The Convict's Bounty Bride

by Lena Dowling

  A shadow fell across her face for a second and then disappeared. She stared at him, cool, unimpassioned, appraising — the opposite of the unbridled woman he had observed the night before. He struggled to override the urge to forthwith provide an improved performance that might quash this nonsense once and for all.

  ‘What would be your views on my pursuing a career, even after we married?’ she asked.

  That had the effect of grabbing his attention up out of his breeches.

  Once again the woman had surprised him. It was quite something the way her mind worked. He should have been appalled, but instead his reaction swayed halfway between admiration and amusement; dual reactions colliding and contracting in his abdomen then tightening in a place altogether lower down.

  A working wife?

  He scratched his head.

  He could pretend to be open to an unconventional marriage that allowed for a career but he would be lying. This required careful handling.

  ‘That would depend on the career being proposed. I expect to be busy with the various commercial affairs that I am in engaged in. If you wanted to manage my farmlands as well as the household then that would be acceptable.’

  ‘How many acres do you own?’

  ‘A thousand, although I hope to acquire more.’

  Thea’s face compressed.

  ‘And if I wanted to do something else?’

  He had plenty of ideas involving multiple positions, and various states of undress, but instead he concentrated on providing a serious answer.

  ‘Well if you wished to engage in your own writings, or to patronise a school, or hospital, perhaps, but I would not expect my wife to be engaged directly in teaching snot-noses or changing stinking bandages. But so long as your activities didn’t interfere with the running of the household, then I cannot see reason to prohibit them.’

  James considered himself a tolerant man, but no wife of his would be permitted to bring foulness and miasma home, clinging to her skirts.

  ‘And your views on a lady riding astride, and swimming?’

  Riding yes, but swimming?

  Good Lord.

  Was there no limit to the woman’s audacity?

  A picture of Thea floating naked, nymph-like, in a watering hole formed, whipping his guts into a knot.

  Get a grip on yourself, man.

  He couldn’t have his wife flinging off her gown and taking a dip in any waterway that took her fancy, but in all practicality the temperatures in New South Wales were brutal. To deprive her of any relief would be cruelty.

  ‘On my own lands, after sundown, in a place where you cannot be observed, perhaps, but not otherwise.’

  ‘I shall consider your responses and give you an answer on the morrow. I’ll bid you good night now, James.’

  Thea smiled, full of victory, as if the wench knew she had taken possession of the upper hand.

  How had he lost control?

  As she closed the door behind her, James collapsed back on the bed. A picture of Thea emerging sylph-like from a watering hole, her hair in wet tendrils with goose bumps on soft white skin, hovered in front of him, refusing to fade. The woman was quite extraordinary. How an old sourpuss like the countess and her buffoon of a husband had defied the laws of nature to produce such a creature was beyond him.

  Beautiful, intelligent, feisty and now deliciously dewy and wet.

  Thwarted, he groaned, reaching for the buttons on his breeches so as to take the only reasonable action in the circumstances.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning at breakfast, Thea sipped her tea, undecided as to what she must do. Her search of James’s room for the evidence against her brother had been thorough and yet had turned up nothing.

  She had considered staging a seduction to search James’s chamber a second time, but to make this decision she needed a clear mind. She could not afford to be swayed. Her brain had been unsteady since the night of the starburst, as she had come to think of it, and if she went to his bed again her head would surely go spinning into orbit. In any case, likely as not, he had the evidence implicating her brother in safe custody elsewhere, somewhere she would never find it.

  When she had questioned him about his views on her working after they were married, she had watched his expressions and gestures for any sign which might indicate shiftiness, but his answers were measured and reasonable. He wasn’t prepared to allow for as much freedom in her activities as she had hoped, but she was satisfied marriage to James would not be as terrible a sentence as wedlock to any of the other men her mother had championed. It also seemed likely, based on recent events, that fulfilling her obligations in the marital bed would, at the very least, be pleasant.

  Now there was an understatement.

  She would not see Stephen suffer or hang if she could bear the price of his freedom and she predicted bearing it wouldn’t be difficult. Just sitting at the table beside James had caused her to overheat, with a subtle but definite tingling emanating from between her legs. She couldn’t deny that a small treasonous part of her was positively looking forward to marrying him.

  Her stomach did a barrel roll as she caught James looking at her, his gaze lingering appreciatively at her breasts. His breakfast was untouched, and for the first time his roughly chiselled face showed uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure if she would agree to the marriage or not. The subtle shift in the balance of power was not lost on her and she took a long sip of her tea, setting her cup back down very slowly, before deliberately straightening her cutlery. James tugged at his cravat and shifted in his seat. She intended to draw the interval out until she gave her answer as long as possible. She reached for the toast and took her time buttering a slice, but before she got as far as applying some jam, the butler burst into the room.

  The servant proffered an envelope to her father.

  ‘My lord, a communication has arrived. I am advised the nature of the contents is of the gravest kind. The message bearer travelled through roads of the worst condition to bring the news.’

  The earl broke the seal, read the note, and dropped the paper to the ground, his mouth open with shock.

  ‘What is wrong?’ the countess asked.

  ‘Stephen, Lord Willers. He’s dead.’

  ‘But how?’

  Her father’s face sagged heavily, every wrinkle exposed.

  ‘An excessive dose of laudanum is alleged, I’m afraid. I had suspected Stephen had become dependent, but now, by the most grievous means possible, we have the proof.’

  A piece of cutlery clattered, dropped on to the tabletop, and a chair scraped across the floor.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The countess hurried from the room, mopping at her eyes.

  Thea fell back in her chair winded, assaulted by an imperceptible force firing arrows that released grief filled poison.

  Poor, poor, Stephen.

  Loss dripped like blood from invisible wounds. Immobilised, unsure what to do, Thea looked at James, but his blank face gave no clue as to his reaction to the news.

  Her father’s head hung in his hands.

  After a few moments of silence, James grasped her hand under the table. The warmth of his skin reassured her, anchoring her to the present as everything else spun.

  He cleared his throat, his voice business-like, yet gentle.

  ‘My sincerest condolences. Without wishing to be indelicate, my lord, this turn of events necessarily puts our agreement at an end. I will of course, leave as soon as practicable.’

  James meant to go?

  She pulled herself free from the grip she had mistaken as one of solidarity, when his touch was actually meant as a gesture of farewell. Now that he no longer had the power to indict her brother and force her to marry him, he had no reason to stay.

  She should at least have been a little pleased. She had never planned to marry in any case, and now she had her release. She had enjoyed something of the pleasure of marital relations and yet escaped with her respectability
intact and she had found that alone in her bed with the right imaginings and just the right touch, she could achieve her own starbursts.

  She had no need for a man, and now there was no obstacle to a life of spinsterhood, freedom and whatever career she chose.

  She should have been overjoyed.

  But she wasn’t. Far from it.

  She was confused. That was all. The terrible news of her brother’s demise had muddled her brain.

  ‘Yes, Mr Hunter, arrangements must be made. Thea, if you wouldn’t mind seeing to your mother.’

  Some seconds elapsed before Thea appraised the earl’s meaning. He wanted to speak to James alone.

  ‘Yes, Father, of course.’

  The countess’s tears didn’t last long before she brightened with the realisation Stephen’s death put an end to his embarrassing exploits. Thea seized the opportunity and took her leave before her mother also realised that Thea was ripe again for the picking of the marriage mart.

  That she was now technically available for marriage again, and therefore disengaged from the terrible prospect of marrying James should have left her at the very least relieved and yet, inexplicably, it seemed another great loss. Unbelievably, Stephen would never come home again, and James would leave as well.

  But while there had been no opportunity for farewells with Stephen, it struck her that with James she might at least still say a proper goodbye. She hurried upstairs to find him clumsily folding his own belongings.

  She turned, meaning to fetch her father’s manservant.

  ‘Don’t do that. I shall get the valet,’ she said.

  James caught her wrist, wresting her back to him.

  ‘No, Thea, he’ll be occupied preparing the earl’s mourning clothes. Leave him be.’

  For a moment, their gaze met, and the genuine sympathy in James’s eyes sent her grief bubbling upwards.

  He pulled her to him, brushing his lips on the top of her head. Encircled in his arms she felt a kind of safety she had never known before, and right now she needed that strength.

  She needed him.

  She realised now that not everything could be planned or schemed. Sometimes things just happened.

  James caressed her hair, his gentle strokes meant to soothe, but which drew the pain to the surface.

  ‘I’m going to miss him so much. He was hopeless, but he was my brother.’

  The words came out between sobs, tears pouring from her eyes, trickling on to his cravat.

  James lifted her chin with a fingertip.

  ‘I really am sorry, you know. You must believe that.’

  The intensity of his words made the condolence ring true, and she looked up at him, into concerned eyes.

  ‘James, make me better.’

  She traced a finger down his shirt, looking for a diversion, anything, that would dissolve away the pain, if only for a while.

  He covered her hand with his as she snagged his waistband, restraining her.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She escaped his grasp to clench her fist and run her knuckles over the flap of his breeches.

  ‘Please, James.’

  She felt his instantaneous reaction to her beneath the fabric, and heard him rasping in a breath as he stepped back.

  He had had more than his share of women, even cared for a few, but nothing like this. The woman had everything, beauty, brains and now the sort of vulnerability that could turn sympathy to passion. God only knew how much he wanted her. Until now, he had seen her only as payment for services rendered, but she was so much more than that.

  He should depart at once.

  Now their dealings were at an end, he would not wish to encumber her with his bastard, but yet again this woman had managed to harness his thoughts directly below his belt.

  It had been a simple business arrangement thwarted by force majeure. That was all. If consolation was needed there would be solace aplenty back in London amongst the whores of Covent Garden.

  But those eyes looking up at him through delicate lashes; deep blue eyes full of cautious expectation; trusting, as if she believed in him to give her pleasure without hurting her. She riveted him.

  Damn it, man.

  He must pack and decamp forthwith. He threw back the lid of his travelling trunk and then paused.

  ‘Your parents? The servants?’

  There had to be a reason, any reason, not to do what the violent eruption in his breeches commanded.

  ‘They are busy making arrangements. No one will disturb us.’

  The certainty in her voice weighed in against his lack of it. Her conviction was strong, where his was weak. It was all the encouragement he needed.

  James appeared to waver, as if he might be compelled to do the gentlemanly thing, before apparently changing his mind and stepping behind her to lock the door. He returned to touch his lips to her forehead then lifting her chin, he kissed her. His hands ranged down her body, ruching the fabric of her dress into folds, caressing her spine, catching below her bottom, brushing between her legs.

  His fingers flitted at the edge of her centre and then there was no pain, no loss, only James and his kisses, deeper and more urgent, drawing her in, pushing the hurt and anguish to the back of her mind and far away. She responded, encircling his tongue with hers until breathless, they broke apart.

  He guided her hand over his hardness and she rewarded him with a little gasp and expression of awe as she looked up wide-eyed.

  He reached for her gown, and she helped him, raising her arms over her head, allowing him to pull the garment off.

  ‘Take off your corset,’ he whispered as he bent to nuzzle her neck, kissing her, starting at her shoulder and travelling up to her earlobe, eventually stepping back to allow her to remove the item, along with her shift.

  There was something intensely arousing about having this spirited woman capitulate to do his bidding. Dutifully she did as he asked, dropping the petticoat to the floorboards revealing an exquisite body. She pulled at her hairpins and shook her hair out until it framed her full luscious breasts. He took her hands and pushed them towards his buttons.

  ‘Now undress me.’

  She fumbled with each one, her breath hitching in her throat as his erection sprang free of his clothing, every bit as large and daunting as she had assumed from the outline of the hard ridge beneath.

  Lord, how would he fit?

  She stumbled backwards, reaching for the bed, sinking down on to the mattress and in a short series of deft movements he stepped out of his breeches, wrenched off his shoes and stockings, then raked out his cravat and pulled off his shirt.

  He was magnificent and intimidating in a way that sent thrills rippling through her body.

  As he crouched before her, she opened herself to him, tentatively at first, until the look of veneration on his face gave her the confidence to reveal herself fully.

  ‘My God, Thea, you’re so beautiful.’

  She shivered. So, this is what it was to be with a man; protected and yet in danger; simultaneously ruined and revered.

  He reached out and touched her, his dark eyes glazing over as he trailed a wet finger up her navel to her breasts. He circled one nipple and then the other, drawing the pleasure that rose from her core upwards into her throat. Her belly contracted and a shudder coursed through her.

  ‘Are you still sure?’

  ‘Mmm hmm,’ she nodded, biting her lip.

  The hugeness of him excited and terrified her all at the same time. He lingered, circling her centre in a tender dance, drawing his length over the bud that radiated with feeling until she went wild with need. It was obvious now what came next. Desperate to take him inside her, she ran her hands down his back, fingers sliding over the tangle of scars, guiding his buttocks toward her.

  Searing pain split her in two at first, but with each moment the hurt grew less and less until the pain gave way to pleasure, increasing with each thrust, lessening only the barest am
ount as he withdrew, before plunging again. She was on a heavenly ride being lifted up, carried and then set down. Each time a step closer until the ecstasy consumed them both.

  Chapter Seven

  James rolled off and lay beside her. Once their breaths steadied again, she raised her head on to his shoulder, and he caught her arm with his.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said weaving her open fingers through his soft chest hair, listening to the beat of his heart.

  With his free hand he traced a finger from her neck down between her breasts, traversing her torso and coming to rest protectively across the crease where her legs met.

  ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you.’

  His words cut through as if he had opened a window to a bitter draft. This was only a diversion. Something terrible had happened.

  ‘No, well, only a little. I wish we could stay like this forever,’ she whispered.

  ‘We can.’

  She pushed her head up startled.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We may still get married. Your father has agreed. That is what he wanted to talk to me about.’

  ‘So we’re still betrothed?’

  ‘Yes, if you wish. I thought there was no chance you would agree, but given what has just happened, as a gentleman, I’m obliged to give you the option. I could certainly do with a good woman at my side.’

  Thea tensed. James sounded like a businessman discussing a commercial transaction and not the rest of their lives together, but it was as if Stephen’s death had blown every lamp out. All her plans meant nothing when compared with what had happened. With James she at least had this, physical comfort if nothing else, and with her brother gone she would be her mother’s sole focus. God only knew what ghastly specimens of suitors the countess had lined up for her next. She wasn’t sure she could summon the energy to keep dreaming up schemes to dispatch them.

  She ran a fingertip along one of the scars that disappeared into his hairline.

  Safer with the devil you know.

  ‘Yes, I wish it that way too,’ she said, unable to bring herself to say ‘yes’ when there had never even been a proposal.