The Rogue

by Emma V. Leech

  The door closed quietly and he was left facing her. With difficulty he forced himself to look up and meet her eyes, only to find her staring down at her untouched dessert. He had the uncomfortable suspicion she might be crying.

  “Henri,” he said, his voice soft, bracing himself for tears as she looked up at him, and totally wrong footed when he discovered the fury of a Goddess in her eyes.

  “You damned coward!” she said, eyes blazing with rage. She got to her feet and began to walk away from him without another word.

  “Henri!” For some fool reason his brain would not accept that this was the moment he required, it gave him the ability to be able to leave her, and what's more to leave her angry with him. If he did that, he would allow her to hate him, instead of mourning the loss of something that she might have had. She could be happy then, happy here, with Alex. If he was really as honourable as all that, he should take this chance and thank God for it. So why was he running after her? “Henri, please ... wait.”

  She paused by the door and turned back to him.

  “Why?” she demanded. “To wave you off with a tearful smile and a kiss for luck?” she said, sneering at him. “Well I shan't, so don't hold your breath!” She glared at him, defiance and anger in every fibre, shaming him. “I would have done anything to keep you here with me,” she said, tears sparkling in her eyes now. “I would have risked anything, everything to keep you, to have you love me, but if you don't have the guts ...”

  He could stand no more. He could not stand by and have her believe he didn't love her, that he was too much of a coward to give her his heart, even though he knew there was truth in her words. He had to make her see that it was killing him, but he had to go. He moved, and the kiss stopped her tirade in its tracks effectively enough, and the way he touched her, the desperation that she must be able to sense in the way his hands clutched at her, the way his arms crushed her against him, the way his mouth devoured hers with a hunger that could never be sated; surely all of this must illustrate how badly he wanted to stay here with her? And yet now he was caught, just as Alex had known he would be when he forced Henri to play this game, for he couldn't stop.

  He hoped to God Alex had the sense to send the staff to bed, but found he couldn't spare another thought before his mind was wholly occupied with the woman in his arms.

  The silk of the dress was at once cool and slippery and warm as the heat of her body blazed through it. He pressed against her and a feeling of triumph, of having won something precious and unique persisted as she arched into him, making little desperate sounds as she tore at his clothes. Could he really not have this? Wasn't there a way?

  Reality reasserted itself and he paused, his forehead pressed against hers, their breath fluttering together.

  “Don't you dare, Lawrence,” she warned him, tears glittering in her eyes. “Don't you dare.”

  He gave a laugh born somewhere between incredulity and despair. “Oh, God, Henri, what do I do?”

  “Stay,” she said, tugging at his jacket. “Stay and be with me. Tell me it's what you want?”

  He reached out his hand to cup her face and looked down at her with too much emotion in his heart, it seemed bruised and fragile, overfilled with everything he felt for her. “I want to stay,” he whispered, hearing the truth for the first time himself. The first time he had simply allowed himself to own the fact. “But, Henri, what if someone recognises me? What if my enemies track me down here, or the militia come after me? At best the family would never survive the scandal, and at worst ...” He closed his eyes, too horrified by the idea of finding men who counted him as an enemy to be repaid in blood, here, in this place where he had dared to consider being happy, where he had, for just a moment, allowed himself to imagine what life might be like, with her. For the first time in his life the idea of a home, a wife, perhaps even children, wasn't something he rejected without consideration because it was something he could never have. He'd always been able to dismiss it before because he had never been able to imagine it. But now he could. Now he could see what life would be like ... and he wanted it. He had always assumed he would die at sea, going down with his ship or bested by a faster swordsman or a better shot. He'd been lucky so far, but his life was too dangerous for that luck to hold forever. But what if that dangerous life couldn't be shrugged off, what if he brought it here and Henri paid the price for it?

  He opened his eyes as her hands cupped his face. “Lawrence,” she said, and he looked down at her, seeing such love in her expression that he thought his heart would break at the idea of leaving her. “You have to stay.”

  He shook his head, wanting so badly to agree to it that the ache was a physical pain far worse than any injury he could remember sustaining. Three bullets had stopped him in his tracks ten years ago but he couldn't recall the pain of those wounds being anything like the pain of leaving this woman behind for good. “I won't put you at risk, Henri.” He stroked her face, hoping she could see how badly he wanted to stay, because if he tried to put in into words he was going to crumble. “I would never forgive myself if ... if anything happened to you.”

  She gave an impatient huff of annoyance and smacked him, the flat of her hand hitting his chest with frustration. “No, Lawrence. You have to stay, because if you don't I promise you that I will follow you. I will leave everyone behind and I will follow you where ever you go and I will do it alone, with none to protect me, and then, if something happens to me you will know it is your fault because you didn't stay!” She was staring at him, fury and triumph glittering in her eyes and he knew damn well she meant every word and the little wretch would do it in a heartbeat.

  “You're blackmailing me!” he growled, incredulous.

  Her fury seemed to fall away now that she knew she had him cornered and she blinked up at him, the picture of innocence, her lips pursed together in a small pout that made desire burn in his blood with the need to kiss her.

  “Yes,” she said eventually, nodding. “I mean, I didn't manage it properly the first time I tried it, but this time ...” She arched an eyebrow at him. “I think I've got the hang of it.”

  “And if I gag you and tie you to a chair and make my escape now, no one will know until morning. You'd never find me!” he threatened, even though he knew he'd never do it.

  She shrugged as if it was of little concern. “Perhaps not, but you know that I'll try and that I'll be all alone and ...” She gave a heavy sigh.

  “Damn you, Henri!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I have never in my life known a more infuriating, manipulative ...” He stopped in his tracks and sighed as he looked down at her and those big brown eyes. “Oh dammit to hell,” he said, giving up all hope of ever getting away from her, or even pretending he could ever have wanted to. Instead he pulled her tight and kissed her.

  Chapter 30

  “Wherein explorations are made and a great deal of ground covered, with much delight.”

  Surely he could not run now, Henri thought, although rational thoughts were rather hard to pursue with any enthusiasm as Lawrence kissed a path down her neck. But this was not a moment for taking chances. She had to make it so that he couldn't find a way to wriggle out of this, in case somewhere in that stubborn head of his he came to believe that she hadn't meant what she'd said, or that if faced with the reality of following him alone, courage would fail her. He wanted to stay, that much he had admitted and she believed him. How much of it was because of her, and how much that he simply wanted his life back she couldn't be certain of, not yet, but she intended to find out.

  “Lawrence,” she breathed his name against his mouth but then put her fingers against his lips before he could claim another kiss. “Come with me.”

  He frowned at her as she moved away from him and opened the door, but she was going to take both of their fates in her hands, and whatever came of it would be on her head. She knew that the risks he had illustrated were genuine and to be feared, but she also knew tha
t it was a risk she was willing to take. Taking his hand she led him through the silent house, praying no one would see them and spook him into changing his mind.

  The door to her bedroom opened without so much as a creak to give them away. Henri sent Annie a heartfelt, if silent, word of thanks as she looked around and found the room serene and tidy, with just enough lamplight to cast the room with a warm and intimate glow. The fire added to the warmth, crackling merrily and heating the air further, though she felt she really didn't need the help. Her skin was burning with anticipation, with the need to be touched, and the desire to try the thing that Annie had mentioned earlier too. She had seen the look in Lawrence's eyes when she'd decided to give him a hint at dinner. It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to pick up that asparagus but had been so worth it for the confidence his reaction had given her. She had almost laughed out loud at his expression, and was very relieved Alex had been thoughtfully studying his plate. Yes, she felt he would certainly like that and was eager to test the theory.

  She turned to find him closing the door behind him and removing a pistol from his jacket to lay it carefully on the beside table, a reminder perhaps of the seriousness of his concerns. But then he looked at her and suddenly she was in no doubt that he was going to stay. There was a possessive light in his eyes that made her breath hitch as he walked towards her, and continued to move, circling her, his expression one that left her in no doubt of his intentions.

  “A very lovely dress, Miss Morton,” he said, his voice low as he walked to stand behind her.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling and biting her lip at his formal tone.

  His hands slid around her waist, pulling her back against him so that she could feel the hard heat of his erection pressed between the clef of her bottom. She sighed and tilted her head back to lean against his shoulder. With one hand he tilted her head a little sideways, so that his mouth was almost against hers, and she could feel his breath fast and uneven against her lips.

  “But if you ever wear this in front of anyone but me I shall be forced to kill every man that lays eyes on you, do I make myself clear?”

  She smiled up at him, eyes glittering with amusement. “I shall make sure to only wear it in front of people I despise then.”

  He growled, a low noise in his throat that sounded just a little desperate before his mouth closed over hers. His hand tugged at the shoulders of the dress, forcing it down to expose her breasts and he cupped them both, calloused fingers rubbing over the tender flesh, pinching her nipples and making her cry out in surprise at the delicious mixture of pleasure and pain that coursed through her. She turned in his arms, wanting to touch him in return, and setting her fingers to the task of undoing his cravat, unbuttoning his waistcoat and shedding the far too many layers that kept them apart.

  “Off, take it off!” she said, tugging at his linen shirt and ignoring the pleased amusement in his eyes at her impatience. She held her breath as he removed the offending article, pulling it up and over his head, and it was a moment or two before she remembered to breathe once again. The tanned chest that she had tried hard to ignore the first morning she had awoken with him beside her on the ship now had her undivided attention. She placed her hands flat on the upper part of his chest and allowed her hands to smooth over him. Over the curve of muscle, pausing for a moment to tweak the darker circles of skin that puckered at her touch. She smiled at the way his breath hitched, pleased that he reacted as she had when he'd touched her. She allowed her hands to move to the scars he bore, scars of the bullets that had almost taken his life all those years ago.

  She felt a shiver at the idea she might never have known him and leaned forward to press her lips to each in turn. First his upper left shoulder, then to the right of his chest, and then, moving lower, she kissed his left side and the ragged scar where the bullet had torn his skin. She kissed each with a reverence that she felt in her heart and hoped to convey to him with her touch. And then her attention wandered, lips and fingers trailing to his stomach and the scattering of dark hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. She sank to her knees and moved to the buttons on his breeches, undoing them, one by one, hearing the quality of his breathing change. Looking up she found his eyes on her, intense and with that same look she had seen at the dinner table. Pleased by that slightly febrile glint in his eyes she allowed the material to fall open and turned her attention to the part of him she had only been able to guess at from Annie's indelicate advice and her own limited explorations of him before now.

  She looked up at the murmured curse he gave as she touched him, but was far too consumed with curiosity to pay it much heed. Instead she returned her attention to the strange combination of hard strength, encased in satiny skin. Her fingers trailed over him and dallied at the tip, finding it glistening and wet. She wondered if this was further evidence of his desire, and looked up to find his eyes dark with wanting. Holding that dark gaze she leaned in a little and touched him with her tongue, finding the salt and musk and that remarkably silky skin something she wished to explore further. He closed his eyes, his hands fisted at his sides and she smiled, pleased that she appeared to be on the right track, for torment was a part of this, if Annie was to be believed, and Henri was inclined to do just that.

  She leaned in once more and licked, trailing her tongue from hilt to tip in one long, lingering sweep, and gloried in the deep, heartfelt groan of pleasure that issued forth as a result. The sound of his pleasure, the look of undiluted ecstasy on his face, tugged at something inside of her, something raw and primal and desperately powerful. With growing confidence only matched by a hunger that burned in her blood and made her skin ache she held him still, closed her mouth over the glossy head and caressed him with her tongue.

  The curse that escaped him might have alarmed her, might have made her believe she'd hurt him, if it wasn't for the hand that sank into her hair, holding her in place, and the way he spoke her name a moment later. “Henri, oh God, Henri ...”

  She smiled around him and continued in her efforts, lavishing attention on him with tongue and lips and the occasional teasing scrape of her teeth. Until he stilled her with a desperate cry.

  “Stop, for the love of God!”

  She was hauled unceremoniously to her feet and pulled into his arms, his mouth demanding, frantic hands tearing at the delicate buttons of her dress until she stood in nothing but a thin shift. At this point his remaining patience appeared to be gone for good as he lifted her and laid her on the bed, pausing only to kick off breeches and boots with muttered oaths until he was quite wonderfully, gloriously naked and prowling over the bed towards her.

  “Well Miss Morton, I hope you are happy?” he growled and her breath caught at the look in his eyes as he crawled over her. “It seems you have me where you so clearly wanted me.”

  She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow. “Well ... not quite yet, sir,” she said, blinking at him with what she hoped was an innocent expression. “But I do believe we are getting there.”

  He gave a bark of laughter before silencing them both with a searing kiss that scattered any remaining ability for clever remarks. Thought of any kind vanished completely as his lips continued on their path, mapping the lines of her body with delicious pauses at points of interest, as he lavished his attention on one breast and then the other. She arched beneath him, revelling in the feeling of his skin against hers, the heat of his mouth on her, those rough hands caressing as he explored her tender flesh. She wondered at her own surprise as he continued down, kissing his way down her body until he parted the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, spreading her open to him. She had enjoyed bestowing her attentions on him, using her mouth to bring him pleasure, but it simply hadn't crossed her mind that ...

  The sound that escaped her throat was like nothing she had heard before. It sounded wild and wanton and illustrated perfectly just how she felt. She felt the soft huff of a chuckle against her overheated skin, and then he pushed her legs wid
er apart and she found she was only too willing to comply. She writhed as he held her still with strong arms that allowed her no escape, should she be foolish enough to want to. His tongue explored and laved her, his mouth taking turns to suck at the delicate flesh before returning his tongue to its devilish work. And just when she thought there was nothing that could surpass his wonderfully wicked tongue and the torment it gave, his fingers joined the attack on her sanity and caressed her from the inside. And suddenly there was nothing else, nowhere else to go and a great unnamed force overtook her, power building around the centre of his attentions, enticing, tugging and pulling her into some decadent void, body and soul, until she held her breath, aware of some new precipice she lingered on. And then she fell. Falling as the world shattered, any grip on reality flew apart and she heard his name on her lips in some distant place, but she was lost and wanted no return, adrift in a sensuous sea where nothing but this mattered.

  She came back to herself in increments, blinking, dazed in the soft light of the bedroom, her limbs molten and too heavy to lift. Her eyes fastened on the very male, exceptionally smug man lying by her side. She gave a small huff of amusement at his expression and allowed him to preen. She couldn't help but feel he deserved it.

  “Goodness,” she murmured, barely able to summon the energy to speak aloud.

  A deep chuckle rumbled through the bed and a finger touched her mouth, and then it trailed slowly and surely down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and irresistibly on to recently charted but still unfamiliar territory.

  “Miss Morton, I find I am bound to point out to you that goodness had little to do with it.”

  She giggled as his curious fingers teased the soft line of skin at the top of her thigh. “That's as may be,” she replied, trying to scowl and failing. “But I swear if you ever call me Miss Morton again, I shall hit you.”