Danger's Kiss (36 page)

“It goes to a room,” she lied, “a room at the inn.”

“What inn?”

“The one I stayed in the other night.”  She slid her gaze sideways.  “The gaming box is there.  I didn’t want anyone to steal it, so I locked the door.  I mean to go there this morn, to collect
—
“

He clucked his tongue and shook his head.  “Such a rotten lie, and from such sweet lips.”

She frowned.  “A lie?  But I’m not
—
“

He captured her fiction in his mouth this time, punishing her lying lips with a kiss of plunder while ravaging her nether lips with merciless caresses.

Lost in a raging torrent of conflicting emotions
—
anger and lust, shame and rapture, love and hate
—
Desirée felt reason slip away, and soon all that remained was pure sensation.  Her skin grew hot, every inch tingling with current, until she felt as if she were about to be struck by lightning.

Nicholas abruptly tore his lips from hers, and she felt his gasps against her cheek.  “Where...did you get...the key?”

He drew his hand away just as suddenly, in the middle of her rising passion, and she arched up in protest, crying out with need.

“Answer me,” he commanded.

She moaned, thrashing her head back and forth, aching for his touch.

“Answer me,” he wheezed, “and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Hubert!” she cried in desperation.  “Hubert gave it to me.  He found it at Torteval.”

“What does it unlock?”

She shook her head and sobbed, “I don’t know.”

She met his eyes, and for one awful moment, she thought he’d break his word.  But he finally nodded, accepting her answer.  His fingers resumed their amazing dance upon her, and when he surged suddenly forward, sheathing his cock deep within her womb, her passions rose with such haste, she could hardly catch her breath.

With a lunge of ecstasy and a shrill cry, she strove against him, and his release followed soon after.  Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her as he finally gave her the ambrosia that would slake her thirst.

When her shudders ceased, he loosed her hands to cradle her in his arms.  As she lay panting against his shoulder, her eyes half closed, her body slick with sweat, her limbs as limp as custard, she tried to summon up fury.  What Nicholas had done was unforgivable.  He’d used her own desires against her, interrogating her under the most insidious form of persuasion.

But the most she could manage was a punch at his shoulder and a halfhearted scolding.  “You’re a wicked man for torturing me,” she muttered.

“You’re a wicked lass for lying to me.”

She sighed, unable to feel more than blissful relief and a subtle humiliation, the kind her targets probably felt when she outwitted them.  “Then I suppose we deserve each other.”

After a long moment of catching his breath, Nicholas lifted up on one elbow to look at her.  With a casual sniff, he said, “You make it sound as if you intend to stay.”  But his gaze was anything but casual.  Behind the forced cynicism in his eyes, Desirée saw a flicker of hope.

Her throat thickened.  Lord, he
did
want her to stay.

Pursing her lips, she gave his chest a chiding punch.  “Varlet.  Do you think I’d surrender my maidenhood to just
any
shire-reeve who came along?”

The pure adoration in his gaze was almost too much for her to bear, especially knowing she had to deceive him yet again.  She looked away and attempted to restore her gown to some semblance of order.

“By the way,” she asked, “how did you know?”

“Know?”

“How did you know I was lying about the key?”  She frowned.  “Did I blink?  Twitch?  Bite my lip?”

He grinned and shook his head.  “Are you afraid you’ve lost your touch?”

She shrugged.  “I just wondered.”

And then he said something that stopped her world.

“I knew you were lying because I know what that key goes to.”

F
or an instant, Desirée couldn’t breathe.  She stared at him, speechless.  How could Nicholas possibly know what the key went to?

“I know it doesn’t go to any room at an inn,” he said.

Desirée’s heart was beating like a tabor.  This changed everything.  If Nicholas knew what the key went to, what was to stop her from using it to relieve Lady Philomena of her treasure, after all?

God help her, she knew she shouldn’t pursue vengeance.  She should be content to return the key and get Snowflake back unharmed.  But damn it all, there was still enough of the thief in her that she couldn’t resist such easy profit.  Besides, she dearly longed to kick Philomena’s arse.

Her brain sizzled with possibilities, but she carefully concealed her excitement.  Instead, she traced a lazy pattern on Nicholas’s stomach and asked nonchalantly, “What
does
the key go to?”

He caught her straying finger and shook his head.  “That I’m not going to tell you.”

She frowned.  “Why?”

“I know you too well.”  He reached out his fingertip and swiped at the end of her nose.  “I know what you’ll do.”

She thrust out her chin in challenge.  “What?  What will I do?”

He arched a brow.  “Have you ever heard of Pandora?”

She narrowed her eyes in irritation.  “I’m not Pandora.”

He laughed.

She shoved him.  “I’m
not
.”

“Let me see.”  He counted on his fingers.  “You rifled through my clothing, my chest of documents, my box of coins...”

She opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort but, unable to think of a single thing to say in her defense, closed it again with a disgruntled sigh.

He clucked his tongue.  “Pandora.”  Sliding her aside, he climbed out of bed, stretched, then began to rummage through his chest of clothing.

She sat up.  “What if I promise I won’t use the key?”

He peered at her over the lid of the chest.  “Is this anything like you promising not to cheat at draughts?”

She bit her lip.  Damn it!  That was the problem with using the same target over and over again.  Nicholas had learned not to trust her.  How was she going to get the information from him?

“I know.”  She slipped from the bed and passed by him to retrieve the key from the next room.  “I’ll give the key to you,” she said, offering it to him.  “That way I won’t be
able
to use it.”

He cocked a brow at her.  “Why do you so badly want to know?”

She cocked a brow back at him.  “Why do you so badly not want to tell me?”

He chuckled and held his hand out for the key.  She pressed it into his palm.

He closed the key in his hand.  “It goes to a gaol cell.”

A chill shiver went up her spine. “A gaol cell?”

“Aye.”  He chose a linen shirt from the chest.

“What gaol cell?”

“The
old
Canterbury gaol.  ‘Tis in ruins now.”  He pulled the shirt over his head and let it shiver down over his shoulders.  “So you see, if I’d given you the key, you’d have gone on some wild treasure hunt and wound up locked in a crumbling cell all day.”

As Nicholas set out for Chilham, he was glad there were no executions planned today, for he was hardly in the mood to oversee a hanging.  Frankly, he didn’t even feel up to throwing a good punch.  The morning’s lovemaking and Desirée’s farewell kiss had leached the will out of him.

He grinned weakly, wishing he could climb back into bed and while away the afternoon with his hot-blooded mistress instead of plodding through the chill fog.

But Chilham needed the shire-reeve.  So, closing the garden gate reluctantly behind him, he shifted his satchel of tools to the other shoulder and trudged away from his cottage, away from the mischievous temptress who’d drained the strength from his body and tied his heart in knots with the promise of an evening of continued pleasure.

Fortunately, he was seldom called upon to do anything dire in Chilham.  When the local constable knew Nicholas was in residence at Canterbury, he paid him a handsome fee to administer whatever minor punishments the villagers had accrued since his last visit, which usually amounted to putting a wayward lad in the stocks for the day, parading a dishonest merchant through the streets, and perhaps stripping a shrewish wench to her shift in the square.  He always performed these punishments of shame with exceptional drama.  Indeed, the mere presence of the menacing Nicholas Grimshaw in Chilham was enough to allay most crime there for several months.

Nicholas secretly hoped, of course, there was
no one
to chastise today.  The sooner he could leave Chilham, the sooner he could get home to his Desirée.

His
Desirée.  He liked the sound of that.  He’d never imagined it was possible a woman could learn to love him.  He was, after all, Nicholas Grimshaw, fearsome shire-reeve of Kent, lord of shackles, right hand of the devil.

But Desirée had somehow seen past his menacing mask to the merciful man beneath.  She’d stripped away his brutality and uncovered his soft heart.  God help him, Nicholas couldn’t imagine life without her.

He liked the idea of coming home every night to her smiling face and warm supper, a round of draughts and a tryst between the linens.  And now, confident that she was safe for the moment, he could look forward to that homecoming this very eve.

He smugly patted his satchel as he walked along the well-worn road.  Desirée might have wheedled information about that iron key out of him, but he’d tucked it safely in with his tools, so there was no worry that she’d get herself into mischief today, dreaming about some hidden riches Hubert might have left for her.

There were still too many things the lass had neglected to tell him
—
where exactly she’d been the last two days, what she’d done with his gaming box, how she’d gotten those scratches and bruises.  But he knew her well enough by now that he’d figured out what had likely happened.

She must have made the mistake of agreeing to meet the buyer of the gaming box in secret.  He’d roughed her up and stolen the box, then left her tied up.  She’d managed to free herself, but now, too proud to admit she’d been outwitted, she wouldn’t tell Nicholas what had happened.

Which was probably wise.  If Nicholas ever discovered who’d laid hands on Desirée, he’d make minced meat of the brute, without the courtesy of a trial.

Aye, Desirée had betrayed Nicholas in one way, stealing his gaming box and trying to sell it.  But he supposed a lifelong habit of crime was difficult to break.  It would take more than a fortnight to mend an outlaw’s ways.  He’d see she paid for the box eventually, one way or another.  And if it were up to him, he thought with a grin, it would take her a very long time.

At least she’d come back to him.  She might have betrayed his trust, but she hadn’t betrayed his heart.

Desirée tucked the iron key into the bodice of her gown and glanced through the crack of the shutters, watching Nicholas leave.  She shook her head.  The poor man wasn’t half as devious as she was.  But then, he hadn’t been practicing deceit for half his life.

He thought he’d been clever, caching the key in his satchel.  But she was cleverer.  She’d retrieved it again when she’d given him that lingering kiss of farewell.

It was probably for nothing.  The key might not even go to the old gaol, as Nicholas had said.  Still, it was worth a try.  Perhaps Lady Philomena did keep treasure hidden in one of the cells.  If the key didn’t fit the lock, she’d simply continue on her journey, give the lady what she wanted, rescue poor Snowflake, and return to the cottage with Nicholas none the wiser.

After a reasonable wait, Desirée donned her cloak and ventured out into the fog, directly to the main square of Canterbury to find the constable.  After the exchange of a few friendly words, she inquired casually about several prominent buildings in the town, among them the old Canterbury gaol.

According to the constable, a few years ago, the ground upon which the gaol was erected had sunk several feet in a heavy rain, submerging a good part of the stone structure beneath the mud, rendering it useless.