by Jo Goodman
Jericho blinked, not believing what he heard. He grabbed her wrists and twisted in her embrace, bearing her down to the mattress. His laughter rumbled deep in his chest when he saw she was red to the roots of her hair, embarrassed by her own temerity. "Say that to my face. Never mind. Show me."
She did. As the color receded from Rae's face, Jericho allowed her to roll him over and pin him to the rumpled sheets. Her hands and mouth explored his body, intrigued by the male scent of him. She aroused his nipples with the tip of her tongue and slid her body along his length, pressing her swollen breasts to flesh that seemed unyielding but that would ripple suddenly when she found a particularly sensitive spot.
Rae's hands slipped over his sleek skin. Her lips followed, seeking his arousal, taunting him as no woman ever had. Rae's confidence swelled as Jericho sucked in his breath as she pleasured him. Her nails lightly scored the tight backs of his thighs; his buttocks. Her hair fell like a dark, secretive veil about her face. The soft ends curled, light and airy against his flesh, alluring and tempting.
"Red..." There was a warning in Jericho's tone, a gritty signal that said his control was precarious at best. His eyes were almost black as she lifted her head. "Come here."
Rae reveled in the sound, the watchfulness of his obsidian gaze, her own heart beating arhythmically in response. "But—"
"Here." His finger tapped his mouth.
Rae abandoned her posture and fell gladly into his outstretched arms, greedily taking the loving, hungry kiss he offered. Jericho's calloused fingers traced her shoulders and the tender skin of her inner arm and drew a spiral path that ended at the hardened tips of her coral nipples. She blossomed beneath his careful nurturing, filling his palms and later his mouth. Jericho's knee nudged her thighs apart and she yielded, her dark eyes brilliant as she anticipated where his hand would fall. He brushed the silky curve of her mons, fingers dipping, stroking the moist source of her pleasure.
Jericho watched in fascination as Rae's head fell back, her throat arching. Her mouth parted briefly on a tight little sound that was at once a release and an indrawing of air. Her legs tangled in his. The heel of her foot nudged the back of Jericho's leg. There was a pause in the sinuous movement as she accepted his entry, adjusting to his deep thrust and responding to his rhythm. Words of wanting caught in her throat, but Jericho saw and urged her to speak them. She buried her face in his shoulder and whispered on a ragged thread of sound that she loved him, loved his loving, loved the way he filled her and felt inside her.
Her words sent them both over the edge. Tension that had pulled them as taut as wind-filled sails gave way, shuddered its release, and left them feeling as if they had survived a tempest's fury. Their breathing slowed, and their perspiring bodies exchanged a warm, damp heat while they listened to the sound of their hearts finding a normal rhythm. The ship rocked listlessly in the smugglers' cove, and briefly they felt like babes in a cradle.
There was nothing either wanted to say that was not communicated by the closeness of their bodies, the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder, his head at her breast, her fingers in his yellow hair. Reluctantly Jericho left Rae's side, placing a promising kiss on her lips. He dressed in silence by the edge of the bunk, then helped Rae with her clothes and fasteners. Rae smoothed the blankets and sat down again, but Jericho sat on the floor at her feet and rested his back against her legs.
"Do you really have a plan?" she asked.
"Of sorts," he replied honestly. "I meant what I said about going through the glass and over the side. The shore is not so far, and the cove seems to have quiet water. If you can help me reach safe ground, then we only have to find a hiding place until Judge gives up on us. London is a few days' hard walking from here, but we could lose ourselves in that town. We'll send for Salem to come for you."
Rae calculated the amount of time that would pass before her family received the message and the time it would take for the Lydia to reach London. "It will be almost three months before anyone arrives. How will we live?"
"I'll find employment. Don't worry, we won't starve."
Rae said nothing. In truth, she found it difficult not to worry because Jericho's plan did little to ease her mind. It was too simple for her to put much faith in. "Has Sam sent word to the duke?"
"Two men left a few minutes before I was brought down here. There should be news of his decision by tomorrow morning. You and I will be gone by then. We'll never know if Nigel agrees to pay the ransom."
Rahab hoped Jericho was right. She stroked the back of his head, deep in her own thoughts of what their future contained. "Jericho?"
"Hmm?"
"I don't want you to think ill of me for suggesting this when it seems the world is tumbling in upon us, but if we arrive safely in London, do you suppose we might be married?" She rushed on as she felt the cords in his neck stiffen. "I know it sounds a foolish request, but I can't like the idea of living as husband and wife while we wait for Salem. It is no good saying that what happened this morning won't happen again, because I know it will. I want it to, and you know how determined I can be about some things. But if we continue to love each other there is the chance that I will soon be with child, and I haven't forgotten what you said about bastards. I should love above almost all things to have your child, Jericho, but I would have us marry." Having presented her case, she came to a breathless halt.
"Are you quite through?"
She nodded, biting her lower lip.
"I wish you would not steal my thunder, but I suppose you can't help yourself. I was going to wait until we were on the road to London. Will you marry me, Red?" Shock kept her silent, and Jericho twisted his head to look up at her. "Am I to take the gaping posture of your mouth as your assent or as an indication that you wish to be fed?"
Rae's mouth closed abruptly and one tiny sound emerged. "Wretch."
"That is hardly an answer."
"Yes! Yes! I'll marry you." Her arms circled his neck from behind and she nearly choked him in her enthusiasm.
Jericho accepted her embrace and then drew her down to his lap. They sat in contented silence for a very long time, just holding each other, Rae's head resting on his shoulder, and if their clasp was perhaps a little desperate, the expressions on their faces were serene.
Jericho smiled to himself when he realized she had fallen asleep. He liked the idea that she had found peace and comfort in the shelter of his arms. Her face was thinner than he remembered, her lashes like dark smudges against pale cheeks. She looked too fragile to have held him so tightly such a short time ago, and it occurred to him that perhaps his need for her had blinded him to her exhaustion. It was apparent to him now that she had not eaten adequately nor slept decently for days.
"I'm going to care for you from now on." Love welled in him as he touched his lips to her hair, and the depth of his emotion struck him as a fine and wondrous thing. "This is forever, Red," he whispered. "Forever."
It took some careful maneuvering to get Rae onto the bunk again, but Jericho managed the thing without waking her. After he covered her with a blanket he took the steel dagger from beneath the bolster and began to examine the wooden window frames to see if his spontaneous idea could be turned into a reality. The blade slid along the edge of the glass and he noted with a large measure of satisfaction that loosening the frames and removing the panes would be a simple task. Certainly it was less noisy than knocking them out, and the frames themselves could be dismantled easily. He rifled the chest at the foot of the bunk and found enough materials to make a rope of sorts that would see them safely to the water. Getting out of the cabin was the least of their problems, he thought. Getting to the shore was another matter entirely, and in truth, it frightened him. He glanced at Rae's heavy skirt and tried to imagine how she would keep herself afloat while helping him. There was nothing for it but that she leave her heavy articles of clothing behind. He did not know if they could survive the frigid temperatures of the water or if they could survive on land wi
thout adequate protection, but he doubted they could survive at all on board Judge's ship.
At dusk Wendell brought their dinner. Rae blinked sleepily, waking when she heard the harsh scrape of the bolts being released. Wendell kicked the door viciously, waiting for Jericho to unlock the door from the inside. When it was done Jericho went to Rae's side, lending her his support as she sat up and looked warily at Wendell. In the unguarded moment between sleep and wakefulness he saw how frightened she was, and he longed to slip his dagger between Wendell's ribs.
Wendell sneered at the menace in Jericho's eyes and set the tray on the floor. Straightening, he said, "Sam says to eat hearty."
"What is the word from the duke?"
"None yet. Don't expect to hear afore morning. Getting a might anxious, are we?"
Jericho did not deign to reply. He picked up the tray and placed it on his lap, ignoring Wendell completely while pretending interest in the dinner. Sam apparently was in a celebrating frame of mind, for their meal included fresh chicken, biscuits with gravy, and wine. No doubt Sam anticipated that Nigel Lynne would agree to the ransom demands. Jericho lost his appetite even as the odor of the warm food reached his nostrils. He knew it for what it most likely was: his last meal.
Wendell saw that Jericho could not be provoked, and Rae avoided his taunting, superior look. Muttering an oath, he left the cabin and threw the bolts with more force than was necessary.
"I hate that man," Rae said after his retreating steps could be heard in the companionway. She yawned and stretched her arms and back. "I'm sorry I slept so long. I can't imagine why."
"That's not so difficult to understand," Jericho said, forcing a smile for her benefit. "You're exhausted. And it would please me greatly if you ate. You'll need your strength if you're to drag me to shore."
One brow kicked up as Rae reached for a chicken leg. "Not one stroke?"
"Not one. I haven't the slightest idea how to go about staying afloat."
"Your very proper education had a regrettable lapse, it seems. I learned to swim nearly as soon as I learned to walk. Papa was afraid one of us would wander into the river, and he taught us each in turn. You'll be pleased to know I'm a strong swimmer, at least as good as my brothers. Aren't you going to eat?"
He shook his head, his stomach churning. "I'm afraid I'll sink," he said lightly.
Rae licked her fingers and dabbed at the gravy with the hard biscuit. "You won't. Lock the door and take off your breeches." She took the tray and set it on her lap.
Jericho blinked owlishly. "Red, I don't think this is—"
"Oh, piffle. Your mind shows a singular lack of imagination. I wasn't referring to that."
"Remind me to expand your vocabulary," he said dryly, rising to his feet. "There are other words for that." He pushed the bolt and took off his breeches. He looked at them and her in bewilderment. "Now what?"
Rae giggled at his expression, then took a quick gulp of wine to school her features. "I'm going to teach you a trick that Papa showed us. Make a knot in each leg of your breeches. Go on. I've not gone daft." She sipped on her wine, not caring for its peculiar bitterness, but too thirsty to complain. She'd never had wine from a tin cup before, and a dirty one at that. Jericho held up the breeches for her inspection. "That's good. Now fill them with air."
"And how should I do that?" he demanded.
"Gather the waistband close, put it to your mouth, and blow."
"Red..."
"Do it."
Jericho did and was visibly surprised when the breeches ballooned a little, holding the trapped air. As soon as he quit blowing, they sagged.
"You've got to hold the waistband tightly once they're filled with air," she told him. "Do you want your wine? I've an uncommon thirst."
"No, you drink it. But what is this in aid of?"
"To help you float, silly. I admit it works better in the water, but you'll see that for yourself. You can rest one of your arms between the legs while keeping the waist closed, and the air inside will keep you afloat."
Jericho looked at the limp breeches skeptically. "Why am I not confident this can work?"
"It will work. I promise. I'll be holding you anyway, but this will make you a little lighter in the water and easier for me to pull. And if I should lose my grasp on you, you won't sink while I'm trying to recover it."
"Perhaps we could simply fight our way off this ship," he suggested. "At least there would be some dignity in that."
"I doubt there is any dignity in dying that way," she said tartly. "If you remember to keep air in your chest, you'll float well enough without me. When you go under water, don't panic. You'll rise enough to snatch another big breath. Let the tide take you in."
"There are rocks before we get to shore."
Rae covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. "I suppose I've not yet awakened," she apologized. She finished Jericho's wine, hoping the bracing bite of the spirits would rouse her. "You said something about rocks?"
"Yes. There are rocks before we get to shore."
"Then I suppose we may get batted about a bit...." She laughed. "Try saying that. Batted about a bit—batted abou—" Rae put a hand to her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's... I feel so dizzy of a sudden." The tray on her lap slid to the floor before she could catch it. The noise of it clattering to the deck seemed uncommonly loud to her ears.
Jericho snatched the cup of wine from Rae's hand and sniffed it suspiciously. The faint odor in the cup confirmed his thoughts. "The bastards," he cursed, tossing the cup aside. He took Rae by the shoulders and gave her a shake. Her head wobbled loosely and her eyes were unfocused.
"Jericho? Waass wrong wif me? So tired."
"You've been drugged."
For a brief moment she was alert to this dangerous complication. "You muss go. Leave here."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You muss. Promise me. You can get help." Her voice trailed off to a whisper.
He didn't want to hear what she was saying. "C'mon, Red. You've got to stay awake."
"Can't." Her heavy lids closed, and if he hadn't been supporting her she would have dropped back to the mattress.
"You have to." He knew she could not hear him, for she had gone completely limp in his arms. Her head lolled unsteadily on his shoulder. Perhaps if she had not finished both cups of wine he could have kept her awake, but the double dose defeated him. He realized they were both meant to be drowsy now, harmless and impotent. Sam Judge was not taking any chances that they would get away from him.
Jericho laid Rahab down, then sat for several minutes with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. She had told him to leave, but he didn't know if he could do that. What if he couldn't get to shore, to say nothing of finding help? Who had she thought he could summon? But if he did not make the attempt, what could he do for her here? With the answer to his last question thundering through his head, Jericho moved to the chest and began pulling out the items that would make his safety line to the water. Damn, but he hoped Rae was right about his breeches holding him up.
* * *
Nigel Lynne, Duke of Linfield, was unamused by the scratching at his library door. His coffee-colored eyes narrowed on the cards in his hand and his finely molded mouth thinned. Without glancing at the door or his three companions, he bid the servant enter.
"What is it, Stephens?" he asked coldly when the head of the household staff showed his grave face.
"Begging your pardon, your grace," Stephens said stiffly, not flinching in the face of the duke's displeasure. He was used to his employer's remote and chilly countenance. "There are two men here to see you."
"It may have escaped your attention, but there are three men seeing me now." His companions chuckled, and the duke smiled wryly. He snapped a card on the table. "I believe this is mine," he said, gathering the trick. "Afraid you're going to lose the wager, Lesley."
Lord Lesley merely smiled and helped himself to another glass of scotch from the decanter at his side. He lifted the gl
ass to his lips in a mocking salute to die duke's astonishing run of luck. "It's only some blunt."
"Yes, but I've got prime bay mare riding on this," Charles Newbrough put in. His nostrils flared suddenly as his face became troubled, and his nose looked even more hawkish than usual.
"You should know better than to wager horseflesh when dealing with Nigel," Lord Evans said calmly, laying out his next card. "It brings out his acquisitive nature. Ain't that right, Nigel?"
"Quite," the duke agreed. He frowned. "Was there something else, Stephens? I thought you knew a dismissal when you heard it."
Stephens coughed. "These men say it's important business, your grace. They refuse to leave until they speak to you."
"Who are they?" Nigel drawled in bored accents, watching the play on the table carefully.
"They are called Davis and Miller. They appear to be colonials."
"I think they're calling themselves Americans now," Newbrough said, pulling at the teal-blue sleeve of his velvet jacket. "Unkempt lot, all of them."
"Keep that card in there, Richard," Nigel said pleasantly, "or I'll have three witnesses as to why I put a ball through your chest." He turned to his manservant. "Have they stated their business?"
"Something to do with a Mr. Harrity, your grace. They said you would know what they meant."
"Indeed, I do. Show them in." He tossed his last three cards on the table, faceup.
"Here, what's this?" Newbrough demanded, blanching when he saw the cards were winners. "You've got to play them out."