The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  He shucked off his breeches and knelt over her on the bed. Running his hand down her body he echoed her word. "Perfect."

  She twined her fingers in his hair and tugged him forward for a kiss. He braced himself above her on an elbow as his free hand continued its journey over her body. She would shudder and clutch at him when his touch turned hard and possessive.

  Kissing her throat he asked, "Are you ready?"

  She nodded, "Yes."

  But he knew from the tension in her body, the tone of her voice, that she feared it would hurt again. He smiled into her hair, knowing that he would surprise her. His hand skimmed down over her, coming to rest over her core. He cupped her there, gently, and then gave her mound a hard and possessive rub. She gasped against his throat, her hips shifting in her surprise. His thumb found her pearl as his first two fingers stroked inside her.

  "Quince?" she said uncertainly.

  He kissed her again, harsh and demanding. Her grip tightened in his hair and she met his assault with the same vigor. As he rubbed and teased her, she became impossibly wet and slick, his fingers losing purchase as she began to buck and writhe. He tightened his other hand in her hair to hold her head as he broke the kiss and moved to suckle her nipple. She gave a few gasping breaths and then her body bowed up from the bed on a sharp cry.

  His touch turned soothing and soft, kissing her shoulder, her lips. He looked down to see that she was crying. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded and gave him a trembling smile. "Why didn't we do that the first time?"

  He chuckled and kissed her shoulder again. "You said you knew what to do."

  She sighed happily and ran her fingers through his hair.

  Damned if Gideon wasn't right. Having Sabre look at him as though he had discovered a great secret about her body made him feel like a mythic hero.

  At last her body had fulfilled the promise of all the whispered secrets she had heard from the serving girls. Beyond that, really. She felt luxurious, cherished. Quince was skimming his hand over her flesh, kissing her softly in delicate spots that made her shiver. The inside of her elbow. Along her ribs. She felt as though she were floating on a sensual cloud made entirely of his touch, his smell. She never wanted anything other than this. Complete intimacy with the man she loved.

  He shifted his weight on top of her and she felt his cock against her thigh. She still feared that joining would cause pain, but she wanted him. Pain was nothing, fear was nothing, as long as they could be together. She opened her legs wider in silent invitation, and while he nibbled on her ear he slipped inside her.

  Oh, it wasn't like the previous times at all! It felt right. It felt good. Like welcoming him home after a long absence.

  "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

  She rubbed her cheek against his. "I'm wonderful. You're wonderful. Please, more."

  He began to rock against her and she felt the fire kindle low in her belly again. Oh God, would joining lead to that intense pleasure she had felt under his hand? Her hips began to buck and thrust against him of their own accord and the more she moved in counterpoint to his rhythm the more her body tightened in response. This time the petals of sensation that unfurled in her center were slower to bloom, but deeper, more primal. She clung to him and encouraged him to go faster, panting his name. Then the knot of sensation broke apart and she was flooded with wave after wave of pleasure. She didn't know time or place or thought, only feeling. She heard him call her name. Hoarse, desperate, tender. She wrapped her arms around him. How had she ever thought that she could leave him, could get over him?

  She would gladly be his mistress. It didn't matter what anyone thought. It didn't matter that she could no longer go out in Society, that her own parents might disown her. That even her brothers and friends might shun her. She, who had never done anything without weighing the risks and rewards first, knew that no risk could outweigh the reward of Quince's love to her. The only risk was losing him. She couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't let that happen. As he dozed next to her she lay awake in the coming dawn, planning how to keep him safe.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sabre had dozed off herself because a knock at the door awoke her.

  The duke called out without even raising his head from the pillow. "Not now, Larkins!"

  "Your grace, I - no, sir, you cannot do that!"

  The door opened and it sounded like a scuffle. Quince sat up, shielding Sabre and she couldn't see who it was.

  The duke sounded furious. "Good God, Robert, have you no decency?"

  She peeked around Quince to see her brother standing in the open doorway, shaking off the butler, holding a bundle of clothing. He looked unusually pale and haggard.

  "I need Sabre to come with me."

  "No." Quince's voice rang with a final authority. His ducal voice.

  "My men report that Viscount Bittlesworth left for the coast this morning." His gaze shifted to Sabre. "And he took the viscountess with him. Against her will."

  Sabre felt her heart stutter in her chest. Mother was usually too clever to openly defy father. His temper was short and at times violent.

  "Thank you for bringing us the news," Quince said, still using his austere, commanding tone. He managed a surprising amount of poise for a man dressed only in a sheet. "I assume you and your men will handle it."

  "I need Sabre with me."

  "Why on earth would you take your sister into that?"

  "Because she's the best shot, and perhaps the best fighter, among us. Further, she's the only one that father isn't likely to fire upon."

  Even with the dire news, Sabre's heart glowed to hear her brother's compliment. But she knew he was gilding the lily to sway Quince to his plan.

  "Are you sure that the viscount wouldn't shoot her?" Quince sounded both cynical and suspicious.

  "Of course. He's not a complete monster."

  But Sabre, who knew Robert so well, saw the truth. He had no such confidence that their father wouldn't be vicious to them if cornered. Yet they needed to try. And Robert, who had shouldered so much responsibility for seeing to her and her mother all these years was asking for her help.

  "Don't be silly," she said to Quince, patting him on the arm. "I'll be fine. It's speed that is of the essence. We must catch them and ensure my mother doesn't get packed off in a boat. Then it would be so much harder to find her."

  She determinedly kept her voice even and calm, to communicate that she wasn't worried at all about this mission. Inside, however, she was worried intensely. The fact that Robert seemed concerned was sobering. He dealt with vital international affairs with a steadier demeanor. What could his men have reported to him?

  Quince finally turned to look at her. "I can't stand the thought of you being in danger."

  "Don't be silly. I'm the one person who can do this and not be in danger. Pray for Robert and Charlie, father is much more likely to strike them." She looked back to her brother. "Thank you for bringing my riding clothes. Just leave them on that chair and I'll be dressed in a trice."

  Robert set down the clothes, nodded, and withdrew.

  Quince wrapped his arms around her. "I'm going with you."

  She laughed. "No you're not. Father would definitely be happy to shoot you. I don't want you anywhere near him."

  "You can't expect me to sit here and wait for you."

  "No, I expect you to do something productive. Certainly you can think of something."

  He held onto her tighter. "I don't want you to go."

  She bit her lip to keep from expressing her true feelings. Her fear and helpless rage. "It's my mother, Quince. I have to go."

  He looked down at her and nodded, rubbing her arms. "All right, then."

  She was reminded of one of the first reasons she had fallen in love with him. His capacity to give others their freedom. No strings, no promises extracted. He offered an intoxicating blend of freedom and security. She had something she had to tell him, just in case.

  "Quince?"r />
  "Yes, love?"

  She looked up into his spring green eyes, shadowed with worry for her. His blonde hair was tousled from sleep, his jaw rough with stubble. She cupped his face in her hands, careful to avoid the healing gash she had yet to learn more about. "I love you," she whispered.

  He smiled and leaned his forehead on hers. "I know."

  She laughed. "Rude!"

  He caught her against himself and kissed her. Kissed her as though this could be their last kiss. Then he broke away, breathing hard. "You need to get dressed."

  She nodded and ran to the pile of clothing that Robert had left. "So what will you do to be productive while I'm gone?"

  He helped her on with her riding habit. "I have some things that I need to do at Belle Fleur." The answer was evasive, but she didn't have time to question him further.

  "Perfect! Then I will meet you there after I have mother settled."

  "You sound very confident."

  "Of course. I always get what I want, remember?"

  He chuckled. "How could I forget?"

  She was ready and he had pulled on his breeches and shirt from the night before. Honestly, if everyone looked as good in dishabille as the duke it would set a fashion. He held out his elbow to her. "Let's get you downstairs before Robert wears a hole pacing on my carpets."

  By the time she came downstairs Charlie had arrived with his best horses and there was a sweep of activity that had her mounted and riding out much faster than she would have wanted. She looked back over her shoulder to see Quince standing on the steps, arms crossed and lips drawn in a worried line. Not wanting to see him so grim she smiled and blew him a kiss. He gave her a half-smile in return, pretending to catch the kiss and hold it against his heart. The scene made her own heart trip and she faced forward again before she turned into a complete ninny and started crying. At least he would be safe from this confrontation.

  "How did you convince his grace not to come with us?" Robert asked over the sound of trotting hooves.

  "He trusts me."

  "Well. I guess he'll learn better than that."

  She glowered at her brother. "No, he won't."

  Robert laughed. "At least you sound more like yourself again."

  Quince wasn't able to settle himself for worry about Sabre after she left. Rather than continue to pace and climb the walls in London he called for his horse to be readied for a trip to Belle Fleur. He didn't fancy a carriage ride just now. It might be some time until he could enjoy travel by carriage again. Before he left town, however, he realized he should call on the Harringtons. They were as involved in all this mess as anyone now, and would appreciate an update. He dressed to be at least respectable enough to call on an earl and countess.

  Dibbs took him in at once, of course, then intoned that he would see if his lord and lady were in for receiving. Quince waited in the front parlor. There were three paintings here that Gideon had purchased on his recommendation, so he did his best to focus on them despite his unsettled stomach. As well as being lovely to behold they would hopefully prove to be a worthwhile investment.

  "Hullo, Quince. My apologies you had to wait." Gideon entered the room and slapped the duke on the shoulder, turning to look at the same painting Quince had just been studying. "I will never entirely understand the appeal art has for you."

  "Undoubtedly."

  Jack entered the room and held out her hands to him. "Quince!"

  "How is Miss Frederick?"

  "She's fine, would you like to see her?"

  The duke shook his head. "I only wanted to give you both an update before I ride on to Belle Fleur."

  "Has something happened?" Jack asked, betraying some tension.

  "The Bittlesworth siblings have ridden out this morning in pursuit of the viscount. He has decided to flee and is taking the viscountess with him under duress."

  Jack covered her mouth in shock. "Oh no!"

  Quince gave voice to what was bothering him. "Of course, I didn't want Sabrina to go, but Robert insisted she was needed."

  Gideon frowned. "Why?"

  The duke frowned. "He said she was the best shot and further, the viscount is least likely to turn his anger against her."

  Gideon raised a brow at his wife, "Oh?"

  Jack caught her breath but said, "Yes, I can understand that."

  There was something in the countess's reaction that made Quince worry but the earl distracted his attention before he could focus on it.

  "Why didn't you go with them?" Gideon demanded.

  Quince felt himself withdraw into a cool hauteur. "I have things to attend to at Belle Fleur."

  The earl looked offended. "Things more important than keeping your wife safe?"

  "They aren't married," Jack pointed out.

  "They will be," Gideon insisted.

  "As charming as this visit has turned out to be," the duke drawled, "I find I must be going."

  “The hell you are. Explain to me how you’ll live with yourself if something happens to her while you’re spending your leisure at Belle Fleur?”

  “Is that what you think I’ll be doing?” Quince felt all the tension and worry bleed into fury instead. “Wiling away my time? Regardless of what you may think, Giddy, it was no easier for me to let her go this morning than it would be for you. The only difference is that I respect her enough for her to make her own decisions. And I am trying to keep her safe. Draco is more of a threat than Cygnus. I must find a way to neutralize the dragon and I think the key is at Belle Fleur.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because it has to be. If it isn’t… The other alternative is less pleasant.”

  “What other alternative?”

  “I will remove the threat in whatever way necessary.”

  Gideon paused. “Do you need help at Belle Fleur?”

  “No, I need you to protect my sister.”

  The earl nodded in understanding.

  “And if you could…” Quince swallowed and set his jaw. “If you could send word when the Bittlesworths return. Whether… whether Sabrina is all right.”

  “Of course.”

  After the duke left, Jack sat down heavily in one of the plush side chairs along the parlor wall. Gideon immediately came to kneel before her. "What's wrong? Are you feeling ill?"

  She shook her head. "They lied to him. I don't know why they lied to him."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Sabre is a crack shot, but she's rarely bested Robert. She and I are about even with pistols."

  "Why didn't you tell Quince that?"

  "Because I'm sure Robert said it for a reason, I just don't know what that reason might be. Unless..."

  "Unless what?"

  She worried her fingernail for a moment. "One of the games we played as children was 'Rob the Coach'. It's possible Robert is thinking to use those tactics here. Since Quince didn't play he wouldn't know what to do, so they would discourage him from going with them."

  "So you're telling me that the Bittlesworth siblings are considering using a children's game to save their mother?"

  "Sabre's mother. Robert and Charlie’s mother was the first viscountess. And we were all fairly serious about our games, thank you very much. Unfortunately for them, I was always in charge of 'Rob the Coach' because I wanted to be Robin Hood."

  Gideon gave a wry laugh and took her hands, resting his forehead against them. "Of course you did. And you are not going after them to reprise the role."

  "No. I wouldn't even know where to start looking for them."

  He looked up at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Promise me you're not going after them."

  "Of course not. Why would I?"

  He continued to stare at her until she fidgeted.

  "All right, I promise."

  He kissed her hand. "Thank you. One daring rescue is all that the future earl should engage in before his actual birth."

  "It could be a girl, you know." She patted her stomach.

  He
stood and offered to help her up. "I shudder to think."

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  "Well?" Sabre demanded as soon as Charlie was in earshot. A drizzle had been falling since they left London and she didn't want to simply stand around in it any longer than she had to. Her brother shifted his gaze around the stable yard of the inn before responding.

  "It sounds like they came through here less than an hour ago."

  Robert kept his head down as he adjusted the saddle on his horse. "They are headed for King's Lynn, then."

  Sabre nodded. "Most likely. Do you think your men will be in place in time?"

  Robert squinted up at the sky. "It doesn't really matter, does it? We're going to try anyway."

  The siblings were solemn as they mounted their horses and rode out in pursuit of the viscount.

  Quince allowed Havers to take his dripping greatcoat. The butler murmured, "We're happy to have you returned to us, your grace."

  "Thank you. Please ensure that my riders have a hot meal, it's been miserable outside. How does my coachman fare?"

  Havers paused for moment. "Not well, your grace," he finally said gravely. "The doctor has made him as comfortable as possible."

  "Is he... Will he live?"

  Havers' normally pleasant expression was etched into a deep frown. "That is not certain, your grace. The doctor believes his leg may need to be amputated and, well..."

  The duke nodded. "I would like to see him now, please. And afterwards I will need to talk to you."

  "Yes, your grace."

  As Quince followed Havers to the servant's quarters he thought it was only by the narrowest chance of timing that it wasn't him lying in bed, broken and dying. How many people were going to suffer for this vendetta? The dragon needed to be stopped. And Robert had much answer for.

  Sabre recognized the carriage immediately, even through the rain. Father had ten outriders, large brutes of men, which meant he had been expecting trouble. The bridge where Robert's men waited in ambush could be no more than a mile away. She looked over at Robert and he nodded at her. She spurred her horse ahead as her brothers pulled to the sides of the road. Once she had drawn close enough that she could be heard, she started shouting.