A Night to Surrender (17 page)

And never lay a finger on Susanna Finch again. On this he was absolutely, irrevocably resolved.

Until he turned the corner.

Bram halted midstep. His vision blurred at the edges. He felt certain he would faint. And his light-headedness had nothing to do with his recent head injury or his famished state. It had everything to do with her.

Hideous bathing costume and men’s breeches aside, he’d yet to see her wearing anything besides a simple muslin day dress. Tonight she was dressed for dinner, clad in a sumptuous violet silk gown with beaded brocade trim. The crystal wine goblets on the table took the candlelight and honed it to luminous arrows, shooting brilliance in all directions. Picking out every seed pearl sewn into her sash, every ribbon weaving through her shimmering, upswept hair. As she bent to smooth a wrinkle in the tablecloth, artfully curled tendrils framed her face and caressed the pale slope of her neck.

“Lord Rycliff.” Straightening, she gave him a shy smile.

He couldn’t speak. She looked . . .

Beautiful, he supposed he should say. But “beautiful” wasn’t a strong enough word. Neither was “dazzling,” “breathtaking,” or “devastating”—though that last came a bit closer than the rest.

Her outward appearance was only part of the effect. What called to him was the invitation implicit in her posture, her voice, her lovely blue eyes. She looked as though she’d been waiting on him. Not just tonight, but every night.

She looked like home.

“I’m glad to see you awake,” she said.

“Are you?”

“You brought my father to the dining table, only five minutes past eight. In this house, that’s a small miracle.”

Sir Lewis laughed. “And now that I’m here, I must beg you to excuse me for a moment.” He raised work-streaked hands. “I’ll just go wash before dinner.”

The older man quit the room, and the two of them stood there, regarding each other.

She cleared her throat. “Are you feeling well?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth. He wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, except the fact that his boots were now carrying him forward. All his chaste resolutions and respect for Sir Lewis aside, he simply couldn’t do otherwise. Whatever this was between them, it commanded his loyalty in a forceful, visceral way. To deny her pull would seem a dishonor all its own.

He watched her blush deepen as he drew near. It was some comfort to know that he affected her, too. He reached for her hand, where it rested atop the damask tablecloth.

“No gloves tonight?” he asked, running his thumb over her soft, protected skin, tracing each of her fingers and the delicate webs between.

She shook her head. “I haven’t worn them all day. I mean to, but then I keep forgetting.”

He tumbled into her gaze. Passed a small eternity wandering there.

“I . . .” he started.

“You . . .” she began.

To hell with words,
he thought, sliding his hand around her waist.
To hell with it all.
If they had only moments together, he could not let them go to waste. Cool silk teased against his palm as he pulled her close. He drew a ragged breath, and his senses exploded with her unique, essential perfume.

“Bram,” she whispered. “We can’t.”

“I know.” And then he bent his head, seeking her kiss. Her mouth softened beneath his, lush and welcoming. Her kiss was tender and sweet, and in that quiet, stolen moment, worth any risk.

Light footsteps clattered down the corridor, jolting them apart.

A young woman tore into the room, followed by an apologetic footman.

“Miss Finch! Miss Finch, you must come at once.” As the girl paused for breath, Bram recognized her as one of the young ladies from the Queen’s Ruby. One of the quieter ones, whose name he hadn’t yet learned.

“There’s trouble in the village,” she said.

Susanna crossed the room in a swift, determined ripple of silk. “What is it, Violet?”

“Oh, Miss Finch, you won’t believe it. We’ve been
invaded
.”

T
hey’d been invaded.

Minerva touched a fingertip to her spectacles. She knew she had to be wearing them—she never went anywhere without her spectacles. But at the moment, nothing within her view was clear. The lines of reality had blurred, and the world simply didn’t make sense.

A mere quarter hour ago, the ladies had been sitting down to cards in the Blushing Pansy. Seated at the window table with her mother and sisters, Minerva had begun to split and shuffle the deck of cards.

And then—before the first round could even be dealt—the men had come thundering in without warning, bringing with them what looked to be numerous bottles of liquor and the prelude to sheer chaos.

Down came the lace curtains and the Blushing Pansy’s gilt-lettered sign. Up went an ancient broadsword and a set of steer horns mounted above the hearth. And outside, above the door, a new sign dangled.

“What does it say?” her mother asked, peering out the window.

Minerva looked over her spectacles. “The Rutting Bull.”

“Oh dear,” Diana muttered.

The ladies all froze in their seats, uncertain how to react. What was the proper etiquette, when civilization crumbled around a girl? Not even
Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom
covered this.

Leaping up a step to the small dais, Lord Payne took the center of attention. No surprise. Wherever the ladies were gathered, that man
always
took the center of attention. Minerva detested him. If Diana wished to marry, she deserved so much better than a proud, preening rake. Unfortunately, their mother seemed to have already embraced him as a future son-in-law.

“Fair ladies of Spindle Cove,” Payne announced, “I regret to inform you that the Blushing Pansy tea shop has closed for the evening.”

A murmur of confusion and dismay swept the ladies.

“However,” Payne went on, “it is my great pleasure to announce that the Rutting Bull tavern is open for business.”

A loud huzzah went up from the men.

“There will be drinking. There will be dancing. There will be dicing and debauchery of every pleasant sort. Ladies, you have been warned. Leave now or live high.”

A man she didn’t recognize—one of the farmers or fishermen, she supposed—produced a battered violin. He put bow to strings and began sawing away, producing a wild country dance.

The other men wasted no time clearing tables and chairs to the edges of the room. In some cases, with the mortified ladies still seated upon them. The blacksmith approached their table. With a curt nod and an intense, silent look, the big man reached under their table with one hand, lifting the entire piece of furniture by its pedestal and carrying it aside.

“Oh my,” Diana said, as someone pressed a brimming flagon into her hand. She sniffed at its contents, then passed the drink to Minerva. “Is that ale, Min?”

She sipped at it. “Yes.”

Miss Kate Taylor was urged to the pianoforte. A few of the younger girls grabbed hands and fled, trailing some vow to fetch Miss Finch.

“We should leave,” Diana said.

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said, raising her voice above the crescendo of music. “What’s happening?”

“Opportunity, my dears.” Their mother’s face lit up like a bonfire. “
That’s
what’s happening. And don’t think of leaving. We’re staying right here. Smile, Diana. Here he comes.”

Lord Payne cut a swath through the hubbub, making his way straight for their group. “Mrs. Highwood.” He bowed deeply, gifting the fair-haired sisters with a brilliant, gleaming smile. “Miss Highwood. Miss Charlotte. How lovely you look this evening.” Belatedly, he turned to Minerva and gave her a cool smile. “If it isn’t our resident giant-slayer, Miss Miranda.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s Minerva.”

“Right. Did you come armed this evening? With something other than those dagger-sharp looks, I mean.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“In that case”—he extended a hand to Diana—“Miss Highwood, I believe this dance is mine.”

When Diana didn’t immediately accept, their mother intervened. “What are you waiting for, Diana? Permission? Of course you may dance with Lord Payne.”

As the pair proceeded to the center of the floor, Minerva nudged her mother. “You cannot allow her to dance. Not like this. What of her asthma?”

“Pish. She hasn’t suffered an attack in ages now. And Miss Finch is always saying healthful exercise will do her benefit. Dancing is good for her.”

“I don’t know about dancing, but Lord Payne is not good for her. Not in any way. I don’t trust that man.”

One of the Bright twins stepped into her line of vision, drawing her notice away. He made a nervous bow to Charlotte. “Miss Charlotte, your hair is a river of diamonds and your eyes are alabaster orbs.”

Minerva couldn’t help but laugh. “Charlotte, do you have cataracts?”

The poor youth flushed vermillion and stuck out his hand. “Care to dance?”

With a brief glance toward their mother for consent, Charlotte launched from her chair. “I’d be honored, Mr. . . . Er, which one are you?”

“It’s Finn, miss. Unless I accidentally tread on your toes, in which case I’m Rufus.” He grinned and offered a hand. The two joined the dancers.

Minerva stared at her mother. “You’re letting Charlotte dance now? She’s barely fourteen!”

“It’s all in good fun. And it’s just a local dance, not a London ball.” Her mother clucked her tongue. “Be careful, Minerva. Your envy is showing.”

She huffed a breath. She was
not
envious. Although, as more and more couples paired off around her, she did begin to feel conspicuously alone. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation.

“I keep telling you, Minerva. If only you’d give your cheeks a pinch and remove those spectacles, you’d be—”

“I’d be blind as a bat, Mother.”

“But an
attractive
bat. They’re only spectacles, you know. You do have a choice whether or not to wear them.”

Minerva sighed. Perhaps she would like to catch a gentleman’s attention someday, but not one whose entire opinion of her could be swayed by a minor alteration of appearance. If she married, she wanted a man with a brain in his head and some substance to his character. No vain aristocrats for her, no matter how slick their words or how devilishly handsome their smiles.

It just rankled, to always feel rejected by men like Lord Payne without ever having the chance to reject them first.

She lifted the flagon of ale in her hand and took a long, unladylike draught. Then she rose from her chair, determined not to sit and play the wallflower.

“Where are you going, Minerva?”

“As you say, Mother. I’ve decided to take this unplanned interruption as an opportunity.”

Pushing through the increasingly raucous throng of dancers and drinkers, Minerva made her way to the exit. She’d left off in the middle of composing a most important letter that afternoon, and she might as well take this time to finish it. The members of the Royal Geological Society required adjustment in their thinking.

They were, after all, men.

Sixteen

S
usanna raced from the house, picking up her skirts and dashing down the lane.

“We could take a carriage,” Bram said, catching her on the first turn. “Or ride.”

“Not enough time,” she said, gulping the cool night air. “This is faster.”

Truth be told, she was glad of a chance to run. There were too many questions between them, so many emotions she felt unprepared to face. She slid a glance in his direction, wondering if his knee was paining him. She knew better than to ask. He would never admit to it, if it were.

But she slowed, just a little.

As they neared the center of the village, a dull roar reached her ears. There was no question about the source of the din. Together they raced the last distance past the church, and across the village green.

“I’ll be damned.” He halted beside her, panting for breath.

She clutched her side, staring up at the sign above the tea shop door. “The Rutting Bull? What’s the meaning of this?”

“I know what it means. It means the men have taken back their tavern.”

“
Our
tea shop, you mean.”

“Not tonight.” He grinned, shaking his head. “Ha. This scheme has Colin written all over it. But it’s good to see them taking some initiative.”

“This isn’t amusing.” Her hands flew to her hips. “Did you know they were planning this?”

At her accusing tone, his posture became defensive. “No, I didn’t know they were planning this. I’ve spent the past thirty hours knocked cold.
Someone
dosed me with enough laudanum to drop a horse.”

“No, Bram.
Someone
dosed you with the appropriate amount, and your battered body took the much-needed opportunity to rest. I was looking out for your well-being. And now I’m looking out for the well-being of my friends.” She gestured toward the tea shop. “We have to put a stop to that scene. Those girls in there, they’re unused to this sort of attention. They’re going to make more of it than they ought.”

“You’re the one making too much of it. It’s only a bit of dance and drink.”

“Precisely. To a man like yourself, that’s just harmless carousing. But these are delicate, sheltered young ladies. Their hearts and hopes are vulnerable.
Too
vulnerable. Not to mention their reputations. We have to intervene.”

Together they looked to the tea-shop-turned-tavern. Loud music and laughter drifted out to them on the breeze, along with the sound of clinking glass.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to put a stop to that scene, and neither are you. What’s going on in there is important.”

“Public drunkenness is important?”

“Yes, on occasion. More than that, fellowship. Brotherhood within a band of soldiers, and the duty those men are charged to carry out. It’s
all
important. It’s called pride, Susanna, and those men are getting their first taste of it in a long time.”

“What do you mean, their first taste of it? They are decent, honorable men, all. Or at least they
were
.”

“Come along. Before I arrived in this village, you and your muslin-clad minions had them reduced to mending lockets and piping icing on teacakes. You don’t understand. Men need a purpose, Susanna. A worthy goal. One that we feel in our guts and our hearts, not just in our heads.”

“
Men
need a purpose?” She sighed, exasperated. “Can’t you understand women are the same? We crave our own goals and our own accomplishments, our own sisterhood as well. And there are precious few places we can find it, in a world ruled by the opposite sex. Everywhere else we are governed by men’s rules, live at the mercy of male whims. But here, in this one tiny corner of the world, we are free to be our best and truest selves. Spindle Cove is
ours
, Bram. I will fight to my last breath before I let you destroy it. Women’s needs are important, too.”

He put both hands on her, tugging her away from the buildings and onto the green. Soon he had her ensconced beneath the canopy of an ancient willow tree. She’d always loved this tree, and the way its protective, low-hanging limbs made a sort of separate world. A green, fresh, gently tickling shelter that allowed just the right amount of sunlight through, yet kept out all but the heaviest rain. She’d always felt comfortable and safe under its branches.

Until now. The hungry glint in his eyes was danger itself. When he spoke, his voice had darkened. The whole night had darkened.

“I’ll tell you what’s most important of all. It’s this.” He flexed those barrel-like biceps, drawing her body flush against a solid wall of muscle and heat. “Not women, not men, but what lies between two people who want each other more than air. You can argue with me all you want, but you can’t fight this. I know you feel it.”

Oh yes. She felt it. Hot, electric sensation hummed through her whole body, all the way to the beds of her toenails and the roots of her hair. Between her thighs, she was molten with it.

“
This
is important,” he said. “It’s the most vital, undeniable force in Creation. You can’t deprive the whole village of it just because you’re afraid of losing control.”

Laughter burst from her throat. “
I’m
afraid to lose control? Oh, Bram. Please.”

This, from the man so desperate to order someone—anyone—about, he was paying shepherds and fishermen exorbitant wages just to march at his command. Let it not be forgotten, he’d bombed a flock of sheep.

He
was the one afraid of losing control. Terrified to his core. And she would happily remind him of all this—perhaps even admit she found it oddly endearing—if only he’d permit her the use of her lips and tongue.

But no. The impossible man had to conquer those, too.

He swept her into a kiss so wild and unrelenting, she had no choice but surrender.

Her mouth softened, and his tongue swept between her lips, probing deep. She accepted the challenge, parrying his thrusts with her own, enjoying the way they sparred so equally. He moaned with satisfaction, and she smiled against his lips. Apparently, she was good at this. She loved the way he brought out new strengths in her; talents she hadn’t known she possessed.

He covered her neck with kisses, grinding his hips against hers in a crude, delicious manner. “God, how I’ve been aching for you. Have you any idea what kind of dreams laudanum gives a man?”

“Did you dream of me?”

“Frequently.”
Kiss
. “Vividly.”
Kiss
. “Acrobatically.”

Laughing softly, she pulled back to meet his gaze. “Oh, Bram. I had dreams of you, too. They all involved very high cliffs and very sharp rocks.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “And sea monsters.”

He smiled. “Little liar.”

Perhaps she should have been offended, but she was too busy being stupidly thrilled. No one ever called her “little” anything.

“And just look at you,” he said, stepping back and skimming his possessive hands over her waist and hips. “I don’t even have words for how beautiful you are. You wore this for me, didn’t you?”

“Predictable arrogance. I always dress for dinner.”

“Ah, but you thought of me as you dressed. I know you did.”

She had. Of course she had. And though she always dressed for dinner, she seldom wore anything this fine. Tonight she’d selected her best. Not because she planned for him to see it, but for a much simpler, more selfish reason. He’d made her feel beautiful inside, and it only seemed fitting that her outward appearance should match.

“And these bits of your hair, curling down . . . They’re for me, too.” He caught a stray lock and wound it about his fingers. “You can’t know how I’ve been dying to touch your hair. Even softer than I dreamed.” His touch dipped to her neckline, where he eased the violet silk aside to reveal a pale sliver of her white chemise. “Look at this,” he said, fingering the neatly hemmed edge. “White and crisp and new. It’s your best, isn’t it? You wore your best for me.”

She nodded, so entranced by his low, sensual whisper that she’d lost any capacity for denial.

“I want to see it,” he said. “Let me see it.”

“
What?
” Surely he couldn’t be suggesting she remove her gown here, in the middle of the village green.

His hands slid to her back, and the closures of her gown. “You wore it for me, so let me see it. Just the shift, love. Just the shift. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a girl in a plain white shift?”

Susanna didn’t like speculating on the answer to that question. She only knew she hated all the girls who had come before.

His lips brushed her cheek, her neck. The scrape of his whiskers set her senses ablaze. “Let me see you. I only want to look.”

“Only look?”

“Maybe touch, just a little. But only through your shift. I swear, nothing more. I’ll remain clothed. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.” He tipped her chin. “You can trust me.”

Could she? She felt herself nod.

His hands slid around her ribs and went to the closures at the back of her gown. “Are these false buttons?”

Without waiting for her answer, he eased the top hook free. Then another. And another. Her bodice began to gape in front. Cool night air rushed over her skin, drawing her nipples to tight peaks.

“Bram. We can’t do this. Not here.”

“Should we go somewhere else?” He loosened another closure at the back of her gown. Her left sleeve slipped from her shoulder in a ripple of violet, baring more of her crisp white chemise. Her ribs pressed against her stays as she struggled for breath.

Her gaze darted to the Blushing Pansy.

“No one can see,” he murmured, pulling her close. His lips brushed the side of her neck. “They’re all occupied in the tavern. Don’t think of anyone else. It’s just the two of us right now.”

Another hook surrendered, and she felt her gown falling away. He drew the right sleeve down her shoulder, trailing kisses down the side of her neck. As if by instinct, she tilted her head to give him better access. His tongue slid lazily over her pulse, setting her senses aflame.

“Bram . . .”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right to want this.”

His words soothed her nerves. Still, her fingers trembled as she drew her arms out of her sleeves. Once she’d freed them, the violet silk bodice fell slack at her hips. From the waist up, she was clothed only in her corset and chemise.

His hands went to the small of her back, where her corset laces were secured in a tight knot. He fumbled a bit as he picked the tapes loose, as if his hands were unsteady. That subtle hint of uncertainty was comforting.

The laces slid free of their holes, and her corset fell away from her body. Air rushed into her lungs, dizzying and fresh. He let the garment fall softly to the grass. With it went all her confidence. She might as well have been stark naked, considering how vulnerable and exposed she felt.

“What shall I do?” Her voice shook.

His breath caressed her ear. “Just breathe.” He pressed a kiss to her jaw. “Just be here with me. Just be you.”

Warmth bloomed in her heart, suffusing her entire body.

Just be you
, he said. He didn’t want her to be different. He didn’t wish she were someone else. He just wanted her to be herself.

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him full on the lips. Because those precious words deserved a kiss. But most of all, because she was being herself—and kissing him was what she most wanted to do.

They sank into each other, deepening the kiss by slow, sensuous degrees. His tongue teased and coaxed, and she responded in kind. They kissed in an unhurried, almost playful fashion. For a minute. And then matters became serious indeed.

“I need to see you.” His hands tugged at her gown, pushing it down over her hips. “All of you. Now.”

She helped him, shimmying in place until the fabric gave way and slipped to the ground in a shimmering pool. He took both her hands and helped her step free. Then he stood back from her a pace, angling her to catch the best light. His gaze roamed over her. Every inch of her. Beneath the thin muslin, her nipples strained for his touch. The longer the silence stretched, the more impatient she grew. Then more uncertain. Her shift was thin, but it was so dark. Just how much could he see? Did he like what he saw? How did she compare with all those other girls he’d seen in plain white shifts, so very long ago?

“Lovely.” A ragged sigh shook free of his chest. “So lovely. Thank you.”

He drew a single fingertip up the inner slope of her arm. As his touch swept over her scars, she held her breath. But her wounds didn’t give him a moment’s pause.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said, tracing over her shoulder and dipping his fingers to the neckline of her shift. His touch blazed a fiery trail across the tops of her unbound breasts. “But there’s nothing in the world more enticing than a shift like this. Sweet and pure, yet so revealing. Lace, ribbons, silks, furs . . . Nothing can compare.”