Reckless in Pink (27 page)

He’d used the word “ride” deliberately, evoking that morning when her horse had sped past him and he’d admired her seat. Oh, yes, his Claudia could ride.

She used it, too, clamping her knees against his flanks and rising up on him before coming down in the kind of plunge that turned him mindless. His head went back hard against the pillows and he yelped. Before he had time to recover, she did it again, and then she laughed. She showed him no mercy, and went from trot to canter to gallop almost without pause.

In a pathetic effort to regain some control, he gripped her hips, but only in an effort to steady her, not to control her. He adored the way she took to this, and he feared it would draw him closer to her. Every time she came down on him his arousal rose. Holding his orgasm at bay was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He forced every particle of control into his body and held himself rigid for her, gritting his teeth until the first wave passed. Or it transmuted to something else, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t care.

Her skin gleamed with exertion, but she didn’t stop. The light of exhilaration brightened her eyes, and she was smiling as she rode him, pushing him inexorably toward his inevitable climax. His laughter rang around the room. He wasn’t sure why he laughed, except that pure joy radiated through him. That hadn’t happened to him since childhood, that pure happiness had struck him like that. He’d forgotten.

She reminded him of so much, the things that had escaped him in his relentless pursuit of independence and honor. Now they laughed together, and they were still laughing when the first wave hit him. Bucking, he sat up and held her in his arms, desperate to ensure she came too. Then the first quiver of her peak rippled over his cock, a deliciously intimate squirm from her hips. She gave a small cry, helpless in the throes of her orgasm.

The ripples increased, grew more deliberate, and she gripped him, held on. “Give way. Let it take you,” he murmured. He kissed the shell of her ear, nipping it while his balls tightened. The first unmistakable twinge signaled his peak.

They came together, holding on, his control completely gone now. A still moment when everything peaked and coalesced and then he was over the top, falling through clouds with no means of safety and now way of holding on.

When it was done, there she was, his anchor and his partner. Not once had he felt alone. With others, he’d always come to that point on his own. While courteously helping his partner, this time he wouldn’t have felt complete if he hadn’t taken her with him.

Or had she taken him with her? Yes, that was it. His heart pounded in time with hers and breath sawed out of their throats.

“When can we do it again?” she said.

He chuckled, helplessly lost in her. “It will take me some time to recover. Unlike you, I can’t immediately go again.”

He was still hard within her, so he gave a few shallow thrusts, enjoying the aftermath as much as the process. That was a first time for him, too. Usually when he engaged in sexual congress with a woman, once he’d done he recalled what else he should be doing, and left. That, coupled with a faint sense of shame he’d never been able to rid himself of.

With her, he was supposed to be doing this, although not quite in this way. “You are supposed to be maidenly and reticent. You should complain after the first time and make me pamper you, or leave you alone so that you can do something else. Women are excellent at putting their lives on to a series of shelves.”

“Shelves?” she mumbled. She had her head on his shoulder, and her breath heated his neck when she spoke. She didn’t seem to be in the least concerned about her sweat-slicked body or her tousled, glorious mane of red-gold hair.

“Intimacy goes on the shelf labelled I, work on the shelf labelled W.” He’d tried to keep his life like that for himself. Like a well-organized lawyer’s office, with each case tied up with red ribbon and put in its rightful place.

“Hmm. I don’t think much to that. Life should be a glorious muddle.”

He shuddered.

She laughed. “Perhaps it’s me who is the glorious muddle.”

“Glorious certainly.” He kissed her hair. “Shall I order a bath?”

“In a little while.” She moved away so he could see the sweet curves of her breasts, but her nipples still grazed his chest. “Can we order some more food? I’m absolutely ravenous.”

Lord and Lady St. Just made their first public appearance at Drury Lane Theater. They sent a footman to bespeak a box early in the day. They set forth after an intimate dinner that nearly meant that they forgot the theater and went straight back to bed. Since they’d spent most of the last two days there, Dominic set Claudia determinedly away from him. “After tonight, we should consider going to the country.”

“Oh? Are we, then, spending our summer alone?”

“If you like.” He smiled down at her.

He’d smiled much more in the last few days, but then, she’d given him cause to.

“I had thought at least the first part. We are owed a honeymoon, are we not?” He paused, and then continued, “I have a house. I bought it with my own earnings, booty from my years in the army. It’s modest, but private. It will be ours alone. Any visitors will be local ones, since I have not told many people of this house. Mail reaches me through trusted servants. I haven’t gone so far as to go by another name, but it’s not a house I speak about.”

“Do your parents know?”

He paused before answering. Enough to tell her that he was still thinking about his parentage. They had discussed that part of his inheritance very little after their first discussion.

“Yes, they do.”

In the country, he and Claudia would have time to discuss their future. That he was seriously considering what to do meant much to her. However, he wouldn’t do anything without her. She had married him, and to her that meant she would remain by his side, whatever he said, wherever he was.

If he staked his claim to the throne, he would do it for good reasons. She trusted him to make that decision in the best interests of everyone. He was the most honorable man she had ever met, and considering her family, that was saying a great deal.

“I like the idea. We may sleep late—”

He kissed her. “Or not at all. Claudia, I swear we will talk.”

“Yes.” She returned his kiss. “Do you think your parents will want you to visit?”

“Undoubtedly. I will have made my decision by then. Whether to reveal the truth or not. This is not a decision to take lightly. I cannot make it instantly, as some might, so I will take my time. Nobody will affect me.”

“Not even me?”

He gazed down at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Claudia. I value your opinion more than any other, but I must come to a decision I can be comfortable with for the rest of my life. On one side, I would have to live a lie and perhaps dispossess someone of something that is rightfully theirs. On the other, I claim my birthright and risk starting a war. I’ve seen what war can do, and I would not willingly be the cause of one.”

She nodded. “What if I cannot agree?”

“We may live apart. Separate.” A streak of pain passed over his features, but at that moment the footman knocked at the drawing-room door to tell them the carriage was ready.

He took her out and ushered her into the carriage with great ceremony. His punctiliousness made her laugh. “You know my parents will demand a visit in the summer?”

He bowed once more before joining her and allowing the footman to fold up the steps and close the door. Then sat next to her and took her gloved hand. The carriage, pulled by two fine greys, set off smoothly, and Claudia turned to glance out of the window.

Their route took them past Julius’s door. He lived on Brook Street, not the most fashionable street in the West End, but one of the most interesting. She pointed out Mr. Handel’s house to her husband and he gazed at it. “We should go and see one of his operas. I enjoy listening to spectacular music done well.”

“Yes we should.”

They were talking like an old married couple, but under the comfortable current ran a streak of desire, always present at the moment. Would it ever dissipate? She prayed not. She was enjoying it far too much.

“We should certainly visit your parents,” he said.

“They have a house party in August. Most of the month.” She enjoyed Augusts at home. They celebrated the Glorious Twelfth, held dances and invited the local gentry. People spoke of the Strenshall house parties with awe and invitations were rarely refused.

“It sounds interesting.” He squeezed her hand. “I will have to become accustomed to having a large family, at least on my wife’s side.”

As the carriage turned a tight corner, something landed with a clatter on the floor of the vehicle. It must have fallen through the window. A hiss indicated it was alive, or something was working. Clockwork, perhaps?

No. Fire. The thing was on fire. Smoke wound up in a thin stream from the—thing.

Her first impulse was to grab it, but before she could do so, her husband wrapped his arms about her. He dragged her backward, the door of the carriage crashing open, slamming against the side of the vehicle.

They hurtled through the door of the carriage, Dominic yelling. Her ears rang with the noise. That and the shouting. She landed with a sickening
thump,
and Dominic rolled over her, smothering her with the weight of his body.

When she gasped for breath, the noxious stench of the road beneath her face made her head spin. She didn’t have the breath to choke. It all happened in a minute, so fast she only had time to register it dimly before a
boom
took out what was left of her hearing.

Footsteps vibrated under her body, together with rumbling wheels and clattering hooves, but she closed her eyes. She was going to die. Whatever had happened had killed her.

What was this? What had happened?

Someone shouted, so loud she detected it through the ringing in her ears. “Give her to me!” A male voice, close. Vaguely familiar.

At last, light flooded in when Dominic rolled off her. He rolled her on to her back, staring anxiously into her face. “Are you hurt?”

She sat up, but he pushed her down again. She was covered in street filth, stinking and bruised. But she wasn’t hurt, not like he meant, not the way his face was twisted and creased with concern.

Lifting a hand to her face, she dashed a few tears of shock away and tried to make sense of what had just happened. They’d been in the carriage and then… Had someone attacked them? How? The thing on the floor of the carriage?

“Come with me,” Julius said. Then made an noise deep in his throat that sounded like exasperation. He bent to scoop her up. “I’ll take her into the house,” he said.

“I didn’t think you were that strong,” she managed to say, bewildered at the turn of events.

She looked towards the coach. Or what was left of it. The top was shattered, and flames flickered from the windows where she’d recently been sitting. The footman who’d jumped up behind, who’d held the door for her, was lying on the ground. One leg was twisted under him and blood stained his forehead. The coachman was cutting the traces, releasing the horses who were squealing and kicking. They were bloodstained, too, but the coachman seemed unhurt, just blackened and ragged. Nothing remained of the smart equipage.

Queasiness churned her stomach and her throat tightened. She shook, unable to control her trembling limbs and unbidden, tears came to her eyes.

This was no accident.

* * * *

Julius took her up to a guest bedroom and settled her on the bed. A maid followed. Claudia watched them numbly, letting them do whatever they wanted.

Shortly after, Helena, Julius’s sister burst into the room. She was a lovely capable woman. Although she was wringing her hands she was also firing off orders to the footman who followed her in. “Bring hot water, and get a robe for her.”

“Brandy,” Julius said grimly, and crossed to the sideboard, spilling the amber liquid into a glass.

Claudia pushed it away, her hand still shaking. “I don’t like brandy.”

“Take a sip,” Julius said softly. The warmth of his hand on her arm soothed her.

When she took the glass, her hands shook, and the liquid trembled. “Dominic! Is he safe?”

“Yes, I’m sure he is, but I’d like to check on him.” Julius glanced at his sister, who nodded. He left the room, and his steps echoed on the stairs.

Her ears still rang. She swallowed the brandy, taking it like medicine. “What happened?”

“An attack,” Helena said. “It’s something I have no experience with. Come, can you stand? We’ll get those clothes off you. You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”

Not better, but more like herself. Half an hour later, she had dressed in a robe borrowed from Helena. Claudia’s hair was cleaned and brushed out and washed, the street filth was finally expunged and she had stopped shaking.

Helena was so patient and kind, even gave her a handkerchief unasked when Claudia shed a few more tears. Nothing like that had ever happened to her, and she was still fighting to make sense of it.

The same question was on her lips when she went down to the drawing room and someone brought her a dish of tea. Better than the brandy.

Her husband ran in and knelt at her feet just as she was putting the dish back in its saucer on the table. She nearly dropped it. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Dominic was in shirtsleeves, his fine clothes begrimed, his wig gone, and his own hair roughly shoved back from his face. “They told me you were unhurt. I’m sorry, Claudia, so sorry!”

“For what?” Had he caused this—whatever it was?”

He kissed her hands and clasped them between his. “Someone tried to kill me. Did you see it?”

“What?”

“The device? The bomb?”

The word fell dully on her ears. “Who would have one of those things in the middle of a city?” No, she hadn’t meant to say that, but she couldn’t get closer to her real meaning while her mind was still numb.

“An assassin?” He laughed harshly, a strange sound in this elegant civilized room.