My Dangerous Duke (29 page)

“Yes, Kate,” he whispered raggedly in smitten agreement.

“Oh … my …”

“Surrender to me,” he breathed against her lips.

She pulled him closer, held him tightly, and obeyed him; her high, wrenching moans intoxicated him, a frantic, soft soprano by his ear. He buried his face in her silky hair, battling himself to hold off just a moment longer until she had taken her full pleasure of him.

Spasms of profound climax racked her lithe body, and the sweet convulsions of her core drove him entirely mad.

She overcame him. How he had the presence of mind to withdraw from her body, he had no idea, for he was already falling into ecstasy, but he refused to risk getting her with child in the midst of all the danger she already had to deal with.

Waves of pleasure rocked him. His explosive release drenched her quivering stomach and her spread thighs with his seed.

He did not care. He had never been one to bother with tedious inhibitions. He let his growls and groans of pleasure fill the searing space between them. All the while, he gripped her hips, only wishing to God he could have filled her body instead.

Indeed, the thought of her carrying his child made such an impression on his member that even after a climax of such fierce magnitude, his ol’ fellow showed no sign of slackening.

“Oh …
Rohan,
” Kate purred after a dazzled silence.

He dragged his glazed eyes open and looked at her glowing face by the flickering illumination from the distant fireplace. He reassured her of his affections with a dazed smile and a gentle kiss. A breathless laugh escaped her while his lips still lingered over hers.

When he looked at her again in question, she bit her lower lip, as though to keep herself from saying something she feared might sound silly.

“What is it?” he teased barely audibly, cuddling her nose against his own, while his long hair hung down and veiled the private space where they stared into each other’s eyes. He never wanted this moment to end.

But he knew it would.

Even now, it was hard to shake the world-weary pessimism, the grim sense of doom, that lurked in the depths, he supposed, of every assassin’s heart.

“You’re wonderful,” she whispered shyly.

“The hell I am,” he answered with a rueful smile on his lips, and satisfaction in his heavy-lidded eyes.
You don’t even know me. Not really. Yet.

But you will soon, my sweet.

As he rested his head on her silken chest and stared up at the dark velvet canopy over them, a faint shadow of uneasiness passed across his brow.
We’ll see if you still think so when you hear the truth.

Chapter 14

T
he next morning was the second time Kate awoke in Rohan’s bed since her arrival at the castle. But unlike that first bewildering day, this time, when she opened her eyes to the morning sunlight flooding his chamber, he was the first lovely thing she saw, right there beside her.

In no hurry to arise, they stayed peacefully abed together. She passed a dreamy spell stroking her drowsing lover’s bare back in tender affection.

What a long, majestic line it was that flowed from the bulky ridge of his shoulder down to the sleek, lean curve of his lower back. Of course, he had more scars on him than one body ought to bear, she thought, but he was not inclined to answer her mild inquiries about them.

“What happened here?” she murmured, tracing what appeared to be a saber scar along his rib cage.

Lying on his stomach, his face resting on his folded arms, he feigned an in-between state of sleepy inattention, though he was clearly enjoying her touch. “Hm?”

She saw through his evasion but forgave him with a knowing smile. Whatever trouble he had been in, it hadn’t killed him. That was all that mattered. She leaned closer and kissed all his old hurts.

Her light kisses soon followed the same path her admiring hands had taken, until at length, he rolled onto his back and showed her the regal evidence of her effect on him. He drew her closer, wanting to make love again, but she was still sore from her first time and softly pleaded his forbearance.

With a husky chuckle at her reluctant denial, he stole a kiss, gave her a ruefully doting look, then arose in all his magnificent naked glory to order a bath drawn for both of them.

After washing and refreshing himself, Rohan dressed for the day and went downstairs to look in on his men. He wanted to make sure Parker and the others had returned without incident, and to retrieve the book from the safe where he had ordered Eldred to hide it last night.

He promised to bring back breakfast.

Kate remained in his chamber to finish freshening up, herself, and to work the tangles out of her hair. Wrapped in her protector’s giant banyan robe, she sat in the cozy window nook, gazing out at the deep blue sea beyond the castle walls and cliffs, and the azure span of sky beyond the window mullions on this clear winter morning.

Her spirits were as bright as the new day, her heart aglow with serene fulfillment. Rohan’s absence gave her a few minutes alone to reflect on her new existence and the bold step she had taken last night with him.

Well, there was no going home now. Her house was burned down, and she was no longer a maiden.
Book learning,
she mused, suppressing a giggle of savored remembrance.

Of course, it was ironic that old Caleb Doyle would have the last laugh, considering he had brought her here in the first place for this very function. A “fine young bed warmer” for His Grace. How could she have known then that she would soon embrace this role?

But she had no regrets. Finally, she was not alone.

At the quick staccato of a knock at the door, she lit up and looked over from her perch in the window nook. “Who is it?” she called in a mischievous singsong voice.

The door opened. Rohan poked his head in. “Are you decent? ”

“Depends who you ask.”

“You are not naked. I’m crushed.”

“It’s chilly in here!”

“I could stoke the fire.”

“Believe me,” she purred, “you do.”

He grinned at her jest, but Kate refused to blush and sent him a sultry, sparkling look. Mistresses, after all, could say that sort of thing.

Then he swept into the room, bringing her breakfast on a tray like her very own cavaliere servente. “Hungry?”

“For what?” she shot back.

“My goodness,” he drawled, “I’ve created a monster. I’m so pleased.”

She laughed as he set the large tray on the bed, then sauntered over to her at the window nook. At once, he leaned down, captured her face between his hands, and gave her a long, luscious kiss after their short separation.

Though he had only been gone about twenty minutes, Kate had missed him desperately. She sighed with pleasure, caressing his arms, as Rohan slowly ended the kiss.

“Done being sore yet, by chance?” he whispered with a wicked gleam in his pale eyes.

“Almost.”

“Very well, replenish your strength.” Straightening up from kissing her, he gestured toward the large and heavily laden tray. “Your breakfast, madame.”

“Thank you, I’m starved!” She jumped up from the window nook, brushed past him with a caress, and hungrily examined the meal.

They both sat down on his huge bed with the breakfast tray between them. Kate’s mouth watered at what was on offer: a pot of tea and pastries drizzled with white glaze, toast with butter and jam; when she lifted the lid keeping the center plate warm, she discovered eggs and sausages.

They helped themselves and proceeded to eat, but eventually, while nibbling on a piece of toast, Kate pointed with her pinky finger at the largest lidded serving platter, which remained unopened.

“What’s under there?”

“Voilà,” he answered softly, lifting the lid.

Kate went motionless, stopped chewing, then swallowed her mouthful with a gulp. “My mother’s book!”

The weathered, leather-bound tome lay heavily on the platter, freed from the rough cloth swaddling in which Rohan had found it last night. She read the title engraved into the cover, probably an addition by a later owner helping to preserve it:
Le Journal de L’Alchimiste.

“Lord,” she murmured, “I had nearly forgotten about it in all of the, ah, excitement.” She shot him a flirtatious look, then gazed at it but decided on the spot there was something about it that she did not like.

She glanced warily at him. “Have you looked at it?”

“I started to. Then this fell out of it, and I thought I’d better wait for you.” He reached over to the book, lifted the leather cover, and pulled out an old, yellowed, folded letter, which had been tucked inside. “I think you’d better read it. When you’re ready.”

Kate took it from him, intrigued. “Did my mother write it?”

“No, I think your grandfather, the Count DuMarin, wrote it to her. Forgive me for looking at it before you, but I wanted to make sure there was nothing in there that was going to hurt you.”

“Ohh.” With an adoring smile, she kissed her fingers and reached across the tray to press them to his lips. When he had bestowed a dutiful kiss on them in answer, she moved on with a smile, unfolding the letter. “I suppose I am as ready as I’ll ever be.”

She began scanning the neat lines. “God,” she murmured, “it looks like my grandfather wrote this to Mama on the occasion of their parting.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Rohan was watching her with a frown. Kate nodded in answer, mentally switching over into French, the language in which the letter was written. As Rohan took another sip of tea, she delved in:

Kate looked up abruptly. “The Duke of Warrington?” She glancing from Rohan to the letter in confusion. “My grandsire … knew your father?”

He nodded slowly.

She stared at him in shock. “You didn’t tell me!”

“Read on,” he murmured. “You will soon see why.”

Her heart began pounding inexplicably as she looked at the letter again. “What is my grandfather referring to—this ‘Pandora’s box’ he says he helped to open? Do you know?”

“Just read it, Kate.”

She eyed him warily. Something strange was going on here. Consumed with curiosity, she read on:

She was baffled and could feel herself becoming slightly upset. What did it all mean?

At least the next line made some sense.

In America, you will be far away from all of this, and there, I must believe, you will be safe.

That much comported with what little she knew of her mother’s past.

Trust in these good men under whose protection I commend you. How could I have known it was our enemies who were right all this time, and we who were in the wrong? May you never be led into such folly as I was. Everything that I believed was backwards. I go to my death repenting everything—my entire life, blinded by the Council’s deceptions and my own greed—but most of all, regretting what I allowed to be done to you in the name of the creed that I now know was naught but lies and wickedness.

“Good God, what is he talking about?” she breathed, glancing up at Rohan as she paled. “I thought Grandpère stayed behind in France to fight the Jacobins!”

“Not exactly.”

“You know about this?”

“I do.”

“How? ”

“Because my family’s involved in it, too.”

“These ‘good men’ he’s referring to—does he mean your father?”

Rohan nodded stoically.

Kate realized he was waiting for her to finish reading the letter before he intended to answer her questions.

She felt slightly dizzy with the sudden uncertainty of realizing he had known things about her and her family without ever saying a word about it till now.

He must have his reasons, but good God, she had entrusted him with her virginity last night.

She could not help feeling a tiny bit betrayed by his secrecy. Shaken by these sudden feelings of distrust for the man on whom her life depended, she forced herself to focus again on the letter.

My daughter, henceforth, you must beware the Council’s wrath. There are those who will seek to punish you for what your father is about to do. You know their names; they have dined with us on many an evening. They have been like uncles to you. But in your pure child’s heart, I believe you sensed the truth: Their souls are dark. Know now that I go to reveal their secrets to our rivals. I have no choice. The Order of St. Michael is Europe’s last remaining hope.

“St. Michael,” Kate echoed, recalling the magnificent marble statue of the archangel in the duke’s family chapel.

Rohan’s face was impassive; she read on.

As for you, my dear, this volume that I entrust into your care is to be used as your last line of protection. If you are ever threatened by my former colleagues, use
The Alchemist’s Journal
to bargain for your safety. The Council will not harm you so long as you keep it out of their clutches. But handle it as little as possible, lest you, too, become infected by the evil it contains. Breathe nothing of it to outsiders, and trust no one who would demand it of you. It must stay in our family since Valerian was of our own blood.

Kate’s jaw dropped. She looked at Rohan in astonishment. “My ancestor—?” she cried. “Valerian the Alchemist? That’s why Mama had this book? T-the sorcerer who cursed your line? I am his descendant?”

“Good thing you don’t believe in curses,” he murmured with a pointed look.