Her Protector's Pleasure

by Callaway, Grace

  His hands gripped her bottom, holding her prisoner to his ravaging cock. He slammed into her again and again. Her spine turned molten, and she dissolved in a hot rush of sensation. Pulse after pulse of pleasure travelled through her groin, catching fire in her belly, and she exploded, flew apart in sparkling, white-hot shards.

  Strong hands lifted her, tossed her onto the cushions. Breathless, she lay on her back as Ambrose stood over. His neck corded, he tore off the French letter and fisted his cock.

  "Do you want to feel me?" he rasped.

  Floating in the aftermath as she was, she nonetheless felt a primitive quiver. Because she knew the answer. She craved his heat—wanted to absorb his essence into her very soul. His nostrils flared when she cupped her breasts, creating a valley between them.

  "Here," she whispered. "Come to me here."

  He was magnificent in his pleasure, all lean, quivering muscle, his eyes piercing and locked on hers. His passion brimmed as keenly as her own, and it was a bright, beautiful thing. One, two, three strokes and his spine bowed. His face tightened in a harsh grimace. He shouted out as his release arced from his cock and rained upon her skin.

  A spatter landed on her right nipple, coating the sensitive peak. She touched the creamy essence and brought her finger to her lips, humming as his musky taste warmed her senses.

  Groaning her name, he collapsed next to her and pulled her into his arms. "You'll be the death of me, woman."

  "Perhaps the reverse is true. Here I was thinking you were a nice man, Mr. Kent," she murmured.

  "Not too nice, I hope." She felt the shape of his smile against her cheek. "After all, my lady, I wouldn't want to bore you with my dull Johnny ways."

  FORTY

  The following morning, Ambrose looked at the group assembled in the breakfast room. The Hartefords occupied one end of the table whilst Miss Percy Fines and Gavin Hunt perused the sideboard together. Percy's mother occupied a chair next to Ambrose's father; the two appeared to be hitting it off. Samuel fed biscuits to the fat pug in Mrs. Fines' lap whilst the good lady went on about the details of her daughter's upcoming nuptials.

  Despite the jovial chatter, an air of anticipation hung over the room. Marianne's friends had come to offer support and assistance; the scouts who'd gone to investigate Coyner's estates were due to return today. For purposes of minimizing the mayhem, Ambrose had asked Emma to keep their siblings occupied elsewhere.

  Marianne sat next him, picking at her plate. He placed his hand over hers on the table, squeezing it, and she glanced up at him. Anxiety darkened her eyes.

  "It'll be alright," he said. "One way or another, we'll find Coyner, love."

  Her chin trembled, and she nodded, her hand clinging to his.

  "Magistrates have scoured the city, so at least we know Coyner isn't here," Harteford said over his coffee cup.

  Hunt snorted as he held out a chair for his betrothed. "Bunch of Charleys, what do they know? But Harteford's right. Coyner's done the flit. My men have combed London, and there's no sign of the bug—"

  Mrs. Fines coughed loudly.

  Hunt's scarred face reddened as he darted a glance at his future mama-in-law. "Er, I mean we haven't seen any trace of Coyner," he muttered, sitting down.

  "If Mr. Hunt says Coyner's not here, then we'd best look elsewhere," Miss Percy said. "Mr. Hunt is ever so clever, and he knows practically every inch of London, don't you, sir?"

  If possible, Hunt turned redder at his intended's praise. He gave a gruff nod.

  "Let us hope that one of the scouts brings us good news. I have been thinking," Lady Harteford said, her hazel eyes narrowed, "that if I were the villain, surely I would not feel safe remaining in the country."

  Ambrose had been working on the same hypothesis. "You mentioned, my lady, that Coyner has French relatives?"

  "The Valois, on his grandmama's side," she replied. "I did a little digging on my own."

  "Do you think he'd take my daughter to France? How would he explain her presence to his family?" Marianne said.

  Silence deepened in the room as they all contemplated the possible alibis Coyner could give ... and the reality of what he intended to do to Primrose. Ambrose's hands curled into fists; he couldn't wait to get his hands on the bastard. From the grim looks on the other men's faces, they shared in that desire.

  A knock resonated. Marianne spun in her chair as Lugo opened the door.

  "A member of the River Police has arrived, my lady," he said.

  Johnno entered the breakfast room, his cap jammed atop his auburn mop. The tense lines on the waterman's face eased when he spotted Ambrose.

  "Mr. Kent, well met." Johnno came forward eagerly. "Me and the fellows at Wapping have been wondering about you. Heard about the shooting and—"

  "I'm fine as you can see." Standing, Ambrose exchanged handshakes. "Tell us your news, Johnno."

  The waterman's gaze darted to Marianne, who remained seated with an outward air of calm. Yet Ambrose could read the anxiety in her pallor, in the way her hands clenched in her lap, and he prayed the waterman had good news to share.

  "Coyner was keeping the girl up at 'is place in Northampton," Johnno blurted.

  A collective breath was released into the room.

  "Do you have them?" Marianne's voice quivered with tension.

  The waterman shook his head. "No, milady. 'Fraid not."

  Ambrose put an arm around Marianne's shoulders as Lady Harteford said sharply, "Where are they, then?"

  "On the run." Johnno tore his cap off in disgust, twisting it in his hands. "The suspect must've caught wind o' trouble. I interviewed the servants, and they said 'e left with the little miss and 'er governess the day before we arrived." Clearing his throat, he said, "From what I was told, Coyner treated the girl like a princess. The staff believed she was 'is ward, and apparently there was nothing ... untoward 'appening. At least, nothing that the servants knew of."

  A shuddering breath left Marianne. Her shoulders sagged as if she could no longer support herself. Ambrose held her tighter, willed her strength.

  "It'll be alright," he said in a low voice. "We'll have her back soon." Turning to Johnno, he said, "Where is Coyner now?"

  "Squirrely bastard went by a different name up in Northampton, and 'e's stayed one step ahead o' us, dodgin' this way an' that," Johnno said, scowling. "Last I knew 'e was bound south through Hertfordshire. Caster's still on their tail."

  "Caster is one of my men. He excels at tracking," Ambrose told the group.

  "We decided I should come and tell you the news. And to see if you've any idea of where Coyner might be 'eaded. Best to 'ead 'im off at the pass," Johnno said.

  Ambrose frowned. "France seems most likely. But we haven't proof." He looked to Marianne. "There was nothing in Coyner's study to indicate his intentions?"

  Her celadon gaze glimmered with frustration. "We didn't find anything."

  "The three of us searched thoroughly," Harteford said. "Lady Draven, you had Coyner's personal effects from his desk brought here, did you not?"

  "I've gone through it all with a fine-toothed comb," Marianne said.

  "I'll take a look. Fresh eyes," Ambrose said.

  Marianne led the way to the drawing room. The group formed a ring around the open box on the coffee table. Rummaging through the contents, Ambrose found the sort of paraphernalia one would find in any office desk.

  "That's the sum of it," Marianne said.

  Ambrose continued to rifle through the objects: assorted quills, an inkwell, and sheets of blank parchment. Picking up a leather-bound notebook, he flipped through the pages and found them blank. He tossed that aside and lifted a crumpled sheet from the bottom of the box. His blood pumped with sudden ferocity.

  "You found this in Coyner's desk?" he said.

  "Endeavor to show indefatigable courage. The implacable receive their just rewards." Marianne recited the words, her voice dull with despair.

  "Well, lad?" Ambrose said to his waterman.
/>   A grin split across Johnno's face. "Bloody hell, Coyner's headed to Dover."

  "My thoughts exactly." Satisfaction surged through Ambrose. "Alert the men at Wapping and let Sir Birnie at Bow Street know as well. We'll nab Coyner at the port."

  "Aye, sir." Johnno ran off.

  "I don't understand," Marianne burst out from behind him. "How do you know from that note that he's headed to Dover?"

  Ambrose turned to her. "Because I'm a River Policeman, sweetheart." And, damn, if he wasn't grateful for his extensive knowledge of water travel in this instance. "The Endeavor, Courage, Indefatigable, and Implacable are all passenger barges. Coyner must have written this reminder when he researched his possible escape routes and then forgotten it in his haste."

  "These ships, they dock at Dover?" Marianne said, sounding dazed.

  Ambrose nodded. "Lady Harteford's hunch was right. Coyner is headed to France—the port at Calais, to be precise. We must stop him before he leaves our shores."

  "We can take my carriage. From Johnno's information, Coyner is still at least two days' drive from Dover. If we leave straightaway, we'll get there before he does," Harteford said.

  Ambrose looked to Marianne. "Can you be ready to leave in an hour?"

  "Give me fifteen minutes," she said.

  "We'll need to go home and arrange for the children—" Lady Harteford began, but her husband put his finger to her lips.

  "'Tis too dangerous. Not to mention too strenuous for your condition," he said firmly.

  The marchioness bit her lip. "But Primrose is my niece. And Marianne will need all the help she can get."

  "Don't worry about that, Helena," Miss Percy chimed in. "Marianne will have plenty of assistance with Nick, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Hunt going along."

  "I'm going?" Gavin Hunt raised his tawny brows.

  "Of course you are. How else would you repay Marianne?"

  "For what?" Hunt said.

  His fiancée looked at him with guileless blue eyes. "If it weren't for her guidance, it might have taken me a great deal longer to realize that I'd fallen in love with you." She touched his jaw, smiling at him. "Then where would we be?"

  Even fierce fellows had their weaknesses.

  Hunt muttered, "I'll take my own carriage. Be faster that way."

  Lady Harteford went over to Marianne and gave her a quick hug. Ambrose saw the latter cling to her friend for an instant, blond curls trembling against brown ones.

  "You'll be careful, won't you, Marianne?" the marchioness said tearfully. "Know that you're not alone in this."

  Marianne nodded. Her eyes met Ambrose's.

  "I know I'm not alone any longer." Her gaze shifted to include her circle of friends, and she said in a tremulous voice, "With your help, I know we'll bring my daughter home."

  FORTY-ONE

  With a gloved hand shading her eyes, Marianne surveyed the bustling docks of Dover at dawn. The sounds of gulls and lapping waves filled the air. The silvery fog of the night before had lifted, revealing that the ghostly behemoths along the pier were in fact sturdy ships set to sail. Dazzling white chalk cliffs guarded the calm waters. Atop the precipices, military battlements stood at the ready to ward off hostile invasions.

  Ironically, the present enemy was hidden within the harbor, and the task was to prevent his escape. Frustration knotted Marianne's stomach: there was no sign of Coyner or her daughter in the busy flow of people and baggage.

  "Could we have missed them?" she said anxiously.

  "They're here." Beside her, Ambrose was monitoring the situation, and she took a measure of comfort in knowing that nothing would escape his vigilant gaze. "The River Police are standing by the ships, with an eye on the manifests. And the Runners are guarding all roads out of Dover. Coyner can't escape—we'll find him and Primrose."

  They'd arrived yesterday afternoon and contacted the captains of the four ships. Only the Courage and Implacable made outbound voyages today, narrowing the field. They'd run over the passenger manifests of the two vessels; of course, no Gerald Coyner had been found. That would have been too easy, and Marianne expected nothing to be simple where the squirrely blackguard was concerned.

  Reviewing the voyager lists of the two ships, she and Ambrose had identified the likely suspects. Amongst those were father-daughter pairs and—thanks to Johnno's information about the governess—trios that included a female companion as well. They'd given the names of those passengers to the policemen, who were supervising the boarding.

  Harteford and Hunt strode toward them.

  "Hunt and I checked with the businesses along the harbor and in town," the marquess said. "No one recalls seeing a little girl of Primrose's description."

  "Knowing Coyner, he stayed away from public areas. He knows we're after him," Ambrose said grimly.

  "He might spook when he sees the Charleys by the ships," Hunt said.

  "My men are disguised as sailors," Ambrose replied.

  Hunt's gaze rolled upward. "If Coyner can't spot a Charley from a mile away, he isn't half as clever as you make him out to be."

  Apprehension gripped Marianne; she could see Hunt's point.

  "Coyner will make a go for it," Ambrose reassured her. "At this point, he has no choice—he can't outrun us forever on British soil. His best and only chance is to head for France."

  Marianne gave a shaky nod. She lowered the veil on her bonnet, and the filmy white material drifted over her face to obscure her identity. She'd dressed in a nondescript putty bombazine to blend in with the masses.

  "Let's go find my daughter," she said.

  They split into pairs as they'd planned. Each had with them a whistle to sound the alarm if Coyner was sighted. Harteford and Hunt went to circle the pier by the Implacable, and Marianne and Ambrose headed for the Courage at the western edge of the docks. As they neared the gleaming row of ships, Ambrose pulled her off to the side, using a stack of steamer trucks for cover.

  "I can see Johnno and the lads up ahead at the Courage," he said in a low voice. "If you spot Coyner, you raise the alarm, do you hear? I won't be far away, sweetheart."

  Because Ambrose would be too easily recognized, he'd arranged to keep watch from the deck of an adjacent ship. He'd be there, protecting her. As he'd done from the moment they'd met. Her eyes prickled with heat. He'd given her everything and asked for naught in return. Not even three simple words: ones he'd offered without condition and which she secretly clung to like some fretful child to a doll.

  Her throat thickened. "Ambrose?"

  His eyes continued their unceasing scan of the pier. "Yes?"

  "I ..." She swallowed. "Thank you."

  Before he could say anything, she lifted the veil and kissed him. Then she turned and walked steadily toward the ship. His presence anchored her every step, bolstering her strength as she went forward to claim her daughter.

  Passengers had gathered near the gangway. Dozens of people—men, women, and children—milled about, their voices and the summoning bells rising in a confusing cacophony. Marianne lingered at the fringe, trying to scan the faces one by one. With the wide-brimmed hats and bonnets currently in fashion, this proved a harder task than she'd anticipated. Children, due to their shorter stature, were swallowed up in the sea of moving bodies.

  She craned her neck to see the head of the line, where Johnno and another Thames River Policeman stood in seamen's garb. They had posted themselves by the roped entryway leading to the Courage. As boarding commenced, she saw that they were studying each passenger's face as he or she presented their ticket.

  An idea struck Marianne. She loosened her grip on her reticule, letting it thud to the planks. Bending to her knees as if to retrieve it, she found a less fettered view. She focused on the shoes—on finding a pair of footwear suitable for an eight-year-old girl. Seeing a pair of tan half-boots in the right size, she rose and plunged heedlessly into the crowd. Indignant cries greeted her.

  "Well, I never!"

  "I'll thank you to mind your manners,
miss!"

  Ignoring the comments, she elbowed her way through. Her heart stopped at the sight of the little straw poke bonnet. The girl's profile was obscured by thick golden curls.

  "Primrose?" she said in a shaking voice.

  The girl turned, looking up with quizzical brown eyes. "Beg pardon, missus?" she said.

  "Hush, Hattie." The gentleman next to the girl twisted his neck around, his weather-beaten face creased with suspicion as he looked Marianne up and down. "Haven't I told you never to speak with strangers?"

  "My apologies. I made a mistake," Marianne said.

  She tried to move back, but the wave of eager passengers carried her forward. She fought against the tide, trying to get a glimpse of the other children in the crowd. Through a gap, she saw a mop of blond hair … dash it, belonging to a boy. A plain silk bonnet trimmed with daisies flashed in the distance, but auburn ringlets peeped out.

  Desperation climbed; she was never going to get a clear view this way, and there was no escaping the throng. She'd have to hold on and trust Johnno and his partner to perform their duties. When she reached the head of the line, Johnno pulled her aside.

  "Haven't seen 'er yet, my lady," he whispered. "The families o' three on the list are all boarded. Got a few father-daughter pairs left—'ere's one comin' up behind you."

  Panic clawed at Marianne's insides. Please be Primrose.

  She faced the pair. Her heart plummeted. The brown-haired girl chattered happily on as her Papa—not Coyner—held out the tickets.

  "Don't worry. Plenty more to go," Johnno said.

  But when the last identified duo—a Mr. Yardsmith and his daughter Sally—was crossed off the manifest, worried lines fanned from Johnno's eyes.

  "They're o'er at the Implacable. That must be it," he said stoutly.

  Marianne tried to resist the despair. The fear that spilled over her insides, swamping her.

  Where are you, Rosie? Please … give me a sign. Help me find you.

  "Stay here and keep an eye on the rest o' the passengers," she heard Johnno instruct his partner. "I'll take milady o'er to the other ship so we can sort this out."