the shoes are new—I bought them for the ball.  The dress is borrowed, and my petticoat has blue flowers embroidered on it.  No penny though.”

Solemnly, Mildred produced a coin and slipped it into Laura’s slipper.

“Why are you worrying about these things, Mildred?”

“Oh—I just love weddings!”

As the clock ticked toward four, amid more of Mildred’s fidgeting, Laura’s nerves jumped and jittered at their own crazy tempo.  Finally, Lady Ratcliff motioned the girls to take their places in the chapel, and Mildred kissed Laura on the cheek.  “Have fun.  Don’t trip.”

“That’s excellent advice.”  Alone for a moment, Laura paced in the hallway.  How did I get myself talked into this?  I don’t even LIKE weddings.

Not true, a tiny voice reminded her.  She and Remington had attended one just a month ago and had a wonderful time.  He’d held her hand throughout the ceremony and even passed her a handkerchief when she teared up during the vows.

Daniel and the gentleman playing the part of the minister arrived, thankfully interrupting her thoughts.

“Ah, Linda, you look lovely today,” he caroled.

The minister gave him an odd look.  “I thought her name was ‘Laura’?”

“Old joke between us.”

“Why are you here, Daniel?”  Laura tried to contain her annoyance.

“Did you forget I’m standing for you at the moment?  I’ll be escorting you down the aisle.”

“Scared I’ll bolt?”

Daniel gave her an odd look.  “No, Miss Holt, that is the one thing I’d never expect of you—especially when it comes to my son.  You realize, young woman, that you’ve developed an infallible knack for upsetting my plans over the years?”

His words reminded her that he’d dodged the truth yet again.  “You’re a coward,” she hissed.  “You say you want to spend your last days with your son, and then you lie to his face.”

“Laura, believe me; it’s not what you—”

She cut him off.  “I don’t care what scam you’re involved in this time, Mr. Chalmers.  Your charm doesn’t work on me.  You’ve made your choice—and you know something?  I think you’ve made the right one.  I’m glad you haven’t told Mr. Steele the truth.  He’s better off imagining the strong father he deserves than finding out he’s the son of a cowardly con artist.  Rest in peace.”

Like a queen, she glided to the doors and imperiously held out her arm to Daniel.  He waited a beat, his expression blank.  At last, he took her hand with a respectful nod.

The acknowledgement reduced her ire from boiling to simmering.  She turned to the minister.  “I’m ready.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

*****  

Remington had assumed an enormous variety of guises over the years—now here he stood presuming to be a groom.  This one was certainly new.  At least the period costume helped him to assume the proper character.  He stood straight and waited patiently for the farce to begin.  He wondered how Laura was faring and imagined she was simmering right now over the fussing and fripperies.  He dearly hoped they would be able to joke about this later.

Dipping his hand into his pocket, he checked again to make certain he hadn’t forgotten Laura’s ring.  He’d decided to use the ones Leland had sent along.  They filled the bill and looked a great deal better than the token thin bands of gold Lord Brighton had offered.  Daniel had the other band now.  The surprise on his mentor’s face had been priceless when Remington had produced it from of his pocket.

“Planning this, were you?” Daniel had asked lightly.

“Covering for the contingencies,” he’d replied.  

The opening of the chapel doors demanded his attention, and he turned as the violinist began to play something elegant.  A middle-aged man wearing what Remington assumed were period vestments walked down the aisle first and took his place.

When Laura stepped into the doorway, Remington couldn’t see her as a dozen people stood in front of him.  But the chapel was small, and ten steps brought her to him, escorted by Daniel.

Exquisite.  Laura, the epitome of a modern woman, wore the antique gown as she belonged to it.  The layers of silken fabric, along with two hundred years or more of tradition woven into the setting, suited her just as much as one of her professional ensembles.  Her chin was high, and her annoyance with her escort was more than evident.  But then her lips curved into an appreciative smile as she deliberately looked him over, head to toe.  The faint humor he read in her face as she gave herself over to the game delighted him, and he found himself standing next to her as Daniel placed her hand in his.

The whole event took less than fifteen minutes.  For that Remington was terribly grateful.  The minister took care to look stern as he ordered each of them to love, honor and respect each other.

As Remington slid the wedding band onto Laura’s finger—she’d moved the betrothal ring to the other hand for the event—he’d expected to see a touch of revulsion or simply annoyance in her face.  Instead, her lips parted in surprise and—longing?  He wasn’t certain.

He didn’t imagine, though, the tremor in her hands when she took the ring from Daniel and placed it on his finger or the deliberate way she echoed the minister’s words.  By the time the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Laura had recovered her sensibilities and indulged him in a sweet kiss—lingering a bit while the guests clapped.

He escorted her down the aisle, catching Mildred’s teary, wide smile and Daniel’s smirk at the whole scenario.

The moment he touched the door of the chapel to open it for Laura, the gaggle spilled through, and the “newlyweds” had to shake hands in an impromptu receiving line as the guests exited—presumably to the dining room where a sumptuous feast waited.

No one lingered with food and drink about.  Remington and Laura were left alone in the hallway.

“Give them a good show, distract them a bit afterward and go on.  ’Tis the mark of a good con,” Remington mused.  “What shall we do now?”

Laura played with the tiny bouquet of flowers in her hand.  “I convinced Mr. Lindermann that he owed us something for deceiving us, even if it was on Daniel’s behalf.”  Her tone was a little too steady, warning him she was up to something.

“Oh?”

“We have the groundskeeper’s cottage for the night.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Separate rooms?”

“Only one bed in the whole place.”

“Oh, Laura,” he breathed.  Without thinking, he brought her hand up and kissed the back of it.  “Can we skip the dinner and dancing?”

“Not a chance, buster.  First, I’m starving because those ‘ladies’ in there wouldn’t allow me to have a bite so that I would ‘look my best’ today.  Second, you made me practice all those steps for three straight nights.  I’m putting them to use for probably the first and last time in my life.”

“But Miss Holt—”

“Lady Remington, if I recall.  And the answer is no.  You have to wait.”  She peered at him.  “I’ve never known you to turn down food.”

Deliberately, he leaned down to whisper, “I’ve never had the luxury of having you for a feast.”

Abruptly she turned and walked away from him.

“Laura!”  He caught her elbow after three steps and stepped in front of her.  “I didn’t—you’re blushing!” he said in delight.  She was pink-faced and tried to hide it by turning away again.  But he merely pulled her to him and kissed her warm lips.  “I’ll take that as an excellent sign.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m certain your vivid imagination will be put to use this evening.”

*****

Laura’s cheeks were still hot when Remington escorted her to the dining room.  They were seated together near Lord Brighton on this final evening, to the applause of the wedding guests.  He held up his glass as the footmen began serving the first course.  “To Lord and Lady Remington, may their future be blessed with happiness.”

“To Lord and Lady Remington,” the others echoed.

By the time dinner ended two hours later, she was stuffed to the brim.

The minister intercepted them as they made their way into the ballroom.  “My felicitations to the pair of you.  Daniel tells me you’ve known each other for quite a while.”

“Almost four years,” answered Laura.

“And more than twenty thousand miles if you consider Acapulco, Ireland, London, two trips to Malta, and various jaunts into the countryside.  Although we have yet to make it to Catalina,” quipped Remington.

The minister chuckled.  “That’s a healthy break-in period.  Lady Remington, I thought I might request a dance later this evening.  Not the opening, of course.”

Laura curtsied.  “I would be honored.”

The candlelit ballroom was filled with greenery and clusters of flowers echoing the variety in the little bouquet she carried and the blooms in her hair.  Beeswax mingled with gardenias and other fragrant blossoms to create a rich aroma that added to the magic of the room.  At Lord Brighton’s direction, Remington led her into the center of the floor.  The orchestra opened with a waltz, and they began to move in unison.

“We haven’t danced since New York,” she said softly.

“No.”  Remington pulled her a little closer to lead her into a series of spins across the dance floor.  “Promise me something, Laura.”

She leaned back in surprise.  “I can’t remember your ever asking me for a promise—of any kind.”

“That’s because I believe they rarely can be kept.”

“Yet, you ask one of me.”

“I do.”

“What is it?”

“That we will take one day a week, it doesn’t matter which one, exclusively for us.  No cases, no interruptions.”

“No Mildred?”

He grinned.  “We’ll find her someone to date.”

“You’re asking a great deal, Mr. Steele.  The agency has always come first.”

“I know.”

Laura fell silent while she delved into the meaning of his request.  He was asking her to do something on a regular basis that she’d only done a handful of times before—to put him, and their relationship, before the agency.  Part of her balked at the idea; yet, she realized that to move forward it was a necessary step.  She had to be willing to put off pursuing a case in favor of having a personal life—if she wanted one.

“I love my work, Mr. Steele.”

“I know, Laura.”

“But I love dancing with you too.”

He took that as an invitation to twirl her once more before settling into a more sedate sway.

“I can’t promise a particular day.  Our flexibility is part of what makes us successful.  But what I can promise is that I won’t use the agency as a barrier between us anymore.”

“You’re admitting to that?”

“You caught me in a good mood.”

“Then I’ll have to do my damnedest to keep you that way.”  He brushed his lips across hers.

“I can think of something that might work,” she whispered suggestively before pressing her mouth to his.

His hand tightened at her waist.  “How long do we have to stay here?”  Laura leaned her head back and laughed as he spun her in another circle on the dance floor.

She dutifully took a turn with each of the men, including the minister and Lord Brighton.  Daniel took the next waltz, and Laura was reminded of the first time she’d confronted him all those years ago.  But this time, they didn’t speak for nearly the whole of the dance.

“Still mad at me?” he asked at last.

“Some.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?” she asked with suspicion.

“Because you’re always at your finest when you are, Laura.”  He bowed and led her off the dance floor where Lord Brighton waited with Remington, and then he disappeared.

“Lord and Lady Remington, I’ve a souvenir for you.  A remembrance of this lovely day,” Lord Brighton stated.  He had a register and a scroll of parchment in one hand and a quill pen in the other.  “If you’ll add your names to others who have been ‘wed’ here and sign the certificate,” he winked at Laura, “then we’ll always have a record of the delightful entertainment this week.

Daniel arrived at her elbow with two glasses of champagne just as Lord Brighton unrolled the certificate onto a table laden with food.  It kept rolling up, and Daniel waited patiently for her to sign her name on the line.  When she finished, he handed her a glass, and she glanced at the register where her “husband” had signed “Lord and Lady Remington.”

Remington took his turn at the scroll, then handed over the pen and paper to Lord Brighton with a grin.  “Come, my lady; I believe it’s time we took our leave.”

Lord Brighton nodded.  “I’ve prepared the cottage and taken the liberty of moving your personal possessions there.  The carriage awaits to take you there and will return in the morning before breakfast—a late breakfast before everyone departs.  Then you may have the place to yourselves until Sunday afternoon.

The other guests sprinkled the two of them with rose petals as they ascended the carriage and rode away in the moonlight.

“They’ll be carousing until the wee hours.”

“Oh good, I’ll be able to get some uninterrupted sleep,” teased Laura.

He merely arched a brow in return.  “Keep thinking that, Miss Holt.”

But once Laura actually stood in the cottage, she shivered.  Not from a lack of warmth, for the fireplaces in each room heated the space nicely, but from anticipation and a little unease.  As always, Remington read her like a book.  He poured a glass of wine for each of them from a bottle stuffed in an enormous basket and handed it to her.  “Hungry?  Brighton left enough food here for a small army.”

“Ah, no.”  Annoyed with herself for being tense, she tried to shake off her mood and put a smile on her face as she took the wine and sipped.

“Then perhaps, we can get comfortable, dress in our own clothing even, and sit by the fire a while.”

“Um, that’s a good idea.”

Remington kissed her temple and then retreated to the couch near the fire.  “It’s a game, Laura.  One I imagine is touching a bit too close to home.”  He stared into his own glass as he propped his feet on the low table.  “We’re not married; we’re not affianced—although we are committed.  And for once we have a bit of privacy in a romantic setting.  We’re not going to spoil that now, are we?”

His pained tones made her smile for real.  “I feel like a fraudulent virgin on her wedding night.”

Remington choked on the wine he’d just sipped, then burst into laughter.  “I imagine the six layers of white lace aren’t helping matters in that regard?”  

“Not in the least.”  With his usual good humor lighting up the room, Laura could see the absurdity of the whole scenario, and her own mood brightened.  “Can you help me out of this thing?”

“Of course.”  With his clever fingers, Remington plucked at the strings of her gown until they came free.  Layer after layer came off until all she wore was a long chemise and her pantalettes, both delicately embroidered in blue flowers and somewhat resembling pajamas—if she could ignore the fact she hadn’t on any underwear at all.  The whole process hadn’t been the least seductive, yet the light tugs and brushes of his hands did all sorts of interesting things to her.  Without assistance, her mind began wandering down the path of temptation all by itself.  Remington suddenly seemed overdressed in the small cottage.

He added the last layer of her clothing to the stack on the chair, moving the wedding gown to the top so it wouldn’t crush.  “There.  You look more comfortable.”

“I am.  What about you?”

“I could use a bit of assistance.”

In a unique turnabout of the foreplay earlier in the week, Laura took her time divesting Remington of his clothing.  She let her fingers drift along the fabrics, enjoying the soft, crushed velvet, the smooth linen woven with silk, and the heavy buttons.

The tailcoat came off first, revealing the finer lines of his body as she drew it off his arms and laid it on the chair.  Reaching behind Remington, she unfastened the buckle of the brocaded silk waistcoat, then began working free the dozen or so buttons on the front.  She took her time, sliding her fingers along the inside edge as each one released.  The waistcoat and the suspenders—bracers, she corrected herself—joined the dress coat on the chair.

Laura rubbed one hand along the leather covering Remington’s thigh, savoring the feel of it.  For the first time since she began, his breathing changed.  She looked up.  His eyes had darkened, and she realized how much her touch affected him.

He still had on his cravat.  Delicately, she traced the folds to unravel the knot.

“Bugger it, Laura; I’ve seen you open presents quicker,” he complained.  She laughed, thinking about the session earlier in the week.  Turnabout was fair play.  But she didn’t go any faster.

When that long length of fabric would have joined the rest on the chair, Remington slipped it out of her hands and placed it over her eyes, tying it.  “Trust me.  It will only be for a moment.”  His lips fluttered across hers, leaving her wanting.

She heard his boots hit the floor, a rustling she assumed was the result of laying stockings across the chair, footsteps into the bedroom and back again.

“Mildred seemed taken with the minister,” he said, making casual conversation.

“She seems to be able to attract her own fair share of company these days.”

“That can only be a good thing.  Now—”  He stood behind her again and slipped the blindfold free. He’d carried all the bedding from the other room and laid it in front of the fireplace, making a soft nest of pillows and blankets.  Carrying both glasses of wine, he settled in place.  “Care to join me?”

“You, a fire, and wine?  Where are we—your condo?”

“It seems to work well enough.”

She started to sit.  And then remembered that the pantalettes she wore were not like sweatpants—not with a wide slit in a very delicate region.  Primly, she swung her legs to the side.

“Aw, Laura.”

She should have known he would have seen through her predicament.  “You were the one who stopped me from undressing you.”

In smooth tones, he offered, “I won’t stop you now.”

Sipping her wine, she replied dryly, “I didn’t imagine you would.”

He surprised her by lying on the blankets with his head near her lap.  The buttons holding the neck of his shirt together were still fastened and seemed like a good place to pick up where she’d left off.  She set the glass on the table behind her.  Bit by bit the dark hair underneath was revealed.  Remington never wavered in his gaze.  She slid a hand into the vee left by the opened buttons and caressed the warm flesh underneath.  Leaning over, she cradled a palm under his head and pressed her mouth to his.

His hand came up under her shirt to caress her spine, spreading tingles across her back.  Laura deepened the kiss, the cabernet mingling with his rich flavor.  The taste of him heated her senses until she simply had to have more.  She tugged at the waist of his shirt, and he sat up to pull it off over his head.

Laura had to remind herself that regular breathing was a requirement at the moment.  Remington didn’t have the beefy physique of a weightlifter.  Like a dancer, his muscles were long and lean, made for balance, speed, and agility.

She moved closer to taste his shoulder while he closed his arms about her.

*****  

Remington had produced dozens of versions of “How to Seduce Laura” in his head.  None of them involved an alternate theme: “How Laura Seduces Remington in One Take.”  This one had all the right elements: slow undressing, flirty touches, searing kisses.  She traced the hollow of his throat with her tongue, pressing him to the ground again as she did so.

He went willingly and began making wagers as to how long it would take her to divest him of the rest of his clothing.  She seemed interested in the fabric of his breeches.

“Leather?  Real leather?” she marveled.

The feel of her hand sliding along his buckskin-covered thigh made him groan.  The material wasn’t very thick, yet it seemed to magnify sensation.  Oh, bloody hell, if she places her hand—exactly where it landed.  She stroked lightly, then a little harder—somehow finding that exact most sensitive spot in spite of the leather.

He tried to keep his hands occupied by placing them behind his head, but when she stroked firmly along his length, he had to stop her.  “No, and we’re not doing that at the moment, or we’ll not have at this properly, m’ Laura.”  Irish sang through his words.  He only slipped when she had him tied in knots.

The wicked gleam in her eyes told him he’d done it again.  She lowered her mouth to heat the front of his breeches, biting lightly to increase the pressure.  Then she teased him by toying with the buttons, unfastening one, then letting her hand wander down again to play.

“Oh no, you don’t, my love.”  He lifted her hand away to nibble on her wrist while eyeing her dusky nipples through the thin fabric of her chemise.

She stilled—not from his touch, for her pulse was dancing wildly.

Something wasn’t right.  “Laura?”  He rewound the last two minutes in his head for a quick rescreening.  Ah.  “I don’t use endearments during sex as a matter of habit if that’s what you were wondering.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  I find they convey an intimacy I’ve not wanted to imply in the past.”

“And now?”  Laura seemed embarrassed by the question.

“And now they do.”  He didn’t want her to think about it too much—nor did he.  To distract her, he began pulling the pins holding the flowers in her hair.  One by one, he placed them on the blanket between them until he had a pile of white blossoms.  Then he pulled the other pins so her hair fell to her shoulders.

*****

Laura didn’t want to think about the implications of Remington’s admission.  If she did, she might hide in a closet with an entire box of chocolate.  Fortunately, there was a great deal to distract her at the moment.  With each tug and brush of his fingers in her hair, she let little things like thinking take a farther hike into the woods.

At last, he raked his hand through her freed locks and kissed her thoroughly.  Until now, they had been teasing, playing with each other in a physical way.  Now the mood shifted as he demanded her participation, threatening to take control unless she pushed back.

She did.  With determination, she matched his kiss and raised it with a teasing flicker of her tongue to his that had him groaning into her mouth.  Breaking away, she moved to his ear, tugging on the lobe with her teeth.  In turn, he lifted the edge of her chemise, drew it over her head and set it aside. 

With a new timbre in his voice, he said, “Laura, I want to touch you.”

She bit her lip.  “I think you already are.”

He shook his head in frustration.  “I want you, here, lying in front of the fire.  I want to see you, Laura.  I’ve—”  He broke off as she eased down to the blankets, finding them thick and oh-so-soft.  The light from the fire washed over her skin.

Remington stretched out beside her to test the softness of her skin with his fingertips, tracing freckles here and there.  Laura closed her eyes to focus on his caresses. She was surprised where he touched first: the curve of her waist, the rim of her belly button, and a long line down her sternum.  “So beautiful,” was all he said.

Without the slightest bit of encouragement or chill in the air, Laura opened her eyes to discover her nipples peaking all by themselves in anticipation.  Remington noticed, of course, and began brushing a tip, making it stiffen even more.  Then he circled it with his tongue, and she inhaled swiftly as pleasure sparked--then jolted through her—when he suckled.

*****

Remington adored breasts.  Especially small ones, sprinkled in cinnamon and topped with sugar.  He liked how they tasted, soft flesh made hard.  He still marveled that this lovely duet belonged to his partner, and she was allowing him to play.  Allowing?  Hmm.  Not the right word, for she was holding his head with one hand and arching backward into the covers.

Perhaps this would be a good time to discover what other secrets she might have.  A sample brush of his fingers along the slit in her pantaloons turned out to have delightful consequences.

The daze in Laura’s eyes told him everything he needed to know.  She sucked in her breath as he slid a single finger along her heat, setting up a slow rhythm that made her tremble.  When he lowered his lips to the nearest breast once more, the dual points of contact proved to be her breaking point.  She hovered on the brink of ecstasy.

But just as yesterday morning, again he could see her struggling not to give in to the sensations.

He could have pushed her over—yet, he didn’t.  There was something in the way she fought it that bothered him.  Instead, he retreated—only to have her turn the game on end.  Laura wasted no time loosening the buttons on his breeches this time.  He took the hint and stood to yank them off—stealing a drink from his wine glass while he watched Laura shake off the last of her clothing.

She seemed impatient, reclining backward with just enough of a part to her legs to send an invitation he dared not refuse.  But he would take his time in this.  He crawled over her, not touching her with anything except his lips to hers until she used her hands to pull him down.  At the same time, she parted her legs so he rested there.  He throbbed, pulsing with need.  But he waited, letting the tension build between them.

*****

He was driving her insane.  “Remington?”

“Yes, Laura?”

“I know it’s been a while for each of us, but I think there’s more to it than this.”

“You want me to ‘press on,’ so to speak.”

“That would be nice, yes.”

He flexed his hips, widening her sheath as he filled the entrance with the tip of his shaft.  “A bit like that, eh?”

Laura closed her eyes.  “Yes, I think so.”  She skimmed hands down his back.

He pressed in an inch or so and halted.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

And so he didn’t.  He began slow, controlled movements that took him a little deeper on each stroke.  Laura figured out his technique four in but wasn’t interested in arguing with the results.  She lost count when he immersed himself fully and stayed there while she shivered.

Remington somehow shifted to his knees, taking her with him. With her hips elevated, he was able to brush his thumb over the tight knot at her center while keeping himself deep inside her passage.  He teased; he circled; he tapped lightly until she writhed from his touch.

“Remington,” was all she could say.  She was drowning.  He’d coaxed her body into giving up its secrets, and now she twisted and turned while he held her firmly atop his shaft and played with her slippery pearl.

She felt herself coming apart, giving into the sensations Remington was creating.  Without thinking much about what she was doing, she brushed his hands away and tried to regain some kind of control over her own body.

“Laura?”

She dragged open heavy lids, confused by the calm way he spoke.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do,” she panted.

“Then let go,” he coaxed.

It was only then she realized that—out of pure instinct—she was still trying to hold some small part of herself away from him—even in this incredibly intimate moment.  With concentrated effort, she laid her hands above her head.

“Oh bugger me,” he muttered, his eyes glazing as he skimmed his hands along her body.  He leaned over—and into her.  He began moving again in that controlled pace but quicker now.  She spun out of control, hit her peak and gasped in shock.  He didn’t stop this time.  Sliding one arm under the small of her back, he thrust hard and fast, keeping her climax going as he found his.  With a shout and a groan, Remington buried his face in her hair—the sensation of his orgasm prolonging hers.

Laura wrapped a leg around his hip, panting for breath in his shoulder.  No, the first time hadn’t been a fluke.  The sex really was that good.

*****

He was sure the Cheshire cat had nothing on his grin.  In pure masculine satisfaction, he watched Laura fall into a light doze before they’d even separated.  He eased down beside her, keeping her leg over his hip as he adjusted.  She only grumbled a little and turned her head to lean against his chest, one hand curled under her cheek, the other resting between them.

She still wore both rings, one on each hand.  With the skill only a canny pickpocket should have, he plucked the betrothal ring from her right hand and settled it on her left, over the wedding band.  He didn’t want her getting used to wearing it on the wrong finger.

Satiated in far more than just the body, Remington drew covers over them and closed his eyes.