"Whatever happened," Jack said in a low, rasping voice, "it wasn't your fault."
She closed her eyes. "I went downstairs and found him talking with his manservant. They didn't hear me. William called me insipid and dull, and said it was to his great misfortune he'd ever met me." Her voice descended to a dry whisper. "He planned to murder Garrett and me, and then he planned to take my money to Paris and live like a prince with his mistress."
Jack's body tightened behind her. "Good God."
"He hated Garrett. He blamed Garrett for his own brother's death in the war. This plan-it was his vengeance."
"He must have been insane."
"Yes. Yes, I am afraid he was."
"What happened?"
"Garrett shot him."
"The common knowledge is that your husband was murdered by a band of smugglers."
"Yes. That is common knowledge. Common knowledge is often inaccurate, and in this case, it is a fiction created to protect the Duke of Calton. My brother was the man who killed my husband."
"God, Becky." Jack sounded shaken.
She scrambled to turn over to face him. She wanted to see the look on his face.
To her surprise, his eyes shone with tears. He gripped her shoulder, hard. "He was mad, Becky. Only a madman would knowingly cause you harm."
She stared at him.
"Only an idiot and a fool would think you were insipid or dull. You're beautiful. Intelligent, and full of life. He tried to suck it out of you, but he did not succeed."
"Sometimes I think he did."
"No." His voice shook with his conviction. She sighed, and he pulled her closer. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For telling me your story, first of all. But mostly-" his hand trailed down her waist and then slid behind it, "-thank you for giving me your trust. Now I can understand how difficult that must have been."
Her lips wobbled as she tried to smile at him. "It is done, though. It is no longer difficult." Leaning forward, she pressed a hard kiss against the corner of his lips."You don't think I was a stupid fool for what I did?" she whispered against his skin. "For being so nave?"
"No. You were young. You were innocent. He manipulated you into believing he loved you when you were vulnerable and needed to be loved by someone."
"I hurt my family. I led them into danger. I was nearly responsible for my own brother's death."
"He fooled you thoroughly. Even if he had succeeded in murdering your brother, it wouldn't have been your fault. Far from it."
"Do you truly believe that?"
"Yes. He hurt you." He bowed his head, touched his forehead to hers, and closed his eyes. "I can't bear to see you hurt."
The next morning, Becky and Jack awakened early, and after lingering in bed for an hour of talking and love-making they rose and dressed. They planned to walk to Richmond, hire a carriage, and arrive in London before noon.
They ate a quick breakfast of bread dipped in cream, and Jack scrawled a letter to the landlady, thanking her for her hospitality and saying that he had no further need of her services for the time being. Becky combed and braided her hair in the simplest style, for she could manage no other on her own.
He watched her, a smile twitching at his lips, as she struggled to fasten the pearl buttons of her gloves.
"Let me guess," he murmured. "You've never before buttoned your own gloves."
"Not these," she admitted. "They are more difficult than most."
He held out his hand. "Come. I'll help you."
He had to remove his own gloves to tackle the buttons, and she was choking on silent laughter by the time he finished, grumbling that with so many tiny buttons on her gloves, it would be noon before they left.
"It usually doesn't take this long," she murmured. "I am one-handed and your fingers are too big. We need servants."
"Or we need to get rid of these damn gloves."
A chuckle burst from her lips, but it died away as he brought her fully gloved hand to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the buttery kidskin. "There."
She tore her hand out of his grip and threw her arms around him, planting her lips on his. "I cannot do this in public." She kissed him again. "So I wanted to kiss and hug you one last time..."
"Nonsense." That wicked smile curled his lips. "There's tonight, in your brother's house-"
"My brother's house!" she gasped, widening her eyes at him.
"-and many, many more nights to come."
Their lips met again, in a fiery clash that left her breathless. He finally pulled away, his gaze raking her body, finally lingering at her gloved hands.
"Hell," he muttered. "As much as I want to strip all those clothes off you and take you on the floor, it really will be noon before we leave. The damnable gloves alone take a quarter of an hour to button."
Smiling, she slipped her hand between them, running her fingers up the length of his erection. Then, on, impulse, she dropped to her knees and kissed him through the fabric of his trousers.
"Becky, what are you-?"
She was already undoing his buttons. Making short work of them, she slid his trousers down his narrow hips, taking his drawers down with them.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "There's time."
By the time she was finished, he'd appreciate these "damnable" gloves as much as she did. They were made of the softest, finest kid, and not only were they the most beautiful gloves she owned, they were also the most comfortable.
She took him, already brick-hard, into her hands, cradling him in her fingers. Then she began a rhythmic stroke, moving the soft kid up and down his shaft. After just a few seconds, his hands rested heavily on her shoulders. "Becky..."
"Mmm?"
"I-"
But she'd pressed her lips to the crown of his organ, and he gasped, his hips jerking toward her.
She pulled away, biting her lip. Did he want...? Could she...?
Sliding her fingers down his shaft, she kissed him again, then tentatively opened her mouth over him.
He groaned, long and low. His fingers pressed behind her neck, encouraging her to take him deeper.
She did. She took him as deep as she could into her mouth, his silky-hard skin gliding beneath her lips. He tasted salty, musky, masculine. She held him there until he moved his hips back, pulling himself from her mouth. When she began to move away, however, his fingers tightened on her neck, and she obediently pressed forward once more, allowing her kidskin-covered fingers to slide over him, leading the way for her lips.
He pulled out a little, and it struck her that the movements they'd made imitated sexual congress. Was that what he wanted? Testing her theory, she did it again, retreating again until she nearly released him, and then when his fingers tightened over her neck, she pressed forward, swallowing him as deeply as she could.
He made a small noise. Under her fingertips and the sensitive skin of her lips, he grew tighter, harder.
Yes.
She tried it again, this time without any urging from him. She withdrew and then, even before he applied pressure on her neck, took him in, swirling her tongue around the silken skin of his shaft as she did so.
"Yes, Becky," he said, his voice a near-moan. "Yes."
She did it again and again, sinking into the rhythm of it, working her lips over him, experimenting with the pressure and the depth of her caresses, learning quickly that the deeper she took him, the more he trembled. And when she withdrew, if she swirled her tongue around his crown, his fingers would curl into her hair, and he would groan.
His texture and his shape. His taste and his touch. She learned it all, and mimicking the way he moved inside her, she moved over him.
Suddenly, his fists tightened in her hair, and his thigh tightened under her palm. "I'm going to-"
Whatever he was going to say, he didn't finish. He froze, holding her locked against him. She couldn't continue-she couldn't even move. His shaft contracted under her fingertips, under her lips, over her tongue. And his seed spilled deep into her mouth.
She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively, then again.
Finally he stilled. His hands loosened from her hair, and he pulled away from her. She remained there, dazed, as he fell to his knees before her and took her into his arms, his lips pressing into her hair.
He was shaking, she realized. "God, Becky. You didn't have to do that. I didn't mean to force you-"
"But... I wanted to. Didn't you like it?"
"Like...?" He pulled away. Gripping her by the shoulders, he shook her a little. "I loved it, woman. No one... well..." He broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind."
She brought her gloved hands to his face, turning it so he looked at her. She was so confused. "What? What are you talking about?"
"No other woman has ever done that for me." He sucked in a breath. "Without... compensation."
She frowned. "Why not?"
"Women generally... well, they don't seem to be fond of that particular act."
She ran her tongue over her lips, still tasting his salty, tangy flavor. His expression darkened, and he groaned softly.
"Would it be very debauched of me, then, if I told you I enjoyed it?"
He laughed outright, and gathered her close. "I'm more inclined to think I'm the luckiest man on earth."
"We should go," she whispered against his shoulder, though her body ached for him to keep holding her.
Sighing, he rose and helped her up, too. He dressed, then pulled on his own gloves as she tied on her velvet hat, took her hand, and led her to the door. When he opened it, they both reeled to a halt, gawking in surprise at the figure standing on the threshold.
A blast of cold autumn air swept over their faces.
And Garrett's brawny fist shot out and slammed into Jack's face.
Chapter Sixteen.
The blow tore Jack's grip from Becky's arm. He careened backward, and Garrett stalked after him into the tiny entry hall, aiming another punch at Jack's face.
Jack was ready this time. He twisted away, dodging the blow, and followed up with a low fist to Garrett's stomach.
"Stop!" Becky shouted. "Stop this instant!"
She grabbed her brother's arm as he raised it to aim once again at her lover. She dug in her heels and yanked him back-away. "What are you doing, Garrett? Stop it!"
He turned, gazed at her for an instant, then whipped back round to Jack, who snarled at him and raised his fists.
"Wait outside for me, Rebecca," Garrett growled, shaking off her arm.
"No!"
He didn't look at her again. Instead he adopted a fighting stance. "I'll take you home when I'm finished with him."
Becky hissed out a breath. "You certainly will not! If I go anywhere, it will be with Jack."
Garrett aimed another punch at Jack's face. Jack dodged it.
Grabbing Garrett's arm again, Becky pulled back with all her might. She might as well have tried to move a tree trunk. He didn't budge, but her efforts did gain his attention. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his brow wrinkled, the scar above it bulging and red.
"No more fighting, Garrett! It's over. I've decided to marry him. We were going home this morning."
Garrett was stiff and solid beneath her arms. He went back to staring down Jack, who stood with his fists up, ready for the next onslaught. "He abducted you from Lady Devore. She came to me-"
"Jack told her he was with me. I wanted to go. I asked him to take me away."
"She said she knew you were with him, but that she'd expected you to return to her house later that night. You'd been gone for longer than a day, and she was growing concerned."
"I told her-" Jack began. Then, gritting his teeth, heshook his head. "She was... with someone. She was distracted."
"There was no reason to be concerned, Garrett," Becky said. "I wanted to be here with him. We were coming home."