A Night to Surrender

Page 43

“Oh? What’s that?”
“It makes me free to say this. Go to hell.”
Bram left the old man sputtering and hurried down the same path Susanna had taken when she’d fled the room. As he reached the end of the corridor, an open door to the gardens beckoned. Picking up speed, Bram charged through it.
And nearly collided with a stunned Minerva Highwood.
“Hold the cudgel,” he said, raising his hands. “Did Susanna come this way?”
The bespectacled girl cast a glance over her shoulder. “I don’t—”
“Thank you.” Bram didn’t wait for the rest of her reply. He simply followed the direction she’d indicated with her glance—a slate-paved pathway that disappeared around a tall, manicured hedge. As he rounded it, he caught a glimpse of Susanna’s unmistakable hair as she dashed through a distant arch.
“Susanna!”
She paused, but didn’t stop. She entered a square, ornate garden bounded by hedges on all sides and a trellis in each corner. Bram followed her, closing the gate behind him.
She heard the latch click and wheeled, knowing herself to be penned. Her eyes were wide with fear and disbelief. Of course she was terrified. Her beloved father—her only parent and protector for so many years—had just revealed himself to be an ambitious, selfish, unfeeling jackass.
“Listen,” he said, raising his hands in peace. “Susanna, love. I know how upset you must be right now.”
“You have no idea.” She shook her head. “No idea.” Her hands balled into fists, and she pressed them tight to her belly, as though afraid they might get loose.
“Will it help to hit something? You can hit me.” Approaching her, he dropped his arms to his sides. “Go ahead, love. Do your worst.”
No sooner had the words passed his lips than her fist met his gut, driving into his side like a mallet. A mallet with a knobby little row of knuckles. The blow came before he’d had the chance to prepare, to tense his muscles in defense.
“Oof.” He clutched his side, reeling. “For God’s sake, Susanna.”
“You asked for it,” she cried defensively, nursing her punching hand close to her breast and rubbing her knuckles. “You told me to do my worst.”
“I know, I know.” He straightened, blowing away the pain with a deep exhalation. “It’s just . . . your worst was worse than I was anticipating.”
“You should know by now, I’m just full of surprises.” Her breath caught on a wild sob. She pulled back for another blow.
This time he intercepted it, easily catching her fist in his own. “Hold a moment.”
“I’ll hold nothing.” She kicked him in the shin. His good shin, fortunately. “You’ve ruined everything. I’m furious with you.”
“With me?” His head jerked back in surprise. After the callous, disgusting way Sir Lewis had just treated her in the hall, she was angry with him?
“How could you do this to me? You gave me your word. You promised you wouldn’t involve my father in any of this.”
“I didn’t think I was involving him, not in the way you meant. I only agreed to demonstrate his new invention. It’s not as though I put him in uniform.”
“But don’t you see how this is so much worse?”
“No. I don’t see that at all.” He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to soothe her with a brisk caress. “Susanna, I never meant to deceive you, I swear it. And regardless of how I feel about your father right now . . . Even I have to admit, his cannon is a brilliant idea. It should be made known.”
“The cannon is a brilliant idea. But in practice, it doesn’t work. Do you know how many prototypes he’s tried? How many near-disasters we’ve evaded? The last one blew up, Bram. Practically in his face. He suffered a mild heart attack, remained abed for weeks. He promised me he’d discontinue experiments and send his drawings to colleagues for testing instead.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “He promised me.”
“Well, he broke his word. To us both.” He cast a pointed glance at his breast pocket, where he’d stuffed the envelope. “He could have given me these orders weeks ago, don’t you see? But he decided to use me while he had the chance. This event we’ve been working so hard to plan has nothing to do with the Duke of Tunbridge or defending the cove, and everything to do with your father’s taste for glory. It’s all a bit of gold braid and red-coated flash to set off the jewel that is his new cannon. He’s manipulated us both. Not only us, but the whole damned village. For the sake of his pride, he’s put all your work, all your friends at risk.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands over her ears. “Stop! Stop talking. I don’t want to hear any more. Just stop.”
He knew her anger wasn’t truly for him. The betrayal and devastation she felt were all to do with her father. That familiar, awful sense of helplessness descended on Bram, as he realized there was nothing he could do to alter the past. He couldn’t mend this for her.
But he could be here, with her. He could listen, and hold her tight.
So he did. Bram wrapped her in his arms and clutched her close to his chest. She put her head on his shoulder and wept. He held her like that for several minutes, murmuring words of comfort in her ear. Lending her the warmth and strength of his body until the tremors ceased racking hers.
When at length she raised her head and drew a deep, shaky breath, he led her to one of the corner arbors. “Come, let’s sit down.”
“I’m so sorry. Your knee.”
“No, no. It’s not that.” He pulled her down to sit with him. The arbor bench was narrow, and it would only accommodate the two of them if she sat half in his lap. He slid one arm about her waist. Her slender, stockinged legs twined with his knee boots. One of her slippers fell to the grass.
“Here.” With his free hand, he wrested the flask from his pocket. He unscrewed the top with his teeth, then spat it aside. “Have a sip of this. It will help.”
He raised it to her quivering lips, and she took a healthy swallow. Immediately, she seized up with a violent coughing fit.
“Sorry,” he said, patting her back. “You’re so proficient at shooting and Latin and so forth, I forget you haven’t mastered every manly pursuit.”
She cleared her throat and gave him a wry smile. “This is one I hadn’t tried yet. As for the others . . . I just wanted something in common with him.”
“I know, love. I know it well.” He brushed the stray hair from her face. “It was always the same with me.”
She rubbed her face with her hands. “He promised me, Bram. He promised me so many things, and I was such a fool to believe. He told me he’d look after himself, stop causing me so much worry. And now this cannon business.” A bittersweet laugh broke through her tears. “He told me once, long ago, that Rycliff Castle was mine. Did you know that? It was my prize, he said. My reward for recovering. He encouraged me to store all my hopes and dreams there, and then . . .” She reached for the flask and took another nip of whiskey, swallowing with a grimace. “And then one afternoon, he just gave it away.” Her tearful eyes met his. “To you.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s nothing. Only a girl’s foolishness. But I’m a foolish girl, it seems.” She sniffed and laid her head to his chest. “He promised me I’d be safe, that summer in Norfolk. That time spent there would be . . .” Her voice pinched. “Would be good for me. Now I know, he just wanted me out of the way. You heard him earlier. How he said I’m always becoming overwrought, holding him back. That summer, I must have proved too difficult to ignore.”
“Hush, love. Hush.” He pressed a kiss to her crown. “Don’t distress yourself so.”
Her fingers curled around his lapel. “And all this might be somehow bearable, if I had you. But now you’re leaving. Tuesday. I don’t know how I’ll survive it. I love you so much.”
Just like that, his heart danced a nimble little waltz in his chest.
She loved him.
She’d said as much inside the house. Four times, if he recalled correctly. But with every repetition, she only heaped more joy atop joy. He was well and truly wallowing in it now.
“Please don’t go,” she whispered, clutching his coat. “Don’t leave me.”
Her eyes held so much heartrending doubt. As if he would be the second man today to destroy her trust. He didn’t know that he could find the words to convince her otherwise, so he answered with a kiss instead. He lowered his lips to hers, meaning to give her a chaste, reassuring peck.
But she had other ideas.
Her lips parted beneath his, inviting and lush. Drawing him in. Welcoming him home.
God. Yes. That first taste of her, after long days of separation, sent lightning forking through his body. A low groan rumbled from his throat.
They kissed hungrily, trading light nips and deep passes of their tongues. Susanna came alive in his arms, seized by some kind of sensual frenzy. She clutched his shoulders. Pushed aside his lapels to rub her breasts against his homespun-clad chest. Speared her fingers through his thick, cropped hair and twisted in his lap, driving their kiss deeper still.
Perhaps it was that small taste of whiskey—but in all their previous encounters, he’d never known her to be this aggressive. Her hands were bold. Her lips and tongue made demands.
Bram found he rather liked it. He liked it a great deal.
“Don’t leave me,” she urged, licking over his pulse. “Hold me, close and tight. Promise you’ll never let go.”
“Never.” He slid one hand to her backside and pulled, hiking her higher onto his lap. But it wasn’t enough. With one hand, she gathered and lifted the folds of her skirts. They made a sensuous rustle as she pushed up on her knees and moved to straddle him on the bench.
He slid a hand up her thigh. She was bare beneath her petticoats. Bare, and already wet for him. Their moans mingled as he explored her dewy cleft with his fingertips, finding and circling her swollen pearl. Her feminine spice mingled with the scent of roses, filling the air with an intoxicating, arousing perfume.
Her hand flew to the closures of his breeches front. She adjusted her weight, giving herself space to work the buttons free. The shift in her pose thrust her bosom in his face. Bending his head, he nuzzled the soft pillows of her breasts, greedily thrusting his tongue into the dark, fragrant valley between them.
As he kissed and licked the luscious curves, a needy whimper eased from her throat. “I need you,” she said, reaching through the unbuttoned flap to stroke his aroused flesh. “I need you now.”
She didn’t need to ask twice. He worked his cock through the layers of buckskin and fabric, positioning the engorged, eager tip just at the entrance to bliss.
She lowered herself a fraction of an inch, then backed off—her slick heat lapping at the crown of his erection. He thought he would lose his mind, but he forced himself to be patient for a moment more, allowing his head to fall back so he could drink in the sight of her. The coils and wisps of her molten bronze hair, tumbling loose around her pale shoulders. Those full, berry-stained lips, swollen with his kisses. The flush of passion on her face. So beautiful, she made his heart twist.
He guided her hips, until she settled in just the right spot. And then he helped her sink by slow degrees. Inch by delicious inch. Until molten bliss enveloped him, all the way to the root.
They stayed that way for a long moment, each of them panting for breath, resisting the desire to move.
When the desire to move became an imperative, she rolled her hips. Slowly at first, but quickly accelerating to a brisk, urgent rhythm. He helped with his hands, clutching her backside tight and lifting, lowering . . . sliding her over his rigid length again and again. Faster, harder. Until their bodies met with resounding, erotic smacks of skin against skin.