The Taming of the Rake (20 page)

Somehow she composed herself and followed Beau down the corridor until they stopped just outside the room with
3B
chalked on the door, along with a few words she pretended she did not recognize.

Beau nodded his head one time, and she lifted her hand, made a fist and then hesitated. Now she would show him what she could do. She hadn’t lived her entire life surrounded by servants of all ilk and station without learning a few things.

She knocked three times on the door.

“Fresh towels fer yer washin’ up, mate,” she sang out, and then turned to grin at Beau in triumph.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment, looking pained.

“I don’t require any, thank you,” came a voice from the other side of the door.

Jack?
Puck mouthed, shrugging.

Beau nodded. Chelsea was amazed. The brothers saw each other so seldom that Puck couldn’t even be certain he recognized his brother’s voice? She sighed inwardly. If only she could say the same about Thomas.

Beau took hold of her elbow as if to pull her away, but Chelsea wasn’t about to give up at the first hurdle. She knocked again.

“I ain’t askin’, m’lord, I’m tellin’. It ain’t worth m’skin ta go downstairs to that great lump and have him twistin’ m’ear off ’cause I ain’t done m’job. The man
says ter fetch Three-B towels, I fetch Three-B towels. They ain’t much, but they’re clean. Now open up!”

Puck, the apple stuck in his jaws, silently applauded her performance, so that she politely curtsied to him, and then she caught her breath as he abruptly grabbed her arm and sent her spinning off down the corridor as footsteps could be heard approaching the door.

She pressed her back against the wall, watching wide-eyed as the two men, pistols suddenly in their hands and cocked, waited for the sound of the latch depressing and then burst into the room after Beau had given the door a mighty kick, sending it cannoning straight into somebody on the other side.

There was a loud
thunk,
an even louder curse, followed by several more curses, much shouting and then silence.

She covered her ears in case one of the pistols still might be discharged or somebody said that word again, squeezed her eyes nearly shut as she wasn’t sure she really wanted to see what she really, really wanted to see, and headed for the room.

What she saw when she entered was a much nicer chamber than any of those she’d slept in the past few days, the two men she’d encountered in the hallway of her own inn, their hands raised and their faces black with frustrated rage, Beau holding a pistol directed at the two men, Puck leaning at his ease against a table edge, finishing his apple…and the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen.

And quite possibly the most angry.

Jack Blackthorn was tall, even taller than Beau. It was possible to see that all three men were brothers, they had much the same look about the eyes and chins. But there the similarities ended.

Where Beau and Puck were fair, Jack was dark. Dark as night. His hair, his eyes. His skin seemed somehow tougher, bronzed by the sun, weathered by the wind. Where Puck’s features curved, seemed somehow mischievously cherubic, just like his name, and Beau wore the look of a man who knew who he was and was reasonably content with that, Don John Blackthorn’s features seemed to have been chiseled out of some hard, perfect stone.

When he turned those dark eyes on her, he actually made her shiver.

Black Jack.

The name suited him down to the ground.

“And who’s this? Our maidservant, I assume? Say something, darling, so I can be certain.”

“I’m not your darling, nor am I a dog, to speak on command,” Chelsea told him with some heat.

“Thank you, yes, you’re the one. Damn, Beau, is this the young woman you plan to marry? You might want to think twice about that. She’s much too good an actress, and we all know where that can lead, don’t we? Oh, and put that pistol down, if you please. Those two aren’t going to attempt an escape. Especially the poor fellow you conked in the face with the door. I think his nose is broken.”

“Shame you don’t answer your own door,” Beau said
with a quick grin, moving the pistol to his left, to indicate Jonas. “However, I know for a fact that this one’s got a knife on him somewhere.”

“You mean this nasty little sticker?” Jack said, pulling a familiar-looking piece from his pocket and pushing on it somewhere. Chelsea heard a click, and the blade appeared. “We’ve only just met for the first time this evening, but I’d been warned what to expect. I had it from him immediately. Clumsy me, bumping up against him as we prepared to sit down and speak of our plans.”

“Bloody hell!” Jonas lowered his hands to pat at his pockets. “Bastard. You picked my pocket?”

“Nonsense. I merely relieved you of the means to an end. My end, to be precise. I didn’t much relish the thought of having this clever toy stuck in my neck. Now raise your hands again, if you please. As you’ve already seen, this man here tends toward the volatile, and I wouldn’t wish for you to miss your date with the hangman.” He then smiled at Beau. “Tell me, when did you first labor under the misapprehension that I’m stupid?”

“I think you were still in your cradle,” Beau told him. “So that’s it? We raced here to protect you, mostly from yourself, and all we did was get in the way?”

“Yes, I believe that about says it all. But the gesture is much appreciated. Now, if you don’t mind, there are two gentlemen about to arrive to assist me in taking these traitors to London. I’d rather you didn’t meet, as they prefer anonymity. As do I,” he added without inflection.

“When are you leaving? I haven’t seen you in two years. You could have stayed for the funeral, you know, instead of sneaking in and out like a thief.”

“I could have, Beau, yes. I chose not to.”

“Because of Mother.”

“Because I don’t belong there,” Jack answered and pulled out his pocket watch to consult it. “You’d best go.”

“She thinks you’re a highwayman or some such thing,” Beau told him. “But you work for the government.”

“I work for no one. I do, however, occasionally amuse myself.”

Chelsea shot Beau a look.
Amuse
himself? Oh, yes, they definitely were brothers. Even Puck
amused
himself, probably by pretending he was all fluff and no bottom, but she’d seen how differently he’d behaved once the action had begun.

Jack held out his hand first to Beau and then to Puck. “Cutting quite the dash in Paris, I hear. But as we all know, the real challenge is in being accepted here, in England. Any fool can be a pampered pet in Versailles.”

“Bloody wonderful seeing you again, too, Jack,” Puck said easily, withdrawing his hand. “Come on, Beau, before we get all sentimental and maudlin. Let’s simply say our fond farewells, and I can get back to my pork chop. We aren’t needed here.”

Chelsea had been standing quietly, growing more uncomfortable by the moment. Her family was obnoxious, but this one was downright strange.

“That’s it?” she finally demanded, furious. “You don’t see each other for years on end, and five minutes’ time is all you have for each other? Don’t you even
like
each other? Shame on you. Shame on all three of you.”

“Chelsea, please,” Beau said, turning to her.

And that’s when Jonas made his move. After all, when cooperating with his captors only meant he certainly would hang, he might as well hazard any chance to escape.

“Oliver!”

Beau had his pistol up and ready as he whirled about, neatly bringing its barrel down heavily across Jonas’s temple, and the man crumpled to the floor.

“Oh, bravo, brother,” Puck said appreciatively. “There’s one you won’t have to truss up, Jack. See? We’ve been exceedingly helpful.”

“As long as you didn’t kill him now that I finally got him to show himself.” Jack seemed to relent. “I apologize, to all of you. This night has been months in the planning, and you interrupted my
coup de grâce.
I’m selfish enough to have wanted to put an end to him and the others myself. Their small business enterprise has already taken the lives of three good men. At first we thought they were true political conspirators, but it turned out that they’re just common cutthroats, preying on the gullibility of fools. Either way, they had to be eliminated.”

Feeling silly even as she did it, Chelsea raised her hand as if she would like to be called on to speak. “I overheard them talking together, earlier, and they were
planning to take your money and then slit your throat.” She pointed to the now slumbering Jonas. “He said he’d slit your throat, just like
the others.
You can see why your brothers were concerned.”

“Is that true, Beau? Were you
concerned?
Or were you thinking I’d tossed my lot in with some French conspirators?”

“The possibility did cross my mind. I apologize.” Then Beau rallied. “But if you weren’t so damn secretive I wouldn’t have thought it. Don Pedro Messina, the Spaniard. Acting, that’s what you were doing.”

“Yes, yes. Apples never drop that far from the tree, do they? I suppose I come by my small talents naturally. But we all play our parts, don’t we? The dutiful son, the fribble—oh, don’t scowl, Puck, I know you work quite diligently to not be taken seriously. And me, of course, the black sheep. We’re damned predictable, aren’t we? Filling the roles Mother, in her genius, assigned us.”

Chelsea blinked back sudden tears. How sad. If Society had branded them bastards, their own mother had been worse, casting them in roles she’d chosen them to play. And then all but abandoning them.

“You don’t have to be what she thinks you should be,” she heard herself saying before she could stop herself. “You’re grown men now, free to do what you want.”

Jack bowed in her direction. “Thank you, Lady Chelsea. But you see, I think we rather enjoy our roles. Don’t we, brothers?”

“I think one of us enjoys his too much,” Beau said
flatly. “We have to leave, as we’re making an early start in the morning.”

Jack nodded. “You to the north, me to the south and Puck here blowing with the wind. Be careful. I saw the Brean coach last night as I traveled here from Leeds. I took it upon myself to make a stop at the inn and created some small mischief to hopefully detain them, but he may have simply hired another coach.”

Chelsea put a hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp. Suddenly it seemed cold in the room. Cold as the grave.

“Mischief?” Puck looked at his brother. “Not that I’m worried, you understand, but you do have this seeming penchant for consorting with murderers. That said, what sort of mischief?”

“The sort you’d probably enjoy. Cutting partway through the wheel spokes could have caused an accident, although I did consider it. In the end, I made do by borrowing a half dozen of the innkeeper’s chickens and locking them up in the coach for the night. But please don’t concern yourself about the welfare of the birds, as I made sure the fellow I hired to do the deed put plenty of feed in there with them. On the seats, on the floor…why, Beau, you look positively delighted with me. How nice.”

T
HEY RETURNED
to their former hiding place after leaving Jack, Beau wondering why his brother always made him so angry, and why he liked him so much.

“I’m really tired, Oliver,” Chelsea said, and then
yawned rather prodigiously, as if to prove her point. “Can’t we please go now?”

Beau looked at her in the near darkness. She looked away.

“It’s Jack. He doesn’t trust him,” Puck said, munching on yet another apple. “Jack says he has men coming to help him with his captives, but Beau here isn’t so sure, thinking that perhaps Jack just wanted to be rid of us. Isn’t that it, brother mine?”

Beau dragged his attention away from Chelsea. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, or why he knew, but he knew. She hadn’t laughed at Jack’s genius with the chickens. She’d laughed at Puck’s stunts. But not Jack’s. So what was different now?

Her brother. Jack had brought her brother into the conversation, and the fact that he was still in pursuit. Had she really thought he’d give up and turn back to London? Damn.

“No, it’s not true. I’m simply being nosy. I want to see if I know these two men. If there are two men,” he added, because Puck hadn’t been entirely incorrect. There was even a part of him that wondered if the fate that Jonas and his cohort had planned for Jack was the same fate he’d planned for them. With Jack, you could never be certain what was in his head. “We’ll give it another five minutes, Chelsea, and then we’ll head back to the hotel. Puck and I will secure and share another room, and you can take his chamber. I wouldn’t ask you to ride back to our inn this late at night.”

“Oh, well, isn’t that nice? Thank you, Puck.”

“You’re welcome,” he said dully. “I’m simply a generous man. And, of course, I look forward to sleeping in the same bed as my brother, who most probably snores.”

“He does not,” Chelsea said, adding quickly, “I mean, he doesn’t seem the sort to snore.”

Beau smiled in the darkness.
That ought to serve to shut up Puck for a space.

They were just about to give up their vigil when two men on horseback, looking ready to travel and followed by a small, nondescript black coach, rode into the inn yard and dismounted. Their faces were in shadow until they reached the door to the inn, but then the light from the flambeaux captured their features as they looked all around the inn yard before disappearing inside.

“Well, damn me for a blind fool. And I said he was a bore?”

“I didn’t disagree with you, Puck,” Beau said, taking Chelsea’s hand as they turned toward the White Swan. “Dickie Carstairs. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes. And Baron Henry Sutton. Both highly admired in London Society, as well as two of the last people I would ever think could be involved in something like this. Jack keeps interesting company. All right, let’s go.”

C
HELSEA SAT TUCKED
up in the window seat, stripped to her shift with a thin blanket wrapped about her shoulders, and looked out over the town of Gateshead, or as much as she could see of it in the dark.

It had been a long day before she’d overheard the man Jonas. Now that long day seemed like an eternity, and yet she couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

Thomas and Madelyn and Francis Flotley were out there somewhere in the dark beyond the window. They hadn’t given up the chase.

She couldn’t believe it.

What could they do if they did find them, overtake them before she and Beau could reach Gretna Green? It had been days and days. Nights and nights. They’d have to know that by now she had become a ruined woman, sullied, compromised beyond redemption. Why hadn’t they simply done the logical thing, given up and turned back to London?

She had so counted on them giving up the chase.

They must think she could still be saved from her willful disobedience. Or needed to be punished for it.

Chelsea winced at the thought. If that were the case,
then she believed she knew how her brother’s mind worked. He’d hand her over to Francis Flotley without a thought, condemning her to a lifetime of penance and prayers and…no. She could not even think about the rest. If the thought of a life with Francis Flotley had been untenable before, now it was ten times worse; she’d rather kill herself than allow that man to put his hands on her.

Beau wouldn’t let that happen if he could prevent it. He wouldn’t simply turn her over to Thomas without a fight. He’d wanted to thwart Thomas at least as much as she had wanted to escape her fate.

But now he worried her. The original idea had been to seek his protection, yes, and give him his revenge in return.

She hadn’t thought about the danger to him. A selfish, selfish, unnatural creature, that’s what she had been at the time.

But that time had passed.

Now she knew him, knew what sort of man he had become. And now that she was in his care, he would fight for her. She’d seen the calm, efficient way he’d struck down the man Jonas with the barrel of his pistol. He wasn’t unnecessarily violent, he hadn’t shot the man, but he didn’t run from a fight.

Tonight had been frightening. Seeing Beau with a pistol in his hand, that look of grim determination on his face, seeing how he’d responded to the thought of someone he cared about being in danger—no wonder she had taken refuge in Puck’s silliness. The reality of
what they had been about had been almost too much to bear.

And it would happen again, if Thomas found them.

When
Thomas found them, for that was now as inevitable as tomorrow’s sunrise. Married or on their way to the blacksmith and his anvil, at some point they all would confront each other.

And if anything…terrible were to happen, it would all be her fault.

Escaping Francis Flotley had been the impulse of a moment. Fleeing on horseback had been exhilarating and even fun—except for the rainstorm, of course. Getting to know Beau continued to be a wonder to her.

And the rest of it.

But seeing him tonight, seeing that pistol in his hand? The game, the adventure, they weren’t real. Tonight had been real.

He would protect her. He would defend her.

But who would defend him?

Chelsea’s mind persisted in moving in circles. She wiped at her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands and tried to concentrate, because she had to do something if Thomas was still on the hunt.

“Growing up would be one consideration,” she told herself, sniffling. “This is not some mad lark, you silly girl. It is a pursuit. There is no Finish line to be crossed in Gretna Green, where Thomas will have to stop, turn around and know himself the loser. There will be consequences.”

She hastily wiped her cheeks again when there was
a knock on the door, and she heard Beau outside, quietly asking to come in.

“Just…just a moment,” she called out, quickly heading for the washstand and splashing cold water on her face before unlocking and opening the door. “I was…you woke me up.”

He walked past her just as she realized that the bed may have been turned down, but although it had gone three the last time she’d heard the mantel clock chime, it was obvious she hadn’t been sleeping in it.

He didn’t tease her. “I couldn’t sleep, either. Puck, on the other hand, sleeps the sleep of the dead, proving he possesses either a quiet conscience, or no scruples whatsoever.”

The blanket was slipping, and Chelsea readjusted it across her shoulders, clasping its edges in front of her. “Is that your way of saying that we possess neither?”

“No,” Beau said, seating himself on the side of the tester bed. “I think we both have scruples.”

“But not a quiet conscience, at least not me.” She nodded her head. “How did you know?”

He held out his hands to her, and she went to him, stepped into the open V of his legs and put her hands on his shoulders. He had become so important to her. Did he know that? They had been together for only these few short days, and yet she could no longer imagine life without him. She might even love him. No wonder she was so terrified. She’d never loved before; she didn’t know how to react, what to say.

She couldn’t tell him. Not if she didn’t know how
he’d react to any such declaration. He might even tell her she was wrong, that physical pleasure was something entirely separate from love. And he could be right. Because she didn’t know, couldn’t know.

But for now, he was here. For now, that was enough.

The blanket slipped to the floor.

He looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. “You thought he’d given up by now, hadn’t you? The moment Jack told us he’d seen your brother’s coach, you went quiet. You’ve been thinking he would have turned for home by now, believing we’d outrun him. You thought it was over.”

She nodded her head, avoiding his eyes. “He never really liked me. Why should he suddenly care so much?”

Beau stroked her cheek. “Truth? This isn’t about you, Chelsea, and it never has been. This is about Thomas, about how what you do reflects on him. And on Madelyn. That I’m the man involved only compounds his potential for disgrace.”

“And Madelyn’s,” Chelsea pointed out quietly. “She could have had you, all those years ago. Instead, I’ve got you.”

“Not many would consider that a grand accomplishment,” he said, smiling. “But now you think we’re looking at violence, don’t you?”

She sighed. All the way down to her toes. “Are we?”

“Not on my part, no. The way I see it, I’ve already won, and in ways I hadn’t even expected. What your brother is willing to accept? That I don’t know. How deep does this new devotion to religion run with him?”

“I told you, it has served to make him worse. He used to rant, and scream, and hit things. Now he speaks softly and supposedly reasonably, all while saying the most inane things, and then reminds me that God saved him on his deathbed, and now lives in him, and approves of him and whatever he does. Such a surfeit of claptrap, and all thanks to Francis Flotley. It was becoming unbearable, living with Thomas, watching him become more and more a cat’s paw to Francis Flotley. And then to say that I must
marry
the man?”

She sighed once more. “But I should never have involved you. That was selfish.”

“Now you’re giving yourself too much credit. Chelsea, I do nothing I don’t want to do. You came to me with a proposition, and I accepted it. I don’t renege on my word once it’s given.”

Yes, she’d already figured that out on her own. She fingered the folds of his cravat. “I suppose we could leave the country. Only for a little while. Until Thomas is…until he’s…”

“Dead of old age?” Beau suggested, smiling at her. “The insult I’ve offered him is not the sort of thing a man forgets. Let’s just get to Scotland, marry, and deal with Thomas and his wrath when it comes. It’s too late for anything else.”

And there it was. He thought it was too late. Because he’d taken her to his bed, even though it was she who had instigated her own ruin. It wasn’t because he hadn’t warned her. It wasn’t because he had fallen in love with her or any such romantic nonsense. He
had begun something, and he would finish it. Jack had called him dutiful, and he was. “Are you certain?”

His smile faded. “Damn it, Chelsea, I was right, wasn’t I? You’re thinking about going back to him, throwing yourself on his mercy or some such fool thing. Sacrificing yourself like some Penny press heroine. Were you even going to be here if I’d waited until morning to come fetch you?”

“You interrupted my thinking, so I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I may have come to that conclusion, eventually. I was considering it. It seems the right thing to do, right up until I think about Francis Flotley, and then I keep losing my courage.”

“That’s not losing your courage, it’s gaining some common sense.”

“But I had no right to put you in this position, to put you in danger. If Thomas thinks I can still be saved, which he must or else he would have broken off his pursuit by now, then it won’t be over just because we’ve married. I don’t know why I thought it would. But if I were to go to him now, and plead for forgiveness, then there would be no reason for him to…to try to hurt you.”

“He’s not going to hurt me, Chelsea.”

“You say that, but you can’t know. Please, Oliver, look at this from my perspective. I did this, not you. If anything were to happen to you, it would be my fault.”

“Oh? And I’m innocent in all of this? I could have said no, Chelsea. Admittedly, I may have been slightly in my cups when you arrived in Grosvenor Square with your plan, but I immediately saw the benefits to me. I
don’t like your brother, it’s that simple, and perhaps even that petty. I put no more thought into your welfare in this than you did into mine—you wanted escape and I wanted revenge. I could have told you what to expect before we took this step, but I didn’t.”

“You make us both sound terrible,” she told him. “Perhaps even worse than terrible, because I think we’ve been rather…enjoying ourselves.”

“Enjoying each other,” he said, pulling her closer between his legs, to begin lightly nibbling on her earlobe. “Why don’t we concentrate on that tonight and let tomorrow take care of itself?”

“You’re only saying that to divert me,” she told him, tipping her head slightly to give him better access to her.

“Damn, you’ve found me out. Is it working?”

“It shouldn’t. Then again, I suppose I can’t be any more ruined than I already am.” She closed her eyes as Beau untied the ribbons on her shift and then slid his hands inside the bodice to cup her breasts. She tried once more to concentrate on more important things, but she knew it was a losing battle. After all, what could be more important than this? He’d awakened feelings in her she hadn’t known she possessed. If enjoying such pleasures made her a sinner in Thomas’s eyes, then so be it.
And no wonder there were so many sinners…

Beau began stroking her nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

Chelsea was finding it more difficult to care about anything but the sensations he was arousing in her.
What a clever man he was. And if tomorrow had to come, why shouldn’t they enjoy tonight?

“Good. No more talk. I’d much rather see you naked,” he said, his voice low, faintly husky. As if to prove his point, he pushed the shift from her shoulders and tugged it down until it passed her hips, puddled at her bare feet. “God.”

He was looking at her. Just looking at her.

Perhaps she wasn’t quite as debauched as she’d supposed. “Oliver…shouldn’t we get into bed?”
Under the covers…

“No. Not yet. Take the pins out of your hair for me, Chelsea. Please.”

The fire was still burning brightly. She hadn’t doused any of the candles. She could see his face. He could see all of her. She felt an instinctive tightening between her legs, although it was much too late for modesty of any kind.

Besides, she wanted what he wanted. She wanted to forget everything, and she knew he had the means to make her do that.

Slowly, she raised her hands to her hair, tugging out her pins with shaking fingers as he stroked her rib cage, swept his hands up and over her breasts and then back down, to skim her hips.

“Yes, that’s it. Let it fall, Chelsea. Look how it spills down your back, teases at your breasts. Like a living thing. You’ve a woman’s body now, sweetings. Awakened. Knowing. But there’s so much more to know. A
woman’s body is full of secrets. So many ways to unlock them.”

He slipped one hand between her thighs.

Within moments she had grasped at his shoulders to support herself, to keep from collapsing against him as her knees went weak, as she gave herself up to his touch. Just the fact that he was fully clothed and watching her, watching her so intently, sent a different sort of pleasure through her. Being his to touch, to do with as he pleased…pleasing her.

When her body convulsed around him she cried out with the pleasure, even as a terrible frustration seized her. She wanted the feel of his body against hers. In hers. Wanted it. Needed it.
Would have it.

She pushed against him with her full weight, toppling him back onto the bed, and sealed her mouth to his, ground her mouth against his, becoming the aggressor, this new, wild, wanting thing inside her guiding her.

He’d joked about her clothing, but it was his shirt that would have been ripped from him if he hadn’t helped her slip the buttons out of their moorings. But not fast enough…not fast enough.

To hell with his buckskins…opening the buttons was enough…no time for more. Not in this heat, not in this need.

He sat up, lifted her up and told her to put her legs around his waist, straddle him.

She would do it. Anything. Anything at all. Only hurry. Hurry.

Ahhh….

He was so big, so solid. She could feel him deep inside of her, deeper than logic would tell her possible—if she had time for logic, which she did not. She caught his rhythm as he held on to her hips and urged her to move, sliding her hands beneath his shirt and digging her nails into his bare back. He put his hands between their joined bodies, spreading her, stroking her, making her wild with need, pushing her toward some new precipice she had to reach, must reach, would die if she didn’t reach…