Deborah Simmons

by The Last Rogue

  Jane sensed rather than saw the monk near her head back away slowly. “Craven Hall claims its own,” he intoned darkly. It reminded Jane of Mrs. Graves’s dire predictions, and suddenly she forgot her own fright as fear for Raleigh swept over her. Although she did not believe they possessed any unnatural powers, the men who had taken her were rough fellows and fair-sized. How could her husband stand against them?

  “Oomph,” she mumbled against the cloth in her mouth, but Raleigh did not even flick a glance in her direction.

  “Unhand my wife at once,” he said, in a tone that surprised Jane with its underlying steel.

  “Or what?” the monk near her feet taunted. Although his partner tried to hush him, he ignored the warning with a harsh laugh. “You don’t think this London fop will soil his lily-white hands by coming in here, do you?” he asked his companion. Slowly, he sauntered forward to where Raleigh leaned against the stone wall and took up a threatening stance. Jane whimpered as she tried to kick off her restraining bonds.

  “A fop, am I?” Raleigh said, uncoiling his limbs gracefully. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take exception to that.” As Jane watched in astonishment, he looked as if he would step one way, but instead he swung suddenly toward the man. With a sickening crunch, Raleigh’s knuckles connected with the man’s jaw, knocking back his hood, while his other fist slammed into the monk’s stomach. With a groan, the false friar staggered back and fell.

  “I say, those demned boxing lessons of Wycliffe’s finally came to good use,” Raleigh said, admiring his hand-iwork.

  Apparently the other monk was not pleased to see his partner’s defeat. He launched himself at Raleigh, only to flail past him when the viscount neatly sidestepped. Then Raleigh kicked him squarely in the behind, sending him headfirst into the wall. Another thud sounded, and then that monk, too, fell groaning to the floor.

  “Not exactly Broughton’s rules, but I doubt that they would fight fairly either, if given a chance,” Raleigh said, turning to flash her a wicked grin, and Jane felt like weeping with joy at the sight she had never thought to see again.

  His smile abruptly faded. “Are you all right, Jane, my love, my own?” he whispered, hurrying to her. When she nodded stupidly, he removed the cloth from her mouth, unwrapped the imprisoning fabric and helped her to sit upright. With infinite gentleness he put her missing slipper back on her foot, then he straightened, moving closer to cup her face in his elegant hands. Even in the darkness, Jane felt the seriousness of his regard, a seriousness that she had never thought to associate with Raleigh, and she blinked back the tears that threatened.

  He might have spoken, but the first monk was stirring from his position on the floor, and Raleigh turned toward him. “Now, suppose you tell me what this is all about,” he asked the groggy friar as he leaned casually against the stone slab.

  “We didn’t mean no harm, m’lord,” the man answered. He lifted a hand to massage his jaw, and Jane saw blood trickling down his chin, blood that her dandified husband had drawn. She shook her head, dazed by the knowledge. “We just wanted to scare you away is all. We were just going to truss her up and leave her. We never would have hurt her, I swear.”

  Jane begged to differ, and she had the bruises to prove it, but she said nothing. She was just glad to be alive.

  “Why? Why don’t you want anyone staying at Craven Hall?”

  The big man slanted a wary glance at his companion, who was still unconscious not far away, and frowned. “We’ve been making use of the place,” he mumbled.

  “Making use of the place? How?” Raleigh asked.

  “Storing things ’ere, you might say,” the fellow said, with a surly expression.

  “Stolen goods!” Jane croaked through dry lips, horrified to think that all those lovely artifacts did not belong to Raleigh.

  “No, m’lady! Not a bit of it stolen, I swear it,” the man said, appearing alarmed by her accusation. “All bought and paid for, it is, from over the border, most of it, and some across the channel, if you get my meaning.”

  “Smuggled spirits,” Raleigh said. “Scotch from Scotland, gin from Holland and fine French wines to supply the various inns and coaching houses at Chistleside and beyond.”

  “But I thought smuggling ended with the war,” Jane said.

  “As long as there are tariffs and duties, there will always be smuggling,” Raleigh said. “Just where is all this stored?”

  Casting another furtive glance at his partner, the man muttered a curse. “In the cellar, behind the chimney-piece.”

  “A false chimneypiece, I assume?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “Hmm.” Raleigh made that low humming noise of interest, and Jane felt it run through her like life-giving elixir. Suddenly, the evening’s terrors faded, replaced by a driving urge to embrace life, to celebrate it and everything she had ever denied herself—champagne, sugared pastries, fine fabrics, everything that Raleigh extolled…Beginning with her husband.

  “And this has been going on for some time, I assume?” he asked the prone man.

  “Well, uh, for a few years, I suppose,” the thug mumbled.

  “And it was no secret, I presume,” Raleigh mused. He turned to Jane. “That’s why the villagers tried to warn us off staying at Craven Hall. The trade provides needed income and everyone benefits.”

  “You cannot tell me that Mr. Holroyd approved of such goings-on!” Jane protested. Raleigh’s great-uncle may not have been a paragon, but she could hardly imagine his condoning something illegal.

  “Oh, no, my lady. He knew nothing of it, but he was an old man and not quite, uh, well,” the smuggler noted.

  “So you took advantage of his illness!” Jane accused, horrified that not one of the locals had come to the aid of the poor gentleman, but instead banded together to keep both old Cornelius and his heir in ignorance of their nefarious activities.

  “Now, hold on! We paid well for the privilege of using the place!” the fellow protested. Then, as if he had let something slip that he should not have, he looked at them both wildly. “I mean, we were paid handsomely for the goods, we were.”

  But it was too late to recover his blunder. “Hmm,” Raleigh murmured, indicating that he, too, had noticed the odd statement. He pushed away from the slab he had been leaning against casually. “Can you read?” he asked.

  The fellow appeared dumbfounded. “No, milord.”

  Raleigh fairly pounced, the picture of a keen, clever investigator, not an indolent dandy, and Jane could only gape in admiration. “Then she was the one who suggested all of the gothic touches—the glowing skull, the blood, the monks’ robes,” he said, with a dismissive wave toward the smugglers’ bizarre clothing. “After she stole my book, of course,” he added with mild outrage.

  Jane couldn’t quite follow her husband’s train of thought, but she was too dazzled by his newly displayed skills to notice. As she watched rather breathlessly, Raleigh strolled past the wide-eyed fellow with the air of discovery, pivoting suddenly. “In fact, she might well be the mastermind behind the whole operation!”

  “Now, wait right there,” the thug protested. “She might have given us some ideas about driving you off, but me and Alf have been involved in the trade since long before…” The fellow’s words trailed off as he realized just how much he was revealing, and his face took on a surly expression. “I ain’t saying another word,” he announced, setting his jaw firmly.

  Raleigh sighed and shrugged. “Then I’m afraid it’s the magistrate for you.”

  “Wh-what?” the man said, starting to sit up.

  “I don’t usually quibble about the source of my claret, but you touched my wife, and I can’t have that. Tell your cohorts, if they should visit you in prison, that they have forfeited their goods. I don’t care if the whole village is involved, which, from their behavior, I suspect is probably the case. Craven Hall is mine now, and I will tolerate no one’s interference. And the next man who bothers my wife in any way will find himself
dead. I promise you that.”

  And, then, before Jane had any inkling what he was about, Raleigh smashed his fist into the fellow’s face again, sending the smuggler back against the stone with a thud.

  “I shall have to thank Wycliffe for dragging me along to those infernal boxing lessons,” Raleigh muttered, as he rubbed his knuckles with satisfaction. “Can’t say the same for the fencing I’ve done with Sebastian at Angelo’s Haymarket Room, though I’ll give a nod to Wroth, who insists that any friend of his be able to defend himself,” Raleigh added, grinning as he pointed to a small but deadly-looking blade tucked into his boot.

  Staring at him in stunned surprise, Jane suddenly felt dizzy and hot. Here was a Raleigh she had never seen before. Fearless and dashing. Positively heroic. He had fought off her two captors in the blink of an eye, and he hadn’t even mussed his hair. Jane felt like laughing and swooning at the same time.

  As if he could read her intention, he stepped toward her and gathered her up in his arms in one easy motion. Jane realized that she might once have thought him incapable of carrying her, but she knew better now. She had seen his strength and the purposeful man hidden behind the lazy, pretty facade. Still, she felt embarrassed to be slung like a babe in his hold.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she said. Putting a hand against his chest, as if in protest, Jane felt the heat of him spark along her arm and through every part of her body. He met her gaze then, and she flushed, for even in the darkness, she saw no mocking gleam there, only a stark emotion she had never glimpsed before. Blinking away her own surging sentiments, she slid her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder. There was warmth here and comfort and joy; this was where she belonged.

  Outside, Jane was startled to see two burly men waiting for them. At first, she thought they were more villains, but Raleigh greeted them by name. “There are two of them inside. Lock them up in there, as they planned to lock in my wife,” he said, his voice grim. “Tomorrow, we can summon the magistrate.”

  Although Jane knew she should make him put her down, she found it oddly exhilarating to be in his arms, and she lingered, relishing the sweet, hot pleasure of his closeness. Once she would have worried that he might drop her or weary of her weight, but Raleigh did not pause as he carried her inside and through the maze of rooms with unerring purpose.

  In fact, she was the one who was breathless by the time they reached his bedroom.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Raleigh laid her on the bed and then leaned over her for a long, breathless moment, his eyes searching hers as if seeking some answer that Jane was not sure how to give him. Then he drew away. “You should rest after your ordeal,” he said, his voice low and husky and grating with what sounded like disappointment.

  “Yes…no!” Jane reached out to catch his hand, but when he turned his questioning gaze to her, she did not know what to say. Stay with me. Come to bed with me. Make me your wife. She shivered, unable, despite her fierce yearning, to form the words or even face his scrutiny. Flushing, she glanced downward and saw the bloody scrape across his knuckles.

  “You’re hurt!” she said, sitting up. “Let me tend you!”

  Raleigh just grinned ruefully as she lit a lamp and poured water from a gilded pitcher into its bowl. Pushing him down into a chair, she took a handkerchief and wiped it gingerly across the wound. Although she regretted even this minor injury, Jane was grateful for a task to perform, which made it easier, somehow, for her to speak.

  “You…you were wonderful, Raleigh. Deverell,” she whispered. “I thought I was dreaming when you appeared in the doorway. And then you trounced those two as if they were nothing…I’ve never seen anything like it. You were positively heroic.”

  When he made that low humming sound, Jane glanced up to see a wealth of emotion in his eyes. No mocking gleam flickered there, but a deep satisfaction, a kinship, and something else that Jane was afraid to believe in. “I should apply a salve and a bandage,” she said, eager for a task to occupy her.

  “I was proud of you, too, Jane, my brave, beautiful wife,” Raleigh softly. At his words, Jane lost her grip on the handkerchief, and he gently moved it away. “No bandage,” he said, rising to his feet, and Jane hurried to remove his coat even as she tried to think of a reason to keep him there with her.

  Shaking out the claret superfine, she hung it on the corner of the heavy mirror. “There,” she said, pretending a brusqueness that she did not feel. Her heart was leaping about in her chest with a near-frantic pace, and her hands were trembling. Now what?

  “Your hair is coming down,” Raleigh said from behind her, taking the decision away from her. Despite her longing, Jane squeaked when she felt him remove the last of the pins and run his fingers through the strands. She had never thought the straight locks appealing…until now. Now she shivered with amazement, arching her neck back to give her husband greater access.

  Raleigh’s touch emboldened her, and when he turned her, she lifted her hands to his waistcoat and began unbuttoning, without daring to meet his eyes. “Your clothes are dirty,” she whispered, although there was hardly a smudge on them to mark his bout with fisticuffs. The memory of his brave rescue made her shiver once more, and after she slid the waistcoat down his arms, it dropped to the floor.

  “Oh!” Jane said, aghast at her cow-handedness. She leaned forward, prepared to retrieve the yellow silk, but Raleigh’s low voice stopped her.

  “Leave it,” he said.

  Jane glanced up at him in stunned surprise, only to blink at the sight of him tossing his cravat carelessly away. “Leave it?” she asked. “But—”

  He grinned so wickedly that she was suffused with heat. “Leave it,” he repeated, and then he reached for his shirt, and to her astonishment, he lifted it over his head, throwing it across the room without the slightest regard for the fine linen.

  Jane meant to protest, but the sight of his bare chest, all smooth and golden, made her gasp for air. She wanted to reach out and touch it. “You…you are so beautiful that it takes my breath away,” she admitted shakily.

  And, just as if he could sense her most secret desires, Raleigh took her palm and placed it on his chest. It was smooth. And warm. And she could feel his heart thundering beneath all that glorious skin. Slowly, he guided her hand until her fingers brushed against his nipple, and when he made that low humming sound in response, Jane felt it vibrate through her all the way down to her toes.

  “Then let me give you my breath, Jane,” Raleigh said, his voice dancing along the edges of her awareness, making her heart leap and flutter even more wildly. “Let me give you my love, my body, my seed.”

  Unable to form a coherent thought, Jane simply nodded, and he kissed her, gently at first, glancing across her brows and her cheeks, catching one lip and then the other, until finally his mouth opened over hers and she made a sound of pure delight.

  Before Jane was aware of it, he had loosened her gown, letting it fall to the floor. “I want to see all of you,” he whispered as he kissed her jaw and the tender curves of her ear. Somehow, she managed an assent, and she felt the brush of his fingers against her thigh, lifting her shift, ever so slowly, higher and higher.

  And then she stood before him, totally naked, blushing with embarrassment. Why had she ever told him yea? Now he would find her lacking. Now he would realize… Jane drew in a shaky breath as his hand curved around her throat and dipped lower.

  “Exquisite, Jane, my love,” he said, and the husky sound of approval made her shiver even as the look of appreciation in his eyes made her heat and spark. “Exquisite.”

  And then Raleigh was lifting her in his arms and lowering her to the bed, gently removing her stockings and slippers. When she lay there all trembling and hot, every part of her exposed and flushed, he stood back, kicked off his boots and began to remove his breeches.

  Jane watched, fascinated, as he flung them aside and stood before her, as if daring her to deny him or to look away. She did nei
ther, but stared in admiration of his perfect form. He was so beautiful, so lean and hard, with a sprinkling of hair at his navel that thickened downward to where his erection grew, arching upward. Arrested, Jane blinked at the size of that particular part of him. “You seem to be awfully…large,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “So I’ve been told,” he said as he moved onto the bed. “The better to pleasure you, Jane.” The look in his eyes robbed her of any breath as he rose over her, and then he lowered his body until it touched hers.

  Exquisite. Was that what Raleigh had said? The word echoed through Jane’s being as she felt the smooth strength of him all along the length of her. Brushing against her. Sliding. Gliding. Suffused with heat and wonder, exquisite was her last coherent thought as he kissed her again and she sank deep into sensation.

  When at last Jane came up for breath, she realized that Raleigh’s mouth was everywhere, at her throat, her shoulder, her breast, tasting each spot as if she were one of his exotic desserts. Good heavens, he was actually licking her skin! Jane heard the low hum of his pleasure, interrupted only by his whispered words of praise.

  “You taste wonderful, Jane, love, every last bit of you. So delicious. I want to eat you up.” Jane shivered in shock and pleasure as he laved her nipple and then took it into his mouth, drawing deeply. She arched toward him, filled with incredible bliss, and yet somehow empty. She moved restlessly until she felt his hands on her, stroking and soothing, and then she touched him, too, running her fingers lightly over his back.

  “Oh, lovely, Jane, just so. That feels so good,” he whispered. Jane wanted to agree, but still she felt a yearning deep inside that cried out for more. When Raleigh parted her legs with one of his muscled thighs, the pressure made her squeak and twist even as he suckled her. She lost all track of time as sensations built and ebbed and built again, only to frighten her with their intensity. Panting and sweating, she felt desperate for something.