The Legend Of Love Read online

  “No,” she murmured, but her hands clutched at the dark shaggy hair at the back of his head, “you mustn’t …”

  He said nothing, just kept kissing her throat and reached for the tiny buttons of her bodice, buttons with which he was already familiar. Effortlessly he slid several from their buttonholes and his lips moved down the slender column of her throat.

  “You … must … stop,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes closed, her head thrown back. “You must … Spy … please …”

  He didn’t stop. His deft fingers continued unbuttoning her dress. His tormenting tongue kept stroking her sensitive throat. When his bearded face moved brazenly down inside the parted blue bodice, Elizabeth whispered harshly, “No, I said no.” But at the same time she instinctively arched her back and pressed closer to his face.

  The dress was half open to her waist. His lips had reached the lacy edge of her satin chemise. Her fingers nervously clasping the thick hair at the sides of his head, Elizabeth held her breath, teetering on the brink of total surrender.

  With his hot face he pushed the lace-trimmed chemise down dangerously close to a throbbing nipple. Stopping less than an inch from the taut, aching crest, he kissed the pale, burning flesh of her soft breast. It was a sweet, warm, gently plucking kind of kiss that made Elizabeth instantly wonder how it would feel if he kissed her nipple that same way.

  He lifted his dark head and sat her back. She swallowed and looked at him, her eyes aglow with the beginning of full-blown, all-consuming desire. Her innate sensuality thoroughly awakened, Elizabeth was unconsciously bent on tempting and teasing this dark, exciting man upon whose lap she sat.

  She put out the tip of her tongue and moistened her parted lips. She seductively tossed her hair about, then raised a hand and swept the flaming tresses down over her left shoulder. She inhaled deeply, allowing her swelling breasts to rise and press against the lace border of her chemise. She restlessly squirmed, her bottom moving provocatively against his groin and thighs.

  For a time he let her play. Let her sigh and writhe and drive him half crazy with growing lust. From low-lidded eyes he watched her closely, fully enjoying the game she played. It was highly effective and he had no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing. She was an irresistibly alluring little tease if ever there was one, and he was becoming achingly aroused.

  Hers was an inborn eroticism made all the more potent by her fresh, innocent beauty. Enhanced by the moonlight, her unbound hair spilling down over her shoulder, she appeared to be a sweet, chaste angel descended from out of the heavens.

  But if she looked angelic, what she was doing to him was downright earthy and he was confident this devilishly desirable woman could take him straight to carnal paradise.

  He reached for her, buried his face in her hair, feeling as if he couldn’t wait one more second to make love to her. Against the silky tresses filling his senses with their sweet fragrance, he said raggedly, “Ah, sweetheart, sweetheart, send this weary soldier to his grave a happy man. Let me love you before we go.” He lifted his face and looked into her eyes. “Give me one last moment of bliss.”

  Before Elizabeth could give him an answer, his lips captured hers. It was a different kiss this time. He kissed her with such devastating tenderness, Elizabeth sighed and laid her hand on his chest. The tender kiss began to change, to graduate in intensity until they were kissing each other wildly, hotly.

  Elizabeth’s hand roamed restlessly over the Yankee’s chest. Her fingers closed around a shiny brass button and in her excitement she jerked it loose. It fell from her hand and rolled across the stone floor.

  The Yankee captured Elizabeth’s wandering hand and guided it inside his half-open tunic while her hot, wet mouth remained fully on his. Her fingers burrowed into the hair covering his hard chest, eagerly learning its crisp, pleasing texture. She found it heavily dotted with diamonds of perspiration and found that tremendously exciting. This man was uncommonly warm, the smooth dark flesh beneath the crisp, damp hair feverish with heat.

  She was warm as well. Intoxicated by his savage kisses, his powerfully persuasive voice, she began to feel that what he was suggesting was not such an outlandish proposal. At dawn she would die without having really lived. She would go to her death without ever experiencing the sweet mystery of physical intimacy.

  Unless she allowed this Yankee spy to make love to her.

  His lips moved to that sensitive spot just below her right ear and his breath scorched her when he murmured thickly, “Sweetheart, I’m not a wild animal. I’m a man. I want you so badly.”

  “Spy … Spy … Spy,” she whispered, the last of her defenses toppling.

  His face lowered into her open bodice. His fingers tugged at the tiny bow of her chemise. It came undone, and after that, the tiny hooks holding it together. He swept the flimsy garment aside and Elizabeth trembled, then gasped in shocked pleasure when his burning lips found and closed around her right nipple.

  The flames licking at her body became a raging inferno. She clasped his dark head and pressed him to her, lost in a sweet new sensation and wondering why his blazing lips sucking on her nipple could cause such a gentle throbbing between her legs.

  The Yankee knew her total surrender was imminent, and it couldn’t come soon enough for him. While his tongue and teeth toyed with the rigid little bud enclosed in his mouth, he became more and more conscious of the blood pounding hard through his veins. His breath was growing short. He sensed the same thing happening to her and that added to his excitement.

  His hand moved to her skirt. His long fingers closed into a fist, bunching the blue fabric and tugging it upward. Elizabeth made no move to stop him. She did not protest when his tanned fingers first rested briefly on her knees, then gently nudged them apart. Her breasts were wet and tingling from his kisses when his bearded face finally lifted.

  Her breath coming in shallow little pants, she made one last effort to preserve her modesty, but he shook his dark head and her hand fell away, leaving the bodice open, her naked breast exposed to his heated gaze.

  His fingers moved up her right leg, gently stroking, caressing her thigh through the silky fabric of her pantalets. She swallowed and looked at his face. His eyes were so darkened with passion, it was as if he had just come out into bright sunshine from the darkness.

  Elizabeth tried to look away, but found it impossible. Held by his hypnotic gaze, she continued to look directly into his eyes even as his warm hand moved slowly up her leg until it was directly between her thighs. His hand was gentle as he possessively cupped her, but she knew he was in a highly sensual state of urgency, could feel the hardness of him rising against her bottom.

  His long fingers gently pressed the soft material of her pantalets against her soft, hot flesh and the heel of his hand pushed tightly against her contracting belly. Those fingers began to move in a slow, erotic circle and the deep timbre of his voice sent tingles of joy up her spine when he said, “Yield to me, sweetheart. Give it to me. Let me love you, miss.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, afraid but aroused. “Yes, Spy, yes.”

  6

  HER INHIBITIONS GONE, ELIZABETH Montbleau gave herself to the Yankee spy. She did so with such appealingly sweet trust, the Yankee was resolved to provide her with a degree of ecstasy surpassing any she’d known with past lovers.

  Amidst burning kisses and murmured endearments he lovingly undressed her, caressing each inch of ivory flesh he bared. Elizabeth never considered helping with the task. Although unschooled in the ways of passion, she possessed an inborn sensuality. She found it gloriously erotic and highly pleasurable to have a man undress her. Especially, since he skillfully managed it with her sitting atop his lap.

  To her passion-clouded mind, it was an amazing feat. Even more amazing was the fact that he handled it so deftly she suffered no embarrassment or shame. Somehow it seemed very natural and right for this dark, bearded Yankee to be undressing her in their moonlit cell. And it was thrilling in a way she’d nev
er been thrilled before.

  In minutes all her clothes had been magically swept away and she sat on his lap wearing nothing but the dewy perspiration of growing sexual excitement. His tanned hands dropped away, he laid his head against the wall, and openly admired her. She felt the heat of his eyes on her bare body but experienced no compulsion to turn away, to try to cover her nakedness. Truth to tell, she liked his hot eyes touching her flushed flesh.

  Maybe under different circumstances she would have behaved very differently. She’d never be sure. She knew only that this night was to be her last and there was no time to waste on maidenly modesty. This dark, bearded Yankee was no nervous bridegroom, nor she his frightened bride.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he said hoarsely, his hands lifting to stroke her delicate back, her flat belly, “but tell me, what color is your hair?”

  “Red. Dark red,” she murmured a little breathlessly.

  “Red,” he repeated approvingly, his eyes sweeping over the tousled locks falling around her bare shoulders. “I like red hair, I like—”

  “What color are your eyes?” she softly interrupted. “Are they green?”

  He drew a curling lock of red hair over her shoulder and toyed with it. “What color do you want them to be?”

  “I’ve always been partial to green.”

  “Then green they are,” said he, knowing it made no difference. If she preferred green to silver gray, why not let her suppose his were her favorite hue.

  He released her hair and his fiery lips paid homage to a bare ivory arm as he leaned away from the wall, shrugged the gray tunic from his wide shoulders, and murmured against her flesh, “Help me, miss.”

  Elizabeth was more than willing. Stirring to the touch of his hot, bearded face nuzzling a bare, tingling breast, Elizabeth pushed the tunic off his shoulders and down his long arms. His thanks was a quick, searing kiss to a diamond-hard nipple. He raised his dark head, reached behind him, and withdrew the discarded tunic.

  With an arm clamped around her narrow waist, he began spreading his gray tunic out on the scattered hay. Realizing that he was concerned with her comfort, Elizabeth was touched. She leaned over, reached for her blue dress, and drew it toward them. He smiled at her and together they carefully spread her dress so that it touched his tunic.

  Their bed was now ready, the last one they would ever lie on.

  As they looked at the makeshift bed, the Yankee said regretfully, “Sorry it’s not sheets of silk, sweetheart.”

  Elizabeth’s brazen reply was, “Make me forget that it isn’t, Spy.”

  His head swung around and he looked at her, swallowing hard. He lifted her up in his powerful arms like a child, and rose agilely to his feet. For a moment he stood in the moonlight, holding her to his chest, his tall, spare body tensed, his need for her growing by the second. Elizabeth clung to his neck, her unbound hair spilling over his arm, her fingertips nervously tracing his collarbone.

  The sound of Private Stark’s loud snoring suddenly shattered the nighttime quiet and Elizabeth flinched, horrified.

  “I had forgotten about the night guard! We can’t … Oh, Spy, what if Private Stark …”

  “He won’t,” the Yankee quickly assured her, pressing her closer. “He’ll sleep soundly until morning. I know. I’ve been in the stockade for a week.”

  “Yes, but if he should …”

  His lips stopped her worried questioning. Kissing her into silence, he went down on one knee and placed her on the spread clothing, following her down. His tanned hands gently stroked the length of her back, her rounded buttocks. Relaxing a little, Elizabeth turned more fully to him, laid the back of her hand on his chest and trailed her knuckles down across the hard muscles to his belt buckle.

  He drew her slender leg up to curl over his hip, laid his head down on a bent arm, and faced her, leaving enough space between so they could look into each other’s eyes. His hand continued to tenderly stroke her flared hip and smooth thigh. Hers continued to explore his hair-covered chest, his corded ribs, his drum-tight stomach.

  After a while he drew her closer, so close she could feel the hair on his chest tickling her bare breasts, his heart beating against hers, the throbbing hardness restrained by his gray trousers. Urging her leg to curl up higher around his back, he kissed her, and his splayed hand moved across her belly and down, to touch and stroke.

  He lifted his head and looked at her as his tanned fingers slipped fully into place and cautiously caressed her. Elizabeth stared straight into his eyes, her own widened with shock and with wonder.

  “Spy, Spy …” she murmured breathlessly, feeling as if a liquid fire was raging through her veins and spilling onto his bold, coaxing fingers.

  “Yes, sweetheart, I know, I know,” he whispered, brushing kisses to her ears, her throat, her breasts. Elizabeth writhed and breathed through her mouth and her hips lifted and surged against his caressing hand.

  She was hot, she was cold. She was restless, she was relaxed. She was anxious, she was eager. She wanted nothing more. She wanted something more.

  The Yankee rose to his feet and took off his tall black boots and stockings. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his gray trousers, and sent them swiftly to the floor. Elizabeth caught only a glimpse of the hard muscle and bone of his dark, spare body, and of the awesome erection thrusting skyward, before he was back with her.

  He stretched out close beside her, his hand again sweeping over her silken skin, his achingly aroused flesh pulsing against her thigh. He kissed her a long time, then savoring the pleasure until he could stand it no longer, he moved between her parted thighs and thrust himself very gently into her.

  Elizabeth felt an immediate flash of fiery pain and automatically stiffened beneath him. She pushed on his chest and turned her face away to evade his kiss.

  He encountered a slight barrier and felt the sudden tenseness of her body. For one split second he wondered; could it be? Overpowering desire immediately drove the foolish notion from his head. He sank more deeply into her. Her tight, hot flesh sweetly closed around him and quickly he realized she was only playing the tease, behaving the coquette.

  Elizabeth reinforced that belief when she again became pliant and moved with him in slow, erotic rhythm. Her hands clung to his hard biceps, the nails cutting into his flesh. Her feverish lips sprinkled kisses along his gleaming shoulder, her teeth nervously nipping. Her soft receptive flesh was so accomplished at taking him, squeezing him, setting his blood afire, he knew it would be impossible to hold back until she was ready.

  It had been too long since he had last made love and this beautiful woman was too desirable, too practiced at pleasing a man. Wishing he could stop himself, knowing he couldn’t, the Yankee continued to thrust into her, moving more rapidly now.

  Feeling as though she would surely be torn apart, Elizabeth felt him grow within her until at last great throbs rolled through his spare frame. His eyes closed, the tendons in his neck stood out in bold relief, the veins in his arms bulged below the dark, smooth skin. He gave a great groan and lay still atop her, his heart hammering wildly against hers, beads of sweat rolling down his face, his chest.

  Elizabeth lay quiet and still beneath him, aware that something powerful had happened to him, and knowing that she was responsible. She was relieved. She had been concerned that he would be put off by her sexual ignorance. She was afraid she wouldn’t please him, that she wouldn’t know how to give him pleasure.

  She softly sighed, pleased with herself. It was obvious that she had given him a great deal of pleasure. Much more, it seemed, than she had derived from the intimate act, but then she supposed that was normal. She’d heard the gossip of young wives who were deeply in love with their husbands. Most admitted they obtained far less bliss from making love than their spouses. Some didn’t even like it, found the act of love revolting.

  Elizabeth didn’t feel that way. She had enjoyed tremendously the touching and kissing, and after the first few seconds of terrible pai
n, it had felt almost good. She liked it. In a way.

  The spent man lying atop her was pleased with her. She had brought him splendid, glorious ecstasy. Now she was lying calmly beneath him, stroking his back, his shoulders, sweet and uncomplaining. She was a good sport, he gratefully decided, a very good sport. His lovemaking had been that of an inexperienced young boy, climaxing almost as soon as he was inside her. Yet, no murmur of disgust or criticism.

  Well, he would make it up to her. Any woman as unselfish as this lovely red-haired beauty deserved better than he had given her. Next time he’d see to it she got the joy she had earned.

  Elizabeth smiled shyly at him when he raised his dark head, brushed a kiss to her cheek, and slid from her. He rolled over to lie flat on his back, reached for her, and pulled her atop him. She lay with her arms folded over his chest, her chin propped up in her hands, her toes digging into his shins.

  It was, she thought, strange that although they had just made love, she still felt all tingly and flushed and excited. When his tanned hands began to sweep enticingly over her shoulders, her back, her buttocks, Elizabeth couldn’t lie still. Her breasts, flattening against his chest, still ached, the nipples were still taut. She stared at his full, sensual lips and realized she still wanted to kiss him, wanted to more than ever.

  Elizabeth raised her head, shoved her tumbled hair back over her shoulder, and put the tip of her forefinger to the cupid’s bow of his lip. She traced the curving line of the top lip, then traced the full bottom lip. His lips parted. She traced them again, touching gently, her fingertip gliding over his smooth wide mouth.

  His hands came up to cup her rib cage, his thumbs stroking the sides of her breasts. “Use your tongue.”

  “Wh … what?”

  “Trace my lips with your tongue.”

  It sounded like a wonderful idea to Elizabeth. Sliding up a little on his long body, she braced a hand on either side of his head, leaned close, and put out the tip of her tongue. She touched it to the left corner of his closed mouth and began to slowly move her tongue along his top lip until she reached the other corner. She repeated the teasing exercise on his lower lip. When she started on the top lip again, his mouth opened slightly. She licked at his lips until they were shiny wet and her hair was falling over her head and around his bearded face.