The Wicked One (19 page)

As for the stipulation that she must share his bed —

No.  She would not think about how she would deal with that.  Not yet, anyhow.

Now Rosebriar was far behind them, the night pressing in as they headed steadily south.  Blackheath rode just outside, Armageddon's head appearing occasionally at the window.  The coach was well sprung, its gentle rocking motion so comfortable that Eva was having trouble keeping her eyes open.  But sleep wouldn't come.  Every so often, she parted the curtain and stared out into the frosty night, searching the darkness until she saw the duke out there on Armageddon, his black greatcoat and round hat making him and the stallion as one with the night that surrounded them.  She was glad that he was out there and she was in here, because the distance between them guaranteed a certain amount of safety.

And the way she was feeling these days, she knew she would not refuse him when he came seeking her bed.

Funny, what pregnancy does to a woman,
she thought.

They stopped for supper at a coaching inn some miles from the coast, where the owner, upon learning from the servants who had traveled ahead that the mighty Duke of Blackheath was to be his overnight guest, fell all over himself to make them comfortable.  When they arrived, ostlers were already stationed to take the horses, a meal was being laid on the table in a private room, the finest port in the cellars was being brought up for His Grace's inspection, and Eva thought rather wryly that the king himself would not have received better treatment.  Despite all, she could not help but be impressed.  In fact, as she and the duke settled down to a hearty meal of gammon, roast potatoes, and boiled vegetables, she began to think that maybe traveling with him had its advantages, after all.

"Shall we stay the night or press on?" he asked as they finished their meal.

"Press on.  I'm eager to see Gingermere."

Besides, if we stay the night, you will seek my bed — and I have not the will nor the wish to resist you.

He nodded.  But her relief was cut short when he announced that he would leave Armageddon overnight at the coaching inn in the care of one of his own grooms, who would continue on his way with the horse on the morrow.

"So — how will you travel, then?"  Dread and anticipation filled her, for she already knew the answer.

"Why, I shall join you inside the coach, my dear."  He smiled at the look on her face.  "After all, it must get rather lonely in there, with no one to talk to."

"Really, Blackheath, I don't know why you must persist in irritating me so," she muttered, trying to cover her sudden nervousness.  And excitement.  Just the idea of being so near to him made her flushed, hot, and prickly — feelings that were amplified as his gloved hand took hers and he handed her up into the waiting coach.  "But I suppose I shall have to put up with it, since you take such obvious delight in vexing me."

"On the contrary, madam.  There are other things we could do that would bring me far more delight than vexing you."

"I am not in the mood to thwart your innuendoes, Blackheath.  Join me if you will, but for your own health and well-being, you'd best keep your distance."

"Ah, but you agreed that we would share a bed."

"
After
we're married."

He merely smiled.  It was obvious he had other ideas.

He climbed up into the coach after her.  His presence filled it, made it seem smaller than it really was.  Eva felt suffocated, trapped, fretful, wary.  Blackheath, of course, seemed indifferent to the effect he was having on her.  He pulled the shade partway down, and moments later they were on their way, Eva wrapped in a wool blanket, a hot brick at her feet.

And now what?  Blackheath was in the opposite seat, but he was still so close she could smell his shaving soap, the damp wool of his greatcoat, the mingled scents of leather and horse and cold outside air.  His long, booted legs were thrust toward her.  In the gloom, she could just make out his face, the inscrutable eyes that idly watched her.

Her skin prickled.  That scrutiny was more than idle.  She moved her feet farther away from his, yanked the blanket up to her chin, and turned her cheek against the leather squab so she wouldn't have to look at him.  So he could see as little of her as possible.  So she could, with any luck, lose herself in sleep, where she wouldn't feel the weight of that heavy-lidded stare.

"I am going to take a nap," she announced, her voice muffled by the blanket.  "Why don't you do the same, Blackheath?"

"It is not my bedtime."

"Surely you must be fatigued."

"I rarely sleep more than four hours per night, madam.  I can assure you I'd prefer to remain awake."

"So you can stare at me while I sleep, is that it?"

"I must confess, you make a most delectable sight.  You will forgive me if I indulge myself by looking."

"You are despicable and rude, Blackheath."

He chuckled.  "So I am.  Let's not argue the point.  I want you to rest, Eva.  After all, you're sleeping for two, now."

She merely shot him an irritated glare and shut her eyes.  Of course, sleeping with
him
only inches away would be impossible — especially since her traitorous body was sending all sorts of thoughts to her tired brain about how the darkened privacy of the coach would make the perfect setting for a bit of lovemaking.  Wouldn't it be nice to just throw off all barriers for once and give in to animal instinct?  Wouldn't it be nice to be curled up on Blackheath's lap instead of this lonely seat, while his hand sought her breast and lazily pleasured her until all anger, all inhibitions were pushed aside?

No!

Inwardly cursing, Eva tried to make herself more comfortable against the squab.  Blackheath's leg was still too close to her own — he must have moved it, damn him, probably just to annoy her.  Peeved, she drew her legs up beneath herself and the blanket, and tried not to think about those enigmatic black eyes silently watching her.  Tried not to hear the measured sound of his breathing, tried not to examine the sudden, out-of-nowhere wish that he'd get up, join her, and provide a better pillow than her own folded hands . . . and more warmth,
far
more warmth, than this scratchy wool blanket . . .

She must have fallen asleep, because only his hand prevented her from tumbling to the floor when the coach jerked to a sudden stop.

"Stand and deliver!"

Eva was instantly awake and sitting up, even as Blackheath opened the shade and, with a sigh, gazed out into the darkness.

"Highwaymen.  How damnably inconvenient," he murmured, reaching calmly into his pocket for a small pistol.

"Yes, and just when I finally got comfortable enough to sleep," muttered Eva as she, too, reached calmly into her pocket for her own gun.

They both happened to look up at the same time, each seeing the other's weapon.  Eva raised a brow, waiting for Blackheath to do something unforgivably, insultingly, male — such as demand that she put the pistol away so he could deal with this nuisance himself.

But he didn't.

He only cocked the gun and settled back, casually laying the weapon across his knee so that it was pointed out the window.  His gaze met her own.  "So, madam.  It appears we must make a decision."

"Shall I deal with this, or would you prefer to?"

"Though I would very much like to deal with it, I must confess that my curiosity is aroused.  Therefore, I should be most intrigued to see how
you
deal with it."

Nothing he could have said might have surprised her more.  Eva narrowed her eyes.  "Are you serious, Blackheath, or merely indulging me?"

"My dear Eva, I am more than serious."

"Even though I'm a woman?"

"You are a clever, capable, dangerous woman."  He smiled.  "I have utter faith in you.  Just mind you have a care for the child as well as yourself."

Eva, stunned by this show of respect, could only blink in surprise.  Shaking her head, she cleared the hair from her eyes and let a helpless smile curve her lips.  She felt more like a partner than his enemy, and her blood was already beginning to race at the prospect of danger — and yes, of impressing the man who sat across from her.

"Ah, yes," she murmured, checking her pistol.  "I'd almost forgotten.  You love dangerous women."

Footsteps were now approaching from out of the darkness, headed toward the open window.  "I love them as long as they manage to stay alive.  If you wish to handle it, my dear, you are fast running out of time.  Now go to it — as long as you do so without minding the fact that I will be, shall we say,
monitoring
" — he raised his pistol — "events most closely indeed."

"Suit yourself."

He inclined his head.  "Then I relinquish control of this situation to you."

"
Relinquish
control of it?"  Eva lifted a brow in high amusement.  "Careful, Blackheath.  Don't go ruining things just when I'm starting to like you."

A pistol appeared at the window; without even glancing at it, Eva yanked the shade down on the robber.  "Right.  I'll deal with these slugs, and you can cover me."

He put the shade back up and, also without even looking, shoved his own pistol in the robber's face, holding the surprised highwayman at bay as he gazed calmly at Eva.  "Consider it done."

Throwing off the rug, Eva got up, opened the coach door, and, keeping her gun concealed in a fold of her cloak, stepped outside.  The rutted ground was partly frozen, and her heel sank through a crust of ice and into the mud; in the frigid night air, her breath was white and ghostly.  She could see the first robber still standing beside the window, too terrified of Blackheath's pistol to challenge its owner's temper by moving; his unsuspecting partner, on the other hand, was busy relieving the driver of his watch and coins.  Smiling, Eva walked up to the man even as the driver, seeing her, went white as the moon above.

"I beg your pardon," she said sweetly, as the robber whipped around only to find himself staring into the apparently guileless face of a beautiful but harmless noblewoman, "but I really wish you'd leave poor Roberts alone.  He has a wife and family to support, and I"m sure they need the money more than you do."

The robber stared at her in amazement.

Eva smiled prettily and jerked her head toward the stricken Roberts.  "Don't just stand there like an imbecile, give my poor driver back his watch and money."

The thief grinned; and then his face seemed to change as he took in Eva's priceless emerald choker, her rings, her emerald-tipped hairpins — and her wickedly curvaceous body.

"The hell with Roberts," he muttered, eyeing Eva with undisguised menace.  He pointed the pistol at her face.  "I'll have those pretty baubles round your neck, ma'am, as well as that pocket at your waist — and then I'll have
you
."

Still smiling, Eva untied the pocket and pretended to let it drop.  She bent to retrieve it — and came up with a savage jerk, her elbow slamming into the robber's nose.  There was a satisfying crack of bone, his pistol went flying, and he stumbled backward with a scream of agony, his nose gushing blood.

"I
am
sorry," Eva said prettily, picking up his pistol and returning Roberts' possessions.  She eyed the thief with false pity.  "Perhaps if you stick that ugly face of yours in a puddle, the bleeding will stop."

And then, smiling, she sauntered back to the other robber, still held captive by Blackheath's pistol.  Seeing her predatory approach, the man tensed with nervousness.

"You may release him to me now, Blackheath," Eva said sweetly.

Blackheath did.  And Eva, armed with two pistols now, walked calmly up to the robber, brought the butt of one of the weapons up hard underneath his chin, and watched in satisfaction as he crumpled, unconscious, into the half-frozen puddle at her feet.

Smiling, she stepped gingerly over his inert body and got back into the coach, where she sat down, pulled the shade, and rapped sharply on the roof.  "Drive on, Roberts."

And then she looked at Blackheath — who was staring at her with such raw hunger in those black and dangerously still eyes, that the smile all but froze on Eva's face.

Unnerved, she tossed her head.  "So, Blackheath.  What do you think?"

"Very" — his gaze remained fixed on hers — "impressive."

But Lucien was more than impressed.  In fact, he was so thoroughly aroused by what he'd just witnessed that he dared not move for fear he would lose control and hurl her straight to the floor of the coach.  He stared into those slanting green eyes, that full, smiling mouth, and tried to slow his pounding pulse.  To quell his escalating desire.  Never — aside from when she'd given him the aphrodisiac — had he been this close to losing control of his restraint.  Never had he been reduced to the mentality and potential impulses of an animal.  And never —
never
— had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one.

His throat went dry and he shut his eyes, concentrating on breathing in, breathing out —

"Is that all you have to say, Blackheath?" came his companion's amused, lightly chastising voice.  "That you're very impressed?"

Lucien raised his gaze and impaled her with all the hunger in his stare.  "No, madam — I have a lot more to say than that."

And then he leaned forward, pulled her into his arms — and kissed her.

Eva had been prepared for it; with her senses honed by the danger she'd just faced, with her whole body thrilling to the knowledge of what she'd provoked in Blackheath, she could even admit she'd wanted it.  She didn't fight as his lips came down on hers, rocking her head back into the iron bar of his arm.  She made a faint noise of token protest, but she was helpless against the onslaught, drunk with the knowledge that she had brought him to this.  Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hand threaded up through his hair, and the next thing she knew, she was giving herself up to the kiss, her mouth opening to admit his tongue, little breathy sounds coming from the back of her throat.  She felt his fingers at the buttons of her jacket, and then his hand, plunging between the closure and finding her breast.  Fondling it.  Squeezing, kneading, caressing it.