Page 7

Seven

Peregrine

“Is there a reason I’m not tied up?” Alexander demanded from the doorway of the sacristy.

It was late morning, and Peregrine was tired, having spent a sleepless night on the hard stone floor outside Alexander’s cell, wishing viciously that he was back inside it with a sleeping Alexander clinging to him like a limpet. But he’d had no choice. He’d come so perilously close to telling Alexander things that he’d told no one, not even Lyd, and that wasn’t right, that couldn’t be right, could it? That this man he was supposed to kill—or at the very least, hate—was the only person he wanted to trust with memories so painful he barely trusted himself with them?

No, he’d been right to leave.

Except he’d been restless all night and was miserable today, and seeing Sandy barefoot and looking like some kind of fairy-tale prince somehow made everything better and worse at the same time.

“I must be the luckiest kidnapper ever,” Peregrine said. “My captive reminds me to keep him bound.”

“It’s a favor to me, really,” Alexander said. “And you owe me so many favors by now.”

Peregrine grunted in response.

Alexander padded across the stone floor to the table where Peregrine sat. But he didn’t take a chair for himself; instead, he hopped onto the table in front of Peregrine, sitting on his papers.

Peregrine wanted to be irritated, but it was difficult when Alexander’s legs were spread so wide, and when his loose shirt had pulled to the side, exposing a bronze-pink nipple...

“Where are the others?” Alexander asked, reaching out to run his fingertips along the edge of Peregrine’s jaw. It felt so good, so comforting, that Peregrine found himself allowing the touch, even though he shouldn’t.

“They went to wait for the duchess on the road.”

“Judith,” Alexander said, sighing. “There’s no love lost between us, but you don’t suppose they’ll hurt her, do you?”

Peregrine shook his head that he didn’t know, his eyelids beginning to close as Alexander kept petting him. He couldn’t remember ever being touched like this, with such affection. With no further purpose other than to touch.

“I’m not sure how far Lyd will go, but if I had my guess, I’d say she won’t hurt the duchess. Not badly, at least. I did think they’d be back by now, though.”

Alexander made a thinking noise. “Judith was feeling poorly when I left two days ago. Maybe she’d planned to leave but then hadn’t felt up to it.”

Peregrine nodded, eyes fully closed now. This was ludicrous, foolish beyond all reason, being stroked into submission like a lazy lion by clever prey. But neither could he bring himself to stop it. Last night with Alexander had been the most sharply exhilarating pleasure he’d ever known, but this moment, with his captive perched insouciantly on the table and his caresses sweet on Peregrine’s face...

This was the kind of moment men fought wars for.

Peregrine spent the rest of the morning readying baths for each of them, and then after they washed, Peregrine bound Alexander’s wrists as he had yesterday. Alexander’s cock was thickly visible in his breeches before Peregrine finished wrapping even a single wrist with silk, and Peregrine’s pulse sped as he thought about what might happen later, after several hours of keeping Alexander so thoroughly teased.

But despite the pleasant, if petulant, scenery of his day, Peregrine began to feel the slightest curl of concern for Lyd and the others as the sun moved across the sky. It wasn’t a true worry, because Lyd was very good at her chosen vocation, and Ned and the rest were the perfect companions for highway robbery, but it was the seed of a worry. They had left witnesses to Alexander’s abduction, after all, which meant there was a chance that there would be a reward already posted for their band’s capture.

Which meant people would be scouring the road for traces of Peregrine and his fellow thieves even more than they usually were.

Peregrine decided to check the old alms box at the front of the priory, which was where the band left each other notes, and where any messengers from Chagford or beyond left their messages as well. Peregrine was careful only to hire people he knew he could trust, but even so, the messengers believed the priory was a waypoint for Peregrine and his thieves, a convenient place to stable horses or wait out some rain, and not their true hideout. He trusted those he hired, but even good men could be tempted by the thought of unprotected loot.

Or a handsome reward.

“I’m going outside for a few moments,” he told Alexander, who was currently lying on his stomach, reading one of the books Peregrine had found for him. “Do I need to tie you down so you don’t leave your bed?”

“Only my bed has this edition of the Earl of Rochester’s poetry, so no,” Alexander said, not taking his eyes off the book, kicking his feet in the air like a schoolboy as he read. “But leave my wrists tied, if you please.”

“As you say,” Peregrine said and left his pretty captive on the bed.

Peregrine quickly checked on the horses and then scouted the front of the priory to make sure there was no one about. Assured that it was only him, Alexander, and the horses nearby, he went to the box, which indeed had a small note tucked under the lid.

He replaced the note with a few shillings for the next person delivering a message, and then he ducked under the crumbling beams of the priory’s entry and strode back inside, unfolding the note and reading it as he went.

He stopped.

It wasn’t an update about constables or magistrates or rewards. It wasn’t even a message from Lyd and the others.

It was a message from the duke.

He’d agreed to pay the ransom.

Peregrine stared at the note for another moment longer, stared until the words blurred into the shadows gathering in the creases of the paper.

I wanted this.

This is what I wanted.

It had seemed so genius when Alexander had suggested it—not only revenge, but revenge unfolded, layered over itself, plague on top of famine on top of fire. Loss, then grief, then death.

Peregrine could make the duke suffer as Peregrine himself suffered, and then when the opportunity arose again, he would kill the duke, and, at long last, the emptiness inside Peregrine would be filled. At long last, his heart would stop its seething, aching lack , and his world would feel right again, as it hadn’t since the day he’d kissed his mother and siblings goodbye and left to join the army.

So why didn’t he feel victorious right now? Why didn’t he rush to pen a reply, to strategize how much more of a ransom he could negotiate the duke into paying?

Because you know it’s the beginning of the end for Alexander.

The Darthams were selfish, cruel, rapacious, evil —the thought of them made Peregrine sick. But though he’d once hated the idea of Alexander Dartham, he didn’t hate the reality of Alexander at all.

Not in the slightest.

And the thought of any kind of harm coming to the barefoot rake currently lounging on his bed and reading—the rake who was half courage, half insolence, all spoiled—made Peregrine feel like he couldn’t breathe.

He’d been tying Alexander’s wrists with silk because it bothered him to think of Alexander’s skin being scratched by proper rope—did he really think he could kill Alexander? Truly? But then what did that mean about Peregrine, about his pledge to destroy the Dartham family, either through ruin or death?

What if...what if he could have both? Revenge without hurting Alexander?

I’m not going to set you free.

Maybe you’ll decide to keep me instead , Alexander had teased.

Peregrine folded the note, his thoughts racing, his mind turning over every possible solution. It would still be a blow for the duke if Peregrine took the ransom but didn’t return the ransomed heir. Perhaps Peregrine could even spread the word that he had killed Alexander, and all the while, Alexander would be tucked away in the priory, reading books and complaining about the wine.

The image of Alexander remaining here, staying a petulant and handsome thorn in Peregrine’s side, eased the tension in his chest. His pulse slowed.

Yes, yes, that was what he would do. He’d demand the ransom but keep Alexander alive. He’d have revenge and his rake.

His rake. He liked how those words felt in his mind...like a soft breeze on a summer’s night. Like a kiss in the dark.

Alexander could be his. Revenge could be his.

All of it could be his.

When he finally reached the sanctuary, he barely stopped. He dropped the note on top of his papers as he passed by the table, took something else off the dinner table nearby, and strode straight to the sacristy, where Alexander had rolled onto his back and had the book propped against his raised knees as he read. Peregrine set down the small bottle he’d brought from the sanctuary and stalked over to the bed, taking the book off Alexander’s stomach and tossing it onto the mattress. He untied the rake’s wrists quickly, easily, letting the silk unravel into soft coils next to Alexander’s ribs.

Alexander blinked up at him, his dark eyes catching the light of the candles burning nearby.

Black and blue and gold, glittering and glittering.

“Have you come to see if I can do it?” Alexander asked softly.

Peregrine pulled off his shirt and started on his breeches. “Do what?”

“Seduce my way to freedom.”

Peregrine stared at the young man on his bed. He couldn’t know about the note Peregrine had just received, could he? No. No, he wouldn’t have known where to look for it in the alms box to begin with, and Peregrine knew he’d betrayed nothing when he’d walked in. Nothing other than grim lust, of course.

When Peregrine didn’t answer, Alexander’s full mouth curled in a smile so devious that Peregrine was certain half of London had lost their hearts or purses or both to it. What a highwayman Alexander Dartham would have made—he would’ve ridden up to a carriage and smiled that smile and the occupants would have showered him with jewels just for being so beautiful and captivating.

Just for being so very, very wonderful.

“I seem to remember telling you that I’m always willing to try the seduction route of escape,” Alexander murmured. He didn’t sit up, but rather stretched like a spoiled cat in the sun, and then his hands went to his waist, where he began playing idly with the fabric of his shirt, drawing it up higher and higher until Peregrine could see the delectable well of his navel.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Peregrine asked, his voice gone a little rough as he finished undressing and mounted the bed again, this time with both knees so he could crawl over Alexander, who was still smiling to himself like he was about to swindle an entire table of courtiers playing cards.

“Then I suppose,” Alexander said sweetly, sliding his hands up and around Peregrine’s neck, “I shall have to keep trying. You wouldn’t mind that, would you? If I had to practice a few times in order to get the seduction just right?”

“It’s already just right,” Peregrine heard himself say.

The truth tasted sharp and sweet on his tongue as he added hoarsely, “ You’re just right.”

Alexander’s smile faded, and his eyebrows drew together. He looked confused, like Peregrine wasn’t playing the game which Alexander had been planning to cheat at.

“Peregrine,” he said, hesitantly, but Peregrine didn’t think he’d be able to answer any question that came next, and so he kissed Alexander before Alexander could say anything more.

Alexander’s grasp tightened on Peregrine’s neck, and then his fingers were sliding into Peregrine’s hair, rumpling it, tugging at it, until he finally found the ribbon tying Peregrine’s queue and pulled it free. His hair tumbled around their faces like a curtain, shutting out the light from the candles and from the fire, and in that private darkness, Peregrine licked past Alexander’s mouth until he could feel the sweet silk of Alexander’s tongue against his.

As Peregrine kissed him, he braced on one arm and used his free hand to find the jut of Alexander’s hip, then the curve of his backside. He gripped and squeezed there and then pressed them together where it mattered most. The broadcloth of Alexander’s breeches was a little rough against Peregrine’s cock, but the roughness felt good as he moved his hips against the other man; it had him panting after only a few thrusts.

He couldn’t remember being this wound up, not even as a lad sneaking into the barn with a shepherd for the first time. He couldn’t remember ever having his body pressed against someone’s like this, kissing and simply feeling. As a soldier, any encounter had been necessarily brief and efficient. Impersonal.

But with Alexander, everything was languorous, lingering, indulgent—not merely relieving a physical need, but savoring something wonderful.

“How would you seduce me?” Peregrine breathed between kisses.

“So you admit now it’s a possibility that I can?” Alexander murmured.

Peregrine could feel Alexander’s mouth curving against his, and then he smiled himself. “You’re awfully smug for a captive.”

“Obviously, I’m smug.” Alexander reached between them, and his fingertips ghosted across the corners of Peregrine’s mouth. “I made the terror of the Queen’s roads smile . And I haven’t even touched his cock yet.”

You’ve only touched everything else . His thoughts, his heart, even the faint wisps of what could be called a soul—Alexander’s fingertips had brushed over them all. And Peregrine didn’t know how he felt about it...

Only that he wasn’t ready for it to stop.

“But a smile is still a long way from seduction,” Alexander continued. “ Hmm . What shall I do to win my freedom? How should I seduce such a stern”—his fingers dropped to Peregrine’s bare chest, and then skated down his sides, making him shiver—“ferocious”—then his fingers tickled over Peregrine’s hips and Peregrine huffed out a laugh that made the rake’s evil grin spread even wider—“stoic man?”

“If you keep insulting my dignity like this, I may have to return you to your bindings,” Peregrine threatened, nuzzling against Alexander’s neck and inhaling the scent there. It smelled like soap and somehow still like Alexander— citrus and spice.

“Oh dear,” said Alexander. “Oh no. Whatever shall I do.”

“You could get back to seducing me properly,” Peregrine suggested. He kissed Alexander’s neck and then levered himself up to look down at the younger man spread underneath him. Alexander’s near-black hair was in a halo of dark silk, and his already full mouth was swollen with kissing. Without breaking their gaze, Alexander slowly, carefully stripped himself out of his clothes. Peregrine eased up so his captive could pull them all the way off, and then he lowered his hips to Alexander’s once he was finished undressing so that naked flesh could touch naked flesh.