The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6)

by Chasity Bowlin

  Had there ever existed a more beautiful woman?

  *

  Naked before him, Prim had thought she would feel vulnerable, exposed, embarrassed perhaps. But as his gaze roamed over her, and she could see the wonder and appreciation in his gaze, she didn’t feel any of those things. She felt powerful, seductive, beautiful. For perhaps the first time in her life, she was thankful that she had inherited that unusual combination of features that made her so appealing to others. It was, in that moment, more of a blessing than a burden.

  But just as he was taking that moment to appreciate her, she was also surveying him. Broad shoulders and a wide, heavily-muscled chest lightly covered with crisp dark hair, all tapering to a lean waist. The line of hair that bisected the ridges of his abdomen and arrowed downward until it disappeared behind the fall of his breeches entranced her and piqued her curiosity.

  Reaching out, she allowed her fingertips to trail over the skin of his stomach, marveling at how firm he was beneath satiny flesh and how warm he was. But he caught her wrist, effectively halting her explorations.

  “You don’t like it when I touch you?” she asked.

  “I like it too much, and I don’t want to rush this,” he replied, his voice deeper and rougher than before. It raised goosebumps on her skin and made her shiver.

  But then he was there, bearing her back onto the bed, his large body atop hers. Heat and sinewy muscle pressing against her, chasing away the chill and leaving only the warmth of desire in its wake.

  His mouth was on hers, crushing her lips as he teased her with his tongue, his teeth nipping at her lower lip in a way that left her gasping. The kiss gave way to caresses, and his hands were at her breasts, touching her where no one ever had, and making her feel things that were alien, overwhelming and yet so intoxicating that the idea of asking him to stop never entered her mind.

  Each touch swept her further away, clouded her senses and left her gasping. She clutched at his shoulders, holding on to him as the entire world seemed to shrink until it consisted only of the two of them and the narrow bed they occupied.

  Then his mouth was moving lower, scattering kisses along her collarbone, the swells of her breasts and then lower still, until he claimed one turgid nipple with his lips. Prim let out a soft moan, unable to hold back the sound, as her head fell back and she arched into that touch, eager for more. And he gave it. He teased that tender flesh with lips, teeth and tongue, driving her to a point of near madness before turning his attention to her other breast.

  When his hand left her hip and coasted gently over her stomach to slip between her thighs, she was so mindless with pleasure and need, she never thought to protest or make any attempt to halt his progress. Instead, she welcomed him eagerly, parting her thighs. Another soft moan escaped her as he touched her intimately. It quickly became a gasp and then a broken sob as he found the very center of her pleasure. She hadn’t known she was capable of feeling such a thing. Every touch drew that pleasure out, intensified it, and at the same time, built a sense of anticipation, as if there was something hovering just out of her reach.

  His touches grew more insistent. His mouth returned to her breast and those intense sensations in tandem left her gasping and shuddering with the onslaught. It happened suddenly. Her thighs began to tremble and the muscles of her stomach drew taut, quivering, and then pleasure simply engulfed her. She trembled and quaked when it crested within her.

  Gasping, clinging to him desperately, she was given no reprieve. He moved between her parted thighs even as he freed the buttons of his breeches. Eagerly, Prim reached for him, wanting to touch him, to give him some of the pleasure he had just shown her. But he gripped her hands once more, halting her.

  “I am clinging to my control by the merest thread,” he muttered, softening the words with a kiss.

  “I want to touch you,” she insisted.

  “You may touch me all you want… later and at your leisure, but not now. Not yet.”

  Prim relented and placed her arms around him, pulling him even closer as her hands skimmed over the smooth skin of his back, savoring the feeling of sinewy strength in him. She knew what was to come next. The mechanics of it were known to her, but the feeling of it was not.

  She could feel his arousal pressing against her. But there was no fear or hesitation—only eagerness. When he pressed inside her, parting her flesh with his own, she closed her eyes. There was a small amount of discomfort, a single flash of pain, and then it was gone. He went utterly still, waiting, holding himself back and denying his own urges.

  He was waiting for her, Prim realized, waiting for some signal that she was ready to continue. Without words, she moved her hips. It was more than just pleasure. More than just the physical sensations of their bodies touching. There was an intimacy, a closeness with him in that moment. It wasn’t about surrendering her body to him, it was about the two of them surrendering themselves to one another.

  As he began to move within her, that same tension she now recognized began to build anew. But it was more powerful than before, and more eagerly anticipated, because she would be sharing it with him.

  Their movements became more frantic, her cries more insistent. Sweat slicked his skin and his muscles tensed and bunched as they strained against one another. But it was too much. The spiraling pleasure simply took her and as she cried out with it, she felt him shudder against her, felt the flood of warmth as he, too, gave himself up to it.

  In the aftermath, held tightly against him, their breathing ragged, a kind of peace and contentment she had never known settled over her. Prim felt safe and whole with him. Perhaps, she thought, that was truly what love was. It filled in all the missing chinks in her, the things that her fractured childhood had taken from her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Kitty hunkered in the back of the cart, hidden behind a stack of barrels that she prayed fervently would not collapse atop her. With every rut in the road, she feared that fate more and more. She had thought the cart a Godsend when first she saw it. Now, as it took her further and further from Stoke-on-Trent, she wondered if she had not been hasty. But as she recalled her last glimpse of Lord Samford entering that narrow alley, the echoing report of a pistol and the emergence of a dark-haired man with a scarred face, she knew that she’d had no other choice. If, by some miracle, Samford had been spared death in that alley, her fate with him would have been sealed. Had they known of her presence in that alley when that pistol ball had ended him, she would likely have met a similar fate. Very few murderers would willingly leave a witness alive to tell the tale.

  They were heading northwest. She could tell by the setting of the sun behind them. Likely, they would be heading to a port city. The barrels would be loaded on a ship and taken to heaven only knew where. She had no money, but she did have her locket and a ring that she might sell. It might be enough to book a passage for her back to Bristol and on to Bath. Or it might be better to take the stage to Carlisle, to get to her grandmother’s house, empty though it currently was save for a few aging pensioners. There, she could write to her father and have the necessary arrangements made for safe passage home.

  They hit another rut and the barrels, jarred for miles on end, shifted once more. This time one of them struck her with enough force that it knocked the wind out of her. She let out a loud “oomph.” And then panic struck. Had they heard it?

  The cart slowed, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves striking the road changed. And then the wheels stopped moving altogether. Everything lurched. Kitty wanted to run, but after hours cramped in the same position, lying on her side with her body curved under the backboard and around the barrels, she couldn’t move.

  “Who’s in there? Show yourself!”

  The command was uttered gruffly. But it was not accompanied by the barrel of a pistol pointing at her or a sword to poke at her. Feeling, if not optimistic, then at least less terrified, Kitty slowly managed to drag herself up into a sitting position and then to her feet. Her legs
were numb and she had to lean against the barrel to remain upright. As she lifted her head, she found herself staring into the face of a man with dark hair and a long scar that ran the length of his cheek, from the corner of his eye to his jawline. Half of it disappeared into the dark beard that covered much of his face, but she could still see it plain enough. It wasn’t jagged, but a clean slice. Made with a knife or sword, she thought.

  He tipped his hat back and gazed at her levelly. “Who are you and what are you doing in this cart?”

  “I’m trying to get to the nearest port,” she said. “I was eloping and I changed my mind. He refused to return me home and I have no money for the stage.”

  “So you were going to stow away on board my ship then?”

  “You have a ship?” she asked. He was also a murderer or at the very least the companion of murderers, but then the person he’d been party to murdering was Samford and Samford had rather needed killing, so that wasn’t necessarily a point against him. So long as he remained unaware that she could name him or Samford’s killer, she would be fine.

  He laughed. “You really expect me to believe you didn’t know?”

  “Why would I know? You were in a landlocked city!”

  “I’m famous, love,” he said.

  “Famous for what?” she demanded, hoping to just brazen it out.

  He moved around the edge of the cart, close enough that his fingertips brushed the skirt of her dress when he leaned against the boards. “Piracy.”

  Oh. It was not good. It had gone from bad to worse and she was still stuck in the middle of it.

  “You could ransom me back to my father,” she said. “He’s very wealthy. It would get you paid and get me home. I’ll cause you no trouble.”

  He looked up at her thoughtfully. “Any woman who says she’s no trouble will be nothing but trouble… that’s a fact if ever there was one. And I don’t do kidnapping or ransom. I like my jobs to be tidy. But I’ll get you to Ellesmere Port and help you sell that bauble on your finger for a good enough price to get you home. But you have to do something for me.”

  Kitty swallowed convulsively, praying it wouldn’t be something utterly depraved. “What’s that?”

  “How good are you at flirting?”

  “I’m not. Not at all.”

  He eyed her up and down, his gaze moving over her in a way that expressed both interest and appraisal. “No, I didn’t think you would be. Flirty women are never so buttoned up. But you’ve got enough curves hiding under that plain gown that if we dress you right, it won’t even matter. Come on down from there and ride up on the box lest you injure yourself permanently and I go from pirate to murderer.”

  “I thought pirates were murderers,” she retorted, still keeping the damning knowledge she held to herself.

  He grinned at her then, but his gaze was hard. “Only when we have to be.”

  Kitty blinked in surprise, but said nothing. He offered his hand to help her down, a gesture that bespoke manners and a better raising than she would have expected in one who was a self-proclaimed pirate. She stood there for the longest time, staring at his hand as if she didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Do you want my help or not?” he demanded.

  “I do. You’ll really help me get home?”

  “I’ll make sure they don’t cheat you at the pawnbroker,” he said, “And I’ll make sure the ship you’re on is one manned by men that can be trusted. As far as men can be, that is.”

  Feeling very much as if she were making a deal with the devil, Kitty placed her hand in his. He helped her climb over the seat and onto the box and then climbed up beside her.

  “What’s your name, love?” he asked.

  “It isn’t love. It’s Kitty,” she said, mustering as much disdain as possible. It helped to conceal her terror.

  He grinned at that and picked up the reins. He said nothing else until the horses were once more at full cantor. “Now, tell me, Kitty, where exactly was this cart when you climbed up and concealed yourself in the back of it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well,” he replied, “What I mean is that this cart was only unattended twice. Once when I loaded it, and once more when I parked it near an alleyway and took care of some business. Either way, you’d have been in the back of it at that time and heard the business I was taking care of. Which was it?”

  She’d been had. He knew all along that she knew about Samford. So Kitty said the one thing that might save her life. “I don’t care if you killed him. He was a terrible man. He deserved to die and, frankly, by doing so, you’ve spared me the horrible fate of being married to him. So you needn’t worry that I’ll be telling anyone about your business.”

  He smiled again. “Maybe I was wrong about you, Kitty. Maybe when you said you’d be no trouble at all you meant it. Let’s hope for both our sakes that you’re right. Because any trouble you make for me, I’ll give right back. You understand?”

  “I understand,” she agreed.

  “Then we have a deal… for the moment.”

  Epilogue

  Kilmarin Castle, Scotland, December 10th, 1825

  “Keep your back straight, knees tight,” Cornelius said, his voice loud enough to carry the distance but his tone congenial.

  “Oh, I can’t look. He’s going to fall off and break his neck,” Hyacinth muttered.

  “He’ll be fine,” Prim insisted. “Cornelius would never have put Rowan on that horse if he thought it would be dangerous for him. He’s wild for the boy.”

  “I do think it breaks his heart a bit that Lila would rather draw a horse than ride one,” Hyacinth offered.

  Prim smiled at that. It was true. While he and Lila got on well, and it was clear that he was over the moon to have his sister with him, he and Rowan were developing a special bond. Cornelius claimed it was because they were the only men in the house and had to stick together. At which point, Rowan would puff out his little chest and strut around like a peacock at being called a man. He was becoming unbearable with it.

  The idea of having children had never really been there for her. With Lila and Rowan, she’d never been without children, even though they’d been her siblings rather than her own. But with Cornelius, she wanted that. She wanted to give him a son, not just because he required an heir, but because she knew it was what he longed for. She could see the need to surround himself with family so strongly in him.

  “You really love him, don’t you?”

  “What?” Prim asked, coming back from her mental wandering. “Well, yes, of course I do.”

  “No. I don’t mean in that he’s my husband and duty requires it sort of way,” Hyacinth corrected her. “I mean you love him all the way to your soul. And you’re happy in a way that I never dreamed was possible for any of us.”

  “I am happy. And I do love him, with my heart, with my soul… with every fiber of my being, I love him,” Prim admitted. “I want that for you. I want you to find a man who makes you feel safe and whole, and who gives you the thing we lived without for so long!”

  “Money?”

  “Hope,” Prim said with a laugh. “Money helps. But no. I meant hope.”

  Hyacinth turned once more to look at the small paddock where Rowan was taking to his riding lessons like a duck to water. Prim followed her gaze, but let it drift past her younger brother to the man who was calling out encouragement and direction. His patience with Rowan and with Lila was remarkable. They had only been married for one month, and yet that time seemed more real to her than all that had come before it. Her past, the scrounging and worrying, the constant fear, those were becoming distant memories.

  “I want it,” Hyacinth admitted softly. “That kind of love. Mother searched her whole life for it and never found it.”

  “Because she didn’t really know what it was,” Prim said. “Desperation and need were all mixed in her mind with love. A man paid her a compliment and she’d have them married off in her head, only to find
out he already had a wife. She thought desire and love were the same, but they’re not.”

  “I’m not so innocent that I don’t know what those long and lingering looks between you and your husband represent, Primrose,” Hyacinth said. “You need both in life to be happy, I think. Love and desire. I’m glad you’ve found it.”

  “You will, too,” Prim said.

  Cornelius called out and Rowan halted the pony. He dismounted with aplomb, like he’d been born to the saddle. The horse was turned over to the stable master and the two of them crossed the paddock to the small bench where she and Hyacinth had been watching them.

  “Let me take Rowan inside and get him warmed up with a nice cup of chocolate,” Hyacinth said, rising from the bench, and taking the boy’s hand. “Then I’ll check in on Lila and see how many sketches of the loch she’s made this morning.”

  They were only a few yards away when Cornelius said, “The two of you were deep in conversation.”

  “We were. Sharing sisterly secrets,” she said teasingly.

  “That sounds ominous… for me, at least,” he offered with a grin as he took the seat recently vacated.

  “It isn’t. But I think Hyacinth is lonely.”

  “How can she be lonely when Rowan and Lila are all but glued to her side?” he asked.

  “Not that kind of lonely! I think she’s a little envious… not in a mean way.”

  “Envious?”

  “Of us. Of what we’ve found together,” Prim replied, resting her head against his shoulder. “I think she’s longing for romance and love.”

  “How do you think we should rectify that?” he asked.

  “Do you have any friends?”

  “Yes, and they’re all married,” he said dryly. “After Christmas, we’ll go back to Bath. Or London if you prefer. I suppose I can brave the gossips and dray myself out into society for the sake of my pretty sister-in-law. We’ll be hard pressed to find a man good enough for her, though.”