Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3)

by Royal, Lauren

  Thrilling to his soft intake of breath, she licked her finger again and drew it across his top lip. So chiseled, and so talented—oh, what that mouth could make her feel. A third time she sucked her finger, then worked it between his lips, rubbing his tongue while she held his gaze with hers. It was heady, the power of seduction, driving her to try things she'd never even imagined.

  A dazed smile on his face, his eyes slid shut when she moved her hand beneath the water, leaning forward for a long, melting kiss. "Don't move," she reminded him when she pulled back.

  His hands clenched on the edges of the tub.

  "I know I drowned," he gasped, "because I've died and gone to heaven."

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Duncraven seemed lighter the next morning.

  When Kendra woke, the chamber seemed brighter, and the walls seemed to hold fewer secrets. Ghosts no longer seemed to be lurking. She found herself almost sorry to leave.

  But Trick was in a hurry.

  "I want to deliver what's left of the king's treasure. Get it off my hands." He latched his trunk. "And I want to get back to Amberley. Although..."

  He watched her look up from tying a garter. "Although what?"

  "It shouldn't be mine." He'd been thinking about that ever since he'd had other obvious facts pointed out to him—that Annag and Duncan were his siblings, and that he wasn't really English at all. "Amberley, and the dukedom. By rights, by blood, they shouldn't belong to me."

  And the shock of it was, he found that disturbing. Mere months ago he hadn't wanted Amberley at all, hadn't wanted anything that came from the man he'd thought was his father. His shipping concern had been more than enough to support him, the estate and title just another reminder of the life he'd wanted to forget, another responsibility he hadn't needed.

  But he needed them now. He needed them for his wife and the family he'd begun envisioning. No sane man would reject something that so clearly benefitted the people close to him.

  Loving Kendra had changed everything.

  "Who would get Amberley if not you?" Always direct, his Kendra.

  "I don't know. The man who raised me had no brothers...some distant cousin of his, I imagine. Someone I've never met."

  "And do you imagine he'd use that dukedom for the same good that you do? Do you imagine he'd shelter orphans in the old manor house?" Always straight through to the heart.

  "I don't know that, either."

  She rose and walked close. "You know I didn't want to be a duchess any more than you wanted to be a duke. But you earned that dukedom, Trick."

  "Did I?"

  "Yes. With your sweat, and I suspect with your blood and your tears." She leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Legally, it's yours, and I see no reason on earth it shouldn't stay yours."

  Maybe she was right, and there was no reason he shouldn't be able to keep it.

  No reason except his monarch's threat hanging over his head if he failed to finish the job he'd started.

  He kissed her back, a kiss filled with all the hope he had for their future. "Come, leannan, let's traipse down these endless stairs one last time. Let's go home and get started on our brand-new life."

  Kendra held Hamish's arm, thrilled that he was strong enough now to accompany them outdoors along with Niall.

  They paused on the drive where the Amberley servants waited. "What will you tell King Charles?" Hamish asked Trick.

  "I'll think of something." Trick looked up to the single chest he'd had lashed to the top of the ducal carriage. "At least nobody will suspect I'm carrying anything of special value."

  He'd told Kendra that when they stopped for the night at an inn, they'd simply bring it with them into their room. They didn't need all the extra guard he'd been envisioning. Four Amberley outriders stood ready, and that should be enough. They planned to travel directly to London.

  Her gaze followed his. "I want to see it," she said.

  "See what?" Niall asked.

  "The Royal plate that brought about all this treachery and heartache. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

  "I wouldn't know." Her brother-in-law shrugged. "I've never seen it myself."

  "In all those years?" She hadn't pegged him as being so uncurious. "I would have begged until my parents let me look."

  "Oh, I did. But it was pointless. There's no key to the padlock."

  Hamish gave her a hard hug. "I tossed all the keys into a loch years before Niall was born. After one of those bitter quarrels. To keep the pieces from disappearing one by one."

  So he'd distrusted his friends even then. Unfortunate that he'd failed to take those feelings to heart—it might have saved Elspeth's life. But as the old French saying Kendra used to hear on the Continent put it, "L'amitié ferme les yeux."

  Friendship closes its eyes.

  Drawing her from those thoughts, Niall stepped forward and planted kisses on both her cheeks. "God willing, I'll see you soon."

  She was surprised to feel tears welling up. "I expect you at Amberley before too long."

  He nodded. "After the harvest."

  Trick embraced his brother. "I thank you for taking care of that for me."

  "We—Da and I—thank you for allowing us to stay." Niall's gaze flickered over to the castle's open doorway, where Annag and Duncan stood glaring, her children behind them. "And allowing them to stay, too."

  Trick shrugged. "They're harmless." And he was right. For all Kendra's wild imaginings, Duncan and Annag had never done anything to hurt either of them. "Besides, they're my siblings. I won't pretend to like them, but if it makes Da happy to give them a home, then I'm happy, too."

  Tears welled in Hamish's eyes as he took Trick by both hands. "We don't deserve you, lad."

  He shook his head. "It's I that don't deserve you—a father and a brother that would do any man proud. Family, after all these years." Blinking back his own tears, he wrapped the older man into his arms and held him a long moment. "We'd best be going."

  "Aye, I suppose you must." Hamish forced a smile and watched them climb into the carriage.

  Trick closed his eyes until they rode away, then opened them and pulled Kendra across the cabin for a soft kiss. "When we get to London, I'm going to ask my solicitor to deed Duncraven over to Hamish, with Niall as his heir."

  If she'd had any remaining doubts that her husband was a good man, they vanished then. "That's wonderful, Trick."

  "Not wonderful, only decent." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Besides, the last thing I need is an estate in Scotland. My father—the duke," he corrected himself, "left me more than I can deal with as it is."

  Maybe he could fool himself into thinking his actions were less than generous, but Kendra knew better.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  It felt strange to Kendra to be back in London but at Trick's town house instead of the one she'd always known in Lincoln's Inn Fields. And Caldwell House, a dark monstrosity built before the Civil War, was every bit as disgustingly opulent as he'd said. Standing in the master bedchamber, where she was dressing before attending court, she was reminded of an overdecorated cake.

  A blue and orange one.

  "Ghastly," she said, kicking off her shoes.

  "I told you that you would hate it." Trick shrugged out of the surcoat he'd worn for travel. "Feel free to redecorate."

  "I imagine I have better things to do that will keep me busy a while." Peeling off her garters and stockings, she frowned at the lavender gown that Jane had selected. Too insipid for her mood. They'd sent a messenger ahead to request Kendra's London clothing be moved from the Chases' town house, and she hurriedly flipped through the gowns that had been crammed into the master bedroom's wardrobe. "I wonder how all the children are getting along?"

  "Fine, I'm sure," her husband said absently while pulling a fresh shirt over his head.

  Cavanaugh had laid a blue velvet suit on the bed. Men had it so easy, Kendra thought with a bit of weariness-induced irritation. Brown or green, velvet or satin. Aside from varyi
ng quantities of braid, lace, and ribbon, everything looked the same. Their shirts and cravats were always white, their shoes—with the exception of some foppish court dandies—invariably black. High-heeled with fancy buckles for court, low-heeled and plain for every day. There was nothing much for them to decide.

  She selected a cloth-of-gold gown and held it up. "What do you think?"

  His back to her as he reached for his breeches, Trick answered, "Fine." For a moment she stood there, aggravated, until he turned and favored her with one of his blinding white smiles.

  He was right. Everything was fine, after all.

  In a few short weeks, their relationship had come a long way—farther than she'd thought possible. The journey to London had been almost blissful. Trick had been the most attentive of lovers, but even more important, he'd answered most of her questions without resorting to evasion. The days on the road had gone a long way toward convincing her their future was bright indeed.

  Bless her brothers for bringing them together, she thought, then silently laughed at her reversal of feelings.

  "Come here, leannan," Trick said, and she did, letting the gown slip to the floor as she walked into his arms. His kiss was everything she hadn't been able to imagine before meeting him, and she was breathless by the time he finished. "I'm sorry to rush you out of the house when we've barely arrived," he murmured regretfully, his gaze lingering on the garish orange-hung bed, "but I want to complete my business with King Charles and take you home to Amberley."

  With a sigh, she moved away and started detaching her stomacher. "I still wish I could see it."

  "See what?" he asked, pulling up the blue velvet breeches.

  "The treasure. Will we be bringing it along to court?"

  Trick's gaze wandered to the massive chest sitting in a corner. He wished he didn't have to deal with this. He wished he didn't have to deal with King Charles or his problems at all.

  "I think I'll just meet with Charles tonight to explain, then arrange to send it along later."

  She wiggled her gown down and off. "I cannot wait to see his reaction."

  Sweet Mary, he couldn't let her be there. He had delicate matters to discuss with the king. Looking down as he tucked in his shirt, he made his voice as casual as possible. "I believe Charles will feel this is a matter best settled between men."

  He raised his gaze to hers, expecting to see that look in her eyes. The defiant look she'd given him when he'd told her she couldn't come along to Scotland, again when he went off to Burntisland, and yet again when he'd ordered her not to get on the boat.

  But instead he saw a different look. Hurt.

  He wanted to hit something. Not an hour in London, and the damn deceptions were coming between them already.

  Characteristic of her, though, the hurt look was fleeting, and the one he'd expected came into her eyes, after all. He watched her draw breath, girding for battle. "Charles likes women," she said.

  "In his bed, yes."

  "No." She caught his gaze and blushed. "Well, yes, but that wasn't what I meant. He listens to women. Really listens, as if he cares what we say. Even about politics."

  Lucky him, marrying one of probably three women in England who would think to discuss politics with their monarch. "If I let you see the treasure, will it make you feel better?"

  "You cannot do that." She rolled her eyes. "There's no key, and Charles is going to wonder where the lock is if you hack it off."

  "Then I won't."

  "I knew you wouldn't."

  "I mean I won't hack it off."

  She glanced at the chest, then back to him, speculation narrowing her pretty green eyes. "Can you pick the lock?"

  "You insult me." He swiped his knife off the dressing table, and she followed him to the chest, where he knelt and went to work, delicately probing the keyhole. "There isn't a good smuggler on earth who doesn't know how to pick a lock."

  Wearing nothing but the amber bracelet and a flimsy chemise, she sat on the chest. When she crossed her legs right in front of his face, his knife slipped.

  "Were you a good smuggler?"

  Determinedly, he refocused. "Actually, I was a bad smuggler. My heart was never in it." A satisfying click reverberated in the room. "But I can pick a lock."

  Removing it, he stood. With a happy gasp, she jumped up and threw open the lid.

  "Oh, my God, Trick. Look at this." She hefted a solid gold charger, running her fingers over the delicately engraved rim. "It's beautiful."

  "He'll probably melt it down."

  "No," she breathed, dropping to kneel before the chest. "He wouldn't." She set the charger on the floor and reached for a silver pitcher in the shape of a swan. "Oh, I just knew I wanted to see this." One by one, she removed pieces, each more impressive than the last. Plates, bowls, goblets, cutlery, serving utensils, platters. "Hamish was right. The first Charles truly did live like a king on his coronation journey."

  He smiled as she delved deeper, her lovely, scantily clad bottom rising as she leaned into the chest. Helpless to resist, he gave her a little pinch.

  Laughing, she slapped his hand away. "Oh, what is this?" She drew out an ivory casket inlaid with scrolled gold wire.

  He shrugged. "Small items?"

  "In a beautiful box like this? And locked?"

  Taking it from her, he made short work of that and put it back in her hands.

  With a sigh of anticipation, she raised the lid. "Jewels!" She lifted an exquisite sapphire and diamond necklace. "My God, it looks like pirate's booty! How did jewels get in here?" Replacing the necklace, she slipped a gaudy emerald ring on her finger. "I don't understand this," she said, staring at it. Obviously made for a man, it dangled loose. "I thought Hamish and his friends only packed the kitchen."

  "Supposedly." He ran a hand back through his hair, still surprised to find the front so short. "I guess somewhere along the way, someone filched this and slipped it inside."

  "Rhona or Gregor, I'm guessing. I wonder if Hamish knows?" She dug around some more and drew out another necklace. "Goodness, will you look at the size of these pearls?"

  The largest round pearls Trick had ever seen, with one enormous teardrop-shaped pearl dangling from the center. "Fit for royalty, all right."

  She dropped it back into the casket. "Oh, Trick, look at this." Her voice turned wistful. "Amber."

  "When did you grow to like amber?" he teased.

  She blushed and pulled the jewel out, only to find it was a clasp attached to a gleaming string of smaller, pure white pearls. "Oh, it's lovely," she sighed, dropping the strand over her head.

  It was so long, he reached to double it, settling the second half around her neck. "Don't you own any pearls?"

  "Father sold all the family jewels to help finance the Civil War." Her fingertips danced on the lustrous strand. "Of course, Jason has bought me things over the years. And Colin and Ford. They all know I love jewelry. But pearls are terribly expensive."

  And immensely popular. All the court ladies wore pearls, and most of the men, come to that. "You look beautiful in pearls, leannan."

  She blushed and took them off. "For the price this trinket could bring, I expect we could feed the orphans for a year."

  "A decade, probably." He smiled.

  She dropped them back into the box. "Help me put this all away, will you? I still need Jane to do my hair, and if we don't get to Whitehall soon, we'll miss the presentations."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  "The Duke and Duchess of Amberley!"

  Trick shot the puffed-up court usher an annoyed glare. "I abhor this sort of thing," he muttered under his breath as he and Kendra made their way down the aisle to where King Charles and Queen Catharine sat on the dias, dressed in crimson velvet with a swagged canopy overhead to match. "I really hate this."

  "Oh, hush," Kendra chided. "A little pomp and circumstance never hurt anybody. And there will be dancing afterward—"

  "I cannot wait."

  His tone was dry enough
that under different circumstances she might be tempted to slap him. As it was, she flashed Queen Catharine a brilliant smile and dropped into a deep curtsy, pressing a kiss to the back of the woman's slim proffered hand. "Your Majesty."

  "Lady Kendra," Catharine said in gracious Portuguese-accented syllables, "or have I heard it's the Duchess of Amberley now?"

  "You've heard correctly," she said, then leaned closer to her husband. "As long as he behaves himself," she added for his ears only.

  Suppressing a laugh, he rose and traded sides with her. King Charles smiled as she kissed his hand. "It's glad I was to hear that two of my favorite families are united."

  She only just managed to conceal her surprise. "I'm happy to have pleased Your Majesty."

  He nodded, then looked back to Trick. "We'll talk later, yes?"

  "Aye. And I've something to give you."

  "Do you, now?" The king was not above delighting in gifts. "Did you bring it along?"

  "It's rather...large. And it's at my home, but I can have it delivered—"

  "Amberley House, or Caldwell House here in London?"

  "Here in London, but—"

  "I have matters to discuss with you in any case." Charles raised a meaningful brow. "I shall sneak out of my bedchamber this evening and come to you."

  "Sneak?" Kendra burst out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Charles let loose a booming laugh. "My Master of the Backstairs is quite accustomed to making these arrangements, I assure you."

  His eyes twinkled, and Kendra blushed. She knew he meant that he usually sneaked out for assignations with his mistresses, but she felt sorry for his long-suffering queen, who was studiously looking elsewhere.

  She would never put up with that from her husband, not now that things were right between them in the bedroom. He'd promised her fidelity, and she expected him to give up his mistress. Just let him try to visit London alone again.

  With another bow and curtsy, Kendra and Trick moved away so the next courtiers could be presented.

  "Well, I expect we can leave now," Trick said as soon as they were out of earshot.