Rapture Becomes Her (32 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Rapture Becomes Her
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Deciding that since he could not solve the problem of Jeb’s absence, that he could at least distract her, he sat down beside her. His fingers brushed against her cheek and he murmured, “Our wedding is in four days. Perhaps we could forget about everyone else for the moment and concentrate on ourselves. . . .”
Her eyes met his and her breath caught at the leashed passion she saw glittering in those dark depths. He’d kissed her several times during the past few weeks since the announcement of their engagement, and her body responded instantly to the knowledge of what was to come. Her nipples stiffened, desire quickened in her belly and her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss.
Barnaby did not disappoint. His mouth came down hungrily on hers and she moaned when his tongue thrust between her lips. She went into his embrace eagerly, her arms clasping around his neck, her bosom pressed against his broad chest.
During the days since their engagement, Emily had learned a great deal about her body and the response Barnaby evoked so effortlessly. She no longer fought against the attraction she felt for him, reveling in the heat and sweet power his kiss, his touch aroused and she returned his kiss with innocent fervor, her tongue sliding silkily against his and following his lead, dipping boldly into his mouth.
These all-too-brief moments when he had her alone were driving Barnaby mad, and every time he had her in his arms, his control slipped just a little and tonight was no different. Her generous response was all he could have asked for and his body demanding more, his hand dropped to her breast and he kneaded the soft flesh, his fingers plucking at the hard nub of her nipple. Heady with desire, he fought against the urge to take what was his. The knowledge that the wedding was so close made him reckless and he tipped her back against the settee, his hand fumbling with the net and silk that concealed what he desperately wanted to touch. He struggled against the urge to rip and tear the delicate material and he growled with satisfaction when at last his fingers found the naked warmth of her calf.
They had never been this intimate and Emily’s heart galloped in her breast as his hand slid unerringly up her leg, lingering on her thigh before sliding unerringly upward. Emily stiffened, beset by frantic emotions—desire, delight, anticipation and fear of the unknown—and then his fingers found her. . . . She shuddered at the aching sweetness of his exploration, the sensation of his fingers moving so cleverly over her mound, clouding her brain.
Barnaby’s lips hardened, the pounding demand to make her his, overpowering. His swollen rod was near-to-bursting from his breeches and the fierce need to seek relief was unceasing. She was warm and ripe before him and, gripped by blind desire, a question hummed dizzily at the back of his brain: what would be the harm?
His searching finger slipped inside of her and Emily arched up at the blunt invasion. Stroking inside all that silky heat, hearing her muted moans, his own body ready to explode, he balanced on the edge. Take her? Or not?
There was a rap on the door and the mood shattered. Simultaneously they were recalled to their surroundings and leaped apart like scalded cats. Barnaby sprang away from her and snapped at whoever was on the other side of the door, “A moment.”
Emily jerked into a sitting position and her cheeks flaming, frantically pushed down the skirts of her gown. A quick tug and pull here and there and she looked demure as a nun as she sat on the green settee.
Seeing that she was in command of herself, Barnaby crossed to stand next to the fireplace. Placing one arm on the mantel and keeping his body partially turned to hide the state of his arousal, he called out, “Yes? Come in.”
Walker rushed into the room. “Miss Emily,” he cried, oblivious to any undercurrents, “you must come quick—there’s been trouble. Jeb and the others were attacked as they were unloading on the beach.”
Chapter 17
E
mily leaped up from the settee. There’d been trouble? Pray God, no one had been hurt!
“Is anyone hurt?” she demanded. Her eyes flashed. “How could this happen? Why the devil didn’t I know about the landing? I should have been there.”
Unhappily Walker said, “You’d already left for the ball when Mr. Meek spied Jeb’s signal. Everyone knew that the Broadfoot ball was tonight and that you’d be attending it. We were all aware that if Jeb chose tonight for a landing that there wouldn’t be any way that we could get word to you—or that you could leave the ball.” He looked apologetic. “We decided amongst ourselves that if Jeb
did
show up tonight that we’d handle the transport of the goods ourselves. There wasn’t any other choice.”
“He’s right,” Barnaby said. “You had to be at that ball tonight and no excuse short of being on your deathbed would have been acceptable for your absence.”
Knowing that Barnaby was right didn’t lessen her feelings of guilt, but in a calmer tone, she said to Walker, “Tell me.”
Walker cleared his throat. “When Mr. Meek came to Mrs. Gilbert with word that Jeb was landing tonight she was prepared to go ahead without you.” Emily’s lips tightened and he added hastily, “This wasn’t Jeb’s first landing—you’ve a good crew and everyone knew their task. Morning would have been soon enough for you to hear that Jeb had returned.” He hung his head and muttered, “No one was expecting the Nolles gang to be lying in wait.”
Her face strained, Emily asked, “Jeb? Mrs. Gilbert? Are they hurt?”
“There are some bloody heads and bruises, but no one is in danger of dying,” Walker admitted. “But come to the kitchen—Jeb is desperate to talk to you.”
Emily rushed past Walker, and with Barnaby and Walker on her heels she ran to the kitchen. Though it was well after midnight, the kitchen was filled with people.
Alice was busy wrapping a strip of clean linen around Jeb’s temple as he sat on a stool next to the scrubbed oak table; Caleb, sporting an impressive black eye, stood beside Jeb. Mrs. Spalding and Jane were concentrating on another one of Jeb’s crew slumped on the table at the opposite end.
At their entrance, Jeb struggled to his feet. “Lord Joslyn! I didn’t expect you here at this time of night.”
“I escorted Miss Townsend home from the ball,” Barnaby said. Noting the bandage dangling down the side of Jeb’s face and the way Jeb gripped the table for balance, he said gently, “Now sit down before you fall, and tell us what has happened.”
Gratefully following Barnaby’s orders, Jeb sat back down. Sending Emily a crooked smile, Jeb said, “We’ll all live, missy, so don’t you start scolding.”
Relief swept through her. “Oh, Jeb! I was so fearful! You’re sure you’re all right? And everybody else?”
“We’ll live, but no use pretending we’re not bruised and bloody. Those bullies of Nolles’s are right handy with those wooden clubs they carry and they outnumbered us. It’s only by grace and good luck that none of us suffered a broken bone—or worse. Johnny Fuller was knocked out and gave us a scare until we had a chance to check his injuries. Mrs. Gilbert says he’ll do fine. Faith took a nasty blow to her right arm, but nothing was broken; Mrs. Gilbert herself has a black eye to rival Caleb’s and Ford has a split lip. Some of the others will have some aches and bruises—it could have been worse.”
Sinking down onto a stool near Jeb, Emily asked, “How did it happen?”
“Been worried lately that they’d gotten wind of us,” Jeb confessed. “I’d heard a whisper or two, but since we’re small and not much competition, I thought they’d leave us alone.” He sighed. “Near as we can figure, they must have been watching for my signal, or watching Meeks’s house or may-hap The Crown and so they knew of the landing. They jumped us after we unloaded everything and had the horses packed and were leaving the beach.”
“It wasn’t enough that they used their clubs on us with enthusiasm,” Caleb broke in angrily. “They stole the entire load of contraband and laughed as they left.”
Emily took in a trembling breath. “At least you’re all alive.”
“Aye, that we are,” Jeb said, “but what are we going to do now?”
“Nothing for the moment,” Barnaby said, coming to stand beside Emily. One hand resting on her shoulder, his eyes on Jeb, he added, “I’m afraid that after tonight we’re going to have to find a more respectable way for you to make a living.”
Emily stiffened and would have risen, but Barnaby’s hand kept her in her seat.
Jeb surveyed him coolly. “No disrespect, your lordship, but you’ll not find many of us willing to take charity.”
“Will honest employment be viewed as charity?” Barnaby asked.
Having a good idea what he was up to, Emily squirmed around in her seat and glared up at Barnaby. “Title and fortune you may have, but you cannot employ everyone in the county,” she said tightly.
Barnaby smiled at her. “I don’t intend to employ everyone—just the main characters involved in your, er, enterprise—they’ll have to take care of the others.” He looked across at Jeb. “I wouldn’t have chosen now to bring this up, but I’ll be replacing the Joslyn yacht. . . . It, uh, disappeared. Since I know little of sailing, I’ll need a trustworthy captain and a small crew of his choosing. The wages would be fair and generous. Do you know of anyone who might be interested?”
Jeb nodded and rubbed his chin. “Think I’ll be able to find a few able seamen who might do. Johnny Fuller is my first mate—he’d be a good man to have.” He grinned. “And I know just the fellow to be your captain.”
“I thought you might,” Barnaby said, his dark eyes amused. Emily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just that easily Barnaby had seduced Jeb away from her and onto his side. She tried to feel resentful about Jeb’s defection, but she could not. Jeb wasn’t a smuggler at heart—none of them were. Circumstances had forced them into the contraband trade and she admitted that she wouldn’t be sorry to see the end of it. No doubt, she thought wryly, Barnaby already had plans for Mrs. Gilbert and some of the other investors.
Emily said to Jeb, “There is nothing more can be done tonight. Walker can find you places to sleep here tonight and have you gone before Jeffery or his valet is likely to stumble over you.”
Jeb shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We’re going back to The Crown just in case Will and his gang decides to inflict more damage tonight. I left Ford and Fuller and a few others with Mrs. Gilbert to keep an eye out for trouble, but Caleb and I need to be there if it comes to a fight.”
“Do you think it will come to that?” Emily asked worriedly.
“No. Will and his boys got what they wanted and gave us a good trouncing in the bargain. I suspect they’ll only go after The Crown if we don’t heed their warning and continue to run contraband, but I don’t want to risk being wrong again.”
Her initial shock and horror at tonight’s events fading, Emily was puzzled. She could have heard all of this in the morning, so why was Jeb here at this hour?
Almost as if he read her mind, Jeb said, “I suppose you’re wondering now what was so important that I had to see you tonight.” At Emily’s nod, he looked sly and added, “Well, the answer is sitting right there at the other end of the table.”
Almost as one, Emily and Barnaby swung around to stare down the length of the long table. The fisherman, a stranger to her, was no longer slumped facedown on the table, but was now propped up in the chair, his chin resting weakly on his chest. The bulky fisherman’s garb hung loosely on his tall frame and he was slim to the point of thinness, the bones of his wrists jutting out. Heavy black hair framed his face and fell down in a wave across his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes; his complexion was pale, but whether natural or from some illness, Emily couldn’t tell. He looked, she decided, like a man who had narrowly escaped death.
Barnaby stiffened, hardly able to believe his eyes. After a stunned moment, he rushed to the other end of the table and exclaimed,
“Lucien!”
Appalled by Luc’s condition, he gently touched his half brother’s bone-thin shoulder. “What the hell happened to you?”
Lucien stirred slightly and with an effort his head lifted. Dull, azure eyes met Barnaby’s. “I diced with death one time too often, but thanks to your friend, Jeb, here, he managed to get me out of France.”
“He was damn near dead when I found him,” Jeb said quietly. “And that’s what delayed us. Miss Emily had asked me to find out what I could about your brother when I was in Calais. As soon as we arrived in port I asked a few discreet questions, but learned nothing. Two days later, just as we readied to sail, word came from a . . . friend that she had an American who might be the fellow I was looking for.” Jeb hesitated, then muttered, “He was in a, ah, brothel and Marie feared he might die. When I first laid eyes on him, he wasn’t dead yet but damn near. We had no choice but to wait and see if he was going to live or not.” He grinned at Luc. “The fellow decided to live so we brought him back with us.”
Barnaby shook his head and, despite his concern over Luc’s state, he muttered, “A whorehouse? Now why am I not surprised?”
Luc flashed him a shadow of his old mocking grin and murmured, “The ladies, you know, they adore me.”
“But what happened?” Barnaby demanded. “How did you end up nearly dead in a whorehouse in Calais?”
“It was not easy,” Lucien replied. The azure eyes lifted to Barnaby’s anxious face and Luc said, “I should have listened to you and Lamb—it was a foolish task I set for myself and one bound to fail.” Running a hand tiredly over his face, he continued, “I nearly lost my life and all I learned is that Maman’s family are all dead, and to be in France these days—especially for a foreigner—is . . . unhealthy. Since last summer Danton and Marat have dominated the Paris commune and have taken over all police power and they use it at will. In November I was in Paris and, having finally accepted that none of the family survived, I was preparing to leave the city when someone reported that I had been asking pointed questions about the Gagnier family.” A ragged smile crossed his face. “The police came to call and I’m afraid, I was not polite—I ended up in prison.”
Mrs. Spalding interrupted the narrative by placing a mug of steaming potage swimming with bits of beef and mutton and carrots, parsnips and cabbage in front of Luc and declaring, “Eat! You can talk afterward. Right now, you need this.”
Glaring at Jeb, she said, “And the same goes for you and Caleb. It’s a bitter, cold night out there and you’re not leaving my kitchen before getting something warm in your bellies.” A bit more politely to Emily, she asked, “Would you or his lordship care for something? I have a nice pot of tea ready and some cinnamon-and-raisin scones are about ready to come out of the oven any minute now. There’s also plenty of that potage if you’d like some.”
Emily and Barnaby meekly decided that a cup of tea and some scones would be appreciated. The others accepted the potage and the chunks of bread and cheese Alice and Mrs. Spalding put before them.
While the others ate, over the rim of her cup, Emily studied Barnaby’s half brother. She could see little resemblance to Barnaby beyond a certain look around the mouth and jaw and, like Lamb, Luc had inherited the Joslyn blue eyes and aristocratic features; he would have easily passed for Mathew’s brother. Though tall, even when he regained the weight he had obviously lost, Lucien would be a slim man, a rapier to Barnaby’s broadsword.
As if feeling her eyes on him, Luc looked up and stared back at her. She flushed at the admiring smile that lit up his face and the speculative glint in that azure gaze as it traveled over her face and down to her bosom.
Seeing Emily’s blush and guessing the cause, Barnaby sighed. Luc liked women almost as much as they liked him and even having just barely escaped death his half brother couldn’t help flirting with the nearest attractive woman.
Glancing at Lucien, Barnaby said softly, “Leave her alone, Luc. I’m marrying her on Tuesday.”
Astonished, Luc looked from Barnaby to Emily. A delighted grin flitted across his face. “
Mon Dieu!
Now this is wonderful news. It is very good that Captain Jeb found me in time to attend the wedding,
oui?
”
“Yes, it is,” Barnaby agreed, “but you haven’t told us how you ended up half-dead in a whorehouse.”
Luc started to shrug, then grimaced and rubbed his right shoulder. “After nearly two months in prison as a guest of the French police, I knew I had to escape or I’d die either of starvation, disease or the guillotine. I was desperate, and when the opportunity arose to take part in a prison break, I took it.” His lips twisted. “Unfortunately, I was shot during the escape. My, er, compatriots left me for dead and they scattered in all directions. With no money, surrounded by strangers and the French police looking for me, reaching the coast and getting aboard a ship headed for England was my only option. Under the cover of darkness I made my way on foot to the coast . . . stealing what I could as I traveled.” He shot Barnaby a sardonic look. “If I had any luck at all during that cursed trip it was that upon my initial arrival in France, while in Calais, I made the, uh, acquaintance of the same woman Jeb knew—Marie Dupre. I hoped if I could make it to her place that she would help me.” A disgusted expression crossed his mobile features. “I’d have been fine if the damned wound hadn’t become infected. But it did and by the time I reached Calais and Marie’s place, I was so weak and racked by fever I could hardly stand. If she hadn’t taken me in . . .” He smiled crookedly. “If she’d turned her back on me, this story would have a different ending.”

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