Authors: Lynne Connolly
“That depends. Get my wife. If you do not, I will not hesitate. You will die. Think on this—the authorities will thank me if I kill you.”
“They will not. You will make so many enemies that you and your wife will never be safe.” The smile broadened.
“On the contrary. You’re here incognito. That means I killed a man in a brawl in the City. In self-defense.” He let that sink in. “If the authorities find you dead on British soil, do you think they will admit to it? Don’t you think they’d send you quietly back to Italy, or bury you somewhere and you would merely disappear? Even your father doesn’t know where you are, does he?”
“Our father,” the Young Pretender said softly. “Don’t you want this? If you kill me, you are heir.” He glanced around the room. “Royalty may legitimize children, if it suits them.”
“Just as well for you, then.” Dominic glanced at Alconbury while still keeping his attention on his brother. The earl showed no surprise. It could be a good straight face, though. Telling his enemy anything more than he knew already went hard with him. Already he was getting Alconbury’s measure. As far as Dominic could see, Alconbury was far more dangerous an opponent than Charles Stuart. “Get my wife,” he said.
Alconbury’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Very well.”
He and Val left the room.
Dominic had his moment. He moved away, still holding the gun, but far enough to get the document out of his pocket. He tossed it at the man. “Have you seen this before?”
The Pretender took it between finger and thumb. “I have not. Not this copy, at any rate.” He glanced at the two men guarding him. “One word and you die.” They must be trusted indeed for them to remain here, because Dominic intended to leave nothing hidden.
Stuart flourished the paper. “You know what this means? You could be King. Fight by my side. With this we may defy the world and reclaim what was stolen from us.”
Dominic beckoned, and his brother returned the paper to him. “Do you truly think I want that? I will tell you now that if my wife is hurt, if you ever do anything again to harm either of us, I will stake my claim. I’ll declare you a bastard in the process.”
Stuart picked up his glass and drained it in two gulps. Dominic ignored the thumps and scuffles from above. “This document is my guarantee of safety. You know there are more, and you know what they mean. Does the Duke of Kirkburton?”
The Young Pretender’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Unfortunately, yes. He acquired a copy of the certificate. He will try to force you into the open.”
“He doesn’t know it’s me, though, does he? There is no record of what happened. The baby could have died, could it not?” His smile was more genuine as relief flooded through him, making him weak in the aftermath. “Tell him, and he will become my supporter, not yours.”
“Kirkburton is after the main chance,” Stuart said. “His son is cut from the same cloth. Take care who you trust.”
“I do. Shall I tell you what will happen? You will return to the Palazzo Muti, and I will take my wife to my house in the country. I will accept the Earl and Countess of Brampton as my parents, and in the fullness of time I will inherit the title. You will go back on your travels. You will never find peace or happiness. You’re a broken man, are you not? Sick of fighting and getting nowhere.”
“I’m still fighting.”
Never had Charles Stuart appeared more regal to Dominic. He sat still in his chair, his head tilted at an arrogant angle and his eyes shrewd. Dominic was afforded a glimpse of the bonny prince who had captivated all who met him instead of the wreck of a man who grasped at straws to gain what he thought he still wanted.
“I would retire. After you die, and your brother, if you leave no issue, the cause dies with you. Your brother is not likely to leave issue, is he?”
“No.” Charles’s lip twisted. “Even if he were not a Cardinal. He preaches constantly on virtue and purity. One would imagine he was afraid of simple human pleasures.” He nodded to the weapon. “Put that away and have a drink. You won’t use it.”
“I have yet to see my wife.” He still would, if he needed to.
Stuart shrugged and picked up the decanter, which glittered like a huge ruby in the light. He poured the liquid into his glass and toasted Dominic. “To you, brother. May you live happily.”
“Thank you.”
“A good prince knows when he is defeated,” the Pretender went on, after taking a sip. “But not for long. Take your wife. If you accept your foster father’s title, that is an end of it. Your progeny are of no interest to me. Is that clear enough?”
“It is.” So clear, he wanted to weep. He’d won. “If you renege on this, so will I.” Because of his insistence on honor, sometimes people thought he was incapable of thinking deviously, or getting his way in less than perfect conditions. The men under him had soon learned differently. As did this man tonight. “I will still make my claim.”
The Pretender took another drink, more substantial this time. “I’ll be glad to get back to good wine. I have a woman waiting for me. Yes, I will leave, this time. I will return, you may count on it.” He sighed. “Another campaign over. I should have been a soldier, but my father would not allow it. Only leading troops, not being part of them.”
“I was a soldier.”
He sighed again. “I know.”
The door opened to admit the most beautiful sight Dominic had clapped eyes on for more than a day. His wife. She appeared disheveled. Her red-gold hair stood out like a halo around her head, the shadows under her eyes pronounced. But she was alive, and as far as he could see, unharmed.
She saw him and took off. It would have taken more than Val and Alconbury to stop her flying across the room into his arms. Dominic held her tight, and when Val came closer, handed him his pistol. An accidental discharge would not do at this stage.
The Pretender stayed in his chair.
Alconbury stood by the mantelpiece, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms. “We are excused, then?” he said. “You may safely leave matters to me. I have a ship waiting at the Pool of London. I fear we may have to leave tonight.”
“My men?” Stuart asked.
“Asleep, sir. They will remain so for a while. They were my father’s men. He was joining you in this attempt?” He didn’t sound pleased. Clearly, he and his father were in disagreement over this strategy.
The Pretender merely met his gaze and said, “They are loyalists. To the true King and his family.” He didn’t look at Dominic, who was cradling his wife close, uncaring about any other matters.
“We are leaving for the country in the morning,” he said. “I’ll have no arguments.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly.
It had taken two days for Lord St. Just and his bride to reach the private house he owned, set like a jewel in the lush countryside of Leicestershire. Dominic had not allowed Claudia to lift a finger for herself, despite her assuring him that she had come to no harm. She had been kept captive in a comfortable, if small bedroom, fed adequately, and they had not threatened her. They had not needed to. She didn’t tell him that part, where Charles Stuart had calmly told her that he meant to kill her if her husband didn’t appear soon. That he meant to kill her husband when he arrived.
That had terrified her. She’d rather they beat and starved her. The man had told her with such detached calmness that she had to believe him. She had no idea how Dominic had changed the mind of the Young Pretender, but somehow he had, and they had come away free and clear. Only to find London thinning of company and the weather decidedly sunnier.
Dominic had pampered her. At first, realizing that he needed to spoil her, to reassure himself that she was not hurt, she let him. She recognized that he needed to take care of her. He’d exclaimed over the very small bruise on the back of her head where the abductor had struck her, tucked her into bed, and refused to join her.
She wanted him badly, at least to hold her, but after the first day she wanted more. He had driven her screaming mad by his refusal to listen. He made calm arrangements and lifted her into the carriage as if she were a damned invalid. She had allowed him his way, her savior.
Besides, two inns they stopped at, while perfectly adequate, offered little in the way of privacy. She could hear every snore of the man in the bed next to their room on the first night. She had no mind to try to seduce him with an audience nearby.
When they arrived at the house, she’d insisted on seeing it. Then Dominic had kindly suggested that she might like to retire to bed for a while. At first ready to protest, Claudia had another thought. “Yes, I would,” she said. “I’d like to wash the grime of the road off first. Could I order a bath?”
“This is your house as much as it is mine, my love. You must order whatever you wish.”
She went up to the charming bedroom with the wide bay window that looked out over the neat park attached to the house. The servants brought up a French enameled bath and poured the contents of numerous water cans into it. With the water steaming and the towels laid ready, she allowed her maid to undress her and stepped into the tub.
When her maid would have picked up the big sponge to wash her, she stopped her. “No, let me relax for a few moments.” She met the woman’s gaze directly. “If my husband asks for me, tell him I am ready to receive him. I wish him to think I am in bed.”
If her maid had not been so well trained, she would probably have smiled. Claudia caught the ghost of her amusement in her grey eyes.
She bobbed a curtsey. “Very well, my lady.” The maid quietly left the room.
Claudia waited for ten minutes and was just making up her mind that Dominic wasn’t coming, when the door opened and he entered. After a muffled exclamation, he backed up, but she was too fast for him.
“No, come here. I need someone to wash my back for me.”
With a winsome smile, she held out the sponge. He swore, and then he swore again, but very low, under his breath, as if he thought she wouldn’t hear. “You will be the death of me.”
“I sincerely pray I will not. Who will catch me when I fall from my horse?”
He snorted. “You have the best seat of any woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Who will stop me getting into appalling scrapes at balls and making indiscreet comments?”
“People love you for it.” He came forward and took the sponge. “Those who do not?” He snapped his fingers. “That for them.”
Then he proceeded to get his revenge. He washed her very, very thoroughly. He rubbed the soap on the sponge and passed it over her back with such a gentle touch he barely roused her senses. Only just, but with a thoroughness that made her gasp. Then he gently urged her back against the towels draped over the tub to soften and warm her and treated her front with the same kind of detailed attention. He lifted her left breast and ensured the fold beneath was clean, making her gasp with longing. He cupped the curve of it and held it steady while he washed and rinsed it. Then he did the same to her right breast. He took care over her navel was clean, moving close to study it. Then he skimmed past her cleft to wash her legs, calves, ankles, between each toe to come back up and finally wash her thighs.
By then she was shuddering with need.
He abandoned the sponge and leaned over to kiss her. Not one of the sweet, loving kisses of the last few days, but a ravaging, conquering kiss, the kind that laid waste to her senses.
Curling her hand around his neck, she tried to drag him closer, into the water if necessary, but he resisted her easily. He stroked down her stomach and between her legs. He eased her inner lips apart to reach the sensitive skin inside and gave it to the same thorough treatment. “Dominic please…” Her voice trailed off in a shivering gasp.
“Let me do this. Let me touch you.” His voice was deep and not entirely steady. Dominic probed her skin, slid his fingers just inside her opening and then up to her pearl, to pinch and tease her into hardness. At the same time, he marauded her mouth, claiming it for his own with slick glides of his tongue.
Neither cared when, as he lifted her, a sheet of water landed on the carpet. He grabbed one of the towels lying on a chair nearby, tucked it around her, and carried her to the bed. For once she didn’t care if he wouldn’t allow her to walk. Once there, he kept his burning gaze fixed on her while he undressed. To think this man had once been the neatest she had ever met.
Dominic tossed his clothes to the carpet, and climbed into bed with her, his shaft satisfactorily hard. She grabbed it when he was with her, glorying at its erect potency and the softness of the skin that covered it.
“Claudia, I meant to let you rest for a week. I want you, my love. Every way I can have you. I want you like this.” Instead of climbing over her, he sat cross-legged on the sheets. “Come to me.”
Arousal rising in her like a living thing, Claudia went. She sat as he instructed her, her legs over his, their bodies meeting. They both watched as he entered her body.
“A miracle,” she said, but wasn’t aware of saying it out loud until he agreed.
They moved together, and she understood why he wanted her this way. This was equality, togetherness, both exerting the same effort to bring joy to the other. His happiness was more important to her than hers was, and she knew without him telling her that he felt the same way.
His shaft lay deep in her, and when he touched her, he sent her up and up until she flew. Her body turned into living flame as she moved on him. She took him as deeply as she could. His voice sounded increasingly hoarse as he cried her name. Then with one rough cry, he came in jagged, uncontrolled jerks, taking him with her, triggering her peak.
Panting, laughing, they lay down, and he drew a sheet over them, for the evening was warm and they needed no more than that.
“I love you,” she said, totally unnecessarily.
But he seemed to take pleasure from her saying it and repeated the sentiment before kissing her with tender lasciviousness.
“You are and always will be the love of my life,” he said. “Also the thorn in my side and my exasperation. I will never know what you plan next, will I?”