by Laura Parker
So he struck back. He told her that Briarcliffe was searching London for her, that he’d come to the Comte de Valure’s rooms demanding to know where Jack could be found, for he had discovered that Cassie was not at Mother Tess’s.
She’d looked at him then with those great dark eyes, in pained puzzlement like a child who’d been punished for a transgression she did not understand. Then she’d said, “Despite all, he is my husband.” Why had she insisted upon that even now?
There’s Adam. He needs the protection of a decent man.
The memory of her words ripped him like hot tongs, and rage shuddered through Merlyn. He had looked about him in faint contempt, but the urge now died. He was fooling himself. He was still one of them: a thief, a rascal, and a commoner. That was why she scorned him.
In his mind’s eye he saw Cassie’s frightened gaze, the golden dark honey eyes watching him in fright and distrust and loathing. He knew then all the Blue Ruin in London would not erase it from his mind.
Merlyn stood up so quickly he toppled Polly off his knee onto the floor.
“I’m a fool to save you from the fate you so truly desire,” Merlyn roared, seeing through a gin blur not Polly but Cassandra at his feet. “You’d have Nick when it’s I who set your blood afire. Well, you’ll stay by me awhile, like it or not. You’ll stay with me till the day you admit it’s my caress you desire. One night you’ll beg me. That night I’ll make you admit it’s I you crave!”
Polly swore at him before she remembered his bulging purse. Looking up through her lashes, she found him staring black as thunderclouds down at her. Not bothering to lower her petticoats which had fallen back from her wide-open legs, she smiled. “Like what ye see, guv’nor? ‘Tis cold down ‘ere. Why don’t ye help me up and we’ll retire abovestairs?”
Merlyn dashed a hand across his brow, surprised to realize the hum and scattered laughter of the Fox and Hound had died. All at once he noticed Polly sitting on the floor. He frowned. “Get up, girl. The floor’s filthy.” Reaching across her, he picked up his hat from the table and moved to the doorway.
Polly screamed invectives at his retreating back, but Merlyn didn’t hear them. He’d never yet given up any jewel he’d stolen, and Cassie was the rarest gem of them all. He would keep her until he could exact his revenge.
He paused, weaving slightly on his feet. Revenge for what? Revenge because he’d fallen in love with her and she did not return that love? No, because she detested him. It shamed her to think her body burned for the embrace of a common thief, a lowly gypsy. But she did burn for him as no woman ever had, he thought triumphantly, remembering soft kisses from her tender lips. Until she admitted it, he knew, he’d never be free to forget her. And he wanted to be free now. The bewitching spell of love made him feel and act like a madman.
When the man jostled against him he was ready, not because he saw the two fellows follow him out of the Fox and Hound but because the explosion that had ridden just beneath the surface the evening long had begun to erupt. He put out one long leg and hooked it around the knee of the man who had bumped his shoulder and jerked the dodge from his feet. At the same time he withdrew a small lead-weighted cudgel from his pocket and brought it down with brutal satisfaction on the head of the second man, who was reaching for his purse. He didn’t even look back over his shoulder at the havoc he had wreaked.
Make him love her, had she? He’d just see about that!
The public coach was filled to capacity. Six passengers sat inside and six sat outside braving the wind and weather of an autumn squall that had blown in from the coast. The leaden clouds spilled a steady stream of wet cold upon the day, and for the third time in an hour Cassandra wondered about those passengers sitting outside overhead, just behind the coachman.
“ ‘Tis fine weather for ganders,” commented one passenger, noting Cassandra’s continual gaze toward the roof.
Cassandra looked down into the frankly smiling eyes of the apple-cheeked woman who sat across from her. Wrapped in a fur-lined cape which matched the dull brown velvet of her traveling gown, she was obviously a lady. Perhaps a squire’s wife returning home after a shopping spree in London, Cassandra decided, reading in her open face and unpowdered brown hair the simplicity of country life.
As if she’d read Cassandra’s thoughts the woman said, “I’m never one to stand on ceremony. Agnes Watters is me name, but the squire calls me Nessie. That’s a fine babe you have. Same black hair and blue eyes as his handsome sire.”
The squire’s wife nodded pleasantly at Merlyn, who sat by Cassandra’s side, and he chuckled in appreciation. “Aye. I’m proud of my little family,” he said in a country burr, slipping an arm around Cassandra’s waist and drawing her nearer so that from shoulder to knee the heat of his body touched her. “She’s a sweet little thing, is my Cassie.”
Anger pinked Cassandra’s cheeks, but Lady Watters mistook it for passion of another kind. “Like lovebirds you are,” she said, smiling. “Reminds me of meself and the squire our first years. Wasn’t a thing could keep us apart after sunset. First twelve years, twelve sons to show.”
Merlyn heard Cassie’s gasp of outrage with satisfaction as his fingers curved up from her waist to touch the underside of one breast. “She’s shy yet, but babes will settle her,” he returned in good humor.
“ ‘Twas like that with me, too. The squire’s a full-blooded man, couldn’t keep his hands off me two minutes running. Me mam said marry him before I was breeding more than rumors. ‘Tis a smart lass what drags her man to the altar first.” She winked at Cassandra.
Under the guise of resettling Adam in her arms, Cassandra jabbed Merlyn sharply in the ribs with her elbow. “Sorry,” she murmured unrepentantly, “but ‘tis a horrid crush.”
Merlyn did not remove his arm. Instead, his hand wandered up and boldly cupped her breast firmly. “Don’t fret, my love,” he said loudly enough for the other passengers to hear. “Your impatience will be rewarded. I’ve just enough shillings to ensure us a private bed at the coach inn.”
This declaration caused the four other passengers to smother their giggles and chuckles behind their hands.
Cassandra turned to face Merlyn, furious that he’d deliberately embarrassed her. He smiled down at her, an openly provocative grin on his sensual mouth. For an instant, she was seized by the desire to throw an arm about his neck and bring his head down to where she could wipe that smile away with her own lips. The impulse got the better of her. She raised her hand and laid it against his cheek. Quickly he followed her lead, lowering his head to her upturned face. Too late she saw the glint of desire spark the flame in his single blue eye. She could only meet the heat of his parted lips with a tremor that was part surprise, part desire.
She expected to be crushed and cruelly taken advantage of. Instead, his lips were persuasively gentle, resting a moment on hers before his tongue darted through and briefly touched hers in a gesture that curled her toes in their satin slippers.
Merlyn dragged his mouth from hers with the greatest reluctance, aware that not only had she accepted his kiss but she had initiated it. The knowledge surprised him, for she had not spoken to him since he returned drunk and sullen from the Fox and Hound the night before. Gazing down into her lovely flushed face, he was struck by a new thought. He’d never been kind to her, not really, only when he needed to calm her fears.
“Ain’t he a card?” Nessie Watters remarked with a knowing nod. “You’ll be like me, Cassie, a dozen strong babes to show for the years you spend with your young man.”
Cassandra was saved from a reply by Adam, who stretched and began to make hungry noises as he sucked his fist. A moment of dismay kept her from reacting. There were three other passengers in the coach, all of them male.
“Here, Cassie, my love,” she heard Merlyn say a moment before his heavy cloak was laid about her shoulders. Underneath the cover she felt him loosening the strings that laced the back of her gown. When that was done, he
put one long arm about her shoulders, holding the cloak so that she was shielded from the curious gazes of the other passengers as she fed her child. The gesture touched her, erasing the teasing of moments before, and she glanced up at him with eyes full of gratitude.
Merlyn smiled calmly back at her, but, inside, he was strangely moved. Did so small a thing really please her? Did she not know how much it delighted him to find any excuse to touch her? Then he remembered how trustingly she had behaved in Newgate. She had believed him when he said he would free her. Later, she had believed him when, in the disguise of the comte, he had promised to help her escape the marquess. She believed so much of what he said. Would she believe him if he said he loved her, wanted her to stay with him forever? Or would she remember that he was a common criminal, capable of any and all vices? Merlyn frowned. What had he to lose by trying kindness?
A sharp cry of “Chatham” roused the half-dozing passengers an hour later.
“That’ll be me squire waiting on the road!” Nessie Watters said when the coach had rocked to a halt, and she threw open a window to peer out.
The gloom of night had little effect on the spirits of the passengers as they piled out into the road to be eagerly solicited by lantern-bearing boys hired by the nearest half dozen roadway inns. Crys of fresh linen, goose-down ticks, and warm ale mingled with shouts of greetings from friends meeting those passengers leaving the coach.
Merlyn fastened his cloak around Cassandra’s chin before he took Adam in his arm and helped her down into the muddy lane.
“There!” he shouted and pointed toward the open door of the nearest inn. With his guiding arm about her shoulders, he hurried them through the rain to the inviting warmth.
Moments later Cassandra stood in a small room at the back of the inn. “ ‘Tis the best we got,” the innkeeper volunteered, his eyes moving from her to her escort. “Quality sleeps here. Room’s off the road. Ye’ll sleep deep as death with none to disturb ye.” When he stuck out his hand Merlyn dropped some coins into it.
“Two pints of ale and a warm supper, immediately.”
The commanding voice instantly answered the innkeeper’s unspoken question. Quality, absolutely, even though his unpowdered hair and eyepatch gave the man the wicked look of a highwayman. The proof lay in his accent. “Aye, that ye’ll be havin’.”
When he was gone Cassandra moved to sit before the fireplace, where fresh logs had been coaxed into flame. She held Adam on her lap and removed his outer blanket, which had gotten soaked in the brief traverse from coach to inn. Only then did she notice that Merlyn had not moved from the doorway but stood with his back to her, his head cocked to one side as if listening.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Merlyn turned back to the room, a deep cleft between his brows. “The last man to leave the coach, the tall, skinny one with the red wool scarf about his neck, he seemed uncommonly interested in your direction.”
Cassandra wrinkled her brow in thought. In truth, she had given little attention to the passengers. “Did he ride above?” At his nod, she smiled. “Perhaps he thought me pretty.”
“Perhaps,” Merlyn returned in a disbelieving voice. “I’m going below. Come here and lock the door. Open it for no voice but mine.”
Reluctantly, Cassandra rose to her feet and laid Adam on the bed. “What if the innkeeper returns with dinner?”
“Tell him to set it in the hall,” Merlyn replied flatly. “Lock the door, and don’t ask me why.”
A moment later he was gone and Cassandra was left to hang their rain-soaked clothing before the fire and nurse her ever-hungry infant. “Your father’s a very autocratic man,” she said to the child in her arms, and it made her happy to say the thought aloud.
Half an hour later, Merlyn returned.
“Well, did you see him?” Cassandra inquired when they sat down to the meal he had brought with him.
Merlyn sipped his ale and sighed. “He’d gone. Went into town and rented a horse not fifteen minutes after the coach arrived.”
“You followed him? Why, you’re soaked through!” she voiced in astonishment as she looked closely at his clothes.
“Afraid I’ll catch my death?” he asked with a softening of his scowl. “I suppose I should relieve myself of these sodden clothes.” He rose immediately to his feet and began undressing.
Cassandra tried to pretend that her dinner plate was fascinating, but his every action seemed to lure her gaze to him. He removed his leather riding coat and unfastened his waistcoat with rapid movements. His stock he unwound and laid over the back of her chair, with jabot and shirt quickly following.
The rational, prudent thing would be to fasten her eyes on the fire, Cassandra told herself. The rational part of her had no say when Merlyn removed his shirt and the firelight’s golden glow lit the planes of his torso. Unlike the thick inky mane on his head, silky fine hairs etched a more delicate path down the smooth, muscled wall of his chest. It fanned down from each flat nipple to a fine dark line that pointed to his navel before disappearing into his breeches.
Cassandra licked her lips, feeling a delicious, dizzy warmth of desire flood her loins. She knew she should look away, give him no advantage, but she could only raise overly bright eyes in a flushed face to meet his.
Merlyn stood perfectly still, as surprised by her reaction as she. The admiration in her gaze was innocent of guile or scheme. In spite of everything, she did find him attractive. The knowledge of that power made his belly quiver. If only he could, in good conscience, abandon himself to the pleasure they both desired. But that would be foolish when he expected trouble. “We’d best eat before it gets cold,” he said, sitting down quickly in his wet breeches before she saw the telltale signs of his passion.
Cassandra lowered her gaze back to her plate and picked up her fork while humiliation stung her cheeks fiery red. He had rejected her!
Serves me right, she scolded herself. She had gaped at him like any Soho trollop. There was no excuse to be had. Perhaps, for all men said, they wanted a woman only when it suited them. Her head dipped lower. Worse than a trollop, she’d not even waited for his demand to be made. Bewitched, that’s what she was. Merlyn, the wizard, had bewitched her beyond even the brazenness of a whore.
“You and Adam may have the bed,” Merlyn said when their dinner was finished. “You’ll need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we reach Dover, and our next night will be spent on a packet bound for France.”
“And you?” Cassandra questioned softly, uncertain what she wanted his answer to be.
“I’ll sit by the fire awhile,” he answered easily and reached for the bottle of brandy he had brought up with him.
Cassandra moved to the bedside. After a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain he had turned his face toward the fireplace, she loosened her gown and pulled it over her head. A moment later her petticoats and corset slid to the floor in a heap which she stepped over and climbed into the bed. Only when she sat in the middle of the feather tick removing pins from the lace mobcap that had kept her hair in place did she realize he was now watching her. Slowly, in heady realization of his gaze upon her, she uncoiled the heavy mass of mahogany hair and spread it fanlike over her shoulders.
It was the timeless unconscious feminine gesture of surrender that drove Merlyn to his feet in spite of himself. He did not so much cross the floor as draw near the lure held out to him. Quite unintentionally he found himself standing over her, and she looked up at him, her eyes nearly black in the dim light. Leaning down, he kissed her trembling mouth, which sighed under the touch of his lips. He could not make love to her, he told himself, yet his arms went around her, drawing her softness tight against his naked chest, and he groaned in pleasure. Only the thin layer of her sacque separated them, and then that, too, was gone and they lay back together on the bed.
The whimper of the child beside them claimed Cassandra’s attention, and automatically she tensed.
&nb
sp; Merlyn felt the change and blessed the breaking of the spell, but the throbbing at the base of his belly proclaimed him a fool as he backed away from her. He did not look at her, though he felt her wide, questioning eyes on his back as he returned to the chair before the fire. A gulp of brandy helped him catch his breath, and then he slumped down in the wing chair.
“Sleep, Cassie, my love,” he whispered after a moment when he heard her soft sobbing.
“What? What was that?” Cassandra sat up in bed, only to be caught in a viselike grip that trapped her arms by her sides, stopped her scream, and forced her back against the pillows.
“No words.”
It was said low, yet Cassandra knew it was Merlyn’s arms which now relaxed about her. Then she heard again a faint echo of the sound that had awakened her, and she turned her head toward the doorway. The latch was being lifted and a stealthy weight applied to the door itself. When it slowly opened, Cassandra knew the only reason she did not cry out was that she was holding her breath.
They were two darker silhouettes against the gloom of the hallway beyond, but Cassandra saw the distinct flash of a metal blade as it caught the dying firelight. They stood silently for so long she nearly called out in anxiety, but Merlyn’s weight held her firmly. They were staring at the contents of the room, studying it until they found the bed.
It happened all at once. Both shadows charged the bed and Merlyn rose up to meet them with a cry like a banshee’s. Cassandra screamed in sheer terror when the bed slid across the floor under their attack, and, grabbing up Adam, she jumped to the floor on the far side. She heard an unfamiliar oath a half second before the thud of fist on flesh. Whirling around, she saw one of the intruders flying back from Merlyn’s crouched form. A moment later she saw the second figure draw his knife.
“This here’s the one,” the figure said over his shoulder to his companion. “Him first, laddie. Then the girl.” He said nothing more, for Merlyn drew a blade from his top boot and sent it flashing across the darkened room to bury itself up to the hilt in the man’s chest. The intruder gave a scream of surprise, then toppled forward onto his face.