Aching for Always

by Gwyn Cready

  Nathaniel said, “Archers sometimes light their arrows when they’re firing at a stronghold.”

  “That fits with the ‘warrin’ man,’” Hugh said.

  Fiona touched the last line on the cartouche. “Who was the reluctant bride?”

  Hugh saw Joss’s eyes soften, and his heart tightened.

  Joss said, “My mother, I’m sure of it. Do any of you recognize the tower? It must refer to the tower in the cartouche.”

  The three of them looked.

  “They’re all over Northumberland,” Nathaniel said. “I was there once, visiting my cousin. A savage place. A man’ll kill you as soon as say good day. Bloody good thing they have that wall there. Keeps ’em penned off from the rest of us.”

  Hugh laughed. “I suggest you not mention that to my friend, the duke of Silverbridge. His castle is within sight of the wall.”

  “Speaking of the duke,” Fiona said, “why is he waiting?”

  “I called on the Lord Keeper today,” Hugh said, “but he was engaged and then left for a hunting party at Lord Quarley’s home in Cambridgeshire before I could see him. Seeing no other option, I asked Silverbridge for help. It turns out he, too, is attending the hunting party, and has asked us to join his party as a way of getting our case before Sir William as soon as possible.”

  Fiona quickly began to roll up the East Fenwick map. “When do we leave?”

  “Fiona, the invitation is for Joss and me only.”

  Her eyes glowed green fire. “Why is she involved?”

  Joss was tired of being referred to as “she.” “You know, this affects my family, too.”

  “She doesn’t know the details of—”

  “I know the details!” Hugh boomed. “I can recite the story of the transfer that James Brand and your grandfather intended to execute. For God’s sake, I’ve heard it a hundred times. The duke has been generous enough to allow us to join him. Let it be, Fiona. You and Nathaniel can stay here. Joss and I will return in a day or two, and with any bit of luck, we’ll return with good news.”

  “If you’re not hanged,” Nathaniel added with a wry smile.

  “Thank you, Nathaniel. Joss, I’ll gather what we need here. Would you tell Silverbridge I’ll be down in a moment?”

  She nodded. “Did you tell them about the Trojan Horse?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Hugh and I have seen the original Manchester map,” Joss said to Fiona and Nathaniel. “Something was added to it. Several lines from the Aeneid. The part about the Trojan Horse. In Latin. It’s a direct quotation, as near I can tell: the priest Laocoön’s warning not to admit the horse.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

  Fiona looked at Joss. “Perhaps one of us is not what we seem?”

  Joss raised her hand. “I admit it. I’m a horse.”

  Hugh gave Joss a look. “Perhaps you’d better see to Silverbridge.”

  She exited.

  “You bloody bastard,” Fiona said to Hugh.

  Nathaniel cleared his throat. “I think I’ll take a walk up the street, to see what’s about.”

  “No,” Fiona said. “You wait. This involves you, too.”

  She turned to Hugh, who had begun putting what they’d need into a valise and refused to be drawn in.

  “Are you going to say something?”

  “No,” he said. “The plan is set.” He took the East Fenwick map from her hand and began to fold it.

  “You’re a fool.”

  He ignored her, hoping to divert the gathering storm, and deposited the map in his coat pocket. He gazed down at the remaining maps, the ones sharing the mysterious cartouche. “These seem to have led us nowhere. We may never know what the rhyme means—if it means anything at all.”

  “Leave them, if you would,” Nathaniel said. “I should like to ponder them more.”

  “As you wish.” He scanned the room to see if there was anything else he should take to Cambridgeshire. He could feel Fiona’s eyes burning into his back. She had not given up on this.

  “Hugh,” she said, voice brimming with fury, “do you not see she has done everything she can to set this up so that she controls the outcome? This is her map. She has divided you from your colleagues. She has contrived it so that she goes to Cambridgeshire with you.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “She’s on our side.”

  Resigned to defeat at last, Fiona shook her head sadly. “Oh, Hugh, what temptation has she conjured to bewitch you like this?”

  The question surprised him and he flushed. He turned his face away, but it was too late.

  “Dear God.” Fiona clapped her hands together and laughed a short, bitter laugh. “You are to be her ‘Mr. Mistake.’ Rogan Reynolds’s fiancée is not quite the innocent we thought.”

  Hugh didn’t understand what “Mr. Mistake” meant and certainly didn’t like the sound of it, but he refused to dignify her attempts to manipulate him by asking her to clarify. That didn’t stop her from spotting the curiosity on his face.

  “‘Mr. Mistake?’” she said with obvious relish. “You haven’t heard? ’Tis the man a woman chooses to be her last lover before she marries.”

  He wished she would stop. “That’s disgusting.”

  “You do not care for the idea? Pray, then, tell her. They talked about it in the tailor shop, she and her friend. A Mr. Mistake is to be chosen as incautiously as possible so that during the many years of marriage that follow, when a woman reflects upon her far superior choice of husband, she will congratulate herself on her wisdom.”

  Hugh felt ill. Was that what Joss’s invitation tonight had been about? Was that what she’d meant when she said, “Perhaps I was meant for something else today. This adventure”? Was he to be a diversion on the way to the Reynolds’s marriage bed? “You’re lying.”

  “Nathaniel?” Fiona prompted.

  Hugh turned to his shipmate, and Nathaniel looked at him, stricken.

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” he said. “I heard it, too. I was outside the curtain.”

  Hugh felt a vast empty space open inside him as if some vital organ had just been torn from his body.

  “I-I—”

  Fiona crossed her arms, triumphant. “The man she chooses for this illustrious assignment is to be a stallion in bed and a fool everywhere else. ’Twill suit you perfectly.”

  She slammed the door as she left.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The lurch of the wheels as he leaned against the exquisitely made seat of the duke’s carriage did nothing to tame the thoughts tumbling wildly through Hugh’s head. Joss lay against his shoulder, asleep, and he felt each of her inhalations as an unintended tease. She had fallen asleep with the duke’s small game table on her lap, and a handful of dice in the table’s well clinked every time the carriage hit a rut or stone. Across the box, Silverbridge had his feet up on an ottoman and was snoring, and the duchess lay curled against him.

  Joss did not want him. She wanted only what he might offer in a liaison. It pained him to think of the cruel sobriquet she and her friend had used, but it pained him more to feel the destruction of his hopes.

  In truth, he had long wished to bed her. From the moment she’d struggled in his arms outside the tailor shop, he’d imagined her wrapping those long, shapely legs around him and forgetting everything she knew about a fiancé careless enough to let her wander into his base of operations.

  He thought about the tiny slip of lace and wire he’d found under Reynolds’s office couch and the look on Joss’s face when she spotted it in his hand. He could almost feel her twist and move on his lap, taste the faint salt of her flesh, smell the perfume of her breasts as he brought his lips to them.

  Would Hugh enjoy such an adventure? Aye, he would. And if she had searched a year for a more able man for the task, she wouldn’t have found one. But he thought, perhaps, he had reached the time of his life when such interludes would be more than lustful joinings. Other
women had used him as such, but none until Joss had led him to believe it would be something else.

  He did not know what he would choose if she offered herself. In his heart, lust and pride did battle. If she wanted a stallion, oh, there were things he could do. He could slake his burning desire, but he also knew every kiss would be a blow, every thrust a humiliating reminder that he was no more to her than a carnal back scratch.

  She moved. The wrap had fallen from her shoulders, and in the light of the moon he saw the snowy orbs of her breasts and the torturous shadow of her aureoles. Even in her sleep she taunted him. His belly ached for her, and his cock was casting a firm vote for action.

  Tell me, Joss, he thought. Is it Rogan you want, or it is me?

  Joss shifted and mewled, and Hugh hoped she was waking to pull him into a kiss, but instead she resettled herself, brought her fingers to that obnoxious diamond ring and sighed.

  Blood roared in his ears. He knew whom she would pick. But he wanted her anyway

  In Joss’s dream, Hugh caressed her breast and she inhaled lustily. Only this wasn’t a dream. His mouth was on hers and she kissed him in the dark, sleepy carriage, happy to feel the embers that had flickered between them for so long rise into flames. He tasted of desire and the duke’s whisky, and she savored every morsel.

  “I want you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “And I, you.”

  He kissed her again, gently squeezing where he’d grazed before, and as quiet as they were, she knew they were making too much noise.

  “Not here.”

  “Not here,” he agreed. “But as soon as we arrive.”

  “Yes.”

  “No breakfast, no basins of hot water. Just straight to your bed, do you understand?”

  “Yes.” She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

  His fingertips brushed her peaked flesh casually. “You want an adventure, is that not so?”

  “Not here. Please,” she said, though she had thrown back her shoulders.

  “Ah, there is a point at which your courage fails you. ’Tis but proper, I suppose. From what else do you shrink? Let me hear.”

  “Nothing,” she said boldly.

  He chuckled. “Nothing, is it?”

  “Nothing.” Her determination rose, piqued by his goading. She prided herself on adventurousness in this area, and if he didn’t believe it, he would live to eat his words. With a skilled hand, she caressed the thickening length along his thigh. His groan made her smile. “Do you doubt me?”

  “Shall we raise the stakes in this adventure, then?”

  The touch of his fingers on her straining flesh was agony. “I don’t know. How much are you willing to risk?”

  “You have mistaken me, milady, for a man with something to lose. Count the dice,” he commanded.

  “What?”

  “Count the dice in the well.”

  She removed her hand from his trousers and spread the dice on the lap tray. “Six,” she said.

  “Six, eh? I have a timepiece that will chime every ten minutes if it is set so. Ten minutes is enough for a worthy adventure into pleasure, is it not? Let us imagine each die represents one-sixth of an hour. We shall roll the dice to see who commands the other for each ten-minute part. And the only rule is that there are no rules. Nothing is beyond the boundaries. Do you accept?”

  “I want to be even,” she said, though what she wanted was to be on an even keel. His words made her dizzy.

  “As you wish. Roll. One at a time.”

  The first roll was a one, and he shifted his bulk, pleased. She could almost hear the machinations of his imagination. “That is one for you,” she managed to say without her voice cracking.

  “Indeed.”

  The next was a six. She exhaled, and in addition to relief, which she expected, several surprising ideas popped into her head—ideas with which she would have never credited herself, almost certainly inspired by the vision of him on the security camera monitor. A delectable heat swept through her as she wondered if this might be how nights with Hugh would always be.

  “We are even,” she said, and he made a low snort.

  She rolled again. This roll was a five, and it was followed by another five. Her hands began to tremble. Twenty minutes of whatever mischief he could think of. . . .

  He laid a finger on her knee, and in that touch she could feel the hold he would take of her and the triumphant plunge—Her heart stopped racing and jumped with a jolt. He would take her virginity. He would be the one for whom she’d saved this treasure. Had it been what she’d planned? No. Had it been what her mother seemed to have wanted for her? She no longer knew or cared. She wanted to feel Hugh’s arms around her as she made this leap, and, more importantly, she wanted Hugh to carry this gift with him forever, no matter what happened to them next.

  “Almost done,” she said.

  “The sooner to begin.”

  The fifth roll showed a two. She might be a virgin, but she was not unaccomplished. He would forget every other woman who had ever shared his bed.

  He took the last die from her hand and tossed it himself. A three. He brushed the dice into the well and brought his mouth to hers. The scent of his hair and clothes was making her woozy. If they weren’t careful, their hour’s adventure would begin in full force on the finely upholstered seat of His Grace’s carriage.

  As if on cue, the duchess stirred, and Hugh and Joss jerked apart. Joss prayed their hosts hadn’t seen anything. She leaned against the seat back, eyes shut, pretending she was asleep for what seemed like hours, and when real heavy-liddedness found its way through her agitated thoughts, the last thing she apprehended was Hugh staring out the window, tapping his hand distractedly against his thigh.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “Joss. Joss, wake up. ’Tis time.”

  In her dream, the voice had been Hugh’s, and Joss hoped Kit didn’t see the disappointment on her face when she opened her eyes.

  The sun was high in the sky. It was one of those unexpectedly warm fall days that make you regret not appreciating summer more while you had it, and Joss kicked off the carriage blanket. The fresh breeze coming in through the windows felt good on her skin.

  “Where are the men?” The carriage was making its way up a long curved drive to a sweeping estate, and Kit, who looked to be newly awake herself, was her only companion.

  “They got out at the other end of the park. Lord Quarley was there with a group of hunters.”

  And Sir William, she hoped, which would keep Hugh busy for the better part of the afternoon. She found the notion of the liaison they’d planned more unnerving in the stark light of day.

  “Unfortunately,” said Kit, who knew Joss’s reasons for coming, “Sir William does not arrive until later this afternoon. You will have to wait a bit for your meeting.”

  Nonetheless, Joss thought quickly, Hugh would have some duties to perform with Lord Quarley—making introductions, commenting favorably on his dogs and estate, perhaps walking the grounds. Surely she would have a little time to collect herself.

  Something on the floor caught a ray of the sun. It was one of the duke’s dice. They lay scattered from one door to the other, and the little table lay overturned as well.

  Joss bent to collect the items, and the duchess cleared her throat meaningfully. A wave of heat passed over Joss’s cheeks. “I hope,” Joss said, still bent, “we did not wake you with our game.”

  Kit laughed. “Perhaps a little.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “Your fiancé is a very good player. I hope you did not bet too much.”

  “I’m afraid I did. Oh dear, I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Pray, do not trouble yourself. Have you not heard the story of my courtship with Silverbridge? You would have to run naked through the streets of Windsor to put a shine on that. What did you bet?”

  “Oh dear. I really don’t think I should say.”

  Kit clapped her
hands. “How wonderful!”

  But Kit must have seen that the expression on Joss’s face did not quite deliver on the merriment such frivolity deserved, and she touched Joss’s arm.

  “What is it?”

  “I am engaged.”

  “My dear Joss, I hope you do not think you are the first woman who sampled the pudding before she finished the pork. There’s hardly a woman in my circle who did not anticipate her vows. In truth, there’s hardly a woman in my circle who did not anticipate the second ball.”

  “I am not engaged to Hugh.”

  Kit’s smile transformed instantly from one of pleasure to one of deeply felt sympathy. “Oh, Joss. That does make it more difficult.”

  Joss gazed at her ring forlornly. “I don’t think I love him, but I’m not sure.”

  “The man of the ring or the man of the seas?”

  “The man of the ring. I’m sure I love Hugh.” She was surprised to hear herself say it, but she knew it was true. When he’d taken her in his arms after she’d nearly drowned, and she could feel the raw relief in his every muscle, she’d felt treasured and protected. It was a wonderful feeling, and the first time in her adult life she’d felt like she could let go and someone else would be there to catch her.

  “Then you must return the ring. Or,” the duchess added with a pragmatic shrug, “at least send a note.”

  “He has done nothing, really, to make me stop loving him. He is just not Hugh.”

  “But a more earth-shattering fault you could not have named. Have you and Hugh . . .?”

  Joss shook her head. “Not yet. Today, I think.”

  “The dice, aye.”

  “It’s worse than that.”

  “I have heard of Hugh’s reputation. Perhaps you don’t know the definition of ‘worse.’”

  “I am a virgin.”

  Kit jerked upright. The carriage was drawing to a stop, and footmen leapt on the outside steps and opened the doors. “Close these at once,” Kit commanded. “Do you not know when to knock?”

  The horrified men, who had surely never thought to knock on a carriage, shut the doors and retreated.