Perilous Risk (37 page)

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He glanced at her, his expression startled as though he’d forgotten where he was. His pupils were so dilated, she wondered how large of a dose of his opiate he had taken. Another jolt of alarm roiled through her.

“I thought you were asleep.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Tenderness softened his expression. “You keep thinking of what happened?”

“It is not far from my thoughts but no, that’s not why I can’t sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

She burned to ask him about his health, but would he simply put her off? She took a deep breath and struggled for a soft way to press the matter. “You look a little pale, Stephen.”

“I did not sleep well parted from you. The questions kept tormenting my mind. What they were doing with you? Would I get to you in time?” His look turned so serious. “I blame myself.”

“Don’t—it was all my fault for disobeying you. For distrusting you.”

He shook his head. “I knew you were having trouble trusting me. I understood your reasons. I should have made sure you were not able to escape me.”

She didn’t know what to say. For she knew that mere loss of sleep from worry or misguided guilt on his part wasn’t enough to make a virile man turn white as alabaster—or compel him to take large doses of opiates. But she also saw that obstinate finality in his eyes. She knew if she pressed him further about his pallor, he wouldn’t answer her truthfully. If she continued to ask and he refused, she would become hurt.

She might very well become angry.

And she didn’t want to be vexed with him. Not at this moment. So she let the matter rest. For the present.

She pulled herself up to sit.

He came to her and wrapped the blanket about her shoulders. “You must be drained, my darling, after such an ordeal.”

His scent wafted up from the blanket and she could picture that he had been riding in the carriage, coming to rescue her. And what? He had been ill and feeling cold? Why else would a healthy man in his prime need a blanket in his carriage? Another jolt of fear struck her heart. He was so ill and yet his first thoughts were for her well-being. She looked up at him. “Oh, Stephen, I am so sorry.”

He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “What are you sorry about?”

“For distrusting you.”

His expression opened. There was no other way to describe how his eyes brightened; it was as though a veil or a mask had fallen away, allowing her to see deeper into him than she ever had before. He was all Stephen. The same young man she had known years ago in the Dragoons. How could she have ever thought him otherwise?

“I can’t believe I let such unworthy suspicions come between us,” she said, trying desperately to swallow back a sudden pressure in her throat.

“I suppose it was inevitable. I was not open with you about myself.”

“How could you be? Goodness, that’s some secret.”

“I also had—how did you put it? Run roughshod over you. I was too high-handed.”

She didn’t know what to say. Yes, he had treated her quite high-handedly. But he’d done it out of protectiveness. She didn’t wish to dwell on their past differences right now.

“I am sorry, Rebecca. The situation seemed dire and you wouldn’t trust me. I did what I felt I had to in order to ensure your safety.” He sounded a little sleepier now. “My man betrayed me and for that I am sorry too.”

“How can that be your fault?”

“It is my place to keep my underlings in line.”

“I do not blame you for that.”

“I do.”

They fell silent for a time. She grew sleepy again and gradually slid down until her cheek rested against his woollen sleeve.

“Rebecca.” He spoke her name with ardent, unabashed affection.

“Yes, Stephen.” She could hear the difference in the way she spoke his name as well.

“Can you possibly accept my past? My life?”

His tension, all the energy of emotion that he was attempting to hold back, hung in the air between them. Or at least she fancied that it did. Her heart contracted for his discomfort, his need.

Then the meaning of his words settled upon her.

She caught her breath and her heart’s beat raced away with the speed of the carriage. Getting away from her. Trepidation because she had to face a profound truth. She
could
accept his past, his life. She could turn a blind eye to fact that he was a cold-blooded assassin.

She nodded and pressed her face deeper into the crook of his arm.

He laid his hand on the hair at her nape and gently pulled her head back.

She didn’t fight him but remained there, letting him cradle her head in his large hand.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

She complied.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“Yes, I accept you.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And your…
life
and your past.”

His eyes widened, the only sign he’d even heard her. But he didn’t move, as though he were waiting for something.

“I accept you completely. I give you my trust.” For some reason, her voice cracked. She swallowed and continued: “I give you all of myself.”

For a brief moment he looked stricken.

Alarm pricked her.

Then his jaw hardened, and fire flashed in his eyes.

A thrill raced through the centre of her chest, her belly. The impact of that sensation made her drop her jaw and take a gasping breath.

He tightened his hold on her hair and brought his mouth down and claimed hers in a kiss that seared her straight down to her toes.

They kissed as though they were starved for the taste of each other’s mouths, until they were breathless.

She pressed his chest and he tore his mouth from hers then cradled her to his chest. Their harsh panting breaths sounded loudly.

For the first time since they had so recently met again, his secrets were not standing between them.

Nothing stood between them as far as she was concerned.

Warmth, tenderness welled in her chest, filling her until she was sure she would burst with it. She poured the feelings out in the way she clung to his shoulders, caressed her hands over his back.

“Are you remembering?” His deep, hoarse voice vibrated into her chest.

“Yes, I remember.”

“You remember how we loved each other?”

“Yes, yes, I do.” She took a tremulous breath. “
I do
.”

“Every day, I would count the hours, the minutes until we could have our time together,” he said.

She nodded, unable to speak due to the burning pressure in her throat. But she remembered how impatiently she too had counted the moments. The tingling anticipation as the shadows of the day grew long and they could find time to share. To talk. He would attempt to teach her chess but she was never an apt student and they both knew it. It had provided a cover for what really was occurring between them. But they didn’t have to talk or play chess or anything. Sometimes they would just sit quietly in each other’s company and she had drawn strength just from that. She had craved his calm, quiet intelligence, his assurance. He had made her feel safe and tranquil in a way no else had ever done.

She swallowed hard, needing to speak now. “No one had ever listened to me as you did. No one was ever so patient with me. You made me feel that I mattered. You made me feel safe to just be me.”

“You were a light in the darkness of my life. I would not have made it through those days without you.”

“I had no one. No one but you.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Her throat burnt and she did not even attempt to fight the tears, instead she burrowed her head into his shoulder. “You were my dearest, dearest boy.”

“Oh Rebecca, my dearest love.”

His voice rang with such ardency. Had she ever believed a man would speak to her this way? No, she had not. Until this very moment, it would have terrified her.

But now, she was ready.

They clung to each other for what seemed a very long time as the carriage rolled along.

“I am no longer a boy,” he said at length, startling her out of the trance they had fallen into together.

“No, you’re not.”

“I will never love you as a boy loves a woman again.”

“No, I don’t suppose you will.”

“I know your nature, Rebecca.”

A curl of excitement swirled in her belly. “Yes, you certainly do.”

And it felt wonderful that he had not judged her for it. Had not rejected her for it.

“I will train you, discipline you, love you until you are mine, completely mine.” He stroked her hair with a gentle hand. “Do you understand?”

Dark, heated pleasure pulsed deep in her stomach, deeper into her womb, sending a surge of blood tingling through her sex. “I understand.”

* * * *

She had recognized St. James’s Park, now she stared at the impressive house. “Where are we?”

“This is my house.”

“Oh.”

“Where else would I take you?”

She smiled at him and trailed her fingers along the stubble on his cheek.

He grasped her hand and kissed it then laced his fingers with hers. “Come, let’s go inside.”

When the carriage door opened, the brisk air refreshed her, sending a wave of energy through her. She felt rested and restored from her ordeal. The adventure of starting over with him loomed on the horizon and it made her blood sing with anticipation like she had not felt in years.

But when he helped her down the carriage step, she winced. All her muscles were sore.

He took a quick assessing glance over her then swept her into his arms.

“I am getting too old for adventures, I think,” she said.

“Not too old. Just out of practice.” He put his lips to her temple.

Cold air ruffled the loose strands of her hair, and cut through the blanket wrapped about her. Well-being surged through her again and she hugged his neck tightly as he carried her up the steps to the door. His knock was quickly answered. But the tall, heavily built footman’s expression sent chills through Rebecca.

Another of Stephen’s men?

Stephen carried her up the stairs. The décor of his house was all walnut and dark green, without any gilt or brass candleholders or edgings or fancy mirrors to relieve the severity. No pictures or wallpaper on the walls. No scent of tobacco, for apparently Stephen never smoked. At least, she had never seen him smoke.

Cooking smells teased her nose and her stomach growled noisily. Yet, the sudden resurgence of her trepidation made her throat feel too tight to possibly eat just now.

Did she trust Stephen, the man she knew on the inside? Yes, absolutely she did.

But his world, his servants? Well, those were a little daunting to her.

He carried her to a bedchamber then to the huge bed that dominated the space. It was draped in heavy green velvet.

The footman who had accompanied them stripped back the coverlet to reveal snowy white sheets.

Stephen laid her on the bed then tersely ordered the servant to bring a hot bath.

She realized that he always spoke to his men that way, rather tersely, never more words than were required. Like someone commanding a dog?

No, surely not. She was just sensitive, tired, imagining things.

When the bath came, Stephen followed the servant back to the door then turned the lock.

She startled. Was that necessary in his house? Goodness.

He helped her remove her garments then she stepped into the bath and he washed her, despite her protests that she could do for herself. He took her hands in his own then examined the raw skin at her wrists and the cuts all over her hands and arms. And he swore, quite loudly and profanely. His vehemence made her jump.

Stephen’s blood boiled, he could feel it overheating his ears and curdling in his guts.

He was going to kill Gerard. Then he was going to kill Barnet. Or maybe the other way around. First Barnet then Gerard. Barnet had thought to have his ‘expert’ have a go at Rebecca? Well, his end wouldn’t be easy. Stephen would apply every bit skill of at torture that he had learnt over the years. Things he had seen from all over the world. Things even a man as evil and jaded as Barnet could not imagine.

Rebecca’s gasp startled him out of his vengeful fantasy.

He felt himself shaking. He had never felt such rage.

Seeing how she had paled, he realized how loudly and violently he had sworn. Realized that he was holding her hands too tightly now. He eased his grasp and took a long, deep ragged breath.

He shook himself mentally. God, he had never allowed his personal feelings to intrude in his work before. Suddenly, he was a young man again, powerless, vulnerable and faced with his uncle’s laughing disregard at his sister’s funeral.

Christ, he had not thought of that day, that life-altering moment, in years.