Nicole Jordan (39 page)

For a long while, they remained immobile, gasping for breath, their bodies fused, his face buried in her hair. Antonia continued to cling to him, savoring the hot, sleek rapture of their joining. She felt fully sated, impossibly weak.

Deverill was also, but he found himself cursing the raw, reckless hunger that had driven him. He never should have come here, never should have touched her, but he had lost the battle with himself. He’d given in to his savage need for her—

Suddenly he went still. He hadn’t pulled out of Antonia before climax as he should have, either, or allowed her time to use any sponges. He’d felt her coming apart beautifully in his arms and had let himself shatter with her, needing to claim her in the most primal way possible.

Deverill exhaled a harsh breath, acknowledging the futility of his struggle. Henceforth, he would give up trying to fight himself and the powerful desire between them.

Holding Antonia against him, he carried her to the bunk and withdrew from her body as he lowered her to the blankets. Then he removed her shift and lit a lantern so he could better see her. The sight took his breath away—her bare body white and wanton and shimmering in the golden lamplight.

She watched him as well, her eyes languorous as he stepped back to shed the rest of his clothing. When he settled a hip on the bunk beside her, Antonia raised her arms to embrace him and pull him down to join her.

Deverill, however, shook his head. “I would relish making love to you until neither of us can walk, but we have a critical matter to discuss.”

She would have liked to pull a blanket up to screen herself from his intense regard, but Deverill was sitting on the edge of the covers. “Very well, what is it?”

“I want your solemn promise that you will do as I say when we reach London. I can’t have you running off to challenge Heward behind my back.”

“I won’t, Deverill, I promise. But I would like to know what you are planning. You said you wanted to provoke him into confessing by setting a trap for him. What exactly did you mean by that? How do you intend to trap him?”

He hesitated a long moment. “By using myself as bait.”

Antonia sat up in sudden alarm. “What? You cannot! You could be killed.”

Deverill’s mouth curled. “Thank you for your faith in me, love.”

“I have no doubt you are fearless, but you know Heward will likely use any means necessary to get you out of his way.”

“I am counting on it,” Deverill said darkly.

“I wish there were some other course,” she murmured. “I could never live with myself if you came to harm.”

“There is no other course, Antonia. If I want Heward to figuratively hang himself, I have to give him the proper incentive. He’ll find the chance for revenge against me irresistible.”

“I suppose so.” She took a steadying breath and reached out to lightly touch his bare chest. “I meant what I said, Deverill. I want to help you if I can.”

He shook his head. “You would only be in the way. I can handle Heward alone.”

“Perhaps, but surely there is some way I could be of use to you.” When Deverill frowned, Antonia put forth another argument. “Sir Gawain said there are a number of women who serve as Guardians because they are better suited for certain tasks.”

“Yes, but they have trained for years for their roles.”

“But luring Heward may be a role I can play. I am still betrothed to him. Heward will be eager to see me, if only to discover what I intend to do about our betrothal. You can use me to bait your trap for him.”

“It would be too dangerous.”

Antonia brushed a savage scar that marred the perfection of his body. “Deverill, you cannot protect me forever. I can’t be shielded from all harm, wrapped in cotton wool until I suffocate. I have a mind and will of my own. Please . . .” She looked up at him, gazing deeply into his eyes. “I need to help you. Please let me.”

A muscle ticked in Deverill’s jaw as his logical mind warred with his deepest instincts. It was true that Antonia could be of considerable help in setting a trap for Heward, significantly increasing their odds for success, if he could only bring himself to relinquish his irrational fear for her.

He was a Guardian, yet he couldn’t recall ever feeling this savage an urge to hold and protect anyone. He was filled with a desperate need to keep Antonia safe—an emotional vulnerability that had little to do with his past demons, he was beginning to realize. But if he was careful enough, he could manage to protect her. . . .

Dragging in a slow breath, Deverill reached up to cradle her face in both hands as he gazed down into her eyes. “If I let you participate, I want your solemn vow that you will do
exactly
as I tell you, without question or protest.”

“I will. I promise. I swear it absolutely.”

“Without question.”

“Yes, without question.”

He set his teeth, praying he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. “Very well, then. I will revise my plans to include you.”

Her smile was so bright, so beautiful, it made his chest burn. And when Antonia flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat, it only compounded the feeling.

“Thank you, Deverill. You won’t regret it, I swear it.”

Helplessly, he curled one arm around her while the other stroked her hair, his hand unsteady. It was absurd, how she affected him. Desire made him shudder, while the surge of tenderness and longing that coursed through him nearly disabled him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Deverill cursed silently. This woman turned him inside out, tied him into square knots. He couldn’t deny it. Antonia had managed to become an obsession. One he didn’t want.

One he didn’t want to live without.

That kind of need dismayed him. And then she drew away and sank back against the pillows, raising her arms in an invitation to join her. Her skin gleamed like pale gold in the lamplight as she lay waiting for him, her ripe, graceful body bare and beckoning.

Deverill felt his manhood throb, begging for her touch as he stretched out beside her on the bunk. He was already hard and near to bursting, his blatant hunger obvious, even before Antonia tilted her face up for his kiss.

He covered her mouth, wanting to taste it more than he wanted his next breath.

He drank of her, wondering if the urgency would ever lessen. He doubted it, though. He had sated himself with her only moments ago, yet he never felt as if he had enough.

When she parted her legs, welcoming him, he sank in hard, filling her. At her passionate whimper, he gathered Antonia more tightly against him, wanting to absorb her, wanting to draw her inside his very soul. Need pounded through his body, a driving, desperate, mind-blotting need to possess her.

For a score of heartbeats, she shared the same desperate need as they arched and clung together in frantic, urgent rhythm. Then Antonia shuddered wildly against him, crying out in explosive climax as she drew Deverill over the edge with her.

It was only when it was over, when he lay collapsed and panting beside her, that he again recalled she hadn’t used the sponges. The next thought that struck Deverill took his breath away: He could have impregnated her. She could be with child at this very moment.

Emotions he didn’t know he possessed jammed around his heart. If Antonia was carrying his child, he was prepared to deal with the consequences. She would marry him—even if he had to chain her to him until she agreed.

And if there was no child?

Then she would damned well marry him anyway, Deverill pledged silently. He would just have to convince her.

Antonia was set on marrying a title, but she would be better off wed to him than some boring, milksop nobleman. He could give her the exciting adventures she craved, at least. And he could see that her shipping company was well run. He would certainly appreciate her spirit and passion far more than any other man. And he was more qualified than anyone else to keep her and her fortune safe from malefactors.

Additionally, Antonia was better qualified to be his bride than any other woman. She would understand his need to continue his life’s mission. With her, he would not have to abandon the Guardians or forsake his deep-seated compulsion to atone for the past.

It would still be a marriage of convenience, of course. There would be nothing more to their union—no deeper bond—than mutual desire and a shared love of adventure.

Ignoring the faint, scoffing voice in his head that told him he was deceiving himself, Deverill drew Antonia’s languid body closer against him. When she stirred suggestively in his arms, though, he couldn’t ignore the fierce wave of possessiveness that swept through him.

He wasn’t letting her go, Deverill vowed, finding her lips with his own.

He couldn’t force the issue of their marriage just now with matters so uncertain. But he promised himself that when this was all over—if it ever was over—he would pursue Antonia until she gave in and consented to be his wife.

Seventeen

London, August 1815

“Are you certain you are all right, my dear?” Phineas Cochrane demanded of Antonia, taking her hands. “I have been prodigiously worried for you this past month.”

The concern on the elderly barrister’s cherubic face warmed her heart. “Yes, I am perfectly well, Phineas. Deverill took excellent care of me during our stay in Cornwall. You know Mr. Trey Deverill, I believe?”

“I do.” Releasing her, Phineas turned to pump Deverill’s hand. “I am immensely grateful to you, sir, for keeping Miss Maitland safe from harm.”

“It was no more than my duty,” Deverill replied.

The pudgy, balding barrister was a full head shorter than Deverill and at least half a head shorter than the other company in the modest parlor—three gentlemen whom Antonia had herself just met.

She watched as Deverill performed the introductions. He’d sent his friends word of his arrival as soon as his schooner docked late that afternoon, but had waited until dark before driving Antonia to the St. James Street apartments of Beau Macklin.

Macky was a handsome, chestnut-haired, roguish fellow who admitted to being a former actor. While they’d waited for the others to arrive, Macky had gallantly plied Antonia with wine and soon had her smiling over his amusing tales of the theater, despite the deadly seriousness of their reason for meeting.

They were joined shortly by Viscount Thorne and Mr. Alex Ryder, both striking, charismatic men, Antonia noted. She had met Lord Thorne before on several occasions. He was fair-haired and rakishly charming, while the much darker Ryder appeared lean and hard and dangerous. Yet despite their differences, both men had an indefinable quality that set them apart from every other tonnish gentlemen of her acquaintance.

Without being told, Antonia had somehow known they were Deverill’s fellow Guardians—an instinctive presumption he had confirmed by explaining their various roles in the order.

When Phineas Cochrane arrived moments later, they resumed their seats and apprised the barrister of their investigation thus far—summarizing the case they’d developed against Heward and listing the witnesses who had been persuaded to testify against him, the most damning being the club owner Madam Bruno.

Then they began to discuss Deverill’s plan to bring Lord Heward to justice.

Antonia was troubled that Deverill would serve as the bait to lure the baron into incriminating himself, but she listened silently as he explained his intent to the barrister and answered questions.

“I mean to beat Heward at his own game,” Deverill asserted. “To use his weaknesses against him.”

“And those weaknesses might be?” Phineas Cochrane prompted.

“His craving for wealth and power, for one thing. His jealously of me. And his absolute fury at being bested. Heward has worked too hard to gain command of Miss Maitland’s fortune to abandon his scheme now. When he sees it slipping through his grasp and falling into my hands, he will act decisively to prevent it.”

Phineas pursed his lips in agreement. “No doubt his lordship is enraged that you eluded his attempt to frame you for murder.”

Deverill nodded. “And his failure will make him even more determined to succeed now. I suspect he would like nothing more than to kill me. Therefore, I will make myself available as a target—but at a time and place of my choosing, where I can better control the circumstances.”

“So that you may expose his treachery,” Phineas mused. “You say you will attempt to provoke Heward into confessing his crimes?”

“Precisely. Even though we have witnesses who are willing to testify against him, convicting Heward of felony will require a high threshold of proof, since he can only be tried by the Lords, and his peers will require conclusive evidence of his guilt. Simply persuading a magistrate to support a warrant against him
will be difficult. I need to elicit a public confession from Heward—to confirm to any doubters that he’s a murderer—so he can be immediately arrested and imprisoned until his trial, and more importantly, so he is likely to be convicted.”

Alex Ryder spoke up and addressed the barrister. “We also need to ensure that Deverill is cleared of all murder charges. The Bow Street Runner who tried to arrest him last month has agreed to delay action to allow us the chance to prove his innocence.”