Surrender The Night (46 page)

John was one of the most respected men in Cornwall. Many would have doubted Devon; John would never lie. The most telling proof, however, was Farrow’s face. He glanced from side to side like a hunted animal, his legendary calm at last ruffled.

The magistrate stood with his mouth agape. His lips worked several times, then he gasped, “Apprehend that man!”

After a brief instant several of the men closest to Will made a grab for him. Will dodged them, lifted the stave, and surged toward his best opening—straight ahead.

Toward Devon and Katrina.

Billy raised the gun that had grown lax in his hand, but Devon snarled, “No!” and went forward to meet his enemy.

When Will tried to bring the stave down on Devon’s head, Devon grabbed his wrist and twisted.

Moaning Will dropped the stave. Devon punched him in a brutal uppercut that knocked the slighter man to the ground. “Get up, Farrow,” Devon gritted through his teeth.

“That’s enough, me lord,” the magistrate said, rushing back with the length of rope he’d filched from a nearby shop. With the aid of several of his men, the magistrate soon had Will trussed on his feet.

However, as he was led away, he said quietly, “You’ve not seen the last of me, Cavanaugh.” He looked at Katrina. Only then did his face change.

The longing she read there struck Katrina like a blow. She buried her face in Devon’s jacket, unable to watch as Will walked proudly away. Why did it have to end thus? Images of Will laughing, doctoring, and teasing Robbie flashed through her head, but they only made the final picture of
him
more devastating. Katrina was too miserable to pay much attention to what transpired next.

Planting his hands on his hips, the magistrate demanded, “And why have you all come here this morning?” He looked accusingly at the staves several of the men still held.

They were hastily dropped. Shoulders shrugged; hands rose in innocence.

“Why, they came to get the grain I’m dispersing until the crops come in,” Devon said mildly, still cradling Katrina. To Billy he whispered, “Go into the miller’s and purchase five barrels of com. My credit should be good.”

Smiling, Billy went.

“Eh? What’s that?” the magistrate asked, blinking in confusion. His surprise was mild compared with that of Devon’s recent antagonists.

They goggled at him in shock. Katrina lifted her head from Devon’s chest to listen.

“Only in the nature of an investment, you see,” Devon added, forcing a hard note into his voice. Pride couldn’t spoil this little charade now. “I want my men hale and hearty when I open the mine. Probably in a few weeks.”

No one pointed out that the majority of the men in the crowd worked in other mines, but many thought it.

“And if we all make as much money as I expect, I may expand my enterprise. At the very least I’ll be hiring more men,” Devon added, neatly circumventing the last excuse for refusing.

When the miller, his expression timid, exited rolling a barrel before him, the men gave a cheer and descended on him en masse. This time, however, joy rather than fury glowed in their weary, tough faces. The miller began the laborious task of sacking up grain.

Devon didn’t notice. His eyes were locked with Katrina’s. In broad daylight, in the middle, of the busiest district of Truro, Katrina planted a kiss full on Devon’s lips.

Neither of them heard the teasing catcalls. John beamed like a fond father. Billy grinned. The magistrate sighed a bit enviously and went home to his shrewish wife.

When Katrina at last drew away, Devon said huskily, ‘ ‘After that, you’re staying with me. We’ve some talking to do.”

Katrina’s luminous eyes went dark. She took a deep breath, accepted his hand, and walked away with him for what she knew would be the last time.

Five streets away Will leaned casually against the rock wall as one of the magistrate’s men prepared the cellar into a cell. He was busy pushing straw into a pile and spreading a blanket over it, so he didn’t notice that Will’s shoulders moved slightly as he rubbed his wrists against the edge of a chipped wedge of stone.

When the frayed ropes snapped Will waited until he was certain the man hadn’t noticed. Silently, he shook the ropes away. He stooped, picked up the longest length, wrapped it about each hand, then tiptoed up behind the guard. The man was just coming to his feet when the rope slipped about his neck.

He hadn’t a chance, for Will knew exactly where to exert pressure, and for how long. In but a few minutes he slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Will spared him one regretful look, then he bent to undress the man, who was also tall and slim. After he’d switched clothes. Will dragged the body atop the blanket and turned it on its stomach, facing the wall. He dropped his own hat over the man’s darker hair and tied the corpse’s hands.

Then, pulling the guard’s battered hat down over his features, he climbed the cellar steps.

Katrina was too miserable to speak on the drive to Devon’s manor. She sensed tension in the man sitting beside her. He knows, she thought. He knows this will be our last night together.

She stared out the window at the cloudless day, feeling only stygian darkness in her soul. She had no right to keep tormenting him. She had to let him go. Somewhere he’d find a woman he could love, who would give him the fine heirs he deserved. She tried to take comfort from her own nobility, but even the thought of Devon with another woman was devastat
ing. Let the future be hanged.

For one last time she’d live for the present.

She turned to him with a brilliant smile. “And what shall we do when we reach your home, my lord?’

Uncharacteristically, he didn’t respond to her teasing. “Talk, Katrina.” And he looked out the window again, his expression moody.

After the manservant let them in, Devon led the way into the study. Katrina’s steps lagged at his air of decision, but she forced herself to follow.

“Send a luncheon tray in, please,” Devon said to the servant, opening the door. He stood back to let Katrina pass, then closed the door.

Katrina was too nervous to sit, so she wandered the room. She felt Devon’s penetrating stare, and had to quell the instinct to bolt.

“I shan’t eat you, Kat. Come, sit. It’s time to pay the piper.” Excellent, Devon, he thought to himself. Where’s your legend
ary charm? Never had he needed it more, never had it been less in evidence. He knew why, of course. His nerves felt raw, exposed. This was the most important hour of his life, and he couldn’t gamble their future on a false smile. No, only the honesty she’d taught him would serve.

Yet, when she eased down on the settee as far away from him as possible, he had to grin. He scooted across the upholstery to her side.

“Damme, it seems we’ve played this scene before. Shall I seduce you all over again?” He traced the flush staining her lovely face. “With pleasure, my lady.”

He hovered over her, his lips tingling under her sweet sigh of surrender. “After you tell me what I want to know.”

Her drowsy eyes widened. Apparently she saw his resolve, for she tried to turn her head away.

Gently he caught her chin. “No. No more evasions. I can’t go on as we are, Kat.” Devon felt the dam bursting within him, but he no longer had will to fight it. Frustration inundated her in a torrent of words. ‘ ‘How do you think I feel knowing that last night you might have died? You went on another run, didn’t you? That’s the only reason you would have been with Jack.”She bit her lip guiltily, and that was all the assent he needed. “Damn you to hell. God must have sent you to earth to punish me for my sins.” He let her go and surged to his feet.

He looked magnificent in his fury, striding about like a caged lion. His hair was rumpled, half-loose from his queue, and his clothes looked as though they’d been slept in, but vigor and determination glowed from every heated pore. All this wonderful power could be hers if she said the word. She clenched her fists, shaking with the effort to stay silent.

“You lied to me! You promised you’d tell me whenever you went on a run. And what the hell were you doing alone with Jack?”

“He was waiting for me near the cottage. He wanted to question me. He’d suspected for some time, I think, that Will was stealing. He was about to name Will when he was shot.”

The prosaic little recital sent a shiver up Devon’s spine. Paradoxically, it also made him so furious he thought the top of his head would blow off. He was on her in two great strides to haul her to her feet. “You could have died, you little fool, don’t you know that?” He shook her once, hard;

She flung back her head proudly. “Of course. I knew the dangers when I became a smuggler.”

He released her as if she’d burned him. “And you expect me to wait calmly, unaware if the woman I love will come safely back to me or not?”

“Don’t you exaggerate the dangers? Jack is dead. Will is imprisoned.”

“And what of the law, wind, sea, and cliffs? Other smug
glers? The French?”

Katrina shrugged. “And smallpox, or ague, or being run over by a wagon. I can die safely in my bed, too.” She stepped up to him until her body pressed at all his pleasure points. “But I didn’t come here to stir up an old argument. We’ve other, more pleasurable ways to brangle.” And she put her arms about his neck to draw his head down.

At first he resisted, but her coaxing lips soon felt the change from anger to passion. He clutched her to him desperately, his mouth searing hers, and she knew she’d won.

Yet, as he swung her up into his arms, kicked the door open, and carried her toward the stairs, she knew she’d lost, too. It was best this way, she told herself. She didn’t want their last memory to be a bitter argument. As he slept she would leave. Tears threatened, but she forced them back. She’d allow nothing to spoil this last memory.

“Leave the tray in my chamber,” Devon growled to the approaching servant. The man hustled up the stairs and opened the door for them, set the tray down, then melted away, closing the door behind them.

Devon didn’t even set her down; he carried her straight to the bed. Brusquely he unbuttoned her blouse, then yanked off her skirt. She didn’t protest, for she understood the forces driving him. Her own hands, working at his shirt, were as frantic.

When they were bare to one another, their eyes met for a lingering moment. His gaze bespoke so much: love, need, passion. Yet it was the desperation she read that made her close her own eyes and reach for him. When he tried to speak, she drew the words into her own lips, transforming them with a kiss. He sighed into her mouth, and let her help him forget.

Big hands traced every precious hollow and treasured cove; smaller hands charted the rugged contours and vast plains. All the while their lips held in a drugging kiss that saved them from the need to think. Primitive urges guided them away from the precipice. Soon they’d have to attempt it, but for now they could pretend only smooth downs lay ahead.

His lips scorched her already heated skin from the hollow of her throat to the soles of her feet. She tried to reciprocate, but he held her still, proving that in this, at least, he was master. Tongue followed the same course, stoking rather than dousing the fire. Katrina soon began to writhe and moan. Ruthlessly he quelled her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her thigh. He licked and nibbled the most pleasurable areas only a lover knew. Inner thighs, arms, hollow of her back, breasts, and feminine triangle, all knew the power of his possession.

“Come to me, ” Katrina begged, trying to reach for him. She felt him, hot and ready against her thigh, but he twitched away from her seeking hands.

He lowered his tousled head to her stomach, rubbing himself against her like a great cat. The growl that escaped him, however, was not contented.

Katrina’s eyes opened at the tormented sound.

“Is
this
all you would grant us?”

“It was enough. Once.” Katrina raised her head to pull him back into her arms.

He allowed it, but he held her legs closed with his own. “No longer. If you would have more of me, you must tell me what happened. No, don’t look away. I must know, Katrina.”

She kissed his trembling mouth and felt blindly. His arousal was so hard she knew he couldn’t restrain himself much longer. Her fingers slipped up and down him, eliciting another growl. Sensuously she began to buck beneath him, her breasts aching for his touch, her womanhood unfurling like a bud bathing in the dew.

A tortured sigh escaped him. He couldn’t resist her longer. She was his, would always be his even if . . . His thoughts shied away. Only melding with her could ease his fears.

“You’re mine, Katrina. Always, always, always—” He repeated the word over and over as he pushed her legs apart and surged into her like the tide. This was no gentle lapping, however; it was a gale driven by elemental needs.

They were no longer Devon and Katrina, or male and female. They were immutable entities of sea and moon. Nothing mattered but the driving urge to connect. Yet even as they surged together, they knew a true meeting was impossible. Sea could reflect moon, but never touch it; moon could attract sea, but never hold it.

The knowledge only made them more desperate. They crashed together, again and again, and when the upswell took them, they rode it for a brief, buoyant moment when all seemed possible. The seas calmed, reflecting the moon so clearly that its yellow glow seemed surrounded, absorbed. For that tiny instant they were one, the warm golden heat streaming from him to her enough to reify the impossible.