Margo Maguire (9 page)

But what a price it had been.

She pressed her hand against her breast and could still feel her heart racing. No one had ever kissed her with such incredible fervor. Another moment more and she would have burst into a blazing beacon of desire. Or rather, lust. She had not wanted it to end.

Even now, she felt let down, frustrated. She’d wondered about Gavin Briggs’s hands, and now she knew. They were gentle yet demanding, sensual and knowing. She could only imagine how skilled he would be if he actually bedded her.

Oh God, she could not possibly be thinking such a thing
. Captain Briggs was only her escort. He was not a man she would ever consider as a husband . . . and yet he made her blood sing. His kiss had been astonishing. Drugging.

If Edward had seduced her with such skill, she’d have tied him to her bed and never allowed him to leave. She just hadn’t known . . .

Jenny came into the room and caught sight of Christina’s face. “Oh my, is aught amiss, my lady?”

“Not at all,” Christina replied a bit too quickly.

“Well, you’re as pink as you were when you had too much sun last summer. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember quite well.” Although this flush was entirely different.

Jenny touched the back of her hand to Christina’s forehead and cheek. “You might be a bit feverish, my lady,” she said, frowning. “Perhaps you ought to lie down and I’ll see about getting you some tea and toast. It would not do for you to become—”

“No, thank you, Jenny,” Christina retorted. She was not about to sit in her room, afraid to face the man whose tongue had worked some kind of unexpected magic on her, whose hands had pulled her hips against his, pressing that amazingly hard, hot part of him against her just minutes ago. “If you’ll just open a window—it’s a little too warm in here.”

Jenny turned a dubious look toward her mistress as she did so, and Christina started unfastening her bodice. She changed out of her traveling gown and into more suitable attire for supper, a simple round dress of black cambric with pale gray trim at the cuffs and collar.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to—”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll go down to the dining room and sup with the other travelers.” She hoped Captain Briggs would be there. She wanted to know if her throat would go dry and her heart shudder in her chest at the sight of him.

Heaven help her, but she had begun to crave those astonishing feelings he’d awakened in her. She wanted more.

G
avin wasn’t sure how he was going to survive the rest of their journey to London and back. He wanted Christina with an intensity that was unequaled in his experience.

He noticed everything about her, from the soft blush of her cheeks to the delicate veins of her hands. Her neck was elegant, made impossibly more so by the fringe of curls that caressed it so softly. She’d tasted like the smoothest brandy he could imagine, and she was as soft as the petals of a flower.

And she was a duke’s granddaughter. A viscount’s widow. She was essentially an earl’s daughter, too.

Gavin was estranged from his own father, and the highest rank he could hope to achieve was that of gentleman farmer. Hardly a life she would expect.

Dwelling on the beautiful bounty that lay beneath her clothes was not productive in the least. Nor was it prudent.

But he didn’t seem to be able to help himself. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to break it off earlier, going against every instinct he possessed.

He dug out one of his agricultural journals in an attempt to distract himself from the incredible lust she’d stirred in him, but to no avail. He was still aroused and not likely to find satisfaction any time in the near future.

Especially not with Lady Christina Fairhaven.

Gavin hoped she would not go down to the dining room for the supper he’d ordered, but remain in her own chamber as she’d done the night before. In the morning, he would have some distance, and when he saw her for those few minutes before she entered her carriage, he would be able to keep his mind on the day’s journey.

He passed the time gazing at—but not absorbing—articles about fertilizers and crop rotation, and when he judged it time for supper, went downstairs. Trevor was sitting at one of the long tables in the dining room taking his turn at the meal while Hancock was presumably staying in the room they shared, guarding Christina’s jewels. The lady herself was nowhere in sight.

Gavin let out a long breath of relief and glanced around the room. It was crowded, so he took a seat beside Trevor as a comely young serving maid brought him a plate. She stayed overlong at the table, smiling and making eyes at him. Much to his dismay, her flirting did not rouse him, in spite of the fact that her fair skin and hair reminded him vaguely of Amelia.

He found himself quite unmoved. Dark, shining curls preoccupied him these days, and the lithe figure of the serving maid could not compare to the soft womanly curves that had been pressed against him only a short while before.

“You’ve got that one’s eye, Captain,” Trevor said quietly, out of the side of his mouth.

“ ’Tis you she’s watching, Trevor.”

The young man blushed and bent his head over his plate, finishing his meal as a new voice saved him from further embarrassment.

“Might we join you gents?” The man was tall and brawny, and dressed in sturdy, good quality clothes for travel. His plain but pleasant-looking wife stood just behind him.

Gavin nodded his assent and the couple sat down across from him as Trevor stood and took his leave. “ ’Tis time for me to take Mr. Hancock’s place.”

“Aye, Trevor. See you in the morning,” Gavin said.

The newcomer put out his hand for Gavin to shake, his sharp eyes friendly and confident. “Charles Crocker, from Crocker Farm in Derbyshire.”

“Gavin Briggs.”

“Where are ye bound, if ye don’t mind my asking, Mr. Briggs?”

“To London,” Gavin replied, though it felt strange to answer directly, without deception. After his years in Castlereagh’s service, he was quite unaccustomed to traveling openly, without pretext. “And you?”

“We’re on our way home from a buying expedition in Yorkshire,” he said.

“Crocker Farm?” Gavin asked, welcoming the distraction from the dark-haired lady who occupied far too many of his thoughts these days. “What do you raise at Crocker Farm?”

C
hristina went down to the crowded dining room, where she saw Captain Briggs sharing a table with a prosperous-looking gentleman and a lady who appeared to be his wife. Briggs was smiling and engaged in a very lively conversation.

Christina could not help but notice that he reserved his smiles for everyone but her.

He glanced up, and an arc of awareness sizzled between them, scorching all the nerves in her body with a purely pleasurable burn. If she had to choose, she decided she could live without smiles.

She stood still for a moment, stunned by her reaction to the sight of him, then managed to compose herself and approach his table. He and his companions came to their feet as she took a seat.

“Lady Fairhaven, allow me to present Mr. Charles Crocker and his wife.”

“Please, resume your meal,” she said as the two made their bows and spoke of their pleasure at meeting a viscountess. “And don’t let me interrupt. You were speaking of . . . ?”

“The growing season in Hampshire, my lady,” said Mr. Crocker.

“Ah . . . you’re from Hampshire, then? Traveling far from home, aren’t you?”

“No, my lady,” said Mr. Crocker. “ ’Twas Mr. Briggs who was asking. Seems he plans to buy a farm and settle in Hampshire.”

Christina cast a surprised glance at Captain Briggs. She had not known that about him . . . but why should she? They hardly knew each other.

And yet she knew how he tasted and the rasp of his whiskers against her cheek. She knew his scent and the strength of his arms around her.

But the Crockers had learned more about his life during the course of one supper in his company than she had throughout their several days together.

Christina realized she’d taken much for granted when all she really knew was that Captain Gavin Briggs was the son of a nobleman, and a former army officer who had been commissioned by a duke to locate his granddaughters and return them to him. She also knew he was nearly impervious to pain—if his reaction to the wound in his arm was any indication—and that he’d been wounded more than once before that.

A logical conclusion was that he planned to use his reward from the Duke of Windermere to buy his Hampshire farm. And it caused her no small amount of guilt for having delayed their journey to Windermere and his ability to collect his payment from her grandfather.

Another troublesome thought came to her, and Christina felt more than a little bothered by the possibility that he might have someone—a young lady—waiting for him to establish himself in Hampshire. No doubt a man as handsome as Gavin Briggs had admirers. But he would not have kissed her as he had if he were betrothed, or promised in any way.

Would he?

Christina’s husband had not been faithful, but she knew not all men were like Edward. Her father was a good example of a loyal and committed husband. Lord Sunderland had never strayed from his wife’s bed, Christina was sure. She wanted to think that Captain Briggs was the same kind of man.

Not that it made any difference to her.

“Mr. Briggs,” said Mr. Crocker, drawing Christina from her ruminations. He looked guardedly to his left, toward the front of the building. “I believe we might be in for some trouble.”

Chapter 9

C
hristina looked up sharply, shaken from her musings by the quiet alarm she heard in Mr. Crocker’s tone. The voices in the room quieted as three men in long dark coats and broad-brimmed hats came into the inn and stood just outside the dining room. The innkeeper demanded to know what they wanted, but the largest of the men shoved him aside and walked into the dining room.

She felt Captain Briggs’s body stiffen beside her, and for the first time in her life, Christina felt serious fear. Clearly, he believed they were about to be accosted. But were they Baron Chetwood’s men?

He spoke under his breath to the Crockers. “Whatever you do—do not mention Lady Fairhaven’s name.”

She saw the couple’s cautious nods of acknowledgment, and then Briggs spoke quietly to her. “As soon as you’re able to leave without notice, go up to your room and bar the door. Keep your maid with you if she’s up there.”

She took a deep breath, more than willing to do as he instructed. But as the rogues came into the room, they blocked her path of escape. She could not leave, so she remained beside Gavin and prayed that Trevor or Hancock would hear something amiss and come into the room with their guns loaded and ready.

The three intruders were brawny and ominous-looking with heavy beards over their rawboned faces. It was quite clear they were not merely travelers looking for food and lodgings. They had come to do mischief.

“Ladies and gents,” said the tallest one as he stepped inside the dining room. “Put yer money on the tables. And yer jewels . . . aye, whatever ye’ve got. We’re not particular,” he added with a toothless grin.

Christina swallowed a wave of panic. What if they rummaged through all the rooms after they finished here and found her jewels? What if she lost the means to trap her blackmailer?
Where were Hancock and Trevor?

“Now see here!” cried Mr. Palmer from somewhere behind the men, though Christina did not hear a shred of authority in his voice. “Leave this establishment immediately. You are not welcome here!”

She cast a furtive glance at Captain Briggs, who sat in his chair, unmoving. His jaw was clenched tight, and he was not looking at the men. He was doing
nothing
!

Christina could not allow them to ransack the inn. She had to act. But how? The innkeeper was futilely trying to get the men to leave his guests alone, but the leader turned on him, viciously. He spread his hand over Palmer’s face and shoved him hard, sending him sprawling on his back across a nearby table.

Women cried out with alarm, and several of the guests stood and made halfhearted protests. But the intruders did not relent. They started pushing and shoving everyone who stood in their way as they moved through the dining room, throwing punches, ripping jewelry from hands and necks, and tearing purses from belts.

They seemed invincible.

Christina was terrified. She felt an overpowering urge to hide behind Gavin Briggs, or even get up and flee the room, to somehow get past the villains and run upstairs to the safety of her room.

But Captain Briggs reached over and placed his hand on hers as he spoke quietly to Mr. and Mrs. Crocker. “When they get to us, be ready to stand quickly and move back. Play along with them if need be.”

Mr. Crocker gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

Christina wanted to ask what he was going to do, but was too afraid of calling attention to them. She had not doubted that he could protect her as they traveled, but the situation in the dining room was impossible. There were three of the intruders, and none of the guests in the dining room had seemed capable of thwarting them. What could Captain Briggs possibly do?

The tall robber’s gaze was suddenly upon her, but Christina refused to look at him when he came to her table, even when he spoke. “Lor, what’ve we got ’ere? A nice piece of fluff, eh, lads?”

The other two came to his side and eyed her in a manner that made her skin crawl.

“Look a’ that hair. What’s it, d’ye think?”

“Is it a lad or a lass?” They all eyed her, guffawing like fools at the stupid joke.

“And you!” one of them shouted at Captain Briggs. “Big feller like you. Can’t do naught fer yer woman now, eh?”

Christina felt a scream rising in the back of her throat as the leader reached for her. But Mrs. Crocker stood suddenly. Her husband did the same, tossing his money pouch on the table. “Here now. Leave the lady alone.”

The intruders ignored them, but Christina felt Captain Briggs’s body tighten beside her.

“We’ll just have a taste o’ this fine litt—”

Gavin suddenly came to his feet, jerking up the table as he moved. Christina jumped away as he hauled the heavy wooden plank by its two legs and heaved it at the villains, catching them by surprise and knocking them to the floor.

B
edlam ensued.

“Leave, Christina!” Gavin commanded as he and Crocker held the table in place on top of their assailants, momentarily incapacitating them. “Get out of here. Now!” He wanted her as far away from danger as possible.

Fortunately, she did as he ordered and hastened away from the skirmish. He hoped she would hurry up to her room and lock herself in, for he did not know if these reprobates were alone, or if there were more accomplices outside.

Once she was gone, he summoned some of the other men to help him and Crocker secure the criminals for the authorities. He told the innkeeper to check outside and see if there were more of them, and to send someone for the nearest magistrate.

A couple of the men collected the stolen money and valuables and returned them to their proper owners, while Gavin and Crocker hauled the villains to a windowless pantry outside the kitchen. There the scoundrels would remain until the magistrate and a constable or two arrived to take them away for trial.

When all was settled, Gavin made for the stairway, anxious to check on Christina. But he found himself surrounded by the crowd of people who had been accosted in the dining room.

Gavin wanted no accolades, for he had only done what he’d been trained to do: to think on his feet and act quickly. And he’d accomplished his primary goal, which was to assure Christina’s safety. He wanted to get upstairs and see that she was all right, and finally managed to extricate himself from the congratulations and offers of drinks.

Slipping up the stairs, he made his way down the narrow corridor to her bedchamber. He knocked on the door and heard movement within.

“Who is it?”

He smiled at her response and some of the tension in his body dissipated. She wasn’t about to open the door to just anyone. “Me. Briggs.”

He heard the key work in the lock and when she opened the door, she threw herself into his arms.

He held her close, for she was shaking violently. He slid his hands across her back, pressed her gently against him.

“You . . . I was so afraid. And you didn’t move. I thought you weren’t going to do anything.” Her voice was soft, unsteady.

“Timing is everything.” His cavalier remark was intended to lighten the moment, but he felt her breath catch. He pulled away slightly and looked down at her face. She was far too pale. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yes. Just frightened. I’ve never . . .” She pressed her face against his chest and his arms tightened around her.

He wanted her intensely, but he knew she was only holding on to him now because of shock and fear. She wasn’t thinking about lying with him, or letting him undress her slowly . . . sensuously . . . baring every inch of her lush skin to his view, to his touch . . . to his lips.

He stifled a groan.

“Are they gone?”

“Not gone, but locked up and waiting for the constables.”

“Were they . . . Did they have anything to do with Baron Chetwood?”

He didn’t want to talk, but she clearly needed reassurance. “No. Just your ordinary burglars.”

Gavin still didn’t know if Chetwood would attempt to harm or interfere with Christina, but their intruders didn’t seem to have targeted Christina. They were after everyone’s valuables.

Her shuddering subsided and he dropped his arms away from her body and took a step back, clearly needing to put some space between them. “Where is your maid?”

“I don’t know,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She looked small and vulnerable, and Gavin wanted to ignore his instincts and gather her close once again. He wanted to taste her. To feel all those soft curves fitting against the hard planes of his body.

But he knew better. He needed to keep his perspective and remember she was a mission to him, a task to complete.

He forced himself to look away from her and surveyed the bedchamber. It was small, with only one narrow bed, a small armoire and a chair beside the fireplace. It was almost identical to his own. “Your maid has another room?”

Christina nodded. “I don’t usually require her to sleep close by.”

Gavin nodded, unduly pleased to know she was not the demanding kind of woman his mother had been. Lady Hargrove had needed servants at her beck and call day and night. His mother had been ridiculously spoiled.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Wait!” she cried, taking a step toward him. “Where are you going?”

“To check on your maid.” And to regain some sanity. He’d felt like a madman from the moment Christina had been threatened, and had not yet taken a moment to calm himself.

But all was well. Christina had not been harmed, just as he’d known. But he’d had to reassure himself.

He found Christina’s maid in a small room near the one shared by Trevor and Hancock.

“Do you think we’ll have any more trouble, Captain?” Hancock asked.

Gavin shook his head. “No way of knowing. Just because no one saw any other accomplices does not mean there aren’t any.”

Hancock nodded.

“Is Lady Fairhaven all right?” her maid asked. “Does she need me to stay with her?”

“No,” Gavin said. “I’ll guard her room until morning.”

He hadn’t realized his intention until he said it, and the servants seemed to think nothing of it. They bid each other good night, and Gavin returned to the staircase. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

C
hristina had never been more frightened. Or more impressed. Gavin Briggs was even more formidable than she’d imagined. She’d made her escape from the dining room and gone partway up the stairs, but stopped to turn and watch him subdue the thieves from a safe distance.

She’d mistaken his inaction at first, but he’d been calm and poised throughout the confrontation with the villains. He’d waited, and then moved against them at exactly the right moment. Then he’d given her the opportunity to get away to safety, and managed to spoil the intruders’ evil plans. He’d protected everyone in the inn.

And all he could say was
timing was everything
.

Things might have gone quite differently had Captain Briggs not acted as he’d done, and Christina could not help but wonder if Lang had gotten himself involved in similar difficulties in Plymouth.

She hoped Lieutenant Norris had misidentified Lang’s body, but if he was not dead . . .

Where was he? What did the blackmailer know?

She had to believe Lang was alive. He was just . . . Well, Lang was her most unpredictable brother. Felton used to call him a loose cannon. But Christina knew better. Lang was sweet and true in his own way, even though he did not always follow a conventional path. He would have moved mountains to help her, and she would do no less for him.

Even if it meant racing down to London with a small fortune in jewelry and dangerous situations on the road. The incident in the dining room left her feeling as wobbly as a newborn kitten, and a little bit giddy. She knew she should not have thrown herself into Captain Briggs’s arms, but she’d done it without thinking. She’d needed the warmth and strength of his arms around her.

And perhaps she wanted to see if he would kiss her again.

Christina knew it was not right. Any further intimacy with Gavin Briggs would be thoroughly improper. She had been a faithful wife, and a pure widow. She had not been tempted to wantonness in any way.

But her chastity had never been tested. Until now.

Her husband’s intimate touch had not roused her desires the way Captain Briggs’s slightest glance did. Gavin’s kiss had caused a burning heat in her, and Christina could not imagine how she would respond if he actually made love to her.

Her knees weakened and she sat down on her bed, only to jump at the sound of a knock at her door. She guessed it was Gavin, bringing Jenny to her, but she knew enough to ask before opening her door.

But it was Gavin, answering the same as before, and a ripple of pure lust skittered down Christina’s back at the sound of his voice.

She opened the door but did not see Jenny.

He did not come into the room, but tipped his head toward it. “I’m staying in here tonight. Make yourself ready for bed while I’m gone.”

“Wh-what?” Her heart pummeled the inside of her chest.

“I’m going to sleep here. . . .”

Christina’s breath caught when she thought of lying beside him, of feeling his arms around her.

And more.

But then he pointed to the floor by the fireplace, not far from her bed. “I’ll make a bed for myself there.”

“Is that . . .” Oh God. “Is that necessary, Captain Briggs?”

He took a few steps across the hall to his own room, then turned and pinned her with an intense look before opening his door. “I hope it proves unnecessary, Lady Fairhaven. But it would be best if you were in your bed by the time I return.”

L
eaving his door open in order to keep watch over the hall outside their rooms, Gavin refused to consider what she might be doing behind that closed door. Removing her clothes and slipping into the bed? It was far too unsettling a thought.

And yet he would be spending the night lying within inches of her bed. That was far more unsettling than his lascivious fancies. Worse, perhaps, than actually taking her in his arms and exploring every inch of her.