No Ordinary Groom Page 23

  “Tell me,” she murmured. “It might help.”

  He hesitated so long, staring blindly at the wooden floor, that she felt it might be too late to reach him.

  Then he heaved a shaky sigh. “A couple of years ago, I was in the Hindu Kush, the mountains of Afghanistan,” he said. His eyes became bitter, and his mouth a hard slash in his face. “I thought I was invulnerable, so I foolishly traversed the mountain pass alone. I should have waited for another agent, for Nick or Sam. But I was certain my disguise had been discovered, that I had to leave.”

  “Disguise?” she echoed, pressing her luck.

  “I passed as an Afghani almost effortlessly. Their languages, their customs—I absorbed it all like it was one grand adventure. That’s how I gathered information for the Political department. I watched the growing relationship between the Russians and the Afghanis, and kept Britain aware of everything that transpired. We needed a stable Afghanistan between Russia and the British colony in India, a buffer of sorts. If the Russians gained too much control, it could upset the balance of power in India.”

  “And the Russians discovered what you were doing,” she prodded.

  “They were about to. The Afghanis were the immediate threat. So I fled toward the border. My last night in the country, I was attacked while I slept.”

  Though her nerves were taut with anxiety for him, she tried to lighten his mood. “So you could actually sleep there?”

  His gaze lifted, and he seemed to see her, though his smile was grim. “Strange, but true. I seldom had a full night’s rest there, but when I could snatch brief hours of sleep, I’d awaken refreshed.”

  “What happened next?”

  “That night was so dark, I could see nothing,” he said, and she leaned against his shoulder, watching his face. “I hadn’t lit a fire. And in the darkness, they attacked—five, ten, I didn’t know how many men. I fought blind, I fought like an animal. I just used my instincts and my training, without questioning what I did.” He sighed. “I—I don’t even know exactly how long it lasted. It seemed like forever.”

  “Oh, Will,” she murmured, stroking his arm, amazed and awed by the depths to him she had never even glimpsed. And in her superiority, she’d thought herself a good judge of character. “You did what you had to to survive.”

  He nodded, but again she knew he wasn’t in the room with her anymore. His eyes saw distant sights. For the first time she truly realized that there was another side to a life of adventure: a gritty, harsh world that had taken its toll on Will—so much so that he’d become another person so he wouldn’t have to think about it.

  “Yes, I survived,” he said coldly, “but at a terrible cost. I fled in the night for fear others might arrive. When the sun rose, I went back to see the dead and dying. They were just boys, Jane,” he said in a soft voice. “My enemies had sent boys after me, as if they were expendable. Not one had more than fifteen years.” His voice broke, and then he pulled away from her and straightened. Bitterly he added, “They gifted me with a barony for that. Apparently, that particular tribe’s next target was the governor-general of India.”

  “What happened next?” she asked, trying to help him get past the terrible memories.

  He shrugged. “They gave me another assignment, only in India this time. I became ‘Lord’ Chadwick, undercover in the native army, a British dandy with no idea of danger and no understanding of the Indians themselves. But of course they spoke in their own language in front of me, and I passed on what I heard.”

  “How long did you do that?” She was beginning to understand what he’d done to escape his memories.

  “Almost a year.”

  “And it was easy for you, wasn’t it?”

  He glanced at her sharply, as if suddenly remembering she was there. “What do you mean?”

  She felt so sorry for him, but he needed to see what he’d been doing. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life playing at being someone else, so that you never truly live?”

  He frowned. “It’s not like that.”

  “Maybe when we’re married you can go back to being the dandy so no one will ever again demand too much of you.”

  His face reddened at her sarcasm. “I can see there’s not much left to say. I do believe I’ll have a drink in the taproom before I retire.”

  Jane winced when he slammed the door behind him. She clasped her hands together and began to pace. Maybe she had been too forceful with him, too blunt. He was a good man who’d suffered over the things he’d had to do in service to England.

  They were alike in so many ways. Both had a need for adventure, though hers had been sparked by absent parents, his by a family too pleasant and settled. As a man he’d been able to escape, to do as he’d wished—and discovered the cruelties of the world that she, as a well-bred woman, had never faced. How could she blame him for wanting a safe marriage?

  But what did she want? She loved him, she knew that much. Could she give up the dreams she’d had for her life? It didn’t seem so difficult any longer, but still she felt torn with indecision.

  Yet while she fought her inner struggles, Will was down in the taproom facing his demons, unable to seek the solace of sleep. She couldn’t leave him like that.

  Jane found him alone before the large stone hearth, where he watched the fire with brooding eyes and rested an empty tankard on his knee. The taproom was empty but for the innkeeper drying glasses and a drunk snoring in the corner.

  She approached Will from behind and rested her hands on his shoulders. When he didn’t even stiffen, she leaned against him, letting his head rest between her breasts. For once she didn’t care who watched them.

  “I hope you don’t take every woman’s intimacy so easily,” she murmured.

  To her relief, he reached up and covered her hand with his. “Oh, drat, you’re not the chambermaid.”

  She tugged his ear with her free hand, then leaned down. “Come to bed,” she whispered, then nibbled his earlobe.

  He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised with questions she knew he wouldn’t ask in public.

  “You’re thinking too much,” she said, putting his tankard on the table and pulling him to his feet. “I think too much, which is another thing we have in common. Except I put all of my thoughts in a journal.”

  “A journal?” He kept her hands gripped in his and studied her. “And what do you write about?”

  “My studies, my observations—and lately, you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’ve rather dominated the last few weeks of my life.”

  “I can’t imagine everything you’ve written has been complimentary,” he said dryly.

  She gave him a flirtatious smile. “I admit I was going to use some of it against you when I reached my father.”

  His look was wary. “And now you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I think so.” She slid her arm through his and said softly, “Let me tire you out enough to sleep.”

  He cupped her face with a gentle caress that touched her deeply.

  “An invitation I can’t refuse,” he murmured.

  They walked past the bar and into the gloom of the hall. Before they reached the stairs, a chambermaid approached them, balancing several full goblets on a tray.

  “Try the new house wine, milady, milord,” she said with a smile. “We just brought it up from the cellar. Sure to give you a good night’s rest.”

  Will dropped a couple of shillings on her tray and scooped up two goblets. “Then we’ll have to, won’t we?” he said, grinning wickedly down at Jane.

  She blushed and said nothing.

  When they were alone in her room, they stood and stared at each other. She felt suddenly shy, though inside she trembled with the need to be held in his arms, to feel again the pleasure he could give her.

  Silently, he handed her a goblet. He saluted her, drained his wine, then firmly set his glass on the small table and began to undress.

  Wide-eyed, she sipped her
wine and watched him. Before she knew it, the wine was gone, and he was naked, golden-skinned above his waist, lighter below.

  She set her empty goblet beside his, then lifted her fingers to the buttons that ran down the bodice of her gown. She took her time, feeling his hot eyes watching her every movement. She laid her dress over the back of a chair, then removed her petticoats one at a time.

  “Jane, hurry,” he finally said in a hoarse voice.

  She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, smiling, fingering the chemise buttons at her neck.

  He groaned and visibly shuddered. “How can you think being a woman is so difficult, when you have such power over me?”

  Her smile faded. Was that really the impression she gave? “I have never said I didn’t enjoy being a woman.”

  “Thank God.”

  “But then again, I have not appreciated the limitations put on me because of my sex.”

  He took two steps toward her, stopping when she raised a hand. “Jane, if you’re not naked soon, I’m going to rip that garment off you.”

  She only smiled. When the garment was loose at her neck, she slowly pulled it up her body, watched his intake of breath when her thighs and hips were revealed. She slid it over her head and dropped it to the floor. In sudden urgency, she met him in the center of the room, welcomed the crush of his body against her.

  He slid his lips across her cheek and buried his face into her hair, murmuring something into her ear.

  “What did you say?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I called you my dearest one.”

  “But—”

  “In Persian.”

  She wanted to swoon. “Say something else.”

  This time his words were harsher, then he translated. “I told you your face is like the moon, with the darkness of your hair the night sky.”

  “Ooh,” she murmured, gasping as he licked her neck. “What language?”

  “Russian.”

  She moaned into his mouth as they kissed, let her hands memorize the hard, smooth planes of his back, welcomed the slide of his palms up her sides to the edges of her breasts. He bent her back over his arm so he could caress their peaks with his mouth.

  Whimpering with need, she hung there, safe in his embrace, protected, maybe even loved. His erection was cradled between them, and she instinctively lifted to her toes, wanting to feel his hardness against her softness.

  “Jane,” he said harshly, giving her another hard kiss, before he released her and pushed her backwards.

  Together they fell on the bed. Though she tried to pull him on top of her, he stayed at her side and explored her body. He gave her drugging, deep kisses, even as he parted her thighs and cupped her with his palm. After moving his hand against her until she writhed, he slid his finger deep inside her.

  She gasped, amazed at how intense the wondrous pleasure of his touch felt. His fingers mimicked the act of love, his thumb circled her just above, and his tongue swirled across her nipple. She fractured and came apart quickly, quaking, mindless with pleasure. Then his hips were between her thighs, spreading her wide so he could plunge inside.

  They moved together as one, lost in the closeness they shared. She was awed by the heat they generated and the power of his flexing muscles, by the way he desperately said her name against her mouth. His passion overwhelmed her, seduced her, and took her to new, intense heights. When she climaxed again, he joined her, and she knew she would always crave his touch.

  As Will rolled to her side, he gathered her to him. They said nothing, only shared several gentle kisses until she rested her head next to his on the pillow. She kept her hand on his beating heart, watching as his eyes closed. Her last thought as she drifted off was that he was finally sleeping.

  Will was awakened by an intense, pounding headache that rolled through him in waves. He lay still, knowing he wouldn’t fall back asleep, yet afraid to open his eyes for fear that would make him feel worse.

  The nausea came next, and he swung up to sit on the side of the bed, holding his head in his trembling hands. Through half-slit eyes, he could see broad daylight between the curtain openings. What the hell—

  Then he fumbled for the chamber pot and vomited. When the spasms stopped, he remained kneeling for several minutes, his aching head resting on the edge of the bed.

  This was no normal sickness.

  He staggered to his feet and went to peer through the curtains. The light was like a piercing sword to the brain, but his mind was functioning enough to know that it was midafternoon. He fumbled through his waistcoat for his pocket watch to confirm that it was almost two.

  Never in his life had he slept twelve hours—not without deliberate help. His gaze shot to the wine goblets. He picked one up, sniffed it, but smelled nothing unusual. Yet it was the only answer. He didn’t think it was poison, or he wouldn’t still be standing. But someone had wanted him to sleep a good long time.

  Julia Reed?

  Had she needed to keep him from helping Nick? His first thought was to check with the innkeeper about the maid who’d given them the wine.

  But then he saw Jane.

  She lay unnaturally still, and for a moment such a frightening pain seized his chest that he couldn’t breathe. He quickly leaned over her, smoothing the hair out of her face. She was warm and breathing, and some of his tension eased.

  “Jane?” he said, giving her a small shake. “Jane, wake up.”

  She didn’t move. He shook her harder.

  “Jane?” He heard his own desperation and fear, and felt every practical thought leave his mind.

  Chapter 25

  Will forced himself to calm down. He poured cold water from the ewer into the basin, dipped a cloth in it and rubbed it across her forehead.

  “Jane!”

  This time a small frown line appeared between her brows. He called her name again, dampened the cloth until it was almost soaked, and pressed it gently across her cheeks and forehead.

  Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned. His heart gave a lurch, for it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

  “Jane, come back to me,” he whispered.

  “Will?” His name was but a murmur on her lips.

  “I’m here.”

  “I—my head—”

  “If it’s pounding as hard as mine, it must be terrible. Open your eyes, my sweet.”

  When she cracked them open, they were bloodshot, but she looked right at him. “Am I sick?”

  “We both are, but I don’t think it happened naturally.” Anger at their assailant made his head ache even more, but he firmly put aside all his concerns except for Jane.

  She gave a weary sigh, and her eyelids fluttered shut. “Maybe if I sleep—”

  “No, you must wake up. You have to fight the effects of this drug.”

  “Drug?” Her voice was growing fainter. “I just want to sleep….”

  He sat her up against him, then fluffed her pillows and laid her back, half-sitting, half-reclining. She frowned and tried to push him away, but her strength was like a babe’s. She managed a glare.

  “Will, I’m fine.”

  “Then prove it to me by staying awake. I need to go downstairs and question the innkeeper.”

  He poured a glass of water, made her sip some, then put it on the bedside table. “Every time you think you might fall asleep, drink. Maybe you should get out of bed. Walking, or even sitting at the table will help.”

  She shook her head. “I’m all right, I’m awake. If I get out of bed, I’m going to—to—” She blushed.

  “Vomit. You can say it. I already did it. I’ll empty the chamber pot before I go, and then leave it beside you.”

  She smiled weakly, but at least she watched while he washed himself and dressed.

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Now surely that was a sight to awaken you.”

  “Hmm.” But she smiled and blushed and patted his hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Go. I’ll be here when you return.”


  But as he walked out the door, he took one last look at her and didn’t like what he saw. She was very pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes and the look of someone who knew she’d be sick soon. He would hurry back to her.

  Will questioned the innkeeper, and the man seemed genuinely worried, especially on hearing that a maid gave them the wine.

  “I swear to you, milord, there was only me workin’ last night. I don’t recognize the girl you describe.”

  Will kept his anger contained. “Very well. If you see a girl matching the description, let me know immediately.”

  “I will, I promise,” he said, bobbing his shiny bald head repeatedly.

  “I need you to find a doctor for me. My betrothed is quite ill.”

  “Ye don’t look so good yerself, milord.”

  “Thank you,” Will said curtly. Somehow he had to get a message to Nick, but he couldn’t leave Jane alone. Then he remembered Barlow.

  He found his coachman vomiting in the bushes behind the stable. When Barlow saw him, he wiped his mouth, and two red spots appeared on his pale cheeks.

  “Forgive me, my lord. I must be getting sick. I overslept and—”

  “The same thing happened to Jane and me,” Will interrupted. “And it’s not a coincidence. Did a maid visit you with a glass of wine?”

  “Yes, she did, my lord. She told me it was from you.”

  “Mine was the new house wine we just had to try,” Will said with sarcasm. “We were drugged to keep us away from Nick, I think. Clean yourself up, and then come to Jane’s room. After you’re checked out by the doctor—”

  “Lord Chadwick, I assure you—”

  “We’re both going to be seen by the doctor, and don’t bother trying to get out of it. As for Jane—” He broke off, and again something tightened painfully in his chest. He didn’t know what his face showed, but Barlow’s expression stilled.

  “Is Miss Whittington—”

  “I think she’s fine. She was talking to me before I left, but…I don’t want to be away too long.”

  “Then go, my lord. I’ll be up in a moment.”

  “Saddle one of the horses. I’ll need you to get a message to Nick.”