by Mary Brendan
‘Now you do know there’s no reason for you to ever return here, is there?’
‘Nor shall I!’ Joan flared, her fingers clenching in her lap.
The longer he sat in silence, simply gazing at her with a ghost of a smile moulding his narrow mouth, the more incensed Joan felt. But there was constrained levity in her tone when she next spoke. ‘If we had been forced into that arranged marriage, my father’s name would have protected you from such clever felony as Stokes has perpetrated. Oh, dear...’ she sighed ‘...how you must be rueing not taking me when you had the chance.’
‘Oh...I regret that,’ he drawled silkily. ‘But as for marrying you...’ He waited till she turned an affronted expression on him, then slowly shook his head.
Joan clenched her fingers at the insult, but she managed an insouciant little shrug. ‘It is all over and done with and now of little interest.’
‘You brought the subject up.’
‘Perhaps, but I’ll hear no more of your degradation now I understand that you enjoy living like a heathen.’
‘Again...you brought it up, my lady.’ His hands were spread in mock appeal.
A temptation to lunge forward and slap him bedevilled Joan. She was certain he was acting indolent simply to rile her. ‘Why do you not go and join your new friends in the slums? I really cannot abide your company a moment longer.’ She leapt up, about to hammer on the roof for the hackney to halt, but her raised arm was gripped and she was jerked forward, falling against him.
‘And why do you not give that busy tongue of yours a rest...or better still...tell me honestly why you came to find me?’ Drew kept her struggling form pinned to his torso. ‘You’d risk your father’s wrath and all manner of opprobrium, would you, simply to warn a heathen of a plot against him?’
‘Yes!’ With her puny fists Joan battered a chest that felt like granite, trying to squirm away, but he suddenly shifted sideways on the seat and brought her down on her back beside him.
Drew braced an arm over her so she was trapped against the upholstery. Slowly his face descended and, mesmerised, Joan watched his mouth until it blurred out of focus. But he didn’t kiss her; his lips skimmed her hot cheek, the faintest tickle of bristle scouring her skin.
‘Do you know what I think, my lady?’ he murmured against her small sensitive earlobe. ‘I think my conceit is making me believe your interest in me is personal. I think you’re as eager to taste me as I am to have you.’
‘I’m not...’ Joan gasped. ‘You’re wrong...’
But she lay still, barely breathing, racked with terrible excitement as an artful touch of his mouth made her shiver. She felt his lips brush her throat as they curved in a smile, acknowledging her acquiescence. Her eyes closed as he nuzzled her warm flesh and his fingers started to work their magic against her hip and belly, smoothing and stroking till her back was arching against the seat.
Joan’s lips parted on a moan and she turned her head, seeking him, but still he didn’t kiss her and eventually her lids fluttered up, her storm-grey gaze merging with his feral eyes.
He lowered his head, waiting till she ceded and rose to meet him, placing her lips on his.
He worked her mouth in a slow narcotic rhythm that was so enervating to Joan that she sank, sighing, back to the seat, unable to resist allowing him any liberty. His hands moved to her bodice, unbuttoning slowly, tormenting her with the opportunity to stop him before he’d untied her chemise to expose plump creamy breasts.
‘Hold your clothes open for me,’ he said softly but with intractable authority.
She did as she was told, pulling back the edges of linen so his two hands could rove and caress her flesh before shaping it to receive his mouth. He suckled hard and fast, drawing a squeal of mingling pain and pleasure from Joan that caused him to soothingly circle the tight little nubs with his tongue.
‘Hush, my lady,’ he murmured, smothering her whimpers with his wooing mouth. ‘Come...quietly now...or I’ll have to stop...’
In wordless answer to that threat, Joan shook her head and wound her arms about his neck, keeping him close. Every skilful slide of his lips made her heart race faster and there was an unbearable heat in her veins that only his caressing fingers could cool. The next time his tongue probed her mouth she met it with a touch of her own.
‘What next for you?’ he whispered roughly. ‘Come...your heathen is here to oblige you, my lady, show me what you like...what you want...’
Joan could not answer, but her hands fluttered to her chemise, peeling apart the gossamer lawn once more so swollen rose-tipped breasts were naked beneath his blazing gaze.
A soft grunt of praise rewarded her obedience, then she shuddered in ecstasy as his long firm fingers curved over the sensitive flesh, massaging in light orbits till her back bowed and her shoulders supported her. His mouth swooped and this time two of his fingers stopped her squeal, plunging and retreating fractionally between her lips till her gasps faded and her tongue welcomed those two strong digits and their gently erotic dance.
Joan felt her knees being parted, felt a rush of blissfully tepid air bathing her feverish nether regions as he shoved up her skirts and caressed her thighs. His fingers trailed onwards into the tight little curls beneath her drawers and a jolt of sensation hit Joan as he edged a fingertip into her, then withdrew to smooth the pulsating tip of her womanhood with dew.
And then he stopped.
Chapter Eight
Abrupt incandescence had brightened the interior of the coach for a second and been followed by an almighty thunderclap. Rain began battering the roof, but it was the cruelty of losing him that penetrated Joan’s sensual daze. Then seemingly from a distance she discerned Peg’s frightened whinnying over the elemental din.
Drew had leapt to his feet a mere moment before the carriage began juddering to and fro. With fast, impersonal efficiency he straightened Joan’s attire, then put her upright. As the vehicle again swerved crazily she huddled into the corner of the seat.
‘Stay there!’ Drew barked, pointing a commanding finger at her as though anticipating she might also leap from the swaying contraption. A moment later he’d forced open the door against the gale and disappeared into the howling night.
The hackney came to a stop so sharply that Joan had to cling to the door handle to keep seated. Seconds later she’d poked her head out of the window, blinking against streaming rain to see what was happening. Drew was holding Peg’s bridle and soothing the terrified mare as she fought to liberate herself. The jarvey was agitatedly yanking at a splintered wheel, water tipping from the brim of his hat.
With a groan of dismay Joan sank back against the squabs, forking ten fingers into her hair. ‘Oh, what have I done?’ she cried into her forearms, eyes screwed shut. Her mortifying wantonness was blocking out even the immediate danger of Peg bolting. Suddenly her duty to her family was at the forefront of her mind. She had yet to make a safe return home and to slip upstairs without being spotted. Or had she been missed and the mayhem already started? Joan prayed that the storm hadn’t woken her stepmother. If Maude had sought her company during the bangs and crashes only to find her bed empty, the woman would by now be in hysterics.
Joan had left the house when the threatening tempest had been merely a purplish cliff on the horizon. She’d dismissed the risk as minor...and compared to the self-inflicted ache of shame that throbbed beneath her breastbone, it had been.
But strangely, though her cheeks blazed at the memory of what they’d done, Joan didn’t regret having come to meet him to tell him he’d been tricked. She would do it again. But never again would she allow...no, encourage...him to seduce her.
She must insist he quit the coach and allow her to travel alone the remainder of the way home. Abruptly it struck Joan that poor Peg might be too skittish to be of further use. If so, she’d have no option but to
alight and find another cab and not many would be for hire in such frightful conditions. Her frantic planning was interrupted as the door was jerked open and slanting precipitation spattered the interior of the cab.
‘Put on your cloak and hat and we’ll shelter in the inn across the road.’ Drew beckoned urgently, keeping his face lowered to shield it from the downpour.
Joan had no intention of entering such a place with him, but she did quickly don her outer things, tying her bonnet strings with quivering fingers. ‘I shall shelter here, thank you, till the worst blows over!’ she replied stiltedly, turning her back on him.
‘The jarvey wants you to get out.’ Drew swiped a hand over his rain-fogged vision. ‘The mare is highly strung and has taken fright before. The dimwit should never have brought her out on such a night. He’s unharnessing her.’
Joan groaned in consternation on learning that; the flapping blind and the tattoo on the roof were proof that the foul weather was far from finished. Another enormous roll of thunder made her shrink back into the furthest corner of the cab. But frightened as she was, she now had full possession of her wits. She’d sooner take her chances waiting out the storm in the lurching vehicle than be bedded on a tavern mattress.
Perhaps he’d imagine she’d see it as the height of gallantry if he purchased a chamber in which to finish what he’d started on a hackney’s cramped seat. A mingling of thrill and dread raced through her; they both knew he had the power to conquer her morals and upbringing and make her beg him to touch her again once they were alone. Joan noticed that he was holding out a hand to help her alight. Spontaneously she slapped it away with all the strength she could muster.
With an oath Drew reached in, grabbing her elbow. He tugged her resisting form towards him just as the nervous mare leapt forward, causing the coach to rotate on screeching wheels.
Joan tumbled out of the carriage against Drew, momentarily clinging to him. When she strove to be free of him he didn’t immediately let her go. His hand smoothed her wet cheek in a show of reassurance that she sensed was prompted by the peril he presented rather than that Peg was wreaking.
‘Go and wait in that doorway,’ he yelled over the screaming wind. When she looked mutinous he spun her about and gave her shoulder a little push.
Joan hared across the road, hopping over fast-flowing rivulets on the cobbles that would soak her shoes. She got under cover, then swung about, squinting through damp lashes at the two men working together. The jarvey was holding on to the mare’s harness while Drew uncoupled the horse and vehicle. With a fascination she didn’t understand she watched the muscles in his shoulders and arms moulding a shirt made transparent by the downpour. When the job was done Drew violently shook water from his head while all around him rain bounced and bubbled in the puddles.
The night had grown chilly and Joan wrapped her arms about her soaked form to keep warm while she waited for...she knew not what. But she guessed trouble was afoot and she felt unbearably guilty at the prospect of wounding her father when this catastrophe broke. But she wouldn’t cry. She had landed herself in this terrible mess and somehow she must pick herself out of it.
The shadows in her little hidey-hole suddenly darkened. Joan glanced up to see Drew had joined her. He stood in the entrance, blocking her view of the street and everything else. At that moment she was only aware of him, looming over her, and of her racing heartbeat. She blinked, staring at rugged slippery features, his long fair hair swarthy with water. But it was the sight of his shirt stuck fast to the rocky contours of his torso that wedged her breath in her throat. Just minutes ago that solid expanse of chest had been warmth beneath her fingers.
‘Is...is the mare under control?’ she stammered the first thing that came to mind.
He smiled, a sarcastic tilting of his lips, and she knew he wasn’t just thinking of the four-legged creature he’d tamed.
‘I hope so...’ He glanced over a shoulder. ‘Her master’s led her into the inn’s courtyard. If he can stable her there for a while she’ll calm down.’
‘Good...’ Joan said huskily.
‘Come inside the tavern; you can’t stay here.’
He held out a hand to her but she ignored it and shook her head. ‘I must get home. My stepmother will be frantic with worry and raise the roof on finding me gone.’
‘And your father will have my hide if he finds out I’ve left you sheltering from a storm in a shop doorway.’
‘He’s a better reason to kill you than that!’ She felt hot and bothered to have flung that at him. It had been no ruthless ravishment...he’d asked her to join in the erotic game and she’d willingly done so.
‘I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have touched you. Trust me...there’s no need to be frightened. I’ll get you home unharmed.’
It was a softly spoken apology, yet she’d heard it above the clamour of the storm. He sounded sincere, Joan thought. But she knew better than to risk worsening this fool’s errand she’d embarked on. ‘You needn’t humour me!’ she snapped, indignant that he could treat her as though she were a child when a short time ago he’d desired her...touched her...as a woman. They both knew he’d nothing to apologise for. She could have told him to stop. But he’d been the one to call a halt when her moans became too loud. Still she’d imprisoned him with her arms, urging him to carry on.
‘Be sensible, my lady, you’ll catch your death if you stay outside,’ Drew muttered in exasperation when she backed off from his outstretched hand. ‘If you insist on staying here, I should keep you warm. You’re shivering.’
Without warning he embraced her, briskly and roughly rubbing his hands along her back to chafe her. To object to such impersonal handling seemed superfluous and as Joan felt her sluggish blood prickling into life she realised she had indeed got colder than was wise. Then the ministration changed...his hands coaxed rather than nursed and, despite every good intention not to succumb, Joan felt her flesh begin to yield and move against his palms.
‘Don’t...don’t you dare...’ she whispered, plea hoarsening the words. Still she couldn’t prevent her hips swaying forward as his fingers spread at the base of her spine.
‘Come inside the tavern and have a hot drink,’ Drew said harshly, stepping away. ‘I’ll find transport as soon as it quietens down.’
‘I’m not entering that place, but you may fetch me a hot toddy, if you will. And I’d be obliged if you’d purchase me a ride of any sort. Please tell the innkeeper to do what he can to provide a gig and driver. A stable lad will do and I’ll pay handsomely for his trouble and yours.’ Pulling coins from a pocket, she held them out to him.
Drew looked at the money, then at her. His devilish eyes never quit her face as he said, ‘Thank you, my lady, but I’m at your service in every respect...no payment required.’
Joan crouched down, lowering her chin to her knees and hugging herself to keep the warmth he’d rubbed into her cold bones. His expression had been hard with mockery, but he was angry, too, that she’d treated him like a hireling.
She heard his suffocated curse as he turned away, but didn’t look up till she heard fast footfalls splashing away over the cobbles.
From beneath a fringe of damp lashes Joan watched him sprint across the tavern courtyard and disappear before she uncurled and stood up. Hurrying to the front of the porch, she darted searching looks to and fro. The rain had eased and the lightning had retreated to the edges of the heavens. She took a deep breath; Drew Rockleigh hadn’t finished with her yet, of that she was sure. But she had most definitely ceded the fight. She had set out intending to befriend him and instead had got a tiger by the tail.
On impulse she hoisted her drenched skirts and ran in a westerly direction over the glistening cobbles. Many street lamps had extinguished beneath the wind’s battering; only intermittently did she spy candles peeping between the edges of curtains at cottage windows. As she tu
rned a gloomy corner she hunched against a stone wall, breathing heavily because a stitch was needling beneath her ribs. She heard a vehicle, glimpsing an approaching hackney whose driver had been brave enough to venture out. With a surge of hope she waved, forcing her weary legs onwards, but it passed her by, its passenger glaring at her.
She knew that a lone woman out at night would attract no good attention. A milk cart, churns clanging on the back as it negotiated a rut, trundled to a crossroad and Joan flew forward to beg a lift as it seemed to be heading her way.
Then the sound of galloping hooves caused her to hesitate and spin about. A horse came into view...
Suddenly Joan whipped frantic glances to and fro, searching for a hiding place. Spying an alleyway, she sped into it, having realised who the rider might be. She waited, her heart in her mouth, wondering if he’d seen her fleeing figure.
He had! The animal was being reined in to a walk, its clopping hooves ringing on stone. Deep in the crevasse between two high walls Joan pressed her back to gritty brick. Straining her ears, she heard the unmistakable sound of leather creaking as a rider dismounted.
‘I’m tiring of this particular game, my lady.’
‘Than why do you not leave me alone and go away?’ A distant lightning bolt outlined his silhouette at the mouth of the lane.
‘Because I know you don’t want me to.’
‘You are the most arrogant and conceited wretch alive.’
‘Perhaps...but I’m still gentleman enough to insist on seeing you indoors. So, come here. I’ll ask just the once. You may ride in front of me, or behind, or over the saddle. Your choice.’
Joan didn’t deign to answer him, but she knew he meant it from the tone of his voice. And she’d not turn up in Mayfair thrown across a nag like an old blanket. She put up her chin and walked steadily out of her dark sanctuary and into the wan light of an emerging moon. Haughtily she attempted to avoid his eyes, but found she could not. A black-diamond gaze mocked her feeble attempt to escape him as wordlessly he lifted her, then mounted behind, hauling her back against him to prevent her falling off. He kicked the horse into action and it leapt forward, making Joan gasp and cling to him. She relaxed after a while, sheltering her face against his shoulder as the pounding rhythm of the journey, and her nervous exhaustion, caused her eyelids to droop.
