Page 23 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

Ten

Elias—

I may have information that will lead you to your clerk. Bring plenty of Scotch, I am in need of more inventory.

P rior to leaving the tavern Hag had pulled him aside and hugged him tight for the first time in a decade. It made him want to take her and Máira away from this place he had once viewed so happily.

He made it to the ship and back in record time, thanks to the help of Tomás. It had taken all his self-control to not beat the answers out of Peter while aboard ship, but his first mate had done exactly what Elias would have done in his shoes.

Cook had heard two men talking below deck but had not been able to identify them, and rather than take a chance, Cook notified Peter, and Peter had sent Máira to Hag, where Elias was supposed to be.

Since Peter was uncertain if anyone else had been involved in the plot, he thought it best to get back to the ship posthaste and protect it.

Elias couldn’t blame him, especially after he saw the gash on Peter’s head that he had suffered upon his return to the ship.

His friend was in worse shape than he. Peter could not stand the light, nor could he even open his eyes.

If Cook hadn’t sewn up his skull and his gut, Peter might still be bleeding in his bed.

His first mate was fighting for his life.

Jack and Billie had been intent on killing Peter after learning Máira was no longer aboard ship, and that was the last thing Peter could remember or communicate.

Cook advised that Jack and Billie were the only two unaccounted for aboard ship, and the ship’s jolly boat was missing.

The men aboard the Maribelle , although happy to see him, were uneasy sitting in a French port.

Elias put the second mate in charge until his return.

Even though he had full confidence in his second mate, Elias decided Máira was safer at The Happy Hag.

Changing into a set of his own clothing and shoes that fit, he returned to the Happy Hag to find three French soldiers sitting at a table drinking ale and being less than polite to Hag.

When one half her age pinched her arse, he’d nearly stormed inside.

It had been Hag’s open palm to the soldier’s ear and the laughter of his two companions as he fell from his stool that had given him pause.

Hag was used to men like that, he reminded himself.

His father would not have wanted this life for his wife, just as Elias didn’t want it for his mother. Fate, however, did not allow her on English soil any more than it wanted him in French territories.

He quickly went around to the rear entrance and entered the tavern through the kitchen.

The cook, a grizzled woman past the age of caring about life or the people around her, grunted upon his entry but didn’t look up.

She’d probably learned through the years that she was better off not knowing who came and went in Hag’s establishment.

Elias peeked out to the tavern floor and captured the attention of an angry Tomás, who reluctantly left Hag.

“The soldiers arrived shortly after you left,” Tomás whispered as he nodded toward the men. “I did not want to leave her alone, so I was not able to obtain a second horse.”

Elias would have thought fate was once more dictating that he refuse to take Máira with him; the soldier’s arrival, however, said otherwise.

“Will you leave your wife here?”

“No.” That one word seemed to relieve a modicum of tension from Tomás’s shoulders, and Elias had no doubt he was thinking one strong-headed woman was enough to protect. Two—insurmountable.

“My horse is ready in the stable. He is strong enough to carry you and your wife all the way to the Austrian Empire. Take good care of him, and I will watch over her.” Both looked down the corridor toward his mother laughing with the soldiers as if she hadn’t just left one of them deaf in one ear.

Footsteps behind them gave Elias pause until he saw Máira coming down the steps, wrapped in his mother’s cloak with a determined look on her face.

“I don’t think she would let you leave her even if you tried.” Tomás said with a knowing smile.

“I believe you are correct.”

When Máira reached them, he put a finger to his lips and ushered her toward the kitchen and out the back door. In the stables, he helped her onto the beautiful black Friesian stallion that stood at least sixteen hands at the withers.

Tomás may not have been able to acquire a second horse, but the one he’d given them was a thing of beauty.

Between the horse and the woman, Elias was quite aware of the image they portrayed.

The horse may be a draught horse, and the woman may be wearing simple clothing, but both held themselves with the breeding of the aristocracy.

It was a look that could get them killed.

Belatedly he realized his hand had caressed the length of her exposed leg of its own accord, and he yanked it back, waiting to feel the slap of her hand, only to look up and see her lips parted on a breathless sigh.

One way or another, the woman would be the death of him.

“My apologies,” he said as he pulled himself up behind her.

He nearly groaned when he found his cock nestled against the soft, round globes of her arse as they made their way out of the stable.

He stayed to the snicket and avoided the main road for as long as possible, conscious of the way her arse rubbed up against him with every damned high step the horse took.

Attempting to focus on anything but the sweet rub of her soft flesh against his cock was pure torture.

His torture was only made worse by Máira’s bare legs being scandalously exposed as she sat astride the horse in front of him with her skirts bunching around her waist and thighs.

He wanted to stroke her, caress the curve of her thighs all the way up to her apex.

Instead, he struggled to keep his cock from grinding against her, his focus on their escape and not her delectable body, and her quiet—he failed miserably at the last.

“Where are we going?” She turned to whisper in his ear, effectively rubbing her breast against his left arm.

Her hard nipple drawing his attention downward to where it rested against his jacket.

It was the third time she’d ignored his instructions for silence.

The third time he had to force his gaze back to the darkened road in front of them.

It wasn’t as if he could even see her breast against his arm, but in his mind’s eye he saw her naked flesh brushing back and forth with the sway of the horse.

Each time he’d told her to hush, hoping she’d listen. She did not. He told her again. “You must keep quiet. We do not want to draw any attention to ourselves.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know the plan,” she insisted.

“The plan is to keep quiet.”

“You know the plan,” she whispered.

“I made the plan,” he whispered back. How had she manipulated him into breaking the silence over and over?

“If we’re to be a team, you need to share your plan.”

“We’re not a team. I am on a mission and you are extra baggage.” He winced as soon as the words left his lips.

She was silent—for far too long. He should be happy. Let his curt words maintain the silence required when skulking about the French countryside in the middle of a war. The sound of their horse’s hooves hitting the packed earth should be welcome. Except for once, it was not.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He had about as much finesse as a blunderbuss. “I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s fine.”

Bloody hell. Even the stupidest of men knew when a woman said things were fine, they were about as far from fine as English wine. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she repeated, and squirmed in her seat—rested her arse firmly against his cock.

Bloody fucking hell. He willed his body not to respond even more than it already had, but with her anger came a restlessness that was pure torture. She couldn’t have aroused him more if she’d taken him in hand and lowered her lips to his tip.

Images of her head lowering to his cock earlier that night did nothing to help him gain control. The woman was a menace. “It’s bloody-well not fine and we both know it!” He hissed through his teeth loud enough for the next town to hear.

“Shhhh!” Her head whipped back and forth, the long strands of her hair lashing his jaw, as if she expected men to jump out of the shadows, and once again he regretted his harsh words. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against him before she fell from her seat.

Chances were there wasn’t anyone out there.

At least he hoped there wasn’t. They were in-between towns, but they were at war, and more and more people who shouldn’t be wandering around at night, were.

Like him and his bride. He’d kept them to the outskirts of the past two towns, but as loud as he’d been… he could have been heard by anyone.

He left the roadway and they moved along in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. They wouldn’t come across the next town until well after daylight. Máira broke the silence once more. “I just don’t understand why you couldn’t share our destination with me.”

He’d have to explain it to her or she would never cease asking questions. “If we are captured, I cannot risk you giving out more information than you already know.”

She gasped, as he knew she would. The affront was like a slap in the face, and he immediately explained, despite not wanting to. “They may torture you for the information. I can’t afford for it to slip.”

He heard her start to reply and then stop. She started again, and once more closed her lips without saying a word. Several minutes passed before she finally said, “I understand how important this is. Simon…Astley is much more valuable than I.”

“He’s not.”

“He is, and I understand now why you wouldn’t tell me.”