“But he didn’t.”
She might look fragile, but her core was made of iron.
He nodded, his gaze still fixed on her. “Wrap him in a blanket, Pynch, and take him up on your horse with you.”
Melisande frowned. “The carriage—”
“I won’t have him near you.”
She looked at him and must’ve seen she wasn’t getting her way in this. She nodded.
Jasper glanced at Pynch. “You can bandage his wound when we get to the inn. I don’t like lingering in this spot any longer than we have to.”
“Yes, my lord,” Pynch said.
Then Jasper walked to his lady wife and took her arm, warm and alive beneath his fingers. He bent his head and murmured in her ear, “I do this for you, my heart. Only for you.”
She looked up at him, her face a pale moon in the darkness. “You do it for yourself as well. It’s not right to let him die alone, no matter what he did.”
He didn’t bother arguing. Let her think he worried about such matters if she wished. He led her to their carriage and bundled her inside, closing the door. Even if the highwayman lived a few hours more, he could no longer hurt Melisande, and that was all that mattered in the end.
MELISANDE SIGHED WHEN the door closed to her inn room later that evening. Vale always acquired two rooms at the inns they stayed in, and tonight was no different. Despite the excitement of the near robbery, despite the dying robber—who’d been carried into a back room—despite the fact that the little inn was nearly full, Melisande still found herself in a solitary room.
She wandered to the little fireplace, piled high with coal, thanks to a generous tip to the innkeeper’s wife. The flames danced, but her fingers remained cold. Did the servants talk about their mistress and master taking separate rooms so soon after their marriage? Melisande felt vaguely ashamed, as if she’d failed in some way as a wife. Mouse leapt onto the foot of the bed and turned about three times before lying down. He sighed.
At least Suchlike never mentioned the sleeping arrangements. The little maid dressed and undressed her with unfailing cheerfulness. Although she’d been hard-pressed to smile this evening after their near robbery. She’d still been shaking from the shock, and she’d lost all her merry chatter. Melisande had taken pity on the girl and sent her down early to eat her supper.
Which left Melisande all alone. She hadn’t much appetite for the dinner the round innkeeper’s wife had served. The boiled chicken had looked delicious enough, but it was hard to eat knowing a young boy was dying in the back of the inn. She’d excused herself early and come upstairs instead. Now she wished she’d stayed in the dining room Vale had reserved for them. She shook her head. No use remaining awake. She couldn’t go back down now that she’d undressed, and that was that. Melisande pulled back the bedclothes from the sturdy inn bed, relieved to see they looked clean, and climbed in. She pulled the sheets to her nose and snuffed out the light. Then she watched the firelight flicker on the ceiling until her eyelids grew heavy.
Her thoughts floated and drifted. Vale’s bright eyes and the look in them when he’d savagely pulled the first highwayman into the carriage. Boiled chicken and the dumplings Cook had made when she was a child. How many more days they’d spend traveling rutted roads in the swaying carriage. When they might cross in kmign sto Scotland. Her thoughts scattered, and she began to sink into sleep.
Then she was conscious of a warmth against her back. Of strong arms and the brush of lips that tasted of whiskey.
“Jasper?” she mumbled, still half dreaming.
“Hush,” he whispered.
His mouth opened over hers, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue penetrating her mouth. She thought she tasted salt. She moaned, caught between waking and sleeping, all her defenses down and in shambles. She felt him lift her chemise and pull it from her body. His hands explored her breasts, stroking tenderly, then pinched her nipples almost to the point of pain.
“Jasper,” she moaned.
She ran her palms over his back. He was nude, his skin so hot it almost burned. His muscles shifted under her hands as he lay atop her, his weight settling between her spread thighs.
“Hush,” he whispered again.
She felt the nudge as he found her center and thrust inside.
Her body was soft, yielding from sleep and his hands, but she wasn’t quite ready. He shifted back and rocked slowly, gently, each small thrust stretching her and pushing him deeper inside. He hooked his hands under her knees and lifted them up so he was cradled between her thighs. And then he kissed her, brushing his palms lightly over her exposed nipples. Tantalizing her and tormenting her at the same time.
She tried to arch up, to make him touch her more firmly, but she hadn’t the leverage or the strength. He was in control, and he would make love to her in the manner that he desired. All she could do was submit.
So she tangled her hands in his hair and hung on, kissing him back, moving her mouth lushly, submissively under his.
He groaned. His hips worked a little faster now, his cock crammed all the way inside of her. She felt each thrust, each stretch of her feminine flesh as she received him again and again.
He broke the kiss and lifted his head away from her, his breath coming in loud, harsh pants. She didn’t open her eyes; she didn’t want to disrupt her dreamy state. Then she felt his fingers sliding down her side, twisting between their bodies. He searched and found her, his fingers strong and knowing. He pressed his thumb down on her clitoris.
“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice a rasp of desire. “Come with me.”