Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3)

by Lily Silver

  Water sloshed against the copper tub side and ran down his body as he must have stood. She could just make out his dark outline against the grey rectangular window behind him. A masculine hand reached forth and snatched the linen blanket from her grasp. Along with it went her hopes of assisting him in drying off his nude body.

  The pale rectangle of linen moved like a ghost before her, as he obviously was wrapping it about his slick, wet body. Chloe watched the slight variation of white against the now black room, straining to see the invisible man in the darkness—the naked captain.

  “Good night, Mrs. O’Donovan.” His voice came from the door. “I’ve my boots here, and fresh clothing in my pack outside. I’ll retrieve the rest in the morning.” The door closed.

  Chloe was left alone in her room with an empty bathing tub, Jack’s cast off clothing and her dripping fantasies. If only their situation were different, they might have enjoyed a bath together in the darkness, followed by more sensual games in the four—poster bed beyond.

  She crawled beneath the sheet, weary and yet unable to sleep as her blood simmered beneath her skin and her heart ached for something more to hold than a feather pillow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chloe was in a crowded courtyard. The sun was high in the sky, nearly blinding her as it beat down with an infernal heat. French soldiers were everywhere. She was surrounded by them. They were jostling her about. The crowd was pushing her toward to some tall, wooden construction in the center of the square.

  Ambrose Duchamp, the count’s steward, was there. He was standing on the scaffold in black, but with no executioner’s mask as he grinned down at her with wicked delight. Beyond Ambrose, stood Jack with his hands tied behind his back and his brow bloodied. French soldiers on either side of him were pushing him toward Ambrose, the former French king’s master assassin. She tried to run up to the edge of the platform, to plead with Ambrose. What was he doing here, in Spain? He resided at Ravencrest, in her father’s cottage.

  People blocked her advance as they pushed her and edged in front of her in the square to get a better view. Chloe couldn’t get close. She realized with horror that they were going to hang Jack as a traitor. An unearthly noise behind her made her whirl around. Marta was weeping, wailing like a demon, and drums kept beating incessantly, announcing to all that the blond captain was about to be executed as a British spy.

  “No, you cannot do this. Listen to me, Ambrose!” Chloe shrieked, but it seemed her voice would not come without a struggle. The effort made her sit up with a start.

  The darkness was cloying. Panic seized Chloe as another round of dreadful caterwauling drifted through the open window. Marta’s demonic wailing in her dream was nothing more than a stupid cat outside, making an awful racket.

  Her skin was damp. Her heart pounded so loud it was like a heavy drum throbbing in her head. She hardly knew she slept, as when she’d climbed into the big bed, Chloe had feared she would not be able to find rest after the worries of the past days.

  The noise came again, dreadful meowing that was enough to bring goose bumps to her neck. Damn cat. Lady Elizabeth loved the creatures. Chloe was not particularly fond of them, but she didn’t despise them, either. Not until this moment, when the unearthly cries shattered the still night air and made her flesh creep and her belly squirm. She listened in the darkness for the sound of human feet on the cobbled stones of the courtyard, or worse, military boots.

  Silence was her only companion. That cat, or cats, must have moved on from beneath her window. Heart still slamming against her ribs, she tossed back the sheets and hurried to the door. She’d had enough of being alone in the dark in a strange house. More than enough.

  The door opened with a creak. She took one step and tripped against the considerable bulk of a large, warm body. Chloe shrieked, and a hand covered her lips.

  “Shhh, dearest. It is only me,” Jack whispered. He pulled her down, onto his lap. The man was camped outside her door, fully clothed, keeping guard while she slept.

  “Cap’n?” Jinx’s voice came from the stairs. Only his white shirt was visible in the dark.

  “All is well, Jinx. Go back to your post. And beware of lurking cats,” Jack told his man.

  Chloe knew she should extract herself from his warm embrace and go back to bed. She didn’t wish to leave the circle of his arms. She was scrunched up on his lap like a child, held against his hard chest with his arms tight about her.

  “Are you afraid of cats, my little senora?” He sounded amused by her frightened cower. “I hear you are adept at killing rats. What is a cat but an oversized rodent?”

  “Stop it.” She pushed against his chest, feigning irritation when in truth a smile curved about her lips. “I was dreaming awful things. Marta’s cries became those of a demon.”

  “A nightmare.” Jack’s warm breath caressed her neck, just below her ear. “What was the reason for Marta’s crying that became an angry cat’s wailing?”

  She gave up trying to save her pride and hugged Jack with all of her being. “They were going to hang you as a spy.”

  “I can still feel your heart racing against that fear.” His voice was a whisper, a caress. “Have faith. I’ve spent years learning not to give a damn about the wars of men. I’m not a soldier or a spy. I’m a merchant sailor, a despicable rogue.”

  “A gallant rogue,” she countered, hugging his solid frame as they sat on the floor in front of her chamber cloaked in darkness so neither had to pretend anger or distance. “You are a valiant man, my love. A good man who does not deserve to hang for my reckless decisions.”

  Jack’s arms tightened about her. His hand moved along her side to rest upon her back. He seemed so strong, so solid and hard. “The demons still gnaw at your conscience, then. None of this is your fault. We couldn’t have known the Spanish people were at the breaking point, ready to erupt into chaos and civil war. This is not your doing, my dear Chloe.”

  She sagged against him, depleted of argument, of strength. “I keep seeing that man’s face. And wondering if he has a wife. We didn’t even bury him, Jack.”

  “Benito.” Jack’s rough whisper vibrated against her ear. “We couldn’t stay to bury him. Not after your maid started shrieking. We’d be risking our lives to do so. Christ, that was two days past. Stop blaming yourself. You don’t have that damn gift like the countess; you cannot see the future, Chloe. Few can, and even they don’t always get it right.”

  “Where is my uncle? Where is he hiding? Why is he hiding? What is he running from?”

  “I wish I had the answer. For all we know, he could be hiding in the mountains, leading the militia. They say many of the nobles are taking up the cause. That may be why his servants are loathe to share his whereabouts with us, or give us a true destination of where to find him.” He kissed her neck and then drew back from their embrace. His arms left her, but his hands gently cupped her cheeks. “Did you never consider that, sweet Chloe? Your uncle may be a rebel leader. He may be in hiding.” He kissed her again, this time on the forehead.

  Chloe’s fear dissolved as his lips gently coaxed hers into the familiar dance. Jack’s mouth was tender, gentle, as he tried to comfort her with kisses when words failed. She grasped his face in both hands and kissed him with insistence and vigor lest he retreat from their embrace out of duty, honor, or respect. She wanted him. He obviously wanted her just as much if not more by the strength of his arousal. And they were alone—in the dark.

  Alone, together, without a light to make them feel guilt for their desires.

  The taste of his tongue, so warm and rough in her mouth was enough to make the horror recede. She needed Jack to make her nightmares flee. Chloe pulled back from their kiss and struggled to be let loose from his arms. She stood and straddled his legs with her bare feet. “Come,” she said, surprised by the throaty timbre of her voice. “Come to my bed and the comfort it affords us.”

  His hand reached up beneath her gown to trace lightly up the curve of
her calf and then her thigh. The fingertips moved in slow circles on the back of her knee.

  Chloe sensed he was looking up at her, waiting for further prompting.

  “If I do, there is no turning back. Be certain you want this, my dear.”

  She bent down and took his hand from behind her knee. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. Since that night in your cabin. You shoved me out the door.”

  “No, I moved you away to safety. I removed the temptation before I acted on it and made us both sorry.”

  “I will not be sorry, Captain. I refuse to be sorry for desiring so fine a man.”

  Jack rose. Her heart surged as he started to follow her inside. The slight tug of his hand stopped her progress, and Jack let go of her hand and stepped away from her in the black hall.

  Disappointment filled Chloe as she realized he might just move her away from him again to avoid temptation. The clank of metal on the floor seemed loud in the stillness of the night. Jack followed her into her room and closed the door. A flash of silver, and she realized what he had bent to retrieve—his sword.

  Chloe climbed up on to the high four-poster bed and waited for him to follow her.

  She waited for several moments as she realized he was removing his boots and his weapons. Then, the bed dipped, and she felt his arms wind about her.

  “I wish we had a candle,” she murmured against his chest. His skin was cool and smooth. He’d removed his shirt, and his boots. The trousers were still on, as the belt he wore pressed against her side.

  “It’s too risky. We don’t want soldiers coming here.” His lips brushed over her hair in search of her face. “Sweet Chloe, where are you?” At last, his lips found their target, her mouth.

  The kiss was tentative at first, and then as she welcomed him it deepened until his tongue had full possession of her mouth. They sank back, together, into the embrace of the soft feather mattress. This was a noble’s bed, not a straw pallet or the ground. She was pleased they’d waited until now to come together as lovers.

  Chloe surrendered to his slow, patient hands and savored the feel of him in her own as she explored his hard contours. His chest was carved from stone, firm yet smooth as velvet beneath her fingertips. The fresh scent of rosemary and lemon thyme on his skin was delicious and fresh. She nibbled on his earlobe and worked at his belt as his hands cupped her backside and lifted her to straddle him like a rider mounting a stallion. Chloe liked the allusion. She liked the sense of power it gave her to sit atop him.

  The belt latch was sharp, she learned, as she cut her finger in trying to free him from the confining sheath of his pants. “Ouch.” She sat upright and pulled her hand to her mouth, suckling the wound to ease the sting.

  “Let me, there is a sharp edge to the buckle, makes it a useful blade in a tight spot.”

  “Yes, I found the sharp edge,” she murmured, still sucking on the cut fingertip.

  The jangling sound told her he knew well how to release it. His knees bent up behind her backside, and the trousers slipped down his thighs. “Show me.” His voice in the darkness brought comfort. He was feeling for her hand, groping at her arm to find the wounded member.

  Chloe placed her wounded digit in his searching hands. “The middle finger.” She directed. His finger moved over the cut and she winced and swore aloud.

  “How unladylike, senora.” His amusement was apparent. “There, let’s soothe your ache.” With that, he put her finger into his mouth and suckled it hard, as if wresting free any blood that remained in the flesh. His rough tongue soothed the ache away and gave her a naughty idea.

  Chloe found his hand and took his thumb into her mouth. She suckled his thumb hard and rough, as he had done with her finger. She slowed her tongue and moved it in light circles up and down in a naughty imitation of the act of love. Chloe released his thumb and moved on to his forefinger. The sharp intake of breath was all the incentive she needed to tell her she’d found a sensual spot.

  The suckling made one imagine other areas that could benefit from the same attention as the sensitive fingertip. For Chloe, it evoked an answering echo in her nipples, making them harden with expectation. For Jack, she could only guess what area of the body his mind might imagine her mouth caressing.

  “Enough.” Jack’s finger was jerked from her lips. “Don’t unman me before we begin.”

  His statement brought a different kind of pleasure. Chloe leaned forward and licked at his belly, following the narrow channel up to his chest and then she nipped at his nipple.

  “Temptress.” He gasped, and grasped her around the waist. Before she knew what had happened, she was beneath him, pinned to the bed with his hard thighs kissing the interior skin of her legs. “Don’t rush me. I want to savor every part of you.”

  The seductive words were a different kind of caress. She didn’t have long to savor them. His hands found the soft, womanly part of her and it was her turn to gasp and moan beneath his expert touch. He knew just how to make her squirm. She tossed her head back, nearly rising up beneath him as the spasms of bliss grew into an insatiable storm.

  Jack’s mouth covered her nipple. He suckled it through the fabric of her gown. Between his hard use of her nipple and his gifted finger, she was the one about to be undone. Her gasps of pleasure were transforming into more audible groans.

  “Shhh, little temptress. You’ll wake the house,” his lips were close to her ear. He had lowered himself and was poised at her entrance. “Are you ready for invasion, my little Spaniard, or do you need more coaxing to accommodate me?”

  “Let the invasion begin,” she answered saucily, letting her hands slide from his shoulders, down his bare back and firm hips to cup at his naked backside. She pulled him to her, and he thrust his weapon inside her at the same moment. She wanted to shriek in triumph, as her loving with Gareth had always been boisterous and unrestrained. Chloe gasped as the length of Jack Rawlings slid into her core, widening the narrow channel and heightening her pleasure.

  Jack bent to kiss the exuberant woman beneath him, if only to keep her from embarrassing herself by waking the others. She was a seductive vixen beneath that Spanish pride and simmering temper. He covered her mouth with his, stifling her moans of desire. The muted sound of her pleasured cries brought him to a quick release. He drove hard into her and then quickly withdrew, spilling his seed onto the sheets beneath her slender thighs.

  The darkness swallowed them. He rolled onto his side so his bulk was not flattening her and gathered her against him. She was warm and soft, pliant in his arms, purring like a contented cat.

  “Sleep, love.” He nuzzled her ear and brushing light kisses over her temple.

  Chloe reached up to stroke his rough cheek. She seemed intrigued by his crude growth. “My golden captain.” Her words were slurred, languid, as if she were drunk on his loving. “My golden Poseidon, lord of the seas.”

  Such fire and imagination. He lapped up her unusual words of praise. They were not the silly murmurings of a well—paid whore, his typical companions. He paid them well and they repaid him in kind, with false praise and false exuberance.

  This was different. This was an honorable woman who had invited him to her bed for pleasure, not coin.

  Why? He wondered, holding her close and savoring the feel of her in his arms.

  She was thrust into uncertain and dangerous circumstances. Perhaps she was merely reaching out to him for comfort, as he was her only link to the familiar she had. He was grateful for the darkness, as the velvet night would hide any regrets as she realized what she had done. He hoped the morning would not destroy this brief brush with heaven.

  He hoped in the morning she would not despise him for accepting her offer and taking her in her bed.

  “If you look closely in the daylight, you’ll see that my golden hair is giving way to silver.”

  “A mark of distinction in a gentleman,” she whispered in that sensual timbre. “A thread of silver is just as precious as one of gold.” Her hand move
d through his slightly damp hair. “I wish things were …”

  “Don’t say it.” He was uneasy with what was to come. He pulled her hand from his hair and placed it on her belly. Jack rolled over and sat up in the dark room.

  She didn’t need to remind him that tomorrow this would be just a lovely memory, that she would go on to embrace her role as niece to a missing Spanish marquis and he would return to his duty as her escort and captain of the Pegasus. He knew there could be little between them but stolen kisses in the night. Jack wanted more, but he was not a romantic fool fresh from the university with rosy cheeks and equally rosy ideas about love. He was a grown man who knew his place in the world, accepted it, and for the most part tried to be content in it.

  “Jack, my love, you’ve become pettish.” Her voice was like silk, sliding over his skin. She sat up and reached for him, hugging his torso against her small body as she draped herself over his back from behind. “Do not pull away and return to your duty. We have time, Jack, we have hours before the dawn.”

  Her slender hand moved over his thigh, caressing, teasing, jolting him back to life.

  He groaned as she hovered over his bare shoulder, offering a clear invitation. Did she want him again, so soon? Great Neptune, the woman was demanding.

  Not that he minded. She was a widow and likely had missed the act of love.

  She lay back on the pillows and he followed her, draping himself over her and kissing her sweetly as the fire in his loins made his sword rise to salute her a second time.

  *

  When Chloe awakened, Jack was gone. Last night was a beautiful dream.

  Rose-gold sunlight bathed her room in soft hues of warm light. She moved to the window to peer out at the landscape beyond, feeling the loss of his body snuggled next to hers.

  Jack had always been in there, in the background. She’d admired the man through all the years of their association. He was the count’s friend, a frequent guest at their table. She’d loved Gareth with all of her heart; there was no denying it. Gareth had been there for her at just the right time. He completed her, healed her lonely heart and helped her through the darkness.