The Convict's Bounty Bride

by Lena Dowling

  Once the earl excused himself, she threw down her napkin and followed. She caught up with him as he placed a hand on the balustrade about to ascend the stairs.

  ‘Father, go back, and offer Mr Hunter some port.’

  ‘My dear. It is noble of you to try to make the best of the situation, but I fear that is asking a little too much, given the circumstances.’

  ‘No, Father. There is a way we might extricate ourselves from this predicament if you can keep him talking.’

  ‘Oh,’ his eyes flickered. ‘You have some scheme?’

  ‘Yes, but hurry.’

  Thea had no trouble finding Mr Hunter’s bedchamber. Looking about for servants, she slipped into the room the housekeeper most preferred for lodging guests, and closed the door behind her.

  The wardrobe was open, revealing the valet had already unpacked Mr Hunter’s belongings. She started with his clothes, reaching inside the closet to examine his pockets.

  The woollen fabric of a tailcoat brushed her nose. Fingering the luxurious material, she rubbed the coat to her cheek. Mr Hunter’s manly scent hit her nostrils, catapulting her back to the comforting feeling of being supported in his arms.

  For goodness sake. What had gotten in to her?

  This was no time for idle daydreams.

  She had a plan.

  She searched every item of clothing hanging in the wardrobe, turning up nothing out of the ordinary. She left the door of the closet closed as she had found it and then turned towards Mr Hunter’s luggage, meaning to search the travelling trunk next. The floorboards creaked with an approach from the hall. Desperate, she looked about for a place to hide and settled on getting into the wardrobe. She placed her fingers on the handle ready to pull it towards her and step inside, but she was not quick enough.

  The bedroom door flew open.

  ‘Lady Thea, or might I call you Thea, now we are betrothed?’

  Mr Hunter entered the room, closing the door behind him, leaning back against it, effectively blocking any passage for escape in the process.

  ‘Yes,’ Thea said, her throat suddenly thick as though with blotting paper as she tried to think of an excuse for why she was in his room.

  Could her father do nothing useful?

  One simple thing she had asked — and he couldn’t even manage that.

  ‘What brings you to my chamber, Thea? Too anxious to wait until we are married to bed me?’

  Mr Hunter smiled, a long easy smile, lounging backwards, mischievous eyes ranging over her body, as if he were oblivious to her predicament.

  ‘Ah, er, yes, Mr Hunter, if I am to marry you, I believe I must first establish how being married might suit me.’

  Curses.

  She had clutched for the explanation for being in his room that Mr Hunter had offered like a straw, and now she was trapped.

  ‘Call me James.’

  He left his sentry post and crossed the room, stopping within half a foot of her, keeping her corralled between the wardrobe and the bed.

  He had her cornered every which way, and he appeared to be enjoying himself.

  Immensely.

  ‘James.’

  His Christian name slipped out effortlessly and yet, at the same time the intimacy of his given name sounded strange. Thea heard herself say the word, but it was as if the noise had come from someone else, someone who cared for him enough to choose to be betrothed and use his first name willingly. He seemed to react to the sound too, stepping forwards with his attention fixed on her, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  ‘Oh, I think marriage to me will suit you very well indeed.’

  His eyes met hers and he raised a hand to her face. The roughness of his skin surprised her, grazing her cheek and sending a tingle low in belly. James was a man who made things happen. When he saw an opportunity he took it. The thought that right now she was his latest opportunity gave Thea’s body a mind of its own. She took only the smallest step towards him but it was enough. He covered her mouth with his. He tasted of claret; fresh, grapey and slightly sweet. She squeaked in surprise, which only gave him better access as he proceeded to explore her mouth, clasping one hand under her buttocks, and pressing her tight against him. A rock hardness developing beneath his breeches rubbed against her navel. She gasped, breaking the kiss, but he did not step away. Instead he swept her up. One slipper fell off her foot and then the other, without any encouragement, as if some destiny had been set in motion and the rest of her apparel might likewise fly off unaided. Mr Hunter deposited her on the bed and the velvet coverlet caressed her hands and the back of her neck as he laid her down.

  She should stop this.

  She must not want this man.

  He was her nemesis. He was forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want.

  But she could not. She was under some sort of spell, captivated to find out what would happen next.

  Tugging at her gown, he hoisted back the silk fabric and then the cotton of her shift. He ran a calloused digit up the inside of one leg as high as the finger would go, lingering to stroke her a little, then traced it down her opposite thigh, before travelling up again, returning to the same spot between her legs, teasing her, flicking backwards and forwards, drawing out a wetness, and setting off a yearning like nothing she had ever known before.

  ‘Please,’ she said, squeezing out the word as she sucked in air to breathe.

  ‘Please, what, my lady? Give you more of this?’

  He slid a finger across her slick skin, tormenting her again at the place where the feeling seemed to converge. Then the sensation fanned out, bursting through her, sending her wild for something for which she had no name, and yet seemed familiar as if she had always longed for it.

  ‘Is that all you want, hmm?’ he said withdrawing, pulling his hand away. Like a pitcher of water from one dying of thirst, she wanted it back as if her existence depended on having the life giving liquid.

  ‘More,’ she said in spite of herself. ‘Please, more.’

  ‘More what? More of this?’

  He returned to the slow rhythm of his stroke. The feeling drove her to within an inch of insanity as she clutched at the bedclothes, digging her toes deep into velvet, straining for him, wishing he would free the huge bulge that had appeared in his breeches and do the thing that the matrons whispered of behind their fans. But all of his focus was on her, massaging and caressing, forcing an ache for which there seemed no remedy, until, almost bringing her to the edge of reason, he stopped again. He pulled down her shift and straightened her gown. Then he drew back from the bed, his face full of satisfaction, pleased with himself, as if he had accomplished some important task.

  What was he doing? Why was he stopping?

  If his touch was a drug, she was an addict now, and losing it was just plain cruelty.

  She lifted her head from the pillow to look at him.

  ‘James, I beg you, please, don’t stop.’

  ‘Beg? Now that’s more like it. And what might you be begging for, my lady? This perhaps?’

  He hiked up her clothing, and buried his head in her thighs. She gasped. She had heard of the thing a man might do with his mouth, and the thing a woman might be expected to do in return, but hadn’t believed it.

  She believed it now.

  A tongue slaked across her, the sensation sending her thoughts spiralling beyond her control. She wanted him. In spite of all the reasons against it, all caution had departed. The exquisite feeling licking up from her core had extinguished all rational thought. Clenching his shoulders she stretched for the pleasure suspended in front of her, tantalising and within her grasp she reached for it over and over until she had it, bursting apart, refracting into every corner of her mind.

  Chapter Five

  Sated, she nestled into him, taking in gulps of air.

  James willed his hardness to subside.

  The way her ladyship had responded to him pleased him. He had been unconcerned how his wife performed in the bedroom, but Thea’
s curiosity and enthusiasm provided an unexpected bonus, sending his innards into improbable and unexpected contortions. It was everything he could do not to wrench back her skirts again and take her without mercy. She had turned him inside out, disembowelling him with lust, but he wanted her to know the rewards of lovemaking before the pain of her first time. He couldn’t have her hurt or frightened. To do so risked her bolting and sending her brother to the gallows sooner than submit to marriage.

  As much as it killed him, he had to postpone his own gratification.

  Pleasant as he found the warmth of Thea’s body against his, he knew that if he stayed like this any longer, breathing in her scent of cloves and orange blossom, her hair silken on his chin, he would give in and have his way with her and damn the consequences.

  He breathed in heavily, gradually sucking the air in deeper, then feigned a snore, hoping Thea would take the opportunity to sneak out.

  After a few more minutes she stirred, sliding across the mattress a little at a time. He ventured a look through feathered lashes. Moving with all the skill of a fairground mime artist, pausing between each change of position, Thea searched the room and then his trunk.

  Impressive.

  He bit his lip, stifling a chuckle of surprise.

  So this was why the earl had tried, in his ham-fisted way, to press him into lingering for a port after dinner. This explained why Thea had come to his bedchamber. She was looking for the evidence that proved Lord Willers a blackguard to destroy it, and along with the proof, the bargain he had with Eastbourne.

  He should have realised she hadn’t changed her view on marriage. Her position was simply an impossible one. He had her between a rock and hard place. He grimaced.

  She wasn’t the only one.

  Thea bent over the trunk, providing an outline of her firm behind, as she found the secret compartment built into his luggage. He fought the urge to adjust the bedclothes, which had worked themselves into an uncomfortable position.

  Very impressive indeed.

  The carpenter had assured him the compartment was virtually undiscoverable.

  The woman was as bold as a highwayman on Finchley Common and a great deal smarter.

  So, it had not been the prospect of bedding him that provided the enticement for her to enter his room after all. For some reason, disappointment nagged. He told himself it was merely because he hadn’t taken the opportunity to have his way with her, but nevertheless a knot formed in his stomach.

  Then another realisation hit him and he smiled.

  Unfortunately for Thea, the documentation she needed was many miles away in the safekeeping of Biggs. Fortunately for James, however, her ladyship would surely be forced back to his chamber for another look.

  The next day, the weather was foul, the unhappiest of house parties was rained in, and Thea was out of sorts.

  It was as if, formerly a believer of a flat earth, she had discovered it to be round. Based on the conversations she had managed to eavesdrop between her mother and some of the other matrons, marital relations were supposed to be a chore. From information she had gleaned from among her own friends, she expected the first time to be painful and then after that a grinding bore, but the thing with James had been incredible. No wonder women became courtesans. They did what she had done with James, and then got paid for it on top of that. A shooting star was the only word she had for what had happened between them. It was like a singular burst of heaven exploding through her body. And yet he hadn’t taken advantage. Technically she was still a virgin. Inside his rough man of the world exterior, James was decent.

  The thought reassured and terrified her at the same time.

  Decent and capable of being blissfully indecent.

  Maybe marriage wouldn’t be so hideous a fate after all?

  There was that treacherous thought again. She had to head off these ideas. He was strong and handsome, yes, but strength could just as well be used to dominate as to please. Single life was the only guarantee of some semblance of independence and therefore happiness. She had to hang on to her autonomy.

  Thea exhaled deeply.

  ‘What would Mary Wollstonecraft have done?’

  The weather had necessitated their confinement to the drawing room. While her father perused the latest selection sent to him by the London publishers for his library, Thea and her mother took to their needlework. James paced between the windows.

  ‘What, dear?’ the earl said, without looking up from his reading.

  Had she spoken that out loud?

  Talking to oneself was the first step to lunacy, or so the countess said every time her father muttered something under his breath. She certainly felt as if she were losing her mind.

  ‘She would have gotten married, like us,’ James said.

  James winked at her, and before she could stop herself, she gave him a smile back. His eyes met hers in the tacit understanding of conspirators with a shared secret. His long shiny lashes reminded her how his rugged manliness dissolved to heart-wrenching innocence when he was asleep.

  A wolf masquerading as a shepherd.

  She had to remember that.

  Her smile seemed to amuse him, and he turned away chuckling until her mother shot him a look that cut him stone dead. The countess stabbed a needle into her embroidery with a vicious poke as if she meant to garrotte something, or someone.

  ‘Mr Hunter, I’ll thank you not to mention this ludicrous marriage in my company. You may well think you have this family over a barrel, but you needn’t rub salt in as well.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, with another sly smile in Thea’s direction as soon as the countess returned to her sewing.

  But this time she didn’t smile back.

  Mortification struck.

  Mary Wollstonecraft married? Where had James gotten such fallacious information? He had made it up just to tease her. He must have. So far he seemed straightforward, without any tendency to falsehoods, but what other explanation could there be?

  ‘You must be mistaken. Mary Wollstonecraft would never have married.’

  Thea turned to her father for corroboration. As if what had happened last night wasn’t enough, James, blast him, had tried to find yet another way to disorient her view of the world and undermine her dearest beliefs.

  The earl looked up from behind his book.

  ‘Indeed she did, my dear, to a Mr Godwin as I recall.’

  Now even her heroine had let her down. Vexed, she stabbed at her own needlework. Somehow she had lost all control of her situation.

  James forced a serious face. Thea’s sweetly crinkled forehead and obvious agitation had brought him more than a little mirth. Reading the Wollstonecraft papers Biggs had provided had been most instructive. It transpired the lady intellectual who Thea held in such great esteem had, despite her protests against the institution, eventually bent to convention and married her Mr Godwin. And now that Thea had experienced some of the pleasures of the flesh herself, James wondered if she might not be more positively disposed to marriage than she had been before.

  Either way, he was still anticipating a return visit to his chamber.

  Most eagerly.

  Filling in time in this dreary mausoleum of a house with Eastbourne’s incessant twittering and his po-faced wife’s sneering was a trial being made a great deal easier to bear knowing Thea would be back.

  After an hour or two he managed to find a break in the weather to get out of doors and escape for a ride. The stableboy, who was now eternally grateful for having saved him from a thrashing was most obliging, lending him Lord Willers’ rather magnificent horse. The animal was a quality mount and the estate was of the perfect contour to make for an interesting jaunt. He could understand why Thea might be tempted to traverse it astride, and having a skilled riding companion once they were wed was something to look forward to.

  That evening, after dinner when Thea finally knocked on his bedroom door, James cocked his head up from the pillow with a surge of excite
ment. He was laid out at full stretch yet coiled with suspense. Yesterday, he had deprived himself to initiate her ladyship into the joys of carnal recreation, and tonight he expected his reward.

  In the impure sequence of events that his mind had conjured up for what would occur next, she would approach him all coy and naïve in an unpractised attempt at seduction.

  And he would teach her things.

  Things she would need to know as his wife.

  But instead, when she came, she stepped confidently into the room. She stood in front of him, her hands in fists, resting on her hips.

  ‘As any right-thinking individual would agree, my consent is required for marriage. I therefore have a decision to make. In order for me to decide whether or not I will marry you, I need to establish your views on certain matters.’ She dropped her hands, entwining them in a firm grip in front of her.

  There was nothing coquettish in her tone. She actually sounded more like a man of business about to commence a negotiation than an inexperienced maiden.

  ‘Certainly, but I can’t believe there would be any question with Lord Willers’ life at stake.’

  James massaged his neck with one hand trying to sound relaxed, and not at all put out. He had thought his performance the night before should have been sufficient to alleviate the misgivings Thea had about marriage. She had appeared to enjoy herself, and he had never received complaints regarding his performance in the bedchamber before, but somehow he had come up wanting. Bizarrely, this new self-assurance made the woman seem even more desirable. It was most disconcerting.

  He hauled himself up off the bed to regain the height advantage, if nothing else.

  ‘It’s not only my brother’s life, but my life is at risk too. If Miss Wollstonecraft’s, or should I say Mrs Godwin’s, writings have taught me anything of use, it’s that my life is equal in value to Stephen’s. If I am to be saddled with the burden of my brother’s wrongdoing, I have to be sure that I can suffer the price.’