Margo Maguire (7 page)

Jenny left the room and Christina tried to make her mind a blank. But now that all was quiet, she found it impossible. She pictured Captain Briggs’s hands, large and capable. His fingers were long and blunt-tipped, and thick blue veins tracked across their backs.

She could not keep herself from imagining their touch.

T
he room shifted slightly when Gavin stood. He was not accustomed to quite so much drink, but the occasion had warranted it. He was doing what he must to ensure the income he needed. He did not have to like it, and he could appreciate that at least this time, he didn’t have to do anything too abhorrent to earn his pay.

He had to believe Weybrook Manor was perfect for his needs, that it would be a good home for Eleanor. Far from Durham and their father, they need never have any contact with the rest of the Briggs family again.

But the property could easily slip through his fingers. Going to London with Christina would set him back a month. Ten days to Town and ten days back, minimum. There would be a day or two—maybe more—to deal with the blackmailer and follow up on what might transpire at All Hallows Church. And then back to Windermere.

He should have followed his instinct at Sweethope Cottage and abducted her. He could have just tossed her onto his horse and taken her to Windermere and been done with it. Collected his ten thousand pounds and gone down to Hampshire to haggle over the price of the property with the owner, old Mr. Wickford.

But then he would not have seen Christina in her bedroom, wearing the revealing chemise. He would not have touched the curls near her ear and known the silky texture of her hair.

He wouldn’t have spent the day’s ride thinking about touching her again.

He made his way to the staircase, more than ready for a night’s sleep. Clearly, he should not have imbibed quite so heavily, for his footsteps were unsteady as he climbed the steps, and his head was full of folly. He just wanted a good night’s rest and to be ready to ride at least forty miles on the morrow.

The candles in the sconces cast flickering shadows across the corridor. Gavin had not yet visited his room, but the innkeeper had said it was the one before the last on the right. He switched his traveling pack to his other hand and opened the door to find a fire burning steadily, and candles already lit.

“Jenny?”

The sound of Christina’s voice stopped him in his tracks. And when he glanced to his left, he saw her, stepping out of her bath, naked and so stunning, he dropped his pack to the floor.

He didn’t know if he would ever recover from the sight she presented. Somehow, he managed to pick up his pack and walk to the bed, if a bit unsteadily. He dropped the pack on the bed and turned to look at her again.

Chapter 6

C
hristina let out a little scream and reached for the linen towel Jenny had left for her. She covered herself quickly, but it did not stop a ripple of shock—and an acute awareness of his heated masculine gaze—from coursing through her.

His sudden appearance in her room and her ridiculously improper reaction to his presence astonished her.

But not so much that she forgot what she needed to do. Holding the towel in front of her, she extended her arm and pointed to the door. “Get out!”

But he did not move.

Christina felt the cool air of the room at her back, and when his gaze slid down the length of her body, so poorly concealed by the linen, she shivered. Arousal hit like a fist unfurling in the deepest recesses of her body. She felt her nipples tighten as the wave of lusty awareness spread. No one had ever looked at her as Captain Briggs was looking at her now, and her body responded with a will of its own.

“You’re in my room,” he said. He stood far too close, his feet separated and braced upon the floor as though planted on the deck of a rocky ship.

“You are mistaken, Captain Briggs.” Her voice sounded breathless. “This is
my
room.”

He shook his head, and some of his disheveled hair fell forward onto his forehead.

He was so tall and rugged, his face all masculine planes and angles with the dark hint of beard on his jaw. Christina knew his hands would be strong and abrasive against her skin, unlike Edward’s soft, smooth ones. Some perverse part of her hoped he would ignore her demand to leave.

Such a thought was beyond shocking. He had to go.

“Captain Briggs.” She attempted to wrap the linen around her body without revealing any more than she already had.

“Would y’like some help?” He walked toward her.

“No!” She said in a panic, pulling the sheet tight against her. She did not know what she would do if he touched her.

Allow it, no doubt. Right after she melted.

She took a deep breath. “You must go, Captain Briggs.”

He stared at her a moment, then took a quick glance around the room. If she was not mistaken, he lost his balance slightly. “This looksh pervect t’ me.”

“You’re drunk!”

“The hell y’ say.” His mirthful tone grated on her nerves. How dare he come into her private quarters in this condition.
In any condition!

“Your words are slurred,” she said, stalking toward him, “and you’re weaving.”

“Weaving?”

“Swaying.”

“Bluddy hell. I’m not drunk. I never drink.”

Christina took hold of his arm, keeping a death grip on the towel. “I saw you drinking in the taproom when I arrived.”

“Not yushed to it.”

He started to sit down on the bed, but Christina did not allow it. She pulled his arm and dragged him away from the bed, moving him toward the door. “Go and find your own bed.”

“I’d rather sleep in yours.”

Christina swallowed. “You cannot, Captain Briggs. Not now or ever. Go away.” Anywhere but there.

She pushed him out the door and closed it after him, turning the key in the lock, something she had sadly neglected to do after Jenny’s earlier departure.

W
hen morning came, Gavin’s head felt as though it were filled with cotton batting. It throbbed without mercy, but fortunately, the innkeeper had a cure for it. He gave Gavin a bitter concoction of tea and herbs that helped take away the worst of the ache.

But not the memory of telling Christina he’d like to sleep in her bed. Or something on that order.

Hell’s bells.

He took his leave just before dawn, torn between feasting his eyes upon Christina when she came down, and getting far ahead of her carriage so she would not have an opportunity to see him in his current rough state.

He did not generally consider himself a coward, but an early departure won the day.

He might have imbibed too much whiskey the night before, but he remembered everything in perfect detail. Climbing—well, staggering—up the stairs, entering Christina’s bedchamber. Her glance of surprise. Her smooth, soft curves. His glimpse of her small, pink nipples and full breasts before she covered herself with the thin linen toweling. Her long, shapely legs . . .

He hardened at the thought of her shining green eyes and the way they’d flashed with anger. He realized she had passion to spare underneath her prim mourning clothes and haughty temperament.

He found himself envying her husband.

For a man who’d had little enough reason to care what any woman thought of him, Gavin was surprisingly sensitive to the way Christina might judge him. And he could not help but wonder how her body would feel beneath his.

She elicited a hunger in him like some wild animal just coming out of hibernation—his senses more acute, his need more real than he could ever recall.

Tamping down such ridiculous, irrational musings, he found Hancock in the stable, preparing for their departure. When Trevor joined them, they agreed they would fire one shot in case of any trouble. Even so, Gavin did not intend to ride too far ahead. He would stay well within hearing of a gunshot, as he made sure the road ahead was safe.

C
hristina awoke several times during the night, feeling certain someone had entered her bedchamber. Each time, she discovered she had only imagined it, or dreamed it.

And each time, she felt an acute disappointment that Captain Briggs had not returned to her.

Such a fantasy was beyond absurd. She had no business thinking of the man in any terms beyond his function as her escort to London and the man who would help her deal with her blackmailer. Whatever sensations he’d aroused when he’d barged in on her were inappropriate and unwanted.

Well, perhaps not unwanted, if she were honest. The frank admiration she’d seen in his eyes had been exhilarating.

She longed for a man’s attentions. A man’s touch.

But not just any man. Certainly not a mercenary who collected bounties on the people he sought.

She dressed before Jenny came up, and ran a brush through her hair. Then she marched down to the dining room to speak to Captain Briggs before they left the inn. She wasn’t sure whether she was more annoyed with herself or Briggs, but she intended to chastise him for his drunkenness the night before. And more importantly, for invading the privacy of her room, unannounced and uninvited.
Sleep in her bed
, indeed!

She ignored the shiver that skittered up her spine when she recalled the moment he saw her, and the blatant admiration in his gaze. What Captain Briggs thought of her was inconsequential. No doubt the sight of any nearly naked female would arouse the same reaction in most men. And her unruly body had merely reacted the way any woman would when placed in such an intimate situation.

Or perhaps only a woman who craved the knowing touch of an attractive man.

She banished such thoughts from her mind and walked into the dining room. There were several travelers there, some of whom were drinking cups of hot tea, and others preparing to depart. Christina did not see Hancock or Trevor, but as she looked about, Jenny came from one of the back rooms, carrying a tray with a cup and a steaming teapot on it.

She moved in the direction of the staircase, but stopped when she saw Christina. “My lady. You’re already . . . I thought I would wake you with a nice hot cup of tea.”

“Thank you, Jenny. Where are the others?”

“Hitching the horses,” she said, placing the tray on a nearby table.

“Did you see Captain Briggs this morning?”

“No, my lady,” Jenny replied. “Do you want me to try to find him?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Perhaps he’s in the stable with Hancock.”

“ ’Tis likely, my lady.” Jenny poured tea into the cup. “Shall I go get your bag so we can leave right away?”

“Yes, please.” Christina sat down and looked out the window as Jenny left the room. She felt oddly let down when she did not catch even a glimpse of her escort.

She sipped her tea and turned her thoughts to what she was going to do when they arrived in London. Her plan was to take her valuables to a few discreet, reputable jewelers and sell them for the banknotes she needed. Then she would place the money inside the lectern at All Hallows Church and hope they caught sight of the scoundrel before he took the packet and slipped away.

Christina had never visited the church, and had only been to the Tower area once. Captain Briggs seemed to know it, which would be very helpful—she hoped. Perhaps there was a concealed place where they might lie in wait and watch for the rascal who knew Lang’s whereabouts.

And then, Captain Briggs could apprehend him.

Briggs was a daunting figure. He was obviously stronger than most men, and clever enough to have found her and her sister. Surely, he would be able to get the information she needed from the blackmailer without too much difficulty. He would retrieve her money from the scoundrel and demand answers. And when they knew where Lang was . . .

Then it became complicated. Whatever they learned about Lang, Christina would want to go to her brother. He must be in some sort of difficulty, and Christina intended to help him out of it.

But that would interfere with her promise to return to Windermere with Briggs if he helped her in London.

She gazed out the window, considering what to do, when he came out of the stable, leading his horse. He smiled broadly at one of the young grooms and flipped him a coin. Then he mounted his horse with the muscular mastery of a seasoned horseman, and rode out of the stable yard without looking back.

And then Christina remembered to breathe.

I
t was a long ride to their next stop, a roadside inn not far from North Riding. This one was smaller than the Middleton Arms, located in a nearly isolated spot at a crossroads.

Gavin would have preferred a more populous site, but the day’s ride had been closer to fifty miles than forty. He was sure Lady Fairhaven and her maid would be more than ready to stop by the time they arrived.

He took rooms for their party and made a point of checking on the exact location of the chamber where Christina would be lodged. He had no intention of repeating his mistake of the night before. And he would not drink, either. He had no interest in muddling his mind as he had done the previous night, even if it did help him forget his concerns.

It had only raised a few new ones that were just as disturbing to his body and soul.

Christina was unlikely to arrive for a while, so Gavin followed the innkeeper to his own room and settled in alone, the way he’d done through most of his adult life, following orders and completing assignments. Tracking the enemies of the crown had occupied far too many years, and his deeds weighed heavily upon his conscience. He’d obeyed his orders without question, as any good soldier would do.

But now that he saw so many English soldiers home from the war, he knew any one of them might have been the target of an enemy assassin’s bullet. An assassin like him.

Gavin suppressed the wave of disgust that came over him and thought about the nights he’d gone without a roof over his head, following his prey until the right moment, and then . . .

Perhaps he wasn’t civilized enough to live a quiet life in the country. Maybe he ought not to live with Eleanor and her child. After all he’d done during the war years, his presence might poison the household, poison his niece.

It seemed Amelia had made the right choice, after all, though her abandonment still stung.

Gavin made an attempt at civility and took the time to shave, removing his shirt for the task. He washed, and took a moment to examine the wound in his arm. It was healing well, probably due to the attention given it by Christina at Sweethope. Satisfied with its progress, he took the mended shirt out of his pack and pulled it over his head. Christina had been the one to repair it, he was quite sure. But she seemed not to want it known.

Because a viscountess ought to be above such menial tasks? No doubt that was true. But he’d seen it on her dressing table the night he’d broached her room at Holywell, and he could smell her sweet fragrance when he pulled it over his head. He could almost imagine her soft hands—

Appalled that such mawkish tripe even entered his mind, Gavin pulled on his waistcoat and jacket. What difference did it make, who’d mended the shirt? She’d damaged it—it was only right that she fix it.

Just as she’d fixed his arm.

There was still some time before dark, and Gavin felt restless. He went down to the public room of the inn and ordered an innocent glass of ale while he waited for Christina’s party to arrive. Turning as a large group of travelers came inside, Gavin nearly choked at the sight of a thickset man with sandy brown hair, wearing a monocle.

Chetwood!

No, Gavin realized with limited relief, it was not Baron Chetwood, but a man who looked so much like him, the sight of him gave Gavin a start.

He put down his glass, his mind suddenly racing. He had discounted the possibility that Chetwood would have any reason to want to do harm to Christina. But what if the baron had not learned of the change in Windermere’s will? What if Lily and her husband had not yet managed to travel to Windermere Park and demand the changes?

Feeling something akin to panic, Gavin realized it was possible there was some reason they hadn’t yet left Ashby Hall. Which meant Christina could still be a target of her grandfather’s wrathful heir.

He should have thought of it sooner. He never should have gone up to Edinburgh on his search for Christina before making sure
himself
that the old duke had made the changes to his will and informed Chetwood of them.

He muttered a low curse under his breath and quickly stormed out of the inn. Returning to the stable, he did not wait for a groom to saddle his horse again, but quickly did it himself, and then mounted up.

If Chetwood didn’t know about the change in the will, he might have hired some more ruffians to do his dirty work as he’d tried with Lily. And even if he did know, Gavin suspected the baron was petty and vicious enough to demonstrate his displeasure at losing a large portion of Windermere’s possessions.