Page 16 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

Six

Dearest wife,

I know you are extremely concerned about Máira’s safety, but I do have a bit of good news.

I gave Mr. Payne the information you obtained from the registrar.

It seems our brother-in-law is quite famous in the spy business; he is also known to be a gentleman.

I can only surmise that he was on a mission and needed a wife, or he truly did fall in love with your lovely sister.

It is not out of the realm of possibilities.

I am not making excuses for his lies—we can only hope that he included Máira in the ruse from the beginning and that she is seeking an adventure as most young people do.

I have an appointment with Mr. Williamson day after tomorrow and will demand answers. I have no doubt he knows more than he let on in our first meeting and I vow to obtain the answers you require.

Please do not fret so. Our son needs you strong and healthy. I have only been able to make it through this wretched session because I know you both are well and he is in your hands. I am counting down the days and the hours until I hold you once again in my arms.

You own my heart,

Nash

—A letter from Nashford Xavier Harding, Duke of Ross, to his wife Iseabail Blair Handcock Harding, Duchess of Ross, regarding her missing sister, Lady Máira Blair Drake, and her scoundrel of a husband Sir Elias Alistair Drake

B loody hell. Where had a virgin learned to do that?

She hadn’t been an expert by any means, but she’d taken his cock all the way down her throat.

Only the most experienced courtesans had been able to tolerate his size before tonight.

She was the first virgin he’d ever—he’d never even touched her.

He’d kissed her. He’d washed her hair, and he’d watched her touch her breasts, but he had never touched her.

Fuck. He wanted to return the favor, but he couldn’t.

If he tasted her, he would take her virginity and then what would he do?

What kind of life would he force her to live?

A life with a husband who was never home and had very little to his name.

She deserved much better than he.

And he had a job to do. An important man to rescue.

He’d already lost two days and his informant was dead.

He looked over at his wife. His beautiful, giving wife who even slept with a smile on her face.

He wasn’t sure what to do with her. She’d missed her passage home and there wouldn’t be another ship heading for England until he commanded the Maribelle back—or it left without him.

Sailing these waters was dangerous, they were at war after all.

For a woman, they were doubly so. Most of the men on those ships couldn’t be trusted with pirated cargo, let alone someone as precious as Máira, with her cerulean eyes that turned the color of midnight in her passion.

Experiencing the change in her eyes as heat flared in her body had been one of the greatest gifts of his life.

He didn’t want her to lose it, despite his selfish need to be the only man to witness the transformation.

That need, however, came secondary to her need to live a full and happy life.

Even now as she lay next to him, her hair glistening in the moonlight as if sprinkled with angel dust, he couldn’t imagine himself with any other woman.

His thoughts were dangerously close to ballads again.

The woman was bloody dangerous without even lifting a finger.

Elias got out of bed and did the only thing he could—he wrapped himself in the bed linen he’d discarded in the night, since he was loath to put the dirty horse blanket around himself again, and headed downstairs.

He needed Hag—it was either that or go utterly mad about moon dust.

Elias made it out of the room and down the stairs without waking his lovely wife, and found Hag sitting at the bar, sipping a whisky with her back to him.

The tavern was completely empty except for her loyal guard, Tomás, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen.

He’d never understood their relationship, but Tomás was always there, watching over her, taking care of the riffraff who inevitably came ashore from the ships.

It was the one thing which puzzled him about Hag shooting his informant.

That was Tomás’s job.

“Why aren’t you taking advantage of my fine bed?” she asked in English, her accent a thing of beauty he had always admired.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“I certainly wouldn’t be down here if my bed was empty.”

“You wouldn’t have left it unlocked if you hadn’t expected me to use it.”

The corners of her lips drew up and she took a sip of her whisky. “Don’t think I have a soft spot for newlyweds.”

He drew back in mock bewilderment. “I wouldn’t dare.” He pulled up a stool next to her and reached over the bar for a glass.

“You’re going to have to pay for that.”

“Damn, but you are ever stingy these days.” Elias reached for her bottle of Scotch and poured himself a drink. “I hear this is a very good year.”

“Eh, it’s about average. The Scots don’t know how to let things age like we do in France.”

He looked at the bottles behind the bar. “I can see you have some of the finest wine in France.” He lied. She had some of the best wine on the Continent. “Any luck locating clothes so that I don’t offend the fine ladies of France?”

“If you were afraid of offending, you should have sent your wife for clothes.”

“My wife prefers me naked.”

Tomás snorted and crossed his arms at his chest to eye him with a disdain he reserved just for Elias. The man stood as straight as a sarcophagus, and he was just as big as one, too.

“Your clothes will be here first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you.” He paused and got to the real reason he was here and not upstairs in bed with his wife. “Now that we’re alone, are you going to tell me what happened?”

Hag swirled the contents of her glass, creating a miniature vortex of amber liquor. She watched each whirl of Scotch as if she expected something magical to appear. “You didn’t ask your wife?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We were otherwise engaged.” He didn’t want his wife to know about the meeting, let alone the importance it held.

“Your bride has been through much turmoil since your ship came into harbor.”

“How much turmoil?”

“Tomás saw her wandering about outside early yesterday. She appeared lost and confused.”

Damn Peter.

“I told him to watch her, but apparently at some point, she realized she was being followed. Tomás is a bit too big to hide sometimes.”

“No one is too big to hide.”

Tomás snorted. “This from a puny English dog.”

Elias grinned, but kept his eyes on Hag. “What happened with my friend?”

“Your wife finally came inside, but as she did, some of the crew from the Confiance began to fight over Louise.”

Elias winced. That crew manned the ship his wife was supposed to take back to England. Louise wasn’t a bad-looking woman—her hygiene, however, left something to be desired. In all honesty, most sailors held a stronger foulness to them than Louise. “What happened?”

“Some pushing and shoving, then punches turned into chairs and glasses being thrown. You wife tried to hide under the table.” Hag indicated the largest table in the front corner. “Your friend found her there.”

“Where was he?” He pointed to Tomás. He knew Máira’s well-being was not Tomás’s concern, but Hag had told him to keep an eye on her.

A sigh or a growl was released behind him.

He didn’t look. It was best not to engage a beast. He wasn’t afraid of Tomás, he just didn’t have the time or the energy to engage in a round of fisticuffs.

“ He was doing his job and protecting my bar.”

“It doesn’t look as if he did a very good job.” It was true. There was more damage to the tavern than Elias had ever seen.

“The damage you see was from the last group of Napoleon’s men to travel through here. I was compensated with things I didn’t need.”

That explained the luxurious furnishings in her room. Hag’s smile was sardonic. “What does a businesswoman need with fancy bedroom furnishings?”

He heard Tomás’s feet shuffle behind him and knew the man was thinking about the things he could do in her room. It was obvious to everyone but Hag that Tomás pined for her. Elias returned to his questioning. “What happened to Máira’s shoulder?”

“Your friend tried to force his intentions upon her. She wanted no part of him and resisted. When he could not persuade her, he wrenched her arm behind her back and slammed her head against the floor. He did it a second time and she screamed. I threw my knife, then grabbed my pistol and walked over to make certain he did not get up.”

He nodded. He wouldn’t have expected anything less, nor would he have wanted anything less to happen to the low-life pond scum who not only betrayed his own country for riches, but then attempted to force himself on a woman. If ever a man deserved what he got, Henry Greasley did.

He wished he could kill him again—he would have liked to do it after he got the information he needed, but Hag had done what needed to be done.

“I don’t suppose you found papers on him?” He asked.

“Papers?” The expression on her face was more ambivalent than ever.

Dammit. “Hag, I know you went through his pockets.”

“What would make you think that I would do such a thing?”

He stared at her. Waiting. Her mock innocence annoyed him and made a muscle tick in his cheek.

She killed the bugger. She was as far from being an angel worthy of heaven as they came.

She would be more aptly cast as Lucifer, himself.

Of course, he was no saint either, and they would probably rot in hell together, along with Tomás.

Máira would not be with them.

“What did you find, Hag?”

She blinked. “Oh, you mean the part you didn’t share with me?

The part about Simon Clark, the Earl of Astley, traipsing through France on a mission from the English Crown, and the Frenchman who captured him?

” Her tone was casual, but everything about this moment spoke of violence and secrets too important to utter aloud.

“I don’t know who has captured the earl,” he hissed under his breath, and looked over his shoulder to ensure no one else had come in before continuing. “You killed the man who was supposed to give me that information. So, stop playing cat-and-mouse and tell me what you found.”

“The Minister of War and chief of staff to the emperor himself, has your earl. They should be at the Bastille of the Seas by now, since the correspondence was dated over a month ago.”

Bloody hell. He had put his wife in a dangerous spot if the Minister of War had captured the earl. Chances of recovering Astley alive were slim at best. With that amount of time there may be too little left of Simon Clark to take home in anything but a small box.

He wanted to curse himself to hell for endangering her as he had.

Yet it all boiled down to that one moment in time when he saw her in the streets of Dumfries and she’d captured his attention with her laughter.

The graceful turn of her neck as she said something to her maid had thrown his stomach in knots and his cock had nearly pointed the path to her feet.

He’d instantly decided she had to be the one woman he would marry.

The only woman he would swear his loyalty to.

It wouldn’t matter if the town was full of nobles, something inside him demanded he select her as his bride, the dangers be damned.

Except he hadn’t expected any real dangers. Certainly not like what Máira had already experienced. And he was afraid it was only the beginning. In essence, he had no one to blame but himself…and his damned cock.