“Is it safe? You know … to make love?”
“During pregnancy?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, Big Daddy, it is.”
***
Back in her embrace was a start, back in her best graces would be a long process, and back to living was just on the horizon, he thought as her mouth loved his. She’s carrying our child … they were going to have the family they dreamed of. How did he deserve such a woman, such a life, and future on the horizon? Perhaps Dumas’s view was a compliment to his mind. The author had written that lesser men would view happiness through a darker, narrower lens: “It is the way of weakened minds to see everything through a black cloud. The soul forms its own horizons; your soul is darkened, and consequently the sky of the future appears stormy and unpromising.”
As dark as it had been these last six weeks, he had never lost hope in the joy that would follow them once his attritional warfare was complete and she was back in his arms. He’d always known that if she forgave him, their future would be blissful—the stuff of dreams.
Only one more city to go and it would be in their grasp. Tomorrow, he’d have to figure out how to keep her safe once they arrive.
26
Whispers in the Moonlight
September 8
Somewhere in Austria
Her husband was sleeping so soundly that she hesitated to move, but her fingers longed to slowly trace the planes of his rock-hard physique, to trace the tattoo circling his bicep and inked on the arm resting across his abdomen. Curled beside his nude body, Liz clung to him for dear life, listening to the strong, steady cadence of his heartbeat in her ear and reveling in the feel of the rise and fall of his chest below her head. She never imagined in her wildest dreams these were two things she’d experience ever again.
After having grieved so deeply and having shed so many tears, this moment felt surreal to her. Here he was in her arms—not as the ghost of her valium-induced nights, but in the flesh. Ever so lightly, she smoothed her fingers up through his chest hair and closed her eyes, her sense of touch reconnecting to each unique impression. Hard body, soft flesh, downy curls, taut nipple. He and this moment were complete perfection.
The train continued to rock a lullaby to him hours after their emotionally charged love-making. It had been only minutes afterward that he tightly held her and passed out with the moon trespassing across their spent bodies and rumbled bed linen. She couldn’t slight him for that—he’d obviously had little sleep since Bermuda.
Opening her eyes, she shifted her head to gaze at his handsome profile in the moonlight. Hours ago, she considered that what he’d done was unforgiveable, irreprehensible, but her joy displaced her anger. The “hero of the bride” had once again sacrificed himself to protect her and those he loved. She came to see that his intentions had been honorable and good and he’d have kept his promise had Jane and her father not interceded before his planned resurrection from the dead. Admittedly he was correct; she never would have been able to fake absolute grief had he told her beforehand.
“I love you,” she whispered, but he didn’t stir.
Her hand caressed the red welt to his chin. Boy, she didn’t know she had it in her but surmised that all that training in the bunker had paid off. Yes, he deserved it for lying to her, but she still felt bad.
His hand rose to hers and he closed his fingers around it before kissing it.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Does it hurt?”
He lightly laughed. “I always said that you had skills.”
Moaning, he stretched then turned to his side to face her; their eyes locking on the others. “I haven’t slept this good since … I don’t know … Pemberley.”
“And I didn’t need valium—just you.”
They lay their gazing at each other in silent disbelief until his hand reached up to her hair. “Why did you cut it, babe?” he asked in a hush tone.
“Because I was angry with you for dying and you loved my long waves.”
The thoughtful expression on his brow and the brush of his thumb against her cheek said how sorry he was.
She whispered. “Fitzwilliam … how long had you been planning this?”
His jaw flexed as he considered what to tell her. Could he be about to open the icebox?
“Since the day we arrived in Santorini.”
“But I wasn’t interested in starting a new life, when you jokingly proposed running away was I?”
“No you weren’t.”
“And then Pemberley was destroyed.”
“Yes. There’s a quote in The Count of Monte Cristo that enticed me to expand on the plans I began to form when in Greece even if it meant that in doing so, I’d lose you. ‘Oh, certainly, death, sudden and violent, was a good way to foil his implacable enemies, who seemed to be pursuing him with some incomprehensible desire for vengeance. Yes, but that meant dying!’ But my anger isn’t about the estate. I could care less. It was always about you … and Gigi … and everyone around me. After the close call in July, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you twice in a lifetime cut short by some madman.”
Her hand cupped his cheek where she slapped him. “My great protector, now I understand why you were so tormented that night in the stables and why you made our last day together so memorable. You meant it to carry me through the darkness without you.”
“To carry both of us. Liz … you’re all that matters to me. Doing this … this way … was the hardest decision and I hated myself for the grief you’d experience.”
“Because you felt it when you thought I was killed in Pemberley.”
“It gutted me both then and when I got on that plane to Bermuda.”
“Then I’m glad that I didn’t tell you the truth about my experience at Pemberley. Your decision would have been that much harder to make.”
“Oh?”
This was the tough part, but since they were baring their souls, she needed to tell him the truth. “You’re not the only one who kept secrets. You thought the explosions didn’t affect me and that I emerged unscathed, as some mighty phoenix unaffected by the flames, but that’s not the truth. I just chose not to burden you with what really happened because of how you were suffering, and I didn’t want you to go half-cocked after Morales and get yourself killed.”
“Tell me,” he said gravely.
She expelled a deep breath. “It was the most horrific thing I have ever experienced. When (swallow) I couldn’t open the airshaft to crawl from the panic room, I had a full-blown anxiety attack in my fear of being trapped and surrounded by flames. I was terrified of burning to death. Since then, I’ve suffered nightmares and even cold sweats at the recollection of what happened in the bunker. The only thing that kept me from snapping was the comfort of knowing that you had been out with Rick and nowhere near the estate.”
His hand caressed the side of her face. “My brave wife … you’ve borne so much for me. You should have said something. I could have helped you through it.”
“It’s okay now. I talked it out with Rick and feel better about it. Nothing could be worse than having been eaten alive by sharks,” she teased, making light of it but he still held onto her, petting her waist in long caresses.
Silence in the moonlight and the passing landscape outside their stateroom hushed between them again until she reached up to his concerned brow, tracing her index finger over the crinkles on his forehead. “Can I tell you something else without you getting mad at me?”
He nodded. “I can never be mad at you.”
“I worked through my demons and … conquered the Tail of the Dragon.”
His face lit and he threw his head back in a laugh against the pillow. “You’re kidding!”
“I really did it, and it turned out to be so exciting. The adrenaline was fantastic and I could see how you love the challenge. In the back of my mind I heard your instruction and listened to ‘Scheherazade’ the whole ride. I couldn’t have done it if we weren’t taking those twisties together on that
ride.”
The grin on his face took her breath away.
“You did it all on your own, not because I was in your head, but because there’s nothing you can’t accomplish when you put your fears aside. I am so proud of you. But what on earth made you do that of all things?”
“It was a memorial bike ride for your anniversary … and,” she bit her lip.
“And?”
“A death wish.”
“Oh, babe,” he groaned, his lips growing taut with the furrow to his brow, and before either of them got too emotional about it, she broke the intensity of her declaration with a snort. “I wouldn’t have gotten very far at offing myself. Dixon followed me even though I fired him.”
“I knew that man was just who you needed to have your six. He was the right choice to entrust your safety.”
“I’m glad you feel that way; I gave him your new motorcycle.”
He blinked.
“And the Hummer.”
His lips twitched.
“And a hundred grand,” she whispered.
“His protection of you was worth every penny and then some,” he said, running his index finger down her cheek. “Just not my Ferrari.”
“Tease! Anyway, it was that night when I realized I was pregnant. I was at our secret cabin and thinking of the magical night we shared and then a light bulb went off in my mind.”
With a wicked smile, he tightened the arm draped around her waist and slid her against him. “I know when it happened,” he whispered in her ear.
“You do?”
“At Pemberley, on our last night there. Don’t you recall?”
“Oh, I remember. Your Chironius carinatus snake charm was extremely talented that evening.”
“It would seem so,” he laughed. “That night, Liz was … unforgettable, and I think that vintage of Cabernet we drank had something to do with it.”
“Ha! You credit the wine, not the fact that my body harmoniously coordinated and cooperated with your talent?” she laughed.
His smiling lips met hers when he rolled her onto her back.
“Again, Mr. Thornton?” she joked, feeling the hardness of said snake pressed against her thigh.
“I have a lot of making up to do, Lakmé. Let’s coordinate again. I can think of no better way to tell you how much I adore you …” (kiss to her chin) “worship you …” (kiss to the hollow of her neck) “need you” (kiss between her breasts.)
Her husband’s mouth surrounded her berried peak with a kiss and suckle and for the second time tonight, she shot through the cosmos.
She moaned, tilting her head back against the pillow as he loved her body with his lips. “Oh, Fitzwilliam … this cannot be a dream.” She gasped in absolute delight by his thrust into her. This was no dream. He was alive and loving her in the flesh. Yes, she was still seething below the surface but, by God, his touch could make her forget all the angst leading up to this very moment.
***
Wenceslas Square, Prague
The knob looked—and felt—ready to fall from the door when Jane turned it. Using just her fingertips, she was careful to not contaminate her entire hand. Yuck. Sticky! With one last glance down the hall of the sleazy by-the-hour motel, she gaped at the brown stain in the carpet. Reviled, she animatedly grimaced. It looked like dried blood or vomit and she fought the urge to gag, but gagging would mean breathing and that had proven difficult from the minute she entered the establishment not far from the Vltava River and New Town in Prague.
Jane considered this place rock bottom, having come from the opulent and tres chic Hotel Danieli in Venice, and she wondered why Charlie would have chosen such a dump. Man, they didn’t even have a complimentary coffee bar! At this wee-morning hour, her waltzing in and asking for a key to his room hadn’t even garnered an eye-bat—not that the clerk really understood what she said, but he handed the key over quickly enough. Sheesh, either she looked like a prostitute or he was half asleep.
Well, who cared, really? She was about to see her guy, and that was what was important. Now that they were back on track, with the assuredness of no detours and total commitment, she had an itch that just needed to be scratched.
She slowly opened the suite’s door into a dark abyss and, before she could whisper his name, she felt the press of a cold pistol barrel against her temple.
She froze, fingers unfortunately stuck to the doorknob.
“Dammit, Jane. I told you to text me when you were on your way up to the room.”
Charlie lowered the handgun and pulled her in. It smelled only slightly better than the hallway and when he flipped the light switch, her heart sank; it looked worse!
“Hey, teddy bear,” she greeted when he pulled her into his arms before she could even drop her purse on the gear-covered table in the center of the room. He smelled like coconut oil and for that she was extremely thankful.
“I missed you,” he moaned into her neck, holding her tight until his lips finally met hers in a searing kiss.
Turns out this hotel did have something going for it after all.
“How was your flight?”
“Lonely, but good. I did a lot of thinking once Lizzy got off—probably more ways than one—on the train. Oh! Do you remember when I texted you that I thought we were being followed at Dulles and then in Venice?”
He sat on the nasty-looking sofa and pulled her down onto his lap. “Yeah.”
“Turns out, it was her bodyguard Dixon. I saw him watching her board the train.”
“Righteous! I knew I liked that dude! He’s had your back this entire time?”
“I guess, but he didn’t get on the train.”
“Did Darcy?”
“Just like we planned. Dad came through on his promise and Mr. Edward Ferrars checked-in at the last minute. Holy moly, I would have loved to have been there when they saw each other. She’s probably still screwing his brains out.”
“Or using him as a punching bag.”
Glancing around the room, her eyes fell on the rumpled bed linen. “You know, speaking of screwing, this dump you chose for our reunion has one thing going for it. It’s kinda kinky—like role-play kinky.”
“Only if you’re gonna play a hooker in this place.”
She waggled her eyebrows, and ran her fingernail up his thigh. “You’re my faaavorite john, teddy bear. I make you holla for fifty-dolla.”
He just chuckled and grabbed her hand in his.
Shucks. “It would alleviate … stress,” she teased, toying with his shirt collar.
“It would but we have too much to go over before day after tomorrow’s op. There’s too much at stake.”
“Hmm … are you okay with what you’re going to do from the Basilica?”
“I’m just overwatch and back-up at the park. As always, which he seems to have forgotten, Iceman needs a scout to make sure it gets done if something goes tits-up. If this isn’t finished tomorrow, then all his plans have been for shit and this nightmare will never end.”
“Like … like tits-up if he gets killed?”
“You got it. Liz’s future is our focus. Let’s hope she listens to him and stays put in her hotel room.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll have eyes on her. Where Dixon has left off, you are now her bodyguard—only prettier.” He winked with a smile.
“I’ll blend in; she won’t even know I’m there.”
Charlie shifted her off his lap then rose. He walked to the table where all his weapons and gear were neatly laid out. Lifting a small caliber pistol, he pulled the slide back and handed it to her. “This is yours. Only fire it if you absolutely have to. They don’t take any shit here in Prague so don’t go brandishing it or anything.”
She handed it back to him with a mischievous smirk. “I don’t need it; I have the lipstick gun.”
“Damn, you didn’t return it to the museum like I told you to?”
“No, silly. I thought it could come in handy.”
&nb
sp; “You’re killin’ me, Janie. Killin’ me.”
“I know,” she giggled. “But I won’t disappoint you, Charlie. I promise, I won’t mess this up. There’s a lot more at stake here then just protecting Liz and helping Darcy. She’s gonna have a baby.”
“Holy shit! For reelz?”
“Yeah. How about that? We’re gonna be an aunt and uncle.”
“Well, you’ll be an aunt. I’ll be an honorary uncle.”
“Not if you marry me.”
He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief and examined her expression. Slowly, his lips spread into a smile. “Sounds good to me.”
***
New Town, Prague
Maria Sanchez-Morales’s tears of joy—and fear—continued to flow down her cheeks as she silently slipped out the servants’ entrance of her husband’s townhome in the dead of night. Her five-year-old son whimpered at her side and she bent to his chubby face, soothing him with a tender cup to his cheek. “Shhh, mi carino. For mamma, shhh.”
Her ten year old daughter, still half asleep, barely questioned why they were going for a drive at this ungodly hour. Perhaps because the child had witnessed one too many beatings by her father and had always tried to intercede. Children could see evil much more readily than adults—especially women blinded by safety and comfort, particularly women who once fancied themselves in love with an older man since the age of 16. For ten years, she had been Juan’s property. (The first year was nice, romantic even.) But the last nine saw her endure the back of his hand while he took many lovers, some as young as she had once been. She knew about most of his women, and she was oddly grateful for them. In the end, he had always come back to Prague—to her and the children, oftentimes too exhausted to touch her.
A decade ago she found herself cast out of her father’s home, pregnant from Juan’s flattering seduction (the son of the Lord of the Jungle!). She had chosen wealth over poverty; immature infatuation over love; evil over piety—and she had paid for those choices every day no thanks to Juan’s father’s insistence that the son take her as his wife for his foolish dalliance.
In Good Conscience Page 33