Kiss From a Rogue, page 16
“I have found a new supplier,” Ruford announced. “He can give me twice the number of payloads I now carry across the Channel. Can you handle more frequent cargoes?”
“Not bloody likely,” Crowther interrupted.
“And how would you know?” Tony took a step toward the first mate. “Are you privy to all the details of our operation?”
“Anyone can see these doddering old fools and cripples of yours couldn’t handle one more cask, let alone twice as many loads per month.”
“What rot!” Sylvia jabbed her finger toward Crowther. “You saw how quickly they were able to repair the damage from the storm this week.” She faced Ruford. “Don’t listen to what he says. We can handle whatever number of cargoes you can safely land.”
Ruford scratched his chin. “Well, see now, then we have a bit of a dilemma. The other gent says he can handle ’em all, and he’ll pay me a farthing more per cask, to boot.”
“I’ll give you the boot,” Tony muttered.
“What other gent?” Neither Ruford nor Crowther seemed inclined to respond. She was about to ask again when another figure appeared out of the darkness, his boots grating on the pebbles beneath their feet.
Teague.
Her gut twisted.
“Don’t take it personally, Lady Mon—Mrs. Sinclair. It’s just business.” Teague’s teeth flashed in the darkness in a travesty of a smile. “Business between men.”
Sylvia wanted to kick his teeth in.
“Well, then, let’s talk business. Man to man.” Tony took a step toward Teague.
“It’s already been settled.” Teague stepped closer to Tony. “The captain’s mate has accepted my coin, and agreed to sell their extra cargo to me. Will sell all of their cargoes to me, in fact. He has no wish to continue his association with a strumpet the likes of her.” He jutted his chin toward Sylvia.
She gasped.
Tony took another step toward Teague. “She is a lady. Even a bottom feeder like you should be able to recognize members of the upper class.”
She heard a retort from Teague, but was too shocked to make out his words. She forced herself to remember this was business, even if Teague was trying to make it personal. All those people of the village relying on her…She balled her fists but kept her tone sweet. “Captain, we had an agreement.”
“Yes, my dear lady, we did.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Crowther, never tell me you have made arrangements that undermine our existing agreements with this enchanting person.” Sylvia breathed through her nose as the captain stayed by her side, his unwashed scent wafting over her.
Crowther stepped around Teague and Tony, who were deep in heated conversation, and came to his captain’s side. “I was only thinking of the profit for the crew, sir, as well as the profit for us.”
“Mm, profit, yes. I’m sorry, my dear, but—”
“But, Captain.” Sylvia gave him her brightest, most beguiling smile. “There are other considerations beside pure profit.”
Ruford sidled closer, his putrid breath fanning her cheek. “Yes, my dear?”
Sylvia swallowed the bile in her throat. Without the income from smuggling this summer, the coming winter was going to be harsh, indeed. “Allow us to make a counteroffer. I believe that is the way business works?”
“It can. What do you have in mind?” His finger trailed a path down her cheek, to the collar of her pelisse.
She willed herself not to shudder. She had to raise her voice to be heard above the argument between Tony and Teague. “Let me discuss it with the men, and consult our account books. Perhaps we can come up with an offer that suits you better than Teague’s.”
“I’m eager to hear your offer.” His hand slid away from her pelisse, brushing her shoulder as it did so. “Tomorrow, at the Stone’s Throw Inn?”
“I hardly think so. We’ll meet you at the Happy Jack.”
Whatever the captain replied was lost as Teague roared and swung his massive fist at Tony.
Tony ducked. Teague swung again, and Tony rammed his shoulder into Teague’s midriff, and shoved him against the cliff wall. Teague slid down, gasping for breath. “I warned you once,” Tony said, stepping back and straightening his waistcoat.
“Aye, that you did.” Teague stood and dusted off the seat of his breeches. “You skinny little runt.” He lunged for Tony, caught him about the waist, swung him up, his cape flaring out, and slammed him into the ground. Sylvia cringed at the sound of pebbles grinding, hoping none of the sounds were broken bones. After a moment of hushed silence, Tony sat up but didn’t immediately stand. Teague wore a self-satisfied smirk.
The men had stopped moving the casks and gathered in a loose circle. Bets were being taken, with Teague the odds-on favorite. He stood only two or three inches taller than Tony, but outweighed him by at least four stone.
Ruford took Sylvia’s elbow and guided her a few steps up the cliff path, out of the way, chuckling.
“There is no humor in this!” She wasn’t sure if she was angered by Tony’s fighting, or worried that Teague would injure him. Or worse. She’d heard stories about Teague, his deft skill with knife and pistol, and the cruel pleasure he took in using both. But so far neither had used any weapons but words and fists.
Tony picked himself up, shook his head, and wiped his palms on his breeches. He glanced over his shoulder, at the black water rolling up the beach to the stones just behind him, then back to Teague. “Come on, you fat and greasy innkeeper.”
Teague gave another roar and charged. Tony bent his knees, leaning forward. He buried his shoulder in Teague’s stomach again, then straightened, lifting Teague up and over. Teague landed with a splat on his back.
Another wave rolled in, soaking Teague’s legs. His chest heaved with outrage, and his fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t get up.
Money changed hands among the spectators, with excited whisperings, descriptions, and exclamations as they quickly resumed unloading the boats.
Tony straightened, his hand on the small of his back, as he stared at Teague for a moment, who looked like a beached whale, his lower legs lapped by the waves. With a satisfied nod, Tony sauntered over to Sylvia’s side and draped one arm around her waist. “Everything all right, sweetheart?”
He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Thrilled by his strength and cunning, Sylvia was torn between the desire to kiss him and hug him and make certain he was uninjured, and being offended by his display of schoolboy antics. “Captain Ruford has agreed to meet us tomorrow to discuss our counteroffer.” She was pleased her voice betrayed no emotion.
“Until tomorrow, then.” Tony nodded farewell to the captain, who climbed into the last boat with his men and pushed off from the beach.
Teague rolled to his side and slowly got to his feet. “This isn’t the end,” he growled. Sylvia’s men each took a step toward him. Teague held up one hand to forestall them, and walked to the path on the far side of the cove, toward his home in Tyneham.
Tony took Sylvia’s hand, and headed up the cliff path.
They had reached the rhododendron-lined path before Sylvia dared speak. “I can’t believe what I just saw. Two grown men, going at each other like crazed animals.”
Tony shrugged. “He insulted you, and he doesn’t seem the type inclined to meet at dawn. I think I may have lost an inch, though. Lifting him must have compressed my spine.”
Sylvia opened her mouth, but no words came out. He had been in a fight because another man insulted her? Warmth tingled through her, all the way to her toes.
Jimmy caught up to them. “Here you go.” He dropped several coins into Tony’s hand. “Your share of the winnings. Most of our men placed a bet.”
“My share? No, give it back. They need it more than I.”
Jimmy jogged ahead of them, out of Tony’s reach. “You don’t understand. We all bet on you—those coins are from Ruford’s crew.”
“Ah, well, in that case…” Tony slipped the jingling coins into his waistcoat pocket.
Jimmy slowed until they caught up to him. “We can’t let Teague take our loads, Syl. What are we going to do?”
“Make Ruford a counteroffer. That’s why we’re meeting him tomorrow night.”
“An offer of what, though?”
Sylvia sighed. “We’ll think of something by then.”
Moments later they reached the manor house. The blessedly quiet house with only five people in residence—all the others were finally back in their own home or staying with friends. Exhausted from the excitement and extra work since the storm, Galen and Gerald had already turned in, and left no candles burning.
Jimmy headed down the hall to his room, yawning loudly in the darkness.
Tony followed Sylvia to her door, close at her heels. She put her hand to his chest, pushing him back. Much as she might be tempted to finish what they’d started on the cliff before Tipton rode up, they couldn’t. “Baxter will be up here any moment,” she whispered.
Tony dropped his chin to his chest. After a moment he heaved a great sigh. “Then I wish you good night.” He took her hand, but instead of raising it, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“Good night.” She slipped into her room and sank onto the edge of her bed, listening to his steps fade away. She should move, wash up, go to sleep. But today, tonight, all week in fact, had just been too tumultuous.
Macbeth jumped up, and she sank her fingers into his soft fur. After a few minutes of stroking him, listening to his soothing purr in the darkness, she felt calmer.
She stripped off her garments, remembering the feel of Tony sliding her gown down her shoulder. He had been playful yet tender, considerate but oh so tempting. The things he did with his hands, his mouth…
She splashed cold water on her face. She had other, more important things to worry about than her growing weakness for the charming rogue. Teague was trying to take away their business, and Ruford was willing to let him. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
She poured more water into the basin to wash. How could they change Ruford’s mind, make him an offer he couldn’t refuse, without having to include herself in the negotiation? Ruford could probably be talked into giving them his cargo for less than they paid now, if she were part of the payment.
She needed a bath. Not just a quick washup, but a drag out the tub from the kitchen corner, hot water up to her neck, soak in the tub.
She poked her head out the door into the hall. All was quiet, no one about. She’d heard Baxter’s muffled knock on Tony’s door several minutes ago, and the rustle in the dressing room as he settled for the night. She pulled on her wrapper, not bothering to put on anything else, and tiptoed down the back stairs.
Tony tugged the ancient copper tub closer to the hearth, checked the temperature of the buckets set before the blaze, and dumped the water into the tub.
He straightened and bit back a groan. Every bone and muscle in his body screamed in protest at the abuse he’d heaped on them tonight. For that matter, the abuse from all this week. He yanked his shirt off over his head, shucked his breeches, and sank into the hot water. Ahh.
Baxter had sneaked into the kitchen for a snack before coming upstairs, and mentioned the buckets of water warming by the fire before he’d turned in. Since everyone was in their own room, it seemed a crime to let the heated water go to waste. Tony was never wasteful.
With some of his soreness relaxed away, he washed his hair, an awkward task using only one hand. He was trying to keep his right hand dry, as Sylvia instructed. The blisters did seem to finally be healing. Since he’d seen her to her room, he’d have to change the bandage himself.
Ah, sweet Sylvia. She’d been heaven in his arms. Had it not been for the approaching Revenuer on horseback, he could have taken her right then and there on the windswept cliff top, the pounding surf a backdrop to their lovemaking. He’d made her moan and sigh, and laugh. She didn’t laugh nearly enough. And her sensuous sighs when he’d found her sensitive spots…
He dipped the pitcher in the water and poured it over his head.
She was willing. He’d bet his last farthing on it. Heaven knew he wanted her. It was just a matter of timing, and location. And getting rid of their blasted chaperones.
Finished washing, he draped the cloth over the edge and leaned back, his head resting on the back ledge, and stared at the flames, his eyelids growing heavy.
Sylvia had asked for his help in dealing with Ruford, but now it seemed Teague was the bigger problem. Could they outbid the behemoth, and continue to get their cargoes from Ruford? And what made Teague so confident he could handle all of the loads? Even if he had more men in his gang—young and healthy men—there were still the patrolling Revenue agents to consider.
Hearing a soft gasp at the doorway, Tony opened one eye.
Sylvia stood there, barefoot, clutching a thin cotton wrapper closed at her throat, her curls tousled, her mouth open in a silent “oh.” The way the soft cotton hugged her form, she couldn’t have anything on beneath it. He licked his lips.
After thoroughly enjoying the sight for a moment, he realized she wouldn’t have known he was down here, in the tub. Stupid, selfish idiot. He’d used her hot water. “Give me a moment, and I’ll set more water on for you.” He sat up.
She held her hand out to stop him. “No, no, I just came down for, um, I was a bit hungry. Yes, I came down for some cheese and a cup of tea.”
“Tea.” He leaned back again, water sloshing. It was warm rather than hot now, but still pleasant. As was the company.
“And cheese.”
She still stood in the doorway, ready to scurry away. “Well, don’t mind me.” Tony closed his eyes.
There was a long pause, then he heard movement. Soft footsteps across the flagstone floor, the rustle of her wrapper. The clatter of dishes. More rustling.
“Would you, um, do you want anything?”
Leaping out of the tub and having his way with her on the kitchen table would probably be considered poor manners. “Whatever you’re having.” Now that he thought about it, he was hungry.
He heard the scrape of wood on the floor, and opened his eyes. Sylvia had pushed a chair next to the tub, and placed a plate with cheese on the seat. She was bent over at the hearth, pouring tea into two cups. The firelight rendered her wrapper sheer. He was right—not a stitch on underneath. He longed to map her curves with his hands, his mouth, kiss her sweet flesh. Their escapade on the cliff earlier that night had left him wanting more, much more.
Once she’d eaten, he’d repeat his offer to fix her bath. Offer to wash her back. Maybe wash her hair, as well. He imagined Sylvia relaxed and naked in the tub, leaning back as he ran his fingers through her silky curls and caressed her bare skin, slick and glistening from the warm water. He’d lift her out and dry her with the towel warming by the hearth, caressing every inch of her soft skin. There’d be no barriers between them, not people, not clothing, nothing to stop them.
Galen would never know, as long as they remembered to put the salt cellar and pepper grinder back on the table afterward.
Sylvia caught him staring, and blushed. She quickly set one cup on the chair, and sat down on the floor, her back against the side of the tub. If she’d sat in a chair, she’d be high enough to see into the tub, and see his growing interest in her presence. But this way, she was close enough for him to touch her.
They ate in silence for a few moments, Sylvia studying the depths of her cup between delicate bites, Tony studying Sylvia. He recognized the moment she began to feel at ease again. Soon after, she turned to face him.
“Why are you doing this?”
His left hand had crept along the edge of the tub, just a fingertip away from stroking her bare neck. But she hadn’t paid any attention to his wandering hand. “Because a pitcher of cold water didn’t seem adequate tonight.”
Her lips curved, almost a smile. “No. The roof, Doyle’s cottage, Ruford and Teague…” She waved her hand, encompassing the house and its inhabitants, perhaps even the village and environs.
“I’m trying to impress you. Is it working?”
She gave him a sideways look, her chin lowered. “Why are you doing this?”
He sighed. His hand was covered in blisters; he’d cheated death by working on the edge of a slick roof forty feet above the earth where sane men stayed; he’d pretended to be a smuggler, knowing the government would see it as no pretense if he was caught; worked himself to exhaustion helping near strangers repair their homes; and just tonight had fought a man twice his size in defense of a woman he’d known only a week. A woman who had become his acquaintance because members of her gang had abducted him and knocked him unconscious.
Why, indeed?
Sylvia was on her knees now, leaning closer, intent on his answer, her green gaze focused on his face, her lips slightly parted.
He sat forward, cupped her cheek with his left hand, and kissed her. She stayed perfectly still, allowing him to brush his lips against hers, to caress her cheek with his thumb. He pulled back a fraction, giving her a chance to escape should she want it.
She followed him, not allowing a break in contact. Fire coursed through his veins as their breath mingled, and she kept her lips pressed against his. Someone moaned.
They separated a hair’s breadth. “Good answer,” Sylvia whispered.
Chapter 13
Tony licked his bottom lip, tasting Sylvia, wanting more. His heart beat faster, watching Sylvia watch him, her gaze riveted on his mouth. She grabbed him, her delicate hands holding his head, fingers plunged into his hair, and pulled him close, her kiss demanding, exploring.
He opened, wondering how she’d react. She stroked the tip of her tongue along his lip, shocking a moan out of him, before she slipped inside and deepened the kiss. She was tentative, barely touching his tongue before she retreated.
Apparently her first husband had a lot to answer for, as there was much in her education left incomplete. Tony was happy to teach such a willing pupil.
With one hand still cupping her cheek, he brought his free hand up to her neck, lightly caressing the sensitive flesh, as he claimed another kiss. He delved deep into her mouth, thrusting in and out, mimicking the motion he had every intention of making, very soon.
