by Jade Lee
He heard and felt her exhale as they collided, but she was prepared. Despite the force of their impact, she wrapped her arms around him and held tight. Even her legs spread to trap him, but her skirt hampered them both. They fell sideways, missing his cousin by less than an inch, and rolled against the tea table.
Slave snarled, already trying to lift off her. It was Brandon he wanted, but she held on like a damned monkey. And her grip was too tight for him to easily lever himself off of her.
“Angel!” he growled. “Angel!”
“I won’t . . . let go! I won’t.”
He was fighting her, the table wobbling above them as he banged into it. In his peripheral vision, he saw Brandon roll to the side. In a moment, the man would be on his feet with Kit on the floor. And Angel as well! They could be killed like this! It was too vulnerable.
“Angel!” he gasped as he fought to both protect her and force her to release him. But it didn’t work. She wouldn’t let go. Then the teapot crashed to the floor right beside them, shattering as it landed. Shards of china and burning tea splattered his face. Hers too, as a thin line of blood appeared on her cheek.
“Angel!”
“No! I’m not leaving you!”
He stilled as her words penetrated his churning thoughts. He felt too the burn on his skin from the tea, and the tight clutch of Maddy’s arms as she held him with all her considerable strength. “I’m not letting you go,” she said again, her entire body vibrating with the force of her words. “I’m not.”
The rapid-fire thoughts in his mind began to slow. Sensations poured in, but now he could process them. He felt Maddy clutching him and realized she was solid enough to support his weight. He saw Brandon gain his feet, but not move to attack. And he felt his own heart beating erratically, not to fight, but because of her words.
“I’m not letting go. I’m not. I won’t.”
Inside his mind, Slave still raged. The fury remained, but somehow Maddy’s words made the rest settle. His hands lost their grip on her clothing. He stopped pressing into her ribs. And his breath stuttered out of his chest like a sick horse.
Then it happened. His mind finally stopped raging. Slave was silenced. His body stopped fighting. And in the quiet that remained, an agony began to grow. Like black water rising in his soul, there was no fighting it and no stopping it. It was beyond pain, beyond anguish. It was simply loss—raw and unfettered—and it buried him beneath the tide.
He screamed. He bellowed. He must have raged in a fit beyond imagining. He had no conscious awareness of it. There was only the black water killing him. And her. Wrapped around his body, whispering over and over and over.
“I won’t let go. I won’t let go.”
Time ceased to have meaning for Maddy. At first, all she knew was the anguish of the man in her arms. He didn’t realize it, of course, but it wasn’t just him that she embraced. As he shuddered in her arms, she too cried. She railed at the fate that had killed her father and sent her to care for a spoiled Rose and a lecherous uncle. She vented her fury at the Marriage Mart and the men who daily judged her lacking. And she cried for the man who had lost so much more than she had and who saw no way free of his pain. She cried as he did, and the release was as healing for her as she prayed it was for him. Either way, they made a pretty pair rolling about on the terrace.
She came back to herself before he did. After all, she’d had a few years to mourn her childhood, whereas he had just come face-to-face with the loss of the woman he loved. Maddy felt the aches in her body begin. Her arms trembled where she clutched him. Her head hurt where she had banged against the table. And her cheek stung from the shattered teapot. All these little annoyances began to push into her thoughts, but she resolutely ignored them. She would not release Kit until he was ready to face the world again.
And into this frozen tableau stepped Rose. Maddy should have expected it, of course. Rose would never hide away when something was happening. Besides, the girl believed herself to be the destined bride of the romantic pirate. She could not be that from upstairs.
So while Maddy still lay on the ground with Kit, the French doors opened and Rose stepped onto the terrace. Or rather, she tried to but was stopped by the sudden bulk of Lord Blackstone standing right in front of her.
“Oh my, Lady Rose! I am so glad you came down,” he said as he stepped bodily into her path. “I was most pleased that you could help me with my son. He is such a rapscallion,” he said as he advanced firmly upon her. Rose had no choice but to back up—back into the house—or be bowled over.
“Well, of course, my lord,” she said. “But as the children are well settled now—”
“Do you know,” said Lady Blackstone as she too followed her husband, easily blocking any view of Maddy and Kit on the floor, “I believe it’s going to rain. I think we shall have to settle inside. Lady Rose, have you seen my front salon? I vow it is most acceptable for tea. Not quite as comfortable as your home in town, I’m sure. In fact, would you care to give me some advice on the proper way to arrange it to look more stylish?”
“Well, of course, I would, Lady Blackstone. But—”
“Right this way, Lady Rose,” said Lord Blackstone.
Then their voices faded from hearing. Maddy exhaled in relief. Thanks to their hosts’ quick thinking, Rose wouldn’t see her current disreputable situation. Rose was always taking her to task over her country ways. Imagine what the girl would say to this! The thought was amusing enough that she found she could smile. And as Kit had come to his own place of peace, she soon realized that he was looking at her. Sadly, his expression was anything but amused.
“It’s all right, Kit. I’m not insane.”
He rolled slowly off her, shifting his weight such that he could free one hand from beneath her body, though their legs were still intertwined. She eased her grip as well, trying not to wince as blood seeped back into her fingers. Her efforts were in vain. He saw every flicker of her expression as his gaze never left her face. And when one of his hands was free, he lifted it to her cheek, wiping away the tears and the blood.
“I have hurt you,” he said softly.
“And yet I am still here. And still smiling, I might add.”
His fingers trailed across her mouth and she tasted salty wetness on her lips.
“How do you feel, Kit?”
His expression shifted then, flowing through myriad emotions, none very clear. In the end, his eyes simply turned tragic. “They are so happy,” he said softly.
She didn’t need to know who he meant. He referred to Lady Blackstone and her husband. “Yes,” she said as gently as she could. “Very much in love.”
Kit nodded, the movement almost too tiny to perceive. But they were nose-to-nose, so there was nothing in his body that she did not know, including a warm and very present thickening in his groin.
“And Alex is happy too. His family embraced him, his father wept, and his mother . . .” Kit sighed. “His mother is still alive.”
It took a moment for Maddy to remember that Kit’s mother was dead. And the head of his family was Michael, the Earl of Thornedale, who had declared him dead while secreting him away on a doomed boat. “Do you begrudge them their joy?” she asked quietly. She did. A tiny part of her hated them all for being so happy when she was not.
“I don’t want Scheherazade,” he said softly. “I swear to God that I don’t. But I want her life. I want Alex’s family. I want . . .”
“To be happy again.”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against hers. She was becoming more aware of his organ, thickening hot and hard against her hip. If only she could succumb to the physical desire they felt for each other. If only she could let him come to her at night again, let him strip away all of her cares as easily as her clothing. Then, for a time, she would feel happy. She would likely feel ecstatic!
He groaned and rolled away from her. Not far, but enough so that she could no longer feel the press of his organ a
gainst her. “What has become of me?” he said, his gaze looking up at the sky. “Angel, I can barely breathe for the emptiness.”
“It is like your soul is gone, and your body just a shell,” she said, thinking of her life just after her father died. “And all you feel is—”
“Loss. And anger.”
“Such anger,” she whispered.
He turned his head toward her, and she read tenderness in his eyes. “I am so sorry about your father,” he said.
Her mouth curved into a healing smile. “I’m so sorry the Earl of Thornedale is an arrogant idiot. Either one could be forgiven, but combined . . .”
“Do you know, he is considered influential in politics.”
She groaned. “God save England.”
His lips twitched in humor, but the lightness quickly faded from his eyes. So she levered herself upright such that she was sitting and looking down into his rugged face. “Do you remember what Alex’s sister said to you?”
He covered his eyes with his forearm. “She is but a child.”
“She said you were a man who made his own luck.”
“I have nothing,” he said, still hiding behind his arm. “A ship that is not seaworthy and a crew who needs to be paid. No cargo and no reputation with which to find one.” His arm dropped away and he looked into her eyes. “I can’t even pay next month’s rent on my rooms. I got them for Alex, so he would not have to sleep on board. And because the ship’s repairs would send me to land anyway. But I have no money for next month’s rent. In four weeks’ time, I could very well be in debtor’s prison.”
“You had less than that as a slave,” she reminded him. “And yet you bought your freedom.”
He sighed. “I was lucky, then. And patient. It took months, but Venboer came to trust me a little. And with that little freedom, I found opportunities. I became a thief, first to steal food, then gold and jewelry. I secreted it away, hoarded it.” He shook his head. “I did such things, angel.”
“You made your own luck. And in time, you bought your freedom. And from there, you created more luck. You survived as a freed slave in Africa. And now you have a ship and a crew, and you have given Alex back his life.” She leaned forward and stroked a finger across his cheek. “Such a man can do anything.”
His expression shifted, but not to anger. She could see the fury drain from him, and the emptiness fill with . . . something. Not passion, not hunger, not even hope, but a curious mixture of all three. Plus awe, she realized when he spoke. His words held awe.
“How is that you can say such things?” he whispered. “After all that you suffer, how can you believe them?”
She smiled. “With you, it is easy.” How she wanted to kiss him then. She could read the desire in him as well. But they were outside in full view of anyone who cared to look. So she forced herself to remember that she was an unmarried miss, a woman who needed to guard her virtue closely. She pushed to her feet with a sigh. “Rose can be distracted only so long, you know. And she is not a fool. She will want to know what happened to us.”
He nodded, and she saw his mind reluctantly shift to polite excuses. “We were taking a walk to see the creek.” He shot her a mischievous look. “Your countrified ways, you know. You insisted on looking and then you slipped and fell.”
“I did no such thing! My footing is always secure!”
“Very well, then I slipped and brought you tumbling in after me.”
“But we are not wet, Mr. Frazier. And anyone with half a mind would know that we did not fall in a creek bed.”
“On the contrary, Miss Wilson,” he said as he quite deliberately rolled his backside in a puddle of spilled tea. “I am quite wet and you are quite dirty. I most sincerely doubt that a London chit will notice the difference.”
Well, a London girl might, if she had a scientific or logical bent. But that was definitely not Rose, and so Maddy ended up nodding in agreement. “It will have to do, I suppose. I can think of no other polite excuse for my appearance.”
He pushed to his feet, coming to stand before her. His hair was mussed, and his clothing appeared exactly as one would expect from a man who had been brawling.
“Mr. Frazier . . .” she began, though she had no idea what she intended to say.
He stepped right up to her; then he took her head in his hands and he pressed his mouth to hers. She had time to stop him, but she didn’t. She wanted to feel his mouth. She needed to open herself to him and let him plunge inside.
It was over too quickly. The push of his tongue, the invasion of her mouth was only long enough to make her body arch into his.
“You must call me Kit,” he said when he had stepped a polite distance away.
“And invite you to my wedding,” she said, her heart breaking as she reminded herself just how unwanted she was.
His gaze dropped to the ground, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I am not a man, angel, but a beast wearing a man’s form.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“You don’t understand!” His voice was harsh, his expression abruptly feral. The shift was so sudden and so startling that she gasped. Then he sighed, obviously pulling his body and his mind back under control. “You were right to make me come here,” he said and she blinked at the sudden shift in topic. “I needed to see this, needed to face what could have been.”
“Can you let it go now?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
His nod was slow but unconvincing. “But I should finish the task,” he said slowly. “Go visit my brother.”
“It’s a good idea,” she said calmly, though inside her heart crumbled at the thought of him leaving London. “He is your family. He will help you remember who you were before all this.”
She said the words, even made them especially bracing, but not for him. They were for herself. She had to go back to Rose and to Uncle Frank. They were her family and quite possibly her only future. After all, he had just said in the carriage that she would not be his wife. Did she think that another episode would change that undeniable fact? If anything, it only underscored how very unsuitable he was as a husband.
Only a fool would feel such aching sadness that he was leaving London. He was not a viable candidate for a husband, and it served her no good to spend time on his difficulties. Two full minutes of this silent tirade braced her spine and refocused her on her goal: a husband, a marriage. With someone who was decidedly not Mr. Frazier. And at the end of those minutes, she looked up to see him watching her, his blue eyes shuttered, his expression closed.
“I am ready,” she said firmly.
He didn’t respond except to hold out his arm. She took it carefully, only allowing the tips of her fingers to touch his arm. And she kept the maximum possible distance between them as they crossed into the house.
It wasn’t hard to find Rose. The woman was chattering about settee fabrics. Kit took the lead the moment they entered the salon. He apologized profusely for their disreputable appearance, explaining about his fall near the creek. And if Rose looked at them both with narrowed eyes, she didn’t question his statement. She couldn’t, what with Lord and Lady Blackstone laughing so loudly about his clumsiness.
And then, just when Maddy thought they had escaped unscathed, her cousin smiled sweetly and clapped her hands. “Well, I am so glad that you are here now, Mr. Frazier. We can discuss the details of my tea. You promised to attend, you recall. And now Lord and Lady Blackstone have agreed as well.”
“Rose,” said Maddy with a sigh. “Rose, it won’t do. Lady Blackstone cannot travel that far. Not in her condition.”
“Nonsense,” returned Rose blithely. “She was just telling me that she goes to her playhouse at least once a week. It is hardly much farther to my home, you know.”
“But—” began Maddy.
“I will of course go,” Lady Blackstone interrupted, her gaze shifting from first Rose to Maddy and then finally to Kit. “But only if Mr. Frazier will agree to escort me. Is it possible, Kit?
Do you think you could join me and Brandon on the ride into the city?”
Everyone turned to Kit, including Maddy. She was closest to him, so she could see the minute struggles on his face. In the end, he lost his battle with his cheery exterior. His social smile faded, and his eyes held regret. “I am sorry, beauty,” he said to Rose. “I’m afraid I have to leave London as soon as possible.”
“What?” Rose gasped. “Now? But where will you go?”
Kit shrugged. “To my brother Donald. I’m afraid I need to borrow some money. I have a ship and a crew that require cash immediately.”
“Well, as to that,” Lord Blackstone said, the rumble of his voice deep and slightly embarrassed. “I made some inquiries after we, um, met the other night. Scher and I would like to help, Kit. We’d like to invest.”
Maddy felt the shock hit Kit’s body, a shudder that trembled through his body into hers. “I . . . What?” he gasped.
Lady Blackstone reached behind her to clasp her husband’s hand. “The playhouse generates cash, Kit. Not a lot, but a steady profit. We would like to buy an interest in your shipping venture.”
Kit gaped at them. “Shipping venture?”
“You have a boat, right?” inserted Rose. “That’s a shipping venture. They want to give you money so you can stay in London and attend my tea!”
Maddy looked to Kit. His eyes were wide, his body still tense with shock, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps he couldn’t believe in what was being offered. “Goodness,” she drawled, “that sounds very lucky, don’t you think?”
He turned his gaze to her, but his expression remained unreadable except for his general surprise.
“There’s nothing lucky about it,” growled Lord Brandon. “I’ve been looking for a venture. I made inquiries, talked to his crew.”
“You talked to my crew?” Kit asked.
Lord Blackstone nodded. “Went to your ship first thing after . . . well, when I woke in London. Met a man named Puck and learned an earful, all of it good. The crew’s good, but the ship isn’t. We can help you with that. Pay for the repairs as an investment in your company.”