Perilous Risk (11 page)

Yet, he was her only safety in this place. They followed the gentleman into a private chamber. The two coachmen remained outside the door. As the proprietor lit candles, it became apparent that the furnishings were a bit rustic. He left them.

The smell of tallow candles made her nose burn and she hugged herself and ran her hands up and down her upper arms. She glanced about the chamber, unable to hide her dismay. “Goodness, Stephen.”

“Not up to the usual standard, eh?” A slight smile eased his expression. The feeling of tightness and apprehension Rebecca’s belly relaxed a degree or two.

He wasn’t some dark and dangerous stranger. He was simply Stephen and she was letting her imagination run wild.

She gave him a little smile. “I am frankly afraid to sit.”

He took her hand.

At his touch, warmth spread through her, easing her disquiet even more. She let him led her to a rickety-looking chair.

“It’s clean,” he said.

She sat slowly, not trusting the chair to hold its structure under the strain of even her modest weight. It gave a sharp creak but then she settled herself and all seemed to be well. For the moment.

She looked up at him. “Do you come here often?”

His slight smile grew wider. “Obscurity occasionally has its merits.”

“I suppose.” She took out her handkerchief and swiped the table. “We’re actually going to
eat
here?”

He approached. She expected him to sit opposite her but he stopped and put his hand on the chair back next to her. “The food is adequate. It has never made me ill.”

A sputter of incredulous laughter forced itself past her lips. “Oh, that is a relief.”

He pulled the chair out and sat. The scent of his cologne wafted over her. It reminded her of greenness, woods and fresh rain. It was so refreshing. So different from what other gentlemen wore.

His nearness made her heart go all fluttery, as though she were younger. As though she were still interested in men. Perhaps it was all the unexpected drama of this night. The edgy sense of apprehension and excited nerves that crackled along her skin.

“I couldn’t help but feel that everyone outside was staring at me.” She rubbed her neck and shuddered slightly.

“They were all men, of course they stared at you.” Stephen spoke dryly. He leant forward, coming closer and his coal-black forelock fell over his forehead, thick and straight and glossy as polished ebony. She noticed, as though for the first time, how long and thick his lashes were. Their ink-like blackness made his eyes seem all the more blue. His eyes seemed to glitter with vitality. His handsomeness had an extravagant quality.

It was damned distracting.

She glanced down at the table and ran her hands up and down her arms again and tried to focus on what she had been speaking of. “I suppose I am letting my nerves affect my imagination.”

“Anyone who saw you will have simply thought you my latest harlot.”

At his frank use of the salacious label, a flare of desire tingled through her belly. It surprised her. She had not felt its like in ages.

Ages.

Was he trying to be provocative?

“You’re being self-centred.”

The sudden change in subject startled her. It took a little of that magical edge off the past few moments. Her mouth fell open. “Self-centred? I agreed with you that I should wait to contact Lord Ruel.”

“What about your son?”

“I have not forgotten my son.”

“If you were to be convicted of murder, he would likely lose his position, his friends. The goodwill of those who outrank him.”

Of course she had not forgotten about Edwin. Of course she had considered how all this might affect him. But her very life was in peril.

His tone was so gentle. She couldn’t help focusing on the sensual shape of his mouth. She’d been so long without a man… It was so tempting to just give in. To take a step or two closer to him and lower her eyes. Would he understand her meaning? But was it safe to trust him? Always before, with other men, Jon had been there to protect her. She had not gone with another man on her own in over eighteen years.

Eighteen years?

Yes…goodness.

Gentlemen couldn’t be trusted. Their promises and affections couldn’t be trusted. Hadn’t Jon told her that over and over?

Hadn’t he himself proved it in the end?

Had he?

Maybe she was being unfair. Jon had never promised to love her. He had not promised to be her lover forever.

My marriage will not change anything between us.

Well, yes, that had proven to be untrue. But he had meant that specifically with regard to his marriage to Maria.

Had he also implied a promise that he wouldn’t change his mind and marry another?

A younger, voluptuous, wealthy woman.

Rebecca was now forty-four years old. It was time to be dignified. To protect herself. To lean on herself.

Until tonight, she had been trying to do just that. Trying so hard to be completely independent. To need no one, especially not a man.

But she was weary of being on her own. So damned weary. Suppressing a sigh, she studied Stephen’s face. Studied every line and angle. Searched his dark eyes for any trace of cunning. All she saw was sincerity. “I just want to be safe.”

“Then place yourself in my hands.” He enfolded her hands within his, giving them a firm squeeze. “I shall keep you safe.” He squeezed her hands again. “You don’t have to think. Not tonight. I will take care of everything.”

Just for tonight. No, that hadn’t been what he’d said but it was her first thought. It was so simple. Just for tonight.

She nodded. “All right, Stephen.”

His grip strengthened on her hands. Determination glinted like fire in the depths of his eyes.

Was it triumph? A desire to control? He offered her protection, but at what cost? Her heart began to flutter wildly. No, no, it will be fine. Just for tonight.

A knock sounded at the door. He gave her a last look, then he turned his head. “Enter,” he called.

A maid came in bearing a tray with covered dishes and a pot of tea. She took the covers off to reveal eggs cooked in butter and a small loaf of bread.

“It’s better, in a place like this, to order simple food that must be cooked fresh,” Stephen said after the servant left.

Rebecca forked a small piece of egg. Whilst wrinkling her nose, she brought it slowly to her mouth. The salty, buttery taste seemed to melt upon her tongue. A pang of hunger seized her belly. She speared another forkful of the eggs and took another bite. She took one bite after another. It seemed she couldn’t swallow fast enough to fill the aching emptiness. Then suddenly, she felt unpleasantly full. She became embarrassed that she’d been eating in a ravenous manner that was perhaps less than ladylike. Self consciously, she looked up and caught him eyeing his food with a look of revulsion.

Did he appear a bit greenish of complexion?

Or was it a trick of the dim lighting?

Oh, she had a feeling she ought not to have trusted the food. She put a hand over her stomach and rubbed slightly and watched as he slowly consumed his eggs.

Perhaps she had just been unwise to have starved herself all day and then gulped her food down in a piggish fashion. The ache was easing. She ate the remainder of her meal in a leisurely manner.

He called for the maid and she came back to take their dishes away and she left a bottle of wine.

Rebecca eyed the bottle with a feeling of consternation. She’d never held wine all that well, it had always seemed to be too heady for her. Something about the grapes. And she’d already had too much wine punch at Kean’s. She would have preferred Scotch whisky.

Jon had often jested that she was the only woman he had known who could drink her weight in Scotch and never feel any adverse affects. How often he had wagered the matter with other officers and gentlemen and she had always won those bets. He would pour the money into her hand and they would have a long, hard laugh—

At the sound of Stephen clearing his throat, she cut him a speculative glance.

He hadn’t eaten much but he no longer looked sick. In fact he seemed fine. Better than fine. Gorgeous.

There was an undeniable refinement to his features and his manner. He wasn’t born to be a gentleman but perhaps he had more of the sensibilities of than many who were.

Inwardly she sighed. It would be too unladylike by far to have Stephen witness her swilling hard liquor like the seasoned camp follower she was. A woman had to have some secrets, didn’t she? She couldn’t bear if she disgusted him.

“Rebecca?”

“What?” Her voice sounded slow. Distant.

The corners of that sensual mouth lifted and displayed strong, even white teeth. The glitter in his eyes intensified. He exuded energy. Excitement that crackled on the air between them and sent tingles into her belly.

And deeper.

Lower.

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“What?” she repeated.

“I asked if you’d like to have a drink.” He frowned. ”Are you feeling well?”

“Uh, well, yes.” She wet her lips. ”Quite well.”

He handed her a glass of wine. “Have some of this.”

She took it. Lord, what kind of wine would this establishment provide? She put the glass to her lips and took a tentative sip. Claret, and expensive from the taste of it. She pursed her lips at the taste, but the burn—ah, that was simply too heavenly and she still felt in need of some inner steadying. Perhaps not so much from the earlier fear and danger as from the surprising effect her current companion had on her senses.

She took a deeper drink and raised her eyes back to Stephen.

He took a drink, which drew her attention back to his mouth.

That mouth.

Dear heaven…

Another bolt of desire went tingling though her, deeper into her belly this time. Into her womb. Her inner walls clenched. And again. An ache began to build between her legs. Again, she licked her lips and shifted on the seat.

How long had it been since she had felt desire like that, that suddenly?

Kean’s punch.

Of course. Many said it had an interesting effect on carnal desire. He put herbs and spices and God knew what else into it that was designed to arouse the senses.

But aside from making her unbearably queasy and headachy the next day, it had never seemed to affect her in any special way. At least not before now. Or was it the intimacy of the private chamber? The memories of their flirtation at Eastwood Place?

Was it the danger to herself this evening? She had always experienced a surge of carnal excitement after a battle, or any kind of danger.

Stephen took another drink.

That beautiful mouth. That magnificent jaw line.

Wetness trickled from her sex. Her flesh clenched again and again. Her arousal increased quickly, the tension, the swelling of her intimate flesh mounting until she was forced to shift upon the seat. She crossed her legs, pressing them tightly together.

She had thought herself incapable of feeling arousal ever again. Her broken heart had seemed to also break those parts of her vital to desire.

But she was growing wetter by the moment and her flesh continued to tingle and swell and to clench with hunger.

Heaven help her not to do anything foolish.

She barely knew him. She’d known the boy. But the man was a mystery. Perhaps a very dangerous mystery. She couldn’t take another broken heart.

But danger, taking risks, it had all once fuelled her arousal. It sparked in her blood now. In the past, she’d often used carnality to distract herself from danger. Would it really matter if she did the same thing tonight?

Don’t be stupid. Don’t lose your head.

She closed her eyes and let her imagination drift where it most wanted to go.

Down his firm, silk-covered midsection. All the way down…

She slid from the chair and dropped to her knees, keeping her eyes lowered.

He spread his legs wide and drew her into their circle.

She put her hands on his thighs, feeling powerful, lean muscles ripple beneath the velveteen trousers. He caressed her hair, traced his fingertips down her cheek.

Through his velveteen trousers, she touched his erection, it throbbed beneath her fingers—

“Rebecca?”

His voice cut into her naughty mental wanderings and she popped her eyes open.

“Are you feeling well?” he repeated, his voice authoritative.

She stared at him open-mouthed. She couldn’t quite make her brain focus on anything but the beauty of his face.

If she did drop to her knees, right here, right now, and dared to offer her services to him, would he be disgusted?

Intrigued?

Aroused?

Desire swept through her in a dizzying rush. She took another gulp of wine. Too fast. She had to suppress a belch.