The Iron Corsair (Pirates of the Coast Book 2)

by Barbara Devlin

  ~

  A clap of thunder wrenched Florence awake, and she panicked, until Barrington rolled over, pulled her beneath him, and kissed her. In rapid succession, a series of salacious images involving his tongue and her body flashed in her brain, and she suspected she had not conjured his presence, as she skimmed his beautiful chest. Yet he had come to her before, in cherished dreams, and she woke to naught but a cold pillow and despair.

  After brushing aside the covers, he shifted, nudged her thighs, and took her with a single swift thrust. The fear subsided, as the initial confusion cleared, she realized he was really there, and he initiated a steady rhythm, carrying her to another place beyond the reach of the tempest that returned with a vengeance.

  In unison, they danced between the sheets, and she wrapped her legs about his waist and urged him to quicken the pace, because she desperately needed him. As the storm intensified outside the walls of her home, a fury of another sort raged inside her private apartment, but she welcomed the intimate invasion.

  “Have you any idea how much I missed you or how much I love you?” Barrington whispered in her ear, as he stretched and possessed her. “And whenever it rained, my thoughts turned to you, yet you were never far from my thoughts.”

  “It was the same for me, because without you, I suffered alone.” To her relief, their bodies melded just as they always had, moving in perfect time. “Yet, I was never really alone, because I invoked your memory, the strength of your arms, the decadent taste of your lips, the unparalleled enticement you manifest, and you sustained me, even in your absence.”

  “That is because I am with you, even when I am not here.” Then her man bent his head and claimed her mouth.

  Delicious pressure coiled and built in the pit of her belly, fanning the flames that simmered beneath her flesh, as he filled her, again and again. Then he reared back, hooked his arms behind her knees, leaving her exposed and vulnerable, and drove into her, hard and fast, such that she thought she might split in two, but he did not hurt her.

  Together, they composed an erotic yet melodic symphony, as his guttural grunts and her sighs reached a feverish crescendo. Digging her fingernails into his bare shoulders, she straightened her legs, inhaled a deep breath, and gave vent to a scream of pleasure that coincided perfectly with another of nature’s impressive bellows, as spasm after succulent spasm rocked her to her core.

  To the right of her head, Barrington punched a pillow, gritted his teeth, and groaned. Soon, he relaxed, his breath slowed, and he lifted his head and kissed her.

  When he tried to withdraw, Florence tightened her hold. “Do not leave me.”

  “Sweetheart, I could not do that if I tried.” Framing her face, he trailed his tongue along the curve of her jaw and then nipped her chin. “But daylight filters between the drapes, and I should depart before your father wakes, yet I am reluctant to abandon my warm and accommodating fiancée.”

  “Still it rains, and you will be soaked to the skin if you ride home in this weather.” In so many ways, their situation mirrored that of the morning he fled London, and she refused to release him. “And the mantel clock marks the hour as just after eight, which means Papa is probably downstairs.”

  “Then I should stay and ride you.” Ah, he was in a mood to play, as he flexed his hips. “But what of your father?”

  “If you help me dress, I can go downstairs, plead fatigue, and have Mead deliver a substantial breakfast tray, that we might linger in my chamber of decadence. Later, I can provide a distraction, that you might escape sans notice.” Even as she voiced her proposal, Barrington commenced another round of delicious lovemaking. “My naughty lord, we are of like-minded purpose, but I should not tarry else we risk discovery.”

  “What does it matter, when you will be my wife in two days’ time?” With that, he took her again.

  Approximately half an hour passed, when Florence stood before the long mirror and struggled to stay upright, as Barrington laced her simple morning gown.

  “My hair looks a frightful mess.” She giggled, as she studied his reflection, so serious as he attempted the task, smoothed a wayward tendril, and then splayed her arms to maintain her balance when he tugged hard. “Have you done this before?”

  “Darling, my talents lean toward the opposite objective, as I am well versed in getting you out of your clothes.” Behind her, he frowned. “I am not sure this is right, but I suppose it will have to do.”

  “I am sure it is fine.” As Barrington retreated a step, she turned, rested her hands to his shoulders, and kissed him. “Hanging in the armoire is your robe, where you left it four years ago, although I prefer you without it.”

  “Do you?” Naked, he rotated with a swagger and winked. “Like what you see?”

  “Indeed.” Biting her lip, she admired his stunning physique. “Your bottom is perfection, my lord. And I would have your promise to indulge me in a thorough inspection on our wedding night.”

  “You have my solemn promise.” He wiggled his hips, and she laughed. “And I am yours to do with as you please.”

  “Oh, I do so love you.” When she noted his revived erection, she tensed her muscles.

  “Hurry back.” He gripped her by the hip and then trailed his hand lower. “As I am hungry again, and I do not reference food.”

  “By your command.” With a spring in her step, she half-curtseyed and ran from the bedchamber.

  In the hall, she skipped along the corridor, through the gallery, and down the grand staircase. Whistling a frisky little ditty, she approached the dining room, recalled her plan, quieted, slumped her shoulders, bowed her head, and strolled to the sideboard.

  “You are up and about rather early, are you not?” At his usual place, her father perused the latest copy of The Times. “I had thought the storm might have kept you awake.”

  “That is true, and I scarcely slept a wink.” Starved, given Barrington had exercised her thoroughly, more than once, she admired the selections of scrambled eggs, kippers, and toast, just as her belly growled. “Perhaps I should return to my apartment and have Mead bring me a tray.”

  “Or you could ask Lord Ravenwood to join us, as the rain shows no signs of abating,” Papa remarked, dryly. “Given the ruckus, and I am not talking about the storm, I am in dire need of a nap, which I shall enjoy in the comfort of our coach, as we journey to Derbyshire. In light of the deluge, I gather it will be slow going.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Florence flinched and peered over her shoulder. “You wish me to send an invitation for Lord Ravenwood to break his fast with us?”

  Papa lowered the newspaper and said naught.

  While she yearned to protest, she thought better of her tack.

  Then he arched a brow.

  “As you wish.” Swallowing hard, she retraced her steps and returned to her chamber, where she found Barrington lounging abed.

  “Back so soon?” He patted the mattress. “I kept the sheets warm.”

  “Get up and get dressed, as we are discovered, and Papa demands your appearance in the dining room.” In a rush, she picked up his breeches from the floor and tossed them at him. “Make haste, before he loses his patience.”

  “Let him wait.” Her delectable fiancé rolled onto his side and grinned. “As you have more pressing needs to satisfy.”

  “Absolutely not.” She scoffed, even as he tempted her. “My father is a patient man, but I do not want to provoke him, and he did not appear too happy when he asked me to summon you.”

  “I imagine not.” With a frown, he scooted to the edge of the mattress, stood, and pulled on his breeches. “What gave us away?”

  “Apparently, we made too much noise.” At the long mirror, she rotated and assessed her fiancés handiwork. “For heaven’s sake, you knotted my dress in the laces. No wonder Papa suspected your presence.” Still, she could only laugh at Barrington’s mess. After crossing the chamber, she tugged the bellpull and collected his Hessians, which she dropped at his feet. “I shall await
Mead in my sitting room, that she might set my gown to rights, while you prepare to meet Papa.”

  “Just a minute.” With a hand at her waist, he stopped her. “I need a kiss.”

  “Barrington, we must not delay, else Papa may come looking for us.” When she turned aside her face, because she doubted he would settle for a kiss, he ravished her neck, and she closed her eyes. “You make it hard to resist you.”

  “Actually, you make it hard not to tempt you.” Grasping her wrist, he rubbed her palm to his erection, the wool of his breeches no real impediment to his impressive protuberance. “Come back to bed.”

  “No.” Just then, the lady’s maid called from the sitting room, and Florence tried to push free. “I will be right there, Mead.”

  “Indeed, you will, as soon as you appease me.” He walked her to the edge of the four-poster, shuffled her in his hold, and bent her over the footboard. As he lifted her skirts and bunched them at her hips, he nudged her with his knee, and she spread her legs. “Given I am about to explode, I must have you, and it will not take long, so grip the frame.”

  “You are insatiable.” Yet she thwarted him not.

  “As I was gone for four years, we have much to make up for, and you knew I desired you, a long time ago.” He smacked her bottom. “Now hold tight, sweetheart.”

  Before she could protest, he took her from behind, slapping a decadent rhythm as flesh met flesh, and she gave herself to the tide of passion. Wrapping his arms about her, he suckled her ear and then grunted as he found his release. Just as he promised, the heated exchange took mere minutes but achieved its purpose, but they had no time to linger.

  Gasping for air and with cheeks burning, she stretched upright, brushed out her skirts, pressed her lips to his, and ran into the outer chamber. “Good morning, Mead.”

  “My lady.” Grinning, Mead curtseyed. “You have need of my assistance?”

  “Can you retie my laces?” Florence focused on the double doors and tried not to think about what happened in her bed, last night. “I am no substitute for your skills, my friend.”

  “Mercy me, it looks like you did this in your sleep.” Mead tsked as she went about her task. “I taught you better, my lady. This muddle takes me back to when you were but a girl.”

  “Ah, but you never instructed me.” Boasting a smug smile, and turned out in trim, Barrington strolled into the sitting room. “Good morning, Mead.”

  “I should have known, and good morning to you, too, Lord Ravenwood.” Nonplussed, the lady’s maid patted Florence’s shoulder. It was not the first time Mead happened upon Barrington in Florence’s quarters. “Lady Florence, if you will sit on the chaise, I will arrange your coiffure.”

  “Of course.” Mustering calm, Florence pressed a palm to her grumbling belly, as her fiancé winked and blew her a kiss. The man was shameless.

  “All right.” With fists on hips, Mead narrowed her stare. “Now you are presentable.”

  “Then we should away, else Papa may search for us, and I would rather not test the limits of his self-restraint.” Adopting the proper posture expected of a well-bred woman of character, excepting the wild foray in the sheets with the love of her life, Florence stood, accepted Barrington’s decorous escort, which ran contrary to his true, piratical nature and startled her in his aggression, and held high her chin.

  Together, they descended the stairs.

  “While I am more than happy to break my fast with your father, I would much prefer to feast on the treasure between your thighs.” Shocked by Barrington’s bawdy comment, she caught her toe on the rug in the foyer. “Careful, love.”

  “My lord, you quite take my breath away.” Clutching her throat, she marveled at the difference between the polite man that departed London four years ago versus the spicier one that returned. “You are much changed, as the Barrington I recall never would have said anything so indelicate to me.”

  “Oh?” To her alarm, he diverted to the small alcove near the drawing room and kissed her. And he kept kissing her. “Have I displeased you? Do you no longer wish to wed me?”

  “Now you tease me, because you know, very well, that I love you.” Still, in some respects, she hardly knew the swashbuckling marquess that ravaged her in her bed. “It is just that, since our much prayed for reunion, I sometimes feel as if I no longer know you.”

  “Darling, let me assure you I am the same person who held your hand, after you twisted your ankle as we explored the north fields of my estate in Derbyshire.” Again, he pressed his lips to hers. “And I am so sorry I was not here to mourn the loss of our babe, for which I shall never forgive myself. At the earliest opportunity, I pledge to give our child a proper burial in the family plot, in accordance with your wishes.”

  “I would like that.” His concern for their firstborn did much to soothe her anxiety, and she rested her head to his chest. “I did so need you during that time.”

  “Then we shall stay the course, my girl.” Of course, he would call her by his customary term of endearment, and she nodded the affirmative.

  With that, he drew her from the alcove, and they continued to the dining room, whereupon Papa paced before the windows. When he noted their arrival, he halted and scowled.

  “Well, we are exposed.” Papa flung the newspaper onto the table. “Your impending nuptials are announced in the gossip column.”

  THE IRON CORSAIR

  CHAPTER SIX

  “How could this have happened?” As Barrington wore a path on the rug before the hearth, he smacked a fist to a palm and tried to maintain a grip on his temper. “We took every precaution, and we told no one of the renewed engagement and impending nuptials.”

  “I, too, am at a loss.” Gazing at the floor, Lord Braithwaite shook his head. “We were so careful not to say anything to anyone, and I have not even made an announcement to the servants.”

  “Yet someone knows.” Sir Ross scratched his cheek and frowned. “Somewhere, we have a breach in our defenses, and it is imperative we locate and mend our rift.”

  “I am afraid I may be to blame.” Bowing her head, Florence clasped her hands in her lap, as she perched on the daybed in her father’s study. “Last night, at the impromptu dinner, I let it slip to Aunt Esther.”

  “You did what?” Ire poured forth, as Barrington gritted his teeth, yet he checked his temper. “How could you be so careless?”

  “Well, she kept asking questions, and I saw no reason not to answer her, as she is but a harmless old woman.” Despite her haphazard shrug, her trembling lower lip belied her air of calm. “And I made it clear we required the utmost discretion.”

  “That probably lasted long enough for Aunt Esther to tell Lady Holland, who in turn shared the news with Lady Hudson, the biggest gossipmonger in all of England.” Choking back his anger, given the predicament he confronted thanks to his too trusting fiancée, Barrington raked his fingers through his hair and growled. “And I wager the whole of the ton knew before they read about it in this morning’s issue of The Times.”

  “I am so sorry.” Florence cast an expression of woe, and he wanted to comfort and to spank her, at once. “But she is family. Surely you do not suspect her.”

  “On the contrary.” Sir Ross made notations on a sheet of parchment. “I suspect everyone.”

  “Well, what do we do now?” Lord Braithwaite shuffled his feet. “Should I summon the traveling coach? Are we to depart London for Derbyshire, or do we delay?”

  “No.” Barrington considered the situation and opted for a new plan, because Florence’s protection manifested the utmost priority. “We remain here, and we marry this afternoon, at St. George’s.”

  “Are you mad?” Lord Braithwaite scoffed. “Your secret is out, and the villain will no doubt target my daughter, as a result of her association with you.”

  “And if I do not wed her?” Not for a moment would Barrington surrender his woman. “Do you suppose the scoundrel will simply overlook her? I would rather have her under my roof, where I
can guard her.”

  “Lord Ravenwood is right.” Sir Ross scooted to the edge of the sofa and rested elbows to knees. “Lady Florence will pose another obstacle to the title, presuming that is our unknown murder’s ultimate goal, thus we should anticipate attempts on her life.”

  “Then I should meet with the rector, posthaste.” Lord Braithwaite strode to the door but halted. “Shall I have Mead pack Florence’s belongings?”

  “Please, do so.” Barrington gazed at his bride-to-be and smiled. “She can marry me, in her fetching morning gown.”

  “On the contrary, I will change into something more appropriate, as befits the momentous occasion, and I should supervise the removal of my things.” Florence stood and followed in her father’s steps. As she met Barrington, she paused. “And I am truly sorry for the trouble I caused. I thought Aunt Esther would keep my confidence.”

  “It is all right, sweetheart.” To allay her distress, he offered an olive branch in a quick kiss, as he would not ruin their special day with rancor. “Gather your possessions, because I want you installed in my home, in the marchioness’s suite, tonight.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” When he caressed her cheek, she turned into his hand and pressed her lips to his palm. “From now on, I shall be as silent as the grave.”

  “You are not blame.” Again, he kissed her. “Now run along, because we have a busy day ahead of us.” Without a word, she obeyed, and Barrington waited until she closed the door before he met Sir Ross’s stare. “What have you learned since we last convened?”

  “Whether or not you want to hear it, your brother remains fixed at the top of my list of suspects.” The veteran government agent raised a hand as Barrington made to protest. “I know it is difficult to contemplate that your sibling may be your worst enemy, but he had motive, means, and opportunity to either commit the heinous act or commission another to do his dirty work. If you are familiar with history, it is the oldest crime known to humanity.”