by Candace Camp
Rafe nodded. “I know.”
“I just wish I knew whether Theo had anything to do with it. I can’t imagine why else Mr. Kousoulous would have brought the reliquary to Broughton Park. I hate to do anything until I have talked to Theo.”
“The Keepers have waited this long,” Rafe pointed out. “I’d say they can wait a little longer. You’ll get a letter from Theo or he’ll show up.”
Kyria frowned, admitting for the first time the trouble that had been rattling around in the back of her mind for some days now, “Unless he can’t. Unless something happened to Theo, too.”
“No.” Rafe set down his glass and crossed to her, taking her arms. “Don’t think that way. There’s no reason to think that anything has happened to your brother.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
Considering the conversation they had just had and Rafe’s questions about his own self-sureness, both of them had to laugh.
“All right. There you are. Despite it all, I can’t escape it,” he said lightly. “I am destined, clearly, to be positive I know it all.”
“Let’s just see how right you are about your arm, then,” Kyria responded. She turned and went to close the door. “You take off your shirt and let me look at your wound.”
Rafe unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and as he tried to free his injured arm, his face contorted with pain.
“Here, let me help.” Kyria crossed the room quickly and grasped the end of the sleeve on the uninjured arm, pulling it down as he pulled out his arm.
She tossed the shirt back, and his chest was exposed, browned by the sun and firmly padded with muscle. She caught her breath, hoping he could not sense how desire had twisted through her at the sight of him. She remembered the feel of his back beneath her hands only moments earlier, and the way her insides had tightened.
Kyria purposely kept her eyes on Rafe’s injured arm as she began to pull down that sleeve. She did not want him to see in her face the way she responded to the sight of his naked body. She reminded herself that she was supposed to be tending to his wound, not thinking about his bare chest and the fact that she wanted to move her hands all over him as he had done to her the night before.
His sleeve stuck to his arm where the blood had dried on it. She tugged gently, but it did not move, so Kyria wet a cloth from the pitcher on the washstand and pressed it gently against his arm. As she stood there, holding the cloth to him, she glanced up into his face, and the look of raw hunger she saw there stopped the breath in her throat.
She quickly glanced away, swallowing hard. Her heart was galloping in her chest. She could not help but think of the way he had looked at her the night before, with the same deep hunger. Kyria had never felt anything like what she had experienced with him last night. From the moment it had happened, she had been wanting to experience it again—and more. Why did he stop when he did? She had tried to tell herself that it was because, being a gentleman, he had not wanted to take advantage of her. But she had not been able to expel from her mind the thought that perhaps he had not felt the same desperate intensity that she had. What if she had not pleased him?
Kyria set the wet cloth aside and pulled gently at the sleeve again. It came loose this time, and she slipped his shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it onto the nearby chair. She picked up the cloth again and rewet it, using it to clean the long red wound across his upper arm where the knife had sliced him.
She realized that he was right; the wound did not appear to be very deep or serious as she cleared the blood away from it. Up higher on his arm, where the rock had struck him, was a large bruise, and she suspected that area would be stiff and sore tomorrow, perhaps even more so than the cut.
Rafe looked down at Kyria as she worked over him. Her head was bent; her hair brushed his arm now and then as she moved, as light as butterfly wings and soft as silk. Her fair fell into her face and she flicked it back over her shoulder, and the ends swept across his bare chest. Desire sizzled through him, hot and immediate.
He felt as if something inside him, some hard, brittle thing, had loosened earlier when she slipped her arms around him to comfort him. He had never spoken of the war to anyone, even Stephen, had never expressed the heartache that had lain inside him all those years. He had chosen his path and had accepted the consequences, and he had thought that he would never reveal it to anyone. Then somehow, with Kyria, it had just slipped out, and when it had, something within him had softened. He felt more vulnerable, and curiously, the feeling did not really bother him.
He felt, too, as if his willpower had drained out of him with the rest of it. He knew that he should step away, should put Kyria aside before he did something he regretted. But his thoughts went no further; he did not move. It seemed all he could do to hold himself still and not pull her to him and bury her mouth under his.
“Maybe…” His voice came out hoarse, and he had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “Maybe you ought to dab some of that brandy on it. I’ve found liquor works wonders for healing.”
“Really?” Kyria tilted up her head.
He felt as if he could drown in those huge green eyes. There were tiny golden flecks, he saw, encircling her pupils.
Kyria’s mouth was dry, and it took an effort of will to move away and pour a bit of brandy onto the cloth. She pressed it softly against his wound, wincing as he sucked in his breath sharply.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and then, surprising herself almost as much as him, Kyria bent and brushed her lips over his arm just below the scratch. His flesh was warm and tasted faintly of salt, and his skin quivered beneath her lips.
Kyria raised her head and looked up into his face again. Rafe was unmoving, his skin taut over his bones, but his chest rose and fell rapidly, and color blazed high on his cheekbones. Kyria gazed at him for a long moment, then slowly, deliberately, went up on tiptoe and laid her lips gently against the deepening bruise on his shoulder.
Rafe sucked in his breath, and his hands went automatically to her waist. His fingers curled, catching the waistband of her trousers, then tightened convulsively.
“Kyria…” His breath grazed her cheek and sent a shiver through her. “Kyria…”
He leaned forward, burying his face in her mass of curling hair, and his hands slid down, curving over her hips, separated from his touch by only the material of the trousers. His hands moved over her rounded bottom, desire rocketing through him with every caress.
Kyria’s hands went up to his chest, sliding over him experimentally, searching out the lines and curves of him, the hard ridge of bone and the firm padding of muscle, the tightening nubs of his nipples, and the light sprinkling of curling, coarse hair, narrowing into a line downward to his navel.
Rafe shuddered as she touched him, and a moan escaped his lips. He knew that he should not let this go any further, but he could not make himself move, could not speak.
She ran her fingers down his back, exploring the central valley of his spine and the rise of muscle on either side. She touched the bony outcropping of his collarbone and the tender flesh of his throat above it, her hand curving around his neck to slide up into his hair.
Daring more, Kyria pressed her lips to the warm skin of his chest and was rewarded by the quick hiss of his breath, the involuntary trembling of his flesh. He plunged his hands into her hair as her lips roamed his chest and stomach. She let her tongue slip out to taste his skin as he had done to her yesterday, and she delighted in the feel of his manhood hardening against her in response. Remembering how his hands had caressed her skin and his mouth and tongue had teased her nipples to an engorged sensitivity, she did the same to him.
The way he felt, the way he tasted, excited Kyria, and she could not hold back little sounds of pleasure as she explored his body. Rafe was almost as aroused by the noises she made as he was by the touch of her mouth and hands. Desire coiled within him, tightening with every brush of her fingertips, every flick of h
er tongue. When her mouth closed around the flat button of one of his nipples, he groaned, stunned by the pleasure that radiated through him.
He had to kiss her, had to taste her. His hands on either side of her head, he turned her face up, and his mouth swooped down to claim hers. Passion exploded within them, shaking them both with its power. Rafe’s arms lifted Kyria up into him, grinding her against his heated, eager body. Kyria responded with a wantonness she had never realized existed in her before, wrapping her long legs around his waist.
A shudder of pure animal desire ran through him at her movement, and he locked his arms around her, clamping her to him as his mouth devoured hers. The very center of her heat was pressed against him, tantalizing him through the layers of clothing between them. He turned, making his way blindly across his room to the bed, still kissing her greedily.
They fell onto the bed, hands and mouths searching. Heat seemed to sizzle over their skin as they kissed and caressed, the desire within them building to an almost unbearable heat.
At last he pulled away from her and stood looking down at her. She gazed back at him, her mouth full and reddened from his kisses, her hair spread around her like a fan of fire.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured huskily, and his fingers went to the buttons of her waistcoat. “I want to see all of you.”
Kyria smiled at him, making no move to stop his fingers from their work. She wanted him to look at her, wanted to watch his face as his eyes roamed her body.
He unbuttoned the waistcoat, then the buttons beneath it that fastened her shirt. Hooking his thumbs beneath the side of her shirt, he pushed both garments aside, then down off her arms. His face tightened as he took in the bindings she had wrapped around her breasts to hide them, and he untied the tapes, lifting her with an arm under her waist and pulling the wrappings away.
Tossing them aside, he stroked his fingers gently over the red streaks the bindings had left on her skin. “Tis a crime to hurt such beauty,” he whispered and bent to press his lips gently against the marks. “Promise me you will not do so again.”
He reached down to pull off her boots and then her socks, his hands gliding over her legs beneath the trousers. His hands moved to the waistband of her trousers, unbuttoning them and sliding them smoothly over her hips and off her legs, quickly following them with the thin cotton pantalets she wore beneath.
Kyria lay naked before him, and his eyes feasted on her loveliness, his pulse hammering in his head. Kyria, a little amazed at her own lack of shame, lifted her arms above her head and stretched sinuously. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he watched her, and quickly he toed off his shoes, his hands going to the waistband of his own trousers.
He divested himself of his garments, and Kyria raised her arms to him, her eyes glowing, her mouth softly beckoning. With a small, final sigh of surrender, he stretched out beside Kyria and began to make love to her.
Rafe’s mouth roamed her breasts and stomach, teasing and exploring. He played havoc with her senses, stoking the passion within her until Kyria felt as if she might scream with pleasure. She dug her fingers into his back, panting with desire.
He parted her legs, his fingers slipping down into the moist, heated center of her. Kyria ached for him, an emptiness inside her that she knew only he could fill. She opened her legs farther, and her hands roamed restlessly up and down his back, urging him on.
At last he moved between her legs and thrust slowly, deeply inside her. Kyria stifled a groan against his shoulder, the sharp twinge of pain quickly replaced by a deep satisfaction as he filled her. He began to move within her, pulling slowly back, then sinking deep again, and Kyria wrapped her arms and legs around him. Her senses whirling, she moved with him, every new sensation driving her desire higher.
She let out a sob, feeling as if she might explode. Suddenly, the tension within her broke, sending strong waves of pleasure radiating through her. Kyria shook under the force of it, a cry escaping her lips, and at her movement, Rafe shuddered, too, a deep groan issuing from his throat.
They clung together, riding out the blinding storm of passion. They collapsed, spent and panting, and Rafe rolled onto his back, his arm around her, pulling her close. Kyria rested her head against his chest, letting herself drift, replete and content in a way she had never imagined existed.
So this, she thought, was love. Smiling to herself, Kyria drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER 17
The next morning, Kyria awoke alone late and did not go down to breakfast, but had only toast and tea brought up to her on a tray. Humming to herself, she bathed and dressed, then went downstairs. She heard the sound of masculine voices talking, and she frowned, puzzled, then followed the sound of them to the library. There she found Rafe and Reed in conversation.
“Reed!” she cried, rushing to him with a smile. “When did you get in?”
“Just this morning. I took the early train back from Liverpool.” He stood up to hug her. Then he stepped back, saying, “Rafe here has been telling what you two have been doing.”
“What?” Startled, Kyria’s eyes flew to Rafe’s face.
“I was telling your brother why we brought the reliquary to London.”
“Oh! Oh, of course.” Of course he had not told Reed anything about what had happened between them personally! A blush rose on Kyria’s cheeks. She must learn to control her reactions better, she thought fiercely, or Reed would begin to suspect something.
Rafe smiled at her, his eyes lingering on her face. Reed looked from his sister to the American, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly.
“Have you shown Reed the standard?” Kyria asked Rafe, eager to distract her brother.
“Not yet. You are much better than I at wielding those wires of Con’s.”
Kyria ran off to fetch the reliquary and returned a few moments later. She showed Reed Con’s method of unlocking the box, then opened it to let him see the fragile cloth. Reed was as awestruck as everyone else had been.
“That’s amazing,” he said, sitting back as Kyria closed the box. “It seems impossible.”
“I know,” Kyria agreed. “Even more astonishing, apparently the rest of the legend is true, too. It seems there really is a group of men who have devoted their lives to keeping the box safe—passing it down through generations. The Keepers of the Holy Standard, they call themselves.”
“You have met them?”
Kyria nodded. “They rescued us last night.”
“Rescued you?” Reed’s eyebrows vaulted upward. “What do you mean, rescued?”
“We were surrounded and outnumbered,” Kyria explained. “I thought we were doomed, but then the Keepers came running in out of nowhere and started fighting off our attackers.”
“Who attacked you? Why?”
“We’re not sure why,” Kyria told him carefully so as not to alarm him. “I think we weren’t supposed to be where we were.”
“Or it might have been someone who wants the box, I suppose,” Rafe put in.
“This Habib fellow?” Reed asked.
“Possibly. But he doesn’t fit the description of the man who paid Sid and Dixon to break into Broughton Park and try to steal it,” Kyria reasoned aloud. “We think Mr. Habib might have a partner. We tried to catch him at the Blue Bull, but he got away.”
“What? Who tried to catch him?” Reed asked.
“Why, Rafe and I.”
“At a tavern?” Reed stared. “You were in a tavern?”
Kyria nodded cheerfully. “Yes, on the docks. It was quite an interesting experience. I dressed up as an old hag.”
Reed was rendered momentarily speechless.
“But we still don’t know who he was, because he got away that night,” Kyria went on. “We don’t know if he and Habib are somehow acting together or if he is an entirely separate party. I mean, he could be the Frenchman or the Russian prince.”
“Who the devil are the Frenchman and the Russian prince?”
“They have both approached me since we’ve
been in London, offering to purchase the reliquary.”
“Good God, how many people are after this thing?” Reed exclaimed.
“We know of three, well, four, if you count the Keepers,” Kyria told him. “But we don’t know if the man at the tavern is one of these people that we know about, or if he is someone else altogether. That’s why we set Tom on Habib to follow him and see if he could catch him meeting with someone. So Tom followed him, and that is why we went to the opium den last night, to see if—”
“Opium den!” Reed exploded, rising to his feet. “You went to an opium den?”
“Yes. That is where we were attacked, and the Keepers came to rescue us.”
“Good God, McIntyre!” Reed exclaimed again, turning toward him indignantly. “You call this keeping my sister safe?”
“No one has to keep me safe!” Kyria protested. “I can look after myself.” She swung on Rafe, who had opened his mouth to respond to Reed, and shook her finger at him. “Don’t you dare apologize for not stopping me from going. We all know that I—”
“Do exactly as you please,” Reed finished her sentence with a groan. “I know. I know. I shouldn’t get angry with McIntyre, poor chap. I should pity him for having to try to reason with you.”
As Kyria opened her mouth again, her eyes flashing, Reed raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No, no, don’t start breathing fire. I abjectly apologize. I know you are a grown woman and fully capable of taking care of yourself. However, I don’t think I can take any more of your adventures just now. I’m going to visit the twins.”
Rafe grinned. “I don’t think those two will be much of a relief for your nerves.”
“You’re probably right,” Reed acknowledged. “But at least it will be an entirely different set of worries.”
* * *
After luncheon, Kyria was in the sitting room conferring with the housekeeper when she became aware of a high, thin wail. Frowning, she looked at the housekeeper, then toward the open door. Suddenly she realized that the sound was from one of the twins, screaming for help. She jumped up and ran down the hall toward the back of the house, nearly running into Reed coming out of his office. Behind them came the pounding of more running feet.
