by Meara Platt
He cupped her chin and gave it a tweak. “Let’s get back to deciphering these pages.”
Heat shot into her cheeks. “Of course, that’s far more important. And there’s no rush for the other thing, nor must we even think of doing such a thing when this is far more…”
“Important?”
She nodded vehemently. “I’m sorry that I got distracted. I suppose I’ll never make a good agent for the Crown.”
“Nicola, you’re about to blow apart a smuggling operation that extends throughout Europe. I believe the culprits behind this scheme are using the proceeds from these smuggled goods to incite a rebellion that threatens the existence of the monarchy. Somersby is involved up to his eyeballs. Overthrow of the monarchy is really what he’s interested in accomplishing. The smuggling operation is only a small part of it.”
“It is?”
He nodded. “He means to bring down the king and turn England over to French control. Likely, he will then betray the French and keep England for himself, for he has the highest opinion of himself. But he made the unfortunate mistake of bringing you into his web of schemes. I don’t know who in your family he means to destroy, but I have no doubt he is regretting his plan.”
“I hope so.”
“I know he is, for his means of acquiring the wealth and weaponry to accomplish his grand scheme is written down in this little book. It is in my hands because of you.” He cast her an affectionate smile. “You will be a legend among the agents of the Crown, assuming we manage to decipher it. I know we will.”
“A legend? John, that’s so exciting. You’re used to being important and serving a vital purpose, but I’m not. Women are often relegated to the home, left to tend to the household and the children. Not that those aren’t important functions, but this… this is wonderful.” She took a deep breath as she glanced at the page before her and a name suddenly leaped into her mind. “Look! There’s an O, and this must be an apostrophe. And these are the rest of the letters except for the last, D-O-O-L. This name must be O’Doole. So we now have the E as well.”
“Nicely done. And this name must be Oliver. We now have the I and the V.”
She pursed her lips. “This isn’t very hard.”
“Somersby isn’t very smart. But he’s hungry for power. I don’t think this cipher was ever intended to be difficult to break. He merely intended that anyone looking over his shoulder at a page would not be able to read it. He knows we’ll figure out what he’s written down. That’s why he’s so desperate to stop us.”
“Do you think we’ll find any indication of who in my family he wants to destroy?”
He frowned. “I hope so, but not likely. So far, this looks to be an account of his sales and purchases and contacts. Some of these pages must contain names of rebels and weapons suppliers. I’m sure one of those men, once they’re rounded up by the king’s guard, will talk in exchange for leniency. They might give us a clue as to Somersby’s hatred for your family.”
“I hope so.”
They continued working side by side late into the evening. One of Adela’s maids delivered a hearty supper for them. They broke away from their deciphering long enough to dine quietly in front of the fire. John had donned his trousers when they, along with all their clothes, were returned to them, freshened and pressed and the dirt beaten out of them.
Nicola remained in her robe, finding it quite comfortable and not looking forward to putting on her itchy, woolen traveling gown just yet. John did not bother to don his shirt. The room was warm and she’d already seen and commented on his scars and those bruises from his encounter with Somersby’s ruffians. So there was no reason to hide them from her.
They’d resumed their decoding after supper, but when Nicola rubbed her eyes and yawned, John shut the book and placed it back in his pouch which was now hanging over the footboard. She understood that he wanted to keep it near while they slept. He also kept his knife, pistol, and rifle close. “Let’s get some rest. I’d like to be on the road before sunrise.”
She yawned again and nodded. “I think we’ve accomplished a fine day’s work, don’t you?”
“Yes, brat. An excellent day’s work.” He took her hand and led her to the bed, but John did not climb in beside her. He grabbed a few pillows and one of the coverlets, obviously intending to make a pallet for himself beside the fire.
Nicola scrambled out of bed and grabbed two pillows as well.
He eyed her quizzically. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping wherever you sleep.”
“Nicola—”
“I thought we had this conversation. If I’m to be your forever wife, then I want the benefits that come with it.”
His chuckle ended in a groan. “I wanted us to get some rest tonight, for we have a long ride ahead of us.”
“All the more reason to settle comfortably in that bed.”
“If I’m in it with you, neither of us will get any sleep,” he said with a husky timbre to his voice that shot tingles through her body.
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “We won’t?”
He grinned. “Not a single hour.”
“I’m not certain what you mean by that, but if your intentions are as wicked as those of the men in the scandalous books I’ve been reading, then I don’t think I’ll mind not sleeping a wink. Are you suggesting that I am irresistible to you?”
He sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair in obvious consternation. “Lord, you’re a brat. Go back to bed.”
“Not without you.”
He groaned lightly. “Are you sure you’re not one of Napoleon’s agents sent here to plague me? Very well, I’ll join you in a moment. You do realize that this marriage isn’t proper under English law.”
She tossed the pillows back on the bed and hopped on the mattress. “We’re in Scotland now. I am your wife under Scottish law. There is a possibility we’ll both be dead by tomorrow. I am not going to worry about propriety.”
“Bollocks, Nicola. I’m going to have a talk with your brother when we reach London. He and your uncle have given you far too much independence.”
She ignored his complaint and settled herself under the covers, determined to allow whatever might happen between them. The men in the stories she’d read seemed to be ruled by lust, but that lust also seemed to be spent rather quickly in the heat of satisfying themselves. Indeed, the act of love did not appear to be particularly comfortable or romantic, just fiery and fast.
Yet, it was precisely the wild intensity of it that intrigued her.
She plumped two pillows under her head and sank back against them, intending to close her eyes for just a moment. Would John be tempted? She meant to remain awake to find out, but her eyelids suddenly felt like leaden weights and within moments, she fell sound asleep.
JOHN WAS GOING to wait to the count of twenty before daring to turn back to look at Nicola. He did not think he could resist her, but running for their lives was no jest. They needed all the rest they could get, for they weren’t likely to find such comfortable lodgings anywhere else along their journey. He had only counted to twelve before he heard her even breaths and soft snores.
“That didn’t take long,” he said in a whisper, although he was not surprised. Nicola was not used to the mountain chill or riding hard all day. Nor was she used to her life being threatened. The sight of Somersby’s men lying dead at her feet, their blood spilled on the ground, must have frightened the wits out of her.
Also, he doubted she’d slept comfortably in Maeve’s bed. It had been too small for both of them to fit. Even if it had been as big and soft as his enormous bed at Bainbridge Hall, her sleep would have been fitful. Visions of death and threats from Somersby’s men would interfere with anyone’s peaceful rest.
Somersby’s men had meant to kill Maeve, Sammy, and his boys.
Those men also intended to kill Nicola.
Although she’d tried to hide it, he knew that she’d fretted about last night’s incident all d
ay long to the point of exhausting herself with worry.
He strode to the bed and looked down upon Nicola. The sleep of innocence. He felt a tug to his heart. She looked irresistible, curled like a kitten under the coverlet, only the auburn curls at the top of her head showing. He eased the cover down just the littlest bit so that her nose and mouth were no longer hidden.
“Sweet dreams, brat.” He eased down beside her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. He considered setting up a pallet once more by the fire, but changed his mind. He was exhausted, too. He needed a good night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, it was something he rarely accomplished.
He stretched out beside Nicola and drew her body against his, telling himself it was for her comfort when, in truth, it was more for his. There was something oddly healing about having her beside him, her sweet, warm body curled against him.
She looked as innocent as an angel when asleep.
However, he liked that she was a hellion when awake. No helpless, frightened creature. Not like his mother. He cursed silently. He was not going to have that dream tonight, not while lying beside Nicola.
But he felt the darkness coming on the moment his eyes closed, that rage borne of frustration and terror. He fought against it, but it swamped his body as his deepening sleep began to tear down all of his defenses. The wall he maintained around his heart crumbled. Grab the pistol. Shoot their leader. That’s what he remembered calling out to his mother when he was a little boy and they’d been attacked. Grab the pistol.
Even at that young age, he’d understood. Shoot the leader. The others would flee.
But his mother had been frozen in fear, leaving it to him to crawl across the room and pick up the pistol to fire at the big man who was beating and kicking his father even as he collapsed to the ground. John had meant to fire at the man’s chest, but the pistol recoiled in his little hands and the shot went wide.
“John, is something wrong?” Nicola asked in a sleepy murmur, her caring voice penetrating his senses.
But thoughts of his past now had him by the throat. He tried not to think of that night, did not want to think of his father unconscious and bleeding, or his mother cowering in a corner and doing nothing to save herself. Nor did she do anything to save him, her only child.
It was left to him to try to save her, but he was a weaponless, six-year-old child and could do little to protect those he loved. He’d tried to stop the beast when he’d turned on his mother, but he had no way to reload the pistol.
Fight.
Fight for your life.
But his mother had merely buried her face in her hands and cried. She’d died quickly, putting up no resistance. John remembered the beast’s hideous laughter filling the room as he’d then turned to John. He was waving a long, bloodied knife in front of him, his voice cruel when he spoke. You’ll be next, you filthy English spawn.
He was little and quick, managing to slip between the beast’s legs and escape out a window. The window had shattered atop him as the beast and his men fired shots at him. He’d run for his life, paying no heed to the shards of glass embedded in his skin. A hot, metallic ball tore through the fleshy part of his arm.
You won’t ever catch me.
He’d ignored his wounds and crawled to his hiding spot in an ancient cistern that stood beside the ambassador’s house. Only then did he give in to the pain and cry.
“John, please.” He recognized Nicola’s voice and felt her hands on his shoulders, gently shaking him.
He rolled onto his back, his forehead dripping with sweat and his heart pounding a hole in his chest. “Hell, sorry.” He took her soft hands in one of his. “Did I hurt you?”
He worried that he’d lashed out and accidentally struck her. “No, John. But your body tensed and then you suddenly jerked and cried out. Are you all right?” She put her ear to his chest and hugged him. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. The softness of her body and the lavender scent of her skin now filled his senses with an overwhelming yearning. “I… it’ll calm down.” He didn’t know what else to say. “Go back to sleep, Nicola. It’s hours yet before dawn.”
“Does this nightmare haunt you every night?”
He groaned softly. This was Nicola. Of course, she was not going to let the matter drop. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it does.” She ran her hand across his shoulder. “Your skin is damp. I can see beads of sweat on your forehead.”
He closed his eyes a moment and swallowed hard. “I’m not talking about it.”
She sighed. “Not now, anyway.”
“Not ever.” Although his eyes were still closed, he felt her defiant scowl upon him. “I mean it, Nicola. Not. Ever.”
She said nothing, merely curled against him, one arm across his chest and her head nestled against his shoulder. He knew that she was not going to give up until she had her answers, for that was Nicola’s way. It was part of what he found irritating about her and what he also loved most about her. She fought for those she loved. She did not shrink back in fear. “Please let me in, John. I’ll never hurt you.”
“I know, brat.” He ran his fingers through the silken waves of her unbound hair. Let her in? She was so deeply in his heart it scared him, and he was scared of nothing.
Perhaps not nothing.
He was scared of needing her.
He was scared of losing her.
He was scared of losing his whole heart to her.
CHAPTER 12
NICOLA AWOKE SHORTLY before dawn, but dared not stir while still in John’s arms. His muscled strength surrounded her in a delicious blanket of heat. His skin was warm despite the fire dying out in the hearth. While she needed to wrap herself against him to ward off the morning chill, he seemed unaffected by it. “John, are you awake?” she asked in a whisper.
She stifled her disappointment when he did not respond. In truth, she was also disappointed in not experiencing the pleasures of the marriage bed. She’d wanted her night of passion, but would never mention it to John. He had spent the night battling his inner demons and did not need her piling on more worries.
What had tormented him so badly last night?
For his sake, she needed to find out. What he’d experienced was no mere bad dream. This was a night terror that gripped him often. Ever since he was a boy? She knew he was an orphan raised by his aunt and uncle, the then Earl of Bainbridge. John had assumed the title upon the older man’s death.
That was all she knew about his past.
How did he come to be an orphan? He had to confide in her, not to satisfy her curiosity, but to heal his pain. If he ever hoped to find happiness—and John clearly was not a happy man—he needed to share the overwhelming burden he carried in his heart before it consumed him. It mattered not that he was now a wealthy earl. This had nothing to do with wealth or title. It had everything to do with power, a dark and controlling one that had him caught like a fish on a hook.
It also had to do with his lack of power at one time, for it was his sense of helplessness that brought on those nightly terrors. From the few words he’d spoken, she gathered that his parents had died violent deaths and he’d been unable to save them. But he’d been a mere child when they’d died. He couldn’t possibly have had the strength to save them at so young an age.
But this was John.
A man with an ingrained need to protect those he loved.
He had been born a fighter. His need to fight and protect explained why he was always wary and on the alert. He needed to save the royal family. He needed to save her. It wasn’t merely a matter of duty. It was who he was.
Hunter. Predator. Protector.
Why hadn’t her brother ever mentioned John’s past to her? Did Julian even know? Or had John managed to hide his pain from everyone?
The scars she’d seen on his back were old, perhaps from childhood.
He must have carried this torment all his lif
e and it had shaped him into the man he was today, one of the top agents of the Crown. He was also a man who hid his feelings, who allowed no one close to him. But she was in his bed now and had no intention of ever sleeping apart from him again.
“Nicola, stop wriggling.”
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She propped on one elbow for a better look at him. Oh, he looked so handsome even with the light stubble of a beard and the sleepy look in his eyes. Those entrancing gray-green orbs were now open and staring back at her.
He laughed softly and reached out to brush back a wayward curl on her forehead. “No. We have to get up soon anyway.”
She nodded and collapsed back onto her pillow with a groan. “Is it awful for me to wish for more time here?”
He placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Not at all.”
“Our time here was a little moment of heaven, wasn’t it?”
He frowned lightly, still looking upward and not at her. “Not quite heaven. I must have tossed and turned most of the night.”
She sighed. “I was worried about you, John.”
“I know. This is what my nights are, Nicola. I don’t sleep well, as you’ve now found out. You’ll have your separate quarters once we’re back in London and Somersby is dealt with.”
“Why would I want separate quarters? I don’t ever wish to sleep apart from you.”
He turned to look at her askance. “I kept you up most of the night.”
“John, sleeping next to you is wonderful. You held me in your arms.”
“When I wasn’t thrashing about,” he said, sounding disgusted with himself.
“I think that will subside in time. You’ll grow used to having me next to you in your bed. Hopefully, you’ll feel comforted by it.” He frowned at first, but after a moment, his lips turned upward in a devastatingly appealing smile. It emboldened her. “Perhaps tonight you’ll keep me up under more pleasant circumstances. You still owe me a night of… you know.”
He laughed softly. “Frenzied mating? It doesn’t have to happen only at night. Coupling can occur at any time of the day.”
