SHK (23 page)

She made kittenish sounds as she pushed upward against his downward moves, and then her walls clenched about him, cradling him in the most incredible sheath of heat and dampness.

André could no longer help himself, he pounded into her, feeling his seed spurt in copious amounts. Merde, it had been a long time since he had been with a woman, and never one as passionate as Stormy.

Spent, he rolled on his side, taking her with him, clasping her to his body in a cherished embrace. Oh God, he loved this woman-child, and he had never dared to hope to claim her for himself. Kissing her face, her throat, her breasts, his hands traveled her body in a continuous caress.

Stormy kissed him back, delighted that they were still joined together. André stopped and stared into her eyes. “Are you sore, petite?” She shook her head and rocked against him to prove her point. Her eyes widened in surprise, when she felt him harden inside her. With an impish smile she pushed him to his back and started to ride him with the expertise of the born equestrian.

André’s breath hissed through his gritted teeth as he gripped the mattress beneath him.

“Mon Dieu,” he gritted, “if I did not know you were a virgin when you came to this bed, I would think you were an accomplished courtesan.”

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Stormy barely heard him. She felt a blossom of heat explode in her abdomen and she rode him even harder, glad when he grabbed her hips and helped her along. They exploded together in breathless wonder.

Smiling down at her, he said wistfully, “We call this part “le petit mort” in my native language,” he explained as he rolled her to her back, stroking her tousled hair from her face. “It is like a little death.” He kissed her softly. “You amaze me, petite. I feel like the luckiest man on earth. But I know you have to be hungry. Let’s get dressed and go upstairs and see what the captain might have to offer in way of food.”

In answer, she nuzzled his neck and rubbed her naked breasts across his bare torso. “I am hungry for you, lover. Food can wait. We need to make the most of the time we have left with each other.”

Her words had the effect of a bucket of cold water on André. Time was running out for them. Time was running out for him. Once they landed in Liverpool he had no idea what he was supposed to do with Stormy. He had not planned to sail there.

He gently, but firmly grabbed her by her upper arms and set her away. He raked both hands through his hair and briefly closed his eyes to hide his desperation. “Stormy. I have a confession to make. You see, I had not planned to sail on the Mystic, not anywhere. I intended to deliver you into the hands and the safety of Captain Simon and then ride back to Emerald Hills. I was to meet Stuart there, and together we were going to ride to Bellingshire, rest up and refine plans to bring Snowden to justice.”

Stormy straightened up and wrenched free. Her eyes reflected the anguish his confession had caused. “You mean to tell me you were just going to drop me off like a sack of potatoes and then be on your way again?”

“Please, understand, Stormy. I wanted to spare you from further grief. Snowden is an unknown entity. He proved he is without honor, when he took you prisoner, and I don’t even want to think on what he might have done, had I not found you in time.”

Stormy wriggled off the bed, snatched up the shift she had discarded earlier and drew it over her head. “Ah, so now you want me to be grateful that you rescued me from the sheriff’s clutches? Well, think no more. As far as I am concerned, we are finished. You are a cad. But then I always knew that. You left me at the inn that night after you stole me from my parents.

You walked out on me at the Hunting Lodge, and now you are going to weasel out of ….” She left the sentence unfinished, because she had said earlier she didn’t want marriage, just make love. How could men be so dense? Of course, she wanted to make love – the thought sent a coil of desire through her—she didn’t regret it, but she had expected him to demand her hand in marriage.

“I am not weaseling out of anything, Stormy. I told you I have unfinished business with Snowden. This—he pointed to the blood stain on her bed, feeling a sudden remorse and guilt—

should have never happened. What red blooded male could resist your charms, so freely and passionately offered?”

“Oh, and now it is my fault that you were in my cabin?” She knew she was being unreasonable, but she was hurt, deeply hurt. She wanted André to proclaim his love for her. She turned and stalked to the door, before she realized that she was wearing nothing more than a thin shift. She grumbled her displeasure and whirled around to pick up more clothing—and found herself in the strong arms of André.

He didn’t care that she was angry at him. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips and trailed kisses across her collarbone. He couldn’t let her leave with an aching heart. Sacré, he STORMY HEIDE KATROS

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loved her. He wanted her by his side, just not now, when he didn’t know what awaited them once they made port in Liverpool.

Stormy tried to resist his advances. He was a cad—but such a handsome cad. She pressed into him, her eyes going wide, when she felt his erection straining between them.

“God help me,” André groaned. “I don’t seem to be able to get enough of you.”

His hands cupped her breasts, and he brushed his fingertips across her distended nipples, hearing her sigh softly with surrender. He flipped her shift up, and without being told what to do, she climbed up and clamped her legs around his trim waist. He was inside her before she had secured her hold on him.

Their mating was quick, but no less passionate than the previous lovemaking had been.

They sagged to the floor together, their breathing labored. He drew her onto his lap and rained tiny kisses across her brow.

“I am sorry, Stormy. I know I disappointed you, but until Snowden is properly punished, I am not a free man. I need to clear my name as well.”

He helped her to her feet and stood, unabashed by his nudity. Bracing an arm beside her head, he looked down at her. “Give me time to settle my affairs and then we’ll talk more.”

Stormy snorted. What was there to say? She had freely given herself to this cad and if she never saw him again, it would be too soon. Tossing her curls, she dipped under his outstretched arm and flounced away. She made a big production of sorting through her clothes, then drew out a plain high-necked gown and drew it over her head.

“Do you need help with the buttons?”

“No, my gowns are designed so I can do without a maid. Though I imagine you are quite adept with the workings of ladies’ wear.”

André bit back a grin. She was piqued and he could point out that she had nothing to prove his adroitness with women’s clothing, since she had come to him with nothing between them but her shift and she hadn’t even been wearing it.

He drew on his borrowed breeches and snugged a shirt over his shoulders. “I will be going up on deck then, unless you need me for anything.”

“You go right ahead. I’ll see you later.”

Before she could add something scathing, a knock sounded on the door. “Mister Despard, captain says to tell you that we’ll make port within the hour.”

“Thank you, sailor, I’ll be up directly.”

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“Send fools on an errand and the result will be that nothing gets accomplished.” Snowden railed at the man standing before him, hat in hand.

“I’m sorry we lost him, Sheriff. They had it all planned out. He disappeared on that big black brute as if he had gone up in a puff of thin air. I had two of my best trackers follow the hoof prints. They found the tracks where he entered a small stream, but they could never find the spot where he exited.”

“What about the girl?”

The man dropped his gaze to the carpet. “I don’t rightly know, Sheriff, but the two men who rode after her, saw her being carried up the gangplank of the American frigate Mystic. The ship took off before my men reached the wharf. It looks as if she sailed back to the colonies for good.”

“It looks like? You can’t find hoof prints and you call yourself the best tracker in this county. You don’t know for sure what happened to the girl? What the devil have I hired you for? Get out of my sight and give me some peace to think this over.”

Pouring himself a stiff drink, Snowden sat down heavily behind the ornate desk that had been handed down by several generations of Villeneuves. Without regard, he propped his muddy boots on the polished surface.

Damn, he didn’t put anything past Despard, and he couldn’t let his guard down. Despard was the only thing that stood between him and absolute independence. Once that man was out of the picture, he could abandon this joke of a job and live the life of a country squire and all those snotty nobles be damned. They did not have anything on him, except that they were born to privilege. Not that he had ever told anyone, but he had noble blood in his veins, too. It was not his fault that his mother spread her legs to an old earl and he fobbed her off with a handful of coins.

No, it was his turn to live the good life.

He drained the glass and threw the costly crystal goblet against the fireplace, snickering when it shattered into a million pieces.

On impulse, he lumbered over to the book case, sure that eventually he would find the secret latch and the passage Despard had used for his escape. Muttering under his breath he shifted several books at once. Since there was no sound, it took him a minute before he realized that the bookcase had detached itself from the wall.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. His face wreathed into a malicious smile. And here he had almost given up of finding this passage. Once he found out where it ended, he would come back and close the book section, and keep the secret to himself. Ah, the satisfaction of knowing about this secret passage and being able to trap Despard, if he tried to use this escape again.

He peered cautiously into the dark space until his eyes were accustomed to the dimness, and that is when he spied the slide. Chuckling, he sat down and pushed off.

His laughter was replaced by screams of agony, when the prongs of the pitchfork André had so carefully positioned the night before sank into the soft flesh of his thighs and grazed his STORMY HEIDE KATROS

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scrotum. Dumbfounded he sat there and stared as blood seeped through his breeches. He shook like a leaf in the wind as he tried to find the best way out of his predicament.

No matter how he turned, he would be gored further, but if he stayed, he would bleed to death, since no one could hear his screams for help. Fury and fear lent him strength to lever himself up and pull free of the deadly prongs. Tears coursed down his face and spittle dripped from his slack mouth.

Trembling, he got down on all fours and started to crawl toward the stairs that lead to the foyer. He was scared. The pitchfork had been used to shovel wood chips into the stove beneath the wash cauldron and god knows what else. Damn it to hell, he knew all about the poisoning of the blood, and once it set in, there was no help for him. Cursing under his breath, he swore he would survive long enough to see justice meted out. Despard would die a horrible death at his hands. Oh, just thinking about how he would punish the man with imagined torture gave him the strength to pull himself up the stairs.

“Someone hurry! I need the doctor.”

He tried to staunch the blood with his hands and knew he would not be able to do so by himself. A couple of kitchen maids ran up, and between them they managed to drag him to the study, which was the closest room.

Wringing their hands in despair, the two young women stood and stared in horror as blood continued to well through the rents of his breeches.

“Don’t just stand there, you stupid trulls. Get my pants off and see how you can stop the bleeding. Must I do everything around here myself?”

The girls rushed over and pulled his pants off. Both thighs showed deep punctures and his scrotum had shriveled to the size of a prune.

“Get some linens and warm water, Meg. We’ll clean the master up, so the doctor can suture the wounds, when he gets here.”

“No telling, when that sawbones is gonna come,” she whispered in an aside to Meg.

Snowden’s whole body quivered as shock set in. He closed his eyes and whimpered like a small child. “He’ll pay for this. So God is my witness, he’ll pay for this. I’ll castrate the man myself.”

* * * *

The Mystic made port late afternoon in Liverpool. André stood on deck, waiting impatiently for the lines to be thrown to the wharves and secured. His saddle rested by his booted feet. There was no sign of Stormy and he hoped to get away, before she made an appearance. He hoped that she was mad enough at him to acquiesce and sail back to Bristol with Captain Simon, unless of course the good man had orders to continue on to the colonies.

He quietly cursed Trevor for his interference. What had prompted him to give orders to sail to Liverpool? It didn’t make sense. If it had been up to him, he would be already on his way to Bellingshire. He knew that if Stuart made it there, he would be anxiously waiting for his arrival. A couple of days of rest and some decent meals would get him back on his feet.

Captain Simon appeared at his side the minute the gangplank was lowered to the wharf.

He saluted. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. I wish you God speed and good luck.”

André managed a brittle smile. “I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances, Captain. I thank you for your hospitality. And please give my regards to Miss Michaella. I bid you a safe voyage to your next destination. ” Heck, he did not want to know if the captain had orders to return to the colonies. To know Stormy would be forever out of reach STORMY HEIDE KATROS