Читать книгу The Uncompromising Lord Flint - Virginia Heath - Страница 13

Ah, bon sang! She must be dead.

Swathing her, Jess could feel the crisp sheets as her body bobbed on the soft cloud beneath her. If this was what death felt like, then it wasn’t so bad. Sheets and comfortable mattresses were a long-forgotten luxury and, like all small luxuries, deserved to be fully revelled in.

She adjusted her position, then winced as her head protested. Suddenly her throat burned raw. How typical that pain would still exist in heaven. Unless the Almighty had decreed she should go straight to hell...

‘Lady Jessamine.’ She knew that voice. The clipped English consonants which still felt so odd when she spoke them. The deep, soothing timbre that came from somewhere deep in his chest and made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck quiver uncontrollably. Jess forced her eyelids to open at the exact same moment she felt his big, warm hand cup her cheek again. Bizarrely, the touch made her feel safe. Something she most definitely was not. Not with him. They stared at each other, startled for a moment before his hand dropped and his mask was back in place, making her wonder if she had imagined the compassion she had seen seconds before.

‘Where am I?’ She struggled to sit and gave up as dizziness swamped her.

‘At an inn. You hit your head. The physician suspects you have concussion.’ Which explained why his face and the walls were spinning so fast. Jess squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the sides of the strange bed to steady herself. She supposed she should be relieved she wasn’t dead, except knowing she was once again a prisoner extinguished that one small triumph. ‘I’ll fetch him. He wanted to see you as soon as you were awake.’

She heard his boots pace to the door, tried, then failed to listen to his whispered conversation, then heard the chair next to the bed creak slightly as he lowered himself back into it. ‘I’ve ordered some soup as well—nothing too heavy. Something in your stomach might make you feel better.’

‘Better for what? My impending execution?’

He ignored her croaked sarcasm. Instead, Jess heard water being poured from a jug. ‘Here—drink this.’

That comforting hand buried gently under her head on the pillow, supporting her enough that he could press the cup to her dry lips with his other hand. Jess drank gratefully, uncomfortable at being helpless—especially in front of him, the hateful man. Meeting his gaze in this state was unthinkable, so she focused on the cup instead and the steady hand holding it. Surprised that the neat, clean fingernails did not sit on the pampered hands of an aristocrat. Those hands had seen work, real work. Capable hands. Kind, too. Even when they had restrained her in the sea, he had not retaliated and hurt her when so many male hands had. He had been strong, though, more proof if proof were needed that her new gaoler did more than socialise and issue orders to his servants.

Being so close unnerved her. She could smell his skin—soap, some deliciously spicy cologne with undertones of fresh air from his immaculately laundered shirt, evidence that Lord Flint was particular about his personal cleanliness. Another luxury she had once taken for granted. Up against his golden perfection, she doubtless looked a wreck. Her own fingernails were torn and she was aware of a tender swelling on her lip. Before one errant hand went to her head to check the state of her hair, Jess pushed him and the cup away, suffering the indignity of allowing him to lower her spinning head back to the pillow. She made the mistake of glancing up at him, her eyes locking with his concerned green gaze. There it was again. That odd sense of well-being and connection, when she knew better than to trust anyone.

‘Thank you.’ Not at all what she wanted to say. A pathetic, heartfelt effort, when she wanted to spear him with something pithy. Something that clearly demonstrated she was not done yet and he hadn’t beaten her, but those kind eyes drew her in and the intended insults died in her mouth. He smiled with genuine amusement then and her breath hitched.

‘Fear not. I’m sure the politeness you are suffering is only a temporary affliction brought about by your knock to the head, my lady, and the old you will return soon enough to vex me.’

‘Oui... I hope so, too.’ Jess felt the corners of her mouth begin to lift in a returning smile and screwed up her face to stop it. Why was she responding to his charm and his undeniably handsome face? She hated him! If she ignored the flashes of compassion, gentleness and decency, this man wanted to see a rope around her neck! What was worse was there were no stinging retorts currently in her arsenal either and that wouldn’t do. For several seconds, she searched her mind for something—anything in either English or French—to redress the balance and came up blank. Incroyable! What use was being fluent in two languages if neither served your purpose at your time of need?

‘You are very lucky to be alive. Many a ship has fallen foul of those rocks you scaled. The sea was calmer today.’

Jess didn’t feel particularly lucky. Hard to feel blessed when now so riddled with fresh guilt that seemed to have lodged itself between her ribs like a parasite that was doing its best to claw its way through her, reminding her that she was selfish to still be thinking only of her freedom despite the dreadful ramifications of her actions, not to mention she was back at square one. Galling when she had specifically aimed for the most deserted piece of coastline. ‘How did you find me?’

‘I know this area well and the good-for-nothing Captain turned out to be very good at one thing. He calculated the speed of the current and plotted your likely direction. You were either destined for the headland or the calm bay behind it. We landed there, in case you were wondering, and rather fortuitously saw you climbing that cliff as we sailed past.’

Imbécile! She should have paid closer attention to the water rather than her irrational fear of heights!

He seemed to understand her anger and its cause, and merely smiled in response. He would pay for that, once the bed stopped whirling. The knock at the door saved her from pouting like a spoiled child.

A cheerful, ruddy-faced older gentleman barrelled in, clutching a black leather bag. ‘I see the patient is finally awake.’ He smiled kindly as he sat on the mattress next to her. ‘You took quite a bash to the head, young lady. If you don’t mind, I need to examine you. How are you feeling?’

Jess wasn’t going to discuss anything or suffer the indignity of being examined in front of her gaoler, allowing him to see the evidence of her weakness and shameful frailty, so turned to him imperiously. ‘You may leave us, Monsieur Flint.’

He laughed then and shook his blond head, and she hated the fact he looked delectable when amused. ‘Not in a million years, my lady, I believe you are forgetting who is in charge. Until you have been safely delivered to London, I’m afraid I shall be sticking to you like a barnacle sticks to a rock. From this moment on, I will be your shadow. Joined at the hip. But in the spirit of basic human decency, I shall step out of your way and avert my eyes.’ He made a great show of moving towards the window and turned his back to stare out of it. ‘You may continue, Doctor. Imagine I am not here. Both of you.’

‘Twenty-four hours of bed rest!’ Gray shook his dark head in disbelief. ‘If word gets out she’s here, we’ll be sitting ducks.’ They were still waiting for the other fifty men from the King’s Elite to make their way from Plymouth, where they were waiting, to this remote corner of the Devon coast. It would be hours before they arrived. ‘We’re too close to the coast for my liking. If the Boss’s men find her, they’ll have her halfway back across the Channel before the others arrive!’

‘That’s why I’ve told the Captain to set sail immediately and head out to sea. I don’t want anyone spotting a Royal Navy frigate lurking near the shore.’ Flint had kept back a few of the crew to stand guard in the interim. It wasn’t an ideal scenario, but at least with the enormous ship gone, the tiny fishing village would appear normal from a distance to anyone unfamiliar with it.

‘And if someone from here talks, or has already talked? We caused quite a stir marching in carrying her on that stretcher. I don’t like it, Flint.’

Neither did he, so he didn’t argue. With the spring sun setting and only the one narrow lane serving as both the entrance and exit of the village, if the enemy came, they were done for. ‘It is what it is. We can’t move her yet. She’s as weak as a kitten—albeit a feral one with claws.’ Who he didn’t trust as far as he could throw her despite his irrational need to protect her.

‘Rather you than me, old boy. I think I’d rather take my chances with the smugglers. At least they are predictable.’

A good point. Flint glanced back at the bedchamber door, then decided that leaving her alone for two minutes, even though the windows were securely locked and the key was tucked in his waistcoat pocket, were two minutes too long. To be certain, he stalked back to the door and poked his head inside. She was sleeping just as she had been when he had left her, but in case she wasn’t he left the door open a crack before returning to his friend.

‘Have a carriage readied as a contingency in case we do need to leave fast, but assume that we’ll be off some time tomorrow afternoon to make Plymouth before nightfall.’ Being on the roads after dark would be tantamount to suicide and counter-productive. They were supposed to be bait, not a target.

Flint watched Gray leave and felt a pang of guilt for putting his comrades in danger. Not that he’d lied about the bed rest, the physician had been most specific, citing all manner of complications should they attempt to move her too soon, but because he was putting the welfare of a potential traitor over that of his men. Why should he care if Lady Jessamine became ill? But he did.

Wearily he took himself back into the bedchamber and dragged the cot the innkeeper had found for him to lay it directly in front of the door, then arranged his long limbs as best he could within its confines. Unless all hell broke loose, sleep was necessary. He would need every one of his wits completely sharpened to deal with her again tomorrow, but for now, predominantly thanks to the potent sleeping draught he had insisted the physician slip her, she was wrapped soundly in the arms of Morpheus. Decisively, he closed his eyes and joined her.

The dream was as vivid as it was erotic. Sultry eyes. Long, jet-black hair. Wet limbs entwined. The Jessamine of his imagination was as passionate as she was tempestuous. Bold and wanton, her hands explored him everywhere, greedily caressing every inch of his naked skin. In the dream Flint lay beneath her, content to let her explore, watching her lips and tongue work their way up his chest, moaning his encouragement. She smiled down at him as her fingers dipped into his waistcoat pocket...

Wait... If he was naked, why was he suddenly supremely aware of his waistcoat?

Like lightning, his hand clamped around her wrist and pulled her so that she fell sprawled across his chest, his narrowed eyes inches from her shocked, wide ones in the darkness.

‘Give it back.’

‘You were having a bad dream...’ She attempted to rise on her knees, but he held firm.

‘Give me the key.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about. You were restless...’ As she spoke in uncharacteristically reasonable tones, she was also carefully arranging her legs beneath her voluminous borrowed nightgown to bolt, so he twisted sharply to unbalance her and send her sprawling across his chest again.

‘You were trying to escape.’

‘Ce n’est pas vrai!’ And she was fighting him again, tugging her arm for all it was worth. Flint wrapped his other arm tightly around her waist and rolled them to reverse their positions, only remembering that his body was hard and needy from the dream when it rested damningly against her stomach and he saw her eyes widen with surprise. He didn’t want to want her, nor to have her know it, but it served her right and might deter her from interrupting his slumber again in the coming days. Even so, he shifted position to spare them both the embarrassment.

‘I won’t ask again.’ Her trim body felt too good beneath his. Thanks to the pale moonlight bleeding through the window, Flint was forced to notice all her silky, dark hair fanned across his pillow. The beautiful arrangement of her eyes, nose and plump mouth. Feel the fevered rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. His mouth scant inches from hers. Things he didn’t want to notice. Couldn’t afford to notice. ‘Give me the key.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about!’

He reached between them to retrieve her small, clenched fist and raised her hand to lie next to her furious face on the pillow. ‘Give. It. To. Me.’ Damn it all to hell, he wanted to kiss her. Badly.

‘Abruti d’imbécile!’

It came as no surprise when she set her jaw and tried to heave him off her, but he was considerably bigger and easily used his bulk to pin her to the lumpy, straw mattress while his other hand slowly prised that determined fist apart. As Flint dislodged each stubborn finger to take back what she had stolen, she treated him to another stream of impassioned rapid French. He found himself smiling down at her, enjoying her hot-blooded spirit despite his better judgement. She was a glorious handful. Passionate and tenacious. Did those passions extend elsewhere? Best not to think about that now. Or ever.

‘This is pointless, madam, as you well know.’

Typically, the minx didn’t make it easy, nor did Flint truly expect her to, but using far more of his strength than he had ever used on a female before—including his exasperating oldest sister Ophelia—he finally managed to remove the key from her grasp.

Victorious and breathless, and shockingly aroused at the same time, Flint rolled off her and jumped to his feet.

‘Well, that was all very unnecessary.’ He pocketed the key again and she shot up from the cot like a wild cat, those vicious claws bared once again as she lunged for him. His surprisingly good mood vanished.

‘Tu ne comprends pas! I have to get away!’ Unwilling to defend himself because of that damn ingrained vein of chivalry again, he wrapped both arms tightly around her to trap her hands against the wall of his body and held on for dear life.

The insults came thick and fast, but among them she was muttering about something which Flint sensed was important, but his knowledge of French didn’t extend to translating it all so quickly. When a button pinged off his waistcoat, he held her at arm’s length and positively growled, ‘Either rant more slowly, woman, or insult me in plain English. I know you speak that just as well!’

‘He is going to kill us both!’

‘Whoever he is, he doesn’t know where we are!’

‘It will make no difference. He has people everywhere. Well connected and powerful...’ Her voice petered off as his eyes narrowed.

‘Then seeing as we are now both wide awake, why don’t we make a list of every one of those powerful names?’