The Return of the Prodigal (11 page)

He slid his hand between her thighs, spread her with his fingers. Blew gently against her heated skin, her throbbing center.

He wished for a hundred candles, a thousand. He wanted to see her as well as touch her. He wanted all of her, every way he could have her. If she was danger, he’d embrace that danger. If she meant his death, then he would die. But not without knowing all of her, not without leaving her with a memory she could never even hope to banish from her mind.

“Rian…”

Her soft plea only goaded him to more liberties. He slid two fingers into her, deep inside her, pressing up, up, pinning her to the bed even as he lowered his mouth to her once more, his tongue seeking, finding. Stroking.

Faster.

He moved his fingers inside her. Laved her. Sealed his mouth against her. Flicked at her very center, the small bud that felt hard and tight, that seemed to push itself against him.

More.

“Rian!”

She ground her body against him, lifted her legs so that her heels pressed hard into his back. Lifted herself. Gave herself.

More!

He growled against her softness; touching, tasting, taking. Giving.

“Rian!”

She exploded in his arms, rocking them both with the violence of her response to him, the waves of pleasure he could feel pulsing through her.

Again, she reached for him, and this time he needed to hold her as well. Hold her, find his release inside of her,

He might have died. He thought he did die, for a moment. But then he was floating back down from the place he had been, coming softly to earth on top of Lisette, holding her, his face burrowed into her sweet-smelling neck as he listened to her own quick breathing.

“I will go to Hell now,” she said at last, still convulsively gripping his bare back. “We will both go to Hell. Surely only the devil could have conceived of such a thing as what we just did….”

“Do you mind?” Rian asked her as he recovered his breath. “Going to Hell, that is.”

“No…I don’t think so. Which is why I will go to Hell. Right after I go to sleep, with my sinful body still singing to me. Will you hold me, Rian Becket, as I go to sleep?”

He couldn’t really speak. His idea had been to capture her, ensnare her, make her willing and pliant. He hadn’t counted on how he would feel, the danger to himself in holding this very special woman in his arms.

So he gathered her close against his shoulder and listened as her breathing became more even, as she drifted into sleep.

And he began consider a very dangerous, a very daring plan.

L
ISETTE WOKE SLOWLY
, reluctant to leave her dream, the one in which she was a little girl again, holding tight to her
maman
’s outstretched hands as they danced in circles in a field of pretty white daisies. Her dreams always turned to her
maman
when she was frightened, or feeling alone, lost.

With her
maman,
she was safe. Happy.

Even though the dreams were all lies, and she had never known her mother, could not remember the woman’s touch, had never danced with her in a field of white daisies.

She sat up, wiping at her wet cheeks, to realize that sunlight was doing its best to penetrate the cloudy attic window, to be shocked to find herself alone in the bed.

“Rian?” she asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she looked about the small room. How silly! He would have to be hiding beneath the bed, for her not to see him.

She threw back the covers, realized she was naked as the day she was born, and quickly took care of her physical needs and dressed herself in her clean but now wrinkled gown.

Her stomach growling, she packed up the portmanteau and headed for the door, suddenly worried that Rian Becket had left the inn without her, left her behind.

Had she made a mistake? A terrible mistake?

She’d told him her name, her real name.

Had be been merely interested? Or alerted?

But, no, that was silly. He couldn’t recognize the name, for her
papa
had once told her that his given name of Nathaniel Beatty was not the name he’d used as a privateer, because a return to England and respectability had always been a part of his plans, until that near disaster in London two years ago.

He was now the
Comte
Beltrane, although he had still not decided how he would be known once he reestablished himself in England. Probably by some name that began with a B. He had smiled as he’d told her he had a great affinity for names that began with a B. She’d thought that very funny, while being secretly pleased that his first gift to her, the mirror and brushes, would still be appropriate for her new name, whatever it would be.

Besides, she had told too many lies already. It was better to keep to the truth when she could.

“And I could not think of a single name that began with a B,” she muttered to herself as she poked her head out into the hallway. “How stupid. Bertrand. Beaufort. Burion, Burel, Beauvais. One hundred names. One thousand. And I couldn’t think of a single one. I am such a disaster.”

She smiled at a red-cheeked matron who was looking at her oddly, just as if she was a young woman who was talking to herself, and continued along the hallway, heading for the staircase that would lead to the small entryway opening out onto the inn yard.

She would like some breakfast. Some fine country eggs and ham, a fragrant croissant spread with creamery butter and jam. Oh, and a thick mug filled with steaming coffee turned creamy with fresh milk.

But first she would find Rian Becket.

She reluctantly pushed past the heady aromas coming from the common room and stepped out into the inn yard, hoping to see him standing in front of a well-sprung coach he’d hired at the stables down the street, but the inn yard was empty save for a scrawny rooster, who seemed to have lost one too many fights with a younger rival, and a small child rolling a bent hoop.

“Excuse me,” she said, lapsing into French and hoping the child understood her, “Have you seen a tall man with dark hair?”

The child shook his head.

Lisette tried again, knowing Rian would not care to hear himself described this particular way. “A tall man with dark hair and only one arm?”

The child nodded, grinning, and pointed toward the stables.

“In the stables?”

“No. Behind the stables. With the great giant,” the child said, and then picked up his hoop and ran into the inn.

Lisette tried to puzzle out what
the great giant
meant, but since she was already fairly certain that would be impossible without more information, she merely lifted her skirts an inch or two to keep them out of the dust and made her way around to behind the stables.

And, much to her shock, discovered the great giant.

“Hullo, miss,” the giant said, tipping his cap to her. “You’d be Miss Lisette, being blond and pretty and all, and you’d be lookin’ for the Lieutenant?”

“The Lieutenant?” Lisette shook her head, realizing her mistake. “Oh, yes, of course. Lieutenant Becket. Do you know where he is?”

“Inspectin’ the wagon, miss,” the man told her. “You’ll be wantin’ to do that, too? Jasper doesn’t mind.”

“He doesn’t?” Lisette had begun to rethink the cup of coffee, if not the croissant, for her mind still felt muddled. “And this Jasper person would be…?”

“Me,” Jasper said, pointing to himself. “Jasper and Jasper’s wagon, at your service, miss.”

“A wagon?” Lisette closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. They were going to travel in a wagon? She opened her eyes and looked at the thing. It was huge, which probably was a good thing, for the giant man would probably splinter a lesser vehicle just by climbing up into the seat.

The entire back of the wagon looked as if a small, red wooden house had been picked up and placed there—a feat probably not beyond Jasper the Giant—complete with a wooden shingle roof and small windows.

Perhaps it was not a wagon, not exactly, but more of a Gypsy caravan? She’d heard about those, and the bands of Gypsies that traveled throughout Europe. But did Gypsies have fair English skin and a shock of dark blond hair?

And did Gypsies travel with a real cannon tied to the back of their caravans?

“A cannon?” Lisette asked, pointing to the thing.

Jasper grinned. “French. Jasper has the powder, the fuses and a half-dozen cannonballs. Not goin’ to leave those behind, not even for the Lieutenant whose life Jasper done saved, you know.”

“Uh, well, no, no, of course not,” Lisette agreed blankly. “Saved his life, you say?”

Jasper nodded fiercely. “Jasper don’t remember that yet, but he will. You’ll be tellin’ him how he did it.”

“
I
will be—Rian! Rian Becket—get yourself out here!”

A moment later Rian stuck his head out of the back door of the wagon—and it really did have a back door!—smiling at her as if he had already assumed that she’d be pleased as could be with the wagon, and Jasper, and himself.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Good morning, Lisette. Sleep well?”

“I will not travel in this terrible wagon,” she informed him without preamble. “A wagon pulled by
oxen
? Dragging a
cannon
with us? We will arrive at this Ostend of yours only in time for the tulips to bloom in the spring.”

She watched as Rian gracefully leapt to the ground, bypassing the small set of three suspended steps. “Lisette, shame on you. Where is your sense of adventure? Ah, and look at Jasper. You’ve made him unhappy.”

Lisette spun around to look at the giant man, and felt instantly contrite, for he did, indeed, appear crestfallen, where he had earlier seemed so very pleased with himself. “Oh, Jasper, I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s a very fine wagon. But, you see, we are in a hurry to get ourselves to Ostend, and—”

“We’re not going to Ostend, Lisette,” Rian interrupted, taking her arm and heading her toward the rear of the wagon. “We’re going back.”

“Back?” She pulled her arm free of his, digging her heels into the soft dirt. “Back to where? To the manor house? Are you
insane
?”

“Possibly. Probably. Last night it was a thought, but this morning, having seen Jasper’s truly impressive inventory and this caravan, it’s a plan. A firm plan, Lisette,” Rian said, grinning at her as he took her arm once more. “But Jasper and I agree. Whoever is searching for us will be looking anywhere and everywhere—except on the roads leading back to the manor house.”

“Which is no reason to go there,” Lisette protested, wishing Rian wasn’t so strong, and that she wasn’t so suddenly weak and frightened.

“Just get into the wagon, Lisette.”

“No! I will
not
just get into the wagon, Lisette, like some foolish little miss who doesn’t know that what you are saying is dangerous. I cannot go back there, Rian Becket. The
Comte
. He
wants
me, Rian. I thought you wanted me. You said you would marry me, remember? How could you even think that I should ever go back there. How could you be so cruel? Think…think of your baby!”

“There is no baby. You’ve told me that again and again.”

“Do not throw my words in my face! And let me go—
oh!
”

He boosted her up the steps and gave her a small push, sending her forward into the dimness inside the wagon…Gypsy caravan…prison—she was no longer sure just what the thing should be called.

There was a bench to her right, covered in a thick blanket, and she collapsed onto it, gawking about her as her eyes became adjusted to the lower light.

She was surrounded by weapons.

Rifles.

Pistols, jammed barrel-first into a huge wooden tub.

Sabers tacked to the walls, and even the ceiling, in pretty, frightening designs.

Knives, small swords, the cannonballs Jasper seemed so proud to call his own.

Small kegs of powder, a bucket filled with evil-looking tools, a small brazier probably fueled by charcoal and used as a sort of smithy.

She was sitting in the middle of an armory.

“I…I don’t—”

“Understand,” Rian said, joining her on the bench. “You don’t understand, correct?”

She nodded, unable to speak. She expected the wagon to burst into flames, explode around her, at any moment.

“This is Jasper’s home, as well as his cunningly marvelous place of business that travels with him wherever he goes in search of customers. Ah, and feel the wagon moving beneath us, listing to one side, actually. He’s climbing up into the seat now, ready to head us back the way we have come. We travel relatively unobserved, hidden inside here, living and eating and sleeping in this small space, and with no one supposing that we should be here. It’s perfect.”

“It’s ridiculous!” Lisette made to stand up, but the oxen had decided to move forward and she toppled back into her seat, Rian catching her before she could fall to the floor. “And what do you plan to do once we are back at the
Comte
’s, Rian Becket? Lay siege to the manor house? Is there a catapult strapped to the roof that I somehow missed seeing?”

Rian laughed. “Well, now that you mention it, that could be one idea. It was the cannon, I suppose, that put that thought into your head. But, no, Lisette. Although I won’t say it doesn’t warm the cockles of my heart to know that I will not be approaching the manor house unarmed.”

Her eyes grew wide even as her heart skipped a beat in her chest. “You mean to kill him? You are going back to kill the
Comte
Beltrane?”

“No, not to kill him. Not unless I’m forced to. I can think of someone else who deserves that honor. But I can’t go home yet, Lisette. You said it yourself. The
Comte
wants me for some reason. Or, as I suppose, he wants to follow me, go where I lead him. Therefore, the last place I will lead him, lead anybody, is to my family’s home.”

“Then what will you do with him?”

She thought she saw a slight flicker in his eyes, one that told her he didn’t trust her. But the look was gone as quickly as it had come. “I’d rather not discuss such things at the moment, please, if you don’t mind, Lisette. A possibly wise but very definitely superstitious man I know once said it’s bad luck to speak too freely of your intentions, else they never become fact.”

Lisette wondered what she’d said, what she’d done, that could have turned Rian against her. Had she been too eager to talk about his home? Had she pushed him too hard, asked too many questions?

Had he recognized the name
Beatty?
But how would he do that? And why, if he had, would he have taken her to bed afterward, done what he’d done?

Was he the most evil, hard-hearted man ever to walk God’s earth?

Or was he still believing that she was his cohort, his companion, his fellow refugee intent on escaping the
Comte?

She had no choice. She had to continue on as she had begun, as his ally, his friend. His lover.

“I…I suppose you’re right, Rian,” she told him, looking straight into his eyes, praying hers looked clear, innocently blue. “If he is following you, it is not only because he wants me in his bed. I am only a servant girl, and to think a man like the
Comte
would have such a desire for me would be immodest. I am ashamed I did not think of this sooner. It is you he really wants. You must be very important. Because this person you call your
papa
is a wealthy man with ships, yes?”

“That’s yet to be discovered, isn’t it, Lisette? So you no longer believe he would come after you?”

She shook her head, forced herself to blush. “He said those terrible things to me. And more unspeakable things, that last night, when we were tiptoeing past him. But I am only one woman, and certainly not anyone important. You were kind not to point this out to me earlier. I’m so ashamed.”

Rian slipped his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close to him. “Do you want to leave me now, Lisette? It would be safer for you.”

She lifted her head, which she had rested against his shoulder. “Leave you? You want me to leave you, Rian Becket? I am an encumbrance to you as you go hunting the
Comte?
”

“I could give you some coins, enough to keep you at the inn we just left, until I come back for you. Would you feel safer?”

“With those men still out there, hunting you?” Lisette spoke quickly, as the excuse hit at her brain. “What if they found me? They would beat me, make me tell them where you had gone. I am not a strong man, Rian Becket. I am only a woman. They would have answers from me in the space of two heartbeats. No, you are safer if I am with you.”

“My nurse, my protector,” he said, pressing a kiss against her temple. “Very well, it’s settled. We go back to the manor house, and we go together. I didn’t really want to leave you behind. I’d miss you.”