Of Risk & Redemption: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  She looked across the room at the wingback chair. It did look comfortable. It looked like the exact chair to match him. A hefty, strong chair, a deep blue velvet graced the plump lines. And it was almost wide enough for both of them to sit in if they squished.

  She frowned. She wasn’t helping herself be responsible in the slightest. “That is a good plan. I will leave you to it in a moment.”

  He twisted, spinning in her arms. “I didn’t say anything about you leaving, Cass.”

  She stared up at him, her voice set hard. “I will not strain your wound, Rorrick, and I don’t think I have the spine to stay in here and not be tempted.”

  “Tempted, hmm?” A grin cut across his face. “What if I swear not to move a muscle? What if I swear I will allow you to do all the work? Or could you not possibly handle that?”

  Her eyebrow cocked. The man was maddening. And irritatingly undeniable. “Is that a challenge?”

  “It is a solution.” He was slowly shuffling them across the room toward the chair.

  “To?”

  “The problem that only you are worried about.” Standing in front of the chair, he stopped.

  She glanced past him to the blue velvet seat. There was enough room for both of them. Her eyes travelled up to him as her head slanted to the side. “You swear you will not move?”

  “An oath to heaven above and hades below.”

  She leaned forward to set her lips on his skin, the salt of him, the clean soap from the bath he’d taken sinking onto the tip of her tongue. Her mouth trailed down along his chest, exploring the curves of his muscles. The heady sensation of his body in front of her, hers to do with what she wanted sent her mind spinning.

  “Marry me, Cass.”

  The words sank down to her, making her flinch for only a breath. She didn’t look up at him, instead, moving downward. Reaching his trousers, she flicked buttons free, pulling at the flap with her teeth. She glanced up at his face.

  “Hell, Cass.” He squirmed, his hands going to her shoulders and his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck. “Marry me.”

  Tugging with her teeth, she loosened his trousers and then pushed them downward.

  He shifted, trying to move, his hands along her shoulders attempting to set her slightly away.

  She grabbed both of his wrists, holding them in place as her look went up to him, piercing him. “Don’t make me tie you up, Rorrick.”

  “I just may need it, Foxfire.”

  She set his wrists free and reached up, pushing at his chest. He dipped, sinking onto the chair as he kicked his trousers free from his legs. On her hands and knees, a predator with prey in sight, Cass slowly crawled onto his lap, her legs straddling him. Her hands dipped, tugging free the front knot of her silk robe.

  He reached out with his right hand and grabbed her by the back of the neck, stilling her movements. For a long breath, he forced their gazes to meet, a fierce fire consuming the blue of his eyes. “Marry me, Cass.”

  He wasn’t going to let her avoid the question.

  He would push, and he would ask, and he would wear her down.

  The devil, he already had worn her down.

  For all of her barricades, the entire defense of her stalwart cliffs had crumbled. Crumbled into the ocean to leave only raw emotion open to him. She wanted him. Loved him like she had never loved another. Loved him unequivocally. Loved him in the way she always knew she was capable of. Loved him in the way that fate had never granted her the opportunity for.

  There was nothing left to say. No excuses left to conjure.

  She met his stare, met the depths of his dark blue eyes. “Yes.”

  He inhaled sharply, his fingers around the back of her neck tightening. “Yes?”

  She nodded.

  He pulled her toward him, kissing her hard, leaving no doubt as to his thoughts on the matter—she had just given him lifeblood like no other. And he was sending wave after wave of promise, of love, of loyalty like no other, through her body.

  The kiss breaking, she pulled up, hovering over him as she glanced at the bandages wrapping his shoulder. “You promised you wouldn’t move.”

  “Don’t say you’ll marry me and then ask me not to move, Cass.”

  A wicked smile curved onto her lips. “Keep your promises, Rorrick. You move your left arm and I leave.”

  She tugged open the edges of her robe, letting the creamy silk fall down her spine and puddle onto the floor behind her. Reaching up to grab Rorrick’s forearm, she tugged his right hand from the back of her neck and tucked it along the length of her thigh. His fingers flexed, spreading across the delicate skin at her hip.

  He was ready for her. Large and straining and pulsating between them. Yet he managed to hold still, watching her, transfixed by every one of her slow movements.

  He deserved reward.

  She lifted herself, her hands moving to clasp behind his neck, and then she centered herself over his shaft. Leaning forward, she set her right breast to his cheek. His eyes not leaving her face, his head turned slightly, his lips unable to resist her hardened nipple. He took it into his mouth, his teeth rolling the sensitive skin.

  Her control waning, she snatched it back, moving herself downward onto his member, her thighs shaking with restraint as she took him into her, each inch a lesson in prolonged torture.

  Torture for him. Torture for her.

  She wanted him fast and hard and heaving for breath, but she also didn’t want him to move. Didn’t want him to tear open his injury.

  And she enjoyed the power. There was a time for him to loom fiercely over her body, his power driving her, controlling her as he had several times that first night at the cabin. And then there was a time for her.

  This was one of those times. Time for her to revel in the strained set of his brow, his dark blue eyes wide. The pulsating of the blood along his neck, his jawline flexing in bridled strength, the muscles in his bare chest clenching.

  Their heated exhales matched breath for breath as she dipped, the longing and the brutal, pounding desire barely held in control.

  She pushed downward, letting the last of his cock slide into her. She stilled, fighting for her next breath. The whole of him filled her so fully, she couldn’t imagine lifting, couldn’t imagine letting his body leave hers.

  “The devil, Cass.” His hand along her thigh moved inward, his thumb invading her folds. The sheer assault to her nerves made her gasp and then clutch his wrist, stilling him.

  “You swore you wouldn’t move.”

  “That was before I knew you were going to torture me.”

  “Then there’s only one way to solve this.” She lifted herself, his shaft sliding slick within her. Her hips swiveling, she descended. Even, precise, and agonizingly slow she set the pace. The torment of every stroke etched into his face, but he didn’t break—wouldn’t break. Not until she was satisfied.

  She quickened the pace methodically, and within minutes she could not deny giving his fingers free rein to her folds, to the very center of her. Stroke after stroke until all her will was shredded and she had to give over to abandon. To give over to riding him, letting his fingers, his shaft push her over the very edge she begged for.

  Her body shattered. Shattered into a thousand shards of reckless pleasure.

  His hand moved around to her back and his fingers dug into her muscles as he clutched her downward. He buried himself to the hilt as thunder from deep within exploded, filling her, sending her to a new plane of euphoria.

  She collapsed against him, having no strength left to insist he not move, not take the burden of her body draped over him. Yet she managed the smallest deference to his wound in that she did choose his right shoulder to land her chin upon.

  Silence filled the room for long minutes as proper breathing returned to them, the only sound the occasional pop from the flames in the fireplace.

  Senses back about them, Rorrick’s fingers methodically lifted strands of her damp hair, letting them dr
ip from his fingers and spill onto her back. “When will you be ready to board a ship? You said you would like to purchase the children clothing before we leave?”

  She nodded into his neck, her head draped along his right shoulder. “I would. They need to get out of the oddly fit clothing I patched together for them at the cabin.”

  “I have some business to attend to here in Charleston with my associates.” He lifted another strand. “They have been managing my interests well in my absence, but I need to check in with them.”

  “How long will you need?”

  “A few days. Is that enough time to get the children outfitted?”

  “Yes, as long as I can find the right shops. Do I dare to hope you know of a reputable clothier that would accommodate children?”

  He chuckled. “As much as I hate to dash the high expectations you have of my shopping prowess, no, I do not. But I imagine I could convince one of the wives to help guide you through the city.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She pulled slightly to the side so she could look at his face. “Thank you.”

  He set his gaze on her, a twinkle sparking in his eyes. “And you will not escape our bargain, Cass.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Bargain?”

  “You said yes.”

  A smile spread across her face, the mere thought of marrying this man sending a trail of sheer, raw love through her body. “I did, didn’t I?”

  He nodded, both his face and eyes serious. He wanted her, and he wasn’t about to let her go.

  She considered for one long moment the possibility of trekking out into the dark streets to find a clergyman to marry them in the dead of night. If they even could. She had no idea what marriage customs were in America.

  Her lips pulled inward as she searched his face. “It is silly, I know, but can we marry in England? I so wish for Adalia and Violet to attend. They are my family. The duchess will be able to enlist her husband into procuring a special license for us so it will not be delayed.”

  Rorrick sighed, his chest lifting high. “England? A special license? Do I have a choice?”

  She scooted up to hover over him, her dark hair falling in a curtain around their faces. “Do you want to make me happy?”

  He groaned and nipped her chin. “I can wait, as long as you would like. And as long as we travel on that ship to England as though you are already my wife. The lie can send me to hell, but frankly, I don’t care.” His hand travelled down the bare skin of her back, settling at her hip. “Are you sure you can wait?”

  “I can wait a lifetime, Rorrick, as long as I have you in the interim.”

  His fingers lifted to dive deep into the hair at the nape of her neck and he pulled her head down to his, kissing her soundly. “That sounds like a deal made in heaven.”

  Laughing, she shifted both of her legs to one side of his lap and then sprawled along the right side of his torso. She tucked her head into the nook between his shoulder and upper arm.

  The bed called to her, sleep beckoning, but she knew if she moved to Rorrick’s bed, she would be dead to the world until late morning. All propriety—what little there was left of it—called for her to sneak back to her room.

  Losing the battle against heavy eyelids, she was at the edge of drifting off to sleep when Rorrick’s words in a low whisper broke into the still air. “Would you mind if I wasn’t a viscount, Cass?”

  Her head heavy, not willing to give up the battle for sleep, she could only nuzzle her cheek against his chest, her eyes insistently shut. “Why do you say that? You aren’t thinking of abandoning the title, are you? You will do so much good for the Vandestile estate and the people dependent upon it. Violet said those cousins that are next in line are atrocious.”

  His hand lifted to cup the back of her head. “It was just a thought.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded into his chest.

  He fell silent.

  “Wait.” Her head suddenly popped up, her eyes searching his face. “You realize I don’t care if you have a title or not, Rorrick?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Absolutely not. I have a title—I have lived for a title—and all of that has never once given me happiness. Never. But you, you have given me happiness like I have never known. You have given me everything of yourself. And that is all I want—you.”

  Her eyebrows drew together as she scrutinized his face. “Do you not want to go back to England, Rorrick?”

  “I…I do.” He lifted himself slightly to kiss her forehead. “I do. For you. For Percival. For the title. It is just that it is a torture to be there and not know how Johnny died—that was the land, the people that killed him. And society is not something I know or understand. That much was evident last time.”

  She nodded, a frown settling deep onto her face as she sank back into his side. A sudden dark pit carved into her stomach.

  Maybe England wasn’t the place for them. She would have to give up the Revelry’s Tempest—the existence of her life for the last three years. And she wouldn’t be able to give Percival the upbringing and education he was due—as close to his father’s upbringing as was possible for a bastard child.

  Cass had planned it out in the last seven days. She would set up household for Percival and Lilah at the elegant country home near the Desmond estate that she had purchased a year ago for Ashita and Percival. It was his—she wanted it to be his—she wanted it to be a home for him. And then she was going to cast about for every favor she could to get Percival into Eton. The boy would know his father, if only through shadowed footsteps from long ago.

  Maybe she needed to rethink all of that—everything.

  She drew in a deep breath, the weight of the world sinking onto her chest. The scent of Rorrick’s skin, salty and still of the woods even after his bath, filled her head.

  A pang of dread skittered down her spine.

  There was still so much to right.

  { Chapter 16 }

  Cass juggled two packages in her arms, slipping her hand through the loops of string holding the bundles of clothing closed. The packages secure, dangling from her left wrist, she reached out to grab Percival’s and Lilah’s hands, yanking them to a stop before they stepped out into the busy cobblestone street.

  “This is the spot, Auntie Cass?” Percival pointed up at the name of the street painted on the side of a red-brick building. “Tradd Street, correct? That was what Mr. Trowlson said?”

  In spite of the squalor that they had been living in, Ashita had managed to teach Percival to read and write to an impressive degree. Guilt tightened her chest. She doubted she would ever be able to think on Percival’s mother without regret, without guilt.

  Cass looked up at the building he pointed to, smiling as her gaze dropped to Percival. “Yes. This is Tradd Street. Very good find, young sir. I do not think I would have seen that.” She looked around the intersection of five roads, cringing at the chaos of carriages and carts and wagons and horses jockeying for passing lanes. The walking paths fared little better, crowds rushing, people darting through the mess of carriages. Her brow furrowed. “I did not imagine Rorrick would send us to such a busy place. I thought it would be easy to find him here.”

  “What shall we do, Auntie?”

  Cass looked at Lilah and then at Percival. Both looked fine in their newly pressed outfits. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Well, I imagine we start walking back and forth along these roads—with the utmost care in avoiding horses and carriages—to find him. We are early, as I thought it would take much longer to get here from the clothier. If anything, it will be interesting to discover what shops and homes are in this area. Perhaps there is a park down one of the streets.”

  They set off, walking back and forth on each side of the lanes, peeking into shops that interested them, and then they travelled onto the next and the next. Along the fourth street, the shops quickly turned into lovely wide homes. There were still plenty of people jostling about, but the sounds of wagons and hors
es had lessened with only well-sprung carriages travelling along the lane.

  A black coach travelled by, the paint on the side of the carriage so glossy, it rivaled the very finest in London. Cass watched it as it clipped along the street, its perfectly matched bay horses synchronized in step. The coach turned at the end of the street, and as she started to look toward what Percival was pointing at, two figures exiting a house at the end corner of the lane caught her eye.

  The house’s wrought iron fence delineated the street walkway from their gardens, and the couple lazily strolled along the shrubs on their side of the fence. They were walking in the opposite direction from Cass, the tall, finely dressed man with his arm wrapped tightly along the shoulders of the woman. In a sunny yellow dress with a thick shawl about her shoulders, the woman’s hand trailed along the top of the waist-high hedge that lined the courtyard in front of the house.

  Two children, both young boys with wild and silly arms, burst through the front door of the house and chased after the couple. Within a few seconds, the boys had caught the pair, jumping along the side of the man. The man’s arm dropped from the woman, and he caught one of the boys, hauling him up onto his shoulder and spinning him in a wild circle, arms and legs flailing.

  Laughter. Cass couldn’t hear it, but she could tell all of them were laughing.

  The scene was so very perfect in its simple, loving happiness, that Cass couldn’t help but imagine her and Rorrick like that. The perfect family. Two comical boys jumping and playing about them.

  She smiled at the scene, staring just a moment too long.

  Too long, for the man set the boy on his shoulder to the ground and turned in Cass’s direction.

  Rorrick.

  She froze.

  No. Not Rorrick.

  A carriage went by, blocking her sight. She shook her head. Squinted.

  The rear wheels passed.

  Rorrick.

  The woman stepped in front of the man, wrapping her arms around his neck. Laughter still on his lips, Rorrick swung her in a wide circle, her legs flying out. He stopped, setting the woman on her feet.