Margo Maguire (13 page)

Chapter 13

T
heir kiss
intensified as Gavin drew her to the bed and Christina had no chance to think
. . . even if she had wanted to.

He turned her and she suddenly found herself lying
on the bed. Gavin’s mouth and hands seemed to be everywhere, kissing, kneading,
caressing, building an impossible tension with every touch. In a haze of
feverish longing, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders, even as he slid her
skirts up to her waist. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt when he touched her
where she was most desperate to feel him.

Somewhere deep inside, she knew she ought to feel
profoundly embarrassed at being so thoroughly exposed. But his fingers were
doing such amazingly wicked things to her, she could not think. She only knew
there was a delicious heaviness between her legs, and Christina wanted more.

She pulled at his trews and heard his growl when
she slipped her hand inside and encircled his hard length. She slid her hand all
the way down, torturing him only for a moment before guiding him to the heat of
her body. She was beyond ready, well on the road to
need
y.

“Please, Gavin. Now!”

She heard his deep groan of masculine pleasure as
he pushed inside her, and he did not hesitate to move. The rhythm was anything
but evenly paced. It was hot, fevered, and frantic. Exactly the way Christina
felt.

In spite of wearing too many clothes, she somehow
managed to lift her hips and meet every thrust with her own. Nothing was in her
mind but his ice-blue gaze on hers, his complete attention on bringing her to
climax.

Tension coiled tightly inside her, and suddenly her
muscles stretched and pulled, then constricted around him. She shuddered her
release and felt his own spasm of pleasure right afterward.

Hovering over her, Gavin supported himself on his
powerful arms and lowered his head to take her mouth in yet another kiss that
singed every nerve she possessed. He tangled his tongue with hers as though they
had not just come to completion.

Then he pulled back and grinned down at her. “Until
supper, my lady.”

And then he was gone.

G
avin
could easily make a habit of Lady Fairhaven. He ought to feel sated, but he
wanted her still, in spite of their quick, wildly satisfying coupling. The scent
of her soft skin stayed with him as he crossed to his own room. He would have to
behave himself when they dined in the private sitting room, but it was going to
be sheer hell keeping his hands off her.

He checked to see that his traveling bag had been
brought into his room, then went down to the common areas of the inn, looking
for Hancock or Trevor. He wondered where the blacksmith’s nephew had been taken.
He ought to have asked Christina, but the boy was the last thing he could think
of when he was alone with her in a bedroom.

He saw the innkeeper in the taproom, who informed
him that the boy had been taken to the room given to Lady Fairhaven’s maid.
Gavin asked to be shown to the room.

It was in the back hall where rooms were reserved
for servants of the inn’s guests. Gavin knocked quietly, and when Jenny opened
the door, he looked past her and saw that the boy was asleep on a makeshift
pallet. He guessed it was probably better quarters than the boy had ever
known.

“Did you give him any food?” The child was
painfully thin. Gavin did not know much about children, but he’d been on the
war-torn continent long enough to know what starvation looked like. The boy’s
pitiful state tugged at something deep within Gavin.

“No, sir. Lady Fairhaven and I cleaned him up, saw
to his wounds, and put him to bed,” Jenny replied. “The poor little mite was all
done in.”

As anyone would be. But at least this one had
Christina to tend him. The healing nick in his own arm was a testament to her
care, not to mention her audacity. He might have smiled at the recollection of
Christina firing her pistol if he hadn’t just complicated his life beyond
recognition.

“Let him rest awhile longer,” he told the maid.
“Then bring him up to the sitting room near Lady Fairhaven’s bedchamber. I want
to talk to him.”

Jenny made a quick curtsy. “Of course, Captain
Briggs. I’ll do just that.”

Gavin supposed he had no choice but to take the boy
to Hampshire with him. But he was certainly not going to try to be a father to
the lad, no more than he had any intention of being a father to his niece. Or
any other child. A jaded old assassin was no proper example for anyone, young or
old.

But now his house was becoming more of a nursery
than the haven he’d intended it to be. Eleanor and Rachel would be there, and
now Theo. How his simple plan had become so complicated boggled the mind.

F
or
the first time in months, Christina wished she had something pretty to wear. But
her entire traveling wardrobe consisted of dull blacks and grays and one
lavender gown. While they’d been adequate only a week ago, Christina no longer
felt like the proper widow she’d been before receiving the blackmail
notices.

Or perhaps it was meeting Gavin Briggs. In the past
few days, she’d discovered a sense of freedom she had not known before. She’d
always intended to be a faithful wife, just like her mother. But then Christina
had not met many men like her father. The earl had shown his devotion to his
wife and family in many small ways.

And if Christina could not have a marriage like
theirs, why should she marry again?

For now, she was content in her unmarried state.
Gavin was a considerate, skilled lover, and she had no intention of giving him
up. At least not yet.

A shiver of anticipation went through her at the
prospect of dining with him alone. Though it was not like the public dining room
on the main floor, anyone might come in. She could not slip her fingers into his
hair or slide her hand up his thigh. She could not breathe in his ear, nip at
his neck, or try any other brazenly seductive wiles on him.

That would come later.

It was all so new, this business of seduction, of
conducting an affair. Despite their outrageous coupling only a short while ago,
Christina found she could hardly think of anything but the next time they would
make love.

She wondered if she and Gavin could maintain their
liaison discreetly. So far, no one—not even Jenny—seemed to have guessed that
Gavin had become more than simply her escort to London. And she intended to keep
it that way. After all, a woman did not flaunt her lovers, nor did a gentleman
kiss and tell.

Perhaps she would have to entice Gavin to her room
later, or maybe he would come on his own. Anticipation shuddered through her as
she unfastened her traveling gown and slipped on the gray. Though it was not the
least bit enticing, it did show her collarbones to advantage, as well as
emphasizing the short neckline of her shorn hair.

Oddly enough, Gavin seemed to like it.

G
avin
took a walk into town and settled matters with the blacksmith. The bloody churl
didn’t want his illegitimate nephew, and Gavin would not turn his back on the
boy, knowing his ill treatment would continue if he stayed. Perhaps it would
become worse, for the child had been the cause of his uncle’s humiliation.

As much as Gavin despised the executioner he’d
become, he appreciated the additional training that had made it possible to
strip the smithy of his whip without much difficulty, and use it to bind the
man’s wrists. Very few men had been recruited into Castlereagh’s service, and
they’d been well trained to deal with every conceivable possibility. Gavin could
shoot with deadly accuracy from a distance of two hundred yards. He knew how to
track his prey, how to blend in with the locals or hide if necessary. He could
capture an adversary with little difficulty and knew how to extract crucial
information without much trouble.

He’d been wounded a few times—twice while an
officer with the Ninety-fifth, and once when he was on his own in France and an
informant had turned on him. Gavin managed to survive, and learned never to let
down his guard.

He was far more dangerous now—even without a
weapon—than his father had ever been. Unfortunately, Gavin hadn’t possessed the
necessary skills to protect Eleanor or himself from Hargrove when they were
children.

He despised the kind of man who mistreated those
who could not fight back.

He thought of his sister and her little daughter
who was a bastard like Theo. The world was never going to hear anything of their
circumstances. As far as Gavin was concerned, Eleanor had wed Mark Stafford, her
soldier-lover, before he left England for duty in France. Gavin had known and
liked Stafford, and did not doubt he would have married Eleanor before his
regiment departed England had he known she was with child.

The fact that there had been no church service
meant naught. When Gavin took possession of his Hampshire manor, Eleanor was
going to be known as Mrs. Stafford, whose husband had died at Waterloo.

And Gavin dared anyone to contradict him.

It was dark when he returned to the inn, and he
quickened his steps in anticipation of his supper with Christina.

Hungry for more than a meal, he went upstairs and
entered the small sitting room at the end of the hall. Jenny was already there
with the boy, and Christina was in the midst of pouring milk into a bowl before
him.

Gavin stood in the doorway and listened as
Christina spoke in a gentle tone to the lad. Her attitude was substantially
different from what he’d have expected from the noblewomen he’d known in the
past, including his mother. And he could not help but wonder how Amelia would
have treated Theo had she been the one to come upon him in the same
circumstances.

“I asked them to bring you porridge, Theo,” said
Christina, “because I think you ought not to eat too much right away.”

The boy looked famished, but Christina was likely
correct. It was all too clear Theo had not been well fed up till now and too
much food would make him ill.

Christina looked up and saw Gavin, and he imagined
he saw an intimate sparkle in her eyes. His body clenched tightly at her notice.
“Here is Captain Briggs,” she said. “Do you remember him, Theo?”

The boy nodded and spoke quietly. “He stopped Uncle
Samuel from beating me.”

“Jenny,” Christina said to the maid, who hovered
nearby, “there is no need for you to postpone your own meal. Go on. We’ll be
fine here.”

The maid curtsied and left the room, and as Theo
returned to his meal, Gavin took a moment to appreciate Christina’s beauty. Even
in her plain gray gown, he had a nearly irresistible urge to touch her. To touch
the loose curl at her nape and steal a kiss while Theo was engrossed in his
porridge.

But he held back. He intended to enjoy a great deal
of touching later, after everyone at the inn settled down for the night. He
focused on the matter at hand. Though he had little experience with children, he
wanted this one to understand he was safe now.

“Theo.”

The boy stopped eating and looked up at him with
sunken gray eyes.

“I’ve seen to it that you need never go back to
your uncle again.”

An expression of puzzlement crossed the child’s
face. “Wh-what will I do, then?”

“The magistrate said you can come with us.”

“With you . . . and . . .” He
looked at Christina, clearly confused by the strangers’ kindness. As well he
might be, for apparently none of the damned idiots in the village had seen fit
to challenge Samuel Berry’s cruelty.

“You needn’t worry,” said Christina. “You’ll be
safe.”

The boy put down his spoon. “Will I live with you,
miss?”

Gavin answered. “I mean to have my own farm in
Hampshire soon, but until then, you’ll stay with my sister in London.” It seemed
too much information for the boy, but Gavin wanted to be sure Theo understood
what was going to happen. No one had ever given Gavin that courtesy as a lad.
One day, he’d lived at Seaholm Hall. The next, he was shipped off to school.

“My uncle . . . He said I can go?” the
boy asked quietly.

Gavin nodded. “Aye. And the magistrate, too. Your
uncle will not protest.”

“Will he ever f-find me?”

Christina slipped her arm around the boy’s thin
shoulders. “No. Your uncle will never be able to find you.”

Theo looked at Gavin and spoke, his voice clear and
resolute. “Wh-where will I sleep, sir?”

It was gratifying to note that the boy’s spirit was
not broken. He would do well in Hampshire. “In far better accommodations than
what you have now,” Gavin replied.

“You don’t mind leaving, do you, Theo?” Christina
asked, her tone gentle and kind.

The boy sniffed and wiped his eyes. He sat up and
looked straight ahead as he talked. “I prayed that M-Mum would come for me. Or
that Da would come b-back from the war. Uncle Samuel told me don’t be
d-daft.”

Likely with a nasty clout or a sharp kick for
punctuation, Gavin thought. “Then you won’t miss Mr. Berry.”

The boy shook his head.

Christina put her hand over Theo’s small one in a
comforting gesture. “Do you understand, Theo? We are going to London.”

Theo looked up at her with his brows raised, and a
tiny, hopeful smile softened the line of his mouth. “Will I see the king?”

Clearly, the boy didn’t know the king was insane
and incapacitated and
no one
saw him. “Perhaps we
shall see his son, Prince George,” Christina said.

Theo seemed satisfied with her answer, and finished
his porridge. Then Christina pushed his tea closer, and the boy took a sip.

“Thank you, miss,” he said.

“You are most welcome, Theo.”

Christina did not blink at Theo’s omission of her
formal title. She did not correct him, either, as Gavin’s mother most certainly
would have done. Lady Hargrove would have expected a small boy to address her
properly, without consideration of his lack of training.