by Jo Goodman
Kenna was within three steps of the bed when Rhys’s hands gripped her waist, spun her, and lifted her the few inches necessary to bring her lips to his. His mouth ground against hers in a kiss that was not punishing, but desperate.
Rhys swallowed Kenna’s soft moan as he lowered her to the floor. Stunned by the quickening of her own desire at Rhys’s demanding caresses, Kenna guided him into her, unwilling to tolerate the sweet torment of his mouth and hands. Rhys’s thrust was hard, claiming her powerfully and, in turn, finding himself claimed.
“Look at me, Kenna,” he whispered as their bodies thrummed with sensuality.
She did. She wanted to. The darkness surrounding them was not so dark as Rhys’s eyes and she lost herself in the black whirlpool that was his gaze. She did not know that her own features held Rhys spellbound. He stared at her mouth, her moist, slightly parted lips, waiting to hear the soft sounds of her pleasure then take them from her, feeling the vibration of her urgent little cries against his mouth.
His body excited her, incited her. Kenna was greedy for his every touch. Her hands clasped his taut buttocks, pressing him inside her, loving the warm intimacy of his lean body.
Her body fired him, fevered him. Rhys was eager for her every touch. His hands cupped the underside of her breasts, feeling the quickening of her heart, loving the heated response of her supple body.
The tension in Kenna and Rhys exploded and shimmered through their bodies. Tiny bursts of tingling pleasure pulsed in their flesh, touching their very souls.
Their ragged breathing slowed in unison. Rhys started to lift himself from Kenna.
“No, stay.”
“I’m too heavy.”
“I like it. Just a little while longer.”
He kissed her and rolled onto his back so that she covered him. “I like it, too.”
Kenna pressed her face against his neck. “I love you.”
“You make me happy, Kenna.”
“I make you angry.”
“That, too. But I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for a moment.”
Kenna touched her mouth to his throat in the lightest of kisses, then drew back. “Where are we going to sleep?”
For an answer Rhys reached for a blanket hanging over the edge of the bed and dragged it to the floor. A pillow dropped beside it. “That damn bed is simply too far away.”
Kenna murmured her agreement as she slipped to her side and Rhys covered them with the blanket. In minutes they were asleep, oblivious to the unyielding hardness of the floor.
Alexis gave a happy shout as she sighted Harmony’s square rigging. She handed her eyeglass to Tanner and ordered the appropriate change of course. In under an hour the Artemis pulled alongside the ship she had been relentlessly pursuing for five days. Alexis and Tanner boarded the Harmony as Captain Botti extended a rather bewildered greeting.
“This is most unusual,” he said in the next breath, returning his cap to his head. “Most irregular.”
“We cannot argue with that,” said Tanner.
Botti was somewhat mollified. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re here about one of your passengers.”
The captain paled. He could think of only two things that might induce the Clouds to chase him: one of his passengers was wanted by the authorities or worse, was suspected of carrying disease. The thought of his ship in quarantine did not set well with him. “Who are you looking for?”
“Michael Deveraux,” Alexis explained.
Color returned to Botti’s sea-toughened features. “The same young man you escorted to the ship?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Can’t help you then. Deveraux never sailed with us. Left the ship before we weighed anchor, not long after you and your friends walked away from the docks. Claimed he had forgotten to tell you something. I told him I wouldn’t hold the ship for him. Wind was right and I’ve got a schedule of sorts that I pride myself in keeping. Said he understood and took his things with him. Waited as long as I could. He never returned.”
Alexis frowned, turning troubled eyes to Tanner. “Is it too late to say I never much cared for Michael Deveraux?”
Tanner’s expression was just as grim as his wife’s. “Yes, I rather think it is.”
Chapter 11
“Alice? Where does Mrs. O’Hare keep the cinnamon?” Kenna pushed aside a lock of hair with the back of her hand, unwittingly leaving a streak of flour on her cheek. All of the servants had the day off and only Alice chose to remain at the house, doing some intricate needlework on the hem of one of Kenna’s gowns. Kenna shot a glance in Alice’s direction. The girl was sitting on a stool by the back door and her fingers hadn’t moved in more than ten minutes. Sighing, Kenna expertly peeled and quartered the last apple for the pie she was preparing. When she was done she began opening cupboards in search of the cinnamon.
“The one on your left, ma’am,” Alice said suddenly.
Kenna found it. “I thought you didn’t hear me. It must have been a pleasant daydream.”
Her voice was as wistful as her expression. “Very.”
“Why, Alice! I believe you were thinking of your beau!” The house had been abuzz this past week with the rumor that Alice had a suitor. The tasty bit of gossip had not bypassed Kenna who was told smugly by Mrs. Alcott that it wouldn’t last.
Two bright spots of color appeared in Alice’s cheek but her lips flattened in a sullen line. “Are you making light of me, Mrs. Canning?” She raised her chin a notch, ignoring Kenna’s obvious shock. “Just because I’m not picture of perfection doesn’t mean I can’t have a suitor.” She sniffed her contempt. “Some folks round here like to think they’re better than me.”
“I’m not one of them, Alice. And I wasn’t making light of your feelings. I think it’s wonderful that some young man has noticed what a fine person you are.” Kenna arranged sliced apples in the pie shell as she spoke. “What is he like?” she asked with sincere interest.
Alice was pacified. She returned to her embroidery. “He’s very kind,” she said. “And handsome.”
“Two qualities that have much to recommend themselves.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “He makes me laugh.”
Kenna smiled to herself as she added sugar, cinnamon, and freshly churned butter to the apples. “Then I wish you all the best, Alice. He sounds wonderful.”
“Mm. He is.”
“Is he coming by today?” Kenna rolled out another circle of dough then placed it on top of the filling. She sliced away the overhanging edges of dough from the pie plate and then pinched the rim of the crust between her thumb and forefinger. “Is that why you stayed here?”
“Yes. He said he would,” Alice admitted, looking somewhat defiantly at Kenna as if she anticipated her disapproval. “Are you upset?”
“Not at all.” Humming softly, Kenna placed the pie in the oven then wiped her palms on her apron.
“He said you wouldn’t be,” Alice said thoughtfully and explained quickly, “I told him I wouldn’t be alone here, as if I would invite him if I were. I said you never went to the warehouse on the day you give us off, that you liked to fix Mr. Canning’s dinner yourself.”
“I like to prepare my own dinner as well,” she said. She looked around the kitchen, surveying the disorder with a certain amount of pride, then proceeded to begin cleaning up. Mrs. O’Hare had never made it a secret that Kenna was an intruder in her kitchen. The cook would not speak to her for a week if she misplaced so much as one spoon or left the kitchen in any condition but immaculate. “Would you like to meet with your suitor in the parlor?”
Alice shook her head. “I thought we would go for a walk.”
“It’s a lovely day for it.” Kenna looked out the window above the sink as she wiped scraps of dough off the bread board. Sunlight touched her face, caressing her features with its pleasant warmth. “Can I prepare you something for lunch?” She wished it were not so many hours until Rhys came home. She wished they were s
haring the day as Alice planned to do with—. “What is your young man’s name, Alice? You never said.”
The back door opened and Alice gave a little squeal of delight. “Here he is, Mrs. Canning. This is—.”
“It’s all right, Alice darling. Mrs. Canning and I have already met.”
Kenna dropped the bread board as she spun away from the sink. “You!” It was the only thing she could think to say. How in God’s name had he found her? Her hands clutched the counter for support as she faced the man she knew as Mason. She searched her memory for his last name. Rhys had mentioned it once. Devon. Devers, Deverell. That was it. Deverell.
Kenna glanced at the paring knife on the table and in the next second leaped for it. She held it up threateningly. “Get out of here, Mason!”
Mason leaned against the door frame, perfectly at ease. “So you do remember me. How flattering.”
Alice’s face registered equal parts horror and bewilderment. “Mrs. Canning! What are you doing?”
Kenna ignored her. “Alice,” she said sharply. “I want you to take the carriage and go directly to the warehouse. Tell my husband that Mason Deverell is here.”
“But—”
“Now, Alice! Go now! Hurry!”
Alice was certain Kenna had taken leave of her senses but for all her defiant airs, Alice was used to taking orders. She put her sewing on the stool and took a step away from Mason, an apology in her eyes for her employer’s strange behavior.
Mason grabbed Alice’s wrist and pulled her to him. Neither of the women saw how he produced a knife, but suddenly it was there, its cutting edge against Alice’s slender throat. “Put your knife down, Mrs. Canning, or I will not hesitate to use this on Alice.”
Kenna did not doubt him. His crystalline blue eyes bored into hers and her fingers unfolded. The knife clattered to the floor. “Let Alice go. You don’t want her.”
Mason chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
Alice’s face crumpled and she sobbed once. The knife nicked her throat and a drop of blood appeared on the wound.
“Careful, Alice,” Mason warned her. “Come here, Mrs. Canning.”
Kenna shook her head. The subtle hint of an accent in his speech grated on her nerves.
Mason pressed the knife against Alice’s throat. Another drop of blood appeared, staining the edge of the blade. “Come here.” Kenna stepped forward and Mason held out his free hand. “Give me your hand.” Kenna put her hand into his. Mason gave Alice a hard shove and pulled Kenna against him, holding the knife to her throat now.
Alice bumped into the corner of the table, clutching her throat and weeping piteously.
“Leave here, Alice,” Kenna said. “Leave while you can.”
“Don’t do it,” Mason countermanded Kenna’s order calmly. “You don’t want to have Mrs. Canning’s death on your conscience, do you?”
Alice shook her head, unable to lift her head and meet Kenna’s eyes. She was sick with shame that she was somehow responsible for what was happening.
“Good. I want you to go upstairs and pack some clothes for Mrs. Canning. Put whatever you think necessary into a valise. Pack a few things for yourself as well. The three of us will be leaving shortly. Go on, Alice.” When she hesitated he snapped. “Now!”
Alice fled the room, her sobs fading as she took the stairs two at a time.
Mason pushed Kenna toward the table where he picked up the paring knife and pocketed it. “I want you to clean up this mess and do it quickly.” He could feel her resistance and gave her a little shake. “Do it!”
“Why should I? You’re going to kill me. Why should I care if I leave a clean kitchen behind?” She despised the quaver in her voice.
“Because I am not going to kill you, not unless you become completely uncooperative. If I had wanted to kill you I had opportunity some time ago. Have you forgotten the carriage accident?”
“That was you?”
“Do you doubt it? I saw you coming down the path and was afraid you would recognize me. I spurred my mount on but he veered too closely to your carriage. You handled it very well. As I said, I have no plans to kill you. I am going to hold you for ransom and a clean kitchen is necessary to my plans.”
“Rhys will not give you a sou.” She finally identified his faint accent as French. His command of English was truly remarkable.
“Clean the kitchen,” Mason said tightly. He eased the knife from her throat.
Kenna took off her apron and used it to wipe off that table. She wrapped the apple peelings in newspaper and threw the bundle in a barrel standing in one corner of the pantry. Next, she washed the few utensils she used, put them away, and then threw out the dishwater. “Satisfied?” she asked scornfully.
“Put the apron away. Sweep the floor.”
Kenna did as she was told. Alice returned to the room with two valises as she was putting the broom in its place.
“Sit down at the table, Kenna. Alice, get some paper, ink, and a pen for Mrs. Canning. She has a letter to compose.”
Alice dropped the valise and fled the room. Kenna sat down, her shoulders slumping as she stared helplessly at her hands. Much too soon Alice returned with the writing implements and under Mason’s direction she placed them on the table in front of Kenna.
“Come here, Alice.” She cast one fearful glance in Kenna’s direction before she stepped in front of Mason. He twisted her around and pulled her hands behind her back, putting his knife between his teeth while he bound her wrists with a length of rope he extracted from his pocket. He took the knife from his mouth, shoving Alice into a chair. “Now write, Mrs. Canning. I want you to compose a suitable missive to your husband, telling him you have reconsidered your position and have decided you cannot live here any longer. Explain that you cannot be satisfied with your husband’s attempts to find your father’s murderer and Dunnelly’s traitor. You have decided to find these things for yourself; therefore, you are leaving him.”
Kenna paled as Mason basically outlined the content of her last argument with Rhys. “How did you know these things?” Alice’s sharp sob gave her the answer. The girl had been listening shamelessly at the door! “Alice! How could you!”
“I heard you scream one night,” Alice defended herself. “I came to see if you were all right. I thought Mr. Canning was beating…but then I realized I was wrong and I listened to you, just to make it right in my own mind. I heard what you said about your father. Then the day of your carriage accident, I was bringing you tea, and I heard you arguing again. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I couldn’t help myself. I was worried for you. Honestly.” Two tears slipped from her eyes. “I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t! But he had a way of getting me to talk without my even knowing it.”
Kenna quite believed it. Mason Deverell was as handsome as he was unscrupulous and Alice would have been totally vulnerable to his easy, practiced charm.
“Be quiet, Alice. Write the letter, Kenna. Oh, and make some mention that you are taking your personal maid with you.”
A protest came automatically to Kenna’s mind but she hurriedly bit it back. So Mason thought Alice was a lady’s maid, did he? No doubt Alice had thought to elevate her position in the house and told Mason the lie to impress him. Kenna could have kissed the girl then for giving herself airs. It was precisely the thing she needed to write that would make Rhys suspicious. What a lovely irony that Mason had ordered her to do it.
Mason looked over Kenna’s shoulder while she wrote the letter. It took three attempts until he announced he was satisfied. He folded the letter, put it in his pocket before tied Kenna’s wrists as he had Alice’s. Making a quick tour of the house with both women in front of him, Mason made certain Alice had left no incriminating message behind in her own room or Kenna’s. He returned the ink, pen, and paper to the study and left Kenna’s letter on the desktop. Pushing the women toward the kitchen again, he forced them each to carry a valise then directed them out the back door.
Alice
glanced at Kenna nervously as they were ordered to enter the closed carriage in the stable. Kenna realized that Alice was looking to her for guidance, expecting her to somehow put everything right again, and Kenna hadn’t the vaguest notion of how that could be accomplished. Mason had planned this abduction with infinite care.
Kenna and Alice followed Mason’s curt instructions and lay down on opposite seats with their backs to one another. Mason tied Kenna’s ankles first then used a short length of rope to lash the ankle and wrist cords together, making it impossible for her to do anything but roll or perhaps move about on her knees. When he had done the same to Alice he gagged them both with rags he found in the stable. Just when Kenna thought he could not do anything more to either of them Mason proved her wrong. After tossing the two valises on the floor of the carriage he disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a bridle. Using his knife to cut away the reins, he tied one of the leather ribbons around Kenna’s neck, one around Alice’s, then attached the ends to the carriage’s door handle.
“In the event either one of you decide to throw yourself from the carriage,” he explained, throwing the damaged bridle on top of the valises. “This is fair warning that you’ll likely break your neck.” He closed the carriage door, slackening the tethers, then harnessed and hitched two mounts. His bound companions rocked helplessly as the carriage jerked once before it started on its journey.
With a great deal of difficulty Kenna managed to turn over so she could see Alice. The other girl struggled to turn also. When they finally faced each other they independently decided the effort was worth it. There was a certain amount of comfort in being able to see each other even though they remained powerless to do anything about their situation.
Kenna estimated an hour had passed when the carriage was brought to a halt. She glanced up at the door, trying not to show her fear as Mason appeared. He shook his head as he noted their rearranged positions. “I can see these tethers were necessary,” he said. He loosened Alice’s leash on the door handle and gave it a rough tug so that Alice was pulled to the floor. Her cry of pain was muffled by the gag. Kenna watched in horror as Mason grasped Alice’s shoulders and hauled her out of the carriage. He did not bother to close the door and Kenna realized a moment later he had left it open on purpose. He wanted her to see what he was doing to Alice.