Dangerous Joy (3 page)

He sighed, recognizing another stroke of genius on someone's part. If he were unlikely to throttle a woman, he'd be even less likely to harm such a simple one. Some men, however, would not hesitate to take what that ample, exposed bosom offered.

Had they thought of that?

Perhaps it was part of the plan.

Again, his unruly body reacted.

She came back to hold the flask to his lips again. This time, cool, sweet water soothed his mouth.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, as calmly as he could, for he had no desire to alarm her. "Perhaps now you could untie my hands and feet."

She sat back on her heels and put a finger to her lips like a child. "Well, now, you see, sir, I was told to be very careful with you. That you might turn violent."

"Then perhaps one of those fine bullies should have accompanied you."

"It was thought on," she admitted, chewing her knuckle. "It was never intended that you be hurt, sir."

Miles's jaw was aching from the way his teeth were clenched, but he knew the slightest trace of anger could have this poor woman fleeing into the night. "I realize that," he soothed. "I promise I will not hurt you. Untie me, please. These ropes are very painful."

She gnawed on her knuckle a moment more, then stood and raised her skirt to reveal white stockings and sturdy shoes. They argued a slightly higher rank than he'd imagined. But what the devil was she doing?

The skirts rose a little farther, rose slowly so his gaze seemed guided by them-up shapely, cotton-covered calves; past a simple garter tied below the knee; and on to a creamy, naked thigh. He was bemusedly wondering just where this journey was to end when it halted at a leather strap holding a sheath. She pulled out a knife so long and businesslike that he instinctively shrank back.

Blade glinting in the candlelight, she grinned at him, then flung herself forward. Miles cursed and tried to wriggle away, but she seized the rope around his ankles to stop him.

"Just you stay still, now," she said cheerfully as he felt the knife bite at the ropes. The ease with which they parted told him he had not been mistaken about its sharpness.

She moved behind him. "Sure and I fear the ropes have burned your poor wrists, sir. Just a moment here, and you'll be free."

The ropes parted and he brought his wrists to the front to rub them, wincing at their tenderness. He tried to stand, but was so stiff he rolled to his knees. He staggered to his feet by holding onto the rough stones of the chimney. Muttering curses at all farmyard animals, he limped around the small room, trying to ease the stiffness, cramps, and pins-and-needles.

Then the girl snared his attention. She was still kneeling, and now it was the knife that nestled between her breasts, pointing up in a way that could only make a man think of a phallus.

The pain faded...

"Would you like me to rub your legs, sir?" She stretched a hand toward his thigh. But it was the hand holding the knife.

Miles leaped back with a yelp, and his left leg gave way, landing him bum-down on the hard ground. "For Christ's sake, girl, put that thing away!"

With a hurt look, she stood, raised her skirts again clear up to the top of her leg, and slowly, suggestively, sheathed the knife. She definitely had more in mind than just relieving him of his bonds. It was a prospect that appealed mightily to certain parts of his body, but he was hardly in a fit state to do her justice.

He pushed back to his feet, noting with relief that the worst of the stiffness and pain had gone. "Where's my horse, girl?"

"That lovely bay, sir? He's at the Shamrock. The inn in Foy village."

"And is he well?"

"Indeed he is, sir. As fine as fivepence!"

His main concern eased, Miles stretched and studied the wench with more leisure. Faith, and she was an interesting piece. She was tallish for a woman, with that interestingly generous bosom and a lovely full-cheeked face.

And lovely long, strong legs, too.

Not so strong in the head, though.

Damn those ruffians for sending such a simple lass to do their dirty work. He touched her cheek. "What's your connection with those strange animals, then?"

She lowered her lush lashes. "Now, you can't expect me to answer that, sir, can you?" But she rubbed against his hand like a kitten and glanced up at him-though he doubted she could actually see through the dense black fringe in such uncertain light. "You won't be making complaint to the magistrates, now will you, sir?"

Hell. She couldn't be plainer if she said it straight out. She was offering her body for his silence.

It was tempting, very tempting...

He teased her lower lip with his thumb, wanting to see her soft lips part a little for him. "So I'll not be making a complaint, will I not, sweetheart? For you, I might well hold my tongue, but Mr. Dunsmore will already have raised the military. Unless you've killed him."

She looked straight at him then, eyes wide with innocence. "Killed him, sir? By St. Patrick and St. Bridget, he's safe at home. A little the worse for wear, I'll grant you, but not near death at all, at all."

"In that case, he'll have the army out after your friends tomorrow. Do you have somewhere to hide?"

She lowered her head, but not before he saw her lips twitch. "Oh, I doubt that, sir. Even though he's a black-hearted Englishman, Mr. Dunsmore will not bring the soldiers down on these parts. So if you don't make trouble, no one will."

He raised her chin with a finger, seeking truth in those disarming eyes. "You seem remarkably sure of his silence. I wonder why? And I wonder what means you and your friends have in mind to make sure I don't lodge a complaint?"

"Sure, we'd never hurt a hair of your head, sir, you an Irishman, an` all. And I can see by your sweet face that you're no friend of the English tyrant!"

It was then Miles realized the girl was acting-overacting-a part. He moved back to study her. "I'm no friend of ruffians, girl, Irish or English."

She frowned slightly, then rested her hand on his chest. "You would see me transported, sir? I came to you unmasked."

He trapped her hand, part controlling, part to hold it against him, for he would miss it were it gone. "Perhaps that was foolish."

"Was it?" Her other hand slid up to his face and she kissed him quickly, temptingly open-lipped. Her hand on his chest turned to grasp his and move it to her breast. She rubbed it there, rubbed herself against it, speaking an invitation with her eyes.

Perhaps it was relief from danger, but he was abruptly ready for a woman, especially this one. His other hand slid around to hold her close. "You have an interesting way of buying safety, darling, but I'm willing. I prefer to have a name to put to a lover, though. What is yours?"

She stiffened slightly. "That would be foolish, wouldn't it, sir, to tell you my name?"

He brushed his lips against her turned cheek. "Come now, if I want to find you, it won't be hard."

After a moment, she moved to meet his lips and whispered, "Joy, then. My name is Joy."

He chuckled. "I doubt it, but it's appropriate. I'm sure you bring joy to many men."

Abruptly, she stiffened. "What? Why, you...!"

"Haven't you just come from buying off Dunsmore the same way?"

"I have not, you spalpeen!"

He resisted her token struggles. "I suppose he isn't in any state for this yet..."

He kissed her softly, tasting and testing with a keen sense of anticipation, exploring her generous body. She relaxed again and her lips welcomed him, but something-a lingering tension perhaps-told him this was no willing lover but a planned sacrifice.

He drew back with a sigh of regret. Though this baggage was not aware of it, as Felicity Monahan's guardian he had a position in this community. If Joy were unwilling, taking what she offered would cause nothing but trouble.

She doubtless thought he was passing through, that she could buy him off and never see him again. If he became her lover, however, he could end up having made enemies of a family, perhaps even the whole village. In Ireland, such matters could be dangerous indeed, as Dunsmore had found out.

He kissed Joy's hand—a gesture that appeased most women, especially those of the lower class. If he found out she was the local light-skirt after all, he might take her up on today's offer, for she was the most luscious piece he'd encountered in a long while. "I fear, like Dunsmore, I'm in no state to do you justice tonight, my dear. Perhaps another time."

She made no protest but held onto his hand. "And you'll not report the matter, sir?"

"If Dunsmore wants it kept quiet, I won't spill it."

She kissed his hand then with almost religious fervor. "Ah, thank you, thank you, sir! May Jesus and Mary guard you!"

She was overacting again. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph guard you," he replied in the traditional way. "If you'll just lead me to my horse, sweet Joy, I'll be on my way."

"On your way? But it's late, sir. You should stay at the inn till morning. That's where your horse is, after all."

"I didn't think you'd want me lingering in the area."

The look she flashed him then was noticeably intelligent—aware of all the aspects to this situation. "The law around here doesn't take kindly to people who are abroad at night, sir."

Interesting. Perhaps they feared that if he fell in with the military he'd tell his story. His journey, of course, would take him only as far as Foy Hall, which sat in the old style close by the village, but they couldn't know that.

Impulsively, he decided to let this play out, to see if there were more to be learned.

"Very well, sweet Joy. Lead me to the Shamrock Inn."

She collected her lantern, but closed it before leading him down the track to the Foy road. Perhaps she did fear a military troop. With only a sliver of moon to give natural light, Miles had to watch his steps.

"So," he said when they were on the relative smoothness of the road, "what about Dunsmore makes him worthy of a beating?"

"What about him doesn't?"

"Since I don't know the man, I'd be hard pressed to say. He seemed courteous enough in a top-lofty manner."

"Top-lofty. Now there's a good word for him. And him a down-at-heels English captain before he married Kathleen Craig."

"Married money, did he? And English to boot. Now there's a series of wicked sins to be sure."

She flashed him an angry glance. "The man's gone through as much of his wife's money as he could get his greedy hands on. Now she's dead, he's stealing from his son's estate and squeezing every last penny out of his tenants without pity or mercy."

They were coming into the small village.

"'Tis not unusual for landlords to wring their people dry, my dear. But perhaps he deserved a trouncing for it. I'd be interested to know why you think he won't report it."

She stopped beneath the creaking inn-sign and he heard a fiddle scraping inside. The shutters were drawn, however, so only a glimmer of light spilled out into the road. "He has matters he'd rather keep quiet."

Miles noted with interest that she'd pulled up her hood again. Probably not the local light-skirt, alas.

He perched on an edge of a stone horse-trough. "If you can stop him from reporting an assault, I'd think you could stop his extortions altogether."

"He's growing desperate. He's a gamester, you see. Tonight was simply a reminder." She touched his sleeve. "Truly, he is a bad man, sir. Please don't betray us."

She really was an entrancing creature, and his body was recovering rapidly. He took her hand, and after a startled moment, she did not resist.

"You offered payment for my silence before, sweet Joy."

He raised her hand and sucked gently on a finger.

She tugged tentatively. "It's late now, sir. I should be home."

He sucked the next finger. "Your parents don't know what you're up to? Or do you live with an employer? Tell me how to contact you—" he drew the finger suggestively deep into his mouth before sliding it free "—when I've regained my strength."

She tugged her hand harder, but he didn't let go. "Are you saying you won't be silent unless I sleep with you?"

The note of outrage told him she'd never meant to pay with her body. Perhaps she'd thought his roughing-up made him safe. A strangely naive view for such a bold piece. He decided to see just how far she would go and what he could learn from it.

He slipped his other arm around her and pulled her between his legs. "It wasn't sleeping I had in mind, alannah. I won't keep you out all night."

He could hear the unsteadiness of her breathing now, for her face was only inches from his. "I can't here, sir. Everyone would know."

"Do you still have your reputation, then?" He released her hand and cupped a breast as he'd wanted to do since first seeing her. Ah, but it was magnificent—full, warm, and firm. He bent to kiss the rising swell. "I won't ruin you. You have my word, Joy. Are you betrothed to one of those animals? Is he willing to have you pay this price, or will he be after me for revenge?" His thumb found her nipple, already hard, and brushed it gently.