My Lady Series Bundle (37 page)

Beheaded?
Wyndham lifted his gaze to Alexei's, who was being circled by the Russian soldiers. "Who is this man?" the leader asked sharply, pointing to Wyndham.

"He is just my lover!" Alexei exclaimed.

The leader of the Russian soldiers looked down on Wyndham with disgust, then abruptly spit on his leg, pronouncing, "Cunt!" Then he ordered, "Leave this one and bring the prisoner, Tropov!"

O
relan cried out as one of Alexei's burly guards shoved her out of the carriage. She landed on the brick street on her hands and knees, because the carriage had not completely stopped, and was even now racing away from the scene. Yet, she did not care about the rough treatment. She was more relieved to have at least a cloak to hide her complete nakedness. The blood on her palms from scraping the rough bricks was nothing compared to the last thirty minutes she had spent traveling inside the carriage, while she wondered if the guards would rape her. The entire time, she agonized over whether the guards would follow Alexei's orders or perhaps ease their burden by just killing her.

But much more than that, in each harrowing half second of time, she suffered agony about what Wyndham had done. What he must be doing at the moment for her release. On one barely coherent level of her mind, she realized that insanity rested in those thoughts. It was nearly too much to bear, yet she kept hearing Wyndham's voice whispering to her. "Be brave, spitfire. Be as brave as I know you can be."

"Yes," she gasped, lifting her head from where she knelt on the dirty bricks of the street, to see the Royal Hotel across the street. Wyndham's friend was there. She knew him, Lord Sutherlin. He was also a spy. Orelan wobbled to stand upright on her bare feet, and then she grasped the cloak tightly around her body, leaving blood on the woolen material. The footmen outside the grand hotel would never let her inside appearing as she did. She lifted her chin. But they would take a message inside for her.

The footman was reluctant, yet he relented when he realized that she would only leave her stance by force, thereby creating a scene. She realized how horrible she must appear with her long hair matted in tangles and her face ravaged by too many tears. Her embarrassment was acute, as finely dressed patrons of the hotel whisked up the entryway's red carpet, trying not to let their dignified gazes settle on her. She stood bravely, shivering on her bare feet, yet it was too much when one gentleman arriving alone did not avert his gaze distastefully, but made a point to leer at her. That blatant lecherous speculation sent her fleeing to the side of the ponderous building, to hold her breath against the possibility of the gentleman following her. He did not, and she collapsed against the side of the building, shaking. Her bare feet were so cold and she was still so afraid.

"Mademoiselle Becou!" Orelan gasped at the sound of her name, while she cowered against the wall. "Orelan, it is Radford. Lord Sutherlin."

Radford caught Mademoiselle Orelan Becou, before she slumped to the ground. He realized immediately the lady had fallen into a faint as he lifted her up into his arms. A light from the street caught the features of her face as he looked downward. He grimaced. Orelan was beautiful, but there were obvious signs of trauma on her face. Red swollen eyes, nose, bruised lips, and dirt smudges. It had not escaped his notice that Mademoiselle Orelan could not be wearing anything beneath the woolen cloak around her. The situation was grave, and he debated whether to take her inside the hotel to see to her health and comfort more quickly.

"I am truly sorry, Mademoiselle," he murmured in a gruff voice. Orelan's comfort would have to wait for the more important issue of safety, and that meant that he must immediately take her to the ship. It was one of his sailing ships called Trident. As a Duke, few people realized his common pursuits, such as the shipping company that he owned, and also the distillery, three woolen factories, and the one pub. There was a certain thrill to making one's own money, versus the fortune of old money he had inherited since becoming a Duke.

The Trident was where Wyndham would come to upon his escape. He just wished that he knew what was happening. The unexpected arrival of Orelan, showing up in such a manner did not bode well. Yet, Brynmore and Saxonhurst were stationed outside the gates of Valcourt, as close as they could be, to help in any way they could. Still, it would take Wyndham's ingenuity to get outside the gate. What worried him immensely though was what Wyndham might have given up, such as his freedom, for Orelan's release.

Yet, Radford knew that Drummond and Harrison were working behind the diplomatic scenes, such as it was. And the Archangels, in a group, all for one, were a formidable group. If Wyndham was a prisoner in Valcourt now, they would find a way to affect his escape, there was no doubt on that matter. Radford heard the clatter of the carriage he'd ordered, just before he had come downstairs to find Orelan. He turned to watch the conveyance turn up the alleyway he stood in. He'd not known Orelan would be waiting in the alleyway. He'd just wanted stealth when leaving the Royal Hotel with his precious cargo. A small amount of providence was on his side tonight though.

W
yndham gripped the polished side-rails on the bow of Radford's sleek shipping vessel, Trident. His gaze was unseeing of the gentle blue-black sea illuminated by a full moon at midnight. Even though his face turned outward to the gradual midnight swells of the sea, his thoughts and sight were inward. The Trident sailed cleanly through the water, leaving behind a sordid time, and Wyndham had an intense urge to just dive into the cold clean sea. Perhaps, cleanse his soul with the sharp bite of the salt water.

Orelan was ensconced in the captain's cabin below where he stood. She was safe and she had been told that he was safely aboard the ship. That had been several hours ago and now the ship was well out to sea. Yet still, he stood on the bow dressed in a borrowed shirt and pair of pants with nothing but the sea to cleanse him. At first, he'd not gone to see Orelan because of the amenities. A maid for her comfort had been neatly employed for the journey, in Radford's ever-ready fashion, and women's machinations took time. To be bathed, pampered, clothed, and to have her injuries attended to. Rough scraped palms and knees, Radford had said.

Wyndham's grip tightened to nearly painful proportions around the railing.
Anything else
, he wondered? What had been done was enough, yet he feared the unknown. After Orelan had left him in the sole company of the guards. He was not a coward. That was not why he stood at bay for so long. No, it was too delicate Too important. He had to approach Orelan properly. He had to begin now as he intended to go on. In his callous youth, he would have rushed in, unthinking. He would have frightened a young woman with his brashness. Stolen a kiss from an innocent with his harsher more demanding lust.

"This is for a lifetime," he murmured, looking out to the black wave swept sea. Orelan was everything, and all he could ever dream of wanting. Yet, they had been through so much. Their emotions, her emotions, must remain so delicate. He did not want to muddle it, so he made himself stop and think. They would survive. They would come through as one no matter what had happened.

Perhaps, he should... "Court her," he murmured. It was silly and improbable after everything they had been through. "It could work," he uttered, turning his gaze up to the moon. It was after all, and had been for years, his deepest wish.

"Do you intend to stand there barefooted, like the love-besotted fool that you obviously are? Or go to her, old man."

Wyndham turned toward Radford's snide aristocratic tone with a slight smile lifting his firm lips. "You were voted the emissary then?" Wyndham asked dryly.

"Of course," Radford replied, hitching his lean hip against the railing, as he continued, "Brynmore and Saxonhurst could never attempt my finesse."

Wyndham nearly laughed and he realized how good it was to finally be once again with Radford's noble cockiness, Brynmore's roguish cheekiness, and Saxon's abiding loyalty. His gaze caught Saxon and Brynmore rounding the mast as they each speculatively eyed him. He merely nodded and they both came forward.

"What happened?" Wyndham asked, once they were all gathered at the railing. He knew Alexei's arrest was certainly not mere providence. He also thought he had an inkling of who to thank for his, in the nick of the time, rescue. Radford smugly gazed at him with his dark head tilted to one side. Brynmore winked imprudently and Saxon actually blushed. "Not you three then," Wyndham muttered in amazement. "Surely, Drummond or Ravenscar?"

All three of them shook their heads gazing at him, until he had to believe none of the Archangels crafted Alexei's opportune arrest. Then Radford quipped. "Oh by the aside, Wyndham, the Captain of this ship marries . . ."

Wyndham dropped his head and suddenly his three friends and companions were there beside him, all in motion for a combined male hugging and back patting. "Thank you," Wyndham whispered. He knew well that the three of them understood his feelings. Never again would he reject any help offered, nor would he allow any of them to refuse his help. Together they were the Archangels and apart they were obscurity.

W
ithout turning around, Orelan dismissed the maid with a grateful murmur. She could nearly pretend to be normal again, she thought, smoothing down the white gossamer fiber of the vaporous nightgown she wore. She was standing at the portal looking out to the midnight sea, such a deep purply black color that it reminded her of Wyndham's eyes. She knew Wyndham was safe, she'd been told. What she did not know, was what price he might have paid in those last fateful hours with Alexei. Perhaps, that was why he did not come to her, she thought with remorse? Maybe they were both branded now beyond repair?

"When I gaze upon you, Orelan, all that I see are the golden lights of love. All that I feel is passion and longing so deeply coiled into my soul that it brings me to my knees in reverence." Orelan gasped at Wyndham's deep tenor voice behind her, while his words took hopeful flight in her heart. "From this moment forward all that I will ever ask, of God or of man, is that I may love you."

Orelan turned with a soft urgent cry upon her lips. "Wyndham." She saw him kneeling on the polished wooden flooring, gazing up at her, and her bare feet took flight with her night gown billowing around her like a white cloud. She met him on her knees as her fingers found the chiseled lines of his face. "I love you," she gasped.

Wyndham's fingers clasped the sides of her face as his thumb traced her parted lips and his irises shone like sapphire embers. They gazed at each other with impassioned questions and love, as though they were seeing each other fully for the first time in their lives.

"Baby love," Wyndham whispered with his voice husky and filled with tremendous emotion as his forehead dropped and their temples kissed once, then laying still against each other. Their breathlessness mingled together warm and sweet.

Orelan sighed, a deep longing sound of love and joy, while her fingers touched Wyndham's silky hair, the sides of his face, down his strong neck and his very powerful shoulders. She quested with an exploration of touch, feeling through her fingertips the sureness of his strength and wholeness.

"Did they . . ." Wyndham's voice caught on a deep bass tone.

"No, Wyndham," she whispered urgently. "I was not touched, my golden puma."

The sound that erupted from Wyndham's chest was a fierce growling of sharp relief as he grasped her into his strong and forceful embrace, cradling her yielding body against his steely frame. His masculinity surrounded her, enveloping her in warmth, safety, passion, and love, and she cried out at the power and surety of it. She quivered against him as he soothed her with slow caressing hands and the sheer force of his presence.

"Did, Alexei . . ." she panted, trembling. "My golden puma,
did
you?" she gasped.

"No," Wyndham expelled as fiercely, coming on the tips of her cry of relief as she buried her face into his chest. Her tears dampened his shirt as he rocked her in his embrace and she clutched him back. The relief was an acute pain in her chest, making her tears turn into sobs.

"I would have, gladly, to save you," Wyndham uttered, tilting her face up to his, to then peck kisses on her trembling lips. "As you would have for me, my love, my life," he finished, as he tasted her small sobs and tears again with his lips.

"Yes," she gasped on a retreating sob against his lips. "My love, my life." The impassioned sound Wyndham made at her love-filled endearment inflamed her senses, and crumbled her sobs into heated whimpers.

"Christ
, Orelan," he growled hoarsely as he seized the sides of her face, lifting her lips to his. Their mouths crashed together with their lips moving madly over each other's. She pressed her body to his, ardently soaking up his strength and passion. She could feel the evidence of his love and need. She could feel the thick ridge of his power and masculinity, pressing firmly into her belly. She squirmed against it, acknowledging the male potency with her own needy and yielding softness. The knobbed head, the thickly heated shaft, burned its outline into her flesh as their lips torridly groped each other.

Wyndham's hand, with his fingers splayed, clasped the back of her head, anchoring it as his tongue thrust deep into her mouth, while his other hand with fingers spread, clasped her bottom, lifting her body up to his body.

"
Mm, mm,"
she cried around his tongue, sucking on it strongly and deeply, as her arms wound around his neck. His fingers squeezed over the wiggling plumpness of her buttocks, making her gasp, as his tongue coupled her mouth with thick heated thrusts. The thinness of her night gown was no barrier to his fingers spread over her buttocks, with one finger pressing intimately into the crease. Its arousing presence was fingering her with passionate promise that wet her sex, which was riding over the impression of his timbered cock.