Loving the Enemy

Chapter 3

3 August 1815, London

The muffled sounds of the clopping of horses' hooves and the wheels of a carriage as they passed by the road below permeated the closed window of the rented townhouse.

Philip lay still, his eyes closed, letting the mundane background noises wash over him. The last thing he remembered before he'd woken was the war cries of the soldiers intermingling with the clash of metal against metal, and the splash of the hot, sticky blood against his uniform and on his face.

He tensed when he felt something brushing his head, his hand instinctively reaching out for his weapon but when he realised where he was, he slowly relaxed and unclenched his fist.

The willing woman — a widow almost a decade older than him but who looked just as youthful as him — was leaning over him, playing with the hair that had fallen over his forehead.

He knew if he opened his eyes, he would see Mrs Eliza Colston's soft smile and big brown eyes. If he stretched out his hand, he would be meet with a body that was slightly fleshier than what society deemed to be beautiful but served his needs well.

Remembering just how well her body had served him last night, his lips curved upwards slightly. The scent of their fucking still lingered in the air.

"My dear, you are awake." Her throaty words drifted over him.

He made a murmur of assent but kept his eyes closed.

"Would you like some tea? Let me make you some." He felt a slight shift next to him and he quickly rolled to his side, his long legs trapping her own and his arms going around her waist and she squealed in surprise.

He pressed his face into her ample breasts, relishing the supple, silky feel of her skin. "There's something I want more than tea." Knowing she took delight in it — for he'd had the pleasure of her company for three weeks now — he rubbed his stubbly jaw against her. Her giggles turned to little huffs of pleasure when his bristles brushed against her erect nipple. Her fingers which had been stroking his upper arm lazily now gripped it in lust when he turned to capture the nipple he'd been torturing.

He lost himself in her, erasing the last dredges of the memories of the war he'd awakened with, the scent of her desire cloaking the smell of blood, of death, and her moans of pleasure drowning out the cannon fire and howls of pain.

Cornish blue eyes gazed down at him, the love present in them easing the ache in his heart he'd been carrying around for so long that he no longer noticed it. Lips the colour of ripe juicy apples let out a soft sigh of contentment. Quiet words were accompanied by a gentle smile. Though he couldn't make out the words, he felt a warmth spreading, chasing away the chill within till he was light and bright, like the sun on a pleasant spring day.

He reached up to touch her face, her skin as smooth as the satin bedclothes he laid on, a sharp contrast to the rough calluses on his hand. Her mahogany waves fell over her unclothed shoulder to brush against his hand and drape over his bare chest. She raised her own hand to cup his, turning slightly to nuzzle his palm, her lips pressing against the edge.

A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes a split second before the tip of her tongue darted out to lick the spot she'd kissed.

Desire ignited within him instantly and he pulled her down to capture her laughing lips in his, crushing her breasts against his chest.

He blinked his eyes open as the whistle of kettle pierced the dream, the vestiges of a smile still on his face as he slowly pushed himself upright.

Eliza was bent over by the fire-grate and she turned with the kettle in hand at his rustling, her chocolate brown gaze turning warm with affection. "You've finally decided to join me in the land of the wake." Her midnight black hair hung in a long braid to one side over the pale yellow dressing gown she'd belted around herself. Moving deftly, she prepared a pot of tea with the kettle before sitting down on the edge of the bed directly across him.