Escape with A Rogue (33 page)

Soldiers. Oberon’s two guards were running down the path. They must have been alerted by the sound of the shot.

Lady M. was safe.

It was his last thought.

* * *

Madeline slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her gently—so quietly she hoped no one in the house heard it. Jack apparently had not.

She had the servants bring him to this bedchamber in oldest wing of Eversleigh, one they used only for guests. It meant he was far away from the rest of the household—no one had recognized him yet, but she still wanted to be careful. And it meant there was no one here to witness her sneak into his room.

Swallowing hard, she surveyed him in the bed. He lay on his stomach, sleeping. Both his arms were stretched over the pillows and his face was turned away from her. His hair was damp with sweat. She had ordered a good fire to be built up, because he could not have covers on him. Bloodstains dotted the bandages that covered his back.

She had tried to help the doctor tend his wounds before Catherine, who had come from her house by curricle, had dragged her away. Catherine had insisted she needed tending, after her terrible shock. But not helping made her feel even worse, for all she could do was worry.

She had seen Jack’s back. His coat and shirt had been shredded, his back cut to ribbons by the rock. Blood had been pouring off his back. The doctor had spent an hour picking out dirt, bits of fabric, and small chunks of stone.

Jack had risked everything to protect her: his freedom, and his life.

She had almost lost him—all because she had done something reckless and irresponsible. Just as her mother had done, when she embarked on her affair. Mama had been hurt and had been seeking escape.

She’d done the same thing. And had hurt someone she loved.

Madeline hastened to the bed. The doctor had advised that Jack’s dressing should be changed, but not until he had gotten some sleep. She didn’t want to wake Jack.

She just wanted to . . . touch him. It seemed madness, but she wanted to stroke him, feel the warmth of his skin, ensure he was not running a fever. She needed to know he was alive. Safe.

She sat on the edge of the bed, which she could do since she had changed into her nightdress and didn’t have her stays digging into her. Fingers trembling, she reached for him—

Jack’s hand shot out and grasped hers.

She let out a yelp before she managed to bite her lip and keep her instinctive scream inside. Jack let her go, groaned, and gritted his teeth as he lifted on his arms, then shifted to sit on the bed. His chest was completely bare, except where linen bandages were wrapped around it. He had been bathed, and he smelled of citrusy bergamot.

His dark brows drew together. “I thought I was dreaming. Lady M., what are you doing here? You should be resting.”

Impulsively, she touched his lips. “The last thing I want to do is rest. How could I possibly sleep?”

He looked down, his lips cranked downward. “As soon as I can move around, I’m going to find out who fired that shot.”

He felt guilty because he could not pursue the shooter. Her heart ached.

“No. Jack, you have to go.” She told him of her discussion with Amelia. “She promised not to turn you in, but I am putting her in danger by having her keep such a secret. Oberon’s guards carried you back here, for heaven’s sake. I was sick with fear—that you were going to die, or that they would recognize they were holding the man they were supposed to catch.”

“I am not leaving while you are in danger.” His eyes narrowed. “You would not have been shot at if you hadn’t gone riding off. Why in God’s name did you take such a risk?”

She felt heat sweep over her cheeks. “I know I was a complete fool—”

“You were upset. Why? What in blazes did your father say?”

When she didn’t answer, he continued, hoarsely, “Lady M., did he hurt you? Or did you find out that your father killed Grace?”

A mad laugh bubbled off her lips. “No, not that. It was nothing to do with that.”

She broke off as his fingers settled gently against her cheek. He looked at her with such concern. She was so tired to keeping this secret inside. Jack had almost died because she had behaved like a rash idiot. He deserved to know why. For once, she wanted to tell the truth.

“I wanted to run away,” she admitted. “I wanted to escape this house. I wanted to escape my life. Of course, I couldn’t do that.”

He rose, wincing, and she was about to apologize for what she’d done, for how she’d hurt him, when his lips touched hers.

So gently. So softly.

Tears broke free and spilled to her cheeks. They rolled to her mouth, cool against her lips, which were now hot from kissing him.

“You can’t run away, Lady M. Your family loves and needs you.”

“My family hates me. They hate me for having all the money. Grandfather made me his sole heir and he had me promise I would look after them. Philip gambles, Father drinks too much, Mother is confused, Amelia is always lost in a book, and Grandfather feared that disaster would befall them if I was not in charge.”

Once the story began to spill out, it was hard to stop talking. Jack brushed her tears away and said soothingly, “They don’t hate—”

“They do. The truth is,” Madeline spat, “Lord Evershire is not really my father.”

Jack blinked. He’d heard her words, but maybe he did have a fever from infection. What she’d said didn’t make sense.

“I can see the shock in your eyes,” she said. “I’m illegitimate, just as you are. I thought—I’d hoped you would understand. That you wouldn’t despise me. But you are horrified. I can see it.”

“I’m not. I’m not the type of man who gets horrified.” The look on his face had to be one of shock. He couldn’t believe it: she had always appeared to rule the household. Madeline looked after everyone in her family. How could she not be Evershire’s daughter?

“I’ve never told this to anyone,” she rushed on. “I promised I would not. My parents were an arranged marriage—my father had the title, my mother a fortune. Father continued to keep mistresses and Mama was lonely. She fell in love with Eversleigh’s land steward—a man named Riley. He was my father. When I was born, Mama hated me at first. She was afraid she would be cast out for her sin. Just by being there, I used to make her cry. My grandfather mocked Father for losing Mama to a low-born man. So when he looks at me, Father remembers his embarrassment and pain.”

She twitched away from him like an abused horse shying from his hand. Deep pain showed in her eyes.

“They had no right to hurt you.” Rage at her parents and her grandfather rushed through him. In his world, being a nobleman’s bastard wasn’t a sin. But in her better world, illegitimacy carried far more of a price. Still, hell, how could they have blamed her?

“I can’t change what they think of me,” she said. “Or who I am.”

“It makes no difference to me who your father was. You are still you, still completely exquisite, Lady M.”

She shook her head. “My birth ruined my parents’ lives.  My foolishness almost killed you—”

“That is their bloody problem, not yours. I would gladly give my life to keep you safe. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Neither do you,” she said, impetuously. She lifted her head and met his eyes.

“Madeline—”

“It’s the truth. I feel as though I belong when I’m with you,” she whispered.

In a heartbeat, his world narrowed to her beautiful, defiant face, and the courage that glowed in her eyes. He kissed her again. As though it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands went around his neck, and she kissed him hungrily.

He loved her. He, who’d told her he wasn’t capable of love, was so mired in it he would never get free.

“You’ve pleasured me over and over,” she said huskily. “Let me pleasure you.”

Next thing he knew, her hands were undoing the buttons of his breeches.

* * *

He’d called her
exquisite
. He had tried to lift her spirits, her heart, her very soul. He was a magnificent man. His background, his gaming hells, his low birth: none of that mattered against who he was.

Breathing hard, she fumbled with his buttons. The tan fabric of his breeches revealed the long, curved shape of his erection. Firelight dancing along the ridge made it look huge. “Are your wounds hurting too much for this? Should I stop? I want you to savor this.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Savor what?”

She fought the skirts of her nightdress and got onto her knees, between his open legs. Wildly, wantonly, she drew aside the flap of his breeches and planted a kiss on the large, richly scented bulge in his small clothes. She looked up. There was a stunned look in his clover-green eyes.

She tugged his linens down and his erection lifted from his belly. It was long, astonishingly thick at the base. Wet, shiny, and smelling of his arousal. She ran her fingertip over the head, which had an endearing freckle on it.

He shuddered.

She managed to get his underclothes down to the large bullocks resting at the base, then she took him in her mouth. She tasted the salty flavor of his skin. Ripe and earthy, tempting and delicious. Her tongue brushed the firm head, which was soft and tight. Fluid bubbled up. Salty, sour juices that tickled her tongue. Sucking harder, she swallowed them.

Jack reached down and cupped her cheek. “I want this, Madeline. It’s beyond my wildest dreams, but ladies don’t—”

“Hush,” she admonished, around his cock, but it came out as an incoherent mumble. Did he not understand she was tired of trying to be a lady? This was true intimacy. This was adventure, and she’d always longed for adventure.

She waved his hand away and suckled him. The full head and part of the shaft filled her mouth. She didn’t dare take too much inside—it felt as if she could choke. She was nervous, a bit afraid.

Then Jack groaned in sheer pleasure. What a glorious, erotic sound. She loved it. She sucked, licked, swirled her tongue, and bobbed up and down until he was rasping her name like a drowning man crying for help.

But she had no idea exactly what to do. Her tongue sensed the different textures—the smooth ridge of the head, the rougher skin of his shaft, the pulsing sensation inside. Sneaking a glance at him beneath strands of loose hair, she saw him watching. His green eyes were large and glowing with delight and desire.

She ran her tongue down to the sack at the base. Hairs tickled her tongue. The balls ran away beneath his velvety skin when she licked him.

His eyes shut tight and his head dropped back. His throat made a long sensual line. “Your mouth is heaven, Maddy.”

He’d used her nickname. She couldn’t help but smile at how pained and eager he sounded. She felt an astonishing rush of power. To think she could make him so delighted just by tasting and exploring him. She sucked as vigorously as she could. His deep moans inflamed her, and she ached with need between her legs.

Her nipples went hard, brushing against her torturous shift. She wiggled, trying to ease the yearning and the heat building inside her. The more she bobbed her head up and down, the more she wanted to be filled . . . by Jack. By his cock . . .

Abruptly, he eased her mouth off him. “You have to stop. I’ll come if you don’t.”

Her breath came fast, her breasts pushed against her muslin nightdress.

“In your mouth,” he warned huskily. “You don’t want that.”

“But I do,” she said boldly. She suckled him until his head dropped back and his entire body went rigid. His hips bucked up and she clutched them, holding him as his seed shot into her mouth. Goodness, he was hot. She swallowed, knowing why he had kissed her between her legs. It was so intimate and thrilling to bestow pleasure.

She tried to bob again on the softening length of him, but he cupped her chin and eased her mouth up. He scooped her into his strong arms and placed her on his lap. Then he rolled her onto the bed. He was on top of her, kissing her intensely, and she knew he must taste himself on her lips.

His hips rested between her spread legs. With his trousers open, his bare cock nestled against her nightdress. Madeline was drowning in sensation. The smooth sheets brushed against her bared legs but Jack’s legs were between hers, long and firmly muscled. The warmth of his chest seemed to radiate and engulf her. The room smelled of many things—polish and the sweet woodsy scent of the fire. But the scents she savored were the ones clinging to Jack. Sandalwood, outdoor smells, the rich perfume of his warm skin.

Heavens, he was hard again, and she ached and tingled, and was so very, very wet.

“I have a sheath,” she whispered, her mouth just an inch from his.

Braced over her, his weight supported on his tensed, powerful arms, Jack blinked. “Where did you get such a thing?”

“I stole one.”

Jack had such an odd look on his face that she had to pause.

“From Philip’s room,” she admitted. “I would like to have a child. I am sensible enough to know I can’t. Not yet.” She knew she had made her choice. She wanted this man and no other.

She was willing to go with him, willing to leave her family, her position, her home. Everything. To support her family, she would give them most of her grandfather’s money, divided between them. She would take some for her and Jack. As for the promise she’d made to Grandfather to look after them all?

She had
tried
to be dutiful. She wanted love more.

Jack kissed her in a steamy play of lips that made her feel she had taken flight. He broke the heated joining of their mouths to undo the ties of her nightdress. He winced as he moved.

“This is hurting you.”

“No, it’s not. This is heaven,” he whispered, and one tug of his long-fingered hand opened the bow at the throat of her nightgown. While he did, he captured her mouth again.

This was what she’d fantasized about two years ago, when she had visited him at the stables. Having Jack. Being with him in this way. Just the two of them, apart from the world, undressing . . . touching and kissing.

Daringly, she pulled up the hem between their bodies. He moved back and she pulled her nightgown over her head and sent it sailing to the floor. Fear pricked her suddenly—she was naked. Utterly exposed to him. But the look in his eyes melted fear. He appeared awestruck as he gazed down at her.