The Uncompromising Lord Flint

by Virginia Heath

  ‘You don’t understand. I would have happily escaped and disappeared and left you all with the problem. Have you already forgotten you found me searching for a way out again tonight? If I had found it, I am not certain I wouldn’t have taken it—despite everything you have done to help me. I am starting to worry that I am more like my mother than I would like to acknowledge. What if I always put myself above others? What if I am incapable of a wholly selfless gesture?’

  ‘Again, after everything you’ve been through, that is completely understandable—not selfish. Who could blame you for wanting an easier life when you have been denied one for so long? And why would you put others above yourself when you’ve been on your own in the world for most of your adult life? If you want me to tell you that I think you should take some of the blame for what has happened or I hold you even partially accountable, I’m afraid I cannot. I am just thankful that you are here now, that you are no longer all on your own and I can protect you. I wish I had brought you here sooner. Believed you sooner.’

  She was silent and still for several moments before she exhaled, the tension suddenly leaving her arms as he held her. ‘Ah, Monsieur Flint, if only wishes were horses, then we would both have a stableful—non?’ The half-smile told him his stubborn, indomitable Jess was crawling her way back out of the abyss. The Jess who quoted his own words back at him with artful precision. The one who never let anything hold her down for too long. The one he admired and desired and loved.

  Loved.

  Flint allowed the word to marinade in his mind for a moment as he gazed at her. Certainly not something he had ever searched for or expected, the onset unbelievably quick, decisive and inevitable as his mother had warned. Lightning speed, yes, but not at all abhorrent as he had always assumed. Was she tenacious, spirited and prone to histrionic outbursts? Yes. Were they opposites? Completely. But sat here with her in his arms, those particular quirks of her character were the same ones which called to his heart the most. A heart that now urged him to do what was right.

  ‘Come—I need to show you something.’ He helped her to stand, deciding not to listen to his head for once. His stupid head would only overrule what his gut and heart urged him to do and tonight he was not inclined to listen. The past was the past and Jess needed this.

  ‘If you are dragging me to see Hadleigh again, I shall warn you now I will not take it lightly.’ But she followed him down the hallway to the narrow spiral staircase in the west wing, her small hand perfectly linked with his, her trust in him humbling yet joyous at the same time.

  Flint paused at the only door and sighed. Hadleigh would hit the roof if this backfired. Lord Fennimore would skin him alive. His career would be over. So be it. She was worth whatever repercussions came his way. He pushed the door to swing open wide. The giant four-poster bed in the centre of the cavernous room was already turned down by a servant. A light left burning in readiness. She eyed the scene suspiciously, hesitating to go in. ‘Whose room is this?’

  ‘Mine. And my father’s before me.’ Trying to ignore the bed and the beautiful woman in her nightgown who would undoubtedly be perfect in it, he went in and tugged her to follow. ‘And before him another ancestor, a loyal servant of the Crown. This chamber traditionally passes to the master of the house for one very important reason.’ He stopped at the doors of the ancient wardrobe built into the oak panelling. ‘This third door is the one you want.’ He flung it open, pushing aside the rows of shelves which only one who knew would know they could move and disappear into the wall. He then stepped over the neat line of boots and shoes decorating the bottom, ducking his head slightly as his fingers found the hidden latch. The corridor beyond the secret door glowed golden and he enjoyed the slack-jawed look of wonder on her face as he ushered her inside, making a great show of sliding the shelves complete with their contents back in place behind them before he closed the door.

  ‘In view of the current situation, I had everything prepared as soon as we arrived.’ Stacked along the wall of the capacious anteroom was everything from guns and ammunition to a variety of clothes and disguises. ‘If you walk dead straight, this passageway takes you to the stairs that lead out to the moors. It’s quite a walk, so wear comfortable shoes. When you reach the stairs, don’t go right. With your fear of heights, definitely don’t go right. That passage leads only to the top of the tower Cromwell ruined. Obviously in days of yore they were able to escape from both sides of the castle. Alas, now that passageway is solely responsible for nought but a hell of a draught in the winter time. Its only purpose—apart from training roses, of course—is as a sanctuary for bats—and I’m afraid they’ve not been good tenants these last two hundred years.’

  He walked her to the top of the impossibly narrow stairs that spiralled downwards steeply and pointed to a waiting torch on the wall near a lit candle. ‘Light this, as it is as black as pitch down there, but just in case you dare not risk a light or if the thing goes out, know that there are two hundred and thirty-seven steps. The tunnel beyond is head height but narrow. Keep walking forward using the walls as a guide and when you notice the floor begin to incline upwards and the ceiling get lower you are there. The tunnel emerges through a hatch in the bothy floor.

  ‘Why have you shown me this now?’

  ‘Because I want you to know I trust you and because I will feel better knowing you can leave safely if there is a need. Which I can assure you there won’t be.’

  ‘But what if I use it for my own ends? What if I decide to save myself the inconvenience of a trial? What if—?’ He silenced her with a kiss. It was brief, heartfelt and wonderful because she kissed him back, her eyes fluttering closed as her mouth sighed against his.

  ‘I thought we had agreed there is no point in what ifs. I trust you Jess. Implicitly. Let that be enough for now. Now is all that truly matters, after all, and we will deal with whatever the future holds when the time comes.’ Because one kiss wasn’t enough, he dipped his head again and she melded against him. Flint tried to resist the urge to deepen it and must have given up without much of a fight, because within moments he was lost in her, his greedy palms roaming all over her shapely body, filling his hands with her curves and enjoying all those complicated feelings for the very first time.

  * * *

  Jess had never felt so special. So needed or adored by another person. Yet this kiss was different from the first one they had shared in his study. No less passionate or exciting, but somehow so much more meaningful. Every time his lips brushed over hers, the emotion was real, intense, almost overwhelming. There was an honesty to it that had been missing before, something intangible and untouchable which could only occur because neither of them was holding anything back. He trusted her and she trusted him. In giving her the means to escape he had freed her. They were no longer gaoler and prisoner. No longer enemies or strangers or convenient companions while it suited them. They were one man and one woman. Living entirely in the moment. He wanted her and she wanted him. It was that pure and that all-encompassing.

  His mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck, so she arched it to give him better access. She felt his hands slide upwards from her bottom and moaned when he filled them with her breasts. Shamelessly, and of their own accord, her fingers went to the ribbon at her neck again and undid the bow so that the suddenly unwanted linen barrier could be easily removed with the journey of his lips. But he stepped back, his hands caressing the sensitive skin of her neck, gazing at her reverently, seemingly content to leave the rest of her body covered. With deliberate slowness, Jess undid every button of his waistcoat and pushed it from his shoulders.

  He let it fall before he allowed himself to do the same, staring intently at her while his hands smoothed the fabric down her arms, the unmistakable desire for her alone like molten emeralds in his eyes.

  His breath hitched when first saw her bare breasts, and despite his obviously laboured, deeper breathing, he touched her
with such restraint, allowing only the pad of his index finger to gently trace their shape. ‘I didn’t bring you here to seduce you.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘We should stop.’

  Because her body demanded it and that single gentle caress was nowhere near enough, Jess brazenly used her hand to press his to cup her aching breast fully. ‘I don’t want to stop. I want to enjoy the here and now.’ Her teeth nipped his ear. ‘With you.’

  For a moment she thought he might deny her, he stood so still, his eyes so serious. Clearly at war with himself and his own cast-iron sense of responsibility. The eternal pragmatist attempting to do what he believed was right. But then she felt his thumb graze her nipple in glorious rhythmic circles and she knew that his sensible head was losing the battle. To make sure, she kissed him, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing herself to him. He wanted her. She could feel the unmistakable evidence against her belly.

  Like a cat she arched against it, leaving him in no doubt as to her own desire, her hands tugging his hips closer still and curling possessively around his buttocks.

  That proved his undoing and the guttural moan in the base of his throat thrilled her. A split second later and he replaced his thumb with his tongue on her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and making her knees buckle from the magnificent ripple of pleasure from the intimacy. She felt her nightgown drop to her hips and didn’t care she was naked from the waist up. Why would she when he couldn’t see her scars and his clever mouth was now worshipping her other breast quite thoroughly and her hands had found their way inside his shirt and were now happily learning the feel and shape of his chest. His back. Those beautiful broad, golden shoulders.

  Because it annoyed him, he dragged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, finally bringing her against him properly. Skin against skin. Heart against heart. And seared her mouth with a kiss so thorough, so heated, she had to cling to him to stay upright. Jess shivered as the cold stone of the wall touched her naked back and he terminated the kiss abruptly, putting unwelcome distance between them. His eyes scanned the narrow passageway as if seeing it for the first time and he frowned. ‘We can’t do this here.’ Then his gaze rested on her again, raking the entire length of her body with blatant admiration. ‘Not when there is a perfectly good bed waiting.’ He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. ‘Will you come with me, Jess?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t have to. You can go back to your own bedchamber or you can head down the stairs to your freedom. I want you to know that you have the choice. Go wherever you want. I will not argue with either decision.’

  Her heart stuttered and she cupped his cheek. Nobody had ever given her a choice in anything before. The right to make her own decision was empowering. ‘Take me to your bed, Peter. Right now, I don’t want to go anywhere else.’ She wanted to be loved. Needed to know what true love and genuine affection felt like.

  After solicitously putting her clothing back to rights, he led her slowly back to his bedchamber and she watched him reset the wardrobe before he stood before her a little awkwardly. Shirtless, his skin glowed from the flickering light of the candle, the flames picking out the golden tones in the dusting of hair that covered his chest and narrowed down his abdomen. ‘You can change your mind at any time.’

  ‘If I do, you will be the first to know.’ But she was shyly smiling up at him in invitation, the real Jess this time rather than the mirror of her mother she had hidden behind for other men. He looked unsure, too, which made her less self-conscious about her own nervousness, but he reached out his hand to take hers and once she grasped it he led her to the bed. Then he kissed her so tenderly it brought tears to her eyes.

  Only when his hands began to slide her nightgown back down her shoulders did she panic. ‘Shouldn’t we blow out the light first?’

  ‘I want to see you.’

  ‘At least until the scars are gone...’ In one seamless, swift motion he sent the gauzy linen to fall to a puddle at her feet, catching her hands in his before she used them to cover herself.

  ‘You’re beautiful. That hit me the first time I saw you.’ His hand came up to stroke her face, then plunged into her hair, running his fingers from her scalp, across her sensitive breasts to end at her waist. ‘This has tormented me. I’ve imagined what it would look like spread across my pillow so many times...’ He gathered it all together and lovingly twisted it to sit over just one shoulder. ‘Imagined you in my bed.’ His lips found the exact place were her pulse was beating rapidly at the exposed base of her neck at the same moment his hand came up to claim her breast, causing ripples of pleasure to shimmer through her that wiped everything else from her mind.

  The flickering candle suddenly forgotten, she gloried in the feel of his mouth on her skin, his gentle hands exploring her arms and ribcage. Her aching breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest, her back braced against one of the bedposts while he adored her. It was only when she felt his hands carefully turn her that she came to. Too late to stop him looking at her scars. She felt his fingertips trace one on her shoulder and, embarrassed, Jess tried to turn around, but his strong arms had formed a loose cage around her and his lips now trailed where his fingertips had just been.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Kissing them better.’

  ‘I would rather you didn’t.’ But as his big hands were now massaging her breasts while his tongue and teeth were exquisitely torturing her shoulder, her admonishment sounded needy and she felt him smile against her skin.

  ‘Are you sure?’ As his thumb teased her nipple, the flat of one palm was smoothing down her stomach with purpose. Of its own accord her body arched to meet it and she found her head thrown back and resting on his shoulder as one gentle finger dipped between her legs.

  The world tilted and blurred as she totally lost herself in the wonderful new sensations he was creating, supremely aware of nothing except her needy, greedy body, his hard one and the bedpost she was gripping for dear life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Flint had always believed himself a considerate lover, always mindful of his partner’s pleasure as well as his own, but with Jess he had surpassed himself without consciously trying. Something inside told him that she deserved thorough and dedicated loving after a severe lack of any affection all her life—and that was exactly what he gave her. Heart and soul. Dedicating himself to giving her nothing but pleasure and in return he most definitely enjoyed the most splendid night of passion of his life. He had loved her most thoroughly with his hands and then his mouth before he dared to remove his breeches, by which time she was sprawled across his bed, glorious black hair and limbs strewn with abandon and a slightly dazed but totally wanton expression on her beautiful face. He had put that there.

  He had known she would be passionate. Everything about her temperament had suggested she was a woman who was incapable of being passive—although she had been deliciously pliant and boldly adventurous once he allowed her free rein to have her wicked revenge on him. And, by God, did she.

  The first time he had slowly entered her tight virginal body she had been understandably hesitant at first—stoically determined to endure it for him—until that sensual, earthy passionate nature of hers had fired again and she had clung to him, whispering delightful, breathy endearments in both French and English as they plunged towards insanity together. The second time, she had happily taken charge, riding him with her hands splayed across his chest, head flung back and her perfect, wonderfully responsive breasts jutting out through her tangle of raven hair as she took her own pleasure with the same determined, fiery tenacity as she tackled everything else.

  If he remembered it correctly, and he was pretty certain he would treasure that particular memory for ever, he’d told her he loved her then and had meant it. He had never felt such overwhelming emotion before, never given himself solely over to his he
art before either, and still couldn’t find the will to panic over the truth of it. Despite everything, his feelings for Jess felt right. Perfect. Clearly the forever sort, despite his best intentions to avoid them, especially with a woman who was not an emotional mill pond, but a crashing, unpredictable, beautiful ocean. Seeing that the damage was done and couldn’t be undone, he might as well embrace it. He probably told her all that, too. He’d been very vocal. Tender, fevered, heartfelt words tumbling over one another because all capacity for rational, pragmatic and measured thoughts were gone.

  He had brushed a tear from her cheek, a happy tear because she was smiling at him with such affection, and she had returned the endearment to him. In French of course, just to be contrary.

  ‘Moi aussi, je t’aime.’

  And then she had giggled and covered him in kisses and he had laughed along with her, marvelling in the moment, until the intense power of their joining overcame them and they’d thoroughly lost themselves in each other again.

  It had been, for want of a better adjective, spectacular and Flint couldn’t help feeling a little bit overawed as he gazed at her knotted in his crumpled sheets, that such a beautiful, challenging and maddening woman was his. If he ever met Cupid, he’d shake his hand and thank him for hitting the bullseye. He had had little sleep and by rights should be exhausted, but instead he felt completely invigorated and ready to slay some dragons in her honour. Or jump right back into bed and tumble with her again.

  But he’d had work to do so he had crept out a little before dawn, clutching his boots, casting one last longing look at her sleeping and quietly closed the door. Several hours, many conversations and a thorough check of the castle’s watertight security later and he was still disgustingly pleased with himself and starving.