The Bastard (6 page)

“Mr. Manville?” Percy asked.

“
Oui
. ’Tis him. I swear it is.”

Sir Thomas nodded. “I am afraid the boy is right. My brother has a confession to make.”

Percy looked to Manville. “Spit it out, man. What went on here this night? I have never been accused of such heinous crimes and would dearly love to hear the truth of it. What have you to say?”

Manville doffed his hat and twisted it in his hands. The effects of the drink he’d imbibed earlier had worn off, or Thomas had sobered him up. Percy didn’t know which. At this point, neither did he care.

“I didn’t mean any harm,” the big man mumbled. “I was only havin’ some fun, tryin’ to get the fellows’ blood up, you know.”

Percy made a sound of incredulity. “Having fun? Do you know what damage your ‘fun’ has caused me?”

Richard’s gaze darted to Henri before returning to Percy. “I am afraid so. It is my words that caused your new wife to run off, is it not?”

“You maligned my honor and spoke of my bride with disrespect!”

Manville nodded, his eyes now focused on the carpet. “I am terribly sorry, milord. I will help search for her, do anything I can to make amends—”

“But he wasn’t alone in it,” Henri piped up. “There were others placing wagers as if...well...as if what Mr. Manville said about Jeannette was not shocking at all.”

“I take full responsibility,” Richard said without argument. “It was all my doing, my own strange sense of humor. And look at the grief I have caused.”

Jeannette’s father opened and closed his hands in an obvious effort to keep himself from throttling Richard. After a moment, he gained control and offered Percy a stiff bow. “I apologize as well, Lord St. Ives, for our momentary lack of faith. But now that we have learned the truth, I hope you will not fault our daughter for reacting as any other virtuous woman would in the same circumstance. I assure you, she is a good girl, just as a young bride should be."

Hallelujah
. Percy breathed a sigh of relief and returned the bow. “No need to worry. Once we have found my lady, we simply need to convince her of her mistake and all will be well, eh?”

Tapping his cane on the floor like a gavel, the baron turned to Thomas, Desmond, and Richard. “I want the three of you back out there searching, all night if necessary. There is no telling the dangers that might befall a woman alone. My young bride could be set upon by highwaymen or brigands or worse—”

“My lord?”

It was Henri who interrupted. Percy paused long enough to give the boy a chance to speak, but he’d heard just about all he wanted to hear from him already.

Henri looked hesitant, but at his father’s nod, he finally said, “My sister is on her way to London,
monsieur
. We were to meet her there in two weeks’ time.”

Percival Borden smiled. “Why, thank you, Henri. We will certainly find her more quickly now that our search has some direction. Sir Thomas? If you, Desmond, and Richard will follow me, I have a map in my study. We will mark out all possible routes to London, and thereby save ourselves considerable time.”

“I will go, too,” the Comte de Lumfere volunteered, but Percy shook his head.

“Thank you, but no. Your good wife is considerably distressed. She should not be denied the comfort of your company. I will ring for a maid to show you to your rooms. Try and rest—and do not fear. Your daughter will be back with us, where she belongs, come morning.”

Forcing his creaking joints to move, Percy left Jeannette’s family behind and followed his friends into the hall, closing the door with a soft thud behind him.

Then he reached out to clutch Thomas’s arm. “What took you so bloody long?” he snarled.

Jeannette waited until the sailors had left the tavern’s main room before creeping up the stairs. Silently traversing the long hall that branched off into a dozen bedrooms or more, she paused outside each portal to hear the sounds coming from within. Her hair had dried, but her clothes were still damp enough to make her shiver. She couldn’t wait to rid herself of the wet, muddy garments. How she would filch Dade’s tattered white breeches and striped shirt, or the clothes of another sailor, was quite another question.

In the last room on the left, she heard nothing but snoring and moved on. In the next, the movement of someone preparing for bed. Where were Molly and Dade?

A giggle two doors down answered Jeannette’s question. Whether it was Molly or the maid who had accompanied the other seaman didn’t matter.

She peered nervously behind her. No one was coming.

As she turned the latch and pushed, the door squealed on its hinges, making her fear a loud protest from those inside. But, as she’d hoped, the couple remained too preoccupied to notice. Heart ticking triple time, Jeannette slipped inside.

“Give
me
some blankets.” It was a female voice—Molly’s.

Trying to ignore what was going on in the bed only a few feet away, Jeannette scanned the room. The moonlight streaming in at the window lent just enough of a glow for her to see the outline of various shapes. Male and female garments littered the floor, but she couldn’t tell Dade’s from Molly’s, so she snatched up the lot, including a pair of boots, and crept back toward the hall.

“That’s it, my girl, there you go,” Dade whispered as the sound of kissing, then giggling, came from the direction of the bed.

Jeannette’s cheeks flushed hot. She had to get out of the room and find somewhere to change, somewhere she could take the time to feel each garment and determine between them. But where?

Molly began to moan, and Jeannette no longer cared. She slipped into the hall, closed the door and considered herself lucky to be away. Lovemaking wasn’t anything like what she had pictured. It wasn’t quick or pristine or polite. What she’d witnessed was intimate and personal...far
too
personal.

Shaking her head to clear it of the images that remained, Jeannette searched for a place to change. She couldn’t go back to the common room. Neither could she strip in the alley. Some of the rooms might be vacant, but which ones?

The quiet settling of the inn emboldened her. She stole into the darkest corner of the hall and began to sort Dade’s clothes from Molly’s. She was likely to catch her death if she didn’t make haste.

Once she had her own wet garments on the floor, she grasped the young tar’s breeches and pulled them up over her hips. But before she could don his shirt and boots, she heard a tread on the stair. Panicked, she darted into the closest room. She’d hoped to find it empty or its occupant fast asleep, but the second she entered, the bed creaked and something sprang at her out of the darkness, slamming her to the ground.

“What are you doing sneaking about in the dark? Who are you?” the man who’d just tackled her demanded.

Jeannette couldn’t speak. The air had been knocked from her lungs, but she recognized that voice. She was partially undressed beneath the lieutenant she’d seen downstairs, who was similarly without a shirt.

Of all rooms, she thought.

Treynor grasped her shoulders. “Molly? My, you are a lusty wench.” His voice revealed irritation, impatience. “What are you doing creeping into my room? How did you lose Dade? Don't tell me he’s finished with you already.”

“He...he...passed out,” Jeannette croaked with what little breath she could summon. Her safety depended upon this man not seeing her face or learning she was a stranger, but her accent could also give her away.

“You’re freezing,” he said on a sigh. “Did I hurt you?”

Grateful for the spirits she could smell on his breath, Jeannette shook her head. She could only hope his wits were dulled enough to conceal the more obvious differences between herself and the barmaid.

“Come on, then, if you’re so eager,” he said gruffly, rolling off her. “Perhaps I could use a diversion after all.”

Rising, he reached down to help her up.

Jeannette’s eyes cut to the door. She wanted to flee, but feared she wouldn’t make the hall before the lieutenant caught her. Judging by his lithe movements, he could intercept her in a second, if he tried. Yet she dared not protest or speak again because of her accent.

She allowed him to help her up and reluctantly followed when he pulled her to the bed.

“What? You have nothing to say?” He chuckled as Jeannette tried to jerk away, then turned and dropped back onto the bed, pulling her down on top of him.

The sensation caused by the renewed contact of their bodies made Jeannette gasp. His warm, sinewy flesh felt even better than she had imagined, watching him downstairs. She tried to ignore the strange yet evocative sensation of skin on skin—not at all easy the moment a much more private body part stirred to life against her leg.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said when she nearly bolted again. “You have nothing to do with my foul mood, and I think you’re right. A few moments with your warm, generous body, and I will be good as new.” His mouth slanted across hers, roughly insistent. Then, reining in whatever had prompted the harshness of his kiss, he rolled her onto her back and added, “Be calm. I won’t hurt you.”

Jeannette swallowed hard as he ran a finger along the line of her jaw. He stopped at her chin, and she could taste the slight tang of his skin as he rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. Struggling to control her fear, and the flow of a strange emotion she couldn’t name, she wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was slamming against her chest.

“You taste like honey,” he said. “And your hair smells like rain.” He buried his face in her neck, breathing deep while Jeannette lay frozen beneath him. The sensations assailing her body seemed to paralyze her mind.

“I may have underestimated your charms. You’re cleaner than any barmaid I’ve ever met.” He kissed the tip of her nose as his hands began to knead her back, slowly lowering to the curve of her hips. When he reached her bottom, Jeannette nearly screeched and jumped out of the bed. Only the hope that she’d have the opportunity to escape without incident, if she exercised patience, kept her where she was.

Treynor’s hands wandered back up to cup her breasts as his mouth moved on hers once again. This time his kiss was deep, but not harsh. His lips moved over hers, gently compelling her to respond, and she found this coaxing technique highly effective. She began to feel as if she was on fire—as if something in her body had taken over that no longer accepted orders from her brain.

Who would have guessed a man could make a woman feel so...eager, Jeannette thought in surprise. Her father would surely abhor the thought of her being pawed by a sailor, even an officer, but she was almost glad to find she wasn’t incapable of desire.

As Lieutenant Treynor pressed her lips apart and flicked her tongue with his own, letting her taste him as he tasted her, Jeannette’s thoughts became fractured, disjointed. Her parents...she had to remember her parents. But the sweet, velvety softness of his mouth invaded her senses. Unresisting, she quivered at his touch.

“Are you still cold?” He’d misunderstood her reaction. After reaching back with one hand to throw a blanket over them both, he wrapped himself more tightly around her.

Oddly, Jeannette had no desire to break away. She could feel the ripple of muscle as he moved on top of her, feel his lean, hard stomach on her own as he nibbled her neck and then her ear.

“Let’s get rid of these, shall we?” he mumbled, tugging at her breeches. “Why are you wearing them, anyway?”

Again, she didn’t answer, and, fortunately, he didn’t follow up on the question. He was too preoccupied with arousing her.

This is madness. It can’t be happening.
The lieutenant was no one to her, lowborn—but Jeannette’s body didn’t care about his station in life, especially when one hand slid down her breeches to cup her bare bottom and his tongue dipped into her ear.