A Gallant Gamble (23 page)

“I love you!” He cried as he entered her, pressing into her deeply in one long slow thrust of devotion. She answered his cry with one of her own and he held her, and held her until the moment of pain had passed and she was moving against him, giving him back the love that surged into her.

She held onto his shoulders, ran her fingers down his spine, loving the play of his muscles as they worked in rhythm with his thrusts. She lifted her leg around his hip and fought to give him everything back as something wild and untamed consumed her. Sweat covered both of them as his sex filled her, blinded her to everything else around them. The cords of his throat stood out as his breathing became deeper, his chest heaving as he gave her more and more.

Geoffrey thought he might be losing his mind. The sensations that rocked him were nothing like he had felt in his life before. He was no green virgin but never had his body felt so enraptured. Her tight heat stole his breath and his body became one with hers as she undulated beneath him. A fever of passion such as he’d never known swept through every muscle, every nerve and he knew that he wouldn’t last much longer. He felt the tingle right through to his spine as his emotions entwined with their raw intimacy and he knew that nothing on this earth could have prepared him for the rush of ecstasy that suddenly engulfed him.

Charlotte hovered on the edge of a sensation she couldn’t name. What might have been minutes or hours later, she cared not, something broke over her, inside her, transporting her to a place she never knew existed, blinding her to the room about her and the bed beneath her. Her whole world became one with the man above her as her body pulsed around him and Geoffrey suddenly stiffened, holding himself so deep inside her that she couldn’t fathom which part of each of them belonged to whom.

“I love you!” The words fell from her lips as he dropped his head into her shoulder and his whole being shuddered out his release.

It was long minutes before he rolled back on the bed, taking her with him as he fought to catch his breath. Never had he felt anything so exhilarating, so agonizingly pleasurable, so completely life altering. He held her to his chest, not daring to let her go as the beauty of the moment washed over him.

She loves me! She loves me!
He wanted to shout it a thousand times. He felt his lips curl into a fragile smile. He had bruised them kissing her, but he didn’t care. He would live through a thousand agonies to reach this moment of bliss again, to hold it close to him and to cherish it forever. She was his, totally his and he would never be so stupid as to let her go ever again. He lifted his hand and caught a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger and tugging gently so that she lifted her head to look at him.

“I cannot believe that I was so stupid as to walk out on you. It was a misunderstanding of the most ridiculous kind. I love you, Charlotte. I have since the day I first lay eyes on you at Ormond. I thought you were too young and I wasn’t good enough for you, that you would be embarrassed to be with me, but even if you are, I don’t care anymore. You are my wife and I will love and treasure you for the rest of my life and into eternity beyond.”

She almost sobbed at the sincerity of his words as she rested her head on his heaving chest and listened to the strong, steady thump of his heart. It was only as she leaned in and pressed her lips to the bulge of his breast that she felt a puff of air brush over her hair. She was about to push up from him when his arm tightened about her and the huff of air came again, this time followed by a soft snore.

She smiled gently and closed her own eyes as she snuggled against him, sleep over taking her quickly as she relaxed by her husband’s side for the very first time.

Chapter Eleven

Terror and Teardrops

The clatter of crockery woke him. He yawned widely and squinted as sunlight streamed in through the window. He blinked to clear his somewhat hazy vision and scratched his bristled chin as he wondered where he was. The drapes at the bedside were unfamiliar as were the carpets beside him and the screen at one corner of the room.

The odd scent in the air didn’t give him much of a clue either. He knew from the furnishings that he was far away from the inn where the felons had held him, but seeing that he was in a finely decorated bedroom, he couldn’t fathom why there was the strong scent of onions pervading his nostrils.

He turned curiously as someone gave a short cough beside him.

“Ah! Mr. Talbot. Awake at last!” The valet’s delighted exclamation brought forth one of his own.

“Coalport! How unexpected! Might I ask where I am and why the place smells like a stall at the vegetable market.” He took the cup of proffered tea and sipped it quickly, grateful for the thirst-quenching liquid as it ran down his throat.

“You are at Lord Caithwell’s London residence in St. George Street with your good lady wife, Miss Charlotte, or should I say, Mrs. Talbot now, and the scent of onions is emanating from the large bowl of the sliced root residing beneath your bed. The doctor swears that they absorb bad humours in the air. We have been changing them daily and I only just put a fresh supply beneath the coverlet.”

Geoffrey laughed at the thought then immediately winced as his lip split without warning.

“Surely they don’t believe that old wives tale here in London? But why should they need to be there in the first place?” He stilled as he realized that some of his flashbacks were more than just nightmares. “Damnation! May maggots eat their foul and blackened hearts! It wasn’t a dream.” More visions erupted in his head. Charlotte in her wedding dress...Charlotte out of her wedding dress...Charlotte naked and writhing in ecstasy beneath him. Charlotte shouting his name and declaring her love for him as he came deep within her. He gulped as he remembered it all.

Coalport folded a blanket and lay it in a drawer before coming back to the bed and gently pulling Geoffrey forwards to plump the pillows behind his head.

“No, it was no dream,” the man said sorrowfully.

Geoffrey looked at his valet. He had dark circles of tiredness beneath his eyes and Geoffrey noticed the scabs dotting the back of his own knuckles as the man straightened the sheet beneath his hands.

He lay back again and puffed out a huge breath as the realization of the events crashed over him. Perspiration dampened his forehead as pictures of the beating swarmed into his head. He pushed the sheets from his over warm chest to his waist as he shoved the thoughts from his brain. There was no point in going back there. He was here now, at their temporary home and with a wife to consider.

“Though I’m thrilled that getting married wasn’t a dream, I’m not so happy about the being drugged and beaten to within an inch of my life part of the adventure...I assume, from the scrapes on my knuckles that part was true too and not some figment of my imagination?” He paused for a second while he waited for Coalport’s confirming nod, then smiled before adding. “Though there is the remote possibility that I had a turn of the screws, threw myself from the top of St. Paul’s and am still suffering the consequences of doing anything quite so foolhardy.”

Coalport let out a sharp laugh as he began pulling fresh clothes from the wardrobe.

“Yes, sir. I would imagine that there is that possibility, but no. Unfortunately, it happened exactly as you suspected. You were beaten to within an inch of your life, though I am happy to report that there seems to be no lasting injury and you appear to be in fine fettle this morning. Needless to say, everyone will be delighted to see you up and about again. The last three days have been far too quiet while you have lain abed fast asleep. If the doctor hadn’t been adamant that it was just a short relapse brought on by some slightly too vigorous exercise before you were quite well enough, I think we might all have become quite worried.” Coalport gave a small cough of embarrassment.

Geoffrey nearly choked on his tea.

“What are you talking about? I have not been asleep for three days.” He rapidly thought back to the previous night and his eyes flew to the sheets as he realized that he had pushed them back a little too far. Though he could see no evidence of their joining, as Charlotte wasn’t there with him, he had no desire to cause her any embarrassment and he certainly wasn’t going to admit to Coalport what they had been up to the night before. He dragged the covers higher again.

Coalport nodded.

“Absolutely correct, sir. You haven’t been abed for three days...You have been in bed for five.”

Now Geoffrey really did splutter.

“Five days! I have not been lying in bed for five days. Charlotte was only here last night. She would have said something to me then if I had been lying here for nearly a week.” He stopped quickly as he realized that he had admitted that she was with him the night before. He huffed out a breath and lifted his chin as he silently dared Coalport to say anything. Charlotte was his wife after all. It was perfectly natural for her to be in bed with him whenever they felt like it.

Coalport stopped fiddling with the clothes and looked over at his charge.

“Miss Charlotte was here with you three days ago. Unfortunately, you had a relapse. Hardly surprising after the beating you took. Your wife has slept in the chair ever since...and you can stop worrying about the sheets.” He raised his eyebrows at Geoffrey’s fussing with the covers. “We changed them the morning after she spent the night with you. Poor girl nearly had a fit thinking that she had killed you with a night of passion. I did reassure her that I thought you were not quite so fragile as that.” He took Geoffrey’s rattling cup. “Better let me hang onto that, sir. Can’t be breaking the Master’s best china.”

Geoffrey gathered his thoughts. It was obvious that he couldn’t keep much from his valet. He shook his head and vowed not to worry about it.

“Though I am still unsure as to whether you are jesting with me, is my wife anywhere nearby? I would like to have breakfast with her and make sure that matters are settled between us.”

Coalport held up a lilac waistcoat, but put it back in the wardrobe quickly before answering when Geoffrey glowered at it.

“I believe that Mrs. Talbot has gone to Lord Davenport’s country estate with her cousin, the Duke of Ormond and the Dowager Duchess. I assured them all that you would be perfectly fine here with me while they watched the race.” He held up a dark green waistcoat that had cherry coloured threads woven through the fabric, and looked hopefully at Geoffrey.

Geoffrey gawped at the article and was about to reject it for looking like a Christmas wreath when Coalport’s words suddenly registered.

“Alexander is here?” He could scarce believe his ears.

Coalport nodded happily.

“We sent for the Duke when you first went missing. He only arrived yesterday afternoon. Fortunately he was with Lord Caithwell’s wife, Lady Anne at her father’s. Some kind of crisis going on apparently, but he left his wife daughter with Lady Anne and came straight here. Rode non-stop on that great black beast of his.”

Geoffrey let this news sink in before his thoughts turned to Coalport’s other revelation.

“And they have all gone to Lord Davenport’s country residence for the race? You mean ‘The Race’. The one in which I am meant to be riding Lightning?” He asked as a twinge of unease shivered down his backbone.

The valet nodded again.

“Your wife refused to go originally, but we persuaded her that it was about time that she had some fresh air. She has been cooped up in here, only sending out a few letters to friends while you have groaned and moaned and snored your head off for almost a week. Though Lord Davenport’s estate is only a few miles away, the country air will do her good. She seemed quite keen to go after the Duke and Lord Caithwell decided that they should make a showing for the sake of the business even if you weren’t able to ride, though I think that Miss Charlotte must have thought of an alternative rider for Lightning.” He pulled out another waistcoat for Geoffrey’s inspection. “One of the lads from the Duchess’s stable I would imagine. Louise said that your wife took some breeches and a shirt with her. Goodness only knows where she found the tatty old things, mind, but I don’t suppose any lad will care what they wear so long as they are paid for staying on the horse for the whole of the race. Even though you are no longer competing, the whole of London is all agog with it. It’s the same every year, but this time there is even more abuzz what with Lord Rookwood riding the Prince’s prize stallion...Sir! Take care, you are not in any state...” Coalport jumped back in surprise as Geoffrey leapt out of the bed and lunged for the clothes laid out on the chair.

“Lord Rookwood! Hell and damnation!” He had suddenly remembered falling over Rookwood while drunk in the inn. The memory of the man’s sneering gaze sent icicles of dread into his heart. He ignored the ache in his side and the scream of his sore knuckles as he began pulling his breeches on as fast as he could. “When did they leave?” He huffed out his words as his movements aggravated his bruised body.

“Yesterday afternoon. Olivia and the Duke called to collect Charlotte though she took some persuading to leave your side. We didn’t think that she would go, but the doctor paid a timely visit and advised us that you were only sleeping. He confirmed that rest was the best medicine and as there was no sign of the fever returning, you could be left in my care. They only delayed while your wife packed her bags and that’s when her maid saw the breeches and shirt. She thought there must be some confusion at first, but your wife insisted on taking them.”

Geoffrey grabbed hold of his shirt as his mind reeled in horror at the thought of what Charlotte might have planned.

“Call for my horse!” He yelled as he dragged the garment over his head.

Coalport looked stunned but moved forwards to help Geoffrey as he winced and struggled to pull his shirt on.

“You cannot possibly ride in your condition. Have you seen the bruising to your side? Dear God! You’ll kill yourself if you attempt to mount a horse. I forbid you to be so foolhardy! I will call master Callum to prepare the carriage for your journey and with your bruised ribs I would strongly suggest that you use it.”

Geoffrey shoved his feet into his boots.

“Rookwood is up to something. He danced with Charlotte the night I signed the register of entries for Lord Davenport’s race. I know he threatened her! That’s why we argued and she fell. He was at the inn with those women too. Call for Callum now. I will be leaving immediately!” Terror made him shout.

“Oh no you won’t!” Coalport leapt in front of the door and stopped him running from the room. “You won’t get past the front gates of Davenport’s place looking like a vagabond. It will take less than ten minutes to have you looking like the gentleman that you are. Young Callum will take that long to hitch the horses anyway so you can stop chasing about and set yourself to order.” He lifted the crisp cravat that lay over his arm.

Geoffrey almost argued with the man before he realized that Coalport was probably right. No one would let him into the estate if he looked like a vagrant who had recently been in a brawl. He waited impatiently while Coalport worked his magic.

“You are right, of course and if Charlotte is with Giles and Alexander, she should be in no immediate danger.” He attempted to convince himself more than his valet who worked with deft fingers about his neck. “Lord Rookwood could have had another reason for being in the inn that night.” Kidding himself only sent fear racing back into his stomach. He’d been set up and he knew it. It might have been just luck that made him walk into that particular inn, but someone had known him and Rookwood had soon been summoned. There was more to this than met the eye and he was determined to find out exactly what it was.

Minutes later he grabbed the coat Coalport held out to him. He calmed his heart as he eased himself into the snug garment before he strode towards the door as images of Rookwood’s gloating, evil face swamped him. The man had been in the inn the whole evening of his downfall. In his heart he knew that the depraved scoundrel had arranged for brandy to be drugged, the women to lure him into a private setting and for the men to give him a beating. Rookwood was so desperate that he had to take other competitors out of the equation to have any hope of winning Lord Davenport’s steeplechase on the unpredictable Vanquish.

But even that wasn’t what worried Geoffrey the most now, and his stomach plunged even further at the mere thought of what Charlotte might do.

Might do?
Whom was he kidding? He knew full well how much Charlotte loved riding and throwing herself at challenges. Mixing the two would be almost impossible for her to resist especially as it would be helping their growing business, and as much as he hoped they would, he wasn’t sure that he could rely on her cousin, Giles, or Alexander to hold her back. She had the pair of them wrapped around her little finger and they could barely refuse her anything.

Callum met him at the front door a few moments later and he climbed awkwardly into the carriage. His ribs felt as though they were about to spear his lungs as he sat down against the squabs and he pressed his hand against his bandaged side. He cursed Rookwood and his gang and would have enjoyed planning some revenge if his mind hadn’t been consumed with his visions of Charlotte being forced from the course or worse, falling from Lightning as they jumped over the huge fences that Lord Davenport routinely used in his annual event.