have kindly provided me with twenty-one nieces and nephews. They are convinced that a woman's happiness lies in marriage. Or I should say, in having a familythe husband, or wife, whichever the case may be, is a trial one must endure in order to have children. And you are correctI
am
a spinster by choice. But I found myself wondering if my brother and sisters do not have the right of it. That perhaps life with one of the eminently eligible but dreadfully boring men they are constantly surprising me with might just possibly be preferable tobeing alone."
Robert had no reason to be jealous. But he wasfuriously.
"You'd marry a fat-bottomed man with side-whiskers?" he growled. "A man who would have you dress a piano for fear he would excite"he pinched her nipple
"this?"
She caught his fingers and laughed softly. "Cease, Colonel Coally, you have convinced me of the error of my thoughts. What about you? Do you have a family?"
Perhaps it was relief that prompted Robert's response. Perhaps it was the way her body bonelessly melded to his and her laughter chased away the darkness. Or perhaps it was merely that he did not mind sharing his past with this woman who was so willing to share her body.
"Four brothers and five sisters."
"Are your brothers in the Army?"
"No." He cautioned himself to stopshe was a lady, it was one thing to accept the fact that he killed in the name of duty. She would not want to know that her fantasy man came from low origins. But the words came unbidden. "They followed in the footsteps of my father."
"Is he still alive?"
"Very much so."
"Why did he not stop you from enlisting in the Army?"
Robert smiled at the indignation in her voice. "One less mouth to feed. But your blame is misplaced. Very few people can stop me when I make up my mind."
"What does he do, this father of yours?"
Robert tensed, but knew he had come too far to lie now. "He's a street vendor. He sells ices."
Abigail's response at learning his pedigree was as unpredictable as her response to his lovemaking.
"Oh, I love ices!" she enthused, as if she was still the little girl who had played in the ocean. "Strawberry is my favorite."
"Take my advice, Abigail. Eat lemon ice or cream ices. But stay away from strawberry."
"Why?"
"There are no strawberries in strawberry ice."
"Yes, there are." Her voice in the darkness was endearingly earnest. "Not whole ones, of course. They are all mixed up in little pieces."
"They're not strawberries, Abigail," he murmured wryly.
"Then what are they, pray?" she asked tartly.
"Cochineals."
"You mean ...
bugs?"
"I meanbugs."
He could feel her coming to terms with the fact that she had eaten bugsthe initial stiffening of her body, the slow relaxation when she realized there was not going to occur some sort of delayed reaction. Finally, "Is that why you joined the Army when you were thirteen?"
He smiled in cynical amusement. "Eating insects is hardly the worst thing that happens on London streets. Aside from the constant threat of being killed or robbed of your profits, making and selling ices is hard labor. You work from four in the morning until seven at night.
That
is why I joined the Army."
And had ended up working far longer days surrounded by far more danger than that met on a London street.
"Would you do it over if you could?"
And miss Abigail and the storm?
"I don't know."
"Are you going to go back?"
He gently squeezed her breast. "I don't know."
The rain was a comforting play of sound and motion. He had never thought to have a throbbing erection and be content to merely hold a woman. No more than he had ever thought that there would come a day when he prayed that the rain not stop. On the battlefield the cold wet and the slippery mud was a harbinger of death. Here, in England , it had brought him Abigailand life.
"Robert."
"Hmm?"
"I want to fulfill a fantasy of yours."
He inhaled the warmth of her hair. "You already have."
"Nonsense."
"You allowed me to fulfill
your
fantasies."
"But I want to be
your
fantasy
am
a spinster by choice. But I found myself wondering if my brother and sisters do not have the right of it. That perhaps life with one of the eminently eligible but dreadfully boring men they are constantly surprising me with might just possibly be preferable tobeing alone."
Robert had no reason to be jealous. But he wasfuriously.
"You'd marry a fat-bottomed man with side-whiskers?" he growled. "A man who would have you dress a piano for fear he would excite"he pinched her nipple
"this?"
She caught his fingers and laughed softly. "Cease, Colonel Coally, you have convinced me of the error of my thoughts. What about you? Do you have a family?"
Perhaps it was relief that prompted Robert's response. Perhaps it was the way her body bonelessly melded to his and her laughter chased away the darkness. Or perhaps it was merely that he did not mind sharing his past with this woman who was so willing to share her body.
"Four brothers and five sisters."
"Are your brothers in the Army?"
"No." He cautioned himself to stopshe was a lady, it was one thing to accept the fact that he killed in the name of duty. She would not want to know that her fantasy man came from low origins. But the words came unbidden. "They followed in the footsteps of my father."
"Is he still alive?"
"Very much so."
"Why did he not stop you from enlisting in the Army?"
Robert smiled at the indignation in her voice. "One less mouth to feed. But your blame is misplaced. Very few people can stop me when I make up my mind."
"What does he do, this father of yours?"
Robert tensed, but knew he had come too far to lie now. "He's a street vendor. He sells ices."
Abigail's response at learning his pedigree was as unpredictable as her response to his lovemaking.
"Oh, I love ices!" she enthused, as if she was still the little girl who had played in the ocean. "Strawberry is my favorite."
"Take my advice, Abigail. Eat lemon ice or cream ices. But stay away from strawberry."
"Why?"
"There are no strawberries in strawberry ice."
"Yes, there are." Her voice in the darkness was endearingly earnest. "Not whole ones, of course. They are all mixed up in little pieces."
"They're not strawberries, Abigail," he murmured wryly.
"Then what are they, pray?" she asked tartly.
"Cochineals."
"You mean ...
bugs?"
"I meanbugs."
He could feel her coming to terms with the fact that she had eaten bugsthe initial stiffening of her body, the slow relaxation when she realized there was not going to occur some sort of delayed reaction. Finally, "Is that why you joined the Army when you were thirteen?"
He smiled in cynical amusement. "Eating insects is hardly the worst thing that happens on London streets. Aside from the constant threat of being killed or robbed of your profits, making and selling ices is hard labor. You work from four in the morning until seven at night.
That
is why I joined the Army."
And had ended up working far longer days surrounded by far more danger than that met on a London street.
"Would you do it over if you could?"
And miss Abigail and the storm?
"I don't know."
"Are you going to go back?"
He gently squeezed her breast. "I don't know."
The rain was a comforting play of sound and motion. He had never thought to have a throbbing erection and be content to merely hold a woman. No more than he had ever thought that there would come a day when he prayed that the rain not stop. On the battlefield the cold wet and the slippery mud was a harbinger of death. Here, in England , it had brought him Abigailand life.
"Robert."
"Hmm?"
"I want to fulfill a fantasy of yours."
He inhaled the warmth of her hair. "You already have."
"Nonsense."
"You allowed me to fulfill
your
fantasies."
"But I want to be
your
fantasy
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