Wicked Seduction

by Jade Lee

  Meanwhile, he tugged at his cravat and managed to look better rather than worse. “I managed to free up a few groats. What money I had before I left is all gone now. Here I’d been thinking that I’d have seven years of income waiting for me.”

  “But they declared you dead.”

  “Yes. They declared me dead,” he echoed hollowly. “My brothers got my money. And spent it, no doubt.”

  “But surely they will return it to you, once they learn that you’re alive.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t much. They may have it with my blessing.”

  They fell silent, listening to the singer and the pound of the dancers’ feet. The crowd was hooting and calling, so it was hardly silent where they stood. And yet, it felt quiet. She felt the weight of it in the very air she breathed.

  “You haven’t told them, have you? You haven’t written your family to say that you are alive.”

  He glanced sharply at her. “I wrote a brief missive to my eldest brother. I do not know how to find Lucas or Paul.”

  “Did you post it?”

  He looked away. And that in turn prompted her to step away from his body enough to stare him in the eye. “Surely you should contact them. Do not let them hear of it from someone else.”

  He blanched at that. He knew she was right. And yet, he stubbornly refused to speak.

  “Mr. Frazier, they are your family.”

  “So are Michael and Lily, but they left me to rot.”

  She could see the fury in his eyes, hatred radiating from every tight muscle in his frame. And yet anyone else looking at him would think him relaxed. She reached forward and touched his arm, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the fabric. “If I had to guess, I would say that the earl and his countess acted alone. Your brothers probably didn’t even know you were alive.”

  His mouth tightened but she did not allow him to turn away. When he tried, she simply stepped back into his line of sight.

  “Mr. Frazier? Did they know you lived?”

  “I don’t know,” he snapped.

  “And you don’t want to know, do you?” she abruptly realized. She couldn’t begin to imagine the betrayal he felt from the Earl and Countess of Thornedale. How much more terrible would it be to know that his parents and brothers had done the same?

  “They didn’t know,” she said firmly. “They couldn’t have.”

  He looked in her eyes, and she saw him struggle. Part of him desperately wanted to believe it was true, but the other part clearly felt betrayed in the worst way. So much so that he couldn’t force himself to believe.

  The sight was heart wrenching, but she couldn’t properly do more than she was right now. She couldn’t embrace him or even touch his skin. So she used her voice instead, trying to reach him with her words. “They didn’t know. And they will be so overjoyed to see you again, you cannot imagine the happiness that will ensue.”

  He searched her face, for what she had no idea. And in that moment, the music stopped, the act finished, and people began crossing behind the stage.

  “Come,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We can get to the Green Room now.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh! Not until the Green Room. And cover your face.” He didn’t wait for her to do it, but tugged the hood of her cloak up. Then he rushed them across the unlit portion of the stage. People could see her, of course. There was no curtain at the front of the stage, just an army of boys setting out props. She hunched even farther when a cheer went up from the crowd at the sight of her female form, but she was anonymous in her dull cloak. Then they were across the stage and heading down a dark hallway.

  “Make way, guv’ner,” said a boy as he carried a small table on stage.

  “Mind your head,” said another as he danced across a walkway above them, a large bucket dangling from a rope that he carried.

  Mr. Frazier moved rapidly, pressing her into a tight, dark space between a wall and a rack of costumes. He pushed her deep, keeping his back to the chaos, his body shielding her from harm. But, of course, she had been in little danger from swinging buckets or boys with props. What was dangerous were her thoughts as his body enfolded hers.

  His legs were on either side of hers, and he braced her with his knees. His hands were on her waist, large and possessive. His chest bumped against her breasts, not hard, just enough for her to feel the tightening of her nipples in response. And then there was his face, tucked to the side of hers, his chin resting against her temple. She heard his breath as short, quick pants, and his hands tensed around her hips.

  Heat. That’s what she noticed the most. His body radiated such heat she might have thought he was feverish. It left her breathless.

  “Mr. Frazier,” she whispered. “I believe the danger has passed.”

  He looked down at her, his eyes dark shadows. Then he glanced upward at the boy with the bucket. The child was leering down at them, his lips pursed as he made a loud kissing noise.

  Maddy felt her face heat to the roots of her hair, but Mr. Frazier did not seem remotely embarrassed. Instead, he looked to her with an arch to his brow.

  “Well, I am in a quandary,” he drawled.

  “Mr. Frazier!” she hissed. “You must step back!”

  “Can’t quite yet, you see. Grit up there has seen us.”

  “Grit?”

  “The boy’s name because he has a lot of it.”

  She sighed. Of course that was the boy’s name. Couldn’t be anything more sensible like Tom or Joseph.

  “Grit has seen us now, and there’s a price to be paid or my reputation’s lost.”

  “I care little for your reputation, Mr. Frazier,” she said tartly. “Mine, on the other hand—”

  “No one knows who you are here,” he said softly, his head lowering toward hers as he spoke. “I called you angel—”

  “Which you really should not—”

  “But I did.” One of his hands left her waist to come up to her cheek. He stroked her so softly that a shiver skated down her spine. “I did, angel. And I have been dreaming of kissing you forever.”

  She looked up at his eyes. They were again dark pools, but she imagined a mischievous light there. A spark of humor that had been missing in him before. “We only just met yesterday. And you kissed me once already.”

  The hand on her hip tightened, pulling her closer to him. His breath feathered across her cheeks and then it heated her lips. “That was years ago,” he whispered.

  “Mr.—” Too late for protest, halfhearted though it was. Truthfully, she had been thinking of his kiss as well. Daydreams, fantasies, nighttime desires all meshed together into this moment. So much so, she told herself, that perhaps this caress of his mouth on hers was yet another dream.

  But it was real in so many wonderful ways. His body was hard and hot against hers. His hand on her cheek slipped behind her neck to support her head. And his mouth on hers was infinitely delightful. Not hard, not soft, but a constant mixing of both. While his lips moved on hers, his tongue began a quick tease. A lick here and there, a darting thrust, and soon she found herself opening to him, a soft murmur trembling through her mouth to him.

  He took it, and he took her. He slanted across her mouth, thrusting inside. Never before had she experienced so carnal a kiss. He thrust into her, he stroked every part of her, and God help her, she loved every moment of it. She opened herself to him, releasing a soft sigh of delight. And at the sound, his hands tightened, his body pushed harder against her such that she felt his organ like a hot brand on her belly.

  She trembled beneath the onslaught, her mind still numb with shock, even as her arms wrapped around him. His hand on her hip shifted, rolling to her behind, where he cupped her boldly. She did not intend to return the pressure against his groin. This was well beyond anything any man had done with her before. But her body wasn’t listening to her mind. Her thighs tightened, her stomach too, while he ground his delicious heat into her.

  His mouth left hers to press kisses along
her jaw and throat. His hand at the back of her head slid down her front to stroke her breast. She cried out, the sound lost behind the roar of the audience. The play was starting. Some part of her mind grasped on to that rather than speak the obvious: This was improper. This was dangerous!

  “Oh!” she gasped. “No!”

  His free hand left her breast to start rucking up her skirt. His knee was beginning to press between hers.

  “Mr. Frazier! Stop!” She tried to push against his chest, but she had no strength in his arms. He was a solid wall against her and he was gripping her thigh, pulling it high.

  She couldn’t do this! She could not! She had a second at most to save herself, so she took it. She made a fist as the gypsies had taught her, and then she struck. She slammed downward onto him. Her aim was true, hitting his organ through his breeches. And then, before he could do more than rear back, the bucket slammed against his head. Grit, the stagehand from above, glared down even as he kept swinging the bucket close enough to hit again.

  “She said no, guv’nor!”

  Mr. Frazier roared in shock as he clutched his head. The sound echoed backstage but simply mixed with the noise of the crowd out front. He stumbled backward, pain twisting his face into a feral snarl. Maddy stared at him in shock as she saw the same mindless fury enter his face that young Alex had worn when he was pummeling the Earl of Thornedale.

  “Mr. Frazier!” she cried. “Mr. Frazier!”

  He did not seem to hear her. And then something even worse happened. She did not understand it, nor could she fight it.

  A boom roared on stage. It was part of the production, she supposed. A loud bang complete with female screams. The audience roared its approval, but that only added to the general mayhem of sound that came from just a few feet away.

  Mr. Frazier ducked. He more than ducked, he flattened to a crouch on all fours, dropping so low that his face touched the floor. And then another big bang hit, followed by the cries of the audience. It was a large crowd so the sound was deafening. Mr. Frazier shrank into himself while his gaze darted one way and the next. The air was smoky to begin with, but down by the floor, he was kicking up dust that surely blinded him.

  “Mr. Frazier,” she said as loudly as she could manage. Then she touched his shoulders.

  He flinched as a wild dog might. He recoiled and glared at her with a snarl. But she didn’t move. She had faced a few angry dogs in her time. At this moment, Mr. Frazier was no different.

  “It’s all right,” she said as she extended her hand. “It’s just the play.” She touched his shoulder. And when he didn’t draw back, she allowed her fingers to caress his face. His flesh was slick with sweat, his eyes still wide with fear. But she could see intelligence in there now. The more she touched his skin, the more awareness returned to his body.

  Then there was a rolling sound. Drums. A steady crescendo like thunder breaking across the world. Before she could stop him, he launched himself at her. Grabbing her by the waist, he tossed her over his shoulder. Then with effortless strides, he ran down the hall and into a cellar.

  Chapter 8

  Mold. Wet. Screams. Cold.

  Battle.

  Can’t breathe. Heart beating, beating, beating in my ears.

  Are they coming?

  Who is it?

  Good God, what is happening?

  “Mr. Frazier. Mr. Frazier!”

  “Hush, Jeremy. Don’t cry. I’ll protect you.”

  Straining with every ounce of his strength, he shoved aside a full barrel of something—potatoes?—creating a dark space for the boy. He set the boy down there in the space he’d created. The child could hide there for days, tucked away behind the stairs and the barrel.

  “Who is Jeremy, Mr. Frazier? I’m Maddy. Maddy Wilson, your angel.”

  “Stay down, Jeremy. I have to go up and fight.”

  The sounds of men’s voices was growing louder. Was the battle over? Were they safe?

  No! No! Don’t go up there!

  Kit frowned as his mind fractured. Part of him was blindly hopeful, believing the crew of Fortune’s Kiss was victorious. The battle was over, the pirates tossed overboard. Another part screamed uselessly. It isn’t safe! It isn’t over! Don’t leave the boy! But the majority of his mind was trapped in darkness, lost behind an impenetrable wall of pitch and blood.

  What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think?

  “Mr. Frazier. We’re safe. We’re in the Playhouse Tavern. There’s no one here named Jeremy.”

  Footsteps. Hide!

  “I’m going to go up and see what has happened,” he said to the boy. “If I don’t come back, stay here. You’re good at hiding. No one will find you. You’ll be safe.”

  No! Take him with you. Take him topside.

  The door to the cellar levered open, and a lantern flashed bright in his eyes. He crouched low beside Jeremy, then slowly sidled around for a better vantage point. Was it the captain? Was it the crew? If they were pirates, he would fight. He would keep the boy safe.

  Where was his knife? Why didn’t he have a knife?

  “Oh, look, Mr. Frazier. It’s your friend from the doorway. Don’t you remember? He blocked me from entering the playhouse, but you told him I was your friend.”

  “Jeremy, hush!”

  He felt the boy’s hand on his arm, warm and gentle, and large for so young a boy. He shrugged it off. He couldn’t fight with a child hanging on his arm. He slid a little farther away, tensing so he could leap upon the huge man coming down the stairs. He was a white man, his face too pale for a sailor. No beard. And English clothing.

  One of the sailors! And he had a boy with him. Another cabin boy? He thought Jeremy was the only one. Didn’t matter. They were English which meant they were in danger too.

  He stepped into the light. “Hsss! Hurry up. There’s a hiding place for you with Jeremy. Seth, you and I will have to protect them. Do you have a knife?”

  Seth slowed his steps, staring at first him then Jeremy with a puzzled expression.

  “He thinks I’m some boy named Jeremy,” said a voice. A woman’s voice. There was a woman on board?

  “Come down, boy.” He gestured to the young adolescent on the stairs. He knew Seth was mute, so the man could hardly issue orders in battle. “Hurry up!”

  The child looked to Seth, who nodded slowly. Thankfully, that was all that the boy needed to get him to scramble over the barrel to stand beside Jeremy.

  “Good. Now Seth and I will go up and see the lay of things . . .”

  No! No! Don’t abandon Jeremy!

  He closed his eyes, shaking his head as he tried to sort through the emotions roiling through him. Thoughts. Feelings. Fear! That’s what he knew. That’s what was real.

  “Kit, you are safe now. The battle is over.” It was the woman’s voice again. Where was she?

  He nodded, his head beginning to ache abominably. “I know. I know. The battle is over. The Fortune’s Kiss is lost.”

  “It was a terrible thing, wasn’t it? Horrible. But it is over now. You have come back to England.”

  “No, no.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “It’s not over. You’re still alive. Stay with me! You mustn’t ever leave my side, do you understand? Never leave my side!”

  “Of course,” she answered. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave your side.”

  Shudders wracked his frame. He was so cold down here. Why was he cold? It shouldn’t be cold! It was blistering hot, the sun beating down to burn his flesh raw. He remembered it so clearly. The burn. Burning. The ship on fire!

  “Jeremy!” he bellowed. He tore his palms away from his eyes and he scanned the cellar. He saw Seth and a stage boy, plus his angel, all standing there staring at him. He whipped his head around, searching for Jeremy.

  “Where is he? Where is Jeremy?”

  Seth stepped forward, but Kit spun around, his fists raised to fight. The big man froze in place.

  “Where is Jeremy?” he demanded.


  His angel reached for him. He bared his teeth at her, but she was undaunted. He couldn’t hurt her. She was his angel. And her voice was so beautiful.

  “Jeremy isn’t here,” she said gently. “Do you know where you are?”

  He blinked, his eyes going in and out of focus. Memories rolled through his mind, unfolding over him, the weight suffocating his mind. He couldn’t breathe! And, God, he hurt. Everything hurt! His legs gave way and he landed hard on his knees.

  Then he felt her hands on his face. She shouldn’t touch his face. He tried to pull away, but she held him still, her scent weaving about him. Lavender and spice. She soothed his cheeks and brushed his hair from his eyes, just like his mother used to. He looked up at her and twisted away, just as he had as a child. But not far. Never far because he liked her scent. And the sound of her voice.

  “Mr. Frazier,” she said. “Kit, please look at me.”

  He could not refuse her. His mind was still oppressed, shackled to memories and buried beneath a surging ocean of weight. But her voice. Her face. That was not painful. He could look at her. He could hear her. And let the rest sink into silence. Her thumb stroked across his cheek and he smiled.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  “Angel,” he answered, though it took him a moment for the word to struggle past the weight.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  He winced. That required too much work, too much searching and his body began to tense with the effort.

  “Never mind,” she said quickly. “I know, and that’s good enough for now.”

  He didn’t have the strength to disagree. So he allowed his mind to collapse again and narrowed everything to just her. She glanced over to the side. To where Seth stood with a deep scowl on his face.

  “I think he just needs a little time. Do you mind leaving the lantern?”

  From the corner of his eye, Kit saw Seth shake his head. He set down the lantern, then folded his arms across his chest. The man wasn’t moving. But he did jerk his thumb at the boy called Grit. Grit nodded, then climbed across a barrel of potatoes before dashing away upstairs.