Margo Maguire (15 page)

Chapter 15

G
avin spent the night in Christina’s bed, waking her twice more to make love to her. And then he slept with his arms around her, holding her close, as though he would never let her go.

It was a ridiculous notion, she knew, one that had not occurred to her before.

She thought of his whispered words, of the sweetly intimate urgings that were so incongruous with his hard demeanor, and was glad he’d ended their argument so abruptly and effectively. Her body trembled as though every nerve remembered the pleasure of his touch, and the incredible power of his caress.

And yet Christina could not forget about the reason for their argument. She wanted to believe Lang was alive. That he was somehow unable to contact the family.

She could not imagine what that reason could be, but it was far more difficult to think of her younger brother lying dead in a burned-out dockside warehouse. Neither circumstance was acceptable.

If Lang was alive . . . obviously, he knew there would be consequences for deserting his ship, and Christina was very much afraid they would hang him—if they ever found him. The blackmailer’s note said he knew where Lang was and what he’d done. Had he deserted ship? Or had he been party to some other crime?

If the blackmailer wasn’t just leading her on, Christina would find Lang and help him out of whatever difficulty he’d gotten himself into. If he needed money, she had plenty of that. If he was afraid of a court-martial . . .

Somehow, they would sort that out, too. After all, their father was not without influence. And if there had been a very good reason for Lang to drop out of sight for a time . . . Well, then . . . things might not go too badly.

She hoped.

She pressed her face against Gavin’s chest and breathed deeply. Though he did not awaken, he gathered her closer, making her skin tingle when he eased his leg between hers.

How would she feel when they parted? When all was said and done in London and up at Windermere, Gavin would buy his property in Hampshire and retreat to the country. Their reason for being together would have ended.

The thought of it caused an ache in the center of her chest, but she refused to allow thoughts of their separation to intrude. They had at least three more days—two nights—together before they reached London. Before she had to face the truth about Lang.

And she was going to enjoy every minute of them.

It was far too easy to become accustomed to such lusty attentions from an attractive, but wholly unsuitable man. And too dangerous for a widowed viscountess. She was young. Her parents—and the rest of society, of course—would expect her to marry again, and marry well.

The younger son of a country viscount, a man who’d agreed to a price for doing her grandfather’s bidding, was certainly not the kind of man her father would accept. Besides, she’d had a number of acceptable suitors during her London seasons, men who might still be looking for a wife when she was out of mourning and ready to consider marriage again.

Christina snuggled against Gavin’s body and listened to his deep breathing. She was not sure she would ever be ready.

Christina wished they did not have to leave their quiet bower; wished she could forget all about Lang and the pain he had caused their family; wished she could forgo their trip to London, and everything that the future held.

But it would be light soon and they needed to get on the road. Whatever might transpire between them in the bedchamber, she refused to listen to Gavin’s dire speculations. Lang
had
to be alive, or there was no point in all of this.

“You need not have waited for me to awaken, sweet,” he whispered, tangling their feet together. “Your touch is enough to make me ready.”

“Even in sleep?”

“Oh aye.”

His deep, quiet voice whispered through her, and Christina felt her womb clench when he cupped her breast. Her entire body thrummed with awareness when he nuzzled her neck.

“Why did you cut your hair?”

His question surprised her. “I did it in a fit of temper.”

“Temper? You?”

Her mind might be caught up in a fog of sensation, but his sarcasm did not escape her. “That is not very amusing, Captain Briggs.” She moved her head to look up at his eyes. They were mostly in shadows, but she felt him watching her intently. “I cut it after my sister-in-law, the new Lady Fairhaven, mentioned how much my late husband loved my hair.”

His brows came together. “I’ve heard of women in foreign cultures who shear their hair in mourning.”

“This had nothing to do with mourning.”

“No?”

“My husband did not love anything about me—except perhaps my family connections and my youth. But certainly not my hair. Nor my company in his bed.”

Christina regretted the words the minute they exited her mouth. It was humiliating to admit she had not been the woman Edward had sought for his pleasure. That he’d treated her almost like a piece of pretty furniture—pleasant and convenient, but not vital.

“The man was an idiot.”

T
hey went back to sleep until dawn, and Gavin felt nearly boneless when he awoke. He managed to restrain himself from touching Christina’s curls as she slept, from slipping his fingers through the silken mass and waking her with a kiss.

Her lips were slightly parted and he could hear every breath she took. Her blanket had drifted off her shoulders, baring an enticing span of her chest.

Gavin slid quietly out of bed, crushing the lust that flared like a bright beacon over a dark sea.

He pulled on his clothes, then left her and went into his own room, reminding himself that what he shared with Christina was only sex. Truly excellent sex, but nothing more. At least, that was what he told himself as he washed and dressed for the day.

He dragged off his shirt, leaned both hands against the washstand, and took a deep breath. It was time to regroup, to think through the next few days and the events that were likely to occur on Sunday morning when he confronted the blackmailer.

And how he was going to get Christina back to Windermere. What he discovered at All Hallows Church was not going to be acceptable, no matter what it was.

Bloody hell.
Gavin didn’t want to argue with her anymore, and he especially didn’t want to be the one to tell her what he learned from Norris—or whoever was trying to extort money from her. She’d been so very hopeful of finding answers she could live with.

No wonder she had argued so emphatically. Facing Lang’s demise was not an acceptable conclusion to this adventure.

Gavin could understand that. He could not imagine the pain of losing his younger sister. If there was any doubt whatsoever—even the slimmest of possibilities that she was not dead—Gavin would move mountains to determine the truth.

It would be all over on Sunday. Christina would have to face the news Gavin brought her, and then it would be his task to convince her to go back to Windermere with him.

In spite of what happened at All Hallows Church.

If only he’d just taken Christina to Windermere that first day—even against her will—he would not be facing these difficulties now. He’d have his money and already would have sent funds to Eleanor to cover her and Rachel’s traveling expenses. They would all be on their way to Weybrook Manor.

And he would never have tasted the most enticing woman he’d ever met.

Gavin raked his fingers through his hair. The events of the past few days contradicted all his intentions.

Now he was responsible for a little orphan boy, as well as the safety of Christina’s party and the valuable jewels she’d brought with her. They’d been lucky so far, and no highwaymen had challenged them. But a nasty crew like the one he’d subdued at Palmer’s Inn could be lurking out there on an empty stretch of road, just waiting for the right opportunity.

C
hristina climbed from the bed, realizing she had muscles and tendons she’d been unaware of before. She washed her chafed skin and dressed carefully, making certain to cover all the little red abrasions Gavin had made on her skin. Fortunately, Jenny would not be coming in to help her dress this morning, and Christina knew she would have to make sure her maid did not undress her that night, either.

Society would be aghast if they knew of her liaison with Gavin Briggs, but Christina felt entirely energized after her night spent in his arms, in spite of their argument.

Perhaps
because
of their argument.

But she could not think of that now—the possibilities were too forbidding to face.

Instead, she relished the moment Gavin had called Edward an idiot for failing to appreciate her. She pressed her hand against the center of her chest and willed her heart to slow. It was utter foolishness, she knew. Gavin Briggs had plans for a future that did not include her, plans he’d not seen fit to share with her.

Soon she would be out of mourning, and could marry again. But it seemed widowhood suited her far more than marriage had ever done. There had been little satisfaction in being married to Edward, and a great deal of restriction. When—if—she wed again, it would be to a man who set her blood on fire. One who made her forget where she was and who she was. A man who respected her and would be devoted only to her.

Christina did not know if such a man existed, but she’d met precious few who drew her as Gavin Briggs did. Not even the handsome Lord Everhart, who had courted her avidly, competing with Edward for her attentions. Christina’s father had objected to Everhart at the time, but perhaps when she met the good-looking young earl again . . .

She shook her head to clear it.

She’d already decided she was not going to consider remarriage for at least a few more years. Not until she gained more experience. After all, she’d already wed an attractive man approved by her father, and yet the marriage had been anything but ideal.

Life was much better with a paramour who knew how to please her.

Christina finished dressing and went to the window to see what kind of day it was. It must have rained during the night, for the road was muddy, but the sun was coming out now. Gavin walked into the stable yard with their innkeeper and another man and spoke quietly with him.

Had she ever known another man who possessed such physical prowess? Gavin was intense and masterful and yet considerate and patient.

A spark of pure longing sizzled through her.

She caught herself gawping at the man. She quickly shut her mouth and turned away to finish dressing. It was quite in her best interests to keep the affair in perspective. Gavin Briggs was a temporary diversion and nothing more.

Once they arrived in London, everything would change.

She didn’t know if Gavin had a house of his own, or if he had some temporary lodgings when in Town. Wherever he intended to stay, rendezvous would be difficult. Or perhaps they would grow tired of each other by the time they reached Town.

That was a droll notion. She was insatiable for him. She could hardly wait until they reached their next stop so she could have her way with him.

It was outrageous, she knew, and though she tried to dismiss her brazen musings, Christina found she could not. The prospect of lying naked with her handsome lover, of exploring the limits of pleasure with him, was just too delectable to set aside.

By the time she left the inn to join her party waiting for her at the carriage, she felt breathless with anticipation. Utterly foolish, she knew.

“What is our destination to be this afternoon?” she asked Gavin before climbing into the carriage behind Jenny and Theo.

His knowing gaze caused her skin to heat, and she suspected he could see the marks he’d made on her neck and breast through her clothes. She could almost feel his gentle hands sliding up her legs, around her back, and on the tips of her breasts.

His voice was gruff when he spoke. “We should come close to Ledger’s Mill, I hope.”

“Ledger’s Mill? I have a cousin who has an estate near Ledger’s Mill. I know it well.”

“Shall we make for it?” he asked.

Christina tried to appear indifferent, but failed miserably. She was certain every longing and desire was etched upon her face. “Of course,” she managed to say. “I have not seen Avery in months. I’m quite sure he’ll be pleased to see me, and happy to give us lodging for the night.” And it would be a welcome comfort after the inns—and all their distractions—the past few nights.

“I’ll tell Hancock to ask you for your cousin’s direction when we get close.”

A
t midday, Hancock pulled the carriage onto a side road and the women stepped out with Theo for the lunch that had been packed for them by the inn’s kitchen earlier that morning. The boy sat close to Christina, and she allowed him more substantial food than he’d had that morning or the night before.

Gavin observed her interaction with the boy, her gentle manner, and her care of his injured back. She talked with him as she might with a favorite nephew, asking about seemingly inconsequential things as she ferreted out bits of information about him.

They’d figured his age to be close to five years, but he was a scrawny lad, just skin and bones. He was clean now, a good-looking boy who looked at Christina with unreserved adoration in his eyes.

Gavin wondered what his own eyes showed. Far too much interest, he supposed. Worse, his fascination with Lady Fairhaven dominated his thoughts when he should be concentrating on getting them safely to London.

“Have you heard of London Bridge, Theo?” asked Christina.

The boy shrugged, and she combed her fingers through his hair to smooth it. Gavin shivered, almost able to feel her hand at his nape, her fingers sliding through
his
hair as she’d done so often during the night.

“Would you like to see it?”

“Oh yes, miss. And the Tower?”

“Yes, they’re quite close. You shall see both.”

Gavin sat on a fallen log and listened to the sweet cadence of Christina’s soft, feminine voice. Her laugh was contagious, and he found himself smiling. The ugly missions of his past slid away, and there was nothing but this moment, this point in time in a peaceful grove of trees. The sun was shining and there was a pleasant breeze. There were no nearby enemy troops, no targets, and no worries.