Her Wicked Ways (36 page)

By the time she reached her destination, her breath came in short gasps. Stopping outside, she pressed herself against the exterior wall and gulped air. After a moment, she peered into the doorway, careful to keep herself out of sight. Two grooms sat at a table drinking. Behind them marched a line of stalls. Had they stashed him in one of those for the night?

She craned her neck, trying to see the other side of the building. She glanced back at the table. One of the grooms stared straight at her! She flattened herself against the wall once more, panic shortening her breath again.

Reason told her to run back to the house, but she couldn’t abandon Fox when she’d come this far. His imprisonment was her fault! But if the groom caught her, what would she say? Her mind worked for explanations of why she might be there—

A hand closed around her arm and dragged her away from the door. The groom held his finger to his lips. “I’ve only got a moment. You’re here to see Fox?”

She blinked up at him. “You know him?”

He nodded and released his grip. “I’m Freddie. And if I’m right, you’re Lady Miranda.”

“How do you know that?”

A smile flitted across his lips. “My brother Philip told me all about you.”

Could she be this fortunate? “Philip? From the orphanage?”

“Yes. I used to live there, too.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Are you here to help Fox?”

Hope swirled through her chest. “If I can. Where is he?”

“In the tack room.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the building. “I’ve been trying to get rid of Tom all night, but he thinks we both need to stand guard. So I started giving him whisky, and I’d say he’s about ready to knock over. Just be patient, and I’ll come get you when he’s out.”

Miranda shivered. “Thank you.”

He twisted his mouth, appearing regretful. “Sorry I can’t let you inside where it’s warmer. Will you be all right?”

She hadn’t come this far to give up to the cold. “I’ll be fine.”

Miranda huddled in the shadows next to the building and waited. She wrinkled her nose at the prevalent scent of horse manure. While she loved to ride, she never spent much time in the actual stable.

When her fingers tingled with the onset of numbness, Freddie finally came back out. “Follow me.”

The groom led her into the barn. The figure slumped over the table had to be Tom. Freddie unlocked a door partway down the left row of stalls. Miranda hurried into the tack room. A tallow candle burned low, barely illuminating Fox stretched out along the far wall on a makeshift pallet of horse blankets.

“Fox!”

He jumped to his feet and her heart tightened at the sight of him in his rumpled clothes and mussed hair. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She stopped abruptly at his angry tone. Had she expected him to welcome her with enthusiasm? Foolishly, she’d hoped he might.

Fox turned his glare on the groom just inside the door. “Freddie, why did you let her in?”

“Keep your voices down. The other groom is sleeping out there. She said she came to help you.”

Fox nodded but then returned his attention to Miranda. “Do you have a plan?”

Seeing him here, consigned to sleeping on the floor in the rank darkness, made her heart ache. Accommodations on a ship to a penal colony would be far worse. She swallowed her emotion as best as she could. “Can we talk about this privately?”

Fox clenched and unclenched his fists. “Fine. Freddie, you’ll let us know if anyone comes?”

The lad nodded. “I hope you’ll let me know how I can help.” He frowned sadly. “I wish I could just let you go, but I don’t dare.”

“Certainly not, Freddie. I understand. Do not concern yourself.” Fox quirked a brow at her. “Miranda apparently has a plan.”

“I’ll be out here if you need me.” Freddie closed the door, but didn’t lock it.

Now alone with Fox, Miranda’s nerves spiked, and she couldn’t think of what to say.

He sauntered toward her, stopping an arm’s length away. “So what’s your plan, Miranda? Or like everything else, have you not quite thought this through?”

Now that pricked her anger. “Would you rather I leave?”

They stared at each other, the tension palpable in the small, dark room. Though shadow cloaked his face, the hard glimmer of his eyes pierced straight to her soul. “No.”

And with that simple word, relief pulsed through her veins and her knees wobbled. “I’ve considered this, Fox, and I’m sure Carmody won’t identify you. I’m going to tell him I know you can’t be the highwayman. He knows I kissed the highwayman and will have to believe me.”

“How do you figure? Unless you plan to kiss me too?” He leaned forward and she shivered.

She glanced at his mouth. “I have kissed you.”

“As the highwayman, but you can’t tell them that.” The ice in his voice made her cold. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Fear he wouldn’t let her help him stole a bit of her resolve. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’ve never faced hanging before.” The words were clipped, raw.

“You aren’t going to hang!” Fear he might made her voice shrill. “Without Mr. Carmody’s testimony, there’s nothing to convict you of this crime.”

“Nothing except the money Norris planted in my cloak.”

Miranda gasped. The room tilted a bit. She shook, as much from emotion as from the cold.

Fox took her hand and stroked her fingers. For the first time since she arrived he seemed like himself. Like the Fox she knew.

“Are you all right? You’re freezing.”

He guided her to the blankets and sat down with her on the soft pile of wool. Grasping both of her hands, he warmed them between his own.

Her teeth started to chatter. Fox sat back against a saddle and pulled her between his legs. He grabbed a blanket and threw it over them, wrapping his arms around her. The heat of his chest warmed her back, and she tucked her head under his chin.

She held the blanket up. “It’s cold. Put your arms under here.”

He hesitated but ultimately complied. He crossed his arms over her chest, settling his hands on her elbows. They sat quietly for a moment, while her body absorbed warmth and her shaking subsided. Slowly she became aware of his breath tickling her hairline, of the hardness of his frame around the softness of hers.

Sitting against him like this reminded her of the brothel. Her heart beat faster again, but not with fright. It pounded steadily, mounting in its speed along with her yearning. Her yearning for him.

She turned in his arms. He gazed down at her, the gold of his eyes glowing in the sputtering candlelight. She ran her fingers along his jaw, prickly with the growth of his faint beard, but tantalizing. His pulse beat in his throat and she traced along the vein to the edge of his opened shirt, staring at the flesh bared to her gaze.

He smelled of rosemary and hay and man. He never smelled like the men she knew in London with their carefully crafted perfumes. No, his scent was real and impossible to duplicate. She rested her fingers in the hollow at the base of his throat and raised her gaze to his. He didn’t move and she took his lack of response as acquiescence.

Coming up on her knees, she pushed his coat from his shoulders, running her hands over the muscles of his upper arms and then back up again as he shrugged out of the garment. He didn’t touch her, but rested his hands at his sides on the blanket.

She massaged the backs of his shoulders, his neck. His muscles relaxed as she worked, and his eyes lost a bit of their ferocity. She skimmed her palms over his collarbones and down the front of his shirt. His chest shuddered as he took a particularly deep breath. Without pause, she continued her journey downward and tugged the linen out of his waistband. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she ran her hands up, bunching the fabric as she traversed his heated flesh. His eyes widened slightly, but not with surprise. With pleasure.

When he didn’t move to take off the garment, she clutched the hem. He grabbed her hands. “I won’t let you start something you don’t intend to finish.”

Raw desire raced along her flesh. She offered him what she hoped to be her most seductive smile. “I intend to finish.”

He gripped her hands more firmly. “I’m quite serious. I will not be trifled with, Miranda. I’ve offered myself to you before and you turned me down.”

The smile fell from her face at the intensity in his gaze. “I won’t turn you down.” She squeezed his hands in return. “I want you.”

“Your brother told me there were others.” The muscles around his mouth tensed, his gaze hooded. “In London.”

What had Jasper revealed? Any games she’d played with Darleigh were mere shadows of what she felt for this man. “No. Never. At least, not like this. You’re…you’re different.”

His features relaxed slightly. “I would still marry you.” His voice dipped low, until he sounded hoarse.

“I know.” She pulled her hands free and he let them go. Grasping the hem of his shirt, she whisked it up over his head, and he helped toss it away.

Bare-chested, he was magnificent. His muscles were clearly defined, with a light covering of pale brown hair trailing downward until it disappeared into his waistband. Intrigued, she wanted to follow where it led, but first she must explore that which lay exposed to her hungry gaze.

“You’re staring at me like I’m food again.” His words heightened her arousal and further emboldened her.

She feasted on his male beauty. “I’ve never seen anything as delicious as you.”

“Christ, Miranda. Ladies don’t talk like that.”

She traced her fingers around his nipples and watched them tighten. Her own hardened in response. “You don’t like it?”

He swallowed audibly. “I like it fine.” The pulse in his throat quickened, and Miranda felt a surge of pleasure.

She flattened her palms against him and glided them down to the alluring path of hair leading into his pantaloons. He sucked in a breath as her fingers found the buttons of his fall. The fabric fell away with her ministrations and her knuckles brushed against the swell of his penis, hidden from her gaze by his drawers. He flinched, but still didn’t move to touch or assist her in any way. She looked back to his face as she stroked her fingertips along the length of his erection. His tongue darted out and wetted his lips.

Her breasts grew heavy, and her entire body thrummed with pent-up desire. Still, he simply sat there. “Aren’t you going to touch me?”

He raised a brow and she couldn’t be sure if she’d interrupted a lust-filled reverie in which touching her hadn’t occurred to him or he’d simply been waiting for her invitation. His lips spread into a slow, wicked smile. “Yes.”

With great speed, he leaned forward and took her in his arms. He pressed her back onto the blankets and covered her body with his. Poised above her face, he touched a finger to her mouth, traced first the lower lip and then the upper. Her body screamed with need.

And then he splayed his palm against her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her with a kiss so full of passion, so overwhelming, it crowded all thought from her mind. She quivered beneath the onslaught of his tongue as it stroked her lips and then the recesses of her mouth. Her response encompassed everything she could give, desperate for it to be enough to ease the hunger building between them. She’d never been kissed like this, not even when he’d been the highwayman. He seemed to be drawing something from her, coaxing something to the surface of her consciousness. A wild craving exploded in her breast and between her thighs.

He cradled the back of her neck while he angled his head to better plunder her mouth. She tangled her hands in his hair, holding him to her, never wanting to let go.

Working the buttons of her spencer free, he delved his fingers inside and paused for the briefest moment. Then he pulled back and looked down at her chest. “What are you wearing?”

She moved her hands to his shoulders. “A nightdress.”

“You came out here dressed in your nightclothes?”

She shrugged. “It seemed unnecessary to dress for a social occasion.”

He laughed then. A deep, throaty, wonderful sound that slammed heat into every corner of her body. “Miranda, I adore you.”

Heady sensation careened through her until she feared it would leak out in the form of a giggle. Swallowing the emotion, she arched up off the blanket and kissed him, running her tongue over his lower lip. With a groan, he opened his mouth and hastily stripped the spencer from her. His hand moved to her waistband and found the hooks of her skirt. Deftly, he loosened the garment and pushed it down over her thighs. She wiggled her hips in assistance.

Fox whispered against her lips, “Be still. I’ll do it.” He sat back and pulled the skirt from her legs, exposing her nightdress, which came to her knees. His fingertips caressed her calves in turn as he removed her half-boots and set them to the side. He glanced up at her with a half-smile and skimmed his palms up her right leg until he found the garter above her knee. “Will your feet be cold if I take these off?”

“I don’t think I’m capable of being cold around you.”

“Mmm. Exactly as I’d hoped.” He bent over her and unfastened the garter. His warm fingers massaged her flesh, and then his lips were against the back of her knee. His touch tickled, too captivating to resist, and she shivered. His breath heated her skin. “Divine.” No, there was no chance of being chilled now.