Perilous Risk (23 page)

He gaped at her. “I cannot think what I have done to lower your estimation of me to such a level that you could ever believe I would force a pregnancy on my wife. However, it is a private matter and one I won’t discuss any further.” He frowned. “What’s come over you?”

She blinked several times and realized that she was allowing her tense nerves over the situation with Maria to get the better of her. Jon’s amused acceptance of the whole matter hadn’t helped.

And she was still haunted by young Lady Beck’s death.

“She throws herself too passionately into the endeavour of the children’s care. She will not delegate enough to the nursery staff,” Jon said, betraying his earlier assertion that it was a private matter that he wouldn’t discuss. There was no denying the pride in his voice. A somewhat wistful smile softened his expression. “Was she really riding ‘hell for leather’?”

Renewed irritation flashed through her. “It amuses you, does it?”

He gaped at her a moment. “What the devil is plaguing you? You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I still cannot believe you would ever be so careless with her safety.”

“You don’t know what she went through, how she had to fight to overcome her fear of horses.” He jolted to his feet and strode to the door.

He stopped and whirled on her. “What of you?”

Her mouth dropped open and she placed her hand to her bodice. “What of me?”

“Why do you insist on dressing like-like—” He waved his hand. “A little church mouse.”

Her mouth dropped open and she glanced down at her light brown muslin gown. “I do not dress like a-a
church mouse
.” She lifted her chin and glared at him. “And what can it possibly matter to you?”

“I gave you a generous—more than generous— congé. What happened to it? And I’ve heard that you are running about town in a hired hackney. What happened to your carriage and horses? Did you sell them?”

“I have given to charity, there are so many in need in London. I have also invested for Edwin’s inheritance. And I ask again, what could it possibly matter to you?”

“People who know that I kept you must think that I have abandoned you without a shilling.”

“Oh, so it is your nobleman’s pride, is it?” She folded her arms over her chest. “You should go. Your countess must be wondering where you are.”

“She knows exactly where I am and why. I don’t lie to my wife.” His look turned as fierce as a thundercloud. “Just as I don’t force her to bear my children. Nor do I intend to enforce a pallid existence upon her just because she happened to be born a lady.” He paused and compressed his lips, practically glowering at her. “There’s nothing she can do to please other women. She’s constantly being criticized, no matter what she does. But you are the last person I expected to join that chorus of vicious harpies.”

With that, he turned and left. The sound slam of her door echoed in her heart. She buried her face in her hands. Why had she said those horrible things to Jon? Why had she slammed the door between them?

She didn’t understand herself.

Not one bit.

* * * *

I’ll see you hang!

Rebecca startled awake. Sweat was pouring from her body, making her shift cling to her.

From the chamber next door came the unmistakable sounds of vigorous lovemaking. From below stairs came the sounds of any common tavern. Boisterous singing and piano music. Laughter. Shouting and shrieking. The sounds of drunken frolicking.

She really shouldn’t have drunk so much Scotch tonight. Her head felt a little swimmy. Which wasn’t typical for her but, then, she’d been distraught and downhearted over what happened between her and Jon. She’d then become terrified about her future, alone without even Jon for an ally, hunted by Maria Seymour— Oh, God!

She tossed onto her belly and pulled the pillow over her head.

Through the wall that separated her chamber from the one opposite where the man had been ill all the previous night, a headboard banged. Loud.

Once, twice, thrice…

Another bang sounded.

Closer.

Rebecca jumped and sat in the bed.

Her door was open.

Two large shadows were walking into her chamber.

She screamed.

Rebecca jumped to her feet.

Now there were several men in her chamber. And they were scuffling with each other.

Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of the situation. Was she simply having another drunken nightmare?

A man gave a high-pitched scream.

The sound sent chills through her whole body. It certainly sounded real enough. As did the sickening crackling crunching noise that followed.

The man screamed louder.

The door had swung fully open and light from the corridor illuminated her chamber better. She blinked and tried to concentrate and make sense of things. A taller, dark-haired man had twisted a shorter man’s arm behind his back. Two men were subduing another man.

The tall man released his quarry then leapt and kicked him in the back. With another almost feminine cry of pain, the man fell to his knees. The tall man pressed his boot into the man’s back. The man was sobbing convulsively.

Acid welled in Rebecca’s throat and she had to swallow, hard, to prevent herself from retching.

She really shouldn’t have drunk that extra Scotch.

“Rebecca, are you unharmed?”

The sound of Stephen’s characteristic hoarse-sounding voice momentarily increased her sense of confusion.

She clapped her hand to her collarbone.

“Are you all right?” he repeated.

“Ah…y-yes.” She took a ragged breath. “Yes.”

“Go next door. To my chamber and wait.” He jabbed his thumb towards the room where the occupant had been ill the night before.

“I-I…” She was still startled.

“Obey me.” His voice was implacable. Coldness seemed to radiate off him.

She had an abrupt inkling of his intent. Fear swept through her and energy flooded to her feet, urging her to flee. “Stephen, what’s happening?”

His mouth twisted and he took his foot off the fallen man and approached her.

His expression was so fierce that she gasped and stepped back hurriedly.

He took hold of her shoulders. “I have business to transact and I do not want you here.” He gave her a little shove towards the door. “Go.”

A cry forced its way up her throat and she fled the chamber. The door to his room was open. She walked in, hesitantly.

She remembered Stephen’s hard, cold expression. A murderous expression.

Should she really stay around to await his return?

Yet, where else would she go this time of night? She leant against the wall and hugged her shoulders.

There were muffled sounds coming from the other chamber. A man’s cries that were stifled by a gag of some sort?

She shuddered and then put her fingers in her ears. Yes, she’d seen great suffering in the war. But this was different. This was civilized England.

Who the devil was Stephen Drake?

Surely not that stranger who had stared so coldly back at her.

She had to protect herself. She had to get out of this whole matter safe and sound.

And alone.

She daren’t trust anyone.

The door opened and Stephen entered.

The paleness of his face made her gasp. It wiped everything else out of her mind as concern gripped her heart. She hurried to him. “Stephen!”

She reached to touch him.

He took her by the wrists. “What did you mean by running like that?”

“I-I saw your journal. The code. The sketches. They frightened me.”

He tightened his grip, his face still pale but with emotion blazing in his eyes. “You little fool, you put yourself square into danger.”

“I was afraid. All those unanswered questions.”

“Why didn’t you wait until I could explain it all to you?”

“Because I already asked you, repeatedly, about your work, your situation, and you refused to answer.”

“It didn’t concern you. I told you, I am the only person who can protect you now. Why won’t you trust me?”

“Perhaps I would if you would only explain something of yourself to me.”

He stared down at her, she could feel the wheels of his mind grinding, he was considering what to tell her.

Would it be the truth?

How could she possibly know?

“Please, Stephen just tell me something.” She swallowed, tightly. “Anything.”

“I work for the Home Office.”

She waited to hear the remainder. But he stayed silent, just staring down at her with those blazing, midnight-blue eyes.

“That’s it? That’s all you intend to say?”

“It’s enough.”

“No, it is not.” Her voice had become shrill, strident.

He pursed his mouth.

“It’s not,” she repeated, more calmly, yet firmly.

“Rebecca, those men came to intimidate you. To interrogate you, torture you, rape you if they thought it would gain their ends.”

“What ends?”

“Whatever it was that Maria Seymour was trying to get out of you.”

“Maria sent them?”

He shook his head, his expression sober. “They work for the Earl of Barnet.”

“The Earl of Barnet?” She’d heard of Barnet. She had absolutely no idea why he’d want anything from her.

“The Earl of Barnet, Maria Seymour’s powerful lover.”

“You really think she dared take a lover with her new husband dying? With her tattered reputation?”

“I don’t think it, I know it. I conjecture that she has attempted to blackmail you into betraying Ruel in some fashion, though you refuse to share that information with me.”

“What would Barnet want?”

“Because I believe Barnet is using her to find a way to bring Ruel down. And you go calling upon your former lover for aid. God, Rebecca, you walked right into his trap.

“Barnet will seek to destabilize Ruel’s life, bit by bit. His goals will not be the same as Maria Seymour’s yet he will waste no good action. If Saxby’s death can be turned to Barnet’s purposes, he will be ruthless in utilizing it.”

“What you’re saying is fantastical. He would be exerting far more effort than the results he could expect.”

“No, he would not. Maria would be. Barnet need only linger in her bed a few moments and plant the seeds in her mind. He’s quite good at that.”

“If that is the case, then the situation is not that dire for me. And Jon would just need to resist being influenced by Barnet. And if I don’t lean on Jon for aid, then Barnet cannot destabilize his life, correct? If Barnet cannot attain his goals, he’ll leave off maybe?”

He shook his head. “No, things just don’t often work out according to plans. Maria may do whatever she wishes to do. And it would suit Barnet’s needs far better if you actually went to prison. Ruel won’t leave you out for the wolves and perhaps his young wife will not have the wherewithal to bear up under his spending so much time and attention on your needs.”

“I see.”

“Also, Barnet has a spy in Ruel’s household.”

“How can you know that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Because you have a spy in Jon’s house?”

“Because I know Barnet.” Stephen’s expression suddenly hardened. “Enough. You and I have something to settle.”

“Wha—”

He took her arm and drew her with him to the bed. The abruptness of the action had cut her words off, left her breathless. He sat and she found herself off her feet, swept across his lap.

She remembered how quickly, how agilely he had leapt and kicked her assailant in the back. Knocked him to the floor.

A thrill chased down her spine. Fear? Yes, certainly. But not completely…

“You will learn to obey me.” His tone held a life or death determination that no man had ever used towards her.

A series of those thrills chased through her body.

With one hand, he pinned her wrists to the small of her back. A relentless, iron grip. Beneath her belly, she could feel the hard corded strength of his thighs. His lean, elegantly fashioned body was built for expediency. Like a sleek panther, not a square inch was wasted.

She struggled and writhed, but if she were honest with herself, she did it solely to have him restrain her.

Would a saner woman have demanded to be released? Yes. Would that saner woman have screamed for help? God, yes.

But the sensualist in Rebecca, the long repressed adventuress in her, wanted to experience this.

His strength.

His agile grace.

His dominance.

And dear, sweet heavens, that unexpected ardour towards
her
.

No man had ever been passionate about her. Not until Stephen. She wanted to experience being so special to a man.