Authors: t
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Her voice, so full of seductive promise, sent another ripple of lust through André. He straightened to have better access to her lips and cupped her breasts in his palms. His fingertips scraped across the sensitive buds of her nipples and Stormy purred with contentment.
Grinning against his mouth, she curled her fingers over the bulge of his erection straining against the front of his riding breeches. “All’s fair in love and games,” she murmured against his lips.
He groaned his desire and kissed her deeply. For a moment they clung to each other in dire need, savoring the feel of flesh on flesh. Christ, he was so hard, he could barely contain himself. Another minute and he’s strip off his breeches and have her in the tub, Trevor be damned. Instead, a frisson of sanity sent out an alarm. He pushed away from the tub.
“I have to go. I would have never come in, if I hadn’t thought that the bathing chamber was unoccupied. I’ll come back later.”
He stood up, regret in his dark blue eyes.
Stormy held his gaze for a long moment. Running her tongue slowly across her bottom lip, she arched her back to offer him a last view of her bare breasts. Oh, she could see what it was doing to him. And she would not let on that his kiss and his play with her breasts created havoc with her senses.
Heat pooled in her abdomen. Heat that could only be assuaged by André. He had not touched her, since she had seduced him aboard the Mystic. But she aimed to change that if possible this very night.
“My room is through this door. Mamma ordered a tray up for me. You are welcome to share it with me later.”
André saw the mischief in her eyes. Would he dare take her up on her offer?
* * * *
Stormy slipped under the covers, grateful that her mother had had the foresight to order a tray for her. She ate ravenously, glad that they had also brought a small carafe of wine. It would help her sleep later. When she was done, she set the tray on the bedside table and snuggled under the covers. She would wait just a few more moments, and then she would peek into the bathing chamber.
Smiling wickedly, she closed her eyes.
André found her asleep a scant half hour later. Against his better judgment, he’d decided to give in to temptation. They would have to be extremely quiet, but it might well be the last time he would be able to make love to Stormy and he wanted to take her taste with him.
Curled on her side, one hand pillowing her cheek, she looked so innocent, so vulnerable, nothing like the temptress, who had methodically seduced him in her cabin aboard the ship. Heat surged through him. Trevor had hinted that he pitied the poor man who married her some day.
By all that was holy, André hoped to be that man.
His heart filled to overflowing, he tiptoed across the carpet and leaned down to place a tender kiss on her temple. She stirred a little, a small smile lifting the corners of her rosy mouth.
Content, he let himself out through the bathing chamber door.
Before André had come upstairs to bathe and grab a few hours of sleep, the men had decided that it would be folly to wait another day before they made their move on Sheriff Snowden.
“André, we leave it up to you to infiltrate your family estate, since you know your way around. Let’s wait until we are sure that everyone has retired for the night. We’ll stand guard at the outer boundaries. We’d know soon enough, if Snowden caught you, because he will light up STORMY HEIDE KATROS
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the mansion. And if he does, be prepared for worse torture than before. His henchmen downstairs say his manhood was skewered by a well-placed pitchfork the other night. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
The men guffawed at the idea, though they also cringed, when they thought about the fact that he’d been gored in the groin.
Thomas continued. “The man called James said that Snowden could barely walk. Still, a man can do amazing feats, if he is angry enough or feels justified in his hatred.”
André had weighed all the options more than twice over. If he wanted peace in his life and make sure that Stormy was safe, then he could not put the inevitable off any longer. Tonight had to be the night to finish his mission and he had no intention to risk the life or safety of his friends.
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Snowden stretched, giving off a sound of satisfaction that resembled that of a prowling tomcat. He stared dispassionately down at his mistress sprawled across the four poster bed like a disjointed doll. Bloody hell, he’d fucked her almost senseless and he was damn proud of the fact. He’d called on Lady Margaret Sullivan, because he feared that his groin injury had left him incapable to perform sexually.
Lady Margaret Sullivan was beholden to Snowden, because he had helped her dispose of an aging husband. They had drugged the old lord’s wine one evening and then subtly shoved him down the grand staircase. Snowden had not helped her physically, but he had abetted her effort with his advice and then by filing a report with the magistrate that there had been an unfortunate accident.
Lady Margaret feigned fatigue, when in fact she wished him gone. When they had started their illicit affair, while her husband was still alive, she had thought it deliciously wicked.
Snowden had been a thoughtful lover, satisfying her, when her husband no longer could. But then he had badgered her into getting rid of him, so they could spend more time together. Oh, and she had fallen for his ploy like a green school maid, while she was in the highest throes of passion.
Her hands convulsed into helpless fists as she thought back to that day. The instant she pushed Frederick Sullivan, Baron de Mornay down the stairs, she realized that there was no turning back from the path she had taken. Snowden now had her firmly in his grasp. He no longer treated her with the respect as he once had. Her stomach knotted, when she thought how he had forced her to her knees and demanded that she suck him dry.
Bile rose in her throat when she recalled those first few moments when he stalked into her bedroom tonight. Her personal maid had hovered in the doorway, but she had waved her away, dreading what was to come, when she had seen the malicious glint in his eyes. He’d dragged her off the bed, tore off her nightgown and pushed her to her knees.
Once it had been titillating to make love by sitting on a chair and straddling his thighs, or being hoisted on the vanity table. But his demand, given without the slightest endearment had been humiliating. It had made her feel like a whore. She had been tempted to bite down on his shaft, when he pressed it into her mouth, but his whole mien warned her that it might well be the end of her, if she tried. She had almost vomited, when he fisted her hair, shoved her on the bed, spread her legs and plunged into her.
Margaret resented the cruelty with which he had used her. She cringed, when she remembered the pain he’d inflicted on her, and now the pompous baboon stood at the end of her marriage bed, stretching like the tomcat he was and scratching his chest in triumph. She wished she had a pistol close by. She would shoot the bastard.
Snowden remained oblivious to Margaret’s feelings. As far as he was concerned she’d served her purpose. That damned pitchfork had not emasculated him, and the pain in his thigh was not nearly as acute as it had been a day ago. He felt like crowing about his luck. But even as he thought it, his hands curled into tight fists as the rage he felt toward André Despard churned like acid in his stomach.
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He grabbed up the tailcoat and hat he had carelessly discarded upon a chair earlier.
Without sparing Margaret another glance, he shrugged into it as he headed for the door.
Depressing the handle, he turned back to the bed.
“Somehow you have lost your allure, Maggie. Don’t hold your breath. I think I shall cast my eye toward something younger, more elastic than you.” Laughing uproariously, he slammed the door shut behind him.
His sneer was not lost on Lady Margaret, and though she dearly hoped that he would hold true to his promise not to return to her bed, she could not think past the frisson of fear that he would not keep to that promise.
Warily, she pulled the bell cord above her bed. She needed a bath. Her mouth twisted in disgust. What had she ever seen in that horrid man?
* * * *
The bath had refreshed André. As he slipped into a fresh black silk shirt and black riding breeches, he knew he would not take his friends up on their offer to help him out with Snowden.
It was his fight, not theirs, though he appreciated their gallant offer.
The black bandana that had served him so well over the past months hung loosely around his neck. Carrying his boots, he slipped like a wraith down the servants stairs and slinked into the stables. Rebel nickered softly, when he recognized him, so he tiptoed over to his stall and offered him a carrot as he led him out and quickly saddled him.
He’d seen the sign Stuart had left behind and knew he would find him waiting in the nearby copse of trees. They had made a pact separate from what Trevor and Thomas had in mind for him.
Hugging the shadows, André walked Rebel past the house into the moonlit gardens. He cast a wary eye at the sky. It was a half moon overhead, but if he played his cards right he could use the cloud coverage to his advantage.
When he thought himself out of earshot from the main building, he paused to glance back to make sure. His heart hammering against his chest, he whistled shrilly. Would Stuart be waiting? He had no idea when his friend had left the sign to announce his presence. He had been unable to ask, if anyone had seen him, lest he give away his trump card.
He strained to see past the darkness of the tree line and held his breath so he could listen for any departure from the normal nighttime noises. Apart from animals calling out to their mates and the stirring of dried leaves in a moderate wind, there was no sound.
And then his nostrils flared. He knew Noir and Stuart were nearby, because he could smell them. He grinned and expelled the breath he’d been holding.
“I know you are there. Come out and show yourself.” He kept his voice to a mere whisper.
Seconds later Stuart rode out on Noir, both of them so dark, if anyone were watching from the house, they would not be able to pick them out from among the shadows.
The friends clasped hands. “I see you have recuperated nicely, since I saw you last.”
Stuart laughed harshly. “I slept mostly during the day and I never dared to go near the lodge, except to feed Noir. I needed to supplement his grazing with oats, if I intended to keep him in top form for you.” He raised an appraising brow as he looked André over. “You don’t seem to have fared too badly yourself. You look as fit as ever.”
André shrugged Stuart’s compliment off. A frisson of embarrassment kept him from commenting. His friend would probably think less highly of him, if he knew that he had succumbed to his lust for Stormy. Bloody hell, it had been more than lust.
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To hide his discomfort he stepped close to Noir, feeding him a couple of carrots and an apple he had filched from Thomas’ stables. “I don’t know how I will ever make it up to you, Stuart. Thank you. But I did not come away completely unscathed.” He chuckled without humor. “On our way back to Emerald Hills we were ambushed and I was shot. It’s only a flesh wound, but it bled profusely and it still hurts like the devil.”
“What do you mean by “we”?” Stuart’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
André’s lips tightened with annoyance. “Stormy came rushing after me. And you know how impetuous she is. I would have dissuaded her from coming along, but in her hurry she ran into a man, who did not take kindly to the perceived affront. He slapped her and would have beaten her worse, if I had not noticed the commotion and come to her aid. Luckily, I had hired a hack just moments before, so I could hustle her out of there. I had no other choice than take her with me.”
“Lucky,
indeed.”
André refused to take the bait. “Let’s mount. Greenbriar is a good hour’s ride.”
Stuart grimaced. “Is that all you have to say after I snuck up on you with such finesse?”
His face split immediately into an engaging grin. “I wanted to show you that I had learned from the best. You might note that I have carefully wrapped his hooves, too.” He playfully punched André’s shoulder. “Admit it. You didn’t hear us coming.”
“No, I didn’t hear you, but Noir has his own scent.” Patting the stallion’s neck, he whispered, “I like your scent and I doubt anyone else could pick it up as well. You and I have a special bond.” Noir snorted softly as if he understood.
“Come on, before anyone gets wise to the fact that I am gone.”
They cantered along a little used path, staying close to the tree line to keep from being discovered in case someone was on the lookout for them. “So, have you found out where Snowden has his guards stationed?”
“I figure our best bet is the two men guarding the North end of your estate. They are more interested in their game of cards than watching for intruders. And I think we are in luck as far as Snowden is concerned. I saw him head out in the carriage earlier this evening, so I followed. He stopped in at the house of Lady Margaret Sullivan.” His lip curled with disdain. “I can tell you it is no social call. There were no lights in the parlor, but I saw his shadow pass by the window upstairs.”
André quirked a dark eyebrow in surprise. “We caught two men on our way back. They said he could barely walk.”
“I saw him strut into the mansion without a visible limp. Whatever ailed him is no longer a matter of concern.”
André snorted. “I can tell you what ailed him. When I rescued Stormy, we barely had time to leave by the secret passage behind the bookshelf in the library. There is a slide that leads down to the cellars. I thought in case he would find it, I would leave a well-placed pitchfork at the end of that slide. According to his two henchmen it gored his groin. Maybe he went to see his lady friend to see if he was still able to perform.”