by Shirl Henke
Rob grabbed the end of the braided leather and gave a hard tug, overbalancing the ruffian, who tumbled headlong into the carriage. Placing his knee on the sprawled attacker’s back, he aimed at the horseman, but Amber was between him and his target. He reached over and pulled her out of the brute’s grasp, then fired his pistol. Her attacker fell from the horse as it reared up, whinnying in terror.
The big fellow holding the carriage horse saw that things were not going as planned. He released his grip and fled into the crowd, as did his companions whom Rob had repelled. The last one still thrashing on the floor of the carriage was their prisoner now. Rob used his spent pistol to club him insensate, then leaped from the vehicle to where the man he had shot lay. By this time the crowd had thinned sufficiently for Boxer to reach them. He quickly seized the harness of their carriage horse and calmed the frightened animal while the kidnapper’s mount ran down King Street.
“Is the blighter dead?” he asked Rob. A large red stain had quickly soaked through the man’s filthy ragged shirtfront.
“Unfortunately, he is, but the one inside should survive.” Rob looked up at Fantasia, who was standing over the unconscious fellow, calmly reloading her pistol. “Are you unharmed?”
“I am in far better condition than that one,” she said, looking at the dead man sprawled on the cobblestones. “Sergeant Major, we’ll require Mr. Dyer’s services as soon as you see to poor Alfie. Is he badly injured?” she asked, biting her lip. The boy was one of a group of climbing boys Grace had rescued many years ago, a favorite who had been thrilled when he learned to handle horses and became one of their drivers.
Alfie had struck his head when tossed from the driver’s seat. He was on all fours, trying to stand. Boxer quickly assisted him, dusting off the younger man’s jacket. “There you go, lad.” Turning to Fantasia, the sergeant major said, “He has a bit of a bump. Had worse, ain’t you, Alf?” The boy smiled gamely and nodded as he rubbed the swelling on his forehead. “Are you able to drive, boy?” Boxer asked.
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Major Boxer.”
Rob stood up and handed Alfie the whip he’d taken from the unconscious man in the carriage. “Keep the horse calm while I secure this miscreant,” he said, rolling the unconscious man on the floor.
By this time a crowd was beginning to gather, curious about the mayhem now that the violence was apparently over. Keeping a wary eye on them, Rob pulled a well-worn leather belt from around the kidnapper’s waist while Fantasia climbed down so that he had room to work. The earl bound the kidnapper’s wrists and ankles together behind his back, then shoved him flat on his stomach. Alfie returned to the driver’s seat and took the reins from the sergeant.
“What do you want us to do with ’em, Lady Fantasia?” Boxer asked.
Rob interjected, “Perhaps it would be wise to have the sergeant major see you home while I borrow his mount to take the dead man to Bow Street. I shall explain that I was set upon by thieves and defended myself.”
“Then we can question our prisoner here in private,” Boxer added with a wicked smile, obviously relishing the idea.
She considered, then nodded. “Very well. But once you are cleared of any blame for killing that ruffian, have Clyde Dyer come to my home. He may know the identity of the prisoner as well as the dead man. I shall want him to investigate.”
Rob looked at her. She appeared a bit disheveled but over all amazingly calm after such a harrowing ordeal. “I should think you would. This is the second attempt to kidnap you within the month.” Left unsaid was who had hired this scum to do her harm. He was determined to find out if the Bow Street runners could not.
As the earl and the sergeant major loaded the dead body over Boxer’s horse, they did not see the tall figure slouched at the back of the crowd, watching the scene. Hull cursed in silent rage. While Cressy was laid up with a bullet from that damnable bitch, here that toff appeared again to ruin a second attempt!
Hull had ventured into Seven Dials where he found a gang of thieves whose leader bragged that he would kill any guards the woman had and make off with her. “I’ve seen how well that went,” he muttered savagely beneath his breath.
He watched impotently as the elusive marchioness once more slipped from his grasp. The toff rode up toward Bow Street with the dead gang leader while the older servant climbed into the chaise with her to guard their prisoner. They headed out of the city toward St. John’s Wood and the House of Dreams.
It was most fortunate that only the dead man had seen Hull. If he had lived, he could have described the man who paid him.
Lady Eastham would have known immediately who he was.
Chapter Eleven
Disheveled and trembling, Amber climbed the stairs to her private quarters, praying that she would not encounter Grace or Jenette. She had to bathe and steel herself before she began questioning the man Boxer now held in the mews at the back of the property. Grace would be frantic when she heard about another attempt to kidnap her, in broad daylight, virtually within sight of Westminster! Both women were quite certain Eastham was behind the first attempt. At that time, she had tried to convince herself that it was impossible. How could he have learned that she was here? She had been so careful. But a second attempt…
Eastham has found me.
She looked down at her torn black day dress and could not wait to rip it from her body, along with the hated bonnet and veil. Lord above, how she loathed black! She had almost made it to the sanctuary of her door when Jenette saw her from down the hall.
“Ma coeur, what has happened? You look like the house cat who has fought with a badger!” She quickly closed the distance between them and held Amber at arm’s length, inspecting her tatty appearance.
Sighing in resignation, Amber replied, “Come inside. I will explain while Bonnie draws a bath.” She quickly outlined what had happened and explained that Clyde Dyer was coming to assist in questioning their prisoner while the maid filled a tub with warm water. Bonnie’s freckles appeared dark and large against the chalky pallor of her face as Amber talked. Jenette’s eyes narrowed, but she remained calm.
“Let us see what this, this batard, this animal will say to us, oui?”
Amber sighed. “I suspect Eastham is behind it, but I doubt the fellow we have will know anything other than that some intermediary paid them a pittance to kidnap me.”
“It is, I suppose, a place to begin, this intermediary. But it would be far wiser to go directly to the source. Northumberland,” Jenette replied as Amber sank into the tub.
Splashing water, Amber sat up and stared at her friend. “No! Grace tried that several times after she first took me in. You know how it turned out. One man was killed, and two others narrowly escaped with their lives. The marquess rules that area with a steel fist. No one will say a word to an outsider and Wolf’s Gate is impregnable.”
Jenette made a snorting sound of disgust. “A dozen men are not equal to one woman…provided the woman is moi.” When Amber started to protest, her friend shushed her and continued. “You know that I became the spy after my family was destroyed by the Tyrant. I survived many years working for your government. I am good at this, oui?“
“You saved my life and helped me escape Napoleon’s web, but that was in France—”
“And I shall yet be French…in Northumberland. I shall, how do you say it?—cut a dash in the wild north as la Comtesse de St. Emilion, an émigré who has escaped France with great riches and wishes only to live the quiet life now…”
Amber could see Jeni’s eyes gleam with a hard, calculating light. She had lost everything during Napoleon’s dictatorship, but she had survived by her wits. Knowing it would do no good, Amber nevertheless protested. “It is too dangerous, Jeni.”
Her friend gave a Gallic shrug of dismissal. “So is crossing Piccadilly at four in the afternoon. Within the fortnight I will know how we deal with le diable…for once and all.” She grinned at Amber. “Grace will be happy to give me the ‘riches’ for my cha
rade, oui?”
With that, she turned and left Amber sitting in the cooling bathwater.
That evening the “comtesse” set out in an elegant coach bound for Northumberland on an expedition of reconnaissance. She had been outfitted with a splendid wardrobe by her courtesan friends, carried a goodly portion of Grace’s jewels, and was attended by four trusted servants, two veterans, and two émigrés she had brought to work at the House of Dreams.
As midnight drew near, Rob sat in his study, fortifying himself with a glass of cognac. What a wretched day this had turned out to be. He had spent an hour at Bow Street explaining away the body of the man he had shot. Once Clyde Dyer arrived, he was respectful of the Barrington title and possessed enough common sense to release him after having him sign some papers for the magistrate. The runner identified the dead man as a notorious criminal from Seven Dials who led a gang of the lowest sort of thieves and killers.
After the earl explained privately about the Lady Fantasia’s involvement, the runner accompanied Rob to St. John’s Wood. They spent several hours questioning the cutthroat, but it was obvious that he had never seen the man who had hired his dead leader.
Dyer took the kidnapper into custody. Then the earl returned to his city house to bathe and prepare for his meeting with Gaby at midnight. Once Fantasia was certain their prisoner could yield no information, she had excused herself before Rob could question her about this second incident. He was certain she knew who was behind both attempted kidnappings. That was why she hid her face in public and never ventured from her home without armed guards, even going so far as to carry a pistol in her reticule.
He finished the cognac, vowing that he would find out who her enemy was and deal with the villain. Perhaps Gaby might know something useful. “Best to tread lightly there,” he muttered to himself. Questioning Gaby about the woman who had saved her from destitution might be awkward at the least.
Considering awkward matters, how was he going to figure out what he felt for Gaby and Fantasia…and Lady Oberly, who had unwittingly precipitated the whole dilemma? He was starting to think he and the baroness did not suit. She had sent by a note while he was at the Bow Street station, saying how much she had enjoyed his speech, although she could not quite understand why he was concerned with “the criminal element” as she put it. She and her father had left before he finished speaking.
“What will we discuss if I court her, once the topic of Elgin is exhausted?” he asked the empty room rhetorically, staring disconsolately at the crumpled missive lying on his library desk.
As his carriage headed away from the city, he decided he would ask Gaby. Perhaps it was the darkness…or the satiation after making love, but whatever the reason, he always found it natural to reveal his inmost thoughts without embarrassment. No one, not even his beloved mother and sisters, knew about the debacle of his first marriage. Deeply religious and steeped in country virtues, they would be horrified if they ever learned how he had been spending his nights the past weeks.
“They’d wear out their knees praying for me,” he murmured wryly. Odd, but the guilt that had plagued him when he first went to the House of Dreams had become a thing of the past. Something else to ask Gaby about?
While the earl was looking for advice, Amber was looking for respite. She desperately needed the all-consuming distraction of a night’s passion as Gabrielle. After hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles, her past had at last come crashing down upon her. And now her closest friend was risking her life by walking into the wolf’s den. She shuddered just thinking of Eastham’s gray ugly castle and the marquess himself, brutal, ruthless, and evil beyond imagining. Amber tried to assure herself, even as Grace had earlier assured her, that no one was better suited to taking care of herself than Jenette Claudine Beaurivage, the only surviving daughter of Baron Rochemonde.
Rather than fret heedlessly, she needed this night of mindless pleasure in her lover’s arms. But what of the bitter price when he was gone? Dismissing that thought, she slipped off her robe and tossed it on the chair in the small dressing room. She could tell the candle in their chamber had been doused. Silently opening the door, she stepped inside and made her way to the bed. “Rob?” she said softly.
“Here, Gaby.” He sat up on the edge of the bed, eagerly reaching for her. “Your skin is like silk,” he breathed, brushing light kisses across her belly as he cupped her derriere with his hands, gently kneading the firm little globes.
When the tip of his tongue swirled around her navel, she purred with pleasure, leaning back and gripping his head with her hands, burying her fingers in the thick inky waves of his hair. Even in the darkness, she carried the image of his face and body etched indelibly in her mind. She would remember it always.
“Gaby, Gaby,” he murmured her name as he pulled her down onto the big, soft bed with him so that she lay on top of his body, her face nestled beneath his jaw. She kissed his throat as he ran his hands down the delicate curve of her spine, tracing each vertebrae with deft fingers.
“You have mastered butterfly wings so very well, my major,” she murmured.
“I have had a very fine instructor,” he replied, rolling them onto their sides facing each other.
When he cupped her breast and thumbed the nipple, she gasped, knowing where his hands moved, his mouth was certain to follow. It did—one breast, then the other, tugging, swirling, suckling as she arched and writhed, trapping his hardened staff between her thighs. She could feel her own wetness and wanted him to come inside her, to bring on oblivion, but Rob had other ideas.
He rolled over her, braced himself on his elbows, and framed her face with his hands. Then he rubbed his nose against hers, adjusting in the darkness until he found her fluttering eyelids. He pressed his lips against one, then the other, murmuring, “Your lashes are thick and long.” He kissed her forehead. “Your brow high and noble.” When his mouth brushed against her temples, he whispered, “I feel your blood pounding.” His lips danced across her cheekbones. “Mmm, high, elegant cheekbones. You are a beauty, little Gaby. How I long to see you in daylight.” The moment he said the words, he could feel her body stiffen.
“No!” The instant she spoke, Gabrielle knew that she must explain in a way he would understand and accept. “I mean…I cannot bear for you to look at me and I at you…and then have to part, as one day soon, we must. Let the beauty of these nights be my secret treasure to keep, yes?”
Rob stroked her cheek, thinking about that inevitable parting, something he had been pushing to the back of his mind for weeks now. It was well past time already for him to say good-bye. But he knew he could not bring himself to do it. “I do not want to think about parting, Gaby, although someday we must. These nights will be my treasure, too.”
He brushed soft kisses all over her face and ran his fingers through her long, silky hair, trying to memorize the feel of her. Then his lips reached her mouth and he took possession of it.
Gaby opened for the hot, sweet invasion, twining her tongue with his until they were both breathless and hungry. She cupped her hands around his shoulders, arching her head back as his kisses moved to her throat and down to her breasts once more.
“I could feast on you forever,” he said raggedly.
Gaby pulled one of his hands away, guiding it down lower to the hot aching core of her body. “Feel where I hunger for you the most,” she whispered.
He touched her petals and creamy wetness proclaimed her readiness for his invasion. Ever so slowly he used his fingers to tease and stroke, leaving her panting. Then he carefully inserted one finger inside her tightness, tantalizing her as she bucked beneath him. Just as quickly, he withdrew and ran his wet hand over the curve of her hip, down one leg.
Sitting back on his heels, he held her slender ankle in his hand, raising her leg. “I wonder, how would it feel if…” His words trailed away as he teased the sensitive arch of her foot with his tongue, then sucked on her toes, one at a time.
“You are mos
t…inventive,” she whispered hoarsely while he kissed his way up her leg and then released it, repeating the exercise with the other one.
“Such perfect legs. If the insides of your arms are sensitive…turn on your stomach,” he commanded gently as a new idea blossomed in his mind. She complied.
When his mouth touched the back of one knee, she moaned. Satisfied, he moved to the other, then nibbled his way up to her buttocks with tiny licks and bites. This was more erotic that he could ever have imagined. He drew out the pleasure, slowing her frantic race to finish, much as she had admonished him to do when first they began “the lessons.”
Without thinking, with an instinct as old as time, she raised herself onto her hands and knees, presenting her backside to him as she whispered, “Come into me!”
He responded the same way, realizing that this was probably the most primal way a man took a woman. Would it please her? The moment he guided his staff to her creamy welcome, he knew it would please him…greatly. Slowly he penetrated her from behind, waiting to see if she could accommodate him in this new position. She wriggled her bottom, emitting small moans and gasps that he knew meant she wanted him to continue.
When he finally seated himself fully inside her sheath, she let out a small “aaah” and braced herself, pushing against him. That was all the encouragement he required to withdraw and stroke inward, repeating the glorious motion in a slow, steady rhythm. He kneaded her buttocks as he moved, then let his hands glide around her waist and upward to cup her breasts, feeling the hardened tips of her nipples pebble in his palms.
Bringing her such pleasure increased his own twentyfold.
