A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides (12 page)

She dreamed of Susanna. They were together at Langtry, and a little girl with a wide smile and her father’s unmistakable eyes came running toward her calling, “Mama, Mama.” A hand snatched out and grabbed the little girl. “Stop,” she told him, “let my daughter come to me.” The man laughed and turned around and then she saw who he was: Duret.

She woke with a start to the sensation of being suffocated. It was no dream. Something was pressing against her mouth. A male hand that smelled of horse and leather. A muffled scream tore out of her throat, and she struggled and scratched, kicking at the intruder.

“Elle, be calm. It’s Will.” The soothing voice drifted through the darkness. “Do not be afraid.”

She stilled and blinked into the darkness, trying to see through the shadows. “Will?” she asked, her query muffled through his fingers.

He withdrew his hand and sat at the edge of her cot. “Yes.”

“Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

“I have reason to believe that your host has alerted Duret’s people as to your whereabouts. We must leave immediately.”

Her heart clamored. She’d just been dreaming of Duret, and now the threat was very real again.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Come quickly and quietly.” She rose, absently brushing wrinkles from her peach gown. She hadn’t undressed, both because she had nothing else to wear and there was no one to undo the buttons up the back of her dress. Thankfully, her corset was loose enough to make sleep bearable.

They quietly made their way out of the cottage walking through a copse of trees until they reached a mount tethered to a low-hanging tree branch.

“Just one mount?” she whispered, eyeing the grayish-white Arabian’s compact body and short tail.

“We cannot risk waking the others by saddling another animal.” He took her small bundle of belongings and tied them to the saddle. “Do you know where the packet is?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t discovered the messages during his search, even though they’d been right there under his nose. She slid a hand into her pocket, feeling the cool, uneven surface of the Cleopatra coin. Her talisman had done its job well. She smiled in the dark, relishing her triumph.

“I don’t suppose you will give them to me for safekeeping?”

“They are safe just where they are.”

He shook his head. “As you say. It might be preferable for you to ride astride in front of me. We will make better time.” He linked his hands, offering her a boost into the saddle. She stepped into them and up onto the animal, conscious of her legs and raised skirt. But then, he’d recently been privy to much more than the turn of her ankle.

The coachmen and two outriders Will had sent her with remained asleep in the barn. “What about the others?” she asked, trying to pull her skirt down over her exposed limbs.

He slid behind her in the saddle. “They can see to themselves. They’ve already been paid.”

Sitting upright, trying not to lean on Will, she was caged between his arms as he controlled the ribbons, each jolt of the Arabian’s gait sending her in contact with the firm musculature of his chest. The leathery notes of his shaving soap mingled with the scent of horse and perspiration; he must have ridden hard to reach her in time to see to her safety. And the safety of the dispatches, of course. Her body, tired as it was, reacted to his proximity, suddenly alert after days of exhaustion, aware of the subtle movements of his chest with each breath, of the feel of his muscled thighs encasing hers.

She struggled to keep a cohesive thought in her head. Anxious to get her mind away from Will’s thighs—and other parts of his person—she asked, “Does it have a name?”

He directed the animal into a trot. “Does what have a name?”

She tried to hold her body firm so it wouldn’t bump up against his with each step. “Your animal.”

“I didn’t think to ask. I do know it’s a mare, though, which should work to our advantage because females of the breed tend to be quieter, and we are in need of a discreet animal for our journey.”

It didn’t help. Her bottom bumped against the vicinity of his masculine parts with each rhythmic trot. Warmth tingled through her at his proximity, swirling lazily in her belly and rushing downward to places it had no business being. Ignoring the rising heat between her thighs, she forged on with the pointless conversation. “You don’t know her name? Where did you get the beast?”

“Let’s just say I appropriated her for the Crown.”

“In order words, you stole her,” she said. “I doubt her rightful owner would happily give over prized horseflesh to the English Crown.”

“He was well compensated for his loss.”

“Where are we headed now?”

“Still to the coast. I intend for us to be on the first packet out of France.”

“Both of us on one small mount?” she asked skeptically. “She’s practically a pony.”

“She’s an Arabian. The breed is known for its endurance.” He urged the animal into a cantor. “We must make haste.”

She breathed a sigh of relief that her bottom no longer bumped up against his manly parts. Now their bodies moved in tandem to the horse’s gait, a much more fluid ride than the trot they’d just come out of. The wind blew past them as the animal picked up speed, the ride smooth as their bodies moved in tune. The movement made her recall the one other occasion that their bodies had been attuned to each other, their limbs intertwined, skin sliding on skin as he’d made love to her, a joining together that was highly erotic but also excruciatingly intimate and tender.

It was a night she would never forget.

The night they’d conceived their daughter.

By nightfall, Will found a place for them outside a village.

After inquiring at the farmer’s cottage, he returned with permission to overnight in the barn as well as two steaming bowls of stew. The food had cooled by the time Will finished putting the Arabian up for the night, but she was so hungry she scarcely noted it. Sitting side by side in the hay, they ate in silence and shared the cool water provided by their hosts for the evening.

“We should sleep early and leave at first light before too many people are on the road,” he said between spoonfuls of food.

She anticipated falling into a deep slumber as soon as she laid down in the hay. She was exhausted from riding, and her bottom was sore from being in the saddle all day. She also felt grimy and sweaty, but a bath was out of the question.

When they finished eating, Will returned the bowls to the cottage while she flopped back on the hay. When he returned, he reclined beside her.

“Will,” she asked after a while. “Why haven’t you married?”

He was silent at first, his face hidden in darkness. “Some men are not made for marriage.”

She paused, then said, “You wanted to wed me.”

She heard his quiet exhale. “The circumstances were unique.”

“I suppose they were.” Her heart ached at the memory. She hadn’t wanted to be a burden and a duty to him. She deserved a husband who wanted her as much as she desired him. However, had she known that a child would result from their coming together, she’d have made a different choice. “Perhaps you haven’t met the right woman.”

“No,” he said gruffly. “My life and work are not conducive to having a wife and children. My duties are all consuming. I have neither the time nor desire to be obligated to a family.”

Hurt sliced through her. Even if her letters had reached him in time, he wouldn’t have desired the family she and Susanna could give him. “Do you enjoy your work?”

“Very much.”

No ordinary clerk would demonstrate such extreme devotion to his employer. But a clerk who worked with the ruthless
Le Rasoir
might. She thought of Duret’s order to spy on Will, of the remote house Will had taken her to after the incident at the arcade, of his ability to secure transportation and funds for their escape to the coast at a time when half of Paris had been scouring the city for them. “Duret had the right of it. You are much more than just a clerk at the Home Office.”

He didn’t immediately reply. After a beat, he turned over on his side giving her his back. “Go to sleep, Elle. We’ve much ground to cover tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but a huge yawn escaped instead. Her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, she closed her eyes and for the first time in many nights, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Will awoke the following morning with a raging cockstand. His inconvenient physical state came as no surprise considering he’d spent the night next to Elle. She’d fallen asleep immediately, but he’d lain awake, acutely aware of her presence beside him, listening to her soft breaths, replaying the alluring vision of her in a shift, garter, and stockings over and over again. When he’d finally managed to fall asleep, the scent of violets had invaded his dreams. This morning, he’d awakened to find the soft, warm source of his sleeplessness pressed against his back, her soft arse pillowed against his, hence the rock-hard discomfort between his thighs. Everything about Elle riled his physical impulses.

With a sigh, he edged away from her and flipped onto his back to stare up at the barn’s rafters. He normally had little trouble controlling his physical desires. Work occupied his days, and twice-weekly visits to an innkeeper’s widow over the past few years filled enough nights to satisfy his baser needs.

His mistress’s inn was conveniently located a few minutes’ ride from his office at Number 20 Crown Street, and the arrangement suited them both; neither had any interest in marriage, which is why the liaison had lasted several years. Helena’s first marriage had not been a happy one, and the inn kept her busy. He had his work and, after losing Elle, no interest in a wife. Besides, his missions were often perilous; he couldn’t chance leaving a family behind should something happen to him.

In her sleep, Elle exhaled and snuggled into his side. He breathed in the scent of warm, earthy woman. In repose, she looked younger and guileless, more like the innocent girl he’d known years ago. He resisted the urge to put his arm around her and bring that lithesome form tight against him. He sensed she would have been amenable if he’d drawn her to him in the night, but he couldn’t take the risk.

He had a number of reasons not to trust her: she’d been associated with Sparrow, his missing agent; she’d whored herself out to Duret—and allowed him to whore her out to Will—for the sake of her daughter. Perhaps she had allowed herself to be used in the same manner to entrap Sparrow. Will had been a fool for her once; he wouldn’t survive it again.

He rose, trying not to wake her. She stirred beside him.

“Will?” she asked in a rough, sleep-filled voice that only exacerbated the steeliness of his shaft.

“It’s morning.” He looked over his shoulder, keeping the evidence of his carnal readiness out of her sight. “You’d best get up so we can be on our way.”

She sat up and stretched, arching her back in a movement that emphasized her innate sensual qualities. She ran her hands through her tousled hair and yawned. “I slept so soundly. Did you sleep well?”

Not daring to look at her again, he made for the barn door in search of cold water. “Yes, supremely well. Why don’t you make yourself presentable and I’ll see what I can manage for breakfast.”

They were back on the road not long afterward with Will resisting the urge to grit his teeth every time Elle jolted up against him.

“Tell me more about home,” she said suddenly. Happy to have the distraction, he told her about Langtry, Susanna, and the rest of her family.

“Cosmo married?” she exclaimed with disbelief, thinking of her rakehell brother. “To whom?”

“A most formidable female. Mari is an aeronaut and a balloonist.”

She shot him a surprised look from over her shoulder. “She falls from the sky? How extraordinary.”

He nodded. “Mari is more than Cosmo’s match. She keeps him on his toes, and they both dote on Susanna.”

Her face softened at the mention of her daughter. “Tell me more about her.” He told her what he knew—that the child was smart and precocious and had enchanted all the adults around her.

After she’d finished peppering him with questions about the girl, they fell into a companionable silence as the miles and hours stretched through the day. It took everything within Will to control his body’s impulses each time Elle’s hips bumped up against his groin when the Arabian changed her gait or hit a rough patch of terrain. He’d never been so happy for a day’s journey to come to an end when they finally reached the coast later that day.

Elle waited impatiently in the private parlor of the tavern where Will had left her. Once they’d reached the coast, he’d installed her here before going off to investigate which boats were bound for the English coast. He’d been gone almost an hour. Nervous anticipation gnawed at her stomach. What if Duret’s men had caught up to him? She was so close to her daughter now. If all went well, she could be holding her Susanna in her arms before the week was out. The door clicked open behind her and Will let himself in.

“Well?” she asked, impatient to be on her way. “Did you find passage to England for us?”

“Yes and no.” His mouth was set in grim lines. “I think it best for us to take the first vessel to leave the port. The longer we stay on French soil, the more the danger grows. We depart within the hour.”

“Where are we going?”

“Jersey.”

Her stomach dropped. Jersey Island was only twenty miles off the French coast, far from the English mainland…and Susanna. “But that is too close. What is to keep Duret’s men from following us there?”

“At the very least we shall be on English soil, and the island is well fortified against any possible French attack. We can find a boat to Devon or Dorset from there.”

They made their way out of the tavern toward the water and the waiting boat. “Wait,” Elle said. “Where is the Arabian?”

“With its new owner.”

“You sold her?”

“The blunt will help ease the way for our passage home.”

The vessel that took them across was no more than a rowboat manned by a single fisherman. The water was relatively calm for the four-hour journey and Jersey quickly came into view. A commanding hilltop castle fortification, with numerous stone towers and turrets and a curtain wall that seemed to run forever, dominated the view. As they drew closer, she saw that there were several lone towers—round, almost squat, stone structures—dotting the island landscape.

Will followed her gaze. “The castle has been here forever, but the towers are new. Built to protect against French invasion.” If he meant to reassure her that the island was well fortified against interlopers, it did not have the desired effect because the worry gnawing in the deep recesses of her belly flared. They were still too far from Susanna—too close to Duret—for her comfort.

The sea around them, blue as a robin’s egg, shimmered toward the island, vivid against its grassy green backdrop and rocky granite cliffs. Perhaps if she had come to this place at another time in her life, she might have admired its rugged natural splendor. As it was, she couldn’t wait to be gone.

When they disembarked, she didn’t feel much better. Jersey might belong to England, but French chatter was everywhere as they walked through the small enclave.

“Come.” Grabbing their belongings in one hand and cupping her elbow, Will directed her away from the port.

“Where are we going? Shouldn’t we find a boat to take us home?”

“I have, but it doesn’t leave until tomorrow.”

Her heart dropped. Another night away from England. “Where will we stay?” She realized he walked with purpose, as though he knew exactly where he was going. “Do you know this island well?”

“A bit.” He directed her through a square where it was market day, and women had set out colorful arrays of fruits and vegetables, green and dark figs, melons and pears. Children roamed past the stalls selling colorful bunches of pink geraniums. They went by an open bulk where a cobbler and herb-woman kept a shop and came to a neat lodging house. Will directed her inside and they made straight for the stairs, without seeing or speaking to anyone.

“A friend of mine has rooms here.”

“A friend?” she asked as she followed him up the narrow stairs, wondering what role
Le Rasoir
might play in any of this.

“Yes, these are his lodgings. He is not at home at the moment, and I’m certain he wouldn’t mind our making use of them.” He reached the landing and started down the darkened corridor. “This will be safer and a bit more discreet than seeking out an inn.”

She followed. “Where is he? This friend of yours.”

“I am not exactly certain.” He stopped before a door at the end of the corridor and withdrew something from his pocket
―
a ring containing a series of metal shafts in varying sizes that resembled small, misshapen hairpins. He selected two of them and bent toward the lock, pushing both pieces of metal inside, manipulating them using both hands.

“A friend?” she said tartly. “Are you in the habit of breaking into your friends’ abodes?”

“When necessary.” The lock clicked. Will straightened, slipping the shafts into his pocket as he pushed the door open and pulled her inside with him.

“I hope you have plenty of blunt left over from the sale of the Arabian,” she said as he shut the door behind them. “You’ll need it to bribe the gaoler after we are arrested for burglary.”

“It won’t come to that.” He removed his hat and placed it on a rough-hewn table bracketed by two ladder-back chairs. “We aren’t going to steal anything.”

“I’m certain the magistrate will be relieved to hear it.” She untied her bonnet and strung it over the back of one of the chairs. “Where did you learn to pick a lock like that?”

He went to the lone window in the chamber and appeared to check the lock. “Here and there.”

“It’s not exactly a skill one learns during the normal course of things.”

“I’ve learned a great deal on my travels,” he said obliquely.

She let the issue drop
―
since it was clear he would not elaborate further
―
and surveyed the chamber. It was spacious and comfortable, with a small sitting area that led to the bedchamber. She turned to Will. “When will your friend return?”

Worry lines fanned out from his eyes. “I wish I knew. His name is Hamilton Sparrow. He vanished several weeks ago without word to anyone.”

“Hamilton Sparrow? You mentioned him before, did you not?”

“I did.” His gaze was watchful. “I had hoped you would tell me that you were acquainted with him.”

“I am sorry to say I am not. As you know, I am only recently returned to society.”

He nodded and turned away, but not before she glimpsed the clear disappointment in his grim expression. She felt as though she’d failed some critical test, but she had no idea why. He could hardly hold her culpable for having never met his friend.

He pushed the window open and the briny scent of the sea drifted into the chamber. He stood there for a time, looking out onto the street with his back to her, not speaking, thinking thoughts she wasn’t privy to. After a while, he turned and said, “I’ll go and get us some food. It’s safest for us to keep out of sight until our departure tomorrow.”

After he’d gone, she wandered about the chamber, taking in Hamilton Sparrow’s simple, comfortable accommodations. There weren’t many personal effects in evidence. This seemed a place where Mr. Sparrow stayed, rather than resided in. It did not have the feel of someone’s home. She ran her hand over a wooden dresser in the bedchamber and pulled open a drawer. There were writing implements and a few other odds and ends. Her gaze caught on a calling card. So like one she thought she recognized. She pulled it out of the drawer and examined it more closely, her heart going cold as she realized to whom the card belonged.