Page 27 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)
Twelve
My Lord Duke,
Sir Elias Maximilien Allistair Drake is the captain of the Maribelle, with a healthy reputation as a ruthless privateer.
The ship left English soil out of the port of Dumfries the morning after your sister’s wedding.
Sir Drake does fit the description of the man who married Miss Máira Blair, and he was last seen leaving port with an unconscious woman over his shoulder who was said to be his bride.
He was en route to Le Conquet, France, with a hull full of Scotch.
I further learned that Sir Drake is the son of Thomas Jefferson Drake, a spy for the Crown, who married a French woman.
Her identity is unknown, but Mr. Drake was murdered ten years ago by none other than Maximilien de Danton, a general for Napoleon.
Rumor has it the general has been estranged from his daughter since then, and that his daughter, who is currently a widow, was married to an Englishman.
I’ve been able to locate one sailor who swore the Englishman the French general’s daughter married was none other than Thomas Drake.
The couple owned a pub in Le Conquet, and the widow is currently the sole proprietor.
I will be leaving for Le Conquet, France, on the morrow, and will advise you of my findings at the soonest date possible.
Your faithful servant,
Mr. Johnathan Payne
—A letter from Bow Street Runner, Mr. Johnathan Payne, to Nashford Harding, the Duke of Ross, who hired him to locate his sister-by-marriage, Miss Máira Blair.
M on Dieu , but he hurt. Nothing had gone right from the moment he’d said “I do” to this woman. She was a menace to the cause. A thorn in his side, wiggling deeper and deeper into his flesh until she pierced his very heart. He’d known he loved her for quite some time. He wasn’t a complete fool.
Then again, maybe he was, because he’d thought he could ignore the tug of his emotions, the draw of her mind, body, and soul. Then she’d gone and saved him.
He hadn’t seen her throw the knife, but he’d seen where it landed with deadly aim and precision. The act still baffled him, what lady of the ton knows how to throw a knife? For that matter, where had she kept the knife?
He found that thought sexy as hell. Máira Blair was not raised to be part of the dangerous life a wife of his would lead.
Máira was gently raised to attend parties of the ton , take strolls in Hyde Park on the arm of her titled husband as their children ran around them giggling and laughing at the loving antics of their parents.
Simply put, Máira deserved the love match he led her to believe she was getting.
She deserved more than a filthy, bloodied fool wearing a stolen French uniform. He rode with her on the front of magnificent beast that wasn’t his, while trying to keep his cock in check under the caress of her sumptuous arse. Mon Dieu , she was going to drive him mad with lust.
The prickling of the stallion’s ears brought his attention to their surroundings.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered in Máira’s ear, and pulled the horse off the path, deep into the forest. A few moments later, he heard the chatter of a man and woman. The worried tone of the woman’s voice reached him before her the words in his native language.
“What if we didn’t leave in time? What if the babe becomes sick?”
“He will be fine, Lizette. Do not worry,” a man responded. Elias assumed he was her husband.
“How do you know? All those people looking for shelter could have brought the ague to our village. What if they contaminated the water?”
Her husband’s voice softened. “Let’s not bring trouble where we do not need it. You and the baby will be safe at your parents’ house.”
Elias could see the couple dressed in the attire of country peasants. They were younger than he and Máira, and the woman was holding a baby in her arms as it nursed on her breast.
“What about you?” she asked. “Who will keep you safe?”
The young man kissed his wife’s hair as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and looked down at the infant.
“Your love will keep me safe. Would you like to stop and remind me of just how much you love me?” The young man’s eyebrows waggled and his wife giggled.
“You are insatiable. It hasn’t been an hour since I showed you how much I adore your cock down my throat.
” She batted at her husband’s hand as he attempted to bring hers to his crotch. “Besides, your son needs to eat.”
Every nerve ending in Elias’s body came alive.
It was bad enough that he’d been forced to relive every move and counter move of the fight of his life in an effort to distract himself from the feminine form making his own cock want exactly what this woman was discussing.
If he had to endure watching the act, he wouldn’t be able to keep his body from showing Máira just exactly how much he desired her to repeat her performance.
No woman had unmanned him the way she had, and his base needs were hammering against his restraint, challenging his will to keep it at bay.
“How about I show you exactly how much you mean to me as I eat that sweet cunny of yours.”
Máira’s breath hitched.
The young woman giggled and swatted at her husband. “Maybe when we stop for the night and your boy isn’t making me feel like a milking cow.”
“You could never be mistaken for a cow. The sweet Lord gave you curves to drive a man insane.” He planted a kiss on her cheek and wrapped his arm under his wife’s to help support the child in her arms. “Why don’t we stop for the night.”
Damn, if they stopped?—
His wife’s joking disappeared. “No, I fear if we rest so close to the village, we will expose our son to the ague that is destroying it. We must continue.”
The smile the man gave her was indulgent, yet his own worry was evident. “As you wish, but I must insist on carrying that little man as soon as he is done eating.”
The baby burped in her arms and drew the couple’s attention back to him.
Despite their circumstances, they appeared content.
Something in that look pierced Elias’s heart, making him realize everything he was giving up.
Before Máira, no woman had made him want what this couple had, and yet he could picture her with a suckling babe at her breast as he held them both in his arms.
No. The job was his family. The men of his crew were his children in need of guidance.
They were also his brothers-in-arms, despite the treachery of Billy and Jack.
Most of his men, although sketchy when bringing a woman around, were dependable when trouble was at hand.
As a man he didn’t have to watch his back—his family had it.
Yet still…this couple had given him a glimpse of what he was missing.
Elias and Máira sat in silence long after the couple passed. When he was certain they were gone, he directed their horse out of the woods.
“What illness would drive them from their home?”
“I don’t know.” It was a lie. When Hag had held him tight for the first time in years right before they left, she’d whispered the name of a contact close to Mont Saint Michel who could guide them across the bay to the prison.
A trustworthy man who would have a specific medal for him, and him alone.
Then she’d warned about a fever sweeping across the countryside, driving people from their homes because the ague was killing the strongest of men.
The sun was high in the sky now, and by the sounds of her stomach growling, Máira was as hungry as he was. “We’ll be stopping to eat soon.”
Máira shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He couldn’t stop the rumble of laughter building in his chest. “You are not fine. Your stomach sounds like it wants to eat you from the inside out.”
She let out a puff of air that pressed her breasts against his hand holding the reins. She was going to kill him. He was going to hell, and she would put him there.
“What I meant to say was, yes, I am hungry, but I’m fine. I’ve gone without food before.”
Her confession made him pause, the humor of their conversation gone.
“You’ve gone without food? When?”
The serene smile on her face became brittle. Silence coated her like a coffin sealing the dead, her body saying what her lips would not.
Two minutes ago, he would not have expected her to be stiff from her calves to the tilt of her head. As a man, he wanted to engulf her and protect her from whatever haunted her so. As her husband he wanted to make her forget, ease the tension from her body, but he wasn’t really her husband, was he?
He approached the topic with the caution of a man approaching a wounded animal—not a man comforting his bride. “A rough winter in the country?”
She shook her head once, her movement just as succinct and stilted as it had been when he yelled at her on board the Maribelle . She obviously wasn’t going to share, unless he did as well. He took a deep breath and exhaled before telling her about the worst night of his childhood.
“When I was fifteen, my best friend and I had too much to drink one night. I’d just lost my virginity to one of the barmaids, and I was bragging about my prowess with the ladies.” He felt his lips turn up with the memory.
Not that he remembered what the barmaid looked like or what her name had been, but he did recall how he had finished before she achieved her petite mort and she had slapped his face for his error.
It was a lesson well-learned. He’d given none of his partners since a reason to complain.
It felt much better to leave a woman exhausted from multiples tiny deaths than to leave her hopping mad while he tried to pull on his britches and get out of her reach before she beat him to death.
Still, like most young men, he’d felt indestructible.
Until soldiers appeared.