Midnight Raider

by Thacker, Shelly

  Lady Selwyn quickly exited the carriage, dragging the sobbing Lady Houblon with her.

  Lady Kimble clung, cowering, to her seat. “I know what you want! You mean to take my coach. I won’t let you do it. You’ll have to kill me first!”

  “Lady Kimble, really,” Elizabeth said in disgust.

  “Come along, lads,” Marcus called to the footmen. “’elp yer mistress out before I lose me patience.”

  The two men came forward and managed to wrestle her to her feet. As they lifted her out, she grabbed the window curtains, wailing and kicking. They had to pry her fingers loose one by one.

  As soon as they were clear of the door, Elizabeth started to follow.

  “Not you,” Marcus moved his horse forward to block her path, speaking in a low, compelling tone that danced along her nerves.

  Elizabeth suddenly realized that he had a much more nefarious scheme in mind than leaving her stranded in the rain.

  “He’s going to abduct her!” Lady Vicary cried.

  “She’ll be ravished!” Lady Houblon added.

  “My coach,” Lady Kimble moaned. “My coach!”

  Elizabeth never even had a chance to voice one of the vivid oaths that leaped to mind. By the time she recovered her wits enough to object, Marcus had signaled to his partner. The coach lurched forward with a sudden movement that tumbled her back into her seat.

  Her last glimpse outside, before Marcus kicked the door shut, was of Lady Selwyn’s stricken expression, and the other three women, their wigs wilting in the rain, eyes wide—and mouths already flapping with this deliciously scandalous piece of gossip.

  Elizabeth sat up and yanked aside the red curtain, ready to give Marcus the tongue-lashing he deserved, only to find that he had disappeared from view. She heard the sound of boots on the roof and the next thing she knew, he was nimbly opening the door and swinging himself inside.

  Stunned into silence, she watched as he calmly seated himself across from her and tossed his tricorne down beside him, scattering raindrops across the velvet.

  It required a monumental struggle just to recover her power of speech. “What… why… what… I don’t—”

  “You’re babbling, Elizabeth.” Marcus removed his mask and started taking off his gloves. He was smiling, the broadest grin she had ever seen on his face.

  That satisfied look finally snapped Elizabeth out of her stupor. “Of all the devious, under-handed, overbearing things you could have done—”

  “I thought it went rather well, myself.” He raised an eyebrow as he looked around the interior of the coach. “What is this monstrosity, anyway, a bawdy house on wheels?”

  “Would you mind very much,” Elizabeth said, her voice shaking, “telling me what the devil you think you’re doing?”

  “Abducting you,” he said as if it should be obvious. His gaze lingered over her clinging sapphire blue gown as he shrugged out of his wet greatcoat. “And I must admit, that suggestion about ravishing was rather appealing.”

  Elizabeth was almost too furious to breathe. “We had a plan!”

  “We’ve changed it.”

  “You’ve changed it! And do you even realize what you’ve done? Not only can I not attend Lady Beauclerk’s assembly today, I won’t be able to go anywhere in society now. I’ll be the chief subject of gossip for weeks!”

  “Well into autumn, I would imagine,” Marcus agreed, relaxing more comfortably in his seat.

  Elizabeth pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh Lawks, when I think of what the newspapers will do with this!”

  “I’m sure it will eventually become known as The Last Ride of Blackerby Swift.” Marcus’s grin widened. “I thought it appropriate that Swift and Lady Barnes-Finchley should ride off together.”

  “The last…” She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Is that what this is about? You’re going to drag me off somewhere and leave me—”

  “I’m not dragging you anywhere.” Marcus moved to sit beside her, his expression becoming serious. “I’m doing what I must to protect you. I know this is difficult to accept, Elizabeth, but I’m taking you somewhere safe so that you’ll stay out of danger until the Fair is over.”

  “You can’t just change everything we discussed! Not without even—”

  “There was no time to debate the merits of my idea. I’ve devised a different way to take the gold shipment on Sunday—one that doesn’t require you to meet with Montaigne again.” He took out a handkerchief and offered it to her. “So you can wipe off all that paint that Nell troweled on.”

  “But you won’t be able to take the gold now!” Elizabeth snatched the cloth from him and cleaned off her cosmetics with angry swipes. “When I don’t show up for my rendezvous with Montaigne today, he’ll get suspicious. And once he hears that Blackerby Swift is back—thanks to you—he’ll hire dozens more guards for that shipment!”

  A hint of Marcus’s self-satisfied grin reappeared. “That’s not a problem. I’ve already worked around it.”

  “How can you work around scores of armed men?”

  “All you need know is that I’ve taken care of it. Other than that, I’m not telling you a single detail of my plan. I don’t want you attempting anything reckless.”

  She threw his handkerchief at him. “You still think I’m the reckless one? You’re going to get yourself killed!” She pressed her fists against his chest. “I was just starting to hope…” Her voice began to waver. “I let myself believe… and now I’m going to lose you.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.” He brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. “I promise you, that’s not going to happen.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, her hopes scattering like ashes. All her life, she had lost those she loved most.

  And now she was going to lose the man she loved like no other.

  Her voice broke. “I don’t think I can believe in promises anymore.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Watching her eyes begin to shimmer with tears, Marcus felt an ache in his chest. He hadn’t expected Elizabeth to understand why he was abducting her—but he hadn’t anticipated her feeling this upset. After all they had been through together, he had thought that she would trust in him.

  But she was still as elusive as she had been that first night on Hounslow Heath. He had been chasing her all this time… and he still hadn’t caught her.

  Damnation, this was agony, the way she was looking at him, her eyes full of unhappiness.

  “Elizabeth, sweetheart…” He cupped her face in his palms, wanting to reassure her, not knowing what to say to convince her.

  As had happened so many times before with Elizabeth, words failed him.

  He drew her close, angled his head and brushed his mouth over hers.

  “Marcus, you can’t just…” Her protest started out sharp with anger. “Kiss me into forgiving you…” Her heated words ended in a gasp when he nibbled his way to that sensitive spot behind her ear.

  “Elizabeth,” he urged quietly. “Trust me.” He nuzzled her throat. “Let yourself believe in me. Believe in us.”

  “But you can’t…” There was little force and less ire left in her words as her breathing quickened. “Can’t just… oh God…”

  She lost whatever else she had meant to say when his hands moved down her body, shaping her curves, seeking the laces on the back of her dress. He claimed her mouth again as he loosened her bodice.

  Despite the rocking and jostling of the speeding coach, he made short work of her gown, the sapphire-colored silk and lace and underpinnings giving way until the back of her garments gaped open.

  He trailed his fingers down her bare skin, from the nape of her neck to the sensitive tip of her tailbone, and she shivered. His lips began to move more slowly over hers as he lowered her down onto the velvet seat. He unfastened her costly wig and threw it to the floor, threading one hand into her glossy black tresses.

  The swaying motion of the coach brought their bodies together, then apart, in a way that mirr
ored more intimate contact. She whimpered, but it was a sound of yearning. He broke the kiss, raising himself above her on one arm.

  He braced himself for another verbal salvo. But she only licked her bruised lips and gazed up at him through half-lowered lashes, her expression one of almost painful uncertainty.

  Surrender was near, for them both.

  Marcus resisted a smile. “What shall I do with you, my pretty captive?” he murmured, placing a kiss just above her bodice, at that vulnerable spot where dark silk and pale lace gave way to warm, soft woman. “I’ve no interest in stealing jewels or your purse…” He slid the sapphire dress downward. “What I want is you.”

  With another tug of his hand, her garments slipped to her waist, baring her to him. Her rosy nipples drew tight as he looked at her. He bent his head to tease them, taste them, relishing the small gasps of excitement she wasn’t able to restrain.

  “Sweet captive.” His tongue darted out to graze one taut peak. “You’re mine…” He drew her into his mouth and suckled her. Caught the nipple between his teeth and bit her gently. “Mine to enjoy as I wish.”

  She buried her fingers in his hair, her entire body quivering beneath him now. With an impatient movement of his arm, he stripped her dress and petticoats down past her legs. The blue silk and white lace fell into a jumbled heap on the floor, leaving her naked except for her white stockings that ended at mid-thigh, held in place by pretty little ribbon garters.

  Marcus was already so aroused he expected the fabric of his breeches to give way, but his need for her reached almost agonizing heights as he gazed down at her.

  She was the most intoxicating woman he had ever seen, all pale curves against the dark red velvet. And the way she was looking back at him, the desire and longing and love in her eyes, spread through him like heated wine. He felt a fierce, primitive need to make her his, body and soul, completely and forever.

  He stripped off his black frock coat and the white shirt beneath, throwing them aside. Then he caressed the silky curves of her legs, her thighs, running his hands all the way up to her waist, learning the smooth perfection of every satiny inch of her.

  “My lady,” he whispered, “you find yourself the captive of an outlaw most wicked.” Lowering his head, he traced a trail of kisses downward, from her lips to her breasts to her belly… then lower. “Unspeakably wicked.”

  He parted her thighs with his hands and touched his mouth to her sex.

  She almost bolted right off the seat. “Marcus!” She writhed in his hold. “Oh… ohh…”

  Holding her still, he claimed her with the most intimate of kisses.

  Elizabeth moaned, deep and long, as his tongue sampled her. He groaned in approval as she yielded at last and allowed him to pleasure her as never before.

  He tasted her wetness, explored her sensitive folds. Sliding his hands beneath the curves of her backside, he lifted her fully against his mouth and she shuddered, arching off the seat, crying out with pleasure. He flicked his tongue over the pearl of her desire, again and again, until she was trembling, panting.

  Then he drew the little bud between his lips, suckling hard.

  All at once, she climaxed against his mouth, his name a sharp cry, her voice filled with astonishment as the waves of ecstasy took her.

  Her release was still rippling through her as he covered her body with his, unfastening his breeches, gathering her to him. Her lips parted and her eyes sparkled like rare jewels, filled with the intense emotion he had glimpsed before.

  Love.

  He drank it in and it sent him soaring higher than any physical pleasure.

  “You’re mine, Elizabeth.” He lowered his mouth toward hers, his voice raw with need. “Say you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours,” she sobbed breathlessly. “Marcus, I’m yours.” She plunged her fingers through his hair and kissed him fiercely.

  Their tongues met and shared the muskiness of her arousal. He kicked free of his breeches, shaking with the desire to bury himself in her tight, wet heat, his need now so strong he feared he might hurt her.

  “Hold on to me,” he commanded. “Sweet lady, hold on.”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He shifted so that he was poised at the opening of her feminine sheath.

  With a groan of deep, pure joy, he thrust into her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Elizabeth matched his cry, feeling his blunt hardness parting her, penetrating her. The indescribably sweet fullness sent her heart racing. Time seemed to vanish, the coach and their surroundings and every angry word they had said to each other vanished, and there was only this moment, this sweet now.

  There was only his voice, dark and rich as he called out her name, and his kisses, infinitely erotic as his tongue mirrored the motions below.

  The perfumes that lingered in the carriage gave way to the spicy scent of their mating. He surged into her, his rhythm gathering force, sweeping her to a place of bliss she had never imagined. The swirling fire she had felt with him before blazed through her limbs, her heart, to the very center of her being.

  She met his thrusts with mindless abandon, wanting to take him deeper, wanting him to be fully a part of her. Every powerful movement of his hard-muscled body sent her breathlessly spiraling upward.

  Like moon and sun, shadow and light, they met, blended, changed until they were no longer separate and different, but one and the same.

  She held him as though her heart would stop if she let go. His kisses turned hot, then searing. He moved faster, driving her wild until she felt taut, shivering, straining for release. She threw her head back, biting her lip at the pleasure of each stroke, thinking she couldn’t possibly withstand it, knowing she must die of this and welcoming it all the same.

  Marcus groaned, a sound somewhere between ecstasy and anguish, and started to withdraw.

  But instinct and love and longing took over and Elizabeth raised her hips, wrapping her legs around him, holding him inside.

  “Elizabeth—”

  Marcus only had time to choke out that one harsh warning before she felt release take him, forcefully, his hot seed flowing inside her.

  In the same instant, the tension at the center of her body snapped and her thoughts scattered as waves of ecstasy shimmered deliciously through her. In a heartbeat, they were soaring together, their bodies, voices, souls joined as they spun out beyond the sky.

  Floating downward like a feather on a warm breeze, Elizabeth was still trembling when Marcus pulled out of her and gathered her in his arms.

  He swore. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry,” he said between ragged breaths. “Damn, I didn’t mean to… I’m—”

  “I’m not sorry,” she insisted against his throat. “I’m not.”

  And then she couldn’t say any more, because she was crying.

  “Sweetheart… Elizabeth…” He took her face between his hands, carefully, as if she would break. “I didn’t mean for it to end that way.”

  “It’s not that.” His tender apology only made her feel worse. “It’s all the rest. When you… when we make love, it’s like…” Her vision blurred as she looked up at him. “Like heaven. Like magic. And I start believing it can go on forever.”

  “It can.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “It will.”

  “Not if you get killed.” She couldn’t put her desolation into words. “I… I tried to tell myself I could be sensible about all of this. That I would be all right when things ended between us. But I was lying to myself. I will not be all right, Marcus. I will not be all right if anything happens to you!”

  “Nothing is going to happen to me,” he said, that note of confidence still strong in his voice. “I’ll return in a few days. With a great deal of gold. We can take a holiday in the country, until London is done chattering about this little maneuver today, then—”

  “Thanks to this little maneuver today, Lady Barnes-Finchley is now an object of gossip and scandal and scorn. She will be the least suitable bride for an earl in
all of London. Marcus, I am not the wife you need. If you choose me, you will lose everything that matters to you.”

  Her pain increased tenfold as she saw it mirrored in his eyes. “You’re not…” He let go of her. “You’re saying that you still want us to go our separate ways?”

  Elizabeth could barely force herself to choke out the words. “There’s no other way we can go.”

  His expression hardened. “You love me.”

  It wasn’t a question. Elizabeth closed her eyes, feeling the words strike to her very soul. How could she deny them?

  Yes, she loved him, cherished him, needed him. She didn’t know how she would still draw breath after he was gone. The once-dreaded Lord Darkridge had stolen her heart as easily as he had stolen her silver-plated pistol.

  Lifting her lashes, she felt as if everything within her was shattering. She couldn’t allow herself to say that she loved him. It would only make it harder for him to do what he needed to do.

  To leave her, and choose another bride.

  Anguished, exhausted, she reached to the floor for her dark blue gown, clutched it against her naked body, and lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug.

  A host of emotions crossed Marcus’s face. “That’s not an answer.”

  “You didn’t ask a question,” she accused quietly.

  They stared at one another as silence stretched between them, filled with the mundane sounds of carriage wheels, jingling harness, and horses’ hooves—and the tense rasp of two people struggling to breathe evenly.

  When Marcus finally spoke, he sounded unflinching and distant. “Obviously you’ve made up your mind about my proposal. But that doesn’t change my intention to keep you safe.”

  He grabbed his clothes from where they lay on the floor and dressed without looking at her.

  “If you would just tell me what you’re planning,” she said wearily, “and accept my help—”

  “No, Elizabeth. For once, you’re going to do what I tell you, and I’m telling you to stay away from Montaigne and the Fair.”

  Elizabeth didn’t argue. She had lost her will to fight with him. All she felt was numb—and more alone than she had since she first met Marcus.