Jilted in January (10 page)

She was delightfully wet for him as he eased one finger deep and a groan shuddered through him. She was still new at this; he should be careful and respectful and…

He yelped as Rose enclosed his cock with her fingers.

“Is this not permitted?” she asked. “I couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch you.”

“Everything is permitted,” he promised her, his voice hoarse. “Just relax your grip a little, or I will be coming before we are properly joined.”

“Coming?” She worked out how to slide her fingers up and down his hard column of flesh, and he was now bucking against her hand.

“Ejaculating, spilling my seed…
God
…”

He gently removed her hand and pressed his cock forward, easing his way inside her. “All right?”

“Mmm.” She sighed against his throat and locked her arms around his neck. “This is equally remarkable.”

“Good.”

He seemed done with talking as he advanced and retreated, keeping up a steady rhythm that had her clinging onto his neck and losing the ability to breathe other than gasping his name. His hand came under her bottom, lifting her into each thrust, mashing their flesh together in such a pleasing way that the tendril of excitement she’d first felt the previous night blossomed again.

Rose concentrated on it, opening herself wider, forgetting all decorum and just seeking the carnal satisfaction he offered her so willingly. With a soft curse, he drew her slippered feet up until they were planted on the edge of the desk.

“Oh yes,” she breathed as the tightening sensation increased, becoming everything in her vision. “Don’t
stop
, don’t…”

He groaned as he pounded into her, his fingers sliding between them to pluck at the core of her. It was almost too much as she finally broke over and around him. He roared his pleasure deep and hot within her.

It took a long while before she was willing to untangle herself and allow him to offer his handkerchief to stem the flow of his seed. Even that mundane task didn’t embarrass her, none of it did. She had no idea what the time was or if anyone had interrupted them at any point. She didn’t care.

“I think a newly married couple should be allowed to stay in their bedchamber for at least a week and not be expected to do anything but this,” Rose remarked.

He was retying his disordered cravat and setting himself to rights with a speed that amazed her. “I believe that’s why a lot of couples go away after the ceremony.” He frowned. “I should have thought about it. Is there anywhere you would like to go? To your sister in London, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.”

She smoothed down her skirts and stood, her legs a little wobbly. It was probably for the best that Colin didn’t have a mirror in his office or else she might have to consider what she looked like right now.

He walked over to her and smoothed his thumb over her cheek. He was as handsome as ever and quite immaculate. “You look beautiful.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Because you have a very expressive face.” He kissed her gently. “
And
you were patting your hair. Shall I walk you back up to the main house?”

“So I can go to sleep?” She sighed. “It is quite tempting. I confess I am rather tired after our exertions.”

“That’s to be expected.” He frowned. “I should not have indulged myself just now. It was—”

She placed her hand over his mouth. “It was delightful. I am fine.” The sound of breaking glass made her glance around. “What on
earth
?”

Colin wrapped his arm around her waist and practically threw them both to the floor, rolling until they were concealed behind the massive desk. Rose struggled to her knees and was held in check by the strength of his arm.

He whispered close to her ear. “Someone’s trying to get in.”

“I gathered that. But who?”

The curtains that covered the window farthest away from them had been closed and were now rippling and bulging as someone climbed in over the low sill. Colin eased away from her, his body tense and ready to spring.

There was a muttered curse, and the thick curtains parted fully to reveal a large man wearing an old-fashioned frock coat with deep pockets and a high collar. His scarf was pulled up over his face, and his tricorn hat kept his eyes in shadow. It was the kind of coat Rose had frequently seen featured on reward posters for highwaymen and ruffians. He also carried a cudgel, which he had obviously used to break the glass.

Colin looked at her, and he held his finger to his lips. She glared at him. Did he think her so nonsensical that she was going to swoon or do something foolish?

The man came farther into the room, his gaze intent on the bookshelves to the left of the desk. He reached into his pocket and brought out a grimy piece of paper, his lips moving as he sounded out the words.

“Left side. Top row. First four books.”

Rose stiffened as Colin reached forward, opened the top right-hand drawer of the desk, and retrieved a pistol. As the man reached on his tiptoes for the books, Colin stood.

“Put your hands in the air.”

The man spun around, the books already in his hand, and lobbed them straight at Colin’s head. His aim was good and knocked the pistol right out of Colin’s grip.

With a curse, Colin ducked as the books continued their flight and smashed into the wall above Rose’s head. The man turned to flee, and Colin launched himself forward, crashing the ruffian to the floor.

Rose watched in horror as a meaty fist collided with the side of Colin’s head, snapping it back. Fury gathered in her chest, and she picked up one of the heavy leather-bound estate books from the desk and advanced stealthily on the distracted pair, who were now exchanging blows and wrestling like amateur prize fighters.

Another blow to Colin’s shoulder and he fell back to the floor, his eyes closing as the intruder roared in triumph. Rose took a step back, braced herself, and brought the full force of the book crashing down against the revolting marauder’s head. He fell forward like a stunned ox. Rose followed him down, hitting him twice more for good measure as Colin struggled to pull himself from under the fallen man’s large frame.

“Are you all right?” Rose gasped.

His mouth was bloodied, and there was a darkening bruise on his high cheekbone.

“We need to tie him up and get someone to fetch the local magistrate.” Kicking off her shoes, Rose removed her stockings and handed them to Colin. “Use these.”

Between them they trussed the thief up like a pig bound for market. He was beginning to come around, and his language was quite dreadful.

“Rose, go to the main house and ask Mrs. Pemberley to send two of the footmen to help us. We’ll take him to the stables where we can lock him up nice and tight until the authorities can deal with him.”

Nodding, Rose handed him back his handkerchief and kissed him briefly on the nose. “My hero.”

His smile was crooked. “I believe you saved
me,
Mrs. Ford. Not that I am complaining. You gave him a mighty wallop with that book.”

“I pretended I was playing cricket.” She hesitated. “When I saw him hurting you—all I could think about was hurting him back. I cannot imagine being without you now.”

He gently touched her cheek. “Go and fetch Mrs. Pemberley.”

She struggled to her feet. “I will do so immediately.” She was almost at the door when he spoke again.

“Rose?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

She stared at his beloved battered face and then her vision blurred. “Oh, Colin…”

“Don’t cry. I meant it as a compliment.”

She smiled at him. “I know. It’s just such a beautiful thing to hear.”

Colin’s smile faded as soon as his wife was clear of the room. He turned back to the trussed up man on the floor.

“Did Mr. Morehouse send you?”

His captive remained stubbornly silent. Colin checked that the makeshift bonds were secure and then went to pick up his pistol and the books the man had thrown at him. To his surprise, all four books were still in one clump, which explained why they’d knocked the pistol clean out of his hand and damaged at least two of his fingers.

He set the books on his desk, examined the now-broken spine, and slid his pocketknife between the pages to discover a hollow space within. A latch clicked open, and he blinked at the sudden blaze of precious gems and gold.

“Good Lord.” He poked one finger into the box, stirring up the contents, which looked both remarkably fine and very old-fashioned. “The lost treasure of the Beckworths, I presume? So this was what Mr. Morehouse was looking for.” He closed the lid of the box.

Crouching down beside the man, he felt his way into both the large pockets of his coat, bringing out a lethal-looking knife, a snuff box, a clay pipe, and all manner of keys and picks. Eventually, he found the scrap of paper he was looking for and stood.

“This note you brought with you? I know it is from Mr. Morehouse. I recognize the writing. It can be used in evidence against you.” He paused. “You might as well tell me what he promised you in return for stealing from the estate of a duke—a very serious offense, as you must well know.” Colin pretended to sigh. “Seeing as you’re the one who’ll be going to the gallows, not him, I do hope it was worth it.”

“I don’t bloody know a Mr. Morehouse.”

Colin sat on the edge of his desk, cleaned his pistol, and carefully reloaded it, making sure his companion could see what he was doing. His fingers were hurting, and he could barely use them. “And what might your name be?”

“None of your business.”

“True, but if I knew your name, and you were to share Mr. Morehouse’s instructions about where you are to meet him to hand over the stolen goods, then I might ask the authorities to have mercy on you. Otherwise, you will hang.”

Colin looked up as two of the stoutest footmen entered through the door. “Ah, James, can you help our visitor to his feet? We will lock him in the stables until the local magistrate is able to retrieve him. Hopefully that won’t take too long, although he might be in London at the moment.”

“Look at the size of him, Jack!” James poked the captive with his toe. “Mrs. Ford said you were a hero, Mr. Ford. She said you saved her life.”

“Hardly that.” Colin couldn’t help but notice the admiration on the faces of the two footmen, who were both at least six inches taller than him and twice as broad. It felt remarkably good. He almost hoped his father got to hear about it. “Nothing to it, really.”

He stood back as the man was wrestled to his feet and met his gaze. “We could just send you to London to be dealt with at one of the magistrates courts up there. The duke does have a London address as well.”

“You ain’t taking me to London.”

“You’re hardly in a position to stop me, are you?” Colin strolled toward him. “What’s wrong with London? Do they know you there? I’ll wager they do. Tell me where you were due to meet Mr. Morehouse, and I’ll make sure you stay here.”

In response, the man spat on the floor right at Colin’s feet.

Colin nodded at the footmen. “Take him away, and make sure he’s guarded night and day.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited until they had left and went back to pick up the hidden box of jewels. Mrs. Pemberley or the butler would know a safe place to keep the treasure trove until the duke came home. He had high hopes the thief would think over his offer and reveal where Mr. Morehouse was hiding. If he didn’t, Colin would make inquiries in Southampton. He had no doubt that with the duke’s authority behind him, the true culprit would soon be apprehended.

And in the meantime, he would go and find his new wife, allow her to cosset him and treat him like a hero, even if he wasn’t one, and maybe let her try on the jewelry before he handed it over for safekeeping. He grinned and then groaned as his bruised cheek throbbed. Who would’ve thought living in the comparative peace of the countryside would be so exciting? In one day, he’d gained a wife and a reputation as a gallant hero.

His entire future suddenly looked far…
rosier.