Of Risk & Redemption: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  It took her a long moment to exhale the stubborn breath from her lungs. “It relieves me of suspicion.”

  “Suspicion?” His left eyebrow cocked.

  “Of you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment in silence.

  She held as steady as she could under his scrutiny.

  Please let that be enough. Please don’t ask for more. Not on this.

  His blue eyes flickered, stirring him to motion, and he looked from her to the hearth. “First, I need to make a fire so your shivers can stop.” He moved across the room, passing her as he went to a stack of split wood along the wall by the hearth. He picked up several logs, stood, and turned back to her. The guarded shroud that had covered his eyes a moment ago had vanished. “And then, Foxfire, you have some explaining to do.”

  She sank back against the table, her grip on the edge the only thing keeping her upright. Damn her weak knees. Now both her governess and Rorrick were right about them.

  He didn’t ask anything of her as he started the fire, poking and prodding at embers and logs until the flames licked high against the stacked stone of the softly curved hearth.

  The fire to his liking, Rorrick stepped away and went across the room to the sideboard by the stairs that lined the back wall. His movements precise, glass clinked on glass as he poured two tumblers of what she assumed was brandy.

  He walked back to her, stopping in front of her and holding one of the glasses out to her. “We are in luck. They didn’t drink it all when they were last here.”

  She hadn’t moved since he had started the fire and she had to peel her fingers from the table, the bones of her knuckles cracking with relief. “Thank you.”

  She took the glass, bringing it to her lips and taking a swallow just as Rorrick held his hand up.

  Fire splashed onto her tongue, seeping down her throat before she could gag, coughing the vileness from her body.

  He was quick to her, patting her back as she hunched over, the cough taking a hold of her body and not ceasing.

  When she was finally able to stand upright, she glanced at Rorrick. Concern was on his face—concern that fought a wicked smile for prominence. The concern managed to win out. “I didn’t think you would drink it that fast—or that much. I was just about to warn you it wasn’t brandy.”

  “What is it?”

  “The finest American whiskey the stills in these mountains produce. But it is to be sipped lightly. Or that will happen.” He motioned to her body. “Come, sit, and do not give up on the whiskey—three sips—tiny—and you will be enamored with it.”

  They moved around the long table. Cut from the heart of one enormous tree, its top was sanded to a glossy perfection and the edges remained unaltered, the bark still holding in places. The grain of the wood was a hypnotic marvel—majestic in its lines. Her fingers trailed atop the well-oiled surface until she stopped directly in front of the fire and sat on the long bench that spanned that side of the table.

  Rorrick followed her, taking a seat next to her and leaning back against the rough edge of the table. His arms spread wide, lounging along the wood, his left arm behind her.

  Cass glanced at him. He always looked so comfortable. In her drawing room in London. On a small wooden chair on the deck of a ship. Here. He looked at home, easy, no matter where he was.

  Her back stiffened as her look travelled to the fire, her hands clutching the tumbler of whiskey. She lifted it to her lips, taking the smallest sip. Better. At least she hadn’t been sent into a hacking fit again.

  “So you have been suspicious of me since day one, Cass.” She could feel his stare boring into her. “That, I understand. But now? Still? Weeks—near to two months later, and you still look at me with a wary eye?”

  “It is not fair, I know. You have been…have been…” Her voice trailed, the search in her mind for a word to describe him escaping her. “You have always wanted the land from me. You have been forthright about that. I appreciate it more than you know. But the rest…”

  “I know your husband was a bastard, but what the hell happened to you, Foxfire?”

  Her bottom lip jutted up, the deepest frown commandeering her face as she stared down at the pool of auburn liquid in her glass. “I fell in love.”

  “Love?”

  “A year after Percival died, I fell in love. He was a traveler—an Italian. An artist, he had come to study an exhibition at the Royal Academy. I met him there by chance. He was charming and attentive and handsome and he promised me the world.” Her gaze lifted to the dancing fire. “Finally, someone actually saw me—me—actually looked at me, talked to me. After all those years of waiting for Percival to do so. After all those years of being ignored.” She shrugged. “So I fell in love with him. I fell in love quickly and hard. His name was Franco.”

  Rorrick stiffened slightly next to her, almost a protective gesture she couldn’t quite place. “Did he die?”

  “No.” Her head shook slightly, her look still centered on the flames. “He wanted to marry me. I wanted that too.” Her eyes closed. “So I gave him everything of myself. All of me.”

  “But then?”

  A flush travelled up her back, hot humiliation still stinging after all the years. Her eyes opened to the fire. “The one thing my husband did do for me was to make sure I was well taken care of. I had my thirds and I had more than enough in investments to last me five lifetimes.” She swallowed, shame almost cutting off all of her words. “And Franco took it all. Venture after venture he convinced me to invest in—convinced me it was for our future. And I believed every word. Every word. Every lie. I believed everything. I was stupid—so very stupid. Violet warned me, Adalia warned me—and I didn’t listen to either of them. I ignored them because I was in love, and wasn’t love supposed to conquer all?”

  She stopped, heaving a breath. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took another sip, waiting for her shaking voice to steady. “Franco left—he told me he had to travel to Italy to visit his family. There were letters from him, of course. Then the letters stopped. When he didn’t return after three months, I missed him so much I went after him to Italy.” Her words went flat, emotions from that time long since battered into submission. “I found him with his wife. It was outside of their house. He was kissing her. His hands on her body. Three children were running about the courtyard of their house. He had been married all along. And he had no intention of ever returning to England. I was merely a dupe.”

  The air around Rorrick spiked, bristling. “Hell and damnation, Cass, can I want to murder a man for you?”

  His words startled her, and she instinctively jumped to her feet, turning her back to the fire to look at him. “No—it was years ago, Rorrick. Shame at my own stupidity is the only remnant I hold from that time.”

  He shook his head, his lip curled in disgust—disgust not at her stupidity, but at not getting permission to murder the man. Rorrick took a swallow of his whiskey and set his tumbler onto the table before looking up at her. “Who knew what happened?”

  “Just Violet and Adalia.” Her palm tapped at the bottom of her glass. “It is why I took over the Revelry’s Tempest. Violet and Theodore no longer needed the funds from the gaming house, and I did. I needed to refill my coffers. And since Adalia owns the house, it was the natural thing for me to take over as proprietress. That has gone well, and with my thirds from the Desmond estate, I am in the position to not have to worry on my future and to also support Ashita and her son when we find them.”

  Looking up at her, Rorrick nodded. His face turned to his glass and he picked it up, taking another long swallow and emptying his tumbler.

  Her finger flung out from her grip on her glass. “You—you don’t sip.”

  “I’ve also been drinking it since I was twelve.” He shook his head, seeming to clear it, and then set the glass on the table and stood up from the bench. An arm’s length away, he looked down at her, his eyes scouring her face. “So you distrust men, Cass?”

&nbs
p; “Yes.” Her answer was immediate, as she held no illusions on the matter.

  “All men?”

  “Yes.”

  His lower jaw shifted to the side. “Me?”

  “You?” Her look dropped downward to her fingers tightening around the glass. “You I fear are slipping by my defenses.”

  “Even though your defenses appear to be more solid than the White Cliffs of Dover.”

  Her gaze lifted to him, a smile playing on her lips. “Parts of those cliffs crumble down into the ocean all the time.”

  He laughed.

  “But this.” Her eyes swept upward about the room, her right hand following suit. “This I did not know of you. I did not know I have nothing in the way of funds that you could want from me.”

  “No.” He took a step closer to her. “Just that land.”

  She chuckled. “Yes. That pesky land. But you have always been honest about that. And it is that forthrightness, I think, that has been your covert way past my stalwart defenses.”

  His left eyebrow lifted. “I have made it past your defenses? You admit to crumbling?”

  “No. Not crumbling.” Her shoulders lifted. “Possibly there has been flaking.”

  “Surreptitious or not—I’m happy to squeeze past your defenses where I can.” He moved another step closer, his body aligning with hers.

  Her instinct to step backward and away from him shot up her spine.

  She couldn’t want this.

  His bed was not for her.

  Not for who he was.

  Against all rational thought, her feet stayed in place, her eyes locked with his.

  Slowly, gently, his thick hands moved forward and settled lightly onto her hips. Not heavy, not forcing, but suggesting—suggesting where they could travel, pleasure they could unearth. The pads of his fingers pressed into her muscles and it sent a shock of fire coursing through her body. Fire that awakened every nerve.

  His head angled to the side and a frown crept onto his lips. “You’re covering your nose again, Foxfire.”

  She jumped. “What? No.”

  “Yes.” He grabbed her hand before she could remove it from her own nose and he tugged it away. “And I never—never want to see you do it again.” He leaned forward, his tongue slipping out to trace a thin line along her cheek. “This one is delectable.” He didn’t pull away with his words, his breath hot, filling her pores.

  All air left her body, her lungs numb, her body now throbbing with each beat of her heart.

  The tip of his tongue found a new spot on the bridge of her nose. “This one is new. The sun on the ship did it.” He moved down to the tip of her nose, brushing a kiss ever so softly along it. “And this one—this one is my favorite.”

  His eyes found hers. “Never again, Cass.”

  She nodded.

  { Chapter 11 }

  The pink in her cheeks blossomed, enveloping her head and turning her ears red. Rorrick could feel the heat pulsating off of her, every beat of her heart sending out another wave that sped the blood in his veins.

  “I cannot help myself sometimes.” Her words left her mouth, cracking. “I spent a host of years wondering why I was not good enough for my husband. Wondering what I did wrong. Why I could not be the perfection he was looking for. I wonder sometimes why anyone—”

  His hand lifted, his fingers pressing to her lips. “Stop, Cass. No explanations. Explanations mean you are thinking of the past instead of thinking of the present.”

  “Thinking of you?”

  “Yes.” He took the glass from her hand and set it on the table, then stepped closer, leaning down. His voice dipped low as he set his cheek next to hers, his words soft to her ear. “I would much prefer you to be thinking of the man standing in front of you. The man that is aching to set his lips to your skin. The man that is currently concocting how to make your body twist with pleasure.”

  Her lips parted as she inhaled a short breath that lifted her chest to him.

  The smallest motion, torture. Torture to his fingers that wanted to touch her naked skin, torture to his groin.

  She exhaled her words soft into the air next to his face. “So why are you not kissing me right now, Rorrick?”

  He pulled back slightly, his look meeting hers. Her honey-brown eyes were intense, carnal sparks of heat vibrating in the golden depths.

  She nodded.

  His body tensed. Invitation secured, he lifted his right hand ever so slowly from her hip, his hand burying into the dark hair knotted loosely along the nape of her neck. He held her stare for a long breath, taking the moment for himself, imprinting it in the recesses of his mind. The glow of the gold in her eyes, the throbbing of her full lips, the pink that still tinged her cheeks—the entirely wanton way she stared at him, every breath she took impatient invitation.

  He held the moment until he could stand it no more and he crashed into her.

  Pins fell from the knot in her hair, dark strands dropping free as he kissed her, taking control, exploring the swell of her lips, the contours of her mouth. Sinfully sweet, the tip of her tongue met his and an animalistic fervor tore through his body.

  His hand on her hip slipped around to the small of her back and he pulled her body into his. His lips left her mouth to travel to her neck, and his gaze lifted past her shoulder to the stairs along the back wall.

  He wanted her rolling in his bed, her legs tangled in his sheets, her body twisting with his. He had been dreaming of that very thing, night after night since the middle of the voyage. Since her golden eyes had opened to him in his stateroom on the ship, clear and cautious, and he knew she would be well. That was the moment, weeks ago, when his mind had started to wander uncontrollably. The moment he realized she was a survivor.

  That she could match him.

  Up the stairs, to his room—it would only take a minute. But it would be freezing in his chambers. Damn that he didn’t start a fire up there when they arrived.

  He lifted his head, underestimating how excruciating it would be to pull his lips from her skin. “You are positive of this, Cass—of all of it?”

  “As long as all of it is what we are doing here, in this moment, just the two of us—yes.” Her hands lifted, catching his face and pulling his lips to hers. “Our clothes dropping, our hands exploring, our bodies meeting—I am more than ready for this to happen.”

  He growled into her mouth, the blood pumping into his cock on fire. He forced gravelly words. “It will be cold in my room.”

  Her look swung around. “Is this not a room? Didn’t you say you could do everything in this room—it was all you needed?”

  A rumble came from his chest and his lips crushed into hers, sending her backward. His hands dipped between them to free the long row of jade buttons along the bodice of her riding habit. Her skirt, boots, stockings, silk shirt, corset, and chemise disappeared into a pile beside the hearth.

  Her hands were just as quick on his clothes.

  Within minutes they stood before the flames of the fire, both bared completely to the air, their hands, their mouths ravenous on each other.

  His right hand moved along the curve of her hip, up to her waist, and then he dipped inward, his thumb landing under the weight of her breast, his fingers teasing the nipple.

  There was no shock at the touch, no feigned innocent maiden. She only looked up at him, her bruised, full lips parted as she exhaled, arching into his touch.

  “Hell, Foxfire, you know what you like, don’t you?”

  She chuckled, low and throaty. “I know what it is to have a man’s touch on my body. I did not hide that fact.”

  “No.” Visceral envy swept him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not viciously jealous of those that have touched you.”

  Her hand lifted, her fingers digging into the hair along the back of his head. “You are the one that demanded this be about no one but us, Rorrick. So let us make this about us.”

  She was right, and he was a fool if he let even one miniscule thought
stray from the woman before him.

  His mouth dropped to hers, kissing her as he spun her, setting her back to the fire to keep her warm. He took a step back, his calves hitting the bench that spanned the length of the table.

  She chuckled into his mouth and set her palm flat onto his chest, pushing him backward.

  He sat. In the next instant, she was crawling onto the bench, straddling him. His mouth found her left nipple. She froze, arching into him as he rolled the bud between his teeth, his tongue swirling until it was primed. Soft mewls escaped from deep in her chest.

  He moved to her right nipple, repeating the process. On this one, she didn’t still. No, now her body was in motion, her hips moving against him. Against his shaft. Angling herself over him. Insistent.

  So insistent, he was no force to slow this like he needed to.

  At her mercy, his hands clasped onto her hips and he lifted her, sliding her down onto his cock. Her entrance was taut, almost resistant in its tightness, but then she spread her legs wider, beckoning him inward. Her hips swiveled slightly, easing her body onto him until he was fully sheathed in her body.

  Her tight, wet, pulsating body.

  A miracle he didn’t come in that instant.

  He dropped a hand in between them, his thumb slipping into her folds, finding the hard nubbin that sparked under his touch. A slow circle. Slow. Fast. Teasing. Slow.

  His onslaught sent her back arching, her breasts thrusting out to him with her nipples taut and begging for touch. Her hips rolled in rhythm to his thumb, mimicking every swipe he made as restless growls simmered in her throat.

  “Lift yourself for me, Cass.”

  She did as bade, setting her hands on his shoulders as her thighs tightened, and she lifted her torso. Her body gave his cock up to the air slowly, fighting to keep him deep inside of her. But still, she lifted.

  Exquisite. He looked up at her, poised on her knees above him, her dark hair spreading in a waterfall around them. The most beautiful thing a woman’s body had ever done.