A Most Dangerous Lady (4 page)

     Behind her mask, Caroline stared at him with a dizzying mixture of desire and dismay.

     His little speech had been meant to reassure her, but it had the opposite effect. On the one hand, she wanted nothing more than to unfasten his breeches and finally learn what it meant to satisfy a man, and not any man but Lord Randall, the man she had loved and watched in secret for so many years. On the other hand, the closest she had ever come before now to the contents of a man’s breeches was the occasional accidental brush while dancing. Though she certainly knew how they fastened and unfastened, having worn them herself, she reminded herself ironically.

     ‘Tormenting me again?’

     She drew an angry breath at his words, her resolve hardening. She would soon show him the meaning of torment! Yet how to proceed without blushing and fumbling her way like a virgin on her wedding night?

     ‘Close your eyes,’ she whispered.

     ‘I beg your pardon?’

     ‘You want me to satisfy you? Then do as I ask and close your eyes. You will see, it will make things so much sweeter for us.’

     He was still frowning, but shrugged and obediently closed his eyes. ‘I’m not one for these games, Desirée. But if it will bring us any closer to a consummation, then so be it.’

     She slipped down between his knees, crouching before him with her face on a level with his groin. From here, unfastening the fall of his breeches should be a simple enough matter. To her dismay though, his elegant shirt was in the way. She lifted it with unsteady hands, darting another quick look at his face.

     If he were to peek ... !

     But his lordship kept his word, eyes still closed as her fingers worked frantically at the fall of his breeches, finally closing on the warm, swollen hardness of his penis.

     Caroline gave a little gasp and his eyes opened, shooting to her face, a hard flush in his own cheeks. It was all she could do to feign laughter, her voice husky.

     ‘My lord, you are indeed
interested
.’

     Soon his erection was free of his breeches and cupped hotly between her palms. Caroline stared at it, her eyes drawn irrevocably to its proud jutting length, wondering how such a substantial thing could possibly fit inside a woman. Its impressive length and girth continued to expand in her fist, shocking her. Yet she had seen animals mate on her father’s country estate, and knew at least vaguely that love between a man and a woman took a similar course. If with somewhat more consideration for the female’s comfort, she hoped, remembering certain frantic and unsophisticated couplings she had witnessed in the fields.

     ‘Sweetest,’ he muttered, then gave the brief command, ‘Kiss me.’

     His curt tone left her in no doubt what he meant.

     Breathless, Caroline closed her eyes and leant forward, resting her flushed cheek against his swollen groin. She could not draw back from the brink of this adventure, however hard her heart thudded. Besides which, the thought of touching and tasting his hard body had kept her awake for many hours over the past five years. She might be uncertain of her skill but she was by no means reluctant to obey his command!

     But just as her lips closed about his warmth, Caroline froze in horror. The thunder of approaching hooves – several horses too, by the sound it, and travelling at a tremendous pace – swept all thought of love from her mind.

     Could it be the Runners, on their trail already? Had someone followed her from town tonight?

     Lord Trajan Randall was right; her genteel birth would probably not save her from the gallows, especially once his detailed testimony of her loose character had been heard.

     A vision of her father’s shocked and bewildered face flashed before her eyes. Caroline realised how foolish she had been, the terrible danger she had put herself in – and her faithful servant, too – with this madcap abduction.

     She leapt up and replaced his leather gag without apology, threw her cloak concealingly over his lap, then grabbed at her pistol. There could be no escape now. The horsemen were nearly at the door.

     Whoever it was, she must be ready for them!

CHAPTER FIVE

The trapdoor opened a crack and she whirled, ashen-faced. But it was only Joseph, peering up at her. He looked from one to the other grimly, seemingly oblivious to their various states of undress.

     ‘Snuff out the candles. And don’t let him make a sound. Not a single movement, do you hear?’ He nodded to the pistol in her hand. ‘Once I’ve got rid of them, I’ll knock before I come back up. If there’s no knock ...’

     She nodded her comprehension and tightened her grip on the pistol as her trusted servant disappeared. It took all her concentration to cock the weapon, biting her lip at the loud clicking noise. There was sweat on her palms despite the chill of the night, and her hands were shaking. She might yet pull the trigger by accident and blow a hole in his chest!

     As she tiptoed to snuff out the candles between finger and thumb, Lord Randall stared hard at her, his face barely visible in the darkness. Turning through the drifting smoke, she laid a finger to her lips, meeting his gaze with silent meaning.

     But what hope was there that he would  keep their presence a secret, when he must be desperate to escape?

     Although the only window was shuttered and barred, the moonlight still penetrated a few cracks, and from below firelight shone through the uneven floorboards.

     She tried to read his face by that thin light, but it was impossible. Trajan had made no sound from behind his gag, but he must know that the slightest groan or thump of his feet would betray them utterly. The gleam in his grey eyes seemed to say as much, his head tilted sharply at an angle as though listening.

     Then came the inevitable thudding at the door.

     Her heart jumped violently. There could be only one reason for horsemen to call at such a remote spot at this hour of the night – they were searching for the missing Viscount.

     Caroline stood astride a revealing gap in the floorboards and levelled her pistol warningly at the prisoner’s head. She would not shoot even if he gave away their presence, but Lord Randall could not be allowed to know that.

     Her face intent, she listened in a taut silence as Joseph dragged open the door below, his sharp London accent suddenly thickened and countrified.

     ‘Yessirs, what may ee do for you gentlemen?’ he was asking. ‘It’s mighty late for callers.’

     ‘You live here?’

     Joseph coughed long and noisily before answering the authoritative male voice. ‘Beg pardon, sir. Tenant, sir. To Farmer Redford, over Lambeth way.’

     ‘Are you alone?’

     ‘My wife is upstairs. Sick with a fever, sir.’

     There was a hurried, low-voiced conference between the two horsemen, then the leader spoke again.

     ‘We believe a nobleman may have been attacked out on the main road last night. Do you remember hearing anything amiss?’ He paused, clearly trying to urge a reply. ‘Shouts, perhaps, or a gunshot? Riders passing by?’

     ‘Now, sirs, would that be last night or the night before - ?’

     ‘Come, Rupert.’ said the other man impatiently, interrupting him. ‘There’s nothing here for us. We must push on, further towards Deptford.’

     But the first man was not so easily deterred. He hesitated, and through the gap in the floorboards Caroline caught sight of his face as the man leant further in, glancing searchingly about the lower half of the desolate building.

     Sir Rupert Carnaby!

     She recognised him with a cold shock that ran down her spine. This was no Bow Street Runner, but one of Lord Randall’s closest friends.

     ‘Farmer Redford, you say, is your landlord?’

     ‘Aye, sir.’

     ‘Very well. But if I find you’ve withheld any information, or if I cannot find this Farmer Redford to corroborate your story, I’ll be back with more men and tear this place apart. You understand?’

     Joseph’s voice became a placating whine as the two men headed back to their waiting horses. ‘Sir, good sir, I’ve done no wrong. As the Lord is my witness, I heard nothing, sir.’

     As soon as the sound of the horses’ hooves had thudded into the distance, there were two sharp raps at the trapdoor, then it was thrown back.

     Joseph, disguised again behind his muffler, looked up at her sternly. His voice was quite changed from the one he had used to deceive their visitors.

     ‘You heard what was said, Miss?’

     ‘I heard.’

     ‘We can’t stay here. Once they discover there’s no such person as Farmer Redford, they’ll be back.’ Her servant glanced at their prisoner, then back at her. ‘I say we strip him and leave him on the road for his friends to pick up. Same as the others.’

     She bit her lip, reluctant to concede defeat so readily, but nodded. He was right, of course. What else could they do? To stay here would be to risk almost certain discovery and disgrace. Joseph might be her servant, but she had long trusted him and looked to him for advice and discretion when planning her Petticoat Club adventures. She needed Joseph’s help more than ever tonight.

     ‘Not on the Deptford road though. He might be found too quickly there, and we need time to return safely to town.’

     ‘Where then, Miss?’

     She thought for a moment, then smiled, uncocking the pistol and laying it aside. ‘Vauxhall Gardens. It is not far from here, and seems a fitting enough place for his lordship to spend the night. The gardens should be closed by the time we arrive. With any luck he may not be discovered until first light.’

     Joseph shook his head at this dubious plan but did not try to dissuade her, not doubt seeing the light in her eyes. He knew of her feelings for Lord Randall. Caroline had never stated them openly, but her old servant understood her well enough to realise when her heart was involved –  and when she would not be gainsaid.

     ‘And how are we supposed to carry him there?’ he asked gruffly. ‘Unless he’s to ride behind one of us? I don’t like that idea, begging your pardon.’

     ‘Go back to town and fetch the carriage. We shall conduct him to Vauxhall in the early hours and continue on to town afterwards.’

     ‘This is madness. We should leave him here for those men to find, and go home safe while we still can. Don’t forget, my ... ’ Joseph bit his tongue on ‘my lady’, ‘if anything untoward was to happen to you, your father would have my hide for it.’

     ‘Nothing will happen.’

     Her servant’s face said otherwise, his dry glance taking in her own disordered clothes and Lord Randall’s ruffled appearance, though he did not bother arguing.

     ‘And if those two busybodies return while I am gone?’

     ‘If you are so concerned, leave me the other pistol. Two pistols will serve to keep them at bay, surely? Besides, our friends will not return tonight. You heard them. They are heading towards Deptford and will no doubt stay the night there.’ She shook out her golden hair defiantly; she would have her time alone with Lord Randall tonight, otherwise all this would have been in vain. ‘Come, I shall help you saddle up.’

Once Joseph had set heels to his sturdy cob and clattered away into the wood, Caroline returned to the upstairs room and pushed the trapdoor open with a thundering heart. Lord Randall turned his head to study her in silence, his face still in darkness, the candles unlit. Her mouth dry, she closed the trapdoor and approached him, glad of the mask which concealed her growing flush.

     They were utterly alone together now, with a good hour or more before Joseph returned with the carriage.

     Moonlight lay across the wooden floor, spilling through the shutters across the window. She stood above her prisoner in the eerie white glow of moonlight, remembering how she had first fallen in love with this man after he had fought a duel – quite forbidden, of course, much that he had cared for such laws. Such bravery and lack of compromise! He had wounded the notorious rake Rexburgh, calling him out over some unknown lady’s honour, regardless of the other’s noted expertise as a swordsman. Though his own skill had proved better in the end.

     She wondered if Trajan was as deadly with pistols, and laid her two weapons out of reach on the low table.

     Lord Randall watched her, his expression surprisingly calm. As soon as she removed his gag, his first words were, ‘Who are you, Desirée?’

     ‘Come, sir, do not wish for the moon.’

     ‘Your real name, if you please.’

     Hoping to distract him, she swung her leg over his tethered body and felt him tense. Her brows snapped together in quick irritation. ‘Reluctant?’ she asked. ‘You were not so cold and forbidding before your friends came in search of you.’

     ‘Who says they were my friends?’

     She realised her slip too late, and shrugged lightly as she made herself comfortable on his lap, her fingers toying playfully with his open shirt. Trajan could not be allowed to realise that she had recognised them.

     ‘Why, sir, who else could they be but friends of yours? I could hear by their voices that they were gentlemen, real Quality. Not the damned Runners.’

     ‘You are acquainted with the Bow Street Runners?’

     ‘Intimately.’

     His eyebrows rose coldly. ‘Such a dangerous lady.’

     ‘Scared?’

     ‘Not at present, no. Though I will admit to a certain trepidation while you were pointing that pistol at my head earlier,’ his lordship replied, a bite to his voice that had not been there before. ‘Those particular pistols are finely balanced weapons. I own a pair myself. But they are possessed of a hair-trigger. The merest slip of your finger and I would have been unable to oblige you in any way tonight. Which, I presume, is still your intention?’

     ‘But how can you doubt it, sir?’

     Their eyes met for a long moment. Her gaze dropped compulsively to his mouth: strong, rakish, uncompromising, his lips parted slightly, as though impatient for hers.