A Kiss from a Rogue

by Elisa Braden

  Another prickle along Jonas’s nape. “Tides, eh?”

  “Nearest port of any size is Blyth. Naught but fishermen betwixt here and there. This fellow mistook my haddock for cod.”

  “Didn’t strike you as a seafaring sort, then.”

  The man grunted and shook his head.

  “Anything else you recall?”

  “He weren’t from Northumberland, that much is certain. Kept whingin’ about the winds during that wee sprinkle a few days past.” The big man scoffed. “I’ve had bigger gales come out of me arse.”

  Jonas chuckled. “Could you place his accent?” In his experience, the men who tended the bar typically developed an ear for it—the better to distinguish locals from travelers and charge accordingly.

  “Yorkshire, mayhap. Kept on about needin’ to addle some brass, or somewhat. Fellow I knew from Yorkshire used to say that when he was pockets to let.”

  Jonas thanked the man and started to finish his beer when he felt a presence behind him. A curvaceous shadow fell across his arm.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “For the last time, I don’t need your help.”

  A slender arm in red velvet reached past his elbow to pluck his sketch of the maid. “Is this her?” asked his disobedient wife. “Miss Allen?”

  He turned. God, she stole the air from his chest. Wine-red velvet hugged her soft bosom and slender waist. It fell in folds to form her skirt. It made his heart pound like a furious drum. Or, rather, she did. The velvet was incidental. “Go back to Grimsgate, Hannah.”

  Her chin tilted upward. “I wish to help.”

  “There is nothing you can do.” And many things she could do to make it harder. Distracting him, for one. Increasing his frustration, for another.

  “I have an excellent mind, I’ll have you know.”

  “That is not in question.”

  “If you will set aside your manly obstinacy, you’ll see it is far better to make proper use of the resources at your disposal.”

  At the moment, his body had a single use for her. But even that had proven unsatisfying. And he was damned if he knew what to do about it. She still hadn’t told him a thing. Not one bloody thing. She’d kissed him and fucked him and taken his cock and his seed. All without letting him touch her properly. Without letting him see her properly.

  Without letting him inside.

  He’d thought that having her would be enough. But he didn’t have her. And what he did have wasn’t nearly enough.

  “Go back to the castle,” he gritted, finishing the last of his beer and retrieving his sketches. “Or must I escort you?”

  Those pale eyes flashed a defiant glint. Her pert, red velvet hat might as well be a crown. “Let me help.”

  He shoved away from the bar and made for the door. She followed, as he’d known she would. Outside, the glare of late-day sun made the sandstone buildings glow gold. “You’ll help me most by enjoying the party with your friends.”

  “They might be your friends, too, if you’d let them.”

  As he reached the horses—hers was a pristine white mare with a gleaming sidesaddle, while his was a hired old gelding with a sparse mane and poor stamina—he offered to help her mount. She sniffed and nodded, turning her back to him to position one boot in the stirrup.

  He drew close. Eyed the bare skin between her collar and her hair. Smelled roses and his woman. His body reacted predictably. But he ignored it, gripping her waist and lifting her easily onto her saddle.

  She settled her skirts and retrieved her riding cane. “Thank you, Jonas.”

  His answer was to mount his horse and start north, knowing she would follow.

  “I fail to understand why you refuse my assistance.”

  “Because I want you to remain at the castle.”

  “You’ve said as much, but that is silly.” They rode in silence as they passed the White Swan and made their way along the small streets of Alnwick. “Do you play chess?”

  He frowned. “What has that to do with anything?”

  “I play chess. I am an excellent player.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Phineas and I play every evening. He is the only opponent who consistently defeats me. He is brilliant. But make no mistake, I am very, very good.”

  “Fascinating. I have a fondness for sketching.” Perhaps he was being a boor. But devil take it, she had defied his express orders at every turn. Further, she was distracting him from chasing the thief’s trail—and he needed to complete this job.

  He had a wife now. She wanted babes. He couldn’t afford to fail. These three thoughts drove him with urgent force.

  “Chess requires one to anticipate an opponent’s moves and countermoves. To plan. To maneuver. To trap,” she continued, ignoring his sarcasm. “All skills which, I daresay, might prove useful whilst pursuing a thief.” She sniffed. “If one is not blinded by one’s pigheadedness, that is.”

  He tried to sigh away his frustration and focus on the dusty road to Grimsgate. “Odd. I thought you liked me better blinded, princess.”

  That bought him several miles of silence. She didn’t speak again until he pointed to a small path through a clump of trees and mentioned they should water the horses. And then, all she said was, “Very well.”

  He was a disaster as a husband. He knew it. She clearly knew it. And, if he didn’t find Lady Wallingham’s trunk, they’d be living in rented rooms in London, and he’d be back at Bow Street, chasing petty thieves for pittances.

  She wanted to help, but he needed to focus on his task. At the moment, it was all that mattered. Finish the job. Collect the reward.

  He led her to a shaded spot along a small brook. He’d stopped there while traveling to Grimsgate. It was a lovely, peaceful place. The brook wound amidst a copse of willows, and as the evening sun slanted golden fingers through the leaves, light played upon her black hair, white skin, and little red hat.

  His breath caught in his chest, hands tightening upon his reins.

  Beautiful. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  He forced himself to dismount, leading his horse to the water’s edge before turning to help her down. But she’d already dismounted on her own. Now, as her horse drank, she gazed up at the willow canopy and closed her eyes.

  Her gloved hands folded at her waist. Her throat craned like a swan’s. Her shoulders were slim. Graceful.

  He knew every line by heart.

  “I love the way the wind sounds,” she said. “Music played in whispers.”

  He turned his back, needing distance. Needing to stop wanting her so damn much.

  “Do you regret our marriage, Jonas?”

  His gut hardened. Went cold. “Do you?”

  A pause. “No. Although, I do wish you would let me assist you in your investigation.”

  He released a half-chuckle. Removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I had that impression.”

  “You permitted Dunston to help you.”

  “He followed me. It wasn’t my choice. Appears to be a common pattern of late.”

  She went silent for a moment. “You seem … discontented with me.”

  He hung his head and rubbed his nape. “I must finish this task. If you’ll stay where you belong, everything will be fine.”

  “But I wish to make you happy.”

  He closed his eyes tight. His hat’s brim bent inside his fist. He heard a rustle, a whisper of velvet. Breathed roses and a hint of rain.

  “Tell me what I am doing wrong,” she said. “Should I not have asked you to … this morning? I thought because you were … so hard … that it would ease you if I—”

  “Stop.” If he thought about that morning, he was going to lift her skirts and fuck her against the tree. “Nothing is wrong. Let’s just return to the castle.”

  “I wanted to take you in my mouth.” She whispered her confession. “Would you like that better?”

  “Bloody hell.” He felt her moving closer. Warmth. Softness. />
  “I am a swift learner, Jonas. You will see.” Her hand, tentative as a butterfly, touched his arm. Stroked down to his wrist. “Tell me what pleases you most, and I shall seek to master it.”

  “Devil take it, woman,” he growled, jerking his arm away. “You’re my wife, not my whore.”

  He knew the moment he said it, he’d regret that loss of control forever. He felt her withdraw, watched her shadow go motionless beside his. Choking on his own unforgivable words, he couldn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the pain there.

  Sinking into a crouch, he threw his hat across the glade with a vicious snap. It landed in the water. Drifted downstream. With both hands, he scraped his hair, his fingertips digging into his scalp.

  “God, Hannah.” He breathed deep. Covered his face. Blew a gust into his cupped hands. “I’m so bloody sorry.”

  “Wh—why would you say such a thing to me?”

  “Because I am an idiot.” He dropped his hands. Braced his elbows on his knees. “A frustrated, foolish, maddened idiot.”

  “Frustrated. Because of me?”

  He wanted to deny it. But he didn’t have any masks left. Not even one to spare her feelings. “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. What have I done except try to be a good wife to you?”

  He stood. Turned. Faced the woman he’d married but couldn’t have. “You lied to me,” he said softly.

  A confused crinkle appeared. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t—”

  “You said you would tell me everything once we were married. You’ve told me nothing. Given me nothing. Most especially yourself.”

  The confusion deepened, her eyes darting around him instead of remaining still. Her mouth worked. Her head shook. “We—we have—”

  “Aye. We have. But I’m not allowed to look upon your body. Or touch your skin. Or see your eyes when you come for me. Every time I draw close to your boundaries, you stop me. That’s not lovemaking. That’s procreation. We shouldn’t have boundaries between us, Hannah. And you won’t even tell me why they exist.”

  She went whiter. Swallowed. Stared at him as though he’d burned her house to the ground. “I’m not ready to tell you.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “I do. I do trust you.”

  “Then tell me the truth.”

  She looked stricken. “You will hate it. I will hate that you know. That you see me differently.”

  He didn’t have an answer for her because he didn’t know what she was hiding.

  A breeze came up. Her hand settled over her belly. She shuddered. Gasped a breath. “All right,” she whispered finally. “I will tell you.”

  He held himself still. Forced his muscles not to carry him toward her.

  Her hands twisted together. Her shoulders shook. “I—I was four or five. I’m not certain which. It was winter. We lived in Bath, my mother and I. Papa was ill. He brought me a doll each time he visited. I had dozens by the time he …” Her mouth trembled into a tiny, grieving smile. “He was kind. His eyes were like mine.” She swallowed. “Mama would often take me up the hill in the park to the confectioner’s. She did so on the day she died.”

  Cold started low in his spine. Traveled upward as she spoke. But he disciplined himself to stand still. To listen.

  “We were returning from the shop. There was frost on the steps. I thought everything had been frozen by fairies. It sparkled and …” She shook her head. Looked down at her hands. A wince of grief flickered across her face. “Her neck was broken, I think. Her eyes were open. She was reaching for me when she fell.”

  Cold sank deeper. Deeper and deeper.

  “H-he pushed her. I’d gone down the hill first. A fairy riding a horse, I imagined. I was there, at the bottom, when she landed.”

  Bloody hell.

  “He took me.”

  “Who?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like to say his name.”

  Cold was roiling now. Building. Burning. “Please tell me.”

  “He said it was to save my life.”

  “Who, Hannah?”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she released a tiny gasp. Her hands formed claws over her midsection. Then, she opened her eyes.

  And sweet Christ, he wished she hadn’t.

  “His name was Horatio Syder.”

  “No. Ah, God. No.” Something was crushing his chest. Grinding his bones. Burning him alive.

  “He took me—”

  “No.”

  “He h-hurt me—”

  “No!” His roar hurt his own ears. But he was dying. He couldn’t bear it.

  “Kept me. For a very long time.”

  The ward. She was the ward Dunston had told him about. A delicate, pale-eyed little girl in the hands of a butcher.

  “I survived, Jonas. I am here, and he is gone.”

  He needed to move. Started prowling in circuits through the glade while visions of how that monster must have hurt her gouged deep, tore him open. Odd, guttural noises were rumbling out of his chest.

  “Jonas.” She ventured closer, cautious and light. “I—I must tell you everything.”

  He shook his head. Pressed his palms to his temples, needing the visions to stop.

  “You must know, and I cannot do this a second time.”

  Bracing himself against a tree, he slammed the trunk with his fist. Once. Twice. Again.

  “Please.” She stood closer, now. Snowfall and roses. “Listen.”

  His hand was bleeding. It dropped to his side. His head dropped forward. He couldn’t get enough air.

  “It was not the pain,” she rasped. “Everyone assumes so. They believe the beatings and c-cuttings were the worst thing. But that is not true.”

  Beatings and cuttings. The butcher had taken a knife to her soft, white flesh. Jonas slammed his fist into the tree several more times, shaking branches and splitting skin.

  She continued calmly, as though his guts weren’t being torn to pieces. “He loved me. That was the worst part. He was a madman, of course, and his love was … twisted up, somehow. Obsessive. To him, I was a beloved daughter. His punishments were to instruct. To protect. He required that I call him Papa. After a time, he even convinced himself that he and my mother had been … affectionate.” Her voice faded to a thread. “He hired tutors and housekeepers to care for me. He kept me hidden from the one who ordered my death. He taught me to play chess.”

  He rested his forehead against his arm and struggled to breathe. “God Almighty, love.”

  “In some ways, he played a father with me, I suppose. I learnt a great deal from him. He was building an empire, you see. He wished to share it with me once Lady Holstoke had been dealt with. His lessons were … quite thorough.”

  “How long?” His question ground like a millstone inside his chest.

  “Ten years.”

  “Was there no one—”

  “No. Anybody who tried to help me was killed. Or worse. A housekeeper, Mrs. Lisle, intervened once. She stopped him. Grasped his w-walking stick as he was …” Hannah shook her head. Panted. “Mrs. Lisle was gone by the next morning. He presented her hands to me as a gift.”

  He was going to retch. He felt his gorge rising. Panted and swallowed. Sweat sprang up on his neck.

  “He believed he was doing right,” she continued, swaying near him, her gown too red and her skin too white. “The way he looked upon me.” She drew a shuddering breath. “It was … possession. Love transformed into a dark fever. And in my head, those things are a tangle.”

  “That is not love. It’s demonic.” He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “God, it’s anything but love.”

  “I know. Even then, I knew. Because my papa’s love was gentle. He would never have hurt me. But S-Syder took everything else away until all I had was … him. Just him and his love and the pain.”

  “Did he …” Bloody hell, he was terrified to ask. Needed to know. Didn’t want to know. Jonas had seen many things during his years of hunting in the darkest c
orridors of London. Young girls were treated no better—and sometimes worse—than animals. “Did he ever touch you … as a man touches a woman?”

  A puzzled frown crinkled her brow. “No. Dunston asked me a similar question several years ago. It was never … Syder did not regard me in such a way. My sense is that he had those feelings for Lady Holstoke.”

  “Lydia Brand.”

  “Yes. She wanted me dead. He warned me about her over and over. Gave me a miniature so I would recognize her, should she ever find me. He even taught me to fire a pistol. He often spoke of her with both fear and peculiar longing.”

  He sagged against the tree as a wave of relief hit him. His wife had been a virgin upon their marriage. He knew that. But there were many things a depraved butcher could do to a girl without taking her maidenhead.

  The things she’d already told him about were damage enough.

  “So, when you ask me to cover my eyes, it is—”

  “It is not our intimacies which cause me distress. I—I adore touching you, Jonas. Kissing you. The pleasure of it is”—she drew a shivering breath—“transcendent.”

  Further relief surged, driving away some of the burning cold.

  “When you look upon me, I can see your heart.” She stared at her twisting hands. “It burns me alive.”

  The implication sickened him. “Do not say I remind you of him.”

  Pale eyes finally lifted to meet his. “Love reminds me of him. Love. Even my brother’s affection is sometimes difficult to bear. Phineas has always been very careful with me. I have lately asked him to dispense with his caution.”

  “Why?”

  “For the same reason I married you.” After hesitating a moment, she moved into him. Her hand fluttered upward. Settled softly upon his chest. “If I cannot bear to be loved fully, then I am Syder’s prisoner forever.”

  This time, he was the one shuddering. Shaking. “I need to hold you.”

  She slipped into his arms. Laid her cheek upon his chest. Wrapped her arms around his waist. Sighed.

  “Nothing will ever hurt you again,” he vowed. “I will bloody well kill anyone who tries. I wish I could kill the man who did. Over and over. Every day for the next thousand years.”