Lord Devere's Ward

by Sue Swift

She cried out in fear, remembering her parents’

  demise. Is this how it all ends, then? Frantic, she tore at the rope binding her ankles, desperate to escape.

  The cries of the tough who’d captured her could be heard from outside the vehicle, along with shouts and whines from Herbert and Osborn. Each seemed to be engaged in blaming the other for the accident.

  She had to get out. This chance might be the only one. The rope around her feet came loose. Kate leaped for the door of the coach, then stopped. An inner voice counseled caution, so she peeked out of a window to make sure of an escape route.

  Aha. They were, indeed, arguing amongst themselves. Even better, Kate could see the hireling on the ground, clutching his ankle as though he’d been hurt. The coach had fallen into a ditch, which accounted for the mass of mud and rainwater which drenched the floor of the coach. Kilting up her long, dirty skirts, she climbed out of the coach by way of the door, which now tilted toward the dark, wild sky.

  She crawled over the top and ’round the other side, away from the quarreling trio.

  But which way? Keeping the coach between herself and her kidnappers, she set back down the road. She hoped that the direction they’d come was the way she wished to go: back to London and safety.

  A gray horse, shining with rain and exertion, came into view from ’round a curve with a rider on its back. Waving her arms and shouting, she began to run. She didn’t know who the unknown rider might be but she felt certain that someone, anyone, would be better than the company of Badham and his equally bad offspring.

  She heard shouts behind her.

  “Hi! Where are you going, you witch’s brat!” Herbert screamed. “Osborn! Where’s your pistol?”

  “I’ll beat you ’til you bleed!” Osborn cursed.

  Kate ran faster, seeking to put the overturned coach between herself and Osborn’s pistol. The chap on the gray pulled up his horse. Snorting, the beast flung clumps of foam from its mouth. Clearly it had been overridden, she thought critically. The poor creature was completely blown. She hoped that its rider didn’t expect to go much farther that afternoon.

  The outlines of the rider’s whipcord body were exposed, the rain and wind flattening the linen to his muscular torso. As he controlled his mount, he reached into a saddlebag. Withdrawing a pistol, he flourished it at the sky.

  Dear Lord! A highwayman! She dashed to the side of the road. Perhaps she could hide in the bushes.

  With luck, he’d be after Herbert, and leave her alone.

  But no luck. “I’ll fetch you later,” the highwayman called to Kate before he rode toward the coach. “Badham, you bastard, name your seconds!” She knew that voice. For a dazed moment, Kate’s brain froze, then connected all the dots. Quinn. It was Quinn! His red hair, dark from the rain, clung to his skull. He controlled his restive steed with one hand while he threatened her captors with the pistol, looking more like a champion of old than the amiable dandy she knew. Hatless and coatless, he bore no resemblance to the careless rake who’d haunted her dreams for these last months, but Kate had no doubt that her guardian had come to rescue her.

  Osborn’s pistol banged, startling Kate, who shrieked in fear and surprise. The gray reared, screaming, and dumped Quinn into the mud.

  Quinn twisted, lifted his pistol and shot Osborn, winging him through the shoulder. Her cousin’s body jerked from the impact of the shot, then fell to the muddy road. Her uncle flung himself over to his son, attempting to support him as Osborn’s shoulder bled, a bright patch of red in an otherwise somber, stormy scene.

  His horse ran wild down the road as Quinn picked himself up and approached Kate. He tenderly flicked a strand of wet hair off her cheek. “Are you all right, sweetling?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak or move without bursting into tears from sheer fear and excitement and tension and love. Grim-faced, he turned away from her and strode to Herbert and Osborn, tugging off a glove as his boots squished in the mud.

  “‘Pon my word, Herbert Scoville,” drawled Quinn. “Fancy seeing you. Taken to kidnapping helpless chits, have we?” He backhanded Herbert on the mouth. “Four days hence at dawn, Parliament Hill, Hampstead Heath. Name your seconds to Hawkes and Penrose.”

  Herbert coughed and spat teeth.

  Quinn walked back to Kate. “The nearest village is an place called Cambermorne. I believe there is an inn. Shall we?” He offered her his arm.

  * * *

  Fortunately, the only inn in Cambermorne appeared to be clean and well-run, thought Devere, as he and Kate trudged the last few yards of the quarter-mile between the overturned carriage and the Cambermorne Crossing Inn. He turned to Kate.

  Despite her hat, rain dripped off her nose. Her hair hung in sodden whips around her damp cheeks.

  Though wet and bedraggled as a drowned kitten, she still carried herself with aplomb, as if she were walking down Bond Street after a pleasant visit to the milliner.

  “I’ll bespeak rooms for the night,” he said. “I’ll send word to London, and they’ll send a coach for us in the morning.”

  “Very well.” Her voice was surprisingly calm.

  He looked at her again. Water dripped off her bonnet. The hem of her dress was muddy from the walk. Her silly little slippers are probably destroyed, he thought. Still, he admired her for her fortitude; she had not once voiced any complaint. “Let’s find you a hot bath.”

  They entered the small, but well-appointed inn.

  Quinn arranged for a private parlor with two separate rooms flanking it. Darkness was falling. Quinn assured himself of Kate’s comfort and sent messages to London before he took his own rest.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kate saw nothing which would cast doubt upon the claim that the innkeeper’s wife had previously been employed as a housekeeper to a viscount in London. That dame took charge of Katherine’s soiled dress and muddy slippers, saying they’d be dried in front of a fire, brushed and returned to Lady Scoville in a trice. In the meantime, Kate relaxed in the hipbath of hot water which was brought to her room.

  She found everything she needed for her comfort in the cozy lodging.

  Shaky from hunger, Kate welcomed the dinner of roast capons with a humble but hearty shepherd’s pie of minced meat, vegetables, and potatoes. The unaccustomed exercise had engendered healthy appetites. Kate and Quinn washed down their meal with a couple of bottles of good burgundy.

  Kate’s hand quivered as she lifted her glass. “To you, dear guardian.”

  “My sweet Kate. You deprive me of my wine.

  Surely you are aware that it is the height of incivility to drink to oneself?”

  She laughed. She’d been afraid that the circumstances would have shattered their easy camaraderie, but she couldn’t remain nervous around Quinn. “To the destruction of bad Lord Badham.” He lifted his glass. “May all scoundrels perish.

  Are you sure that you took no harm from this escapade, my ward?”

  “Quite sure. Actually, the worst for me was the coach accident.” She went silent, looking at the wine in her crystalline glass, lit to a brilliant ruby red by the fire.

  “Why so?”

  Tears prickled behind her lids. She blinked to dispel them. “Do you not know about my parents?

  They died in a carriage accident such as the one this afternoon.”

  “My dear Kate.” Reaching across the table, he pressed her hand. “No, I wasn’t aware of the circumstances of your parents’ passing. My most sincere condolences. So, even climbing into a coach is, for you, a courageous act?”

  She shook her head. “I know that such mishaps are few and far between, sir. But today…today, with so many strikes against me, I was sure all was lost. I knew from the condition of the interior of the coach that my uncle hadn’t hired the best steeds or a sturdy vehicle. I feared the worst. And then you came.” She raised her gaze to his.

  “Just doing my duty.” His voice was casual.

  “I knew you’d rescue me. I told them you’d
kill them, but they didn’t believe me.”

  “They should have.” Quinn’s voice was grim.

  “But Katherine, I’m no medieval knight riding to your rescue. I made a terrible mull of it.”

  “I don’t agree. All could have been lost. But we’re here, we’re happy and unhurt.”

  “It’s like you to be generous, Kate, but please accept my apology. I discounted your concerns. It turned out that you were right.”

  She shrugged. Tired but grateful, it wasn’t in her to press the point. “All’s well that ends well, then,” she said. She sipped the last of her wine, setting the empty glass onto the table. “Good night, Quinn.” After using the inn’s small necessary, Kate retreated to her bedroom. The bed, covered by a clean, handmade quilt, was turned down invitingly.

  A fire blazed on the small hearth. After she changed into a nightdress provided by the landlady, she climbed into bed.

  As tired as she was, sleep eluded her. After tossing and turning fruitlessly for what seemed like forever, she sat up. Wasn’t there a decanter of brandy on the sideboard of their parlor? Perhaps a tot of cognac would soothe her nerves.

  Kate fretted, concluding that even though she was clad only in a thin night rail, the odds were slender she’d meet anyone. She opened the door which connected her bedroom to the parlor.

  The fire in the parlor had burned down low. The rain had stopped, and the open casement windows admitted silvery moonlight into the room. The round wooden table where she and Quinn had dined had been emptied of the remains of their meal and cleaned; nary a crumb interrupted its polished surface. A decanter of brandy sat on a salver on the table, but only one snifter was placed nearby.

  Katherine trod quietly into the room. She didn’t want to disturb Quinn if he had fallen asleep. She picked up the decanter. As she poured, the door to Quinn’s room opened.

  He stepped into the parlor, with an empty brandy snifter in his hand. He stopped short when he saw her, then put the glass down on the table.

  He was clothed only in his breeches. His hair was slightly damp. She guessed he had removed his coat, cravat, and shirt before washing.

  He was beautiful. The moonlight turned his shapely limbs into living marble. The chiseled, white planes of his torso attracted her as though she were iron, and they powerful lodestones. His flat nipples were dark nubs on his chest, which was decorated with a wiry bed of hair, silvery in the moonlight.

  Kate moved toward Quinn as though pushed by some mysterious, inexorable force. She slid her fingers into those fascinating curls, rubbing their coarseness between curious fingertips.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was husky, as though his tongue were thick in his mouth.

  “Kate. What are you doing here?”

  She stroked her fingers in and out of the curls, then flattened her hand over his chest. The warmth of his flesh belied his resemblance to a perfect Greek statue. With tender absorption, she watched his nipples rise. She almost forgot to breathe.

  “I wanted some brandy.” She continued to caress his torso, watching it lift and fall as his breath quickened. “Why are you here, Quinn?”

  He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple bob convulsively as he sought the right words.

  “I came to kiss you good night.” He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

  With unspoken understanding, they both kept their eyes open as their mouths melded into one sensual being, with but one purpose.

  Hot chocolate. Quinn’s brown eyes were hot chocolate, his mouth as sweet as the promise in his deep gaze. Their bodies merged, and for the first time, Kate felt her lover’s manhood pressing hotly against her belly through the thin cloth of her nightgown. Her flesh leapt in response to his desire.

  Quinn broke away. “Kate, I must know,” he whispered.

  She looked at him, her heart in her throat.

  “Kate, are you sure?” He bent his burning gaze upon her again. “Are you sure you want this, want me, as part of your life, forever?”

  “Oh, yes.” She took his hands in both of hers.

  “Quinn—I’m yours. Forever.” Would he ever understand the depth of her need for him?

  He smiled at her suddenly, like the sunlight piercing through clouds. “Why, then, let’s to bed.” Taking her by the hand, he led her into her bedroom.

  Kate did not know quite what to do with herself as Quinn went to the hearth and added a log to the fire. He used the poker to nudge the wood into a blaze. She sat on her bed and watched the ruddy light flicker over the play of muscles in his back, and then in his chest as he turned to her.

  He swept her up into his arms, and Kate felt like one of the sparks crackling forth from the burning flames, free and flying high. Quinn’s kisses were ardent and unrestrained as he unbuttoned her nightgown. He loved each spot of her skin he uncovered with his lips and tongue, brushing and nibbling as he explored. The little nips and bites he gave her served only to heighten the heat in her body as her smoldering passion flared into a blaze.

  He stood between her legs as he held her breasts, one in each hand, and kissed her on the mouth again.

  He explored at his leisure, slipping his tongue deeper only when she let him in, allowing her to set the pace.

  She ran her hands through his hair and tugged him closer, exquisitely aware of every nuance of him, from his rapid heartbeat to his unique scent, which was an irresistible mixture of citrus, clove, and something else which belonged to Quinn, and Quinn alone. He plucked at her nipples and she shivered as the arousal in the sensitive crests ignited her entire being.

  He pulled away from her only to tear off his breeches. His rod sprang forth. She couldn’t restrain her surprised gasp.

  It was utterly unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  The statuary she’d seen in museums showed only a small floppy thing, not this large, thick pole!

  Whatever was he going to do with that?

  Nothing yet, it seemed. He pulled back the quilt and urged her into bed, then came after her. He covered them both by the quilt and wrapped her in his arms. He rubbed his body against hers, murmuring into her ear, “Want you, Kate, want you so much…” He kissed her again, sucking her tongue into his mouth, and gradually her fear fled in the face of his wicked, wild onslaught. Passion pushed out doubt, even when his demanding hardness prodded her thigh.

  She was wantonly curious about this particular part of Quinn.

  As he cradled his head between her breasts, kissing the hollow, she reached down to explore it with one hand. Heavy and hot, she thought it would burn her. She couldn’t stop touching the silken, fascinating skin of his tool. She rubbed the sticky bit of moisture which appeared at the tiny slit at its tip; that was new, and interesting also.

  He groaned. She snatched her hand away. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, sweetling, I am so far beyond all right. God, Kate, I want you so much.” He moved her hand back.

  “Please, don’t stop.” He moaned again as she clutched him, then pulled away from her to rest his head between her splayed legs.

  He spread her legs wider and, embarrassed, she resisted. “No, love, let me see you. All of you. Ah, Kate, you are so beautiful.” He bent his head to touch something warm and wet to her private flesh.

  She squealed. “Quinn. What are you doing?”

  “Loving you, darling, the best way I know how.

  Open yourself to me, like a flower to the sun.” He slid his fingers through her curls to rub the heel of his hand against her mound, until she whimpered with her rising need and stretched her legs wider of her own will. He used his thumbs to expose her more fully, kissing her directly on the most sensitive spot.

  She fell back on the pillows with a moan and gave herself up to his loving mouth. He pressed his tongue against her with firm little strokes, until she thought she’d go mad for release, but there was more. He slid one finger inside her, then another, and gently scissored them apart.

  She would have flown off the bed but fo
r Quinn easing his arousal into her. He lay his body upon hers as she screamed her ecstasy into his mouth. “Yes, Kate, yes, like that. Bend your knees, wrap your legs around my waist. Yes, darling, you are so good.” Her hips tipped upward and impossibly, improbably, he slid even more fully inside her.

  She must have emitted a small nervous squeak, for he laughed tremulously. He rotated himself within her, and she felt him, large and round, in her tight sheath.

  She gazed at him, feeling her eyes widen. They felt as enormous in her face as his manhood felt in her body.

  “Yes, feel it,” he hissed. His voice was almost triumphant, she thought, as he eased in and out of her. “Good or bad, feel everything. There’s only one first time. It will never be quite the same again.” She gasped for breath as he gripped her hips, swiving her deeply. The sensation was like nothing she’d ever felt. Big, hot, and hard, he seemed to take over her body. Nothing existed but his bigness entering her, taking her, over and over again.

  He sucked and nibbled her breasts as she writhed helplessly on the sheets. The fire in her raged out of control as he thrust into her. She found herself clawing his shoulders as his body rippled, then he collapsed upon her, burying his head in her long, loose hair.

  After a few moments he shifted position so that they were lying side-by-side, still enfolded in each other’s arms. He softly kissed her forehead, her hair, her eyelids, her lips. She floated on a sea of rapture.

  She never wanted this bliss to end.

  When she awakened, she discovered she was a bit sore. She wanted to touch herself, but was shy about doing so in front of Quinn, who watched her with a small smile on his face.

  “Well, darling?” He leaned down and kissed her swollen mouth. Her hips twitched. “Are you hurting, my love? I tried to be kind.”

  “I’m all right, if a bit sticky.” She spoke hesitantly.

  He chuckled. “This is all very new to you, isn’t it?

  I’ll get a woolly.” He climbed out of bed in search of a damp washcloth.

  She kicked off the quilt and looked down at the fluff of curls covering her mound. Strangely enough, her body appeared the same. It ought to look different, considering her maidenhead had been taken in a very thorough fashion. She stretched her arms above her head and arched her back, watching her breasts lift. The reddened peaks ached in a peculiar manner. She rubbed them, reliving the shaft of desire, almost painful, which had arrowed through her when Quinn had sucked them into his mouth.