The Hellion (The Lady Knights of Barony Book One ) (15 page)

“Ava.”

She stared at him, her gray eyes dull and gray as ash. “We have to find her.”

Julian nodded. “Nell and Vernon are in conference with King Damien as we speak. I’m sure plans are already being made for a voyage to Martinique.”

“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”

“Ava, listen to me. This is not your fault. You should be blaming this on me. I am the one who kidnapped you and took you away from your ladies. Maybe if you’d been with them, this would never have happened.”

“You’re right,” she said, her expression grim.

Julian winced but was otherwise silent. He’d been waiting for her to speak for hours and if ripping into him verbally would put the fire back in her eyes, he’d suffer through it in silence.

“This is your fault,” she said, this time with a bit more strength behind her voice. “You did this, and it was a despicable thing to do.”

“I know.”

She held her hand up and shook her head for silence. “But…” a smirk curled at the corner of her mouth. “If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found each other and I can’t say I regret that part.”

Julian was stunned. His tongue felt like rubber in his mouth as he struggled to speak, to give voice to what he was feeling just then. He couldn’t. She stretched her arm toward him and touched his face gently before rising from the bed.

“We
will
find her,” she said with conviction as she lifted his face toward hers. “Together.”

“There’s my girl.”

Her eyes flashed once more, a molten silver hue in the light from the fire burning in the fireplace. She lowered herself to his knee and kissed his forehead.

“Quite a large tub for one girl,” Ava murmured as she stroked his shoulder-length hair affectionately.

His smile was wide as he ran his hands over her hips and up to her waist. His blood raced hot in his veins and his pulse throbbed as she lifted her hands to the buttons on her shirt.

“I wouldn’t want you to get lonely,” he said, parting the fabric to reveal her bare breasts. His breath caught in his throat as he placed a kiss on her collarbone. As he worked his way up her neck, he inhaled her sweet fragrance, a scent that was all her own. He’d come to know it, to treasure it. Julian wondered how he’d ever lived without it.

Tossing her shirt to the floor, he lifted her in his arms and stood her on her feet. After swiftly divesting them both of every stitch of clothing, he lifted her into his arms once more and carried her to the tub. He lowered her in first and then climbed in after her. The tub was just large enough for the both of them, giving him just enough room to maneuver her until she was sitting on his lap, facing him.

Cupping her hands, she poured water over him, soaking his chest and arms before dampening his hair as well. Julian leaned back against the rim of the tub and watched her through lowered eyelids as she lathered up her hands with a cake of sandalwood scented soap. He felt the tension leaving his muscles as Ava devoted her attention to his chest, smoothing the scented bubbles over his skin. The muscles in his abdomen contracted, rippling beneath her fingers as she worked lower, spreading the soap across his middle before doing his arms. He rested his head against the generous cushion of her breasts as she did his back and shoulders, kneading with a gentle pressure that had him nearly purring like a kitten. After she’d washed his hair, dedicating several minutes to massaging his tingling scalp, she rinsed him, pouring water over his body by the handful until the tub was filled with the suds.

He then repeated her ministrations exactly, pouring water over her and following it with the soap. His breath quickened and his hands trembled as he touched her, lingering over the curves of her shoulders and swells of her breasts. When his hands moved over budding nipples, bringing them to stiff peaks, she closed her eyes and groaned, sending a shiver through his body that leaped from the base of his spine and traveled outward. By the time he’d finished and rinsed her, he was dying to love her, to touch her, to be inside of her.

He ran his hands slowly up and down her arms, delighting in the tremors he felt going through her body at his touch. His eyes swept over her, from the wet tendrils of her waving black hair, to the slope of her shoulders and the delicate lines of her collarbones, to the swell of her breasts, full and heavy with desire, and down past her stomach where the water lapped against her skin.

“Beautiful,” he sighed, unable to resist leaning forward to take the offering of one inviting nipple into his mouth. She gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair, her body quaking with the force of the pleasure ripping through her.

“Ava,” he gasped against her skin, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

She looked down at him through lowered eyelids, her lips parted on a sigh and her cheeks flushed with passion. “Did you mean what you said on the dock?”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close until her breasts were resting up against his chest, and her lips were only inches from his.

“Yes,” he said. “Every single word of it, Ava. I love you. I know it seems impossible that anything could come of this, but I’d do anything to make you mine forever. Do you think that you could return my love, Ava? I know it wouldn’t be easy, but could you find it in your heart to love a worthless bastard like me?”

She brought the tip of her index finger up to his mouth, stroking over the firm upper lip and pausing over the scar there.

“Please Julian,” she whispered. “Please don’t call the man I love a bastard.”

With a joyous cry he flexed his hips upward, impaling her on the rigid length of his desire. Her surprised gasp melted into a spine-tingling moan as she went limp against him. Their bodies came together, locking in the most intimate of embraces as he loved her, fulfilling both of their deepest desires with every stroke of his body inside of hers. When she split the silence in the room with her earth-shattering cry and trembled against him in completion, he rose from the tub, carrying her across the room.

After toweling them both off he lifted her one last time and laid her on the bed, coming down over her and entering her once more to finish what he’d started. His hands traveled over her body as he leaned down to claim her mouth, tasting her lower lip before lapping at her tongue.

“Julian,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “We should discuss—
“ she gasped as he moved slowly within her, “—a child. What if there’s a child?”

He ceased his movements and lifted himself up onto his elbows to stare down at her. In his mind he could see the vision of a child with midnight black hair and Ava’s gunmetal eyes. He smiled.

“If you were to carry my child, it would be the single most beautiful thing to come into my life since I met you.”

She returned his smile and flexed her hips toward his, urging him to continue, to seal their bond completely in spirit. As they climbed the heights of passion together, he held her close and thanked the heavens for the blessing that was Ava. Never in his life had the future looked brighter.

Dorian Blake glanced out over
The Raven
’s bow, watching as his beloved ship cut through the still water, tracing its path back home to Martinique. He shivered against the frigid morning, grateful that he was heading back home to a warmer climate and lifted a newly lit cheroot to his lips and took a long drag, savoring the smoky, smooth flavor.

Geoffrey appeared at his elbow and cleared his throat.

Dorian nodded silently, giving his old friend permission to speak.

“What will we do with her now? The African?” he asked.

Dorian shrugged. “Keep her below with the other women. I want her untouched until we reach Martinique. I will give my lady a few weeks to give chase and if I understand her as well as I think I do, she will. I’ll make good on my word and honor an exchange. If not, that little black piece of tail will fetch quite a price in Martinique.”

“She is African,” Geoff said with a shrug and a snort. “
Un negre stupide and just as black as the natives.”

“
Ahh,” Dorian said with a smirk, “But she is not a Carib and she is quite civilized. Her English is also quite good. We could dress her up—”

“Dolly would have—”

“We can dress her up,” Dorian repeated, shooting Geoff a heated glare at the mention of his sister’s name. She’d been valuable, but he wouldn’t have risked losing his dark-haired lady for her. Women like Dolly, with their dyed hair and gaudy taste, were a dime a dozen. Dorian had never been one for attachments and didn’t worry over his sister any longer than he’d had to. Girls like Dolly always landed on their feet.

“Dressed up like a real lady, she’ll bring in twice as much as the rest of them,” he continued.

“And your lady?” Geoff asked. “You still hope to get your hands on her?”

Dorian stroked his smooth chin, his vision growing hazy at the edges as he remembered eyes the color of ash and hair like billowing smoke. Ava….that’s what his hired kidnapper had called her.
A fitting name for such a stunning beauty. His teeth clenched around the cheroot until it snapped in half, the glowing ember holding his gaze captive until it fell into the sea with a hiss and a sizzle. He pulled the other half from his mouth and tossed it over the side as well, turning to face Geoff, his face a mask of determination.

“Lady Ava will be mine. You can be sure of that.”

****

Two weeks later…

For Ava, the wait had been excruciating. Every day that passed only increased her urgency. The longer they waited, the further ahead of them Dorian would be. Every mile that increased between them minimized her chances of finding her friend unharmed. She knew that the stocking of supplies, soldiers and crew took time and that King Damien wanted to be sure they were more than adequately prepared for the journey. This did not do anything to hamper her impatience.

Only Julian’s steadfast presence had kept her grounded. She was grateful for the strength in his arms and the surety in his voice as he reassured her constantly.

As Ava woke to find him seated beside her bed on the morning of their voyage to Martinique, she rested her cheek on her palm and studied him with a sleepy smile. He was so incredibly handsome, she thought as she took a long, unguarded look at him. For the first time since she’d met him he was wearing finely tailored clothes, undoubtedly  provided by King Damien since Julian’s other clothes had been left behind. In his haste to catch her, he’d come with only the clothes on his back, which Ava was sure some maid had thrown into a fireplace by now. With snug buff-colored breeches showcasing his muscular legs, crisp white linen at his throat, a form-fitting morning coat of charcoal gray wool molded to his shoulders and his hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, he was the very picture of a gentleman.

Ava smiled as she realized that there was still a hint of danger lingering there, a small part of him that couldn’t be disguised by any amount finery. Now she understood exactly how the ladies of the court had felt, entranced by the potent combination of refinement and ruggedness that was essentially Julian. In him, she had found the perfect blend to suit her. She never thought she’d be so fortunate.

Ava reached her hand out to him and found comfort in the gentle pressure of his palm against hers.

“Are you ready?” he asked, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “In a few hours we’ll be on our way. Simon arrived late last night by the way. He wouldn’t have allowed us to make the journey without him. ”

She sat up against the pillows and stretched, working the remnants of sleep from her tired muscles.

“I am more than ready,” she said. “The wait has been excruciating.”

Julian stood and joined her on the bed, lacing his fingers through hers.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

“About what?”

“Heatherton Manor. When I asked you about it before, you avoided the subject but I’d really love for you to tell me. Please.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to picture the sprawling estate in her mind. She’d been there three times and only the first time had she taken the full tour. Yet for some reason, the details came readily to her mind and she found herself eager to share them with him.

“A few miles outside of Gladstone, you will find a simple wooden sign painted with flowers surrounding the words ‘Heatherton Manor’,” she began. “It points the way down a simple dirt lane lined by ancient oak trees. After a few more miles, the trees give way to sprawling farmland that stretches on for miles. On the right are rows and rows of wheat and other crops being tended by those that work the land. If you look closely you can see the homes of those cared for by Heatherton in the distance; quaint little cottages lining the land’s border.”

His fingers tightened around hers and he rested his head on top of hers with a sigh. Ava continued.

“And then, the path winds up over a hill. At the very top sits a mansion with large doors and windows with pillars between. The grass is greener there than any I’ve ever seen and wildflowers are allowed to bloom around the perimeter. Inside there are polished floors that smell like lemons and beeswax and a ceiling so high you’d swear the walls stretched up to heaven. The walls are paneled with rich, gleaming wood and spotted with beautiful paintings in gilded frames. A curved staircase leads to the eight bedrooms upstairs. There is also a library, a study, formal dining room as well as a smaller room for entertaining, and three sitting rooms. There is a small garden in the back where there are an abundance of roses, as well as a covered terrace and stable beyond.”