His feigned glower of displeasure and the trembling of his lip as he bit back his amusement made her yearn for his embrace. The urgency of his response had her gasping for air after he’d released her from another fierce, lusty kiss. No, three rounds on the feather mattress this afternoon alone hadn’t quelled in the slightest her appetite for mad, bad and dangerous-to-know Lord Fenton.
“Let Brimble or Mama’s pug try and match that!” he growled, caging her hand upon his arm. “I intend to make you the happiest, most satisfied wife in all England.”
THE END
Rogue’s Kiss
Chapter 1
“ARE yer asking to be killed?!”
It might have been a line from the dramatic romance novel Thea was reading to her aunt in the plush confines of their carriage but the fact that the shout was from taciturn John Coachman went beyond dramatic.
“What the devil are you playin’ at? Off the road, lassie!”
Before Thea had time to see for herself what might have so agitated their normally mute and sullen driver, his next uncharacteristic expletive was cut short by the strangled cry of an unseen woman.
With a screeching of horses and harness, the carriage lurched to a sudden halt, but it was the wail of an infant that really distressed Thea as she picked herself up from the carriage floor, trampling accidentally on the extravagant floral confection she’d dislodged from her aunt’s head, which earned her a cuff over the ear.
“Aunt, have you no heart?” she cried, scrambling to look through the window. “A child has been injured!” Her less than gentle benefactress’s propensity to lashing out whenever she was displeased was the least of Thea’s concerns right now.
“An urchin with a careless mother by the sound of it.”
Horrified that her aunt was more interested in the injury to her headdress she was now examining rather than any peasant, Thea put her head out into the drizzling rain, saying anxiously over her shoulder, “If someone has been injured we must offer our assistance!”
“Utter carelessness!” Aunt Minerva rapped on the roof, then leaned across to shout over Thea’s shoulder through the open window. “Move along, John, unless we have killed some person.”
Another bellow from what could only be a very tiny infant was the final straw. Thea pushed open the door but her attempt to leap to the ground was impeded by a meaty hand clapped upon her shoulder.
“Get right back inside, my girl! There could be footpads lurking in the forest.”
The suggestion the older woman might be afraid of anything was as out of character as Thea’s refusal to obey, but not even a pack of wolves would hold Thea back from assisting a poor little mite, if required.
“It’s a child, Aunt. A child!” Tearing herself free, she leapt onto the road and ran to the front of the carriage.
“John! Tell me what’s happened?” She halted, staring about her, confused.
Where was the squalling infant? There’d been a woman, too, for Thea had distinctly heard her scream and John had addressed her, directly.
Dusk was falling, and in the gloom, the trees of the nearby surrounding forest appeared ghost-like. A little more than a decade ago, when Thea had been a child visiting her aunt, she’d been chilled to see the bodies of the highwaymen who lurked in these woods hanging at the nearby crossroads. These were safer times but coaches were still fair game in these parts, where they were several miles from the nearest town on a winding stretch of road.
The sudden distinctive mewling of the ghostly child brought Thea’s investigations round to the other side of the carriage where John Coachman stood uncertainly a few feet from a young woman weeping as she huddled over a bundle of blankets.
Aunt Minerva put her head out of the window and, perhaps reassured by the strength of the infant’s lungs, called out, “It’s the woman’s own fault if she ran in front of us! Thea, offer her a coin if she looks like she’s going to b
e difficult.”
Thea ignored her. If the child had been injured by their carriage, she’d never forgive herself. She leaned forward to put her hand on the woman’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of pale skin, shining golden hair and frightened, tearful eyes before the girl—for she was little more than that—hastily covered her face with her veil.
“Are you injured? Is the baby all right?” Thea asked. There was no carriage in sight yet this was not a young girl from the ranks of the poor and unwashed, judging by the pleasant waft of orange water and the pristine linen worn by both mother and child.
The young woman rose to her feet. Though she was plainly dressed, her half boots and round gown were fashionable and of the highest quality. The baby’s blanket was hand embroidered, as was the collar of its frilled lawn shirt.
Ignoring her, the young woman gripped her child closer to her chest while she darted a panicked look in the direction from which she’d come. Thea’s attention, meanwhile, was diverted by the tear-filled blue eyes of the tiny tot who gazed at her from his mother’s arms. When it raised its little fists, she noticed with a start of surprise a tiny sixth finger on its left hand.
Hesitantly she repeated her offer of help for the young woman looked on the verge of fleeing. Meanwhile Aunt Minerva was rapping once more on the roof of the carriage, demanding in plaintive tones that they’d never get home before nightfall.
Long shadows fell across the road and to Thea’s fanciful imagination the landscape was rapidly acquiring the eerie look that came at dusk in places highwaymen frequented.