Racing with the Wind (Agents of the Crown)

by Regan Walker

  A second man rode up through the bushes. Both strangers were dirty, with long stubble on their faces and splashed mud on their boots and breeches. They must have ridden through the rain the day before. The one holding Mary called out, “I’ll handle her. You take care of the one who was with her.” Without responding, the second man wheeled his horse toward the stream.

  The man holding Mary reached into his pocket and took out a length of cord to tie her hands. “Any more from you, and you will see nothing.” Once her hands were bound, he lifted her still struggling against him, carried her to his waiting horse and flung her over the saddle. She was just trying to aright herself when she heard the voice.

  “Let her go or you’re dead!”

  Mary’s heart leapt as she recognized the deep, familiar sound, and she slipped from the saddle and turned to see an angry Hugh standing in the clearing with a pistol pointed at her captor. The man still stood near her and kept his back to Hugh. Slowly he reached for a pistol tucked at his waist.

  Mary saw the movement. “He has a pistol!”

  Before she could move, the man reached out and grabbed her, turning to face Hugh while pressing the pistol to her temple. “I’ll not hesitate to use this. Lose your weapon.”

  Hugh dropped his pistol without hesitation.

  “And the brace, too,” said the man, motioning to Hugh’s chest.

  Hugh unfastened the brace still containing the other pistol dagger. Just as he began to lower it to the ground, though, Mary shoved her elbow hard into the ribs of the man holding her. The villain stepped backward with an oath, and in one swift movement Hugh had thrown one of his daggers across the small distance where it lodged in the man’s chest. As the man began to collapse, Mary saw he still aimed his pistol at Hugh, preparing to fire. She kicked the pistol from his hand just as the gun went off. The bullet went into the trees instead of Hugh’s chest. The man on the ground clutched at his chest and then collapsed.

  Mary stood shaking from what had just transpired.

  She watched as Hugh reached down and picked up his pistol, returning it to its brace. Then, unable to move, she stared at the man lying at her feet.

  “Come to me, sweetheart.”

  Hugh’s words sank in, and though still shaking badly, Mary found her feet and ran to him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close. “It’s all right, love. He won’t hurt you now. My brave little minx. You saved me, you know.”

  “I couldn’t let him shoot you!” Suddenly she had a thought. “There was another man—”

  “Not anymore. He was a bit too loud in his steps. I heard him coming up behind me.”

  Leaning back, she eyed him and panicked when she saw blood on his white shirt. “You’re wounded!”

  “It’s not my blood.” A subtle smile crossed his face.

  “Oh,” she said. She gave a quick prayer of thanks.

  Hugh untied Mary’s hands. As he did, she began to speak in rapid bursts. “I didn’t see them. Oh, Hugh! He came from behind me. I thought it was you!”

  “It’s all right,” he repeated, his deep voice calming as he rubbed her back and kissed her forehead. “You’re safe now.”

  He left her to retrieve their assailant’s pistol and the dagger still lodged in his chest. He wiped the knife clean on the dead man’s pants and replaced it in his brace alongside its mate.

  Mary was shocked. She could hardly fathom how this reputed rake could be so calm in the face of danger. He had killed before, that much was obvious. With his dark breeches and boots and the brace of pistols, he seemed more the pirate than ever.

  He handed her the fallen man’s pistol. “Can you use this?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “I have shot a pistol before. My uncle thought it might be good for me to know how to use them, though I’ve never had one of my own.”

  “Keep it with you.” He looked grim. “Now come, my love. Our noon repast will have to be eaten while we ride. Others may soon know where we are.”

  Mary drew near to him and laid her head on his chest. She needed his comfort.

  “Are you all right?” He put an arm around her.

  “I’ll be fine now. I’m just relieved it is over and you’re unhurt. Oh, Hugh. You were magnificent.”

  He chuckled and kissed her gently. “You are easily impressed.” But he did not seem displeased.

  Chapter 26

  Mary watched the harbor from where she stood on the cliff above Calais. Piers jutted out into the deep blue water. She was reminded how English the port city was in comparison to the rest of France; from her history lessons, she knew English kings had once reigned here, and the city had even been called “the brightest jewel in the English Crown” because of its importance to the tin, lead, cloth and wool trades. Now, with the Bourbons restored to power, Hugh told her the city was experiencing a burst of growth.

  As she watched, ships and boats moved in and out and dockworkers loaded and unloaded goods. She reached her hand up to shelter her eyes. There was a glare despite the clouds overhead, but far off in the distance she could just make out the cliffs on England’s shore, and her heart warmed at the thought of home. She would return as Lady Ormond, and that made her smile.

  Hugh took her hand and pulled her toward the waiting horses. “You will find the accommodations here more to your liking, my love. Our safe house is larger, and there is even a cook.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I don’t think I could love anyplace more than the cottage we shared last night.” The memory of the intimacies they’d exchanged there caused heat to rise in her cheeks.

  “My fondest memory as well, my love.” Hugh kissed her, a warm promise of more, and lifted her back into the saddle.

  They arrived late in the afternoon at a two-story dwelling, the last on a street of unremarkable Flemish houses.

  “How long will we be here?” Mary asked as Hugh handed the reins of their horses to a skinny young man he introduced as John. Hearing her voice, John threw her a sharp glance, his eyes raking her body to take in the breeches and boots she still wore. Clearly he had never seen a woman wearing men’s clothes. He walked the horses towards the stables while scratching his head.

  “Just long enough to get married, my love, and to arrange for our crossing. But first a bath and some food, don’t you think?”

  The thought of a hot bath was suddenly all she could think about. They were both covered in dust from the ride, and Hugh’s shirt bore dried blood from the altercation in the woods. She was glad she had managed to talk Hugh into bringing her blue gown so she would be able to change from her breeches. But another thought that slipped into her mind unbidden, entrancing, was of Hugh bathing with her.

  “Yes, I’d like a bath very much. Is it a large tub, do you think?”

  Hugh gave her a wry smile. “As I recall, it is.”

  Weary from all that had happened, Mary eagerly sank into the unusually large tub of steaming water and closed her eyes, her long golden locks freed of the plait and hanging over the edge of the tub. She had left Hugh downstairs talking to John and thought she’d have several minutes to herself when she heard the bedroom door open and close. She was no longer alone.

  Her back to the door, she heard boots drop to the wood floor. Though her eyes remained closed, she recognized the sound of clothes being shed, and a shiver of anticipation coursed through her despite the heat of the bathwater. She felt movement in front of her then heard a splash as Hugh’s legs slid down alongside hers. She opened her eyes.

  He wore a lazy, self-assured grin—his pirate smile, she dubbed it. “It will be tight, but I think there is just enough room.”

  “Room for what?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.” He reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “Bend your knees, love, and spread your legs on either side of mine.”

  She found herself intimately resting on his groin, the warm flesh there hardening beneath her. The contact caused her nipples to tighten, and he pulled her in closer. The feeling of
his warm chest against her breasts was so intoxicating that she involuntarily rocked her hips.

  “Oh….”

  It was a soft moan, but when he heard it Hugh bent his head to her breast and took one nipple into the warm wet suction of his mouth. “I have been looking forward to this all day,” he said during a brief pause in which he stared up with loving eyes.

  Mary melted into his caress, the warm water a blanket around them as she continued to move her hips back and forth over the hard ridge of his arousal. He moved his mouth to her throat and to the pulse raging there. His words filtered up to her.

  “You keep moving like that, love, and this will soon be over.”

  Mary stilled. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Oh yes, I like it just fine. But I want this to go on longer.”

  She was growing wetter, and it was not from the bathwater. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she reached up to kiss him and her breasts made contact with the dark hair on his chest. He drew her closer, and his tongue stroked hers while his hands stroked her back. Suddenly, he lifted her.

  “I want to be inside you.”

  Drawn to stare into his eyes, she saw his intent. Water cascaded off her slick body, then Hugh slowly lowered her atop his engorged flesh, thrusting up at the same time until she felt him deeply lodged within her. She shivered at the fullness.

  His lips moved to her temple. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough of you. I don’t think I ever will.”

  The water sloshed out of the tub as Hugh lifted her hips and let her slide down onto his flesh once again. Then again. Mary moved in rhythm, her bent legs helping her to rise. Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him, wholly entranced by the pleasure of the act.

  Her hair fell on either side of his face, and Hugh nuzzled her neck. “Your hair feels like soft rain.”

  The friction of his chest hair against her wet breasts was indescribable. Her body tensed, her muscles once more clenching around him. Mary could think of nothing but Hugh and being wrapped around him, being joined with him. It was more than a joining of two bodies. It was a joining of two souls. She held nothing back.

  Their movements quickened, became a storm of pleasure. Water splashed over the lip of the tub in response. Mary was awed at his strength and the powerful muscles flexing in his arms. Suddenly new spasms swept over her, and she threw her head back as she floated on a riptide of pleasure. Hugh lifted her one last time, let out a groan and surged into her, finding his release.

  He relaxed even as Mary was still floating in a feeling of deep contentment. Finally, she pressed her lips to his forehead and said, “I love you.” Kissing him gently on his lips, she said, “Take me to bed, Hugh.”

  “My thought exactly.” Hugh slowly lifted her and helped her to step out of the tub. He held her against his chest for a moment, their wet bodies still slick. “You make me crazy for you, Mary.”

  His words made her smile.

  He dried them both off in quick movements then picked her up and carried her to the large bed in the center of the room. Turning back the cover with one hand, he gently laid her down. She reached for him as he slid in beside her. Burying her face in his neck, Mary pressed her body into his, warm from both their lovemaking and the bath. But that was not enough.

  She wriggled one of her legs until it was wedged between his. “I can’t get close enough.”

  He chuckled. “And with all that, I am still hungry for you, too. You have rendered me a lascivious man. Soon your lusty husband.”

  Mary smiled and let go a contented sigh. “It makes me happy to think you’ve developed an insatiable appetite for me, my lord.”

  It was some time before either of them thought of food.

  Chapter 27

  They dressed for dinner, Mary changing into her sapphire gown.

  “I’m glad to see you have lost the breeches, my love. The Marchioness of Ormond should be wearing gowns.”

  “I won’t mind returning to female frippery as long as I can ride Midnight in breeches,” she replied.

  “That is a sight I will never tire of. You can ride in men’s breeches—at least for my viewing.”

  They strolled down the stairs hand in hand, but before they could sit down to the simple meal the cook had readied for them, the front door flew open. Turning, they saw Griffen Lambeth stride into the entry. He was dressed in a dark gray coat, black breeches and crimson waistcoat, every bit the gentleman. Lizzy would have loved it.

  “Ormond! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Paris.”

  Hugh’s brows drew together. “I would ask the same of you: why are you here?” He rose and went to his friend, concern on his face. “Is anything amiss?”

  Lambeth glanced over Hugh’s shoulder to see Mary. “I had some business with Martin that required my presence in Paris. I expected to find you with Lord Baynes.”

  “There is much to tell you,” Hugh replied. “I was forced to adjust my plans. May I present Lady Mary Campbell, my betrothed.” He stepped back and made the appropriate gestures.

  Hurrying to bend over her hand, Lambeth grinned. “Lady Mary.” He turned back to Hugh and said, “Congratulations!”

  “Come into the study with me, Lambeth,” Hugh commanded. “I’ll give you the short version of the last several days.” Turning to Mary, he said, “Love, please go ahead with dinner. I’ll only be a short while.”

  The two men stepped into a small parlor on the other side of the entryway. As they did, Lambeth raised an eyebrow.

  “Love? Betrothed? If you don’t mind my asking, Ormond, what has happened between you and the lovely Mary Campbell?”

  “It is rather a long story, but to give you the short of it, Mary helped to uncover some treachery against King Louis. Those who are responsible—Prussians, in league with supporters of the former emperor—are hunting her. They are also hunting the Nighthawk. It seemed best to leave Paris, and Lord Baynes and I agreed I should bring her home using the safe houses.” He paused. “Oh, yes, and along the way we became betrothed.”

  “Good Lord, Ormond. You’ve been a busy man.” Lambeth slapped him on the back and laughed. Then his face grew serious. “I myself carry a message. I expected to deliver it to you in Paris, but since you are here you should see. I have a feeling it isn’t good news, and perhaps most untimely.” He took a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to Hugh. “It’s from Amanda Hearnshaw. I don’t know what it says, but I can imagine.”

  Hugh tore open the envelope and read the note. “My God. She’s with child and claims it’s mine. She’s asking me to wed her. My child? I—”

  A gasp sounded behind him, and he and Lambeth turned to find Mary in the doorway, frozen in shock.

  “Mary.” Hugh sighed the word.

  She did not wait to hear the rest of his explanation, just turned and fled up the stairs.

  Lambeth’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, old man.”

  Hugh looked back at the note in his hands. “It is not my child. It can’t be.”

  “But Lady Mary doesn’t know that, does she?” Lambeth looked toward the stairs.

  “No, she doesn’t,” said Hugh, shaking his head. “Hell and damnation.”

  He followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom where they had just made love. She was standing in front of the window, her back to him. He could feel the sadness in the air. He could hear her quiet sobs.

  “Mary, let me explain.”

  She slowly turned, tears running down her cheeks. With the backs of her hands, she tried to wipe them away. “What explanation can there be, save the obvious? She was your mistress, was she not?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “she was. I cannot believe it’s my child, Mary.” Not unless for once in his life he’d horribly miscalculated….

  “You don’t know that.” Her voice sounded resolute, but he knew she must be dying inside.

  “Mary, this doesn’t change anything between us.”

  He dreaded he might be wr
ong. Then she confirmed it. Tears filled her green eyes. Her honey skin, now pale, reflected the agony she was feeling. “Not our love, perhaps, but she wants to marry you, to be a family. I cannot live with the thought of separating a family.”

  “But it is not my child!” He shouted the words, as if doing so would make them true. But he wondered if he hadn’t made the mistake of his life with Amanda. Desperate to take Mary into his arms and assure her she was wrong, he crossed the room to where she stood and reached for her, but she stopped him with an outstretched hand.

  “No, Hugh. I need time to think.”

  There was a way around this conundrum, if she would only accept it. Perhaps… “Even if you were right and this child were mine, I am certain Amanda would allow us to raise it.”

  “But she would be ruined. And what about the baby who will need both its parents? No, she needs a husband and her message said she wants to marry you! I would never hurt the child she carries. I would never deny that child a family.” She turned back to face the window. “A family I never had.”

  Hugh could see argument was pointless. “All right. We will return to London and I’ll sort out the facts there. But, Mary, do not give up on us.”

  She said nothing. As Hugh left, he heard quiet sobs.

  Descending the stairs, he found Lambeth pouring himself a brandy. “I’ll take one of those,” he told his friend.

  Lambeth reached for another glass. “How did she take it?”

  “Not well. She has some notion in her mind that Amanda and I should be a family and raise the child together.”

  Lambeth poured a generous amount of brandy into a glass and handed it over. “Did you expect anything else?”

  “No, I suppose not. Mary is not one of those who tolerate the loose moral climate England embraces. And she worries for the child. We were to be wed here in Calais. Amanda’s timing could not have been worse.” Hugh sipped his drink, deep in thought. “What is Amanda up to, do you think? Could it be she really wants to marry me? She never hinted at it before and she well knows I was never interested. I wonder if it’s possible the child is mine.”