Touch of Rogue (26 page)

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Authors: Mia Marlowe

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Touch of Rogue
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C
HAPTER
24
 
J
ulianne reached up to touch one of the lowest hanging daggers.
“No!” Jacob grabbed her forearm. The droning voice thrummed in his chest now, melding with his heartbeat and making it gallop. Julianne didn’t seem to hear a thing, but that didn’t mean she was not in danger. Her late husband probably had never heard the dagger’s song either. Until it was too late. “Don’t. I can tell which is the right one, but first I’ll have your promise that you won’t lay a hand on it. Not now. Not ever. No one touches it but me.”
“Why?”
Because it’s evil, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his mouth. “After what happened to your husband, do you have to ask?”
“Very well, I promise.” Julianne lifted the lantern to throw more light on the wall of blades. Then she laid a slim hand on his shoulder. “Be careful, Jacob. I don’t want anything to happen to you either.”
“That makes two of us.” He forced a grin and turned back toward the daggers. Somehow, her touch on his shoulder lessened the effect of the blade’s song. He covered her hand with his for a moment, willing her to keep it there. Then he stretched his arm over his head.
The life force of the blade slammed into him, but he locked his knees, refusing to buckle. He followed the energy trail, now visible to him as well as audible. Its power sparkled in the air like flecks of gold leaf.
“There,” Jacob said through clenched teeth. He grasped the real Druid dagger’s hilt from among its many look-alikes, and the cave dissolved around him.
The dagger turned end over end before his eyes, leading him along a corridor of pulsing light.
Then suddenly Jacob stood at the edge of the smoking crater he’d seen before, looking down at the mass of metal the sky had hurled to earth. It was discovered by a band of Celtic hunters and carted back to their forge. With the clang of hammers and the song of poets, it was fashioned into a single gleaming sword.
Caliburn, he heard the men call it when the weapon was claimed by one named Arturus.
Not the sword in the stone,
Jacob realized.
The sword from the stone.
Battlefields and building fortresses, fire-scarred fields and golden grain ripe for harvest—years of hope and banished darkness scrolled before him. None could stand before the king who wielded Caliburn.
Only treachery would lay him low.
Perhaps that too was the metal’s plan.
With the death of Arturus at his bastard son’s hand, the sword was unmade and the sky-ore refashioned into a staff of power.
But that proved too strong for any one man to wield. At an order from a counsel of bards, the staff was divided, its magic dispersed.
The dagger in his hand wept for its lost mates. Its grief reached into Jacob’s chest and twisted his heart.
Rejoin us, join us, join us,
the dagger sang to him.
We will be yours and you will be ours and together no one can gainsay us in whatever we put our hand to. Nothing compares to the glory of oneness we will bring you.
“No,” Jacob said, resisting the pull of the metal with all his might.
Riches we will bring you and power and long life.
Jacob had dismissed such promises as hokum when Julianne first came to him about the dagger. They didn’t seem so far-fetched now that he’d felt the smallest part of the blade’s energy.
But the dagger wasn’t for him. He’d found it for Julianne. He couldn’t claim it for himself. He shook his head.
The dagger’s voice curled around him again, this time seductive as a siren’s song, the voice feminine and alluring. “We know what you want.”
The blade sent a flurry of flashing images of Julianne—head bent to study a book, biting her lip in concentration, eyes flaring, ready to start an argument, flushed and rosy and waiting for him in a nest of tangled linens, lying beside him in perfect peace.
“We can make her yours for as long as you wish,” the dagger promised.
He wished for her forever.
“Say the word and it is done.” The offer wove around his heart, curled over his soul. He hardly felt the hooklike tendrils taking root. “She is ours to give.”
“Now I know you lie,” Jacob said. Julianne, more than any other woman he’d ever known, belonged to herself. He wanted her, but only by her free choice. “And I will do all I can to see you are never rejoined to the others. You will remain unmade.”
The dagger roared, an unearthly, shattering wall of sound. Light pulsed around him and he was propelled back through a long tunnel, the blade’s despair howling in his ears.
 
“Easy,” the familiar voice said at his side. “Don’t let him fall, Quinn. Fenwick! Come help us.”
Jacob raised his head. His eyelids scraped across his eyes as if they were made of sandpaper. One of his arms was draped over Quinn’s shoulder as they stumbled through Jacob’s front door. In his other hand, he clutched the dagger, but he held it by the leather scabbard now, not the hilt.
Julianne called for Fenwick again. Both he and Gil came running down the hall toward them.
“Parlor,” Jacob managed to croak out. Was there a vise clamped to his temples?
Between the two men and the boy, they carried Jacob up the stairs with Julianne and Viola following. He didn’t fight them on the steps, but he twisted free when they tried to settle him into a comfortable chair.
Forcing one foot before the other, he trudged toward the fireplace. While the dagger cursed him in the language of demons, he opened the safe and thrust it inside with the other blade and the two halves of the manuscript. Only once he sealed and locked the platinum-lined vault did the malevolent voice cease.
Jacob sagged against the mantel and drew a deep breath. “There, that’s done.”
“Now you only need travel to Cornwall to retrieve the other four blades and then Julianne can sell them,” Viola said.
“No.” Julianne came up beside him and positioned herself under his arm. “We aren’t going to Cornwall. I’m done with the daggers.”
Jacob had no memory of walking back out of the cave or climbing the stone steps from the wine cellar to the tavern. The coach ride home felt as if it was something he’d dreamed. But now blood flooded back into his brain and hope came with it.
“You have the whole set, but now you say you’re done with them?” He pulled her close, trying very hard not to lean on her. The reason she needed them hadn’t changed. “Why, Julie?”
“Because I can’t bear what they do to you.” Tears shimmered in her dark eyes. “Help me get him to bed, Fenwick. And bring a tonic.”
“No laudanum,” Jacob said.
Her chin quivered and he bent to kiss her, not caring that there were four sets of eyes looking on. The softness of her lips eased his pain better than any amount of opiate.
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
She might accept his judgment about the laudanum, but she wouldn’t be swayed against putting him to bed. He gave up and allowed Fenwick and Gil to shepherd him to his room.
 
Gil should have followed Fenwick down the servant’s stairs to the kitchen once they saw to Mr. Preston’s comfort, but he hung back in the corridor. He’d seen strange doings this day and couldn’t rightly make sense of them. Ear to the keyhole, he strained to listen as the quality folk talked over his now sleeping employer.
“This is far worse than the last time he used his gift,” Lady Cambourne said.
Gift? That meant something beyond the common, didn’t it? Gil pressed his ear closer to the keyhole. This might have something to do with the special power Sir Malcolm suspected Mr. Preston could call up.
“Yes,” Lady Kilmaine agreed. “There’s something different about that dagger. I’ve never seen metal affect him quite so deeply.”
Metal? How could metal knock a man off his pins unless it was in the form of a club? Since Gil had helped Fenwick put Mr. Preston to bed, he knew his employer hadn’t been stabbed with the dagger. Gil reckoned Mr. Preston was simply deep in his cups. Quality folk was always drunk as lords simply because they could afford to be.
“When Jacob first touched the dagger, he went still as stone,” Lady C. said, her voice quivering. “I thought it had killed him. Then he started talking ... to the dagger.”
Generally folk didn’t talk to things what couldn’t rightly talk back. Maybe Mr. Preston had hit a bottle or two without the lady’s notice.
“Then he seemed to come back to himself and all the time we walked back through the cave to the tavern, he recounted the vision the metal had sent him. It was ... unnerving,” the countess said. “Especially since Jacob wouldn’t respond to my questions. Didn’t even seem to know I was there. He just kept repeating what he’d seen. Even now, I don’t think he realizes he did it.”
“Jacob’s gift of touch is difficult to live with,” Lord Kilmaine said. “His visions sound as vivid as yours, Viola.”
“More so, I fear,” his wife said. “And it sounds as if the information he shared with you was important.”
“It was,” Lady Cambourne said. “That’s why I’ve decided not to try to sell the set of daggers after seeing what this one did to Jacob. His vision was proof positive that no one should be in possession of all six of them.”
So, Mr. Preston had visions, did he? And it seemed to Gil that touching something metal was what set the visions off. As special powers went, it weren’t quite as good as being able to fly, but it damn sure beat being a human matchstick all to pieces.
Gil was mortally tired of hanging about Mr. Preston’s house all the time, never feeling the sun on his face or being able to swipe an apple when the cartman weren’t lookin’ or playin’ a game of hoops with his friends. And Mrs. Trott! While he admired her cooking with heartfelt devotion, the meddling woman insisted he keep himself so clean he squeaked. Gil’s life wasn’t his own anymore.
He could go back to Sir Malcolm with the news about Mr. Preston’s visions. It would put paid to Ravenwood’s threat to come looking for him. Gil would have his freedom back. He’d be able to roam the city as he pleased and Sir Malcolm would be ashamed of his piddling ability once he heard about Mr. P.’s fantastical gift.
Then too, if Gil told Sir Malcolm that Mr. Preston and Lady Cambourne were all done chasing about after a set of daggers, and the countess wasn’t going to part with them in any case, maybe it would kill Ravenwood’s interest in his employer altogether.
All in all, it was a good idea. Mr. P. was always talking about how important it was for a fellow to “take the initiative.” He’d thank Gil for acting on this matter once his head cleared.
The voices in the next room were louder, closer to the door.
“I’ll sit with him till I’m sure he’s all right.” Lady Cambourne was saying. “Then I’ll return to your home.”
“We’ll send the coach back for you,” Lord Kilmaine said.
The sound of approaching footsteps made Gil abandon the keyhole. Lord and Lady Kilmaine were taking their leave of Lady Cambourne, so Gil nipped down the back staircase before Kilmaine and his lady could catch him eavesdropping. Fenwick hurried to the front door to see the quality folk out. Then when Mrs. Trott’s back was turned, Gil slipped out the back door. He headed down the alley and set off for Sir Malcolm’s home on Penton Rise at a mile-eating dogtrot.
C
HAPTER
25
 
J
acob wandered the stone labyrinth with the remembered strains of the dagger’s song pounding in his head. He didn’t know where he was exactly, but he knew he had to reach the center of the maze, had to find the heart of the puzzle.
He’d find Julianne there.
She called his name from someplace up ahead and he started running toward the sound. The path ended in a pile of scree.
The dagger laughed.
Stone ground against stone and a fissure opened at his right to show Julianne on the other side of the rock wall. She was naked, bound hand and foot with red silk, her arms and legs spread like da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Jacob realized suddenly that he was unclothed too.
God help him, his body roused to her.
“You see, we do know what you want,” the dagger taunted.
“No, not like that. Not if she has no choice.” But his aching cockstand didn’t abate.
“You damn yourself for a liar. She is too stubborn to bend. She’ll never be yours by her own free choice,” the blade said and Jacob was hard-pressed to argue with its logic. He’d never met a woman more determined to maintain her independence. “Take her. We give her to you.”
His body wanted her any way he could have her, but his heart tugged him in a different direction, threatening to split him in two.
If Julianne didn’t choose him because she loved him, if she only picked him as the least noxious of her possibilities, there’d be no joy in their joining.
“You can make her love you,” the dagger suggested. “You have the skills. Enslave her with pleasure.”
Jacob didn’t remember ordering his body to step through the opening in the rock, but he suddenly found himself on the other side approaching her. Julianne lifted her head and met his gaze, her eyes widening like a startled doe.
He could gentle her, then pleasure her. A bound woman could be brought to untold delights. She’d be grateful.
He bent his head to kiss her, but her lips were like stone.
“Take her. Make her yours,” the dagger encouraged.
He kissed her harder, bruising her mouth, forcing a response. She moaned down his throat, desperate and needy. She kissed him back, her passion dark-edged. When he drew away, he tasted blood on his lips.
The iron in the droplets whispered her fear.
Not of him. Even bound, she’d match him for sensuality.
Julianne was afraid of losing herself, of surrendering her hard-won freedom.
He grabbed the dagger and used it to cut the red silk to free her. The blade screamed at him and the ground opened beneath his feet. He tumbled, weightless, into an abyss. Julianne fell beside him, her eyes showing white all around, her mouth stretched in a rictus of fear. He stretched out his hands as far as he could, but he couldn’t reach her.
The bottom of the void rose to meet them. They’d be dashed on the cruel rocks. Another few heartbeats and—
Jacob jerked himself to wakefulness. His heart thundered, but his breathing was steady. Julianne was sitting by his bedside, focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Her face was taut and drawn. Then her concerned gaze wandered to his face.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
“And glad to be so.” His head still throbbed, but it was bearable. The heavy coverlet was balled at the foot of the bed and the sheets were twisted at his waist.
Julianne smoothed the linens, tucking them up to his chin. Then she laid a cool palm on his forehead.
“Guess I’ve been restless,” he said, trying to chase away the disturbing remnants of his dream.
“You only stopped thrashing a moment ago,” she said. “But then you went so still, it was more unsettling than your flailing about.”
He’d made a spectacle of himself without knowing it. His brows drew together in a fresh wave of pain.
“I wish I could bear some of the pain for you,” Julianne said. “Or make it better somehow.”
She ruffled his hair and the pounding in his temple diminished.
“You do make it better,” he said. “Simply by being here. Will you stay?”
Forever,
he added silently.
Will you help me keep my sanity when the metal screams in my mind? Will you love me in spite of myself?
He couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. They sounded too needy, too coercive. If she stayed with him, it had to be her choice.
“I’ll stay awhile.” She smiled at him. “Viola and Quinn expect me back this evening.”
“May as well make the most of the time we have then.” Jacob lifted the sheet up to invite her into the bed with him. “Join me. I want to hold you.”
Her gaze flicked over his rampant cock and her sweet mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. “My clothes are grubby from the cellar.”
He grinned at her. “Take them off.”
She beamed back. “I guess this proves you’re feeling better.”
Julianne unbuttoned her jacket, the fabric falling away to reveal her lacy undergarments and the swell of her breasts above them. His mouth went dry.
She unfastened her skirt and lifted it over her head. The crinoline was like a cage, keeping all her secrets safe, while giving him peeping glances at her shapely legs between the wires. She wiggled out of it, leaving the contraption propped against the chair. Then she climbed into bed with him in her corset and all-in-one.
Julianne lay on her side facing away from him. He doubted she was being shy. Not after all they’d been through together. She was simply teasing him.
Jacob rolled toward her, pulling her close so her bum snugged against his groin. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply.
“Mmmm,” he groaned.
It was not a groan of pain. It was pure need. She burrowed deeper into his embrace.
“Fenwick could have sat with me. Julie, why didn’t you leave with Viola and Quinn?” he asked, trying to get her to admit she wanted him. That she
chose
him.
“It’s my fault you’re in discomfort. I’m trying to make you feel better,” she said, rocking her hips. His appreciation of her nearness grew by several orders of magnitude. “At least, part of you seems pleased.”
“All of me is pleased,” he said. But if she was only with him because she thought his pain was her fault, he was little more than a duty to her.
He’d have to change that.
He kissed her nape. The delectable skin was soft and sweet and gooseflesh bloomed where his lips had touched. She shivered with delight.
She rolled toward him and searched his face. The concerned set of her mouth melted away and the frown line between her brows disappeared.
“Your head doesn’t hurt?”
“Maybe a little, but you’re a wonderful distraction.” He bent to nuzzle her neck and kissed his way down to the channel between her breasts. Then he stopped, his big frame shuddering. It suddenly felt as if someone were driving a spike through his left eye.
“Jacob?” Panic pitched her voice up half an octave.
“My head.” He rolled onto his back and the pounding spike stopped. “I need to lie this way for a bit.” His breath came in shallow pants. Damn, he hated this weakness.
“I should go.”
“No, stay.” He pulled her close. She settled her head in the crook of his shoulder and pressed herself against the length of his body. The pain lessened. “That’s better.”
“Isn’t there something I can do?”
“You can talk to me.”
“Very well.” She raised herself up and looked down at him, a wicked expression on her angelic face. “I think of you by night, Jacob. Alone in my bed, I imagine what I’d like to do with you.”
He closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. Well, he couldn’t rightly complain since he’d done this to her once. He’d known full well how his words were affecting her that day in the carriage. He’d seduced her with just the sound of his voice. Now she was giving as good as she got.
But if he couldn’t act on the need her fantasy would generate, it would be pure torture to listen to her speak. Of course, he also burned with curiosity to learn what her fantasy entailed.
“Tell me,” he said.
“First I’d undress you slowly,” she said, her voice sultry and low. “But I’d take care not to touch you more than necessary, just the slightest of glancing caresses. Of course, you want me to do more—”
“Sounds like me.”
“But I make you wait.” She kissed his closed eyelids and the spike in his head dissolved. “Then I tell you to lie down on the bed—”
“Whose bed?”
“My bed in the dowager’s house in Cornwall,” she said. “It’s not very fancy, but it’s a sturdy four-poster and—but that’s not important. I want you to lie down so I can look at you. Sort of like this.”
She flipped back the sheets, baring him completely. His eyes popped open so he could watch her. Starting at his feet, she studied all his parts, a secret smile lifting the corners of her mouth. When she reached his groin, his ballocks drew up into a tight bunch under her scrutiny and his cock lifted toward her of its own accord.
Her smile widened.
But her gaze traveled on, searing over his belly and grazing his nipples. She inspected his hands, his forearms and on up to his shoulders as if she were cataloguing a collection of all the bits of him. When she met his eyes, he noticed her face was flushed.
“Then what?” he asked. The fact that she obviously liked what she saw made his body tighten with need.
“I’d touch you.”
Starting with his head, she rubbed his crown, tracing the midline of his skull with her thumbs. It felt so good, he almost stopped her when she moved down to his neck and shoulders. She varied her touches, first hard, almost rough, then so soft he wondered if he had only imagined her fingertips brushing against him. His nipples drew tight as she circled them. His gut clenched when she explored his navel.
She ran her hands around his groin, teasing the small hairs in slow circles, but though she drew close, she didn’t touch his cock or balls. He nearly bellowed when she skipped over them completely to run her palms down his thighs and calves, but he clamped his lips shut.
He would not beg. Either she’d choose him, all of him, or not.
“It’s a pity you’re not a Scotsman,” she said. “You have the legs for a kilt.”
“And you have the tongue of a temptress.”
Her eyes glittered. “You read my mind. That’s the next part. I’m about to kiss you ... everywhere.”
She settled herself on her knees between his legs and bent to kiss his thighs. Her tongue flicked out, leaving little wet runnels in its wake. As she drew near his straining cock her breasts brushed his legs, her nipples button-hard even through the muslin.
She cupped his balls and he nearly lost control. When she kissed him and ran her tongue along the dividing line between his testicles, he prayed for strength to make this heaven last. Her hair fell on either side of her face, a dark tent covering them both. The silken strands were like thousands of loving fingers on his skin. She slicked her tongue over his entire length.
Oh, God, she’s going to—
She took him in.
He hadn’t asked. She chose to, wanted to. If the little sounds she made were any indication, loving him this way gave her pleasure too. She lavished him with kisses. She licked. She sucked.
He buried his fingers in her hair. Pressure rose in his shaft. He started doing calculations from his brother’s ledgers in his mind to keep from coming.
Then he realized suddenly that his head felt perfectly normal. Julianne drove out the metal barbs. She was a more potent shield than platinum.
His body tightened for release, but he fought against it. He wasn’t ready for this to end. Jacob sat up and reached under her arms to lift her up. He kissed her mouth, that soft wet cavern that had so sweetly accepted him.
“Why did you stop me?” she asked when he pulled back.
“You know my motto. Ladies first.”

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