The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (49 page)

He laughed, and crossed to Gilly, taking the list from her unresisting fingers. "Come now, infant, surely you have some small store of feminine curiosity. Don't you wish to see how you would look if dressed like, say, Glynis O'Keefe?"

Gilly raised innocent blue eyes to her husband, and he saw the hope in them. "Do you really think I could look like her? Me?"

No
, Kevin told her silently,
not if you were clothed in gold from head to foot.
Aloud, he soothed into her ear as his breath warmed her flesh, "Of course, my pet. With a dresser, with some proper gowns, why, you'll be the Beauty of the Age."

Bemused by the soft words and near presence of this beautiful man, Gilly could only give a small sigh of pleasure and melt against him. Really, her husband wasn't so very bad, and she did admit to herself that some slight affection for the man had grown in her over the past month. He was so tall, so strong, so pretty to look upon. And he smelled so good.

So, moments later, when his finger lifted her chin and his warm, firm lips descended to take hers, Gilly found it only natural to respond by pursing her own untrained lips and returning his slight pressure. Somehow, she knew not how, his arms were around her then and her own arms, suddenly so achingly empty, rose to clasp him about the waist. The sensations aroused by this new contact, as their two bodies were now pressed so tightly together that she could no longer tell where hers left off and his began, Gilly compared to the giddy dizziness brought on by a lack of food. Yes. That was it. She felt suddenly hungry. But hungry for what?

Kevin raised his head a moment, smiled slightly at the vision of Gilly's tightly shut eyes and just as tightly pursed lips, before crushing her to him in a kiss as different from his first as was a single burning candle from an entire world in flames.

There, in that shabby library, surrounded by moldy tomes and dry ancient scrolls, the afternoon sun raising dust motes wherever it streaked through the gloom, passion was born between the Earl and Countess of Lockport.

The stylishly clad Corinthian and the shabbily garbed young girl, oblivious to the study in contrasts they made as they stood together bathed in a ray of dusty sunlight, each trembled a bit at the intensity of their reaction to each other. If the entire Hall were to come crashing down around their ears, it would not surprise them if, in fact, they even noticed at all.

Kevin was the first to ease away, his intention not to terminate the proceedings, but only to have them adjourned until he could gain his bearings and the location of the nearest wide couch. This, as he was soon to find out, was a tactical error, for it gave Gilly a moment in which to recover herself at least a little bit.

She backed away from him, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at her husband in mingled fear and dawning knowledge. Trembling visibly, she slowly moved her head from side to side and whispered hoarsely, "Oh, no. Oh,
no!"
and then ran from the room before Kevin could react.

Left to stare after her retreating skirts, Kevin was silent for some moments, conflicting emotions flitting across his mobile face. At long last he smiled, a rueful, reluctant smile of comprehension. "Oh yes, my dearest goose. It's difficult to believe, I grant you. But,
yes."

#

Gilly did not appear at the dinner table that night, not that Kevin expected her to, nor was she in her bedchamber close to midnight when at last he decided to seek her out. She could have chosen to sleep elsewhere for a while, he told himself, not that he blamed her. The first flush of passion could be disturbing enough without the added knowledge that one's more tender emotions might be involved.

Kevin wasn't being arrogant when he thought that she felt some affection for him, and no little amount of it either, judging from the intensity of her response that afternoon. And, for his sins, he had felt much the same way towards her. No longer could he say it was only their proximity and legal bonds that attracted him to her. He had gotten to know his child-bride very well over the past month, and his affection for her had grown alongside his regard for her character.

Odd, he mused, as he returned to the sitting room outside Gilly's chamber, the child was not at all what he'd imagined in a wife. She wasn't a bit like Amanda in looks and, although Gilly had much the same spirit and fire, she possessed none of Amanda's feminine refinement. Yet there was something, some nebulous and as yet undefined
something
, that drew him to her like the proverbial moth to a glittering flame.

No, he couldn't go back to his bed. It was too large. Too empty. He doubted he could ever sleep there again, unless his wife slept by his side. Besides, Gilly might still try to sneak into the chamber, and he didn't want to miss her. He
did
miss her. And he didn't know if that pleased him or angered him. He only knew he wanted Gilly, wanted her close, where he could find her, where he could talk to her—where he could hold her, kiss her.

Slowly, the combined warmth of the open fire and the brandy he had consumed insidiously lulled Kevin into slumber as he relaxed on a fan-backed sofa placed near the hearth. The hours of the night ticked by, their passage marked by the soft chiming of the delicate gilt bronze mantel clock and the diminishing heat of the slowly dying fire.

Just as the clock finished striking five, Kevin stirred, his eyelids heavy as he willed them open, giving him a view of the doorway leading from the main corridor that had just opened a crack, letting in a wedge of light from the hallway. He watched as a slight, dark shape tiptoed stealthily into the room, holding his breath and beating down a curse that had nearly escaped his lips.

The figure stopped for a moment, then, seeming to decide it was safe to proceed, began to make its way across the wide room once more. Bent into a crouch, and with arms crossed in a seeming self-embrace, the figure appeared to be cold, wet, tired, and more than a little weary.

Kevin moved involuntarily, caught between being grateful that Gilly appeared to be all right, and anger that she had been—where? Where the devil had she been?

She stopped for a moment, her small frame going tense and still as a statue, as if she could hear him breathe, but then continued her stealthy progression towards her own bedchamber.

Kevin waited until she'd gone past him, then silently pushed himself to his feet, and tiptoed after her. There were only a few feet of carpet between Gilly and safety when he reached through the dimness and politely tapped her on one hunched shoulder. She froze in place once more.

"Excuse me if I've startled you," Kevin drawled silkily, "but I cannot help but wonder, this being my chamber and all that—have we been introduced?"

At the sound of the Kevin's voice, Gilly whirled about, and a pair of angry, round blue eyes glittered out of the soot-blackened face she lifted to confront him. "Damn! Damn, damn, and
blast
you, Kevin Rawlings!" she gritted out in obvious fury. "You scared me half out of my wits!"

Kevin stepped back a pace, his shock not in the least bit feigned as he took in his wife's bizarre appearance. She was dressed head to foot in shabby, dark clothing that, he could tell, was both wet and smelt of sea water. Her face and hands were streaked with the remains of charcoal black soot, and her head was topped by a toque, a pleated voluminous cap banded tightly around her skull.

As Gilly stood staring balefully at her husband, he reached out and gave the toque a tug, releasing a cascade of living fire that tumbled wildly around her face.

Blowing at an errant strand of damp hair that had settled itself smack between her eyes, she remained silent as he eyed her unhurriedly from head to foot and back again. "I say," he remarked, as if he didn't know he was just moments from having his eyes scratched out by the fuming tiger cat before him, "if I didn't know better, wife, I'd believe you've spent the night with The Gentlemen."

Gilly's head flew up at this statement. "The—the
Gentlemen?
How could you know—?" She slammed her teeth together audibly, biting back her words.

Noting her shock, Kevin chuckled and soothed, "Now, now, my dear infant. Although I'm aware your opinion of me is not of the highest, even you couldn't believe I can be so green as to be unaware of the smuggling that's running rampant from Margate all the way to Bournemouth. What do you use in this area, yawls? Or are you more sophisticated and employ, say, a Dutch dogger? Ah, you are amazed. Did you think such things are unknown to us in London? Why, many a friend has regaled me with bits about their adventures with the Gentlemen. They do it, so they say, simply for the dash of the thing. Can't see it myself," he added as Gilly stood and listened, her jaw now at half-mast.

Look at him
, Gilly thought angrily.
Just look at him! The great, grinning looby—prattling on like we were sipping tea across a table and exchanging titillating secrets, just as if it weren't his greatest desire to box my ears. Besides
, she told herself,
any fool can see I'm freezing to death.

"But I do run on so," Kevin went on, breaking into her silent thoughts. "And with my poor wife standing there all woebegone and disordered, almost as if she'd been forced to take a midnight dip in the sea. Come, wife, and sit by the fire while I add a log to help warm you."

"I—that is—there's a fire in my chamber," Gilly stammered, clearly wanting to be alone.

"Nonsense, brat," Kevin said, shaking his head. "I want to hear all about your adventures.
Then
I'll murder you, all right?" He spoke casually, still maintaining an outward air of calm while, beneath his serene facade, he churned to either throttle the chit, as he'd jokingly threatened, or feverishly embrace her, thanking the gods that she was home safe and dry. Well, safe at least.

He put out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she dodged under him, muttering, "I must change into some dry clothing first," and disappeared into her bedchamber.

After the fire was once again blazing brightly, Kevin fetched a pitcher of water from his own bedchamber as well as some linen to use to clean the soot from Gilly's hands and face. When a few more minutes had passed and she still did not reappear, he took up the pitcher and linen and, refusing to knock to gain entrance to his own wife's chambers, strode purposely into her presence.

Gilly was sitting on the side of the bed, limp as a rag doll with half its stuffing gone—coatless and bootless but still dressed in her damp sweater and leather leggings. Her head came up with a jerk as she asked, startled, "What do you want? I'll be out shortly."

"If you don't freeze solid beforehand," Kevin countered, setting down his small burdens and approaching the bed. "Come now, let me help you. I am your husband, you know, though why you think the act of undressing a shivering child should serve to turn me into a beast intent on ravishment, I cannot understand. In fact, if you don't let me help you I believe I'll be quite insulted."

So saying, and without giving her time to answer, he reached for the hem of her sweater and swiftly pulled it up and over her head.

"Ooohhh,"
Gilly moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. And then she sank sideways on the bed in a dead faint.

"What in blazes?" Kevin quickly raised her feet onto the bed and ran to light some more candles. In the brighter light it was easy to see why Gilly had swooned. High on the fleshy part of her left arm was a shallow but nasty-looking graze that could only have come from a bullet. The blood from the wound had dried and stuck fast to her sweater—until Kevin's none too gentle removal of that sweater had ripped the wound open once more. Even now dark red blood was welling up into the cut flesh.

At once Kevin became all business. He bathed the shallow wound thoroughly, and then bound it with strips ripped from the linen he'd brought with him. Once the wound was cared for to his satisfaction, he went about bathing Gilly's face and hands before stripping off her remaining garments and dressing her in a threadbare gown he found in a clothespress.

All this was accomplished with an economy of movement that bespoke of a man who had dealt with injuries before, as he had done more times than he cared to remember during his years at sea with Nelson. Never before, however, could he remember his hands shaking so badly as he worked, nor could he recollect having recourse to constant prayers, as he had the whole of the time it took for Gilly to show some small signs of recovering consciousness.

Lifting her slim form into his arms, he recalled something that had not escaped his notice even while his mind had been occupied with caring for her needs. Gilly possessed the most exquisitely proportioned body he had ever seen, and he had seen more than a few. He banished that thought as soon as it rose, but he knew it was only a temporary banishment. The memory of her lying on that damp bed, her skin so white against the ruby-red satin coverlet, her hair fanning out around her head, her nipples puckered from the cold, the flare of her hips, the fiery curls at the apex of her thighs—dear Lord! He'd take that memory to his grave...

The sun was just rising as he laid Gilly in his own wide bed before crawling in beside her. As he covered them both with the quilt, she stirred slightly before turning into his arms, as if unconsciously seeking warmth, seeking comfort. With her head on his chest and her right arm wrapped trustingly around his waist, she gave a slight sigh and, he could tell by her even breathing, immediately fell into a healing sleep.

But Kevin remained awake, lying very still, very quiet. Barely breathing. Barely moving—except for the hand that moved slowly, rhythmically, stroking Gilly's vivid mane of hair back from her face.

They slept for several hours, until the sun was high in the sky, and woke slowly, each reluctant to lose the comforting warmth of their snug resting place.

Kevin was the first to open his eyes, and it took him a moment to recall the events of the past night or the reason he had awakened with an armful of warm Gilly. He then relived for a split second the wrenching agony he had felt when Gilly had fainted before his eyes, and which had only abated slightly when he'd realized the reason for the swoon. Knowing she was all right may have temporarily eased the clutch of fear that had gripped his heart, but the sure realization of what she had been about last night—and lord only knew how many other nights—brought back that fear tenfold.