Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (29 page)

Oh, she loved seeing the land of her father’s birth first-hand, but there was nothing to compare to a warm meal, a hot bath, and a real bed in a woman’s life. She slumped down lower, so the lovely water was up to her neck, and closed her eyes. She always bathed nude. It was the way she was raised. She'd heard tales of great ladies bathing in a gown of muslin to protect their modesty, even from their maids. When Elizabeth told her of the Old English way of bathing, she had laughed, and so had her friend. Bathing with clothing on defeated the purpose and seemed at best a poor method all around—for preserving one’s modesty and for cleaning the skin.

The minute creak of the door hinges made her clutch her arms over her bare breasts. She gasped with alarm and sat up straight at the intrusion. It was Captain Rawlings.

He had pushed the door inward a few inches and peered in at her with his gun still firmly clutched in his right hand. His other hand was outstretched, his fingers on the door panel. His face was austere, as if he expected to find . . . well . . . something more threatening than a nude woman bathing. “It was ajar. I was concerned.”

“Is something amiss?” she asked, feeling oddly amused by his bewildered expression.

“Ah, no—I just—I returned from a reconnaissance of the perimeter, and your door was ajar—I thought—it seemed—peculiar.”

“Marta rushed off with her prize of a half bucket of clean water. Careless girl.” Chloe sighed and sank back down into the warm water. “You can come in, Captain. Or you can close the door. Either way, you’ve seen me at my worst, bathing like a pagan, so it’s no good for me to try to act all maidenly and shocked at this point.” She unwound her hands from their protective shield over her bosom and clutched both sides of the tub, giving him a full view of her bare upper torso. “Well, either step inside or get out.”

He chose the former. He stepped inside the chamber and pushed the door shut. The hand  holding the pistol relaxed. He lowered the weapon and returned it to his holster. The quick click of the latch told her he’d locked the door against further intrusion. Without looking in her direction, he stalked to the open window again and peered out of it, giving her his back.

She sat still as a stone tower, gripping the sides of the tub, watching him. He seemed to be surveying the countryside again in the fading light. A bird chattered in the nearby tree, seeming restless in the growing twilight, as if it, too, sensed Jack’s unease.

“We should be safe here, shouldn’t we?” Chloe fished for reassurance.

“As long as soldiers don’t come in the night,” Jack answered without turning to her. “As long as there aren’t troops in the hills watching the house, watching for lights in the night.”

“We saw the soldiers earlier, moving north along the road. That was hours ago. They’ll be long gone by now.” Chloe didn’t like what he was implying.

“Yes, they were moving north. They’ll have broken camp for the night, and they may be mere miles from here.” Jack gripped the window casing and continued his stern surveillance of the surrounding countryside. “And when soldiers break camp, they drink, they wander and they find mischief. A good leader will keep them in line. A bad one will encourage them in their mischief upon the local populace.”  He turned to her. “I’ve given orders that no lights are to be lit this evening. No one shall know we are here. Finish your bath. No candles. We don’t want company in the night.”

His words were as far from the comfort she sought as the Indies were from Spain.

Chloe's grip on the sides of the tub tightened. She nodded, wondering how she would even sleep with such dire news.

“It will be all right,” Jack said, clutching the hilt of his sword as he stepped quickly across the room. He came to stand at the foot of the tub and was staring down at her. “I’ll be right outside that door, all night, Chloe.”

Being naked in a bath, with Jack staring down at her should have been thrilling.

And yet, the gruesome prospect of being found by the French army made the situation morbid and frightening. Chloe released the tub, her fingers stiff from her bruising grip. She made fists to try to ease the blood flow back into the numb digits and then crossed her arms over her breasts in a weak attempt at modesty. Too late. And too insincere. She didn’t want to hide from his gaze. 

"You may bathe when I am finished, Captain. It's the least I can do to thank you."

“Open the door when you are dressed. I’ll bathe in the twilight and you can cover your head in the bed and cower, my lady fair.”

Chloe released her breath in a rush and smiled at his dark silhouette. “I would wish for a candle, as I’d not miss such a vision, my good captain.”

“A shuttered window doesn’t guarantee a concealment of light. I’ll check on your maid. I’m not certain I trust her to adhere to the no light rule.”  Jack’s boots made nary a sound as he moved across the tiled flooring and made his retreat.

She finished her bath alone, dried herself and then slipped into the cotton night-rail. When she went to the door to open it, she found Jack was standing with his back to the entrance, like a soldier at the ready. He turned about in the darkening hallway. She couldn’t see his expression, as his face was bathed in shadow. “Come in. The water is still warm.”

He brushed past her, seeming to be in a hurry to be away from her. She sighed. What did she expect? He was here to protect her, nothing more. He was fulfilling his duty.

She looked about, noting the graying sky in the window at the end of the hall, and stepped back into her room. She noted the trail of clothing leading to the tub. Chloe’s breath hitched at the sight of the tall, lanky silhouette of Jack as he stepped into the tub.

The sound of water splashing as he descended kept her vision riveted on the tub. She could see a slight shimmer of water as the light from the window reflected on the moving figure before her. Jack had dipped his head beneath the water and then sat upright as the water ran off his impressive frame.  “Did you find the soap?” Her voice sounded warbly with excitement.

“Aye, you left it in the water. I’ll smell like an herb garden, better than roses or lilies.”

She heard him sniff the bar of rosemary and lemon thyme soap she preferred. It was a recipe she concocted herself while at Ravencrest.

The sound of splashing in the now dark room intrigued her. She wished she could have a candle, the better to see this sculpted, golden god of the sea.

“Do you have a linen wrap to dry with?” His voice startled her out of her fantasy of golden deity rising from the copper bath to make her tremble with desire.

“Oh, yes.” She rose from her perch on the bed, uncertain of how she even came to be sitting here as last she remembered it she had been standing at the door. Chloe felt around the floor with her foot, and located her cast off linen blanket. She held it up and unfurled it like a sail to encompass him, hoping he could see it in the dark room.

Water sloshed against the copper tub side and ran down his body as he must have stood. She could just make out his dark outline against the grey rectangular window behind him. A masculine hand reached forth and snatched the linen blanket from her grasp. Along with it went her hopes of assisting him in drying off his nude body.

The pale rectangle of linen moved like a ghost before her, as he obviously was wrapping it about his slick, wet body. Chloe watched the slight variation of white against the now black room, straining to see the invisible man in the darkness—the naked captain.

“Good night, Mrs. O’Donovan.” His voice came from the door. “I’ve my boots here, and fresh clothing in my pack outside. I’ll retrieve the rest in the morning.” The door closed.

Chloe was left alone in her room with an empty bathing tub, Jack's cast off clothing and her dripping fantasies. If only their situation were different, they might have enjoyed a bath together in the darkness, followed by more sensual games in the four--poster bed beyond.

She crawled beneath the sheet, weary and yet unable to sleep as her blood simmered beneath her skin and her heart ached for something more to hold than a feather pillow.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chloe was in a crowded courtyard. The sun was high in the sky, nearly blinding her as it beat down with an infernal heat. French soldiers were everywhere.  She was surrounded by them. They were jostling her about. The crowd was pushing her toward to some tall, wooden construction in the center of the square. 

Ambrose Duchamp, the count’s steward, was there. He was standing on the scaffold in black, but with no executioner’s mask as he grinned down at her with wicked delight. Beyond Ambrose, stood Jack with his hands tied behind his back and his brow bloodied. French soldiers on either side of him were pushing him toward Ambrose, the former French king’s master assassin. She tried to run up to the edge of the platform, to plead with Ambrose. What was he doing here, in Spain? He resided at Ravencrest, in her father's cottage.

People blocked her advance as they pushed her and edged in front of her in the square to get a better view. Chloe couldn’t get close. She realized with horror that they were going to hang Jack as a traitor. An unearthly noise behind her made her whirl around. Marta was weeping, wailing like a demon, and drums kept beating incessantly, announcing to all that the blond captain was about to be executed as a British spy.

“No, you cannot do this. Listen to me, Ambrose!” Chloe shrieked, but it seemed her voice would not come without a struggle.  The effort made her sit up with a start.

The darkness was cloying.  Panic seized Chloe as another round of dreadful caterwauling drifted through the open window. Marta’s demonic wailing in her dream was nothing more than a stupid cat outside, making an awful racket.

Her skin was damp. Her heart pounded so loud it was like a heavy drum throbbing in her head.  She hardly knew she slept, as when she'd climbed into the big bed, Chloe had feared she would not be able to find rest after the worries of the past days.

The noise came again, dreadful meowing that was enough to bring goose bumps to her neck. Damn cat. Lady Elizabeth loved the creatures. Chloe was not particularly fond of them, but she didn’t despise them, either. Not until this moment, when the unearthly cries shattered the still night air and made her flesh creep and her belly squirm. She listened in the darkness for the sound of human feet on the cobbled stones of the courtyard, or worse, military boots.

Silence was her only companion. That cat, or cats, must have moved on from beneath her window. Heart still slamming against her ribs, she tossed back the sheets and hurried to the door. She’d had enough of being alone in the dark in a strange house. More than enough.

The door opened with a creak. She took one step and tripped against the considerable bulk of a large, warm body. Chloe shrieked, and a hand covered her lips.

“Shhh, dearest. It is only me,” Jack whispered. He pulled her down, onto his lap. The man was camped outside her door, fully clothed, keeping guard while she slept.

“Cap’n?” Jinx's voice came from the stairs. Only his white shirt was visible in the dark.

“All is well, Jinx. Go back to your post. And beware of lurking cats,” Jack told his man.

Chloe knew she should extract herself from his warm embrace and go back to bed. She didn’t wish to leave the circle of his arms. She was scrunched up on his lap like a child, held against his hard chest with his arms tight about her.

“Are you afraid of cats, my little
senora
?” He sounded amused by her frightened cower. “I hear you are adept at killing rats. What is a cat but an oversized rodent?”

“Stop it.” She pushed against his chest, feigning irritation when in truth a smile curved about her lips. “I was dreaming awful things. Marta’s cries became those of a demon.”

“A nightmare.” Jack’s warm breath caressed her neck, just below her ear. “What was the reason for Marta’s crying that became an angry cat’s wailing?”

She gave up trying to save her pride and hugged Jack with all of her being. “They were going to hang you as a spy.”

“I can still feel your heart racing against that fear." His voice was a whisper, a caress. “Have faith. I’ve spent years learning not to give a damn about the wars of men. I’m not a soldier or a spy. I’m a merchant sailor, a despicable rogue.”

“A gallant rogue,” she countered, hugging his solid frame as they sat on the floor in front of her chamber cloaked in darkness so neither had to pretend anger or distance. “You are a valiant man, my love. A good man who does not deserve to hang for my reckless decisions.”

Jack’s arms tightened about her. His hand moved along her side to rest upon her back. He seemed so strong, so solid and hard. “The demons still gnaw at your conscience, then. None of this is your fault. We couldn't have known the Spanish people were at the breaking point, ready to erupt into chaos and civil war. This is not your doing, my dear Chloe.”

She sagged against him, depleted of argument, of strength. “I keep seeing that man’s face. And wondering if he has a wife. We didn’t even bury him, Jack.”

“Benito.” Jack’s rough whisper vibrated against her ear. “We couldn’t stay to bury him. Not after your maid started shrieking. We’d be risking our lives to do so. Christ, that was two days past. Stop blaming yourself. You don’t have that damn gift like the countess; you cannot see the future, Chloe. Few can, and even they don’t always get it right.”

“Where is my uncle? Where is he hiding? Why is he hiding? What is he running from?”

“I wish I had the answer. For all we know, he could be hiding in the mountains, leading the militia. They say many of the nobles are taking up the cause. That may be why his servants are loathe to share his whereabouts with us, or give us a true destination of where to find him.”  He kissed her neck and then drew back from their embrace. His arms left her, but his hands gently cupped her cheeks. “Did you never consider that, sweet Chloe? Your uncle may be a rebel leader. He may be in hiding.” He kissed her again, this time on the forehead.

Chloe’s fear dissolved as his lips gently coaxed hers into the familiar dance. Jack’s mouth was tender, gentle, as he tried to comfort her with kisses when words failed. She grasped his face in both hands and kissed him with insistence and vigor lest he retreat from their embrace out of duty, honor, or respect. She wanted him. He obviously wanted her just as much if not more by the strength of his arousal. And they were alone--in the dark.