Lord save him from troublesome women!
He still wasn’t over his forced two months of rustication in Cornwall and his nerves were shot. Flint had spent the better part of the last few hours attempting to calm down, only to find his thoughts constantly turning to her. And what a jumbled mess they were, too. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake the image of her frightened and broken. The brave tears and the smart mouth. The fighter and the defeated. The traitor and the woman. All tangled up with a healthy dose of inappropriate lust and his ingrained need to protect the woman he was duty bound to deliver to the courts. Tonight would be pure torture.
Three stairs up and he found himself neatening his cuffs and smoothing down his hair. Damn woman! All this enforced proximity was driving him mad. Gray’s cheerful face at the top of the landing did nothing to appease him.
‘Is everything to your liking?’
No. There was still her. ‘Yes. Let’s put this inn to bed.’
‘Then she’s all yours, my friend. Good luck.’ Gray tossed him the key and disappeared down the staircase. That was one small consolation at least. Flint’s misery would be spared an audience.
He strode to the door with purpose, allowed his lip to curl with distaste, then pulled himself together before he knocked in case his frustrated fist splintered the wood. ‘I’m back.’
‘Come in.’
Good lord, she sounded positively calm. Something so out of character it immediately raised all his hackles and had him narrowing his eyes. Warily, Flint undid the lock and slowly poked his head around the door, waiting for the projectile that never came.
‘Bon soir, Monsieur Flint. Back to vex me, I see.’ Although she couldn’t see because she was sat at the dressing table with her back to him, running the hairbrush determinedly through her waist-length hair impatiently. And, damn it all to hell, it shimmered like the polished ebony keys of a pianoforte in the candlelight, a thick, silk curtain falling over just the one shoulder that his fingers ached to touch. That hair needed proper restraining for the sake of his frazzled nerves and wayward body. ‘Is your trap set? Does the whole of Plymouth know I am here, waiting to be killed? A veritable lamb to the slaughter?’
The nightgown she wore dipped slightly to expose the creamy expanse of perfect skin covering the nape of her neck. One didn’t need to be an expert in women’s fashions to know the front of the neckline dipped lower still, or that the fine, soft linen would drape in such a way as to make a statement out of her bosom and allow the silhouette of her figure to be tantalisingly visible when the light caught it. Later, if he survived the night, he was going to tear a strip off the idiot who had purchased all her clothes. What the hell had the fellow been thinking? That wasn’t a sensible everyday nightgown at all. That was the sort of confection a woman wore on her wedding night to entice her new husband! And all that lovely hair was down! Torturing him. Why hadn’t she plaited it? Because she wanted to seduce him. The witch.
‘You are perfectly safe.’
‘And you are a fool if you think either one of us is safe. Please remember I said that before they put a bullet or a dagger in your chest. Monsieur Gray has made your bed so you can sleep the restful sleep of the deluded.’ She turned, gesturing to the pallet on the floor, and he very nearly groaned aloud. How, exactly, were they all supposed to keep their minds firmly on their mission when confronted with Jess looking like that? If the shops were still open, he’d send the fool out to purchase her staid and sensible garments, with high necks and no shape. A smock, perhaps? Made of thick wool. Or chainmail. And a very unbecoming nightcap which he would personally double knot beneath her chin to prevent it dislodging and releasing that hair. ‘I presume you intend to drag it in front of the door again, lest I am foolish enough to attempt to escape with armed guards stood outside.’
She stood and he almost groaned again. That neckline might well be the death of him. The shadowy outline of her waist and hips came a close second. It was hard to ignore the way they undulated as she walked to the bed. Eve tempting Adam—or was she merely the snake? ‘Goodnight, Monsieur Flint. Let us both pray it is not our last. I shall leave you to blow out the candles.’
Clearly now intent on being a complete masochist, Flint watched her clamber on to the bed and pull the covers over. They didn’t help. Intent on not looking at him, the vixen was lying on her side facing the window. The thin blanket moulded to her curves like a second skin, making her backside resemble a juicy peach ripe for the picking. The unrestrained ebony tresses calling to him. Touch me...you know you want to.
Like a man walking to the gallows, Flint wandered to all three of the candles in turn and snuffed them out before dragging his bedding miserably to the door. A pointless task, really, as sleep of any sort was now nigh on impossible. Not that her words had bothered him over much, because he knew there were fifty men close by who had his back, but because she had occupied his head again in a wholly inappropriate way and he knew already nothing would dislodge her. Instead, he removed only his coat, stretched out on the pallet and fixed his gaze firmly on the ceiling, and wondered what he had done to deserve this stint in purgatory with the most beautiful, maddening and, lord help him, most alluring woman he had ever met. Up in heaven he swore he heard his father laughing at him. Got me shot, lad. That’ll teach you.
Chapter Eight
The soft tap on the door woke him up with a start. ‘There’s someone outside.’
Gray’s whisper suggested that whoever it was, they were not yet aware that his Majesty’s finest were all lined up waiting for them. Neither was the wide-eyed temptress who had suddenly shot bolt upright in her bed. All that dark hair an inviting tangle around her head. Flint put his finger to his lips to warn her to keep quiet. For once, she did as she was told.
‘How many?’
‘Hard to tell. The port is starting to wake to catch the tide, but the same man has certainly wandered past three times now and there is no doubt he’s trying to gauge the lay of the land. I’ve put Trent and Dobbs on standby to follow him in case he comes past again.’
‘Keep me posted.’ Flint lay back down heavily and rubbed his tired eyes.
‘You’re going back to bed? Saint-Aubin’s assassin is outside and you’re going back to bed!’ Her hiss was too loud to be a whisper.
‘Of course I’m not going back to bed. I am merely trying to wake up and equilibrate before I get up.’
‘We don’t have time for you to equilibrate! We need to leave! Tout de suite!’ She was already off the bed and frantically rummaging in the trunk for clothes. ‘They are here! Mon Dieu!’ A half-boot flew out and thudded on the floor, she scooped it up in the hasty bundle in her arms and dashed behind the screen. In moments, the inappropriate nightgown had been torn off and tossed over it, and the knowledge she was now stood quite naked within feet of him, her hair no doubt tumbling down her back, her shoulders, her breasts... Damn and blast, that was unnerving. If the screen toppled over in her haste to dress, then he wasn’t entirely sure he would ever recover.
‘Calm down, woman! There is no need to panic. The inn is secure. Gray was simply doing his job by reporting his suspicions...’
‘Suspicions!’ She gave up hissing and shrieked. ‘You don’t know these men like I do! They are ruthless! Killers!’ The screen juddered ominously. ‘Get up!’ A filmy chemise seemed to float into the air before he watched her arms wriggle into it, closely followed by a gown, then she emerged looking totally scandalous and gloriously wanton. ‘Lace me up!’
Damn woman couldn’t have looked more gorgeous if she tried. One arm held up the front of the dress to cover her modesty. Unfortunately, with her other hand holding up as much of her tousled hair as possible, Flint’s eyes drank in the sight of her bared neck and the graceful curve of her spine beneath the soft fabric of that chemise. Flint found himself rising and walking towards her like a man hypnotised, before his brain caught up a
nd overruled his body with a frigid splash of common sense.
This was all very convincing. The panic and haste. The wide, fear-filled eyes. The need to escape—except this minx wanted nothing better than to escape him. What better time to do it than when your comrades were loitering outside, within arm’s reach, ready to whisk you back to France?
He eyed the dangling laces like cobras. Jess had to know he was attracted to her. Aside from the fact that she was absolutely stunning and not averse to using her looks to befuddle men, she must have felt the evidence of it when he had pinned her beneath him the previous night. It had been glaringly obvious.
His body might well be responding again, but he was no fool. The manipulative Jessamine knew exactly what she was doing now, just as she had then. Well, two could play that game.
He allowed his hands to give in to the temptation to touch her hair, gathering up the loose tendrils to move them out of the way, making sure his hands gently brushed the sensitive visible skin at the back of her neck. Her startled intake of breath was its own reward and made up for the fact that his body was now humming from the brief contact and his nose wanted to bury itself in her hair. His palms grazed her bared shoulders, lingered, before he loosely grasped the fabric and took his time arranging the gown properly on her shoulders. Flint was standing so near to her he could hear her soft breathing and knew that she could feel his on her neck, too, because she stopped breathing for a few seconds before her wits returned. ‘Hurry up!’
‘I am more accustomed to unlacing ladies’ garments than lacing them.’ She shivered at the gravelly sound of his voice so close to her ear. ‘You’ll have to bear with me...’ One hand trailed along the length of her spine through the gossamer fabric of her chemise, making her back arch delightfully. Were those goosebumps on her neck? Surely that was a good sign. Her encouraging reaction made him smile. ‘I’m a novice as a lady’s maid—but I’m enjoying myself immensely.’
She heard the laughter in his voice and her head whipped around. She had the audacity to look outraged. ‘You are making fun of me?’
‘No, my lady. I’m playing you at your own game. You are not the only one who can use their wiles effectively.’ Flint hooked an arm around her waist and drew her back, unceremoniously pulling the two gaping halves of the garment together. ‘Did you seriously think I would fall for your obvious seduction, Jess?’ His fingers made quick work of the laces while he tried and failed not to be thoroughly seduced by her perfume. Who the hell had bought the vixen perfume as well? Jasmine, too! If ever there was a scent to conjure unwanted images of warm summer nights and clandestine assignations.
‘Seduction!’ He had to give her credit for the affronted squeak. It was a very convincing touch. ‘There are men outside trying to kill me! We need to go now!’
He tied off the laces and pushed her a good foot away for the sake of his sanity. ‘No, they aren’t. They might try to kill me, but we both know those men out there are here to liberate you. They probably have a rowing boat bobbing in readiness in the harbour and a fast ship anchored offshore. And before you argue the toss, it’s probably best that you know now I have no intention of leaving until the sun is out and our bellies are full of breakfast. Might I remind you that you are bait and we want them to come. The fact they have apparently taken the bait so soon cheers me immensely.’
He snatched up his coat and stalked to the door. ‘Fix your hair. There is far too much of it! I’ll send Gray in with a tray once I’ve eaten.’
Jess listened to the key turn in the lock and simply stared at the door. Her heart was beating so fast, it drowned out all the other sounds in her spinning head. She felt sick, her legs so unsteady she staggered to the bed and sunk helplessly on the mattress.
They weren’t leaving. Mon Dieu.
There were murderers outside and they weren’t leaving.
It was unbelievable. Unthinkable. And for now she was powerless to do anything about it. She sat numb for several minutes before pacing to one of the windows and gazing out. Her room overlooked the deserted courtyard where the height and the shadows played games with her, hinting at movement and danger which was probably more imagined than real. For the sake of her own sanity, she concentrated on every solid outline and curve, trying to separate fact from her own fevered imaginings and her irrational and crippling fear of heights.
Two carriages, one of them the very carriage she had ridden in yesterday, stood half-bathed in lamplight from the large lantern suspended in the archway. A few yards away, another light illuminated what she presumed was the kitchen. The blurred, distorted shape of a maid carrying something scurried past the leadlight glass. A cat jumped on to that same window ledge and Jess nearly jumped out of her skin, before her eyes contradicted what her hammering heart feared.
Whatever danger lurked outside this bedchamber, she needed to be logical to outwit it. Forcing a calmness she did not feel, Jess gave herself a sound talking to. It couldn’t be far off dawn. Soon the sun would chase the darkness away and there would be less opportunity to hide in the shadows. They wouldn’t dare strike during daylight in such a central location. Which either meant the clock was ticking or Saint-Aubin’s assassins had assessed the lay of the land, just as Gray had stated, and decided this crowded inn in the middle of the busiest thoroughfare in Plymouth was not the ideal location for an abduction. Attacking this close to dawn wasn’t worth the risk, or at least she hoped that was the conclusion they had drawn.
Jess opened the window and craned her ears, but heard nothing out of the ordinary there either. Beyond the archway, the sounds of the town waking up were clear. Carts and the occasional voices. Potential witnesses. Too many to chance it? If only she could see the street, then she might feel safer, but alas, she had no choice but to put her life in the hands of the frustrating Flint and his minions and her own common sense. There was no point in spending her time on tenterhooks. Fear would only serve to create panic, when logical and strategic thinking was needed. This was her current lot in life and would remain so until she found an opportunity to escape.
* * *
Over the course of the next hour she watched the sunrise and the inn come alive, yet there was still no sign of Saint-Aubin’s henchmen or the uncompromising Lord Flint. As Flint had promised, Gray delivered a tray of food, but refused to be drawn on what was occurring outside. Despite the bright daylight, it was clear they intended to keep her wholly in the dark. Jess picked at the food only because she knew she had to keep her strength up, but each mouthful tasted like dust that was painful to swallow. After that she began to pace and was close to wearing a hole in the carpet when she heard his boots on the stairs. She knew it was Flint because her body sensed him before he spoke, the awareness making her pulse quicken as she unwillingly recalled the feel of his warm breath on her skin. Detestable man!
‘Time to go.’ He was talking to Gray outside, but the sound of his hushed tones made goosebumps rise on her neck just as they had when he had touched her this morning. It reminded her of the feel of his warm hands on her skin and, despite the pleasant temperature in her bedchamber, she shivered at the memory. In those emotionally charged moments, that brief contact had cut through her fear and made her forget everything but him.
Stupid, stupid fool!
Jess made sure her expression was thunderous when he opened the door. ‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’ He stepped inside, closely followed by Gray and the bare-knuckle fighter. They hoisted her new trunk and carried it out, leaving her with him. His green eyes travelled the length of her body in assessment, then narrowed. ‘I thought I told you to do your hair.’
Surely he had better things to consider than the state of her coiffure! ‘And I clearly remember telling you yesterday that you can go to hell. That sentiment has not changed today, nor will it.’ If he hated the sight of her hair down, all the better. Jess would never pin it up again in his presence. She flounced towards the door and he
let her pass, but caught her arm before she reached the stairs. Jess glared at his hand as if it was something offensive, yet felt the peculiar heat of it nevertheless. The contact made her skin tingle.
‘I’m your shadow, remember. Joined at the hip.’
‘As if I could forget.’ If only.
Jess went willingly down the stairs. The more miles she put between the lurking assassin and herself, the better. The inn was no less crowded this morning than it had been last night. So many strange and potentially dangerous faces, she allowed him to wrap his arm around her waist and use his big body to shield her as he led her through the throng, bizarrely grateful for his presence and the extra pair of eyes. And his were everywhere. Against her hip, she felt the reassuring length of his pistol in his coat. He was prepared to defend them should the need arise and that was some comfort.
The courtyard was less busy, but it was obvious the day had long begun. An ostler was polishing a carriage. A married couple stood next to their luggage, waiting for their conveyance. Behind them their two small children were entertaining themselves and laughing. A stable boy lugged fresh straw towards the stalls. Through the archway the street beyond was alive with the normal activity of daily life. The sight of all that normality brought a lump to Jess’s throat alongside a wave of longing so strong she almost sighed aloud, momentarily forgetting the need for haste in the wake of the sight of such luxury. How long had it been since she had seen the world like this? Oh, how she wished she could be part of it again. The simple things that people took for granted. Things she never would again...if she was spared.
Gray opened the door of the carriage beyond and Flint led her towards it, just as another conveyance turned into the yard. Instinctively he gently manoeuvred them to one side to allow it to pass. The high-sprung carriage was glossy and obviously expensive, its owner clearly very powerful and probably oblivious to how lucky he was to experience that splendour he was encased in. Jess remembered thinking those things before her heart stopped. Because the aristocratic face watching her with amusement from the window was one she recognised only too well and hated above all others.
The Uncompromising Lord Flint Page 8
