Chapter Twenty-Three
L ynsley slipped through the door and shook the raindrops from his wide-brimmed hat.
“Any luck?” asked Valencia as she refastened the bolt.
“Yes, the merchant ship was there, just as I arranged with Jalet, and the captain was expecting us,” he answered. “We sail for England on the morning tide.”
“That is good news.” She smiled, but the warmth did not quite reach her eyes.
Surely it was just a quirk of the candlelight, thought Lynsley as he shrugged off his caped overcoat. And yet, the snap of the wet wool stirred a strange mizzle between them. It felt as if a heaviness dampened the air.
They were both weary, he reminded himself. And the end of a mission was always bittersweet.
But as he hung the garment by the door, the chill of the rain clung to his palms. Perhaps she wished to have separate rooms. They would, after all, have to get used to sleeping alone.
Lynsley turned.. “Would you prefer your own quarters?—”
Her lips touched his, stilling his halting words.
Closing his eyes, he drew her into his arms as reason gave way to need. A last burst of passion, sparked by desperation. A last flare of fire before their relationship burned down to cold ashes.
They were both old enough to know that life did not have fairy tale endings. One must grasp at happiness and hold on for dear life. It was all too fleeting. Like wind and sunlight and the very air that they breathed.
“Val,” he murmured, deepening his kiss, savoring the sweetness as if it would have to last a lifetime.
A last wild intoxication before going back to his sober self.
She was exploring his body with the same desperate need. His cravat fell to the floor as the fastenings of his shirt yielded to her roving hands.
Steel and silk . He had never imagined a woman could be both hard and soft. The contrast, the contradiction was wildly sensual.
This valiant Valkyrie—a battle-hardened beauty, forged of fire and flame-gold honor. Oh, how he was in awe of her strength, her passions.
As for his own passions, he had surrendered any will to resist this temptation. Was it wrong? He had a lifetime to meditate his sins, if sin it was. Right now, the Devil himself could not pull him away.
“Val.”
She tugged at the tabs of his trousers, and then her dressing gown slipped from her shoulders, slithering to the floor in a whisper of silk. An instant later his shirt followed suit.
He kicked off one shoe, then the other.
Thump, thump. As they bounced off the door, Valencia laughed, a low, husky sound that set his heart to skittering against his ribcage.
His trousers somehow caught on the tip of the bedpost, a flag draped in silent surrender of sanity.
Reason could go to hell.
They were now both nearly naked and stumbling for the bed.
Desperate desire sizzled through his blood. Be damned with Reason. He could spend the rest of his life devoted to discipline and detachment. But for this moment . . .
For this moment, he wanted her so badly that he might shrivel up and die if he didn’t bury himself in her warmth.
“Thomas,” she whispered, her voice rough with need.
To the devil with rules and responsibility . All the things that normally regimented his life. For this last, fleeting interlude he would savor the sweetness of giving in to his heart’s desire.
Valencia framed his face and pulled him close. Was it wrong to want one last blazing memory to warm her through the long nights?
The spark of his smile, luminous in the candlelight. The sherry-sweet color of his hair, glinting with silver. The strong, chiseled lines of his face. He was a noble in the best sense of the word. A man who had used privilege to serve rather than to take. Unselfish in every fiber of his being.
While she, on the other hand, would selfishly seize a last moment of sunshine before the black cloud darkened the horizon.
“Oh, Thomas,” she whispered. His supremely sensual, capable hands were now sliding up the length of her legs. His touch turned tender against her scar, and as he murmured sweet endearments, Valencia felt her body melt with liquid desire. “Make love to me, Thomas.”
He traced a kiss along her throat, muffling a low laugh. “I thought I was giving the orders here.”
She pressed a palm to his cheek. “Actually, it was more of a request.”
And a plea.
“Just so we understand who is in charge.” He swept her up in his arms. “Make love to me, Val.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s on the second floor, last door on the right,” came a low whisper.
In answer came a muffled snick of steel.
“I’ll go first,” added Marco to his companion. “Remember, do not fire unless I give the order.”
“Do you think the Frogs have Lord Lynsley captive?” Beneath the black silk bandana covering her hair, Verona’s eyes gleamed with undisguised excitement.”
“We shall soon see, bella .” Marco drew his dagger and tested its edge on his thumb. “The barmaid said he was accompanied upstairs by another person, which makes me fear the worst. The marquess always works alone.”
Verona exhaled sharply. “What are we waiting for? As we speak, he may be suffering god knows what sort of physical torture.”
“ Si, si, but we will soon put a stop to that.” Marco signaled her to silence. “Follow me.”
Lynsley lay tangled on the sheets, savoring the sweet euphoria of a mind and body utterly at peace. Their climax had come quickly, cresting in a white hot wave that had drowned out all other sounds and sensations. Now, he was drowsily aware of the ocean waters, lapping at the harbor quays beneath the window, and the silky tangle of Valencia’s hair tickling the underside of his chin. Her cheek was resting on his chest, her breath a whisper of warmth on his skin, and her hand . . .
Her clever little hand was rousing a devilish urge to repeat their lovemaking, though this time at a far more leisurely pace. He would lie still, savoring the blissful sensation for just a few moments longer?—
A soft snick intruded on his reveries. The scrape of metal on metal.
In a flash, he rolled off the bed, taking Valencia with him. She had heard it too, for she was already on her feet and reaching for her knife. Lynsley signaled for silence as he tugged on his trousers.
She nodded, and moved noiselessly to a position by the door.
Damn. Surely the French had not sorted out the chaos of conflagration quickly enough to be on their trail. The Americans? Equally unlikely. Which left robbery.
His mouth quirked in a wry twitch. Pity the poor thief. If some local was looking to frighten a foreign couple into handing over their purse, the fellow was in for a rude awakening.
The sound came again. He glanced at Valencia, who motioned for him to open the door. She had pulled on his shirt, which covered her thighs. But with her loosened hair spilling over her shoulders and her eyes heavy-lidded with passion, she looked delightfully d ishabille .
He couldn’t resist a grin and a wink. Lud, it was exhilarating to be with her. In bed, in battle, she was the perfect comrade.
Angling his pistol for a straight shot, Lynsley slowly eased back the catch on the lock. Outside the door, the floorboards creaked as a boot shifted ever so slightly.
“ Diavolo .” The word was barely more than a breath of air.
Lynsley lowered his weapon a touch. “ Marco ?”
“ Si . What do you need me to do, sir? Shall I blow the door off its hinges?”
“Not necessary.” He opened it a crack. “As you see, there is no need for fireworks.”
“ Santo Cielo . We feared you were being held against your will, sir. The barmaid said you were not alone, and we worried that you might be under considerable duress.”
“Actually, I was in bed, and quite comfortable until now.” He opened the door a touch wider, only to see Marco’s expression of concern twitch into one of bemusement. Given the rascal’s prowess with ladies, Lynsley imagined the fencing master didn’t need much of an imagination to guess that he hadn’t been sleeping.
“Of course, I am delighted to discover that you are alive, sir.” Marco craned his neck, trying to see inside the room.
Lynsley moved smoothly to block his view.
“Very alive,” added the fencing master with a wink, his gaze moving down to the marquess’s hastily assumed trousers with the buttons slotted into the wrong slots. “It’s nice to know that a gentleman man of your senior status is still up for the rigors of a mission.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” It was only now that Lynsley noticed the slim figure backing up Marco. “Now, may I ask what in the name of Hades the two of you are doing here?”
“Mounting a rescue mission,” replied Marco with a small smirk. “We feared you might need assistance.”
“As you see, you were mistaken.” Seeing that the young Merlin was fighting back a grin, Lynsley mustered his most lordly look and fixed her with a pointed stare. “Do you find something amusing, Verona?”
“No, sir!” she replied, straightening to parade ground attention.
“I wouldn’t think so,” he said softly. “Indeed, if I were you—an unfledged Merlin away from the nest without leave—I would be too busy contemplating the seriousness of my transgression to be chortling over the private life of my superior.”
Marco sobered as well. “The fault is all mine. I ordered her to accompany me. Any punishment?—”
“Any punishment will be mine to mete out as I see fit,” said Lynsley. He ran a hand through his hair, belated aware that great tufts of it were standing on end. Coupled with his naked chest, rumpled trousers and bare feet, he did not exactly cut a commanding presence.
The realization had him torn between maintaining a stern visage and cracking a schoolboy grin. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would prefer not to attract any more attention. Consider yourselves dismissed.”
Seeing that Verona’s hand was about tosnap up, Marco caught her wrist. “Dammit, don’t salute, cara ,” he muttered.
Lynsley stilled the twitch of his lips. “I assume that as you managed to get here on your own, you will have no trouble returning.”
“No, sir.” Marco could not resist one last little stab of humor. “You are sure you wouldn’t like an armed escort for the journey home, sir? Just in case any trouble should arise .” He assumed an air of grave concern. “A man of your advanced years ought not be traveling alone.”
“Marco . . .” Lynsley leaned in a little closer to the fencing master. “You may take your blades and your banter and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine.”
The Italian swallowed a rumbled laugh. “I?—”
Valencia stepped out from her vantage point, still clad only in his shirt. “You heard your commanding officer.”
Marco stared in obvious admiration.
“ Andiamo ,” she added, flicking her knife toward the darkened stairwell. “Lord Lynsley already has someone watching his arse.”
It took a moment for Marco to master his mirth. “Come, Verona, I can see our talents are not needed after all.” Backing off with the ashen-faced Merlin in tow, Marco blew an airy kiss. “ Ciao, amico . Enjoy the rest of the night.”
Valencia edged away from the doorway and set down her blade. “Weren’t you were a little hard on the girl, Thomas? She looked terrified of you, and of losing her place at the Academy.”
“Verona?” Lynsley made a face. “I assure you, she doesn’t find me at all intimidating. She is even more rebellious than you were, and takes a certain delight in seeing how far she can push me.”
“Merlins are meant to fly in the face of authority,” reminded Valencia.
“And I am meant to clip their wings from time to time.” He closed the door and relocked the latch. “There is no harm in letting her stew a little over the possible consequences of her actions. It may also keep her from spreading the word of this little incident throughout the Academy. How very embarrassing to be caught with my trousers down.”
“On the contrary.” She pressed her palms to his shoulders. “I should think that a rumor of rakish scandal would only add to your storied reputation among the girls.”
He gave a wry chuckle. “Maybe you have a point. As it is, I fear they see me as too ancient to wield a sword.”
Valencia teased a hand down across his ribs, the flat hard planes of his stomach. “It seems to me that despite your encroaching old age, you still can muster a show of life.”
She made him feel young, alive, gloriously aware of the moment—the smell of her perfume, the fire-gold glow of the candles, the whisper of salt air stirring the curtains.
“When my country has need of me, I do try to rise to the occasion.”
How sweet it was to banter with her. They were lovers, comrade-in arms. Most importantly they were friends.
“Dear me, the hardships you must endure for England.” Her lips feathered against his ear. “Come to back bed, Thomas.”
The sheets were still faintly warm, and scented with earthy essence of their passion. Valencia inhaled deep, the musk mingling with melancholy. Come morning, it would all quickly fade . . .
No, she would not let such depressing thoughts cloud these last few precious hours.
Brushing back her tangled hair, she rolled onto her side, and watched Lynsley drape his trousers over the chair. The tallow candle had burned itself out, but the sky had cleared, and the pearly moonlight was just strong enough to limn the muscled curves of his buttocks and thighs.
How she loved the shape of him, and the sweet intimacy of observing him naked, engaged in the mundane task of straightening his clothes.
He suddenly turned and chuckled. “Are you watching my arse?”
“It’s a lovely sight,” she murmured.
“Throw me my shirt, if you please. An even lovelier sight is your glorious body.”
Valencia eased the linen over her head, aware of his eyes following her every move. To the devil with brooding. She meant to squeeze every sinful, sensual sensation from these last fleeting seconds.
She gave a teasing wave of the cloth. “Come and get it.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“I’ve decided it’s my turn to issue orders.” She crooked a finger. “March.”
Lynsley slowly sauntered to the bedside, his sapphirine eyes never breaking contact with hers. There was something erotic about the connection. It was a palpable, pulsing prickling over her naked body.
“And now?” he asked
“And now, make love to me again. And again.” Until night gives way to dawn—for who knows what the new day will bring.