Perilous Risk

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  Somehow the electricity crackling between them went flat. He didn’t take her hand. Tightness entered her chest. But she began walking back to Jon and Stephen followed.

  Stephen sat where Kean had been. After making the proper introductions, she resumed her place at Jon’s feet. A servant refreshed their drinks.

  Jon attempted to engage Stephen in talk of the Dragoons, horses, dogs, chess and finally even cards, something Jon had no real interest in. Yet Stephen continued to answer in polite, non-committal answers.

  “So, Mr Drake, in my absence, you made advances to my mistress?” Jon said.

  His bluntness made Rebecca cringe. Hesitantly, she glanced up through her lashes and saw Stephen set his drink down.

  She expected him to throw her an accusatory glare.

  He kept looking straight at Jon. “I did,” he said in a calm tone. “Do you desire satisfaction for that, my lord?”

  Jon chuckled. “No, I don’t blame you for trying. Mrs Howland is a lovely woman.”

  “She’s a beautiful woman,” Stephen said, sounding as though he were a schoolmaster correcting a laggard student.

  Jon flashed her an amused look.

  Rebecca caught her breath and heat flamed over her face.

  Jon chuckled and turned back to Stephen. “Yes, she is indeed a beautiful woman. On that point, we are agreed.”

  Her heart rate increased with excitement and apprehension so much that she didn’t hear Jon’s smoothly spoken invitation to the younger man, though she’d seen his lips moving and could imagine an approximation of his words. Jon could make the most outrageous suggestion or invitation sound perfectly reasonable. She didn’t know how to do that. However, he could and he had created the most interesting and adventurous experiences for both of them.

  But none of those experiences had invigorated her as much as the promise of tonight. She took several deep breaths and the drumming of blood in her ears lessened.

  Stephen stood and he remained silent. Staring at her.

  “Ruel, a word for a moment.”

  At the sound of Kean’s voice, Rebecca looked up and saw him approaching with two other gentlemen. They looked serious, it must be about horses or gambling. Jon touched her on the shoulder, softly, indicating that he intended to rise. She stood and watched him step a pace away with Kean and the other gentlemen.

  She turned back to Stephen.

  He raked her from head to foot with his gaze. Then he looked her directly in the eye. “No.”

  Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. “No?” The hurt in her voice surprised her.

  “I don’t want to share.” His tone was firm.

  “I see,” she replied in a small voice.

  “We could still go upstairs. Just you and me. Alone.”

  Her heart surged with longing. Yes, oh God, yes, that was how she wanted him. Only the two of them. Alone.

  Heaven help her! That was what the guilt had been about. She really did desire to be unfaithful to Jon. With this man. Alone. She wanted it with all her being. Heaviness entered the centre of her chest and she shook her head slowly. “Ruel would never allow that. He must be there too.”

  “He wants to…” He paused as the barest flicker of a smile twitched his lips. “Join us?”

  Rebecca held her hand up and waved it rapidly. “Oh, no, no…not like that.”

  “He just wants to watch?”

  “He does, yes.”

  Stephen raised his brows. “He likes to watch you with other men?”

  “It is not so uncommon.”

  He continued to stare at her with a somewhat wry expression.

  “It is also about my protection,” she said.

  “You won’t need protection from me.” His look warmed.

  The beauty of that face…a little moan welled up in her throat and she clamped her mouth tightly.

  He slowly caressed her with those gorgeous eyes. “I would never harm you.”

  “He won’t allow it.” She was reminding herself more than him.

  “I would never share you, Rebecca.”

  The sound of her given name and the ardency in his voice sent a burst of desire twisting through her lower belly. Desperate craving. A nervous little laugh escaped her. “Couldn’t you break your rule about sharing just once?”

  “I don’t have a rule about sharing.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said I wouldn’t share you.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you want to be mine, you must be mine wholly. Exclusively.”

  Possession sounded in his voice, a definite edge. What would it be like, to be taken by such a man? To be enveloped by such all-consuming passion? Temptation beat through her. Yet fear also went tingling through the pit of her stomach.

  His gaze held hers. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, of course, I understand.”

  “So I ask again, do you want to go upstairs, just you and me?”

  “I told you, he will not allow it.”

  “To the devil with what he allows.”

  She gaped at him.

  “I am asking if you want to be mine.” His voice shook and strong emotion flashed in his eyes.

  Or had she just imagined that? For in the next instant, his expression went impassive.

  Her jaw dropped even as her mouth went completely dry. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She took two steps backwards and reached behind her, laying her hands on Jon’s powerful body. Seeking his rock-solid safety.

  She turned to Jon.

  He looked away from Kean and the other two gentlemen. The smile died on his face. “What?” he asked.

  “He said no.”

  Jon took her hand.

  She knew it must feel like ice. And she must be pale, for the blood had surely drained from her head.

  Jon’s eyes burned like blue fire. “That prig insulted you?”

  “No, I think…” Her voice broke as Jon lunged towards Stephen.

  Stephen’s eyes narrowed and he pushed Jon back. His sensual mouth quirked with sudden amusement.

  “Jon!” She rushed to Jon’s side. “Don’t make a scene.”

  Jon grasped the younger man by the lapels.

  Stephen pushed him back again and he laughed, a harsh sound in his hoarse voice.

  “Apologize to Mrs Howland,” Jon demanded.

  Stephen brushed his coat off and pulled on the bottom of his waistcoat to straighten it. Then he looked at Rebecca. “If the lady asks for an apology, I will certainly give her one.”

  Rebecca wanted to make herself very small and disappear. Instead, she forced her trembling lips to smile. “That’s not necessary.”

  She placed her hand on Jon’s arm.

  He glanced down at her.

  “Please can we just go up to our chamber now?”

  Jon shook his head. “He’s going to apologize to you.”

  A woman’s scream carried over the din of voices in the chamber. Sudden silence followed.

  Everyone was rushing to that side of the parlour.

  “He’s dead!”

  Confusion and panic erupted, so strongly that Rebecca could feel it in the air. Long experienced working as a nurse on the battlefield, she moved to see for herself what could be done. Jon gripped her hand, attempted to stop her but she jerked against his hold and hurried over to the scene herself.

  Sure enough, the American businessman Mr Buckham lay on the floor, his drink spilled beside him. His eyes were open and unseeing.

  Hands grasped her shoulders. She was jerked around and pulled against a male body. Jon’s scent surrounded her.

  She pushed against his chest. “Let me go, Jon.”

  He caressed her hair, pressing her head a little tighter to his chest. “Don’t look, sweeting.”

  Crushed to his chest, she breathed in the scent of smoke and road dust and wool. Oh, how silly. His gentlemanly instincts picked peculiar times to emerge. She was well used to seeing death, he knew this about her
better than anyone else. But his inheritance seemed to civilize him more and more now that he kept company with sheltered, highborn ladies possessed of fragile nerves.

  His touch on her head lightened and she pulled back slightly. “I need to see what—”

  “You can’t do anything for him now,” Jon said in a dry tone.

  “We can die at any time.” Stephen’s voice sounded behind her.

  Longing burst within her. Even as Jon continued to hold her. What a betrayal—she had never suspected herself capable of such emotional betrayal.

  Jon was her love.

  Her only love.

  She embraced him, clutched his shoulders and with all her might resisted the urge to turn and look at Stephen.

  “We must live as if each day were our last. Each night…our last. We must leave no risk untaken or fear will steal all that is worth having from our grasp.” Temptation beat through her.

  Oh God. She clung more tightly to Jon.

  No, she would not turn, she would not give this man any more encouragement.

  If only Stephen would just leave her alone. If only he would go far, far away. She began to hate him for the way he was making her feel.

  She lifted her face to Jon. “Please, take me upstairs now.”

  Hours later, Rebecca stood at the window. Naked and wrapped in a sheet, she stared at the purple-black sky, at wispy clouds moving over the face of the moon.

  So I ask again, do you want to go upstairs, just you and me?

  I told you, he will not allow it.

  To the devil with what he allows.

  Oh, heaven help her. She couldn’t stop remembering Stephen’s words, his passion.

  Earlier, in bed with Jon, she’d been unable to feel anything. They had drunk Scotch and Jon had talked of death and dying until sleep finally overtook him.

  She couldn’t bear it when she was disconnected from her carnal feelings. Disconnected from Jon. Long after his breathing had become deep and regular, she had lain awake. Finally, unable to lie quietly any longer, she had come to the window. But the sight of the moon had only unsettled her further.

  The floor creaked softly.

  She tensed.

  At the light touch on her shoulders, she tensed even more.

  “Can’t you sleep?”

  She shook her head.

  He embraced her from behind.

  “Becky.” His breath was warm against her nape and his fingertips feather-soft brushes as he caressed her shoulders.

  Her senses remained as frozen as snow in winter. But he expected some response, so she leant backwards and let the sheet drop, baring herself to the waist. It had been a long, long time since she had pretended with a man.

  Tonight just might end that streak.

  ”Would you like to accompany me to America?”

  His question caused her breath to catch. The last thing he wanted was to have his freedom limited. She knew that. And she truly had no wish to be confined in a ship for weeks, only to spend her time in America waiting for Jon to return from meeting with his business associates in New York and Philadelphia. And once in New Orleans, he would likely neglect her shamefully whilst he indulged his fancy for Creole women.

  At the same time, she didn’t want to be alone.

  Alone with her temptation for Stephen.

  Yes, Jon had asked one of his friends, Lord Penn, to look after her. To take her to the theatre and keep her company. To keep her bed warm, if she so desired. She’d been with Lord Penn several times whilst in Jon’s company. The young baron was skilled at lovemaking and his bedchamber talk was entertaining.

  But for the first time, she doubted her ability to be obedient. Left alone, she feared she might do something foolish. Like run to Mr Stephen Drake.

  If you want to be mine, you must be mine wholly. Exclusively.

  Had Stephen left? Or was he sleeping under this roof? If she were to put Jon at ease and he were to fall asleep again, she might investigate the matter for herself…

  Really, Rebecca? You’d be that devious?

  She remembered his sensual mouth. Remembered his hot breath on her face and how close he’d come to managing to press those lips to hers. Her mouth went dry with longing.

  Yes, maybe…

  She could imagine it.

  Sliding naked into his bed. He would draw her into his arms, would pull her to that hard body and she would wrap her thighs around those long, lean legs of his…

  Oh God, no!

  She didn’t like herself at the moment. She didn’t want to be deceitful or unfaithful. She just wanted to forget all about Stephen. And the way he’d made her senses soar. The way he’d tempted her.

  She turned to Jon.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” he asked.

  She ducked her face down. She couldn’t look him in the eye. “Why do you ask?”

  “You are so pale.” He took her hand. “Your palms are clammy. “

  “I don’t think supper has settled very well on my stomach.”

  “Buckham’s dropping dead like that didn’t help settle anyone’s supper.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it did.”

  Jon drew her into his arms.

  She pressed her face against his shoulder. She took the safe path, the coward’s way out. “I’d love to visit America again.”

  Chapter One

  Winter 1824

  The most exquisite, refined scent of roses, the kind that only the wealthiest could afford, permeated the air. Its sensual lushness was lightened by clean, fresh lavender. A faint accent of sandalwood added an exotic note.

  Candlelight glittered on tiny amethyst coloured stones. Were they really amethysts? Or paste? It was hard to say. The stones appeared to be fastenings used to attach the emerald green feathers that adorned the little violet hat, which contrasted so becomingly with the lady’s blue-black hair. She was bent over a large open volume on the counter. Her inky brows were drawn together and her forehead wrinkled with concentration.

  Whilst the clock ticked by the seemingly endless stretch of moments, a burning ache spread through Rebecca’s lower back. Discreetly, she pressed her hands to the protesting muscles. She glanced to the large storefront windows of her father’s apothecary shop. He suffered from a touch of gout and couldn’t always stay at the counter a full day any longer. She lived here now and helped him to run the business.

  Heavy grey clouds had lain on the horizon all afternoon, moving ever closer until they obscured the last traces of the sunset. It was cold and damp and she wanted nothing more than to have a hot bath and crawl into her bed beneath the heavy quilts.

  Rebecca shifted her feet and a board squeaked loudly.

  The lady jerked her head up. Her glance was sharp. “Do you have another source to confirm this one?”

  Chin slightly lifted, she spoke in a cool, cultured tone. Every inch an aristocrat.

  Noblewomen were different than noblemen. They seemed to possess less humour and were frequently of nervous, knotty-headed bents. When forced to deal with them, Rebecca had learnt to tread carefully. But this lady required even more cautious handling. She distrusted doctors. She didn’t trust most people. And each time she purchased a new medicinal extract, she demanded to be shown in books exactly what proof there was that it would work. That it was safe for her children to consume.

  Perhaps that was all something to admire, but for Rebecca, she was a difficult customer.

  She was also Jonathon Lloyd’s wife.

  Lady Ruel.

  All the unwelcome feelings, jealousy and antipathy, arose inside Rebecca, bitter as vinegar. Her nerves went taut and she had to ball her fists to keep the last of her patience from snapping. She had been about to close the shop. Had a mere five minutes passed, she wouldn’t have had to deal with Anne Lloyd at all this evening.

  She’s your most generous benefactress so mind your manners.

  Rebecca took a deep breath and forced a pleasant expression. “Let me go take a look at my bookshe
lf, my lady.”

  With resentment settled into her belly like a lead weight, she trudged slowly into the backroom, then stared unseeing at the multicoloured spines of the books on the shelf.

  It isn’t her fault. You cannot hate another woman because Jon fell in love with her.

  Who would have ever guessed Jon was even capable of falling in love?

  Rebecca went weak and she sagged against the bookshelf.

  I didn’t expect love. I tried to understand him and accepted what he could give me. I didn’t make demands. I tried to love him lightly. I was a good girl.

  Tears scalded her eyes. She took a gulp of air and dragged her sleeve over her face to wipe the incriminating evidence away. She’d been only a mistress. She’d had no right to expect more. No right to hurt. No right to tears. She was just expected to take his generous congé and go away. Make no trouble. No distasteful scenes. No inconvenient complications.

  I am older now. Too old for love. Certainly too wise.

  She swallowed several times then straightened her spine. What was the matter with her? For so long, she had pushed all of these useless feelings down and devoted herself to minding her father’s shop.

  But of late, all her tightly tucked emotional corners seemed to be coming undone. Their seams popping open all over the place.

  Well, surely she still had some dignity? She shook herself and then searched her bookshelf and retrieved several volumes. Yet, walking back into the storefront, she caught sight of Lady Ruel, so dark and exotically beautiful and lushly figured, standing so tall and true, like royalty. It made that lump in her throat burn hotter and Rebecca paused to swallow several times.

  Accepting donations was the main way that Rebecca financed the midwifery and charity that she gave poor women. If that meant placating a few difficult ladies from time to time, then she would do what she had to do.

  How was she to deal with her own feelings in regard to her former lover’s wife?

  With an ache settling into her stomach, Rebecca took a deep breath and then returned to the counter with the additional books. She stood as tall as she might, but honestly she’d always been a little intimidated by women who were taller.

  Lady Ruel stared back at her with a glacial expression.