Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2)

by James, Judith

  ~

  Jack left shortly after sunset. The quarter moon cast a pallid light, barely enough to see by, but like any night creature his senses had long ago grown accustomed to the dark. A northerly breeze brought a bite to the air as it rustled through the trees, but the body slumped against his chest rested warm and silent in his arms. She’d made no attempt to struggle when they’d boosted her up in the saddle, and he would have thought her asleep if not for the rapid thrumming of her heart.

  Curious as to his prize and somewhat concerned by her shallow breathing, Jack tightened his arm around her waist and tugged at the heavy hood, pulling it back off her head. A curtain of chestnut hair tumbled loose and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. Underneath the hood, she was gagged and blindfolded.

  Bloody hell, that seems rather excessive! Did the fools want her delivered dead? What harm in making the wench a little more comfortable?

  She began to thrash about and Bess reared up in protest.

  “Don’t panic.” His voice was soothing and conversational, though his grip remained tight. “There is fresh air all around you. Breathe through your nose and you’ll be fine. You don’t have to take it all in at once. When you’ve calmed yourself, if you promise to behave, I’ll remove the gag and untie your hands. Now…I want you to listen. And match your breathing to my voice. One…breathe in and hold it. Yes…just like that. Two…slowly let it out. Good! Again. One…and two....”

  Much to his surprise, she did exactly as he said, matching her breathing to his words. “You’re doing very well,” he soothed.

  He’d half expected her to work herself into a faint, which might have made things easier, if much less entertaining. Her back was pressed against his chest, his mouth pressed close to her ear, and as they rode her bottom moved against his lap in interesting ways. He dropped the reins, guiding Bess with his legs, leaving both hands free. The way her wrists were bound behind her thrust proud breasts forward, tempting a fellow to reach around and slide his hands beneath her cape. There was nothing she could do to stop him if he did.

  He rested his chin a moment against her shoulder, enjoying the scent of heather and wild roses and the luxuriant slide of silky hair against his cheek. “One wonders if you look near as sweet as you smell.”

  She stiffened against him, her back growing rigid as his hands slid through and parted her waist-length hair. He eased it up and over her shoulders so it fell in a moonlit curtain past her breasts.

  “Shh shhh shhhhh,” he whispered against the back of her neck. She trembled as his hands lingered, stroking the delicate skin just below her ear. “Alas, if things go as planned I shall never know how you look, and you shall never see what a handsome fellow I am.”

  There was a soft nicking sound as he pulled his dagger from its sheath, and she started in fear.

  “Easy, love. I’m just going to free your hands, but when I do, you are going to act like a lady and keep them folded nice and pretty in your lap. We are agreed?”

  She hesitated a moment, then nodded her head.

  He pressed his lips against her shoulder and wondered if her shudder was prompted by desire, cold, or fear. For all he knew she was one of Perry’s whores and the whole thing was an elaborate charade to please some jaded London lord with fantasies of rape and conquest. Or perhaps she’s just some innocent who wandered too far from the herd. Her clothing was modest and plain, though of fine material, and she wore a simple pearl necklace and earrings that might be appropriate for a young lady. But if she was that, why hadn’t they been stolen? Whoever she was, whatever he’d allowed himself to be drawn into, he hadn’t been as fascinated by a woman in a very long time, and he’d not even seen her face.

  His blade was razor sharp and within seconds, he cut her free. She didn’t move her wrists and it took him a moment to realize they must be numb. She stiffened as he took them in his hands. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured against her hair. “I promise, I mean you no harm.”

  Her skin was raw and swollen and her bones felt as fragile and delicate as a bird’s. He squeezed, massaging gently, helping the blood to flow, and then he eased her wrists apart and put his arms around her waist, placing her hands in her lap. “Soon your hands will burn as though stabbed by a thousand fiery needles. Keep massaging them and it will pass. I’m going to remove the gag now so you can breathe freely. Do you promise to behave?”

  She nodded meekly.

  His fingers began tugging carefully at the knot. Her hair was caught up in it and it was pulled so tight it had to be painful. He felt a stab of pity. The casual cruelty with which she’d been used disturbed him. What had started out as entertainment was now a burden and a dilemma. This is a package I should never have opened. But he could hardly abandon her on the side of the road, and there was still the mystery of who and what she was.

  The knot slipped free and he stuffed the gag in his pocket. Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath and then she let out a truncated scream, choked off by a gloved hand wrapped tight about her throat.

  “You promised.” He tsked his disapproval. “We’re deep in the woods, sweetheart. If you scream, there’s none to hear it, and if there were, they’d think you a night owl, a banshee, or something worse. There’s none who’ll brave the woods at night to come and save you.” His voice was calm, reasonable, but it held a distinct note of menace.

  Her fingers scrabbled against his leather-clad fist and she wheezed for air as the black horse danced and snorted in alarm. He released his grip abruptly and she sucked in several deep breaths.

  “You’re a bad girl. Or a stupid one. Which is it?” he inquired mildly as he calmed the mare.

  “I am hungry. I am thirsty. I am frightened!” She didn’t sound frightened. She sounded accusatory and angry. She also sounded very young.

  “Well… at least you’re not stupid, then. But that was very foolish. I promise you, whoever else roams these woods at night is not near as nice as I.” He reached for a flask tied to his saddle and held it to her lips. “Here. Drink.”

  She gulped greedily, protesting when he pulled it away.

  “That’s malmsey fit for a king, girl. It’s meant to be sipped slowly. Now try this.” He teased her lips with a buttery morsel. “Master Perry is a brutish oaf, but he knows his cheese.”

  “The blindfold. Could you remove it, please?”

  She had a very pleasing voice when she wasn’t shouting. It had a warm and mellow tone that made him think of fine brandy, rich and slightly smoky. I wonder if she purrs when well contented.

  “I don’t think that would be wise. It’s much better for both of us if you can’t see or identify me.”

  “Do you intend to kill me?”

  “Of course not! I have many vices, but killing young women is not among them.”

  Her words tumbled out in a frenzied rush. “Please, then. You have to help me. The man you are taking me to is a vicious brute. If you deliver me to him, I fear I may never escape. I believe he was behind my kidnapping. He means to force me into marriage or worse.” She twisted sideways as if trying to see him through her blindfold. “I have money. I can pay you. I can pay you more than he will or the other man did,” she pleaded.

  “I’m sorry, love. I’ve accepted a commission and have already accepted payment. A man must honor his word.”

  Her voice was hoarse with contempt and tears. “A man of your word? A man of honor? You’re a man who delivers a helpless woman to one who would harm her, for pay!”

  “Your romantic troubles are not of my making, girl. I’m just delivering a package,” he replied, stung.

  “You should hide your face! You should be ashamed. You’re a base ignoble coward. You mmmpgh—”

  He refastened the gag. Looser than it had been, but tight enough that all she could do was mutter and growl. He didn’t remove it again until she had growled herself out and fallen asleep in his arms.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The fortified manor house belonging to Sir Robert
Hammond was a large rectangular three-story building standing in the middle of a sizeable deer park. Its enclosed courtyard with wet moat, curtain wall with battlements, and coursed-rubble and stone tower, harked back to earlier times. It resembled a prison more than a home. Without thinking, Jack gave his reluctant charge a comforting hug. She squirmed in her sleep, burying her head against his shoulder. If you deliver me to him, I fear I will never escape. Her words niggled at his conscience. As if to stop them, he drew the hood back up to cover her face.

  He had stubbornly refused the temptation to take a good look at her, even as she slept, and he wasn’t about to do so now. He’d already let his curiosity get the better of him and now she wanted to pull him into matters that were none of his concern. She was something to be delivered. He need know nothing more about her then that. He didn’t give a damn about the mystery anymore. All he wanted was to hand her over and be on his way. Besides, she wasn’t in any real danger. If Rat-faced Perry were willing to pay him a thousand pounds then he’d been paid much more than that himself. As he’d said, the girl was valuable. Doubtless, she’d be well taken care of, if only for that.

  He slid to the ground with her in his arms. She stirred and sighed, but exhausted from her ordeal she didn’t wake. It seemed they were expected. Two burly household guards ushered them down a sparsely furnished stone-flagged corridor into a well-lit great hall. Liveried footmen stood by the door and a fellow in a cassock was bent over a document in the corner. Jack looked about curiously. Shields and weapons graced the walls in an imposing display, and medieval suits of armor stood at attention, flanking an oak-mantled fireplace.

  An ill-favored man with a stringy beard, thinning hair, and a self-satisfied air lounged in a chair by the fire, playing with a riding whip. Jack’s lips twitched in a half smile. Despite his airs, the fellow looked barely able to wield a sword.

  “Ah! The prodigal is returned to us.” The man rose to his feet with an oily smile and gestured impatiently for Jack to step forward. “Let me see her, if you please.”

  “Wake up, princess. You’re home.” Jack felt a moment’s regret as he lowered his sleeping bundle to her feet. Startled awake, she clung to his neck as if she thought that he might save her. He had to tug at her wrists to make her release him. She stumbled blindly as he turned her around, and he held her waist to steady her.

  “Remove the hood.”

  He lifted it off her head. Her hair gleamed in shades of copper, red, and gold in the candlelight. There had been a muted dreamlike quality to the adventure while it unfolded in the dark. Now it felt as though he were waking too.

  “And the blindfold.”

  The man was beginning to annoy him. “Say please.”

  “Eh! What?”

  “Remove the blindfold…please.”

  “Please remove the blindfold.” It was the woman who spoke.

  With a snick of his dagger Jack cut her free.

  She peeled the rough cloth from her face and a soft gasp escaped her.

  “Hello, Arabella.”

  She took a ragged breath. “Hello cousin.”

  Despite the obvious apprehension in her voice, Jack felt a sense of relief. A family matter, then. Something that neither required nor warranted his concern.

  “Shall I introduce your escort, my dear? He is a highwayman and gentleman of great renown.”

  He had refused to help her and she refused to spare him a glance. “He needs no introduction. He is nothing but a thug for hire. He is certainly no gentleman and neither are you. Pay him what you owe him and send him on his way.”

  “I am your betrothed!” Sir Robert snapped. “It was very wrong of you to fight me, and very bad of you to run away.”

  “My betrothed? I never agreed to such a thing! Even though you stalked me and attempted to hold me prisoner in my own home.”

  “You are an unmarried woman and as your closest male relative I have tried to do my duty, yet you insisted on moving to London and living alone. I made you an honorable offer. One that would have benefited us both. In return, you made me a laughing stock!”

  “Benefitted us both?”

  Bored and restless, Jack cracked his neck from side to side, eased his shoulders, and took another look around the room, noting exits and entrances, the positions and bearing of Sir Robert’s men, and every weapon in the room. Like most adventures lately, this one was proving to be a disappointment. He had no interest in what was clearly a family squabble. He only wished they had the good manners to pay him for his trouble and do their bickering behind closed doors.

  “No doubt you hoped for something better than a baronet. A duke or an earl perhaps. Someone willing to overlook your unfortunate mother, insolent disposition, and lack of beauty in favor of your inheritance. But look at you now! Wild and headstrong. Waylaid on the road. The prey of rogues and thugs. One wonders what happened during your captivity. Half of London saw you board that coach. All London will be wondering if you’re carrying a highwayman’s babe in your belly.”

  Jack’s head whipped back toward them. Curious, assessing, interested again.

  “You arranged my abduction. You know that isn’t true!”

  “Yet it could so easily be seen to be. And who would marry you then? My staff witnessed you arrive, clutched in his arms. It is all very romantic, but hardly the behavior one expects from a countess entrusted with a title and her father’s holdings. It’s just the reason young women need guidance and are not to be trusted with managing an estate, even if a doting parent would have it so. The priest is here. I am giving you one last chance to repent your foolishness. We will marry and return to London immediately. We will explain your flight as our elopement. You will cease fighting me and obey and—”

  “You put me through five days of hell so you might steal my inheritance and you think that will make me marry you? I’d rather marry a sheepherder.”

  He responded with a vicious blow that dropped her to her knees, and then he began to lay his whip about her back and shoulders.

  A wave of memory came unbidden, freezing Jack’s breath so it came in jagged shards. Drunken curses, piteous cries, the image of a woman’s body lying broken and still amidst a heap of shattered crockery and splintered wood. Hatred and murder flashed in his eyes before he ruthlessly suppressed it. He clenched and unclenched his fists, mastering himself. I would very much like to kill him, he thought with mild surprise.

  “Come and hold her still, priest!” Hammond snapped. “The girl needs discipline.”

  “I think not,” Jack said calmly, cocking his pistol. “I think you should put that down before someone gets badly hurt.”

  The guards by the door stepped forward, readying their own weapons, but their master waved them back. Jack suspected the footmen had pistols too. Four on one, and it wouldn’t be wise to discount their master or the priest.

  “Do you fancy her then, highwayman? I thought you might. You can have her here and now if you like. I’ll even pay you for your pleasure. She is useless to me as she is. Rebellious, disgraced, yet still too proud to marry. But a highwayman’s seed in her belly would suit my purpose well enough.”

  “You are indeed a generous host,” Jack said, giving him a mocking bow. “But I am accustomed to finding my own women.”

  “Are you? Surely not ones as fine as this.”

  Taking her upper arm in a cruel grip, Sir Robert hauled her to her feet. She stood mute and rebellious, her head high and her back straight, stony green eyes refusing to see them, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. It was Jack’s first real look at her. She might once have been pretty but it was hard to tell. She had an angular face with high cheekbones and there was a stubborn tilt to her jaw, but she looked drawn and haggard, her lip was puffed and bleeding, and one side of her face was battered and swollen.

  “I tend to prefer mine without all the cuts and bruises.” He felt an uncomfortable twinge he didn’t care to examine, and reminded himself yet again that the odds were against him, and he
was not the author of her troubles.

  “What does her face matter? She’s a lady, and unless those idiots dared cross me, a virgin still. She has a nice trim waist, hips meant for hard riding, and what man wouldn’t enjoy these?” He cupped her breasts, lifting them slightly while she stood stone-faced, not moving a muscle. “Would you like to see more? Have you ever had a virgin? You could be the first to ride her.”

  “I’m told those rare, some say mythical beings are highly over-rated,” Jack said, hiding his revulsion. It was clear now why Hammond had wanted a known highwayman for this venture. He doubted Rat-faced Perry knew or he’d have recommended someone else. His concern for the girl was steadily growing, but after refusing his host’s offer he’d be lucky to get himself home safely, never mind the girl. Damn Perry anyway!

  “What I would like to see is some gold, some brandy, and a meal.”

  “You disappoint me, Jack.”

  “My friends call me Jack. You are not my friend.”

  “If you won’t have her, I assure you, someone else will.”

  “Aye…well…if that’s your plan, I’d advise you clean her up, feed her, and leave off beating her.” He leaned closer and whispered. “It won’t work very well if she’s dead.”

  “You’re a brazen bastard,” Sir Robert said with a chuckle as he tossed him a purse. “Phelps!”

  “Yes, my lord!” One of the footmen hurried over.

  “Find a woman to tend to the lady. And take this man to the kitchen for some brandy and a meal before you see him on his way.”

  Jack followed the footman out without once having met his erstwhile charge’s eyes directly. Arabella. It was a lovely name. One that rolled sweetly across the tongue. He had done for her what he could short of dragging her with him at gunpoint. With two cocked and loaded pistols pointed at his back that would not have ended well.