Perilous Risk (45 page)

He used his mouth, his tongue, his teeth to drive her to the edge, until her pleas became convulsive moans, growing louder and louder. He began to thrust his fingers in and out of her, finding the sweetest spot inside her and pressing again and again and again until she arched and froze.

She shrieked and her cunt squeezed his digits, over and over.

Christ, he couldn’t wait. He lifted her and positioned her until he could thrust his cock into her even as he lowered her, slipping his erection into her hot, wet, tight rings.

She wrapped herself about him, her arms around his neck and her legs gripping his waist. Her flesh welcomed him with a fierce squeeze. He groaned.

At the feel of Stephen’s large, thick erection pulsing inside her, Rebecca closed her eyes and moaned. How ever had she become so lucky as to have such a beautiful, virile and—yes, she must admit she adored the fact—young man to drive her insane with need?

Her flesh kept clenching on his hardness. She put her face into his shoulder and moaned.

She’d forgotten how intimate it was to be joined like this, standing, face-to-face, the length of their bodies pressed to each other. The very need to cling to him to keep the position increasing her excitement, increasing the stimulation so quickly.

But this wasn’t just any man.

This was Stephen, her dear love. Her love from years before and now.

Her husband.

He thrust deep inside her, pressing against the mouth of her womb. Then he withdrew and held himself poised just on the brink of entering her.

She whimpered. “Please, please don’t tease me.”

A sound between a laugh and a groan sounded in his throat, the vibrations transmitting into her body and sending a thrill through her. He nipped at her neck, then thrust hard, entering her all the way, rocking her body and pressing her to the wall.

She moaned with satisfaction.

He withdrew and drove into her, again and again, increasing the speed . Driving her higher and higher. They pressed their bodies closer and closer. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of the feel of his lean, long, hard-muscled body against hers.

“Oh God, Stephen, I am going to—”

“Yes,” he said, in a husky, hoarse voice. “Come for me.”

He touched her nub and ignited a firestorm within her. Her inner walls contracted spasmodically on his cock, begging, pleading silently but insistently for him to join her.

Bliss melted through her, hot, sweet, lasting. She licked her lips and let go of a moan that turned into a lingering soft wail.

She felt the hot wash of his seed jetting into her. His hips pressed to hers and he uttered a low growl against her ear.

After they were tucked in bed and Stephen had fallen asleep, Rebecca once again felt the night’s chill creeping in through the coverlet. At the thought of venturing into the cellar to search for more warm quilts, she quailed inside.

She imagined she heard the scratching of rats down in the cellar, scratching, squeaking, demanding to—

No! This was foolish. She was letting a silly fear keep her uncomfortable at night.

Well, tomorrow she would conquer that fear. Damned if she wouldn’t.

* * * *

Rebecca blinked back sleepiness. Slivers of light penetrated the edges of the bedchamber curtains. She tried to focus on the china clock that sat on the mantle but the light was too dim. She made to arise from the bed, intending to open the curtains, but a light touch stopped her.

With a smile, she turned to Stephen’s side of the bed.

“Good morning, my beautiful girl,” he said, his voice hoarser and softer than it would be later in the day. That note in his voice seemed somehow to underline the intimacy of waking up with him. Other people would not see him in that sort of vulnerable moment.

The dim light accentuated the new hollowness of his cheeks. A quivery like spasm of pain gripped her chest, hurt for his suffering, and she put her hand to his face, feeling the scratch of his morning stubble. “Good morning,” she said.

He took her hand and pressed the palm to his lips. In stark contrast to the heated passion of the night just past, his lips were cool and dry. “Are you still sure that you want to know how I became an assassin?”

Warmth blossomed inside her, radiant as sunlight. He had not forgotten his promise to share his past with her. “I do. I want to know all about you. I want to understand.”

“When Julia died, I was granted leave to go home. What did I have left to go home to? Nothing.” He paused a moment. She saw the slow rise and fall of his chest and heard the deep, ragged intake of his breath. “Nothing but the need to confront my uncle and see his face when I did.

“She was, of course, already in her grave when I arrived. Later that night, when my uncle became deep in his cups, he began to berate Julia. He told me what a weak person she was, what a poor specimen of a woman she was. He said any woman of her age was either married or deemed a failure because of her lack of womanly attractions. He even disparaged her housekeeping and sewing skills.

“I pointed out that her failure to wed was more likely because she didn’t smile back at men or dare to met their gazes. He said she was too shy. I said she had never been shy before coming to live here after our parents’ deaths and that more likely it was the fact that she lacked a maidenhead that made her reluctant to encourage any friendships or courtship with men. And he laughed.

“It was the laughter that did it. I did not, as you might imagine, become overheated with anger. No, it was different. My blood went cold and my mind slowed down. I could think clearer than I ever had in my life. I could see what needed to be done and how to do it.

A chill raced over Rebecca’s scalp and slid down her back.

“I killed him.”

Yes, of course he had. She had known within herself that something must have happened to change Stephen. Even though her heart was pounding with the realization, part of her was not shocked. “What happened then?”

“I had pushed him backwards. He struck his head. His eyes were staring at me, unseeing. I felt nothing but coldness inside. I laid his body in his bedchamber, made it look as though he’d been sleeping off his intoxication and fallen out of bed and hit his head on his chamber pot. It was an ignominious death such as he deserved. Then I collected all her remaining things, the ones he had not sold, and I returned to my regiment. And I tried to forget the whole matter.

“But later, after you left, I came under the command of a captain who liked to harass and indeed sometimes even molest and abuse the young, powerless girls we came across in taverns and villages and at farms. Servants who dared not speak out. Whores who no one cared if they suffered rough treatment. Do these people count for less? I came to the point of sickness of spirit that I could not bear. When he was deep in his cups, I killed him in his bed with his own pillow.

“I was careless then, I thought myself to be thorough but I had not been trained in such matters. There would be no way for me to know all the ways I could give myself away as the agent of that justice. And I had also betrayed my own disgust at his behaviour; I had tried to report him to the higher command.”

“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.

“I was held as a prisoner for several weeks without any explanation. I was actually treated well, I ate better than I had as an enlisted man and I was provided my choice of reading materials. Really, anything I dared ask for was provided to me.”

“That must have seemed odd.”

“Most peculiar, yes. When they finally came to question me, it was not anyone from my command. They were men I had never seen before. Men who radiated power and an utter, cold confidence. They told me not to worry, that they knew what I had done and they admired how I had gone about it. They explained the barest bit about the secret branch of the Home Office and they said I could hang or I could join them and fight evil in the name of the Crown.”

“My God. What a choice!”

“I was delighted to join them. I was sick unto death of seeing the powerful allowed to enact evil on the powerless.”

“But why would they know of some enlisted man from the Dragoons?”

“They told me they had known about my murder of my uncle. They had watched me since then and waited to see if I would be triggered to act again. They finally had arranged for me to be assigned to that captain’s regiment for just that reason.”

That image alone sent a renewed gale of shudders down her spine.

“That’s how it all happened,” he said, then he arose from the bed.

She watched as he strode across the chamber and threw open the curtains. His weight loss made his body appear lean and supple and hard, wickedly so, like a whipcord. She studied his face as he stared out the window at the sea.

His expression was foreboding. There was a…oh, how to put it? A dark sort of energy that seemed to radiate from him. He did not seem himself.

Maybe he couldn’t be himself when he was being this—how did he put it? Agent of justice.

He splashed his face with water at the washstand, then pulled on his dressing gown and went to the kitchen. She arose from the bed and quickly donned her wrapper. But then she stopped and paused at the window, gazing out without seeing.

Uncle Frederick had said she must ferret out Stephen’s secrets. She must find out if there was any reason why he would disdain himself and wish for death. She had to find out what guilt might be eating him alive.

But if she pushed too hard or in the wrong way, she might force him back into that impenetrable shell.

How alone he must have felt all this time, alone in his silence. Her heart panged with compassion for him. She rubbed her hands over her face then went to follow Stephen.

He was crumbling day old bread into a bowl of what was left of the milk when she entered the kitchen. She sat at the table, watching silently as he poured a generous amount of honey into the mixture.

“Maple syrup would be better,” she said.

“We’ll go to New England and gorge ourselves on maple syrup and johnnycakes.” He flashed her a brief smile. But the coldness was still there in his eyes. It was like being with Stephen and yet being with a stranger.

She waited whilst he ate and then she began, “Stephen, do you ever…” Her voice faltered. Oh God, let her do this right. She fisted her hands on her lap beneath the table.

“Do I ever what, my love?” His voice was tender and his expression was maybe a bit less distant.

Just that gradual easing gave her courage to continue. “Do you ever feel guilt for your…” She took a deep breath. “For being an agent of justice.”

His expression froze. He dropped his spoon to his bowl. “No, never.”

His hard, cold tone made her catch her breath.

Love for him, a desperate desire to save his life however she could, was the only thing that gave her the bravery to press him further. “But surely you must have some feelings about killing a fellow human being, no matter how much their evil deeds make them deserve it.”

“No, evil people are not deserving of compassion. If I were to regret my role in their deaths, deaths sanctioned by the agents of the crown, I would be saying that they were less evil. That they did not deserve the end they met.”

“Oh, but Stephen, it would not be like that at all. It would just be recognising your own humanity. Your own sense of compassion and ability to be merciful and forgiving.”

His gaze was formidable.

She quailed and wished she’d never raised this whole matter. But what choice had she had? She was the only one who could get beneath his shell and uncover any reason that he might be unknowingly wishing for death.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I think you could be making yourself sick.”

Again he froze. This time a look of perplexed shock followed. “Making myself sick? How?”

“I think you deny your feelings about the work you do. It’s not healthy for you. And admitting a sense of regret or guilt for the need for the acts, just to yourself, well, that wouldn’t make a whit of difference as to the evilness of your targets.”

He stared at her, his expression enigmatic. Then softness entered his eyes. He reached and took her hand. “You’re a kind-hearted woman. You could never understand these things.”

He grasped his bowl and then scooted his chair, the legs loudly scraping the wood floor as he moved close to her. He leant towards her and kissed her cheek. “I shall have to become accustomed to being worried over. It is a woman’s way, eh?”

“It is a way of loving someone, yes,” she said, watching him eat. She breathed deeply, resisting the urge to sigh aloud. She had done what she could. Maybe the seed planted today would reap his healing.

Or maybe it wouldn’t.

A sick sensation wound through the pit of her stomach.

* * * *

Rebecca hesitated. Her heart’s pounding had increased with each step she’d taken down the cellar stairs. She felt a touch ill. She put her hand to her collarbone.

No, she mustn’t give way to fear. This cellar had once been a place of refuge for her. She recalled those safe, solitary moments and found a way to put one foot in front of the other and descend the stairs.