by Meara Platt
He hissed a curse that didn’t quite form into words against her ear as he moved within her. Those movements were powerful and uncontrolled, leaving Suzanne without a shadow of doubt that he was enjoying everything he was doing. Enjoying it so much that she felt it as well. His thrusts quickened, building something within her simultaneously. She was completely mesmerized by the masculine power of his body and the way it made her feel.
But even better than that were the delicious sounds he made. She’d never heard anything like it—plaintive, arousing, and needy. She wanted to listen to him making those sounds all night and feel the thickness of him within her, almost past the point of bearing. But within minutes, his body tensed as those sounds turned to a pitched cry, and he spent himself inside of her. She didn’t need to have experience to know that was exactly what had happened. It was written in the contortions of pleasure in his face and the surge she felt through his body. It was enough to make her envy the pleasure he felt and to wonder if she would ever be able to feel that way too.
The storm of his passion passed, and he collapsed to her side, panting. It took him a moment to recover his wits. Suzanne lay carefully where she was, wondering if she was supposed to move or if conception was easier if she stayed frozen in place until…until it happened.
At last, he rolled to his side to face her, resting an arm over her stomach and pulling her closer. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m afraid I got carried away. It’s been some time since I’ve been with a woman.”
Suzanne blinked at the flood of information his simple words brought with them. “That was lovely,” she said, meaning it. “There was a little pain, but it passed quickly.”
“Good,” he said, letting out a breath and sagging against his pillows. “Good. We should rest now.”
Her brow shot up. “Do you want me to go so you can rest by yourself or do you want me to stay?”
“Stay,” he answered without hesitation. “Stay the night. In all honesty, if we are to ensure conception, we should repeat the process as frequently as possible until we’re certain things have happened as they are supposed to.”
Suzanne nodded, her heart racing at the thought of doing all that again. “If that is what you wish,” she said. She turned her head to him, but she still wasn’t certain she should move the lower half of her body.
He hesitated. A smile spread slowly across his face. “I do wish it,” he said.
“Then I’ll stay.” She studied his face as he watched her, smiling as though he’d come across a particularly nice bloom in his garden, before asking in a whisper, “Am I allowed to move or will that cause things to…leak?”
To her surprise, he burst into deep, rich laughter. More than that, he drew her into his arms, turning her so that her back was pressed against his chest and stomach. “You can move and it won’t adversely affect anything. I may not know much, but I’m reasonably certain of that.”
“Oh,” she said, her heart fluttering in her chest. “All right.”
“Just sleep,” he said, settling against the pillows with her in his arms. “I believe that’s the best thing for it.”
She wasn’t certain what he thought it was, but after the day she’d had, after the last few months of her life, sleep was what she needed. And as bizarre as it felt, even though she was in the arms of a stranger who had just taken her virginity as part of a business transaction, she felt safer than she had since fleeing her father’s house.
Chapter Three
Suzanne awoke the next morning from a beautiful dream in which she’d been drifting along in a small boat in the sunshine, warmed by fragrant sea breezes, feeling safe and happy. The smile that touched her lips faded quickly, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. Certainly not in the tiny bed in her rented room, and not at home in Charleston either.
It wasn’t until she stretched and felt the firm, male body beside hers that everything from the night before rushed back in on her. As soon as it did, her cheeks burned at the memory of what she’d done. Twice.
She sat up, holding the crisp, clean bedsheet to her chest. The gesture of modesty on her part uncovered Lord Killian lying next to her. He was awake but drowsy. The sight of all she inadvertently revealed to herself sent her blood racing through her veins. He was a glorious specimen of manhood, and in the process of what was supposed to be a passionless business transaction the night before, she had come to know his body far better than anyone else’s, besides her own. And he’d helped her learn things about her own body, too.
Lord Killian smiled lazily up at her as he stretched awake, evidently not concerned with how much of him Suzanne could see. “Good morning,” he said with a yawn. His laziness snapped out of him, and he too sat straight. “It’s morning.” His eyes went wide. He swung his legs around and climbed out of bed, looking alarmed. “I should have whisked you out of here before sunlight to avoid the servants.”
Suzanne heard his words, but she was far more riveted by the sight of his naked body as he strode around the bed to a carved wardrobe to fetch a robe. His male parts were fascinating, and she could have stared at him for hours, remembering what he felt like when he was aroused.
“I could never forgive myself if I ended up being the cause of any undue embarrassment for you,” he went on, throwing his robe around his shoulders. Once his body was covered, Suzanne shook herself out of her reverie. “It is my hope that this entire thing can be conducted as discreetly as possible,” he went on, adding an earnest, “For your sake.”
“I understand completely,” Suzanne said, scooting gingerly to the edge of the bed. In spite of how considerate he’d been the night before, parts of her were sore. She didn’t know how she was going to get out and get dressed without him staring at her the way she’d stared at him.
He seemed to be having the same thought—and the same impulse to stare. After a lingering gaze, he shook his head, then darted to the other side of the bed to fetch her clothes. “Here.” He brought the clothes straight to her. “I’ll busy myself in the corner so you can dress in peace. I had an extra washstand brought in for you—though heaven only knows what the servants think of that—and I’ll use the one behind there.” He pointed to a screened-off area in the corner.
With a final, hesitant smile, he nodded, then crossed the room to disappear behind the screen.
Suzanne waited for a heartbeat before slipping out of bed and going to the spare washstand. For all she knew, Lord Killian could be spying on her from behind the screen. But she didn’t think he was that sort.
That thought warmed her heart as she washed as quickly as possible, then scrambled to don her gown from the day before. She’d long since gotten used to wearing the same clothes day after day, even though it was something she would have balked at in her former life.
Her former life. She paused, letting out a breath, to think about it. That life really was gone now. For all she knew, she might already have Lord Killian’s baby growing inside of her. Everything they’d done the night before seemed to herald the end of who she had formerly been and the beginning of someone entirely new, someone who took risks and went to extreme measures to start anew. It would be much easier to adjust to once she was on the other side of the ocean, in England, with a new name and a new situation.
“Are you ready?” Lord Killian asked from the other side of the screen.
“I am,” she answered.
He came out from behind the screen fully dressed and shaved. Suzanne didn’t know why that surprised her. It seemed to prove that he truly was concerned for her feelings and her sense of modesty.
“I’ll escort you to one of the side entrances so that you have a better chance of getting out of the house without McHale or one of the other servants seeing you,” he said, marching toward her and offering his arm. That seemed like a silly gesture, all things considered. They weren’t on their way to a ball, after all. He was helping her sneak away after a night of debauchery.
“I assume you would like me to
come back tonight,” she whispered as they tip-toed into the hallway.
He checked both ways to be sure the hall was empty, then hurried along, resting a hand on the small of Suzanne’s back. For a moment, Suzanne feared she might burst into giggles. It was as if the two of them were naughty children escaping their nanny.
“Of course,” he answered once they were around a corner. “In all honesty, I should find a way for you to reside here. That would require some sort of an explanation to McHale and the—”
His thoughts were cut off as they turned another corner only to spot a maid carrying a bucket and mop at the far end of the hall. Lord Killian jumped back around the corner, bringing her with him. His eyes danced with a sort of frenetic mirth.
“We can’t go that way,” he whispered. “Jenny will spot us in an instant.”
He took her hand and backtracked to the first hall they’d walked down, taking a different direction. The urge to giggle grew more and more insistent in Suzanne’s chest as they scurried down another hall. This time, before turning the corner, Lord Killian poked his head around to check the new hallway.
“It’s clear,” he whispered, tugging Suzanne on.
They picked up their pace, rushing down the hallway toward what looked like a conservatory or courtyard area. The architecture of the tropics was designed to let what little air there seemed to be in the summers waft through otherwise sweltering rooms. It meant that the transition from inside to outside was not as marked as, say, a townhouse in Charleston. Lord Killian whisked her out into a partially enclosed terrace that was so idyllically beautiful it took her breath away.
Or perhaps her loss of breath was because the butler, McHale, entered the terrace from a door at the other end only moments after they did.
“Hide,” Lord Killian whispered, pushing her toward a support pillar surrounded by potted palms.
Suzanne slapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing and dashed behind the palms. She watched McHale like a hawk, keeping as much out of his sight as she could as he approached Lord Killian.
“My lord,” McHale said. “I can give you a full report on those documents you asked me to go over this morning.”
“Excellent, McHale. Thank you.” Lord Killian did an admirable job of pretending he was alone and nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
“Also, my lord,” McHale continued, “A new prospective buyer has inquired about the plantation. It is a serious inquiry, which brings the total of serious inquiries about the plantation up to two.”
“That is good news,” Lord Killian said, sounding genuinely pleased. “The sooner I can get this wretched place off my hands the better.
Suzanne inched farther away from the two men. The longer they spoke, the more likely she was to be able to slip away unseen. McHale hadn’t noticed her yet, and there were no other servants around that she could see. She searched for a way out and found it easily. The terrace opened to the outside world. It would be simple for her to make a run for it.
“I know it is not my place, my lord, but I would recommend meeting this new potential buyer as soon as possible,” McHale went on as Suzanne fled.
“I appreciate your forthrightness, McHale,” Lord Killian replied. “And I thank you for expressing it. I believe you are right. What can we do to set up this meeting?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Suzanne watched Lord Killian lead McHale back into the heart of the house and well away from her escape route. She let herself laugh at last. He was a good man. She was doing the right thing.
That certainty stayed with her as she made her way off the plantation’s property and back along the road into St. John’s proper. She didn’t mind the squalor of the docks or the misery of the unfortunate women who made their living there for a change. Instead, she saw the beauty of the thriving town, the industry of the locals who were building lives for themselves, and the promise of a better future that even the most destitute person could have, if they worked hard enough.
She would work hard. She would do whatever it took. Lord Killian was a kind and generous soul. Perhaps she might even be able to be a nursemaid or nanny for her child, once it was born. Even though there were a thousand problems inherent in that position, she would be willing to work through them if he wanted her to.
Her buoyant attitude nearly proved to be the end of her. She marched boldly into the pub at the front of Mrs. Lacey’s inn, a smile on her face, her cares tucked away, just in time to spot none other than Hugh Stanley leaning across the bar, shouting at Mrs. Lacey and brandishing his fist.
“I have information that puts her here,” he was in the middle of yelling. “Witnesses say they have seen a woman matching my fiancée’s description staying under your roof.”
Suzanne leapt to the side, ducking to hide under the table closest to the door in order not to be seen.
“I…I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,” Mrs. Lacey insisted, cowering behind her bar. “Honest. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Miss Suzanne Porterfield,” Hugh thundered. “She is staying with you. You are harboring her, a fugitive and a wicked woman.”
Twin feelings of terror and indignation writhed in Suzanne’s gut. Hugh was the monster, not her.
“Please, sir,” Mrs. Lacey wept, visibly shaking, from what Suzanne could see of her from under the filthy table. “Ain’t no one matching that description been through this inn. We’re a reputable establishment, though there are dozens of wicked girls roaming the streets around here. Maybe you’re looking for one of them?”
“I am looking for my fiancée,” Hugh roared. He lunged at the bar as though trying to take a swipe at Mrs. Lacey.
Mrs. Lacey recoiled so hard something shattered on the shelf behind her.
Perhaps that was what caused Hugh to back away from her and the bar. Or perhaps he had been raging there for long enough and felt he was wasting his time. He took a few more steps back from the bar, pointing hard at Mrs. Lacey.
“I know you are harboring her. I’ll be back, and when I come, you had better turn the bitch over to me. Do I make myself clear?” he shouted.
“Y-yes, sir,” Mrs. Lacey wept.
Hugh turned to leave the pub. Suzanne cowered under the table, pulling herself into a tight ball and praying that the sea of chair legs was enough to hid her from his view. By some blessed miracle, Hugh walked right past her, coming within feet of her, but didn’t stop. He yanked open the pub door and strode out into the street.
Suzanne told herself she would wait five minutes at least before she stopped hugging her knees to her chest and came out of hiding. That plan was quickly foiled, though.
“You’re one lucky miss,” Mrs. Lacey whispered from behind the bar.
Suzanne inched her way out of hiding, terrified of what would happen if Hugh chose to come back in. To her surprise, Mrs. Lacey didn’t look half as terrified as she felt. The woman was a consummate actress.
“Now you see what I fled from,” Suzanne said in a hollow voice, rushing to the counter.
“You need to get out of here, lovie, and fast.” Mrs. Lacey came out from behind the bar to push Suzanne toward the doorway that led to the pub’s back room. “You need to get out of here and never come back.”
“But what about my things?” Suzanne asked.
“Do you think you have time to go up there and pack them? Do you want to be trapped in the upstairs room of an inn if that monster comes back?” Mrs. Lacey shoved her through the storeroom to the door that led to the alley in back of the inn.
“No,” Suzanne admitted with a sigh.
“Then leave that all behind,” Mrs. Lacey insisted. “I’ll pack it up for you.”
Suzanne turned to her once they were in the relative seclusion of the alley. “You know where I’ll be,” she said. There was only one place she could go, considering the circumstances. She needed to put all her trust in Lord Killian to save her.
Mrs. Lacey nodded. “I know, dearie.”
Suzan
ne leaned in to give Mrs. Lacey a tight hug. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered.
“What’s the use of things if we can’t help each other now and then,” Mrs. Lacey replied, misty-eyed. “Now go, lovie, before that lout comes back.”
* * *
“My lord, the buyer we spoke about earlier has arrived,” McHale said after entering Benedict’s study.
“Excellent.” Benedict smiled and stood from his desk. He’d been in an extraordinarily good mood all morning. Everything was going his way. If he had to wager, he would have bet on the plantation being sold, Miss Porterfield being with child, and his triumphant return to England, all within the next few months.
It was only after he’d reached the hallway, following McHale to whichever receiving room the buyer currently occupied, that he remembered Lucy. Yes, of course. Lucy. She was the reason he was doing everything he was doing. He needed to remember Lucy’s place in his life.
“Mr. Stanley is in the peacock room, my lord,” McHale said, turning to him as they reached the central hall.
“Thank you, McHale,” Benedict replied, although he almost failed to get the simple words out.
He spotted Suzanne’s anxious face through one of the glass panes beside the front door. She was peering in with a look of alarm. Benedict instantly knew something was wrong.
He cleared his throat. “McHale, see to it that Mr. Stanley has refreshments.”
“Yes, my lord.” McHale nodded, then walked off toward the kitchen hall.
Benedict watched him go for a moment, then launched into action, rushing to the front door.
“You’re back so soon?” he whispered to Suzanne as he let her in.
She rushed to him, grasping the front of his linen suit. “Oh, Lord Killian, please help me.”
Every instinct to protect Miss Porterfield and to be a hero flared to life within Benedict. “Yes, of course,” he said, drawing her to the side of the hall. “What seems to be the matter?”
“My fiancé,” she whispered. “The man I fled from. He is here, in St. John’s. He’s found me.”