Dauntless

by Lynne Connolly

  “Burnett called the authorities, and they arrested you. At least Charles couldn’t get to you if you were under lock and key. But he paid for his crime. Burnett is dead.”

  “What?”

  The activities of early morning London went on outside as if nothing had happened. Nothing this portentous, anyway. Someone yelled “Chairs to mend!” as they rolled past, and another cry of “Vi’lets! Fresh vi’lets!” female and raucous, floated into the carriage through the open windows. The day was fine, sun already pouring its light down on the crowded streets.

  And Lord Charles Fitzhugh had killed his faithful servant? “Why?”

  “Because Burnett failed to carry out his orders. My brother is a murderer.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In his room, under guard. Dru, we’re going to have to make this public.”

  They had reached the house. It looked as it always did, shiny black door that opened as Oliver stepped down from the carriage, still holding her. He carried her into the house, offering no explanation, shooting out a barrage of instructions, ending with, “We will be in our room for the rest of the day. See that we are only disturbed if absolutely necessary.”

  Forde stood in the hall, wringing her hands.

  “Not you,” Oliver said. “You are not to attend the duchess.”

  Dru blinked up at him. “Not my maid?”

  “She won’t be your maid for much longer. She had an affair with Burnett. That’s how they got hold of the manuscript. She says she only wanted to show him, but he wouldn’t give it back.” He strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and then the next flight, and straight through the double doors into her room.

  The chamber looked different. Male garments were scattered around, as if someone had been putting them away. A hip bath stood before the fire, the water it contained steaming gently. As they entered, Forde’s assistant came in, carrying a pile of soft towels.

  “You may go,” Oliver said. “I’ll help the duchess myself.”

  The woman put the towels down and left the room without demur.

  At last, Oliver gently lowered her to her feet. “Public?” she said, continuing the conversation.

  “If we do not, Charles will find a way to use it against us. He will not come near you again. Why didn’t you tell me he was making you read the book?”

  “I…I don’t know.” She did, but she didn’t want to say. Charles had asked her not to tell, but more than that, at the time Oliver was barely speaking to her.

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I do. I don’t want that situation ever to happen again.” He began to unfasten her jacket, pulling it off her and tossing it toward the door. “I love you, Dru. I should have told you before, I suppose…”

  “What?” Her head spun.

  “I love you,” he repeated slowly. He stilled his hands at her waist, gazing down at her. “It took this event to bring me to my senses, but I’ve loved you all along. Since I saw you at that ball and left you on the dance floor. I couldn’t cope with the way I was feeling.”

  “That was why I did that awful thing. Why I wrote you as the villain. But when you came back and took me driving, I changed the book. I did, Oliver.”

  “I deserved it.” Tenderly, he released her and continued to undress her, letting the horrid, stained, stinking skirt fall to the floor.

  She stepped out of it and he kicked it away. Unfastening her pockets from their string around her waist, he explored the contents. First the book she’d taken from the warehouse.

  He kept that in his hand, staring at it. “The last copy,” he said slowly. “We had better take care of it.”

  Right that moment the clock on the mantelpiece crashed out the hour. Before it could get to the chimes, without looking away from Dru, Oliver hurled the book at the clock.

  The crash, a mixture of breaking glass, the sharp snap as a cherub broke off its base and the clang of bells and chimes deafened her.

  “I never liked that clock,” he said, satisfaction warming his eyes. “Good riddance to it. Why did your mother give it to you?”

  “Because she hated it, but it’s an expensive piece, so she didn’t want to throw it away.”

  “Why did she keep it?”

  “It had the loudest chime in the world, so it told visitors when it was time to go.” Discussing the clock brought her back to earth. She was here, at home and she was safe.

  “So she wished it on you.” He grinned. “Well, it serves her right. I will buy you a delicate little French piece that barely tinkles the hour.” His expression turned grave. “What I did at that ball was unforgivable, but I’m begging you to forgive me anyway.”

  She did that easily and told him so. “After all, if you had not, you might have danced with me once and forgotten me.”

  He gripped her hands tightly. “Never. Never in a million years, Dru.” He recommenced undressing her, removing her petticoat. “You said something about my brother, as I recall. At the time I was respecting his wishes and keeping any information about him secret. He wanted to surprise the public, jump out and announce he was the new duke, astound them with his brilliance.” He heaved a deep sigh. “He fooled me as much as anyone else. There’s something wrong with him, Dru.”

  “There must be.” She had thought Charles strange, but not that strange. “He killed someone devoted to him. He was prepared to kill you.”

  “He feels nothing for anyone except himself. It’s as if we don’t exist once we leave his room.” A frown furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand completely, but I’m sure of that.”

  “We only exist for his amusement?”

  “Something of that nature. Like actors on a stage.” Quickly, he completed undressing her and lifted her into the bath. She sank gratefully into the hot water, as he fetched a water can from the door and poured it gently over her, rinsing off the dirt of Newgate. “You gave a false name.”

  “I didn’t want to drag your name into it.” She swallowed.

  “It’s our name, Dru, not just mine. Never do that again.” He touched his lips to hers. “Sit up and I’ll wash your hair.”

  “It must be filthy. That place is unspeakable.”

  “So are the people imprisoned there. Some of them, at any rate.” He poured water over her hair. “You have lovely golden glints in this.”

  The scene would be mundane, beautifully so, if not for the events of the last few days. And he’d said he loved her. But he was washing her like a maid would, impersonally, though with care. However he did it, every touch made her want him more. Did he intend to tuck her into bed and leave her?

  She couldn’t bear that.

  He stroked her shoulder, rinsing off suds. His hand trembled. “When I think of you alone in that place, I want to kill somebody. Myself, perhaps.”

  “No!” Water splashed as she turned around to face him. “Never say that! I thought I would hang, and you wouldn’t know what happened to me. But that was better than disgracing you even more.”

  “You don’t disgrace me at all. Not a bit.”

  “But the book…”

  “What happened after put the book into perspective. But it won’t come out. Not unless you want it to.”

  “How can you say that? There’s a warehouse full of books at the docks.”

  “I bought the publisher,” he said calmly.

  She stared at him in silence, her heart hammering against her ribs. “How? I went there, and I paid him, but he took the money and published anyway.” She wouldn’t mention her pearls. They were her punishment for being so foolish.

  “He is free to start another company, if he wishes, but not the one that published your book.”

  He got to his feet and found a towel, holding it out for her. She stepped into it, savoring the delicious sensation of having his arms fold around her. It appeared he fel
t the same.

  “Mmm, that feels good. I need to get you dry before I go back on my good intentions. You need to rest.”

  She moved closer, nestling against him. “Not yet. I need you.”

  She had never said anything so bold before, but it felt good, especially when he smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  This time his kiss started gently, a press of his lips against hers. However, when she opened her mouth to him, he plunged inside and raised her temperature several degrees. She made a small sound at the back of her throat and received his answering groan. He spread his hands over her back, smoothing her skin as if petting a cat. She would have purred if she weren’t busy tasting him.

  When he broke away, they were both panting, their breaths heavy. The corner of his kiss-reddened lips curved in a knowing smile, and his gray eyes darkened with passion. “You are so lovely.” He caught her damp hair in one hand, twisting the heavy fall and then using it to jerk her close. He gazed at her, looking his fill until he slid away.

  The towel fell, and she was naked. This time his scrutiny was anything but impersonal. He scanned her from the top of her head to her toes and back again, lingering at her groin and then her breasts. “Mine,” he murmured.

  “Yes. Yours.” As he was hers. Every moment that passed bound them more securely together, invisible but strong threads of belonging passing between them.

  Oliver undressed. Not nearly as careful as he had been with her filthy garments, he stripped quickly, dropping his coat on the floor, soon joined by his waistcoat. He undid the fall of his breeches, and then the silver buckles at the knees, before kicking off his shoes and stripping the whole of his lower body in one decisive movement. His shirt followed, tugged over his head, shamelessly revealing his powerful hair-sprinkled chest and his arousal, proudly jutting out below.

  Her mouth watered. Before she could outthink herself, she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth. He groaned as she licked around the shiny cap, claiming it for her own, and then ventured deeper, sucking it in as far as she could. His low cry of “Have mercy!” merely drove her to increase her efforts.

  He tasted like nothing else, all male, slightly salty, the soft flesh of his erection covering a muscle harder than any she had ever touched before. She wanted more. Everything. Between her legs, the tops of her thighs were red, her sex tingling, so she wanted to rub her legs together. But she could not. She had to endure the sensation without being able to do anything. She tortured herself deliciously.

  She wanted this like she needed her next breath. If she didn’t get it, she would die. The affirmation of life and every good thing.

  Oliver cried out as he jerked inside her mouth. Seizing her under her arms, he hauled her up and fastened his lips to hers. “Witch!” he murmured when he pulled his mouth away. Cupping her breasts, he stroked his thumbs over her nipples, hardening them even more. “You are so responsive.”

  She laughed. “So are you.”

  “Bed,” he said firmly, suiting actions to words, swinging her up and tossing her on to the mattress. He paused for a bare second before he joined her, and then he was on her, his erection pushing insistently between her legs.

  “Cock,” she said, liking the way the word sounded.

  He rose above her, resting on his elbows. “So it is. Where did you learn that word?”

  “I read a lot.”

  “Ha!” His sharply barked laugh had her joining him, her breasts quivering against his chest. “Then you’ll have to show me what you know. But now, I need you. You have a talented mouth, my love. Carry on using it. Everything I am is yours. Everything I have is for you.”

  A little wild, but she loved the sentiment.

  He didn’t need to hold his erection to bring it to her. Dru knew what to do now. Lifting her knees, she opened her legs wide and found him, arching her back to let him in.

  They found each other. He slid inside, no resistance now. “You’re so wet,” he moaned, reaching down to touch her, exploring and stimulating. “You feel so good, my love.”

  My love. She adored that. “Will you always call me your love?”

  “Always,” he promised. “But you have to say it as well.” He slid right inside, his body deep in hers, contacting that magic spot she hadn’t been aware of before their wedding night.

  For the first time in her life, Dru felt complete. “I love you, Oliver. I’m yours.”

  He threaded his fingers between hers, linking their left hands before pressing it down on the pillow. “And I’m yours. Always, Dru.”

  Then he began to move.

  His first stroke sent prickles up her spine, so she sucked in a breath and arched up, her head going back. With every stroke, he drove her up and up, climbing to their ultimate peak. He used his body to please her. Every time she opened her eyes he was watching her, marking her movements. She felt cherished and wanted. Excitement climbed to an impossible level. She clawed at his back with her right hand, clutching him, crying out, before closing her mouth with a snap.

  “No, sweetheart. I want to hear your cries.”

  “But someone will hear!” Her instinctive response, used to holding herself back, was to silence any sounds, her reply instinctive.

  “Who cares? The sounds of our loving are for us. For me. Do it for me, my love.”

  Her laugh turned into shouts of ecstasy as he brought her up and over. Her inner channel contracted hard. She would have pulled away had he not held her firmly and continued to work her, increasing his thrusts to pounding, pushing through any resistance to prolong her joy, keep her at that level.

  How could he do that? Her sharp cries changed to whimpers, and then she called his name, “Oliver!” as it happened again.

  Dru lost her breath but held on to her husband and kept her eyes open. She badly wanted to see him lose himself in her.

  He did, letting go with a spectacular yell, the sound echoing around the large room. He throbbed inside her, giving her everything.

  “I’m yours. Forever,” she promised, as he fell into her arms.

  * * * *

  When Oliver opened his eyes, darkness had fallen outside. The bedroom looked out over the garden, but lights in the distance showed where other people were up and about. Moonlight poured into the room, adding silver-gilt highlights to his wife’s hair.

  As if sensing his wakefulness, she blinked awake and smiled up at him. He cupped the back of her head, meeting her eyes.

  “I don’t deserve you. I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you. You will always come first in my life, even before our children, if we are fortunate enough to have any.”

  “Isn’t that why we married? You wanted an heir, you said.” She traced a line down his chest with one finger. She would do her best to give him one.

  He made a growling sound deep in his throat. “It doesn’t matter now. I have cousins, competent men who could carry the title down. If we have children, I will consider myself blessed, though I hardly dare expect it.”

  “What about Charles?” She caught her lip between her teeth, as if afraid she had said too much.

  He kissed her. “Say anything to me, my love. Anything. Charles will no longer feature in the succession. The only way he can avoid a trial and hanging is to admit he is insane. I believe he is. That will exclude him from the succession.” He sighed when he thought of his brother, so talented. So evil. “So he has a choice. Either way, his transgression will become public. Everyone will know he killed his manservant. If the court allows, I’ll send him to a house I own in Cumberland, well away from any others. He’ll have people to look after him, but he will never leave the estate. This time I’ll employ people who understand his kind.”

  “He doesn’t seem ill.” She frowned.

  “But he is.” Oliver knew that now, could think back clearly. “He was planning this for years.” He
had just asked her to tell him everything; she deserved the truth from him, too. “I have never told anyone this before. On the day of the accident, he was driving. I blamed myself. After all, I am older than he is, and I should have known better. Charles was never a good driver, but he made himself a worse one that day.”

  She gasped. “Are you saying he deliberately caused the accident?”

  Oliver nodded, meeting her appalled gaze. “He admitted it when I questioned him. He wanted to kill me even then.”

  When he stopped, she put her hand flat on his chest. “I took the blame, because I felt guilty. I should not have allowed him to drive. Looking back, he used me frequently by invoking that emotion. He specialized in it. He played on my guilt for years and then created more reasons for me to feel badly for him.”

  “Why did he refuse to allow anyone to see him?”

  He knew that, too. “Because then he controlled the story. You write stories, Dru. You must understand that.”

  When she flushed and her eyes brightened, he kissed her softly. “Hush, love. If you want to write, if it amuses you, we will publish. After all, I own a publishing company now. Your father and brother helped me locate the publisher and his legal counsel, so I got the job done quickly and cleanly.”

  “No!” she said, revulsion in her voice and her tight mouth. “I won’t ever do it again. Although,” she went on, her voice getting softer, “I did think of rewriting the third part of the story and making the Prince of Tirolly the hero after all.” She clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes rounding.

  He caught her hand in his, sucking each finger in turn into his mouth, tickling them with his tongue. “If it amuses you, my love, I will become the husband of the greatest novelist in history. You must do it. I insist.”

  Their laughter mingled, a portent of their joined future. They would never be apart again.

  Meet the Author

  Lynne Connolly was born in Leicester, England, and lived in her family’s cobbler’s shop with her parents and sister. She loves all periods of history, but her favorites are the Tudor and Georgian eras. She loves doing research and creating a credible story with people who lived in past ages. In addition to her Emperors of London series and The Shaws series, she writes several historical, contemporary and paranormal romance series. Visit her on the web at lynneconnolly.com, read her blog at lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @lynneconnolly.