Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (28 page)

He lowered himself to her breasts. He loved this part of her so much. They were symbols of her femininity, utterly
soft, so delicate. He kissed them, reveling in their plump firmness. She gasped when his tongue touched their sensitive tips, teasing them into taut peaks that he rubbed his lips over, making her body arch with desire. For him.

All these years, and he’d been the only man to touch her thus. Something about that should shame him, he supposed, since he hadn’t been so pure. Yet an elemental pride welled from somewhere deep within him. This beautiful, exquisite woman was his. She’d always been his, and his alone.

He slid his hand between her legs. She was already slick for him, and he smiled to himself, a smile of pure male satisfaction. The way he’d toyed with her breasts had aroused her.

He kissed her again, moving his hand between her legs as he did so. Beneath him, she responded, her breaths quickening, her hands stroking him all over.

He used his leg to push hers open and positioned his cock at her entrance. He hovered there for a long moment, her heat penetrating from the head through to his entire body. Then, slowly, he pushed inside. Her body accepted him, then squeezed him all around, a tight, hot, wet passage of pure erotic pleasure.

He took his time, sinking into her sweetness, allowing the blissful friction to encompass him.

As he moved inside her, he looked down at her to see her gazing up at him. Love shone in those seal-gray eyes. As much as she closed herself off from him, she did care for him. Her eyes couldn’t lie.

Her body tensed gradually as she grew close, and then tightened all over. She gasped, and her back arched. Will groaned as her muscles clamped over his cock,
but he repressed the urge for release and rode the storm with her.

When her tremors subsided, leaving her hotter and wetter than before, he increased his pace and the force of his thrusts. Pressure built at the base of his spine. He wouldn’t last much longer. Still thrusting powerfully, he pushed his hands into her silky blond hair and buried his head into it, breathing her sugarcane essence into himself.

His orgasm was an explosion of love, of lust, of need, of desire. Everything he had poured into her in a silent, hopeful message.

Love me, Meg. Love me like I love you.

David had received a letter from Captain Langley approving his recommendation to sail the
Freedom
to Cornwall in the search for additional evidence against Caversham. Captain Langley had said that to keep her safe, he was taking Meg to sea in another of his ships, also suggesting they meet in a few weeks’ time at Penzance.

Jessica couldn’t see much of the logic behind the latter part of this plan. Wasn’t Caversham known to frequent the area around Penzance? If so, how did the captain intend to keep Meg safe there?

Suddenly, Jessica didn’t entirely trust Captain Langley. She
mostly
trusted him—after all she’d known the man for over a year now and knew something of his character. He was, perhaps, the most staid, somber man she’d ever known. But she, along with her sisters, had always thought him a good man.

Still, why on
earth
would he bring Meg to Penzance?

Well. She had her own plans to keep Meg safe.

David and the
Freedom
were leaving on the morning
tide, and by that time, Beatrice, the Donovan sisters, their husbands, and most of the servants would be bound for Sussex. The household had been in a flurry of preparation for the past few days—and no one spared much attention for Jessica. That was all for the better, as far as she was concerned.

Jessica had been in bed since seven o’clock—she’d skipped dinner, giving the excuse of a terrible headache, which was a technique she’d learned from her sister Phoebe, who’d used it quite effectively when she’d eloped with Sebastian.

She lay there wide awake until midnight, when the sounds of the house finally died down. She rose and grabbed the satchel she’d packed earlier. She’d no room for a dress, so she’d packed only the essentials. Her toothbrush, a comb, hairpins, some underthings, a bit of food, and a skin of water. She’d need those items for the few days she intended to stay in hiding.

She hesitated a second, thinking about Beatrice. She and Beatrice had been nearly inseparable ever since Beatrice had revealed the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her late husband. But she’d healed significantly in the past several months. She’d be all right—and, probably better than anyone else, she’d understand why Jessica needed to do this.

She opened her desk drawer, took out the note she’d written to Serena and the others, and laid it on the bare surface of her desk. They’d find it right away, probably early tomorrow afternoon when they grew worried that she hadn’t come down. She’d be long gone by then.

Slipping out of the house was easy, and finding a cab at this hour in St. James was little trouble. She gave the
driver instructions, and, apparently familiar with young ladies slipping out on their own in the dead of night, the old man nodded and set the horses in the direction of the docks. When they turned onto Fleet Street, Jessica settled back, content that they were headed in the proper direction.

Several minutes later, the cab stopped at St. Katharine’s Docks. Jessica stepped out and paid the driver, adding an extra-large tip because she was so thankful he hadn’t given her any trouble.

She’d visited the
Freedom
three times and knew it quite well. But she’d never been here at midnight. The docks were quiet now, the sounds of slapping rigging and creaking wood the only noises—particularly eerie noises, in Jessica’s opinion. Keeping diligently aware of her surroundings but staying in the shadows so as not to draw attention to herself, Jessica hurried toward the ship.

Captain Langley had hired a very sparse crew for the
Freedom—
according to David, a large crew of men wasn’t needed for this particular vessel’s new, advanced design. David spoke of the
Freedom
with such pride, one would think it was his own ship, yet it was obvious he was particularly attached to Captain Langley and considered him a true friend.

Tonight most of the crewmen would be at the nearby pub, celebrating their last night of being ashore in London. David said when they sailed tomorrow, half of them would be sick with drink, and it would be a particularly difficult journey down the Thames. Still, he couldn’t begrudge them their last night of fun. He knew from his Navy days that it was a necessity.

She reached the dock and hesitated under an awning.
This was the most dangerous part of her scheme—she’d be in wide open space, visible to anyone who happened to glance at the dock. If someone saw her and wondered what she was doing out here—well, she’d be in a bit of trouble.

She looked all around and was about to make a run for it when she heard a soft scraping noise and then footsteps walking toward her from the direction she’d come. She sank back into the shadows and wedged herself between a barrel and the edge of the building. She stood stock still as the footsteps came nearer, and she saw the man—a dock policeman.

Well, she told herself, it could be worse. It could be some drunken sailor on the prowl for a bit of female flesh before he went off to sea.

She didn’t move, keeping her breaths shallow and light as he walked past her and onto the dock. He was looking to the right and left as if hunting for a criminal, and when his gaze neared her hiding place, she held her breath so as not to make any movement that might draw his eye. Thank God her cloak was dark gray, a good color to melt into the gray brick of the warehouse.

His gaze moved right past her, and he continued on, beginning to whistle a jolly tune. He traveled down the length of the dock and walked up the steps leading to the far end of the building and then disappeared beyond it, his whistling growing fainter as he stretched the distance between them.

Jessica took several deep, gulping breaths. Well, the policeman had cleared the way for her. There was obviously no other soul on the dock right now. She tugged open her satchel and withdrew the one tool she’d brought—a picklock.

Pulling her satchel over her shoulder, she rushed forward and onto the dock, hurrying to the steps that led to the
Freedom
’s deck.

She peeked over the edge of the deck wall. The deck was completely abandoned. Apparently, there was no need to patrol the deck when the ship was empty of cargo, locked tight, and tied to a dock patrolled by the London dock police.

She scrambled onto the deck, her feet making the slightest
thunk
as she landed on the wood planking. She hurried to the back of the ship, where Captain Langley’s quarters were. No one would be using his quarters, since he wasn’t aboard for this mission. David wouldn’t move there—she’d asked him. He preferred his own quarters, though she couldn’t imagine why. They were a third the size of the captain’s.

Grasping the tool, she pushed it into the lock and fumbled with the tumbler until she heard the telltale click.
Yes
. Sebastian, Phoebe’s husband, had taught her how to do it when she’d been bored one afternoon at Stratford House in Sussex. She’d known the skill would come in handy one day.

She removed the tool and turned the door handle. It swung open easily, and she walked inside Captain Langley’s quarters as if they were her own. Closing the door and locking it behind her, she turned to analyze the place that would be her home for the next few days, and she sighed. It was dark as pitch, and she didn’t dare light a lantern—even if she could find the supplies to do so.

That had been easy, all things considered. She expected there’d be hell to pay from her sisters and brothers-in-law when they received her letter tomorrow, but by
then she’d be long gone, and they’d all forgive her if she saved Meg.

Well, there was nothing to do except go to bed. Not that she could sleep—her heart was still pounding at a million beats a minute—but she might as well give it a try. She felt around until she found the wide bunk wedged into the corner of the room. A woolen blanket was folded at the foot of the bed. Jessica slipped out of her dress and stays, folded them as nicely as she could in the darkness, and wrapped the blanket around her.

Then she spent the hours until dawn staring up at the black, black ceiling. It wasn’t until very late the next day, when they were well under way, that she was able to sleep a wink.

Chapter Seventeen

J
ake had another fit on the day Meg had planned her escape. But he was nothing if not predictable—to her, anyhow—and it was all part of her plan.

Will had left before dawn. She’d heard him wake and had tiptoed downstairs to see him off. No one was awake, so she’d kissed him good-bye at the door, allowing the heat of his lips to singe into her memory. She’d thrown all her dreams into that kiss, hoping beyond hope that this kiss would reassure him whenever he began to doubt her in the next few days.

She’d watched him leave until he’d disappeared down the bend in the road.

It was market day in town, so Molly and the cook had taken the cart and one of the horses and left in the afternoon. They wouldn’t be back until dusk.

As usual, Thomas had gone riding with the coachman, and as usual, Benson had offered to take Jake on the mare. She’d said no, as she had for the past week, and just
like every other day for the past week, Jake reacted to this edict by throwing himself onto the floor and proceeding to scream himself purple.

Frowning down at him, Benson spoke loudly so she could hear him above the noise. “What if we were to keep in sight of the house at all times, Miss Donovan?”

She frowned at him, even while admiring his kind intentions. “You’re not helping me, Benson. I said no.”

“Yes, miss.”

Jake screamed even louder, and she breathed a heavy sigh. “Very well,” she said, kneeling beside him. “
I’ll
take you riding.”

Jake quieted instantly and looked at her with those big blue eyes, utterly shocked.

“Benson, would you mind saddling the mare?”

Benson stared down at her for long seconds, perplexity wrinkling his brow.

“He’s safe with me,” she explained, knowing her own logic didn’t make any sense. But that didn’t matter. Servants like Benson were well trained not to question the logic of their employers.

Jake frowned at her. “Do you know how to ride horses, Meg?”

“Yes, I do,” she told him firmly. “When the Lady Stratford and I were little girls in Antigua, we rode all the time.” That was true. She and Serena had loved the horses, loved riding. It had been their solace after their father had died and when Olivia was so sick from the malaria.

A year after their father’s death, they had sold the horses. They’d needed the money. Both Meg and Serena had cried for hours the day the horses had been taken to a plantation on the other side of the island.

Jake grinned at her. “I want to ride with you, then!”

She squeezed him to her. “I want to ride with you, too.”

Kissing the top of his head, she thought about how it would be a much longer ride than he expected. Jake didn’t like being surprised, but she would have a few hours with him on horseback to work on keeping him calm.

She didn’t have much money, but she’d collected all that she had earlier, along with a few other essentials for her and Jake, and packed it all into a saddlebag. In the middle of the night last night, she’d hidden the saddlebag under a tree about a half mile away from the house, under a rock outcropping near the road to Liverpool.

She’d planned ahead this morning and worn her plainest gray muslin dress—a dress that would help her blend in with the crowds in Liverpool. She took Jake’s hand and led him to the entryway closet, where she tied her cloak around her neck and her sturdy straw bonnet under her chin. She pushed Jake’s cap onto his dark hair at an angle that was jauntily askew. Then she led him through the back door and out to the stables, where Benson was saddling the dappled gray mare with the sidesaddle. Silently, she helped him, then accepted his boost up onto the saddle. When she was settled, he lifted Jake to sit in front of her, awkwardly due to the design of the saddle.