From the chamber next door came the unmistakable sounds of vigorous lovemaking. From below stairs came the sounds of any common tavern. Boisterous singing and piano music. Laughter. Shouting and shrieking. The sounds of drunken frolicking.
She really shouldn’t have drunk so much Scotch tonight. Her head felt a little swimmy. Which wasn’t typical for her but, then, she’d been distraught and downhearted over what happened between her and Jon. She’d then become terrified about her future, alone without even Jon for an ally, hunted by Maria Seymour— Oh, God!
She tossed onto her belly and pulled the pillow over her head.
Through the wall that separated her chamber from the one opposite where the man had been ill all the previous night, a headboard banged. Loud.
Once, twice, thrice…
Another bang sounded.
Closer.
Rebecca jumped and sat in the bed.
Her door was open.
Two large shadows were walking into her chamber.
She screamed.
Chapter Ten
Rebecca jumped to her feet.
Now there were several men in her chamber. And they were scuffling with each other.
Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of the situation. Was she simply having another drunken nightmare?
A man gave a high-pitched scream.
The sound sent chills through her whole body. It certainly sounded real enough. As did the sickening crackling crunching noise that followed.
The man screamed louder.
The door had swung fully open and light from the corridor illuminated her chamber better. She blinked and tried to concentrate and make sense of things. A taller, dark-haired man had twisted a shorter man’s arm behind his back. Two men were subduing another man.
The tall man released his quarry then leapt and kicked him in the back. With another almost feminine cry of pain, the man fell to his knees. The tall man pressed his boot into the man’s back. The man was sobbing convulsively.
Acid welled in Rebecca’s throat and she had to swallow, hard, to prevent herself from retching.
She really shouldn’t have drunk that extra Scotch.
“Rebecca, are you unharmed?”
The sound of Stephen’s characteristic hoarse-sounding voice momentarily increased her sense of confusion.
She clapped her hand to her collarbone.
“Are you all right?” he repeated.
“Ah…y-yes.” She took a ragged breath. “Yes.”
“Go next door. To my chamber and wait.” He jabbed his thumb towards the room where the occupant had been ill the night before.
“I-I…” She was still startled.
“Obey me.” His voice was implacable. Coldness seemed to radiate off him.
She had an abrupt inkling of his intent. Fear swept through her and energy flooded to her feet, urging her to flee. “Stephen, what’s happening?”
His mouth twisted and he took his foot off the fallen man and approached her.
His expression was so fierce that she gasped and stepped back hurriedly.
He took hold of her shoulders. “I have business to transact and I do not want you here.” He gave her a little shove towards the door. “Go.”
A cry forced its way up her throat and she fled the chamber. The door to his room was open. She walked in, hesitantly.
She remembered Stephen’s hard, cold expression. A murderous expression.
Should she really stay around to await his return?
Yet, where else would she go this time of night? She leant against the wall and hugged her shoulders.
There were muffled sounds coming from the other chamber. A man’s cries that were stifled by a gag of some sort?
She shuddered and then put her fingers in her ears. Yes, she’d seen great suffering in the war. But this was different. This was civilized England.
Who the devil was Stephen Drake?
Surely not that stranger who had stared so coldly back at her.
She had to protect herself. She had to get out of this whole matter safe and sound.
And alone.
She daren’t trust anyone.
The door opened and Stephen entered.
The paleness of his face made her gasp. It wiped everything else out of her mind as concern gripped her heart. She hurried to him. “Stephen!”
She reached to touch him.
He took her by the wrists. “What did you mean by running like that?”
“I-I saw your journal. The code. The sketches. They frightened me.”
He tightened his grip, his face still pale but with emotion blazing in his eyes. “You little fool, you put yourself square into danger.”
“I was afraid. All those unanswered questions.”
“Why didn’t you wait until I could explain it all to you?”
“Because I already asked you, repeatedly, about your work, your situation, and you refused to answer.”
“It didn’t concern you. I told you, I am the only person who can protect you now. Why won’t you trust me?”
“Perhaps I would if you would only explain something of yourself to me.”
He stared down at her, she could feel the wheels of his mind grinding, he was considering what to tell her.
Would it be the truth?
How could she possibly know?
“Please, Stephen just tell me something.” She swallowed, tightly. “Anything.”
“I work for the Home Office.”
She waited to hear the remainder. But he stayed silent, just staring down at her with those blazing, midnight-blue eyes.
“That’s it? That’s all you intend to say?”
“It’s enough.”
“No, it is not.” Her voice had become shrill, strident.
He pursed his mouth.
“It’s not,” she repeated, more calmly, yet firmly.
“Rebecca, those men came to intimidate you. To interrogate you, torture you, rape you if they thought it would gain their ends.”
“What ends?”
“Whatever it was that Maria Seymour was trying to get out of you.”
“Maria sent them?”
He shook his head, his expression sober. “They work for the Earl of Barnet.”
“The Earl of Barnet?” She’d heard of Barnet. She had absolutely no idea why he’d want anything from her.
“The Earl of Barnet, Maria Seymour’s powerful lover.”
“You really think she dared take a lover with her new husband dying? With her tattered reputation?”
“I don’t think it, I know it. I conjecture that she has attempted to blackmail you into betraying Ruel in some fashion, though you refuse to share that information with me.”
“What would Barnet want?”
“Because I believe Barnet is using her to find a way to bring Ruel down. And you go calling upon your former lover for aid. God, Rebecca, you walked right into his trap.
“Barnet will seek to destabilize Ruel’s life, bit by bit. His goals will not be the same as Maria Seymour’s yet he will waste no good action. If Saxby’s death can be turned to Barnet’s purposes, he will be ruthless in utilizing it.”
“What you’re saying is fantastical. He would be exerting far more effort than the results he could expect.”
“No, he would not. Maria would be. Barnet need only linger in her bed a few moments and plant the seeds in her mind. He’s quite good at that.”
“If that is the case, then the situation is not that dire for me. And Jon would just need to resist being influenced by Barnet. And if I don’t lean on Jon for aid, then Barnet cannot destabilize his life, correct? If Barnet cannot attain his goals, he’ll leave off maybe?”
He shook his head. “No, things just don’t often work out according to plans. Maria may do whatever she wishes to do. And it would suit Barnet’s needs far better if you actually went to prison. Ruel won’t leave you out for the wolves and perhaps his young wife will not have the wherewithal to
bear up under his spending so much time and attention on your needs.”
“I see.”
“Also, Barnet has a spy in Ruel’s household.”
“How can you know that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Because you have a spy in Jon’s house?”
“Because I know Barnet.” Stephen’s expression suddenly hardened. “Enough. You and I have something to settle.”
“Wha—”
He took her arm and drew her with him to the bed. The abruptness of the action had cut her words off, left her breathless. He sat and she found herself off her feet, swept across his lap.
She remembered how quickly, how agilely he had leapt and kicked her assailant in the back. Knocked him to the floor.
A thrill chased down her spine. Fear? Yes, certainly. But not completely…
“You will learn to obey me.” His tone held a life or death determination that no man had ever used towards her.
A series of those thrills chased through her body.
With one hand, he pinned her wrists to the small of her back. A relentless, iron grip. Beneath her belly, she could feel the hard corded strength of his thighs. His lean, elegantly fashioned body was built for expediency. Like a sleek panther, not a square inch was wasted.
She struggled and writhed, but if she were honest with herself, she did it solely to have him restrain her.
Would a saner woman have demanded to be released? Yes. Would that saner woman have screamed for help? God, yes.
But the sensualist in Rebecca, the long repressed adventuress in her, wanted to experience this.
His strength.
His agile grace.
His dominance.
And dear, sweet heavens, that unexpected ardour towards her.
No man had ever been passionate about her. Not until Stephen. She wanted to experience being so special to a man.
Was that such a crime?
Maybe not a crime, but probably not too wise—
His hand made hard contact with her bottom, through the nightdress.
Fiery pain blazed across her flesh.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
He rained several more strikes down on her arse, each harder than the last.
She tasted the coppery taste of her own blood as he continued to spank her, stopping, lifting her nightdress and then starting again, leaving no inch of her flesh neglected. She couldn’t bite the cries back any longer. Tears streamed from her eyes.
“The next time you suspect me of being a black-hearted devil, you come to me with your doubts before you go running off and placing yourself in danger.”
He placed a third fury of spanks on her burning buttocks.
God, his hand was so broad, so long, so strong! He didn’t want to use whips or crops on her? Maybe he didn’t even need too…
When he stopped, she lay limply, sobbing softly and wetting his dark woollen trousers with her tears.
After a few moments, he pulled her up. The intensity of the moment was too much, she attempted to burrow her face into the crevasse between his chest and his arm.
He smoothed her hair off her cheek. “God. I was so bloody worried about you.”
His gently spoken words rang with such restrained emotion, such sincerity.
She was instantly abashed. All of her faithless, doubting thoughts shamed her. “I am sorry, Stephen.”
Her own voice sounded anguished.
His body eased against hers. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t do that again.”
He gave her hair a hard tug, as though he were accentuating the passion behind his words.
She sighed and relaxed into him, pressing her cheek against his powerful body.
Stephen.
Hard, throbbing heat rose beneath her bottom. “I was without you, all night and all day yesterday,” he said.
This was his room? Had he been here last night? Had he also been ill? Or had that been one of his servants? Her heart panged at the thought that he might have been that ill. Had he eaten something rotten? He must have, for it seemed to have passed quickly. Tonight he brimmed with vigour.
Though he had been very pale at times whilst they had been together…
“On your knees, girl.” He gave her a gentle push out of his lap.
She dropped to the floor, kneeling and looking up at his gorgeous face.
His expression grew pained and he was wrenching at the buttons on his fall.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
No. She bit her lip to keep from uttering the protest. She wanted to touch that proud, straining erection.
But that would be part of her punishment.
With a sigh, she obeyed him, locking her arms behind her back.
He held his cock for her. “Expedite the matter. I am not in a mood to be teased.”
She opened her mouth and hurried to engulf him, remembering the exact pressure of suction that he had favoured the other night.
He fisted his hand into her hair and pulled steadily. The dull pain sent currents of pleasure down her nape, her spine and made her nipples pull tight. She moaned, deep in her throat.
He groaned and tightened his grip on her hair and angled her head to suit his need. He thrust deeper, holding her head, taking all of the control, using her at the speed he wished.
She struggled to swallow, to keep up.
He was leaking, salty seed teased her tongue with a promise of more and he was groaning, his hoarse voice sounding harsher than it might have otherwise. He pumped into her, straining as though testing her. She gloried in having her endurance stretched to its limit.
She loved the slick steel feel of him against her lips and tongue. He tasted divine and she couldn’t stop moaning, the sound vibrating in her chest and her throat.
His cock quaked against her tongue, within her throat. Copious amounts of hot seed surged into her mouth, wave after wave.
She swallowed and swallowed, greedy for every gush that his pulsing erection delivered.
And then, too soon, it was over.
He withdrew himself and she fell limply against his legs and rested her head against his thighs.
He stroked her cheek, briefly then laid his hand still. “I am sorry, love, but I have unavoidable business to take care of.” He tapped his finger against her cheek, none too gently. “You’re to lock your door and open it to no one. I’ll return within two hours and we’ll have a rest and continue our journey by nightfall.”
She sighed and pressed her cheek. She would prefer it if he did not leave. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed and melt into him.
“Do you understand me, Rebecca?”
She nodded.
“You will give your acquiesce aloud.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“If the inn catches fire, you may leave your chamber. Otherwise, you stay right here.”
“Yes, Stephen.”
He gave her bottom a smack. “Go get your key and bring it back to me.”
Chapter Eleven
Another knock sounded. Rebecca stared at the door and chewed her nail.
“Rebecca, for God’s sake, open up.”
At Jon’s voice, she caught her breath. He wasn’t going to go away. And what would she possibly say?
She ran to the door. “Go away, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Oh Christ, Rebecca,” he said in a low tone. “Don’t be difficult.”
“I-I drank too much wine last night.” Her voice broke on the lie and she cleared her throat then continued. “I have a headache.”
“You never drink wine.”
She suppressed a growl of frustration. “Well, I did last night!”
“I have just the thing for your headache. I have brought a bottle of Scotch.”
Goodness. A peace offering. Fondness twisted her heart. “You promise to only stay a few minutes?”
What was it really going to matter? She would likely soon have to flee to America
—or worse, and she’d never see him again. Surely, she didn’t want to part on bad terms?
“Of course. Just let me come in for a few moments.”
“Oh, very well.” On a sigh, she unlatched the door and opened it.
He held up an amber bottle and gave her a grin.
She couldn’t help smiling in answer.
“I’ll take that!” She reached out and took hold of the bottle and snatched it to herself.
“You always were a greedy little wench.”
“Shall I pour us a glass?”
He shook his head. “I am a father now. I have to abstain from all hard spirits. I let myself have one late at night, before retiring.”
“An abstainer? Goodness.” She sat on the bed and laid the bottle beside her.
He sat in the chair. “Anne sent me here.”
She raised her brows. “Your lady sent you here?”
“She was most unhappy with me for having quarrelled with you.”
He had told his lady wife about their petty squabble? She searched his open face.
Yes, of course he had.
Now his countess knew all those things Rebecca had said? Oh God, she just wanted to die.
“She has a high regard for you.”
That statement surprised her. “I wouldn’t know it, Jon.” She took a deep breath then dared to say. “She’s really quite a haughty, prickly thing. I hadn’t pictured you with such a lady.”
“Haughty and prickly.” His grin returned.
Heat suffused her face. “Well, she is.”
Damn it, why couldn’t she learn to hold her tongue? Because she never before had to with Jon.
He tapped his fingers on the chair arm. “I wanted to discuss something with you.”
Like a hundred tingling nettles, nervousness bristled through her insides. Goodness, he sounded so serious. “Go on.”
“I know how important your liberty is to you.”
She smiled to hide her current confusion over what she really had ever wanted from him. What she wanted from any man.
He shook his head. “I was so afraid of marriage but I had no choice. Ruel needed an heir. But I wanted a friendly marriage. I thought to myself, who do I trust the most in the world? Who is my right hand?”
Her throat grew tight. How could he possibly think that way about Maria? Rebecca’s stomach began to turn sick.
Perilous Risk Page 17
