‘A few months later. The nuns were hidden in the house of a merchant. It was dreadful. Locked up day after day in the cellar. Prayers every few hours. I took over obtaining supplies for the kitchen. It got me out of the house. I met Pierre at the market. He was charming, interesting, alive. I left with him.’
His blood chilled at the thought of a gently bred girl alone in a country in the throes of unrest. He threaded his fingers through hers. ‘You took a huge risk.’
‘It was an adventure. We would join a group harrying the soldiers. When things got too dangerous we would move on, find another group by listening to conversations in the taverns. Quite often they would find me.’ She shuddered. ‘Such young men. So full of fire and hope.’ She shook her head, her face filling with sorrow, and...guilt? ‘They didn’t stand a chance.’
He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a small squeeze. ‘I am glad you found people who cared for you.’ Much as he wanted to hate this Pierre. ‘Where did you come across Moreau?’
‘He was...’ Her expression shuttered. Clearly her trust only went so far. ‘He infiltrated the royalists.’ Her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘He killed them one by one by one.’
‘Pierre?’
Bleakness filled her gaze before she buried her face in her hands. ‘Moreau fooled us all. He was so very clever.’ Anger and desolation rang in her voice. ‘Then he used me to get to Nicky.’ She lifted her head. Her gaze was bright with unshed tears and the glitter of anger.
‘And now you will have your revenge on him.’
‘Nicky gave up everything for me. She married to keep me safe. I want to make sure he can never harm her.’
There was something she was not telling him. A part of him wanted to press the issue, the other part wanted only to offer comfort. He decided on comfort.
He put an arm around her shoulders ‘We will catch him. Believe me.’
He held his breath, waiting for her answer, hoping that after tonight she would at least trust him that far.
She said nothing.
As he had taught himself so long ago, he absorbed the blow in silence.
But there was more pain in it than he had expected.
* * *
The silence stretched and Minette knew he was disappointed with her responses to his questions, though not angry as far as she could tell. Which in itself was a surprise. She wished to tell him all the rest. Desperately. But then he’d no doubt be disgusted. And she didn’t want that, not now, when there was a chance to destroy the evidence of her foolishness.
She needed a change of subject before she confessed everything. ‘Why do you blame yourself for your brother’s death?’
He turned his head sharply, looking at her in surprise and as if trying to decide what to tell her. She kept her expression neutral. If he did not care to talk about it, she was not going to press him. They were both entitled to their secrets.
He stared upwards at the canopy for a long time. He wasn’t going to tell her. She startled when he finally spoke.
‘My brother and I had been arguing for weeks about who was the better whip. We argued a great deal. Mostly about foolish things. He was two years older and liked to lord it over me. He was, after all, bigger and stronger. But when it came to book learning and logic he didn’t stand a chance.’
He smiled softly, his gaze becoming unfocussed as if he saw the past played out before him. ‘One thing we were matched in was riding and driving. Our styles were very different. I like precision in a horse. He preferred brute strength. We both had a penchant for speed. I told him I planned to beat his time from the house to the village on a route that involved a couple of turns and one tricky narrow bridge. Naturally, he challenged me to a race. We set it for the following day.
‘On the straight his horses pulled ahead, but he took the second turn too wide. He always did. I was expecting it. I feathered by him.’ A sad smile curved his lips. ‘I can still see the shock on his face as I pulled ahead. He was catching me up as we approached the bridge, though. The rule is that whoever is behind, even by a nose, must drop back to cross that bridge.’
He shook his head slowly and closed his eyes as if in pain. ‘Being ahead there was my strategy. But his team was a whole lot faster than I had anticipated.’
He reached for a glass of water beside the bed and offered her a sip. When she declined, he drank. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. This was hard for him. She felt honoured by his confidence and saddened at her own lack of honesty.
He pulled her closer and twined his fingers in a lock of her hair, brought it to his nose and inhaled. ‘The last thing I remember was heading for the bridge a nose in front. Then I was on the ground, the carriage on top of me. I was dizzy. Sick from a blow to the head. And then I saw him a short distance off. Watched the light go out of his eyes.’
‘Who was ahead at the bridge?’
His fist clenched, bunching up the sheets at his hip. ‘I was so sure I could beat him. I had it all mapped out in my mind. All I can recall is the roar of blood in my ears and the sight of the bridge coming closer. My blood was running so hot I felt invincible. I so wanted to beat him, just once.’ He closed his eyes. ‘And then nothing. I can’t remember if he pulled ahead or not. Damn it,’ he whispered. ‘Why can’t I remember?’
The agony in his face caused her chest to squeeze. ‘You fear you didn’t follow the rules. That the accident was your fault.’ She frowned. ‘You are not that sort of person.’
She wanted to bite her tongue when his body stiffened. When she glanced up at his face his eyes had gone as dark as midnight, his expression stark. He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘It was my fault. I should never have challenged him. Not when I knew I had a chance to win.’
‘And that is why you let your mother treat you so badly. You think she is right to blame you.’
‘Yes.’
Chapter Fifteen
God. Had he really said all that? Spoken about that day for the first time since his father had listened to his version of the event? It was certainly the first time he’d expressed his deepest fear.
The possibility that beneath the civilised veneer of a gentleman lay a cold-blooded killer. A fratricide. The ton whispered it behind his back. His throat dried and he took another swallow of water before putting the glass down. In his heart he was sure he hadn’t cheated. In his mind he wasn’t certain. He had been so very determined to win.
What the hell had he hoped to gain by talking about those things? Was he really so devious, so deeply committed to his work that he had bared his soul to encourage her to reveal what she was so obviously intent on concealing? Or had he been hoping for sympathy? Neither felt particularly good.
‘Was that how your leg was injured?’
Shocked, he could only stare at her. Of course she was likely to think that was the cause. It would be so easy to make it seem as if he, too, had suffered the consequences of that stupid race without exactly lying.
‘My foot, not my leg.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s been that way since birth.’ The reason his mother had barely been able to look at him without flinching. And the cause of his vow to never have children. No child of his would suffer the shame of being a cripple.
She cocked her head on one side. ‘May I see?’
Bile rose in his throat. There had been others who had wanted to see, when he had been young and had not realised their interest had been ghoulish rather than the concern of friendship. Until they’d grimaced and called him a freak. Schoolboys, so very cruel. And honest. He’d been lucky Gabe and Bane had not been similarly disposed. ‘Why would you want to?’
‘You saw all of me before you blew out the candles.’
‘You are worth looking at.’ No, that was not self-pity he heard in his voice. It was a statement of fact, nothing more. ‘It is not a pretty sight.’ And a woman’s sensibilities were delicate.
‘Shouldn’t I be the judge?’ The determined set of her chin said she would not be denied. And
, besides, having revealed the worst of it, she may as well satisfy her curiosity now as later. If she found it disconcerting, he could as easily keep it from her sight in future, as he had this evening.
He flung back the sheet. ‘Look your fill.’ He leaned back against the headboard so he wouldn’t have to see her face. He’d seen both pity and disgust, depending on the woman. He didn’t need to see either in her face.
When a warm hand skimmed down his calf, his leg jerked with the shock of her touch. He glared down, seeing the ugliness of his foot and ankle next to the white perfection of her hand. He jerked away. ‘What are you doing?’
Hand in hovering in mid-air, she looked at him, puzzled. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘It aches a bit in cold or damp weather.’
A finger traced the place where his foot went awry, turned inwards. ‘What did the doctors say?’
‘Doctors can do nothing.’
‘Are you saying your parents did not have it looked at by a surgeon?’
Anger. On his behalf. Surprising. And very dear. Something inside him warmed. ‘If they did, I do not recall. We never speak of it.’ They had done nothing, because they had known the outcome. One of his mother’s uncles had undergone surgery and had been worse after than before.
A palm smoothed over the crooked bone. The touch a shocking pleasure. His body reacted. He made a grab for the sheet but she was kneeling on it.
‘This leg is shorter than the other, yet it barely hinders you.’
Admiration, yes, but also strangely an admonition.
‘My boots are specially made. It doesn’t hamper me at all.’
‘You don’t dance or play cricket.’
‘I am a duke,’ he said. ‘I have my dignity.’
She gazed at him aslant, across her lovely shoulder. ‘How is that relevant?’
‘It would not suit me to go capering and hopping about, though others might find it amusing.’
‘Have you ever danced?
‘No.’
‘Too bad.’ Her gaze dropped to his pelvis. A brow arched. ‘It is one of life’s pleasures.’
His relief at her common-sense practical acceptance, Heaven help him, her touch where he didn’t recall anyone ever touching him before was almost more than he could stand. ‘Enough about my foot’s shortcomings.’ He grinned when she got the joke and wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. To distract her, he slid his palm over his own arousal and watched her gaze follow the up and down motion of his hand. ‘There are many pleasures where it makes no difference at all.’
She smiled brightly. ‘So I see, but it is not better alone, surely?’
The purr in her voice, the wicked gleam in her eyes, the flush across her skin caused his body to further harden. She eyed him and licked her lips.
‘Tease,’ he growled, entranced by her unselfconsciousness and obviously rising passion. What man would want an innocent when he could have this?
She knelt up, straddling his calves, gazing down at him stroking himself.
He let his hands fall away, leaving himself open, wanting her to come to him, to prove that she was not horrified by what she had seen. Not disgusted. Or fearful. Or, worst of all, prurient. All these reactions he had seen from one woman or another. She circled her fingers about him, taking over where he had left off. Without his volition, his hips pushed up, welcoming the heat, the tightness, the sensuality of her touch. He swallowed the urge to plead for more, fisting his hands in the rumpled bedclothes each side of his hips. Gently, she cupped him. He groaned. Eyes alight with mischief, she gazed down at him. ‘Too much?’
‘Never,’ he ground out. He pushed himself up on his elbows, kissed his way across each breast, teasing her nipples with teeth and tongue until she moaned and arched against him. He flipped her over onto her back. The gold in her eyes sparkled. Her lips curved in a welcoming smile. Never had he felt so comfortable with a woman.
‘What now?’ she asked, her voice teasing.
What came now was pure pleasure. Hers. If she’d allow it. He made his way down her belly to the nest of black curls. He sat back on his heels and parted her delicate rosy pink folds. So achingly beautiful and pearly with her moisture, and perfumed by her arousal.
He licked.
She moaned.
He found her tiny bud already knotted and ready, and licked and flicked with his tongue, learning what had her writhing and what made her so weak she couldn’t do any more than cry out her pleasure, and he tormented and teased until he could no longer see for wanting to be inside her.
He lifted her legs over his shoulders, leaving her deliciously open to his gaze. So beautiful. So enticing. He rose up on his knees, pulling her onto him. Pushing into her hard, burying himself deep.
‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Harder.’
Hard and fast, he pounded into her, their bodies coming together in hard slapping sounds, his grunts of pleasure-pain mingling with her softer cries of approval. Her inner muscles tightened around him, milking him in steady pulls. Seared by flame, he lost control. He heard his name on her lips, felt the flutters of her orgasm around him and pulled out, spilling his seed on the plain of her belly.
In time. Heaven help him, had he been in time?
He collapsed to one side, grabbing for the sheet to wipe her belly and his, and rolled on his side. She rolled to face him, kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Next,’ she said, breathing hard, ‘we will try dancing. At our ball.’
Did that mean she intended to honour their engagement? If so, it was a battle won. Or did she only mean what she had said? If so, it was a battle lost. For he would not dance.
Above all else, right at this moment he needed what was left of his brain to get her back to her room and quickly, before the house began stirring.
* * *
Stiff and sore in a very satisfying way, Minette wended her way down the grand staircase to breakfast. Freddy rose to his feet as she entered and greeted her with a smile, but there was fatigue in his eyes.
The butler hovered over the sideboard. ‘Tea, miss?’
‘Coffee, please.’
While he poured her a cup and set it on the table, she helped herself to rashers of bacon and a scoop of fluffy scrambled eggs, along with a couple of slices of toast.
She took the seat to Freddy’s right, added cream and sugar to her coffee. Her first sip was delicious. Hunger gnawed at her belly, and she attacked her food.
‘That will be all, thank you, Patterson,’ Freddy said.
The man looked down his nose, but left swiftly.
Minette spread butter on her toast and looked at Freddy in enquiry.
‘Barker arrived early this morning.’
‘You have seen him already?’ No wonder he looked tired.
Freddy gave a terse nod, his face thoughtful. ‘Yes. He’s setting up camp.’
Minette glanced out of the rain-streaked window at the scudding clouds. ‘Poor man. Could he and his men not stay at the farm?’
He shook his head. ‘He’ll keep an eye on it as well as Falconwood.’
‘You think Moreau might take advantage of its vacancy?’
‘It would be wonderful if he did. But the man is as slippery as an eel.’
He was right about that. Moreau was also devious, self-serving and conscienceless.
‘I’m going to ride out shortly to confer with Barker.’
‘I will come with you.’
He raised a brow, looking grave.
She opened her mouth to object to what was clearly going to be a refusal.
He grinned at her. ‘I’ve asked for your horse to be saddled for ten.’
Teasing. He was teasing her. Astonished, she gazed at him and grinned back. ‘Très drôle.’
‘I’m glad you are amused.’
There was a softness in his voice. Affection. Did he think last night had changed things between them? While he hadn’t said much about her lack of virtue, surely he wouldn’t want to marry her now? How did one approach such a question? Inwa
rdly, she winced. One didn’t. Besides, there was no need. In this matter she was the one in control. He could not stop her from crying off. Could not force her to the altar.
The regret causing her stomach to squeeze uncomfortably was foolish in the extreme. Appetite gone, she put down her knife and fork. ‘I will be ready.’
His expression changed to one of concern. ‘Are you well?’
‘Of course,’ she said lightly, rising to her feet, forcing him to rise also, noticing the way he adjusted his stance for balance. She’d never really noticed that little adjustment before, and now it made her heart ache sweetly. She forced a smile. ‘If I am to go riding in the rain, I must change. Please, excuse me.’ She left without a backward glance, but she had the very real sense his gaze never left her until she disappeared through the door.
* * *
He’d taken them across country, but with the ground wet and heavy their progress was slow. Freddy glanced over at the lady riding beside him, rain dripping from drooping feathers, face set in a determined but cool expression. She wasn’t going to make his wooing easy. Rain hadn’t brought on her dark mood. So busy was she with her own thoughts, she barely seemed to notice her surroundings, or him. Whereas last night she had seemed so full of joy.
Perhaps it was the thought of Moreau holding her attention. Or memories of the man he had betrayed. Pierre. Did she still love him? Her first love? And if she did, why would he care? He took a deep breath and enclosed himself within the familiar chill of feeling nothing. It didn’t work. Too many fissures ran through his defences, old hurts and new leaking through him like acid.
He glanced up at the sky. ‘It’s raining harder. Do you want to turn back?’ He leaned closer so he did not have to raise his voice and so he could bring the scent of her deep into his lungs. The smell of jasmine and wet summer mornings.
The Regency Season Page 18
