Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (18 page)

Another curse was followed by a nod of acquiescence.

Harry smiled and finished tying the fellow up. Norrie had restored her clothing to respectability and was twisting her hair into a neat bun. Harry picked up the brigand's flintlock fowling piece and handed her the revolver. “Stay here with him. I want to see about the other fellows.”

She hesitated a moment before taking the revolver but nodded and took it in her hand. It apparently weighed more than she had expected, because she came near to dropping it, but she steadied it and her shoulders straightened. She swung the muzzle around to point at the brigand and seemed pleased at the look of panic on his face.

She was still pointing the revolver at the brigand when Harry returned, but her fingers had grown stiff. He had to almost peel them from the pistol. After tucking it into his belt, he put his arm around her, and she sagged against him.

“It's all right now,” he said. “The fat fellow is dead, and Landi is gone. I think I hit him—I saw a trail of blood, and he left his gun behind—but he seems to have vanished. It looks as if they had horses tied just beyond those trees, and he must have driven off the others. There are hoofprints, but no horses, so I couldn't go after him.” She pulled away and gave him such a look of horror that he wanted to laugh. “No, I wouldn't leave you behind to go chasing after him, but he didn't know that, now did he?” She subsided, and he returned to the problem. “We can put this one in the back of the buggy, but we'll have to leave the dead one. Even if they would both fit, I can't stomach putting them on there together.”

Norrie looked sick. “No. That would be…” She shivered. “I'm sorry. I'm being silly.”

“Oh, yes, what a foolish girl you are. Instead of shrieking and swooning, you keep your head and pass me the revolver right under Landi's nose. Then you tackle a bandit and beat him up when you are told to run for safety. What a useless little ninny, to be sure.”

She managed a smile. “We did do pretty well together, didn't we?”

The trip home was managed with no more dispatch than the morning trip. Neither gunshots nor bloodshed had disturbed the plow horse, nor had he discovered any reserves of energy during his wait. He was content to plod onward, one thudding foot at a time, and no amount of urging could increase his pace. At least that meant that their passage raised little dust.

Although the sun was still high, Norrie shivered from time to time. Tunbury had wrapped his coat around her and kept her close by his side, but his stomach churned with anger—at Landi and his villains, obviously; at Savelli, for having sheltered this viper; even at the Etruscans, for having left behind treasures to steal—but most of all at himself.

How could he have been so stupidly careless? No matter what Norrie might say, he should have protected her, and instead he had led her into danger. He should have realized that the thieves would not take the loss of their goods lightly. Without her quick thinking, they would both be dead now.

By the time they arrived at the villa, his scowl was sufficiently ferocious to make the servant who appeared at the door blanch and take a step back. Tunbury snapped a few commands that brought the servant to the wagon to peer over the side.

The fellow gasped at the sight of the bruised and battered captive. “
Ban
dito. Sì
.”

While a second servant ran off to find the prince, Tunbury swung Elinor off the seat and carried her in, holding her too tightly to allow for protests, were she so inclined. He hesitated briefly at the door of the sitting room but swung away and continued up the stairs to Elinor's room. “Fetch her mother,” he commanded Martha, “and prepare a bath for her.”

“I can stand, you know,” Elinor said, her face pressed into his shirt.

He placed her carefully on her feet next to the bed, lest she fall. She did sway slightly, but remained erect and even smiled at him. Her bodice was buttoned now, but her dress was streaked with blood. He put his hands on her shoulders and touched his forehead to hers in mute apology.

“I will wait until your mother gets here. Then I must tell the prince and your father what happened.”

“You are going to try to find him, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and sighed. “But you will come to me when you return.”

“Yes.”

He kissed her fiercely, possessively.

There was no time for further talk. Lady Penworth flew in, a Fury prepared to take on the world in defense of her child. The look she threw at Tunbury knocked him back three paces while she wrapped her arms around her daughter.

“I'll explain. Go now, but be careful,” Elinor told him.

After a quick look at the servants pouring into the room with pitchers of hot water, a pot of tea, and a bottle of brandy, he fled downstairs.

Things were no better there. Lord Penworth seized hold of him at the bottom of the stairs. “Where is Elinor? How badly is she injured?”

“She isn't hurt.” Tunbury tried for a calming tone despite the sick fury writhing within him.

His effort was not particularly successful. Penworth was, if anything, even more distraught than his wife. “They said there was blood.” Iron fingers sank into Tunbury's shoulder, as if to claw answers from him.

“Not her blood. We were attacked, but she was not injured.” At least not physically, Tunbury thought, but did not say.

Just then, Savelli appeared, striding into the hall and looking thunderous. “What is this I hear about bandits—my cousin—attacking my guests?”

“Could we go someplace private?” Tunbury stood stiffly, taking advantage of his height and looking down at the prince.

Savelli checked momentarily, then nodded and led the way into a study. Its civilized trappings, with leather-covered volumes residing in glass-fronted cabinets and plush curtains dimming the light, seemed an incongruous setting for a melodramatic tale.

It did not take long to recount the day's events, but even an expurgated account was enough to turn Penworth white and send him charging from the room to see for himself that his daughter was uninjured.

Savelli, on the other hand, seemed turned to stone. Gone was the enthusiastic antiquarian, the languid aristocrat, the courteous host. All that remained was the stern autocrat who ruled this little kingdom. For all his fondness for the pleasure-loving Etruscans, the prince was a stern, proud Roman to the bone. He reached out a hand to ring for a servant and, when one appeared, fired off a dozen questions and responded to the answers with a series of orders so rapid that Tunbury had difficulty following. Then he snapped out at Tunbury, “Come with me.”

It did not occur to Tunbury to refuse. He followed the prince into the stables.

Savelli tossed a glance at an empty stall and barked a short, bitter laugh without breaking stride. “I see he has stolen my best horse as well, and will doubtless run him into the ground, fool that he is.” He came to a halt at the entrance to the tack room. On the floor, still bound with the strips of Norrie's petticoat, was the bandit, watched over by a pair of sturdy grooms. Savelli flicked his hand and one of them kicked the captive over. The bruises Norrie had given him seemed to have multiplied under the care of the grooms. The prince gave another short bark of laughter. “I see you dealt appropriately with this piece of carrion.”

The piece of carrion opened his mouth as if to snarl, but a look from Tunbury was enough to silence him.

Savelli was nodding. “Yes, I recognize him. He was discharged for insolence some time ago.” He looked at the grooms. “Get what information you can out of him first.”

Tunbury did not ask what would be second. He did not care. The mere thought that this creature very nearly had Norrie in his power…

Savelli turned back and stalked out into the courtyard where half a dozen mounted men and a pair of saddled horses waited. “My servants tell me that Armando already returned to the house. His mother is in considerable distress. It appears he helped himself to whatever jewelry and money she had in her room. He has about half an hour's lead on us, and he may have friends willing to help him. I do not know if we will be able to catch him, but I intend to try. Do you wish to come?”

Oh yes. He most definitely did.

* * *

Full night had fallen by the time they returned. Lantern light threw bizarre shadows about the stable yard as the weary riders slipped from their horses and silently passed the care of their mounts to the grooms. Failure and disappointment cloaked them, and they parted wordlessly. Prince Savelli, his posture still rigid but his eyes bleak, strode off through the arch leading to the entrance hall. Tunbury began to follow, then checked his steps and turned to the garden.

He went quickly and quietly up the stairs to the terrace. Clouds dimmed the moonlight, but he had no difficulty finding Norrie's room. The curtains were not quite closed, and he could see that a light still burned so he rapped softly on the glass.

Almost immediately the curtain was pulled aside and the French doors were flung open. Norrie pulled him in and threw herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek against her head. The sweet soapy scent of her hair cleaned the stink of dust and horses from his nostrils and the tension began to ease.

“We didn't catch him. I'm sorry.”

“That doesn't matter.” Her voice was muffled by his coat. “As long as you aren't hurt. I was so worried.”

“Ah, there was no need for you to worry.” She felt so good in his arms, so soft, so perfect. He rubbed his cheek back and forth against her clean, silky hair. “At least a dozen of us were hunting him. How much safer could I be?”

“Of course I worried.” She twisted her hands in his jacket and tried to shake him. “Who knows what might happen? Armando is a rat, and a cornered rat is dangerous. You are not to go putting yourself in danger. I forbid it. Now that you finally got around to declaring yourself, I don't intend to lose you.”

He smiled and dropped a gentle kiss on her hair. “You won't ever lose me. I'm here to stay, and I promise to do a much better job of protecting you in the future. I don't intend to lose you, either.”

For long minutes they stood there in silence, just holding each other. Then Norrie said, “Adventures aren't quite the way I imagined they would be. I thought I wanted to have adventures the way you did—I was quite envious of you. But I wouldn't really like too many more like that one.”

“No more would I. Ah, Norrie, every time I think about what could have happened…”

“I was afraid, you know. Terrified, even.”

“Of course you were. So was I.”

“You were?”

“Can you doubt it? Only a fool isn't afraid when a lunatic is waving a gun at him.”

She buried her face in his shirt again. “It wasn't just that I was afraid. I didn't like that. But I hated those men. I really hated them. I never felt that way before. It bothered me.”

He pulled her tighter to him. “And I pray you will never need to feel that way again. I promise you, Norrie, I will do my best to make sure you never need to feel that way again.”

She let him hold her until finally she pulled back her head and looked up at him. A smile was beginning to tug at her mouth. “But after all, what did happen was that we won. We make a good team, don't we?”

He had to return her smile. She was back to being fierce. “Yes, we do.”

“And you won't mind if in the future our adventures are not quite so adventurous?”

“I have very different adventures in mind for us.” His hand was making circles on her back, and he suddenly realized that she was wearing nothing but a nightdress and wrapper—no corset, no petticoats, almost nothing at all. His body had realized this well before his mind had noticed, and if she hadn't noticed already, she soon would realize what it was that was pressing against her.

He ought to leave. He really ought to leave. He shouldn't be here in the first place. He knew that, but instead of letting her go, his arms were tightening and pulling her closer. Her head tilted so that her lips were just waiting for him, parted in invitation. He couldn't refuse.

He explored her mouth slowly, tangling his tongue with hers, reaching deep into the soft cavern. Slowly, then not so slowly as desire overcame him. Yes, this was what he wanted, and her arms tightened, pulling him closer. This was what she wanted too. His hands cupped her buttocks—somehow her nightdress had been pulled up—and pulled her hard against him. He heard a groan of longing and realized that it came from him.

He shouldn't—they shouldn't. He lifted his head and tried to think. “Norrie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here.” He could barely get the words out.

She pulled his head back down. “Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare.”

He couldn't quite believe it. Could she really have said that? Was she inviting him to her bed? Did she even understand what she had said? But she was pulling him back, pulling him toward her bed, pulling him toward everything he wanted. Oh, God! She was!

He had to ask. “You're sure, Norrie? You're sure?”

She was pushing his coat off his shoulders and pulling out his shirt. “Of course I'm sure.”

He had to let go of her to get his arms out of the tangle of cloth, but his mouth followed her, nibbling her jaw, dropping kisses along her brow. His arms finally fought free of his clothes, and he caught her up again as they stumbled onto the bed. She was laughing, joyous laughter.

His heel snagged on the coverlet. “Just a minute.” His voice was hoarse as he lifted himself up and sat to tug off his boots. Had it ever taken him this long to get his boots off? He stood up to undo his trousers and realized that Norrie had stood too. She had discarded her wrapper, and as he watched, she lifted her nightdress and pulled it over her head.

And then she was naked.

All he could do was stare in awe. Not even in his dreams… “Norrie,” he whispered, “Norrie, you're so, so perfect.”

She lifted a hand, ever so slowly, and reached toward him. Her fingers touched his bare chest, ever so lightly, and trailed over his skin. “You're beautiful. You really are Hercules,” she whispered.

He couldn't move. Her touch had him frozen. The moment stretched on and on. Then she raised her eyes to meet his and caught her lower lip in her teeth. Her sudden uncertainty was all he needed. “Not a demigod,” he said thickly. “Only a man.”

In an instant his remaining clothes had fallen to the floor and they were on the bed, skin to skin.

His hands skimmed over her, touching everywhere, deciding where to settle first. Every place he touched brought a response from her—a little noise, a movement. He wanted to go slowly, he needed to go slowly for her. His hands trembled with the effort to hold back.

His touch seemed to burn. Her whole body seemed to be on fire. Suddenly every bit of her was so sensitive. She hadn't known she could feel so much. And then his hand was between her legs and touching her there. She gasped, and then there was more and more and more—and she was flying, exploding.

When she opened her eyes, he was above her, smiling. He kissed her and she could feel him down there, not his hand but him, pressing into her, slowly filling her. Yes, this was what she wanted, yes. He was moving inside her, faster now, faster, and she was flying again.

With a strangled cry he shuddered and collapsed on her. The weight of him should have felt heavy, but it didn't. It just felt right. She lifted her arms to hold him there and gently rubbed little circles on his back while his breathing gradually slowed to normal.

He rolled over eventually and pulled her with him, held against his side. He was smiling, but he looked half stunned. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“All right?” He gave a choked little laugh. “God, Norrie, that was incredible. And I'm supposed to be asking you. Did I hurt you?”