The King's Man Read Online Free Page A

kisses.
    He disengaged her, allowing himself the luxury of one last, lingering kiss. “Lucy, dearest, I'm cold and wet and longing for the warmth of your fire."
    She was already fumbling at the sodden knot on his cloak, pulling the wet garment from his shoulders and abandoning it in a soggy pile on the floor. Kit picked it up and, carrying it before him, escaped upstairs into the warmth of Lucy's parlor. He flung the cloak over the back of a chair to dry, together with his hat and gloves. He gave the dispirited feather in his new hat a regretful glance, setting it down to take the glass of wine that Lucy offered him.
    He held up the fine glass, his fingers ridiculously large for the slender, twisted glass stem, and swirled the ruby contents, watching the play of light from the candles through the liquid before taking a deep draught. He silently thanked the good fortune that had thrown him in the path of a wine merchant's widow—a wealthy, wine merchant's widow.
    "You haven't answered my question.” Lucy pouted. “Where have you been these last weeks?"
    "Ah!” Kit set the glass down and took a seat by the fire, stretching out his long legs to dry the damp boots. He took Lucy's small hand and drew her down onto his lap. “I have a confession, Mistress Mouse."
    Lucy traced a finger across his brow and down his nose. Her touch sent lightning bolts of desire shooting through his body.
    "What confession?” she asked, dreamily.
    "I've been in the Clink."
    "Again!” Lucy gave a squeak of indignation and thumped him firmly in the chest. “What over this time?"
    "The small matter of a horse."
    "A horse is not a small matter!"
    "Well, no, it was quite a large horse."
    "And who"—she gave a derisive snort—"who paid your debts this time?"
    "The matter was settled amicably."
    "Cards, I wager!” she spat at him. “Really, Kit Lovell, you are incorrigible."
    "But you must admit you missed me,” he wheedled, curling his mistress’ blonde locks around his finger.
    "Not for a moment!” she protested without conviction, her head tilting backwards as his fingers strayed to the soft part of her throat, tracing a line down to the top of the bodice.
    He replaced his finger with his mouth, blowing soft butterfly kisses on her clean, soft, white skin, while his fingers grappled unsuccessfully with the knot on her bodice laces. She moaned as his kisses dropped lower, the bodice laces giving way and allowing access to her full, pert breasts.
    His hand fought with the layers of skirts and petticoats, finding its way up past the wool of her stockings to the smooth skin of her upper thigh and heaven where he could lose himself.
    As he fumbled with his own belt, Lucy took advantage of the distraction and with a shriek of laughter, gathered up her skirts and ran from the room. He caught her on the stairs and together they slithered and tripped upstairs to her large, tester bed. He threw her back on the coverlet and lifted her skirts. Her back arched beneath him, her need for release as great as his own.
    Desire spent, he rolled off her and lay on his back beside her. She propped herself up on one elbow and smiled down at him.
    "Haven't done that for a while, have you?"
    "No,” he agreed.
    Her fingers pulled at the laces of his shirt, dancing provocatively through the hairs on his chest. “So was that it?” she teased, dropping small kisses onto his face, his nose and his lips.
    "Demanding wench, aren't you?” Kit grinned and, pinning her to the bed, rolled over on her again.
    * * * *
    Thamsine wiped her hands on a dirty rag and surveyed the pile of dishes stacked neatly on the kitchen table. She looked down at her fingers and sniffed them, wrinkling her nose. The tips were shrivelled like dried sweetmeats and smelt of grease. She wiped her hands again and sighed.
    Her father would turn in his grave if he could see her now but when she considered the alternative, she gave a silent prayer of thanks. The Ship Inn offered her a respite, time