Regency Rogues Omnibus (94 page)

Lord, she was a fool,
the biggest idiot. She never listened to her own reasoning, timing. Timing! “I love you!” Kit exclaimed and she leaped from her knees to embrace him.

“Kit?” Brynmore questioned.

“Do not say anything,” she begged him. “Not now. Just believe it.”

He tugged and skirts, gown, and all, fell into the tub with him. Water sloshed up over the sides, as he asked with desperation marking his voice, “Will ye kiss me?”

Kit grappled her hands around his neck, pulling with her body laden in drenched material, but sliding into the water. “Yes!” she whooped fiercely, pressing her lips passionately to his mouth.

Chapter Eighteen

Harrison slipped out of the bushes in Vauxhall Gardens where he’d concealed himself, waiting for the elaborately dressed, rotund woman. It was near midnight, the woman never saw him coming, He slipped the cloth filled with chloroform over her mouth and her nose as his other forearm latched her waist. She tried to struggle, but within seconds her hefty weight went lax in his arms. Dame Baset was petite of height, but heavy and Harrison welcomed Ash’s help as he arrived to grasp Dame Baset’s legs.

Chloe slipped alongside them carrying the bow and quiver of arrows, while both men quickly lugged Dame Baset in the direction of their intent.

“The Prince is going to get irritated at these close attempts to shoot, skewer, or blow him up,” Ash muttered.

Harrison shrugged and remained silent. He thought as long as the Prince stayed alive, let him be irritated. Chloe had thoughts too. “Some say he has the madness disease of his father. Let us ask Buddha’s divine help that he does not become too excited and start seeing assassination attempts everywhere and in innocent people.”

“Buddha?” Ash asked, with mild incredulousness in his voice.

Harrison smirked at Ash, while watching Chloe patted Ash’s arm, saying, “It is all right, Buddha believes in you.”

Harrison was interested to see that Ash did not condescend to Chloe with a highbrow look or words, he merely muttered, “I hope so.”

“Someone’s coming,” Harrison said abruptly, halting their forward motions. Chloe tilted her head, Ash tilted his, then Ash’s mouth opened to protest that he could hear nothing and that Harrison just imagined it. However, Chloe held her hand up to him accompanied by a quiet, shushing sound.

Ash hesitated a moment, then he acquiesced, nodding. Dame Baset was heavy and Harrison knew Ash did not want to waste time, standing, hidden behind bushes. Then, the sounds that had been there all along became clearer, laughter and conversation. Two patrons of Vauxhall Gardens nightlife strolled by their hidden spot. Two men, obviously enamored. Harrison waited with patience. Chloe did the same beside them, while Ash looked irritated. Harrison knew Ash’s thoughts, urging the two men on, hoping with irritation they did not stop to continue or consummate their rendezvous. Harrison knew what would be would be, and no silent urging was going to change that.

Luckily, the two men only kissed and moved on, so soon they were on their way to the designated position where they would drop Dame Baset. Harrison hated to admit it, however he was becoming more amazed. After years of intricate stalking and killing of men, to discover the ease one could have employed to remove those same men by other means was startling. Of course there were too many variables to count and he had to admit that employing less hands-on lethal means would not have worked for most of his targets in the past.

Still, it was eye opening to work in this new venue. How easy it was to make something appear clearly what it was not. Of course he knew that in his covert dealings in the past he’d used that theory minimally in all degrees of his profession as an assassin for the monarchy. Though he had to admit it was never to this amplified and grandiose affect. He would have to give Drummond his due — he was a master among men.

This little foray that would bag Dame Baset into the Gaol for trying to kill the Prince started simply with Brynmore requesting another assassination with Dame Baset. He had to give Brynmore his due on that, she of course appeared eager. Meanwhile, Brynmore was nowhere near there and with no intentions to be. More likely, Brynmore was intertwined with Kit, which Chloe said was becoming more of an item, than work. He personally never paid much attention to such things, but trusted his wife’s judgment on the matter.

“Here,” Harrison ordered, stopping their stealthy cavalcade. From here, Harrison could clearly see the Prince perched on a stone dais above the party of people gathered around him on a lower level.

He and Ash lowered Dame Baset to the ground. Ash rose, pulling his pocket watch out as Chloe handed Harrison the quiver and bow.

“Ten minutes,” Ash advised, the abundance of torches set around the Prince’s frivolous gathering glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses as he studied the setting on the slight incline below where they stood. “Please time it for several seconds after he has moved from the throne.”

Harrison gave Ash one of his hooded and non-committal looks. Chloe reached in to soothe. “He will,” she said simply.

Ash dug his hands into his pockets, standing stiffly with a pose a man might use aboard a ship to bolster against the dip and surge. “Are you that good with that bow?” Ash asked.

Harrison shrugged. “We shall see.”

Chapter Nineteen

Brynmore glanced at Kit, she sat nervously across from him in the carriage, and then he looked back out the window into the passing night-scape. They were on their way to a cult ceremony at Rushborn’s estate. They were dressed as they had been the night of their visit to The Satyr Whip Club, but with the addition of brown hooded robes that monks might wear.

Brynmore wished he felt better. He should, on the one side, and maybe he never would on the other. He wondered where the elation was that he should feel at Dame Baset’s downfall. It had been another masterful piece of work. An arrow shot right into the Prince’s throne seconds after he had vacated the seat. The Prince’s guard had found Dame Baset with the quiver and arrows almost immediately. Dame Baset had stood, confused, in the perfect spot to have shot the damning arrow. Her confusion and later protests of innocence were considered a ploy. The evidence was the quiver and bow and her position in the only spot where the arrow could have been shot. One thing about attempts to kill royals, Brynmore sneered to himself, was that the chances to prove innocence flew out the window beneath a Prince’s omnipotent wrath. Dame Baset was bagged, as Harrison would say, and Brynmore knew he should feel elated, if for no other reason than the fact that he would not have to touch her again.

On some level he was, but other things overshadowed it. He could kick himself for not making love to Kit between the night at The Satyr Whip Club and now. He should have pressed the point, even though he was not sure when that time could have been. Things were moving very fast. After he’d been with Dame Baset, and then later when he’d pulled Kit into the tub with him, they’d kissed with near desperation, and then their urgent kissing had melted to gentleness after the first bout, proving they could still kiss and want each other. That time was not the appropriate moment to go further, not after he’d just been with Dame Baset.

Brynmore wished he did not feel as though he should have made slow passionate and meaningful love to Kit. Especially, before what they might have to do next in their efforts to connive Hellion into their web.
How,
he asked himself, could he expect them to survive this and come out on the other side together, in a place that he craved for them to be? He wanted Kit. He wanted her after this, by his side, in his bed.

The carriage jostled into a turn as he braced his hand on the seat. It was not a short ride to the Rushborn mansion. Brynmore lifted his gaze to Kit. She had the carriage window curtain pulled open and the moonlight glanced in shimmers over her features, lighting and retreating over the sheen of her soft blond hair, her small delicate upturned nose, and her succulent lips.
Where is your balls man,
Brynmore silently goaded himself? You love her, don’t you? He sucked in a breath. Did he love her? He knew he was close. That close? Just that instant, he realized it, and it startled him.

“Sweet, Kit,” he murmured. Kit’s eyes glanced at him. “I’ve something to ask you,” he said louder. Brynmore shifted from his side, to sit beside Kit. She curled into him instantly, leaning against him.
He should have known.
Brynmore wrapped one hand around her and with his other he caressed her cheek. He could just make out the light freckles across the tops of her cheeks and nose as she gazed up at him. “Kit, would you come with me to Scotland after this ... or, if it’s too much of a leap, would you have dinner with me?”

“Dinner, Scotland?” she asked, with her gaze searching his.

Brynmore leaned closer. “What I’m asking for is a promise ye’ll see me after this is over. Give me a chance.” Kit’s hand lifted to his cheek as her thumb touched his bottom lip lightly. “I do not know, Bry. I want nothing more than to do that, but I don’t know.”

Brynmore swallowed hard. Kit’s words said one thing, while the look in her eyes said, “I love you.” “Is it your husband?” he asked, even as he hated touching the words.

“Yes ... no. There are problems there I cannot ignore. There are things I have never told you about.” Kit sighed as her hand lifted to his chest and settled there. It was like the settling of the realizations about how little they really knew each other.

“I want to know,” he said, stroking her hair.

“Now is so... Now is so-,” she paused.

“I know,” he said.

“Difficult,” she finished.

It left them nowhere nearer to where he wanted to be. There was no commitment. He could not stand that. A slight desperation filled him and before he realized his head dipped and his lips touched Kit’s soft mouth. Somewhere inside him were the intentions that he would bind her to him one way or another. The kiss was unlike any they had shared before with its gentle searching sensuality. It spoke of love and Kit’s mouth moved against his, speaking with heat and slowly igniting passion. Her small moans were murmurs of awakening and agreeing.

Her tones spoke of desires, when he pressed her back, searching for more. He heard the right answers in her body undulating against him to the motion of their mouths heat-filled caresses. Foolish thoughts grazed him. He would love her onto his side, until she thought of nothing but staying with him. His hand reached to respond, edging her cloak aside, cupping the supple mound of her breast. Her nipple tip was alert, tight, sending its answer.

“Bry,” she molded his name around their lips kissing. His already enamored prick thickened, pressing to her hip. There was too much cloth between then, and he began a tussle to remove it “Bry, mmm.” Kit’s mouth broke from his. “The costumes, the powder, makeup,” she gasped.

“Forget it,” he ordered. He was really begging. His hands tugged her cloak open ... off. “We have the satchel — we’ll put it on again.”

His mouth found the top of her breast, powder and all, he did not care. Her breast filled, supple and warm against his mouth. Kit’s eloquent moan sounded her surrender and agreement. Her hands eagerly tugged and removed his cloak, then her hands stroked up his back into his hair. She lifted his head, urging his lips back to hers. “I want you,” she sighed in breathless admission. “Make love with me.”

“Love.” He kissed her. “Love,” he said again, kissing her again.

They were crazy to be doing this now. They both knew it, yet they did not stop. The disregard and insanity of it created its own brand of rare attachment between them. For one moment in time, they would lose themselves in each other. Not for any cause. Not for revenge.

“I will never stop wanting you,” Kit moaned around his heated kisses as her hand nudged his hip until he lifted it and she was able to work on unbuttoning his britches. His palm skimmed the hot point of her nipple, turned, with his fingertips clasping the turgid nubbin. He rolled the point between his fingers. “Mm ... Mm,” Kit moaned into his mouth.

Her hands pulled and tugged until he felt his rigid prick out and landed on the soft valley of Kit’s belly. “Lift up, lift up,” she ordered as he moved from her speaking mouth to nibble her earlobe.

Kit pushed on his shoulders and he moved where she bid, happy to comply as long as she followed. And she did! They wrestled around removing his britches down to his knees, where they were going no further, because of his boots. The ruby was unclasped and set aside, the diamond the same. Kit’s loin cloth removed and tossed aside, all between fevered kisses and caresses, as the carriage rolled beneath them and the moonlight skittered through the open window.

Brynmore looked down at his pants, slouching around the top of his knees, his boots still on. He looked at Kit with her face inches from his, “I’m sorry, lass.” He knew in that instant that they should stop. This was not right. She deserved more ... how could he show her that he cherished her as he lusted for her with his damn boots on! A thing he knew she hated.

Kit laughed, it was not callous nor with discord, but a pure delight. “Mm, you look handsome and hard to me.” Her hand trailed down to his fully erect cock and she curled her fingers around it as his fingers curled inward with pleasure-bound response. “You cannot run from me now.” She winked, bracing her hand on his shoulder as the carriage rocked, while she stood over him.