Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series)

by Holt, Cheryl

  “Will we ever see them again?”Caroline asked.

  “I wouldn’t try to guess.”

  “If Raven doesn’t come back for me, I’ll kill him.”

  “You’ll have to find him first,”Sarah acidly said.

  “He swore we’d always be together. How could he abandon me?”

  “Be glad you were able to wring a vow out of him. All I received were a bunch of empty promises that turned out to be lies.”

  “Did Jean Pierre tell you he’d always stay? That you’d always be together, too?”

  “Yes, and it’s obvious how sincere he was.”

  They were in the front parlor, squawking like a pair of jilted spinsters. They’d spent the summer immersed in passionate affairs, but that season was over, and the world was so quiet and boring.

  She wasn’t the person she’d been the previous spring, and the tedium was driving her mad. Where once her tranquil country existence had been a soothing balm, it currently provided no solace. She was chafing at the monotony and anxious to get away.

  When she’d been in love with Jean Pierre, life had seemed so bright and merry, colors vivid, the sounds and smells riveting. Now everything was painted in shades of gray. She felt deflated too, as if some of her vitality had leaked away.

  “Could they be at his castle in France?”Caroline pondered.

  “Perhaps.”

  “What if we booked passage and went there ourselves? Wouldn’t it be better to find out than to sit here day after day wondering?”

  “I couldn’t locate the spot, Caro. I haven’t a clue where it was.”

  The Sinclairs had succeeded in their effort to help Jean Pierre. A week earlier, the heralded trial of The French Terror had ended, having fizzled to a ridiculously pointless conclusion.

  After the judge had left the bench, there was a lengthy delay. Then suddenly, he’d hurried in, banged his gavel, and announced that Jean Pierre was not The French Terror and was not guilty. He’d ordered Miss Dubois placed under arrest for perjuring herself, then he’d banged his gavel again and fled.

  There was a shocked silence, then a group of guards surrounded Miss Dubois, tied her hands, and whisked her away. She’d spit and hissed and cursed, but they’d wrestled her out without too much difficulty.

  As the doors had shut behind her, the crowd erupted. They’d heard the evidence that indicated Jean Pierre’s innocence, but they were indignant that there wouldn’t be a hanging.

  Quarrels started, then brawls broke out, and chairs were smashed. Bailiffs hustled people out, urging them on with whips and clubs. In the street, a mêlée had ensued, with windows shattered and shops ransacked.

  Through it all, Sarah had sat in the theater, waiting in vain for something to transpire. She’d assumed Jean Pierre would reappear or that Raven would come to fetch her. Or that Mr. Thumberton might emerge so she could inquire as to Jean Pierre’s whereabouts.

  She’d tarried on her bench at the top row of the balcony. Afternoon had faded to evening, then to night, and a cleaning crew arrived to repair the mess the spectators had made. A man told Sarah she had to leave.

  She’d gathered her belongings and walked out. By that hour, the mayhem had eased. She’d hailed a hackney cab and was delivered to her hotel.

  Where she waited again, for three more days.

  Ultimately, she’d written a note of thanks to Harriet and Lord Trent—hadn’t received a reply from either—packed her bags, and headed to Bramble Bay.

  News of Jean Pierre’s acquittal had reached even their isolated corner of the kingdom. Caroline had been frantic for information as to what had become of everyone. She’d expected Raven to send for her or—at the very least—for him to mail a letter that would apprise her of where he was or what would occur next.

  But the two men had vanished, and gradually, Sarah’s and Caroline’s hopes were vanishing, too.

  After all, what did they know about the wily duo? Not much.

  Why would they stay in England? Why would they risk more trouble?

  They were a pair of cunning liars and libertines who didn’t deserve what they’d been given by Sarah and Caroline. Sarah kept telling herself to get over Jean Pierre. During his incarceration, he’d been extremely clear as to his feelings about Sarah.

  He’d been far down the road to being executed, yet he’d refused to see or speak with her. She couldn’t figure out why she persisted, but her liaison with him was the only truly remarkable event that had ever happened to her.

  He’d made her so happy, and she couldn’t return to being the woman she’d been before she met him.

  “I wouldn’t have done anything differently,”Sarah muttered. “Not a single blasted thing.”

  “Neither would I.”

  They sighed over their fond memories, but with regret, too.

  Motion out on the lane caught her attention. She pulled her gaze from Caroline and stared out the window.

  A horse and rider were passing by, which wasn’t odd. But when the rider turned and trotted up the drive, her pulse began to race.

  She rose halfway, barely able to keep from dashing outside like a fool.

  “What is it?”Caroline asked.

  “There’s a rider approaching.”

  Caroline lurched up and ran over to the window. She studied him as he neared, as his size and features grew more distinct. Then she looked over her shoulder.

  “It’s Jean Pierre.”

  Sarah was glad she was seated. If she hadn’t been, she might have swooned. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Is he alone?”

  Caroline sniffed with offense. “Quite alone.”

  Sarah pushed herself to her feet, then started out. She’d planned to maintain her dignity, to stroll slowly with grace and composure, but after three short strides, she realized poise was impossible.

  She flew from the room, down the hall, and out the door, her feet scarcely touching the steps as she sprinted down them. As he reined in, she was waiting for him, awhirl with emotion: fury, relief, dread, elation.

  He peered down at her, his expression enigmatic, the corner of his lovely mouth hinting at a smile. He was French again and dressed for traveling. Flowing white shirt, tan trousers, black boots, a sword on one hip, a pistol on the other. The pirate was on full display, the gold earring in his ear.

  “Ah, chérie,”he murmured, “you are just as beautiful as I remembered.”

  “Where have you been!”she practically shouted.

  “I take it you have missed me.”

  “I’ve been mad with worry.”

  “And why would you be? Haven’t I always told you not to fret? I am Jean Pierre. Nothing bad will ever happen to me.”

  “You lout! You cad! You boor! Have you any idea how frightened I’ve been?”

  “We’ve been parted for so long, chérie. I could have sworn you’d be happier to see me.”

  “I will wring your neck, Jean Pierre! I will wring your lying, deceitful neck!”

  With the elegance of a ballet dancer, he jumped to the ground as she leapt into his arms. Then he was kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, right there in the front drive where anyone could observe them.

  “Where have you been…what have you been doing…why wouldn’t you talk to me….”

  She bit out the words between kisses, trying to speak, trying to tell him how upset she’d been, how aggrieved and hurt. Yet she didn’t want him pausing to justify or explain. He was home, and he was with her, and they could hash it out later.

  He climbed the steps, carrying her, her legs wrapped around his waist. Caroline held the door, the servants hovering behind her in the foyer. Some of his sailors were still in residence, and they eagerly watched him enter, clapping and merrily hailing him in various foreign tongues.

  “Where is Raven?”Caroline asked as Jean Pierre marched by her.

  “Coming in a day or two
,”he responded and kept on up the stairs.

  They proceeded directly to Sarah’s room, not caring what the servants thought or what stories might circulate in the village. He kicked the door shut with his heel, dropped his belt of weapons on the floor, then continued on to the bedchamber. He toppled onto the mattress with her, and he still hadn’t stopped kissing her.

  Obviously, he’d missed her and was delighted to be with her again. What did it mean? There were a thousand questions plaguing her: Was he planning to stay? Was he free to stay? Could they marry now? Would he like to marry her?

  But she knew him well. If he didn’t wish to reply, he wouldn’t.

  She rolled them so she was on top, so she could stare down at him. She was desperate for him to understand how distressed she’d been, how infuriating he was, but when he viewed himself as wonderful and always in the right, how could she ever make him feel any genuine remorse?

  “You wouldn’t let me visit you in prison,”she complained.

  “No.”

  “You would have been lowered into your grave without a goodbye.”

  He shrugged, unrepentant and unapologetic. “It was better that way.”

  “You scared the life out of me. Have you the slightest notion how afraid I was?”

  “With no reason, chérie. Everything is fine now.”

  “It’s not fine. I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “I considered it, but then, I decided I should grace you with my marvelous presence.”

  She bent down so they were nose to nose. “You arrogant ass!”

  He laughed and laughed. “Oh, it’s so good to be with you again.”

  He reached for the front of her dress, tugging at the bodice to bare her breasts, but she slapped his fingers away.

  “Before this goes any further, we have to get a few things straight.”

  “Like what?”

  “I need to hear a marriage proposal from you.”

  A surprised brow rose. “You want to marry me?”

  “Yes, you oaf. Civilized people wed when they behave as they shouldn’t.”

  “You want to marry me?” He said it again, as if it was the strangest prospect ever voiced.

  “Yes. I realize you’re your father’s son, and he’s the greatest libertine in the land, but don’t imagine for a second that I’ll allow you to act as he would. I’m not some green girl with stars in her eyes, and you’re not shirking your responsibility. You ruined me, and you’re stuck with me.”

  “But…marriage.” He shuddered. “Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

  “If I keep trifling with you, I’ll end up with child. I’m lucky it hasn’t already occurred.”

  “You don’t have to worry over it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Women who wantonly fornicate have babies.”

  “Not with me. I can’t sire any children.”

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “I never have.”

  “What if I’m the first?”

  The comment stopped him in his tracks. He pondered and stewed, then nodded. “As you wish, chérie. Let us wed, and you shall have me for your very own. You poor thing.”

  She scowled. “Was there a question in there somewhere? You have to ask me, Jean Pierre. You can’t order me as if I’m one of your sailors.”

  He nodded again, actually looking contrite. “Will you marry me, my dearest Sarah?”

  “That’s more like it.” She beamed with affection. “Yes, John, Jean Pierre Sinclair. I will, and the sooner the better, you wretch.”

  “Must we do it immediately?”

  “I suppose I could wait until tomorrow,”she churlishly agreed.

  “Then can you please cease your scolding so I might have a few minutes to be welcomed back?”

  “I could probably be persuaded.”

  She raised her arms and plucked the combs from her hair, the auburn mass swinging down to float across her shoulders. He watched like a connoisseur, like a man who’d just espied the very item he’d always wanted, and she was reminded of the person she became when she was with him. With a hot, searing glance, he made her feel wicked and happy and so very, very decadent.

  He drew her down to him, and he began kissing her again, and there was such wonderment at being with him. She felt as if it had been years rather than months, as if she’d been wandering, lost and alone, and had finally been found.

  He rolled them so he could be in charge and in control, and she was delighted to let him take the lead. Slowly, he stripped her of her clothes, of her undergarments, stockings, and shoes.

  He dawdled, nibbling, tasting, feasting. If disaster had struck at that very moment and she never had the chance to take another breath, she’d go to Heaven as the most contented woman who’d ever lived.

  She set to work too, removing his shirt and boots, his trousers. As she tugged them down and off, they were joyous, laughing, with him seeming relaxed and comfortable as he’d never previously been with her.

  They couldn’t delay for long. Their separation had been too trying, their reunion too precious. And he was a very lusty man. His passion sparked, the physical tension of their bodies quickly increasing.

  “I missed you,”he murmured.

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Are you still glad you’re mine?”

  “Are you mad? Why would you have to ask?”

  “When I was in prison, I dreamed of you every second.”

  “You liar. You did not.”

  “I did, chérie. I thought of you lying beneath me like this. I thought of how pretty you are, how you smile and sigh just for me.”

  “You’re such a flatterer. You realize, don’t you, that it’s impossible for me to be angry with you?”

  “Of course it’s impossible. I am Jean Pierre, remember?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I never will.”

  He widened her thighs, his torso dropping between her legs. His ministrations had been very thorough, and he entered her with ease, gliding in, buried to her womb.

  He rocked his hips, taking her, possessing her. All the while, he was whispering words of love and praise in French, in Italian, in other languages she couldn’t identify.

  He dipped to her breast and suckled her nipple.

  “Come with me, chérie,”he coaxed. “Come with me to the end.”

  “I will, Jean Pierre.”

  “Tell me that I am the one, Sarah. Tell me that I will always be the only one.”

  “Always you. Always you forever.”

  She let go, her entire being flying to the heavens. He joined her with a deep thrust, spilling his seed far inside. The pleasure went on and on, never seeming to stop. Then finally, blissfully, they reached the top and tumbled down. Together.

  He turned onto his back and pulled her across him so she was draped over his chest, her ear directly over his heart. She could hear its steady beating.

  He was quiet, pensive, a calloused hand lazily stroking her skin. She caressed him too, touching his various scars. A stab from a knife. A slash from a sword. A hole from a bullet. A gash from a whip.

  So many injuries to his beautiful physique. So much fighting and danger. Oh, how she hoped it was over!

  “I wasn’t coming back,”he eventually admitted.

  “I was afraid you weren’t.”

  “I was in Dover, ready to sail away, but I couldn’t. I had to see you.”

  “What now? Please promise me that you’re finished with rampaging.”

  He sighed. “I suppose I must be. When my father and sister have gone to so much trouble on my behalf, it would be a bit ill-mannered to ignore their kindness.”

  “Yes, it would.” Tentatively, she asked, “So…you’re done? No more raids?”

  “I don’t know how I can keep on. My father boasted to the world that I’m an honorable man. He staked his reputation on my good behavior, so how can I not be the person he described me to be?”

  She wanted to jump up and raise a fi
st of triumph in the air, but she tamped down her inclination to gloat and preen. She had arranged his family’s assistance. She had given him this amazing gift.

  Instead, she whispered a prayer of gratitude that he was safe, that he would be safe from this moment on.

  “You nearly let them kill you without a fight,”she petulantly said. “I nearly killed you myself for you being such an idiot.”

  “It would have been silly to protest my execution. My life was hardly worth saving.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Jean Pierre. Your life was worth saving because you get me as the prize at the end.”

  “My fierce little champion,”he said, and there was such warmth in his voice that she felt very proud.

  He was quiet again for so long that she assumed he’d fallen asleep, but suddenly, he spoke. “You once claimed you’d travel to London with me if I wished to meet my family. Were you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ve been invited for a visit—by my brother Phillip.”

  “Oh, Jean Pierre, that is marvelous.” She rose up to look him in the eye. “We’re going, yes?”

  “It appears that we are.”

  “Will your father be there?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You owe him your thanks.”

  His smile was wry. “Don’t remind me. It’s too galling.”

  “You can have a relationship with him now and shed this anger that’s been driving you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And Harriet? Will she be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about her husband Tristan?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know about James and Tristan.”

  “But the others?”

  “Yes.”

  She grinned. “I’ll need a new gown.”

  “You definitely will.”

  He snuggled her down as she inquired, “When will we leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Which means you’ll get to avoid your leg shackle for a few more days.”

  “Look at it this way: We can obtain a Special License while we’re in town.”

  She peeked up at him. “It’s the first thing we’ll do once we arrive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “What time is it?”