October Revenge

by Farmer, Merry

  “Please,” she sighed as his hands swept across her stomach. She wasn’t sure whether she was begging for more or for him to bring it all to a shattering climax. Either way, she was in heaven.

  “You deserve all the pleasure I can give you and more,” he purred, kissing his way down her stomach. “You deserve to come so often and so hard that the world will come to a stop as you experience it.”

  Her mind conjured up an image of what that might mean for only a split second before he grasped her thighs and spread them wide. Her body throbbed in expectation at the demanding gesture. A moment later, no thought was possible as he stroked her with his fingers, parting her sex to expose her as intimately as she’d ever been exposed.

  His mouth followed quickly where his fingers played. She moaned and bucked as he drew his tongue across the burning flesh of her sex, then flickered it around her clitoris. Raw pleasure rocketed through her, driving her wild and making her gasp and pant. It only increased as he alternated gentle strokes of his tongue with more demanding sucks. She’d never imagined such a thing was possible. The pure, carnal power of what he was doing to her had her stretching her arms over her head and mewling uncontrollably as the coil within her squeezed tighter and tighter.

  When it burst, she cried out wordlessly. The throbbing in her core was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced, made even more potent when Mark thrust two fingers inside her. He groaned in victory as she squeezed him. The way he stroked her from the inside kept her orgasm going and going.

  Her body felt liquid and luminescent as the throbbing finally stopped, but she knew that wasn’t the end. She was primed and ready for him, loose-limbed and completely at his mercy. And she wanted him inside of her more than she could say. But that didn’t stop her from trying as he slid over her and into position.

  “Hard,” she panted, circling her arms around him and digging her fingertips into the flesh of his back. “Fast. Make me come a second time.”

  He growled in response and thrust into her exactly as she’d requested. He was fierce and demanding, as far from the prudish, reticent Mark of their wedding night. He pounded into her mercilessly, as though he too needed the raw mating the way she did. Their bodies slapped together artlessly, nothing pretty or gentle about it. They were all energy and arousal.

  Within minutes, Angelica was teetering on the brink again. Better still, she could feel hot desperation rippling from Mark. His body was hard and tense, and his breath came in demanding gasps colored with passionate sounds. He was lost in plundering her, straining so hard to fill and possess her that every part of him that wasn’t primal had burned away. When at last his body tensed and a deep cry ripped from his lungs as he came inside of her, Angelica was so overwhelmed by the joy of it that her body crashed into completion once again.

  “Mark,” she gasped, digging her fingernails into his backside and clasping him with her legs.

  “My Angel,” he sighed as his last thrusts slowed and he collapsed on top of her. “My Angel.”

  They lay where they were, a tangle of arms and legs and overheated bodies. He stayed inside of her as if he never wanted to pull out, and for her part, Angelica was more than happy with that. She closed her eyes and embraced him with her whole heart, wondering if something deeper had spurred him into making love to her so vigorously and wondering whether it mattered. Deep in her heart, she knew a corner had been turned, but whether it was a good one or not, she had yet to determine.

  “Give me an hour’s rest,” Mark panted, moving to cradle her more comfortably, “and we’ll go again.”

  “Again?” Angelica gasped, both thrilled and wary. This from a man who had spent the better part of their marriage being reluctant to touch her.

  “And again and again and again,” Mark growled. “And tomorrow, we’ll go home and make preparations.”

  Chapter 12

  When Mark was a boy and his father had taken him to London for a rare visit, the journey home had always seemed interminable. The rail system had been new and unreliable, and no trains went near Blackmoor Close. Which was why he thanked God that so much investment had been put into the British rail system that by noon the next day, he and Angelica were alighting from the carriage Baxter had sent to the Petersfield station to fetch them.

  “There isn’t any time to waste,” he said, handing Angelica down as Baxter directed the footmen to fetch their trunks from the back of the carriage. “Shayles will be released in less than a fortnight, and we have much to prepare for.”

  Angelica paused after hopping down to the gravel and stared at him with pursed lips. “If you’re so certain that Lord Shayles will hunt you down with murder on his mind the moment he is released from Newgate, then we should be on a ship bound for, well, anywhere other than here, not rushing about like the queen is coming to visit.”

  Her words unsettled his already agitated thoughts. Perhaps they should flee.

  He shook his head at the idea, taking her hand and heading for the front door, where Baxter directed the homecoming activity. “It wouldn’t matter,” he said gruffly. “Shayles is so intent on revenge that he would follow me. But as I said in London, if you feel safer returning to New Orleans….”

  He couldn’t finish the sentence. The last thing he wanted was for Angelica to walk out of his life before he was ready. Besides, he hadn’t finished his mission to secure her future, no matter what Shayles threw at him. The night before had only been the beginning. Perhaps he should forego his immediate plan and take her upstairs to make love to her until they were both too tired to worry about the future or Shayles or moving. The sooner he impregnated her, the sooner she would be secure in all things as the mother of the next Earl of Gatwick.

  His steps slowed halfway down the hall he’d charged down, half dragging Angelica along.

  “What is it?” Angelica asked impatiently.

  Mark’s heart squeezed and flopped in his chest as he turned to study her. His intent the day before had been to marshal whatever virility he had in attempt to storm the fortress of her body and leave a child within her. He hadn’t expected their love-making to strike him to the core. But she’d been so open to him, so erotic in her enjoyment of their coupling. She’d touched him and kissed him as though they were genuine lovers and not just spouses in need of an heir. What had started out as his determination to do the right thing had turned into the most surprisingly intimate evening he’d ever spent. They hadn’t just made love once or twice, they’d come apart in each other’s arms so many times through the afternoon, evening, and night that he’d lost track.

  He’d enjoyed himself. Dear God, how he’d enjoyed himself. He hadn’t thought that much bliss and contentment was possible for him anymore. The problem was, it made his desperation to keep her out of Shayles’s clutches even more acute.

  “You have to be ready,” he said in a long-delayed answer to her question. “I’m not sure there are words to express how hell-bent on revenge Shayles is. He threatened—” He stopped. It would have been cruel of him to spell out what Shayles had hinted he wanted to do to Angelica, especially as a violent act like that would be intended as the harshest form of punishment for him rather than simply a way to humiliate her.

  Angelica let go of his hand to cross her arms. “Lord Shayles threatened me.” She arched one brow. “He knows about me.”

  Mark melted at the sight of her indignation, but as brave as she was, there was no way she could do anything but underestimate Shayles.

  He stepped toward her, gripping her upper arms and staring commandingly into her eyes. “I know that you are strong, but you cannot imagine the evil you are up against. Shayles is the devil himself. He is not just violent, he is conniving. He wouldn’t just hurt you, he would humiliate you, and he would draw it out.” He paused, his stomach turning with memories. “I’ve seen him do it. I will not let that happen to you.”

  “Mark, I can take—” She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips together and staring hard at him, studyi
ng him as if she could see directly into his soul. Mark expected her to go on with her assertion that she could take care of herself, but instead, she let out a breath and said, “You seemed determined to take me somewhere just now. Where are we going and what are we doing?”

  The reminder spurred him into motion once more. He took her hand and continued his charge down the hall to the gun room.

  “You need to learn to defend yourself,” he said. “There’s no telling how far Shayles will go to execute his revenge, but I have no doubt at all that he will attempt to breech Blackmoor Close itself.”

  He turned into the gun room, dropping Angelica’s hand and heading straight toward the cabinet that held a collection of revolvers and dueling pistols that dated back at least a hundred years.

  “Do you honestly think your staff would allow Lord Shayles to set foot on the estate?” Angelica asked, crossing her arms again and watching as he fetched a small box that contained the keys to the cabinets from a concealed nook above one window. He would have to give the keys to Baxter’s safekeeping from now on.

  “I honestly believe that Shayles will hurt or kill anyone who stands in the way of what he wants,” he answered, fishing out the key he needed. He crossed the room to the cabinet which contained the newest model revolvers.

  “And what he wants is to kill you,” Angelica said, a hint of doubt in her voice.

  Mark opened the cabinet, but turned to her with a dark look. “Yes,” he answered. “You have no idea of the rancor that man is capable of or what our history has been.”

  “Then tell me,” she said, far calmer than she should have been.

  Mark paused, lips working but no words forming. How on earth could he explain the nightmare of his association with Shayles? There were no words for the terror of a young man away from home, his father newly dead, with no one stepping in to provide guidance. There was no explanation for staying close to the man who had inflicted so much personal pain but who still captivated him, like a mesmerist. There was no excuse for years and years in which the determination to keep his enemies close so as to exact revenge of his own faded into blind waiting and near suicidal disengagement from life.

  So he turned back to the cabinet, taking an American Remington revolver and a small, Webley Bull Dog pocket revolver and boxes of their corresponding bullets.

  “I understand that you’re not ready to tell me,” Angelica said with a sigh, rubbing her forehead. “But neither will you be able to avoid enlightening me eventually.”

  “Not today,” he said, closing the cabinet. “We have too much to do.”

  “What do we have to do?” she asked, following him as he left the room and headed the remaining few yards down the hall to a small door that let out into the back garden.

  “I’m going to teach you to shoot,” he said grimly.

  “Is that what you think?” Mark couldn’t see her, but he was certain he heard wryness in her voice.

  “Yes,” he answered, marching on.

  The afternoon was overcast but warmer than October usually was. He paused at the far end of the French garden and glanced around, searching for something that could serve as a target for their practice. If he’d thought ahead, he could have telegraphed Baxter, asking him to set up formal shooting targets. As it was, the unfortunate trees at the edge of the woods lining the drive would have to do.

  “The Bull Dog holds five shots,” he said, setting the Remington and its box of bullets down in the grass. “It’s relatively simple to load. Watch how I do it.” With Angelica looking on, a dubious look pinching her beautiful face, he opened the chamber and inserted five bullets. “You see?” he asked. “It’s important that you be able to do it quickly.”

  “I see,” she said. The flash in her eyes both frustrated and aroused him. She wasn’t taking the lesson seriously, but her cavalier attitude was charming all the same.

  He handed her the gun, then bent to put the box of bullets down and to take up the Remington.

  “This is an American weapon,” he began, opening its chamber and loading it.

  “A Remington 1875, by the look of it,” she said, one eyebrow raised.

  Mark paused in the process of loading and glanced questioningly at her.

  “Grandpa Miles had one,” she said, though Mark got the impression there was more to it than that.

  Mark nodded. “Good. Then you’re at least a little familiar with firearms.”

  “A little,” she said with a teasing smile.

  He sensed that the rug was about to be pulled out from under him, but he proceeded anyhow. “Don’t be afraid of the noise and the recoil,” he said, turning to face the trees and raising his gun. “Practice will help you get used to it. When Shayles comes for me, if you’re around, you’re going to need to be able to point and shoot without hesitation. Speed is everything. We’ll work on accuracy after—”

  She raised her revolver and fired a shot, hitting a branch and splitting it so that the limb fell off the tree.

  Mouth still open, Mark turned to her. His eyes went wide at the cool seriousness of her expression. “You already know how to shoot, don’t you?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  Angelica smiled, bending to set the Bull Dog in the grass. She took a few steps away from it, then gestured to him. “Come here.”

  Mark did as she said, walking toward her. As he came to within her arm’s reach, she jerked toward him, grabbing his right hand with the gun in it. He wasn’t sure what happened, but within a heartbeat, she removed the gun from his hand and twisted her body in a way that smashed her knee into the back of his, buckling him. Before he could breathe, she wrenched his arm, and he was on the ground, blinking up, muscles aching.

  “I know how to defend myself,” she said, staring down at him.

  Mark moved slowly as sense returned to him. She’d done more than knock the wind out of him as he landed flat on his back. The frantic urgency he’d been feeling since Shayles whispered his threat the day before felt as though it had lifted from his shoulders. He grunted as he pushed himself to sit and rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair.

  Angelica set the Remington aside and sat in the grass with him. Mark gazed at her, having a hard time believing that such a beautiful, shapely woman in a finely-tailored traveling dress could have physically overpowered him. It didn’t say much about his physical prowess.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, a sheepish heat rising to his face.

  She stared back at him with implacable seriousness. “Five years ago, one of Grandpa Miles’s business associates cornered me in the warehouse and attempted to rape me.”

  Cold anger shot through Mark, stiffening every muscle and nerve in his body.

  “I was helpless,” Angelica went on, her shoulders rounding as she let out a breath. Misery pinched her face. “He was stronger than me, even though he was just a businessman and not a dock or farm worker. I remember not being able to push him off, no matter how hard I tried. I remember my arms feeling weak as he held them aside and my legs not being strong enough to kick him away or hold together as he shoved his hand between them. He was simply more powerful than me in every way.”

  Long-silent screams echoed in Mark’s ears. The nightmarish sight of Shayles and his friends holding Kitty down, pinning her arms and wrenching her legs wide as she tried and failed to fight back threatened to drag him under.

  “The only thing I could do was scream,” Angelica went on. “And I did. So loud that two workers in the warehouse came running. They saved me seconds before my attacker finished what he’d started. Or maybe I should say inches before. Either way, they stopped him.”

  She paused, staring at the grass, a sick look on her face. Part of Mark wanted to reach out to her and draw her into his arms, promising he would never let anything like that happen to her again. Part of him wanted to hunt down her attacker and castrate him. But the rest of him knew that if he had been there when she needed help, he would have failed her. Just as he�
��d failed Kitty. His stomach turned, and the overwhelming knowledge that he didn’t deserve Angelica, that he didn’t deserve happiness or even life, threatened to swallow him.

  “I vowed to never feel that helpless again,” Angelica went on. She turned her head to meet his eyes. Her gaze was fierce, and yet there was no anger directed at him in it, even though there should have been. “I vowed that the next time a man attacked me, I would be stronger than him. I would be faster and more agile. I would be the one with power, not the victim. So I sought out a man I knew in New Orleans, a friend of my late father’s, who was a boxer.”

  She paused as if expecting him to say something or ask a question, but Mark was beyond speech. So she went on.

  “His name was Samuel. He’d been a field slave on a plantation in Alabama before the war. He was the biggest, strongest man I knew. I asked him to teach me to fight. He said no, of course,” she added with a wry grin. “Until I explained why. Then he said yes.” She shrugged. “He taught me about boxing and how to build up my strength. He introduced me to others he knew who fought in different styles. I learned everything I could about self-defense and hand-to-hand combat. That’s why I walk whenever I can and why I throw rocks.” Her mouth twitched into a grin a second time. “The Scots aren’t the only ones who need to train for battle without looking like they’re training.”

  “Has anyone ever tried….” Mark couldn’t finish his sentence.

  Angelica shook her head as though she understood what he was getting at. “I’ve never had reason to test my skills. Well, until now.” Her smile broadened, and of all things, her eyes sparkled with fondness for him.

  He couldn’t stand to have her look at him that way, with such affection. She was brave where he’d been a coward his entire life. He’d let Shayles hurt so many people for so long.

  “I learned to defend myself as a way to take back what someone tried to steal from me,” she went on in a tender voice, resting a hand on his arm. When he glanced reluctantly at her, she continued. “I made myself strong as a way to reclaim myself. When something bad happens to you, you have to reclaim yourself.”