“And Masterson?”
He paused, then looked directly at her. “Masterson is his own beast. He has always worked in seclusion, never forming lasting bonds with any of us.”
“But Masterson respects you.”
“The respect is mutual,” Sam said.
“But do you believe his conscience would allow him to kill an innocent?”
“If those were his orders, yes.”
She pondered this in silence. Eventually, Sam sighed. “You must understand. We all—well, most of us—consider the acts we perform abominable. But we do what we do for our country. The ends justify the means.”
“Like any soldier,” she said, stroking his arm. “I understand.”
She liked to touch him. He was so very solid. An indomitable force.
“So you have recruited Carter and Laurent to help us?”
“Hardly. They insisted upon joining us, and I agreed, though I will send them away tomorrow. After we travel through Kendal and pass the northern part of Lake Windermere, we should be out of danger.”
“Do you believe we might encounter Dunthorpe?”
“Not likely, but it is a possibility. And if we do, Laurent and Carter will be invaluable.”
She shuddered as images of a shootout between these men and Dunthorpe’s invaded her mind.
Sam wrapped his arm around her and drew her to him so she fit tightly against his body.
“We’ll take care of you, Élise,” he promised.
Chapter Seventeen
They did not encounter any sign of Dunthorpe that day, and when night fell, they made camp in a crag that hid them from the road leading to Ambleside, a town at the north end of Lake Windermere.
If the greater majority of England wasn’t trying to kill her, Élise would have thought it was wonderful.
“I have never slept outside before,” she told the men as they huddled together on a blanket and ate dried beef, bread, and cheese and shared a bottle of wine. Sam had told her he would have caught her a trout or two from the River Kent, but by the time they’d stopped, it was twilight, and they’d hardly had time to start a fire before the world had lost its light completely.
Someday, she hoped she could fish with Sam, and they’d cook a trout over an open fire and lie under the stars. She couldn’t imagine anything more idyllic. But the future was as nebulous as the stars themselves. And she knew better than to discuss it with Sam. He’d warned her that he didn’t like thinking of the future, because the only futures he could imagine were deadly ones.
Even she didn’t want to think of a future that might be deadly. She didn’t want to think of the men lurking out in the darkness hunting for her. Wanting her dead.
For now, what they had was enough.
“Well, I have slept outside before, my lady,” Carter told her, pulling her from her dark thoughts. “Far too much. Nowadays, all I need to do is send a glance toward the ground, and my back shouts an immediate protest.”
Laurent snickered. “Poor old man.”
Carter gave Laurent an affable shove. “Watch your mouth, greenling. I might be an old man, but I can still squash you.”
Sam was silent beside her. Earlier, they’d gone down Kendal’s high street in such a state of quiet that the rattle of the carriage’s wheels over the cobbles had been almost unbearably loud.
Nothing had happened in Kendal, though. They had driven through without incident. She knew Sam had been looking not only for Dunthorpe and his men, but for his brothers and sister, who had been lodging at the inn there, but there had been no sign of them, either.
But the new Lord Dunthorpe was somewhere out on one of the lakes. Élise could feel him nearby. Looking for them.
She shuddered and pressed herself closer to Sam.
“I want the two of you to return to London tomorrow,” Sam told Carter, slipping his arm over her shoulders.
Carter released a weary sigh. Laurent, who had been cutting off a hunk of cheese for his bread, whipped his head up, his eyes wide. “What?”
“I need you to return to London. It’s too dangerous for you to be with us.”
Carter remained impassive, but Laurent scowled. “We are your partners, Hawk. We cannot leave you.”
“You can,” Sam said mildly. “And you will. Tomorrow.” He took a decisive bite of dried beef.
Carter looked at Sam, his gaze even and calm. “We want to help you. Both of you.”
“Listen, this is the choice I have made. Once Adams discovers what I have done, I will be blacklisted. Hunted.” Sam turned to Laurent. “You’ve just begun your work for the Agency. I don’t want you dead before you’ve even begun.”
Laurent frowned. He looked away from Sam and poked a stick into the fire, brooding. “I don’t want to be part of the Agency. Not anymore. Not after this.”
“You have no choice,” Sam said quietly.
Carter clapped the boy on the back. “You already made your choice, son. You are one of us. You knew that changes of heart wouldn’t be accommodated.”
Élise’s own heart constricted for Laurent. He’d most likely joined the Agency when he was eleven or twelve … He’d been just a boy, and to make a permanent decision like that at such a young age …
“I don’t want any of you hunted because of me.” Élise pushed the words out through her scratchy throat. “There must be something I could do to …”
“No,” Sam said bluntly.
“I could tell your Mr. Adams everything I know—”
“You’ve already told me everything, love. It’s not enough,” he said gently.
It was the first time he’d called her “love” in the presence of others. Her cheeks heated, and she looked down at her knees clasped to her chest. But a part of her grew warm and soft, filling with affection—no, something stronger than that—for the man who seemed to have no fear of sharing how he felt about her with his friends.
“So your agency will not listen to you?” she asked quietly. “Surely you are one of its most loyal and trusted agents.”
“Several days ago Hawk wrote Adams a letter proclaiming your innocence, my lady,” Carter said. “But in London, a very strong case has been building against you.”
Just as quickly as the blood had rushed into her cheeks, she felt it draining.
Carter continued. “The new viscount has been feeding the rumors about how you conspired with the French to kill your husband. He’s been giving ‘evidence’ from your unhappy marriage to Dunthorpe to strengthen his position that Hawk was the mercenary you hired to do the deed and that the two of you escaped together.”
Élise bent forward, pressing her kneecaps into her eyes. “And I suppose your Adams believes this nonsense?”
“Not the part about you being in league with Hawk, of course. But Adams believes you must have been in league with Dunthorpe, which was why you were present at the meeting that night.”
“So your Adams believes Francis is nothing more than the rakish dolt he portrays so expertly? No one who behaves in such a foppishly British manner could possibly be a traitor.” Élise’s voice was bitter.
Carter nodded. “The only evidence we have against him is what you’ve told Hawk.”
Laurent made a scoffing noise. “I met him once, in passing. Not only is he a dolt and a fop, but he’s a snobbish one. The very worst kind.”
“But if we prove him to be the villain? If we prove that he has been in league with Dunthorpe since the beginning?”
The three men exchanged glances. Laurent heaved a sigh and went back to poking his stick in the fire.
Finally, Sam spoke in a quiet voice. “Adams has never revoked an elimination order, Élise. Never.”
* * *
Later that night, Élise lay awake on the blanket. Sam was beside her, probably awake as well, since she couldn’t hear the deep breaths of his sleep. Laurent and Carter slept on the other side of the fire, half hidden behind a hawthorn bush. Though, even from here, she could hear the drone of Carter’s
snore.
Sam didn’t snore at all. She was glad for that.
Behind her, he turned over and slung his arm around her, tugging her close so that her body fit into the curve of his.
She sighed with pleasure. He felt so good, so warm and hard, against her.
His hand stroked down her side, then brushed over her stomach. Then it moved upward until he cupped her breast in his palm.
Élise’s eyes sank shut, and when his thumb passed over her nipple, she wiggled her behind against him. His growing arousal pressed against her buttock cheek, and she released a shaky sigh.
“Shh,” he whispered in her ear. He pinched her nipple gently, until it pebbled, becoming warm and sensitive under her clothes. Then he moved to the other, giving it the same teasing attention.
Élise bit her lip to keep from moaning as his hand shifted, moving downward to pull her skirt up in handfuls. Finally, his fingers moved between her legs and found the opening in her drawers.
He stroked her gently, exactly the way he knew would have her panting and moaning within seconds. Then he slipped a finger inside her, pumping into her as he had with his cock last night and this morning. She reached back, grasping the hard muscle of his buttock and pressing it against her, rubbing wantonly against his erection, which was now rock hard.
“Mmm,” he said quietly. He pressed another finger into her, and her breath caught as she clenched her teeth to stop herself from crying out.
He pumped those fingers into her, the delicious friction driving her to near madness. And then they left her, and he was clasping her leg, moving it upward. His cock, hot and heavy, nudged at her entrance.
With one solid thrust, he was buried inside her. She held back another cry, but she couldn’t contain it completely. A whimper escaped from her throat. Sam breathed harshly, nuzzling her neck from behind her as he moved his hand back to her breast.
He took her on a slow, deliberate journey to her peak, wiping her mind of everything—all the fear and worry—until once again, there was only Sam. He caressed and squeezed her breast, pinched and stroked her nipple, kissed and sucked her neck, all the while sinking his cock into her with deliberate, powerful thrusts.
From this angle, he stroked a part of her that made delicious sensation resonate through her. It took all her willpower not to squirm and cry out with each and every caress he made inside her body.
The pleasure built and built, and then she was there, on the cusp. Her fingers dug into the hard flesh of his arse, and he buried himself inside her again, stroking her so deep and so hard, it pushed her over. She flew, her body soaring.
It went on and on. He kept moving, rubbing against that spot inside her, keeping her aloft on a long, drugging, delicious orgasm.
It wasn’t so much that it ended, but she came down in fits and starts, drifting on the pleasure as a feather dropped from a tall tower drifts on gusts of wind.
It was beautiful, what her Sam could do for her.
Her channel heated for him now. It had grown slick for him, welcoming him into its depths. And within a few minutes, Sam found his release, too. Unable to stay completely quiet, he, too, released a low, wrenching groan. His body went taut behind her, then he came in a pulsing flush of fluid and spasms.
They lay there for some time, Sam lodged within her, both of them trying to quietly catch their breaths. Then he slowly pulled free, but he slipped his arm around her, and as he turned to his back, he pulled her with him until she was tucked against him.
She snuggled into his shoulder and wrapped her arm around him. Drowsiness overcame her instantly. Before she drifted into oblivion, she murmured, “Good night, my Sam.”
His response sent sweet tingles resonating through her heart.
“Good night, my love.”
* * *
The following morning, they went into Ambleside, where they parted ways with Carter and Laurent, not without some additional grumbling on Laurent’s part. It was decided that Laurent—who assured Élise he was an excellent liar—would return to London with a story of how Sam and Élise had disappeared in the night. Carter would head north to Penrith and then to Carlisle, supposedly “searching” for them.
Sam watched as Élise kissed them, first Laurent, who blushed furiously when her lips pressed against his cheek, then Carter.
“I hope I will see you both again soon,” she said with feeling, “and in better circumstances.”
“I do as well, my lady.” Carter came up to shake hands with Sam. “Good luck, Hawk. I’ll do what I can.”
Carter knew just as well as Sam did that he was doomed. Still, it was kind of him to say it, and Sam clapped his friend on the back. “I know you will. Thank you. For everything.” He might never see Carter again. God, that was a dismal thought. The man had been a significant part of his life for a long time.
He watched him climb onto the perch as Laurent approached with a scowl on his face.
Sam reached up to shake the boy’s hand, but Laurent kept moving forward until he held Sam in an embrace. “Don’t let her get hurt, Hawk. I don’t want to have to kill you.”
Sam reached up to return the embrace awkwardly. “I’ll do my best.”
“And don’t you get hurt, either …” Laurent pulled away, and a sheen of tears glossed his eyes. He shook his head as if to fling the emotion away. “I wouldn’t be happy if you did.”
“Good to know,” Sam said, mildly bemused, even as affection for the boy pummeled through him.
Laurent straightened. “All right, then.”
They nodded at each other, then Laurent joined Carter on the perch. Carter clucked to the horses, and a few moments later, they disappeared behind a limestone and blue-slate-covered building as they turned a bend in the road.
* * *
Élise watched Carter and Laurent go with a heavy heart. She’d miss them. She hoped she’d see them again.
When they disappeared around a bend in the road, she turned to Sam. “What now?”
“We need to leave town.”
He was right. They needed to stay ahead of Dunthorpe and of Adams.
She looked down the street. Ambleside was an agreeable village set on a sloping hill, its buildings tall and narrow in the Tudor style, pleasant and welcoming, with geraniums blooming in bright red clumps in windows up and down the street.
Buildings and trees down the street obscured the view of the lake. Up the street, hilltops peeked up from behind the houses, their spring growth spanning every shade of green of the spectrum.
Sam clasped her shoulder. “There’s a waterfall not far from here. Let’s go see it and ask the residents if they’ve seen my mother and Steven Lowell.”
She smiled at him. “That sounds excellent.”
As they walked toward the cascade, which Sam told her was called Stock-Gill Force, they discussed their strategy for the next few days. They would present themselves as a newly married couple come to the Lake District for their honeymoon. They were particularly interested in the falls, forces, and cascades.
The sky was blue today, with white, wispy clouds, and the air was cool, but it had a pleasant, soft quality to it.
“I will enjoy pretending to be your wife,” she announced to Sam as they progressed uphill.
He raised a brow at her. “Will you?”
She squeezed his arm closer to her. “Yes. It is better than being your prisoner, I should think.”
She’d said the wrong thing. His face lost all trace of humor. It turned hard and cold. “No,” he said tightly, “it is worse. Much worse.”
Her throat closed. It had been a stupid thing to say. Of course he remembered his wives.
It squeezed her chest tight to think that something she’d said had hurt him. Maybe talking about them would help.
“Tell me about them,” she murmured.
“No.”
The word jolted through her, leaving her cold inside. Unaccountably, tears rose to her eyes, and she took a staggered, unsteady breath.
/> “I am sorry, Sam.”
“What for?”
“You know.”
“You did nothing.”
“I made you think of them … of what happened to them.”
He stopped short. They’d turned up a less populated road, clumps of grasses blooming on either side. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he ground out.
She pressed her lips together to hold back anything else that might be trying to emerge, nodding.
It was none of her business, his life with his wives. None at all. She was madly curious, though. And oddly … jealous. Jealous that they’d known Sam when he was younger and less jaded, when he’d looked toward the future with hope.
She was also sad for another reason. Because he did not wish to share more details of his past with her. It was no business of hers … but still. They’d shared much over the last few weeks. She’d shared so much … perhaps too much?
He began to walk again, but he didn’t link his arm with hers this time, and the lack of contact left her feeling strangely bereft. They passed a building with a sign on the front painted in bold black lettering: THE SALUTATION INN.
Sam hesitated, frowning. “It’s near here, I think.”
“Let’s ask the innkeeper.”
They went inside and introduced themselves under their new aliases. Sam asked about the falls, and the jolly and rotund master of the place directed them to go “just out the back and through Mrs. Braithwaite’s garden.”
“Thank you, sir,” Élise said. “We are hoping to see as many of the cascades as we can.”
“Of course you are. Many people go through here with the same intention.”
“Is that right? Has anyone come through lately?”
“Indeed they have. Several, in fact.”
“Oh? Has anyone come by in the last few days?” Élise sidled up against Sam and smiled lovingly into his face. Neither action was difficult to enact. “Were there any newlywed couples like me and my Mr. Samson?”
The Scoundrel’s Seduction Page 21
