He stilled, and his eyes drifted open. Then a wicked smile appeared on his face. “Whatever Her Highness commands.”
With a slow, deliberate flick of his fingers, he released the first button of the placket of his trousers, then the one beside it, and the three angled down the thick bulge in the fabric. Faith forgot to breathe. Black hair sprang out from the dark fabric, then taut skin stretched over his manhood. Faith leaned forward and, starting at the bottom, unfastened his shirt. Inch by glorious inch, she laid bare the bronzed skin and rippled muscle of his abdomen, and traced the hollow between his ribs with his tongue up to the formed brawn of his chest.
Troyce gasped, arched, then lost all patience and ripped the shirt off. Faith smiled. This was going to be so much more fun than she’d ever, ever dreamed. “What do you want, Baron?”
He dipped his head and gaze at her from beneath his lashes like a cat on the prowl. Then he moved between her legs and smiled. “I want it all.”
Laughing, she opened her arms, and into them he fell, bracing one forearm on the deck so as not to crush her with his weight. The fingers of his other hand began a leisurely stroll up the inside of her thigh to her most intimate spot and sensations poured through her with such power that Faith thought she would go through the deck. When he again touched the moist folds of her womanhood, circling the nub, her thighs fell open.
“No more waiting,” she gasped, feeling wanton and wicked and desperately impatient. She knew he would fit himself inside her. At one time, the idea would have frightened her. But now, with her nerves raw and alive, her body wet and hot and ready, she could think of nothing grander than having him inside of her.
And then, he was, just the tip of him, pushing into her tightness. Sliding against her, inside her, enough to drive her mad. She clutched his steely bum with her thighs and pulled his mouth down to hers. His tongue thrust inside her at the same moment as his hips, and Faith went utterly still, shocked by the size and thickness of him.
“It’s done—you’re mine now,” he rasped against her neck. Then he drew back, and pushed forward, stretching her, filling her, skin to skin, pulse to pulse.
“I always was,” she whispered, as the slight stinging sensation gave way to liquid heat. He kept his pace slow at first, allowing her to grow accustomed to him. But Faith soon grew greedy for a faster, harder tempo. Her fingernails bit into his back, his chest crushed against her swollen breasts, her hips rose of their own will. Breathing came by sheer nature, fast, heavy, furious. The rhythm increased. Guttural sounds of pleasure matched the beat, and Faith felt herself floating higher. Higher. Higher . . .
The explosion tore through her at the same time Troyce made the last drive home and stiffened above her with a lion’s roar. Finally spent, they stayed in each other’s arms, with him between her splayed thighs, their legs entwined, their skin clinging. How long they remained that way she would never know.
She only knew that she had never felt so wonderful, so gloriously alive, in her entire life. Her limbs quivered. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her brain had gone completely numb. “I never . . .” she panted. “I had no idea . . .”
“Nor I . . .” He moved away slightly, careful to keep his weight to the side and drew her against him with his leg. She felt him drag some piece of clothing across their nudity to protect her from the slight chill, then collapse beside her. “Definitely . . . not an amusement.”
Faith smiled and cuddled up into the arms encircling her. She closed her eyes, yawned, then just before she drifted off to sleep, she whispered, “I love you, my prince of dreams.”
And in the morning when she awoke, he was gone.
Just as dawn was breaking over the horizon, Faith sneaked up the back servants’ steps toward her room. If she’d not awakened on the deck of a ship, with only a thin blanket to cover her nudity, she might have wondered if the night she’d spent in Troyce’s arms had been nothing more than a dream.
No, it had been no dream. It had been all too wonderfully real. She could still feel the heat of his kiss, the power of his arms, the beat of his heart against hers.
And the emotions swelling beneath her breast grew so large she could hardly contain them.
Every girl should feel like a princess once in her life.
She touched her lips and smiled. But maybe fairy tales did come true. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Feeling lighthearted and giddy, she raced up the last few steps, then slipped into her room. She startled at the sight of Scatter sitting on her bed.
“Zounds, Fan, where ye been? I’ve been lookin’ all over for ye.”
At dawn? She self-consciously smoothed her tangled hair and wrinkled skirt. “I just had an errand to run. Did you need something?”
“Look what I found!” He scooted aside and waved toward the mattress, where a large assortment of glittering gems littered the coverlet. She recognized Lady Brayton’s brooch, the one she’d been wearing the day they’d gotten into the pillow fight. And the diamond earbobs she’d worn last night with the red gown. Faith didn’t know where the other pieces of jewelry had come from; but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.
“Where did you get all this?” she whispered, even though her heart knew the answer.
“In the stables. I was mucking out the last stall and they were just laying there in this sack. Easy pickin’s, huh, Fan!”
She gathered up the treasures and piled them into the bag. “Put it back. I don’t care how, but you must put every bauble back where you found it now!”
“Put it back? There’s a fortune in that sack! It’d take me months t’score this big on the streets!”
“I don’t care. We are not stealing from these people. They’ve treated us well.”
“I didn’t steal it. I told you I found it.”
“Then you won’t have any trouble remembering where it goes, will you?”
His shoulders slumped, his head drooped on his shoulders. “Fine, I’ll put it back. But if someone else finds my swag, I’m blaming you!”
He wouldn’t be the only one.
With the sack clutched in his fist, Scatter started to leave the room. Rapid steps down the hallway had him spinning around.
“Someone’s coming!”
Faith tensed. Her attention shot to the door she’d left halfway open.
“What am I gonna do? I’m supposed to be mucking out the stables!”
“Quick, under the bed. And take this with you.”
No sooner did Scatter get his long, lanky body under the metal frame than Lucy pushed the door wide open, unannounced. “Ah, so you’re finally here.”
“What do you want, Lucy?”
“Millie’s been calling for you for the last hour.” Her gaze swept the room, paused at the bed, then returned to Faith and raked her with disdain. “You might consider making yourself presentable first.”
After she left, Faith shooed Scatter out of her room to return the items to wherever he’d “found” them. Then she hastily threw on a clean uniform and hurried toward the kitchen. Breakfast wasn’t to be served till eleven, but there were guests to tend, coal bins to stock, bread to bake, and a dozen other tasks to attend to. And the sooner she completed her chores, the sooner she could seek out Troyce.
Her worries over what mischief Scatter might be up to rolled to the back of her mind as she wondered where the baron might be now. She wished she’d been able to wake up beside him, but she also understood the danger in that. Not that anyone ever ventured down to the boathouse; but with so many strangers in the castle, she didn’t want to take any chances of discovery. It was bad enough that Lucy had seen her in less-than-crisp form.
Faith had just turned the bend in the hall that led to the kitchens, when a set of voices drifted from an open door, into the hallway. She immediately recognized Lady Brayton’s sophisticated lilt.
Remembering the sight of her last night, Faith started toward the doorway, fully intent on confronting her ab
out the mysterious reappearance of her missing red dress when the train of conversation gave her pause.
“. . . the most eligible ladies from Brighton to Land’s End were in attendance last night, and he showed no interest in any of them.”
“You’re worrying for nothing, Your Grace.”
“I cannot help but worry. If he does not settle on a bride soon, I fear he will leave England again. I could not bear it.”
“It’s my belief that he is suitably interested in remaining at Westborough.”
“It’s that girl—the one he dragged home from London. He’s been taken with her since the day he brought her into this house, and I’ll not have him throw his inheritance away for a girl who—”
“Is suiting a purpose.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“So what if he amuses himself with her? Lord Westborough knows his duty. You said yourself that no one will invest in his venture, so he must marry a lady of wealth and title. You, my dear, must simply give him a nudge in the right direction.”
The conversation turned toward other matters of no interest and yet, Faith was too stunned to move. That . . . Judas! She’d been told the ball was to give him an opportunity to meet with investors. How could the duchess pretend to support Troyce’s decision to rebuild his ship and plot behind his back to marry him off?
She had to tell Troyce—what?
What could she possibly say to him? “Your sister is plotting to press you into marriage so you won’t leave England?”
He’d never believe her. His trust in her was still too unpredictable, their relationship too fragile. What if he thought that she was trying to drive a wedge between him and Lady Brayton for her own gain? No, it was too risky to say anything yet.
Still, she couldn’t just do nothing and let the duchess convince him to take someone else to wife. Not before she had a chance to love him, and he had a chance to love her back, even if only a little.
But what could she do?
Millie. Surely she would have some idea of how to protect his lordship from his sister’s wicked plan. But the instant she entered the kitchen and saw Lucy and Millie sitting at the table, their eyes bright and smiles wide, a horrible sinking feeling slowed her steps and dulled her senses.
“There you are, Faith,” Millie greeted brightly. “Have you heard the news? Wedding bells will be ringing in Westborough soon.”
“Indeed? Who’s getting married?”
“Lord Westborough.” Lucy simpered. “He put himself on the market last night during the ball.”
Faith’s heart pitched, her knees went weak. “I didn’t realize the bar—his lordship wished to marry.”
“Of course he doesn’t—no man wants to surrender his bachelorhood, but he’s got the barony to consider. ’Tis about time, too, I say.”
But what of me? She wanted to cry. What of the sweet things he’d said to her and the feelings he was making her feel? How could he have kissed her the way he had, held her, made love to her, knowing all along he would be taking another to the altar? How could he have taken her heart knowing he’d be giving another his name?
“Faith, are you all right?”
“What?”
“You’re looking a bit peaked of a sudden,” Millie said, concern etching her brow. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Maybe you’re coming down with the grippe like Chadwick,” Lucy taunted, glee shining in her eyes.
The grippe. How appropriate she thought, for it felt as if a vise had clamped around her heart and was squeezing all the blood from it. She ignored Lucy’s knowing smirk as she stumbled to the door. She didn’t know what excuse she made for herself. She didn’t even know where she was going. At the moment, she didn’t care.
All she knew was that she’d never be good enough for him. She wasn’t good enough for anybody.
Chapter 17
Troyce woke up feeling like the hounds of hell had taken up residence in his brain. He rolled over on a prickly bed of straw and immediately regretted the motion when the devil himself started whacking the inside of his skull with a fifty-pound pitchfork. “Ahh, damn,” he whispered, pressing his palms to his temples.
He licked his chalky lips and opened his eyes. Chunks of limestone seemed to weigh down on his lids. Each time he blinked, grit scored his eyeballs.
After several tries he was finally able to peer through slits and thanked God for the gloomy gray wedges of light beaming onto the straw-strewn floor. Sunlight would have put him six feet under.
Then again, he figured it was no less than he deserved for drinking himself into oblivion.
He struggled to remember how he’d gotten here, in this state. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where here was. A stable, he realized, hearing a horse nicker nearby. A vague memory of a country pub formed through the soupy fog of his mind. A bottle of something that tasted like seawater, a pretty barmaid with sienna eyes, red-gold hair, and a wreath of flowers on her crown—
No. Not a barmaid. Princess Faith.
The night before came back to him in a rush. The ball, the moonlight, the boathouse.
Faith.
Ah, God. Had he really gone to her room? Seduced her in her bed? Taken her maidenhead on the deck of his ship? “Bloody hell . . .”
He rolled over on his straw pallet, and his stomach pitched.
Troyce lay still on his side and waited for the wave of nausea to recede before sitting up. Again, the devil stabbed his skull. Again, he cradled his head, and hissed when his fingertips brushed a knot on the back of his skull; he dimly recalled being struck on the head by something quite wicked, but accepted the punishment that was his due.
To bed Faith, to ruin her knowingly when he’d committed himself soon to marry another, was unforgivable. Never had he behaved so abominably toward a woman, no matter what her station in life. He wouldn’t have thought himself capable of such a heartless act before last night. Before holding Faith in his arms. He should have resisted her. Should have been more honorable. Should have at least told her. . . .
How was he ever going to explain himself?
He owed her an apology at the very least. Not that she would accept it, nor would he blame her if she threw it back in his face. But he had to try.
His stomach protested viciously when he got to his feet. He weaved in place for a moment or two before he trusted that his wobbly legs would bear his weight without his having to use the stall gate to support him.
He managed to locate his horse after several miserable minutes and led the creature outside. A drizzling rain and flat, gray skies greeted him, an appropriate reflection of his mood. He blinked and lifted his face to the overcast sky, welcoming the cool mist against his face.
The fist caught him unaware.
The blow struck him between cheekbone and jaw. The force spun him around, and he landed on his knees in the mud. “How does it feel, Westborough?” A sturdy boot caught him in the ribs. “Don’t feel too ducky, does it?”
Troyce shook his head to clear it and spat out a mouthful of blood. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life, Swift.”
“It’s you who made the mistake, Westborough. No one steals from me and gets away with it. Give me my goddamn money. And while you’re at it, I want Fanny and the lad back, too.”
“Go to hell.”
Troyce threw himself to the left and rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding another kick. The motion made his stomach pitch and bile rise in his throat. Cursing the effects of a hard night of drinking, Troyce willed his insides to settle.
“I’m warning you, Westborough.” Swift circled him like a hawk. “I want my money, and I want Fanny and the boy.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want.” He lumbered to his feet. “If you think I’m just going to hand them over, think again. They suffered enough at your hands.”
“Oh, spare me another bloody bleeding heart!” he wailed to the sky. “Now I’m beginning to lose my patience, Westborough.”
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br /> And Troyce was just beginning to regain his. Thoughts of what Faith’s life must have been like with this lanky piece of slime sent wild rage careening through him. He wanted nothing more than to give that rage free rein, charge his target, and pummel him into the mud.
But he’d spent eight years of his life dealing with river scum like Swift. For the most part, they were ignorant slouches, but they were also greedy and without conscience, and therefore should never be underestimated. What they lacked in education, they more than made up for in cunning. One was more apt to find a knife blade sticking out of his back through rash action than calculated thought. Draw them out, Troyce had learned long ago, find their weakness, then strike.
“Now I can make it easy on you, or I can make it hard.” Continuing to circle, Swift shrugged out of his macintosh and tossed it aside. “But I’m not leaving here until I get what I came for.”
“What do you think you’re going to do to me, Swift?” Troyce removed his own coat and began to circle as well. “Beat me? Starve me? Throw me out on the streets if I don’t earn my keep? I’m not some desperate kid you can bring to heel.”
“The sniveling little maggots need to learn their place. If they want a place to sleep, food to eat, and a roof over their heads, they better bloody well earn it. I don’t give handouts to nobody.”
“No, you just prey on those weaker and more helpless than yourself. Oh, that makes you a real man, Swift.” His eyes narrowed, giving Troyce his first sign that his taunting was cracking Swift’s control. They were beginning to draw a crowd. Villagers gathered on the outer fringe, their curiosity palpable. “I’ll bet it just grated on you that Fanny got away. I’ll wager you were mad enough to spit nails, weren’t you?”
Swift’s mouth flattened.
“She’s small, she’s quick, and she took risks. And that paid off, didn’t it, Swift? What’s more, when she outlived her usefulness on the streets, hell, she had something the boys didn’t. She had a body to lure the men in. Double the money.” His own words sickened him. With herculean effort, Troyce shoved the disgust deep down inside himself and focused on the moment. “Oh, I’ll wager that she would have brought in a fortune,” Troyce smiled.
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