To Seduce a Sinner (23 page)

“Yes, my lord,” Pynch said.

Then Jasper walked to his lady wife and took her arm, warm and alive beneath his fingers. He bent his head and murmured in her ear, “I do this for you, my heart. Only for you.”

She looked up at him, her face a pale moon in the darkness. “You do it for yourself as well. It’s not right to let him die alone, no matter what he did.”

He didn’t bother arguing. Let her think he worried about such matters if she wished. He led her to their carriage and bundled her inside, closing the door. Even if the highwayman lived a few hours more, he could no longer hurt Melisande, and that was all that mattered in the end.

MELISANDE SIGHED WHEN
the door closed to her inn room later that evening. Vale always acquired two rooms at the inns they stayed in, and tonight was no different. Despite the excitement of the near robbery, despite the dying robber—who’d been carried into a back room—despite the fact that the little inn was nearly full, Melisande still found herself in a solitary room.

She wandered to the little fireplace, piled high with coal, thanks to a generous tip to the innkeeper’s wife. The flames danced, but her fingers remained cold. Did the servants talk about their mistress and master taking separate rooms so soon after their marriage? Melisande felt vaguely ashamed, as if she’d failed in some way as a wife. Mouse leapt onto the foot of the bed and turned about three times before lying down. He sighed.

At least Suchlike never mentioned the sleeping arrangements. The little maid dressed and undressed her with unfailing cheerfulness. Although she’d been hard-pressed to smile this evening after their near robbery. She’d still been shaking from the shock, and she’d lost all her merry chatter. Melisande had taken pity on the girl and sent her down early to eat her supper.

Which left Melisande all alone. She hadn’t much appetite for the dinner the round innkeeper’s wife had served. The boiled chicken had looked delicious enough, but it was hard to eat knowing a young boy was dying in the back of the inn. She’d excused herself early and come upstairs instead. Now she wished she’d stayed in the dining room Vale had reserved for them. She shook her head. No use remaining awake. She couldn’t go back down now that she’d undressed, and that was that. Melisande pulled back the bedclothes from the sturdy inn bed, relieved to see they looked clean, and climbed in. She pulled the sheets to her nose and snuffed out the light. Then she watched the firelight flicker on the ceiling until her eyelids grew heavy.

Her thoughts floated and drifted. Vale’s bright eyes and the look in them when he’d savagely pulled the first highwayman into the carriage. Boiled chicken and the dumplings Cook had made when she was a child. How many more days they’d spend traveling rutted roads in the swaying carriage. When they might cross in kmign sto Scotland. Her thoughts scattered, and she began to sink into sleep.

Then she was conscious of a warmth against her back. Of strong arms and the brush of lips that tasted of whiskey.

“Jasper?” she mumbled, still half dreaming.

“Hush,” he whispered.

His mouth opened over hers, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue penetrating her mouth. She thought she tasted salt. She moaned, caught between waking and sleeping, all her defenses down and in shambles. She felt him lift her chemise and pull it from her body. His hands explored her breasts, stroking tenderly, then pinched her nipples almost to the point of pain.

“Jasper,” she moaned.

She ran her palms over his back. He was nude, his skin so hot it almost burned. His muscles shifted under her hands as he lay atop her, his weight settling between her spread thighs.

“Hush,” he whispered again.

She felt the nudge as he found her center and thrust inside.

Her body was soft, yielding from sleep and his hands, but she wasn’t quite ready. He shifted back and rocked slowly, gently, each small thrust stretching her and pushing him deeper inside. He hooked his hands under her knees and lifted them up so he was cradled between her thighs. And then he kissed her, brushing his palms lightly over her exposed nipples. Tantalizing her and tormenting her at the same time.

She tried to arch up, to make him touch her more firmly, but she hadn’t the leverage or the strength. He was in control, and he would make love to her in the manner that he desired. All she could do was submit.

So she tangled her hands in his hair and hung on, kissing him back, moving her mouth lushly, submissively under his.

He groaned. His hips worked a little faster now, his cock crammed all the way inside of her. She felt each thrust, each stretch of her feminine flesh as she received him again and again.

He broke the kiss and lifted his head away from her, his breath coming in loud, harsh pants. She didn’t open her eyes; she didn’t want to disrupt her dreamy state. Then she felt his fingers sliding down her side, twisting between their bodies. He searched and found her, his fingers strong and knowing. He pressed his thumb down on her clitoris.

“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice a rasp of desire. “Come with me.”

She opened her eyes at last. He must’ve brought a candle into the room, for muted light played along his side. His shoulders were wide and bunched with muscle, strands of hair clinging damply to his face, and his wild turquoise eyes stared into hers, compelling her.

“Come with me,” he whispered again.

His thumb circled her, pressing with exquisite accuracy as his cock filled her. She was splayed before him, a prize all his own, and he kept whispering, “Come with me.”

How could she deny him? The pleasu kim?Comre was building inside, and she wanted to hide her face. He was in control in ways she hadn’t let him be before. He would watch. He would know the secrets she kept hidden from him.

“Come with me.” He bent his head to lick her nipple.

She arched her head and wailed. He caught the sound in his mouth. Licked it up and swallowed it, a prize of this battle. He pressed down on her and held her as she came, jolting with each bolt of pleasure. He held her down with mouth and hips and that thumb, brushing lightly, sweetly, madly now. She’d never experienced an orgasm like this one, nearly painful in its intensity. She opened her eyes, gasping, and saw he wasn’t done. She’d been reduced to shivering pleasure, and he’d only started. He propped himself up on straight arms and watched her as he surged into her, hot and heavy and without mercy. His mouth was twisted, his eyes mad with lust and something else.

“God,” he ground out. “God. God.
God!
”

He threw back his head, arching convulsively, and she saw him bare his teeth as his body jerked into hers. His seed flooded her, warm and alive. She felt a joy such as she’d never felt before. She’d given and she’d received from him.

It was nearly holy.

His head was tilted back above her, his arms still straight. She couldn’t see his face because of his hair. A single drop of liquid fell to her left breast.

“Jasper,” she whispered, and cradled his wet face. “Jasper.”

He pulled out of her, the loss of his flesh almost a painful wrench, and climbed from the bed. He bent and scooped up his banyan and flung it on. “The robber boy died.”

He left the room.

He peered over his teacup at his lady wife. She didn’t look like a woman who had been ravished in the night. On the contrary, she appeared fresh and rested and with every hair in place, which for some reason irked him even more.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, possibly the most mundane of conversational openings.

“Yes, thank you.” She fed a bit of bun to Mouse, who sat beneath the table. He knew this, although she neither moved nor changed expression. Indeed she continued to gaze steadily at him. It was something in the very steadiness of her gaze that let him know what she did.

“We shall enter Scotland today,” he said. “We should be in Edinburgh by tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He nodded and buttered a bun, his third. “I have an aunt in Edinburgh.”

“You do? You never said.” She took a sip of tea.

“Yes, well, I do.”

“Is she a Scot?”

“No. Her first husband was a Scot. I believe she is on husband number three at the moment.” He laid his butter knife down on the plate. “Her name is Mrs. Esther Whippering, and we will spend a night with her.”

“Very well.”

“She’s getting on in years but sharp as a tack. Used to twist my ear rather painfully as a boy.”

She paused over her teacup. “Why? What had you done?”

“Nothing at all. She said it was good for me.”

“No doubt it was.”

He opened his mouth, about to defend his youthful honor, when he felt something cold and wet on the hand in his lap.

He’d been reaching for the butter knife with his other hand, and he nearly dropped it again. “My God, what is that?”

“I expect it’s only Mouse,” Melisande said serenely.

He peered under the table and saw two eyes gleaming back. They looked a little devilish in the dark. “What does he want?”

“Your bun.”

Jasper looked at his wife, outraged. “He shan’t have it.”

She shrugged. “He’ll only bother you until you give him some.”

“That’s no reason to reward bad behavior.”

“Mmm. Shall we have the innkeeper’s wife pack a luncheon for us? She seems to be a good cook.”

He felt another nudge against his leg. A warm weight settled on his foot. “An excellent idea. We may not be near an inn at luncheon time.”

She nodded and went to the door of the little private dining room to make arrangements.

Jasper shoved a piece of egg under the table when her back was turned. A wet tongue licked it from his fingers.

Melisande came back in the room and eyed him suspiciously but did not say a word.

Half an hour later, the horses were hitched, the lady’s maid was perched beside the coachman for a change, Melisande and Mouse were in the carriage waiting, and Jasper was having a last conversation with the innkeeper. He thanked the man and leapt up the steps to his carriage, then knocked on the roof and sat.

Melisande looked up from her embroidery as the carriage jolted forward. “What did you say to him?”

He glanced outside the window. Fog was rolling down the hills. “Who?”

“The innkeeper.”

“I thanked him for a perfectly lovely night without fleas.”

She simply looked at him.

He sighed. “I gave him enough money to pay to bury the boy. And a bit more for his trouble. I thought you’d want me to.”

“Thank you.”

He slumped in his seat and canted his legs to the side. “You have a soft heart, my lady wife.”

She shook her head decisively. “No, I have a just one.”

“A just heart that gives succor to a boy who would’ve shot you without a qualm.”

“You don’t know that.”

He watched the hills. “I know he set off last night with older men and a loaded gun. If he did not mean to use it, he should never have loaded it.”

He felt her gaze. “Why didn’t you shoot last night?”

He shrugged. “The highwayman’s pistol went off and used the shot.”

“Mr. Pynch told me this morning that there are pistols beneath the seat.”

Damn Pynch and his loose tongue.
He glanced at Melisande. Her expression was curious rather than condemning.

He sighed. “I suppose I should show you so you can use them if need be. But for God’s sake don’t take one up unless you intend to use it, and always keep it pointed at the ground.”

She raised her brows but didn’t comment.

He moved across to her seat an sto ut d pulled up the thin cushion from his own. Underneath was a compartment with a hinged lid. He lifted the lid to reveal a pair of pistols. “There.”

She peered at them and Mouse jumped from the seat where he’d been dozing to take a look as well.

“Very nice,” Melisande said. She looked at him frankly. “Why didn’t you take them out last night?”

Jasper shoved the dog gently aside before closing the compartment lid, replacing the cushion and sitting back down again. “I didn’t take them out because I have an unreasoning dislike of guns, if you must know.”

She raised her brows. “That must’ve been a handicap during the war.”

“Oh, I shot a pistol or a rifle often enough when I was in the army. I’m not a bad shot either. Or at least I wasn’t—haven’t picked up a pistol since I returned to England.”

“Then why do you hate guns now?”

He used his left thumb to rub hard at the palm of his right hand. “I don’t like the feel—the weight maybe—of a pistol in my hand.” He looked across at her. “I would’ve gotten them out, though, if there was no other way. I wouldn’t’ve risked your life, my heart.”

She nodded. “I know.”

And that simple sentence filled him with a feeling he hadn’t felt in some time—happiness. He stared at her, so sure of his competence, so sure of his courage, and he thought,
Please, Lord, let her never find out the truth.

SHE WISHED SHE
could simply tell Vale that she didn’t want to sleep apart from him, Melisande thought later that night. She stood in the courtyard of another inn—this one fairly big—and watched as the hostlers unhitched the horses and Vale talked to the innkeeper. He was procuring a room for the night.

Her room.

It seemed the inn was nearly full, and there was only one room left, but instead of sharing it with her, Vale intended to sleep in the common room. Lord only knew what the innkeeper made of that. She sighed and looked to where a footman was leading Mouse on a leash. Or, rather, Mouse was leading the footman, straining forward on the leash. He dragged the poor man to a hitching post, lifted his leg against it, and began dragging to the next post.

“Ready, my sweet?”

Melisande looked up to find that while she had been puzzling out their marriage, Vale had finished his transaction with the innkeeper.

She nodded and took his arm. “Yes.”

“Mouse is going to wear out that footman’s arm,” Vale commented as they strode inside. “Do you know that they toss dice to see who will take him for his nightly walks?”

“The winner walks him?” she asked as they entered the inn’s main building.

“No, the loser,” he replied, then frowned.

A shout of boisterous laughter had come from the common room. The inn was ancient, wit ss aeigh huge blackened beams holding the low ceiling aloft. To the left was the big common room with battered round tables and a roaring fire, though it was the height of summer. Every table was crowded with travelers—mostly men—drinking ale and eating their suppers.

“Through here,” Vale said, and guided her to the right into a small back room. This was their private dining room, already laid with sturdy earthenware dishes and a loaf of what looked like fresh brown bread.

“Thank you,” Melisande murmured as he held a chair for her. She sat just as the footman brought in Mouse. The terrier immediately trotted over and stood against her for a pat. “And how are you, Sir Mouse? Did you have a nice constitutional?”

“Nearly got a rat, ’e did, my lady,” the footman said. “In the stables. Fast little dog.”

Melisande smiled at the terrier and ruffled his ears. “Well done.”

The innkeeper hurried in with a bottle of wine, a girl followed behind with a mutton stew, and all was chaos in the little dining room for a bit. Five minutes passed before Vale and she were alone again.

“Tomorrow,” he began to say, but was interrupted by a particularly loud yell from the common room.

Vale frowned at the door. They were sheltered in their private room, but the constant buzz of noise could still be heard.

He looked across the table at her, his brows drawn over his blue-green eyes. “You must lock the door and stay in your room tonight. I don’t like this crowd.”

Melisande nodded. She always locked the door if she could or stood a chair against it. Anyway, Vale was usually right in the room next door.

“Your room wasn’t locked last night.”

She wondered if he was remembering their heated lovemaking. “There wasn’t a lock on the door.”

“I’ll have one of the footmen sleep outside your room tonight.”

They finished the meal in companionable silence after that. It was well past ten by the time Melisande got to her room with Mouse. She found Suchlike yawning as she laid out a fresh chemise. The room was small but neat, with a bed, a table, and some chairs by the fireplace. Someone had even hung two tiny paintings of horses on the wall by the door.

“How was your dinner?” Melisande asked the maid. She went to the window and found her room overlooked the stable yard.

“It was very good, my lady,” Suchlike replied. “Although I’ve never liked mutton much.”

“No?” Melisande began picking at the laces of her gown.

“Let me do that, my lady,” Suchlike said, and bustled over. “No, give me a nice bit o’ beef if it’s good, and I’m quite happy. Now, Mr. Pynch declares that fish is his favorite thing to eat. Can you fancy that?”

“I suppose there are many people who like fish,” Melisande said diplomatically. She shrugged off the bodice.

y pight="0%" width="4%">Suchlike looked skeptical. “Yes, my lady. Mr. Pynch says it’s on account of him being born by the sea, liking fish, that is.”

“Mr. Pynch was born by the sea?”

“Yes, my lady. In Cornwall. Such a long ways away and him not even talking strange like.”

Melisande studied her lady’s maid as she removed the rest of her clothing. She would’ve thought the valet too old and dour for Suchlike, but the maid seemed to like chattering about him. She only hoped Mr. Pynch wasn’t trifling with her maid’s affections. She made a mental note to speak about the matter with Vale in the morning.

“There, my lady,” Suchlike exclaimed as she flung the chemise over Melisande’s head. “You look very pretty in that. The lace becomes you. Now, I’ve put a warming pan in the bed and brought up a pitcher of water. There’s some wine on the table and glasses, too, should you care for a drink before bed. Will you want your hair braided tonight?”

“No, it’s fine,” Melisande said. “I’ll brush it out myself. Thank you.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and went to the door.

Melisande remembered something. “Oh, and Suchlike?”

“My lady?”

“Be sure that you sleep where our men can hear you. Lord Vale doesn’t like the crowd in the common room.”

“Mr. Pynch didn’t like their looks either,” the maid replied. “He said he’d keep a sharp eye on me tonight.”

Melisande’s heart warmed toward the stoic valet. At least he was protective of Suchlike. “I’m glad to hear it. Good night.”

“ ’Night, my lady. Sleep well.” And Suchlike left the room.

Melisande poured herself a little wine from the decanter on the table and took a sip. It certainly wasn’t of the quality that Vale kept in his cellars, but it was pleasantly tart. She took the pins from her hair and laid them neatly on the table.

She let down her hair and combed it out. Suddenly, there was a crash from below. She went to the door to listen, her brush still in her hand, but after a minute of raised voices, everything seemed to settle back down. Melisande finished brushing her hair, drank the wine in her glass, and climbed into bed.

She lay thinking for a bit on whether Vale would come to her rooms tonight. He’d have to ask the innkeeper for the key to her room. She’d been sure to lock the door tonight after Suchlike took her leave.

She must’ve slept then, because she dreamed of Jasper in battle, cannon fire all around him, while he laughed and refused to take up his gun. In her dream, she called to him, imploring him to defend himself. Tears ran down her face. Then she woke to the sound of shouting and blows against her door. She sat up just as her door burst open and four drunken louts spilled into the room.

Melisande stared in shocked horror. Mouse leapt from her bed and began barking.