The Uncompromising Lord Flint. Virginia Heath

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ hours of bed rest!’ Gray shook his dark head in disbelief. ‘If word gets out she’s here, we’ll be sitting ducks.’ They were still waiting for the other fifty men from the King’s Elite to make their way from Plymouth, where they were waiting, to this remote corner of the Devon coast. It would be hours before they arrived. ‘We’re too close to the coast for my liking. If the Boss’s men find her, they’ll have her halfway back across the Channel before the others arrive!’

      ‘That’s why I’ve told the Captain to set sail immediately and head out to sea. I don’t want anyone spotting a Royal Navy frigate lurking near the shore.’ Flint had kept back a few of the crew to stand guard in the interim. It wasn’t an ideal scenario, but at least with the enormous ship gone, the tiny fishing village would appear normal from a distance to anyone unfamiliar with it.

      ‘And if someone from here talks, or has already talked? We caused quite a stir marching in carrying her on that stretcher. I don’t like it, Flint.’

      Neither did he, so he didn’t argue. With the spring sun setting and only the one narrow lane serving as both the entrance and exit of the village, if the enemy came, they were done for. ‘It is what it is. We can’t move her yet. She’s as weak as a kitten—albeit a feral one with claws.’ Who he didn’t trust as far as he could throw her despite his irrational need to protect her.

      ‘Rather you than me, old boy. I think I’d rather take my chances with the smugglers. At least they are predictable.’

      A good point. Flint glanced back at the bedchamber door, then decided that leaving her alone for two minutes, even though the windows were securely locked and the key was tucked in his waistcoat pocket, were two minutes too long. To be certain, he stalked back to the door and poked his head inside. She was sleeping just as she had been when he had left her, but in case she wasn’t he left the door open a crack before returning to his friend.

      ‘Have a carriage readied as a contingency in case we do need to leave fast, but assume that we’ll be off some time tomorrow afternoon to make Plymouth before nightfall.’ Being on the roads after dark would be tantamount to suicide and counter-productive. They were supposed to be bait, not a target.

      Flint watched Gray leave and felt a pang of guilt for putting his comrades in danger. Not that he’d lied about the bed rest, the physician had been most specific, citing all manner of complications should they attempt to move her too soon, but because he was putting the welfare of a potential traitor over that of his men. Why should he care if Lady Jessamine became ill? But he did.

      Wearily he took himself back into the bedchamber and dragged the cot the innkeeper had found for him to lay it directly in front of the door, then arranged his long limbs as best he could within its confines. Unless all hell broke loose, sleep was necessary. He would need every one of his wits completely sharpened to deal with her again tomorrow, but for now, predominantly thanks to the potent sleeping draught he had insisted the physician slip her, she was wrapped soundly in the arms of Morpheus. Decisively, he closed his eyes and joined her.

      The dream was as vivid as it was erotic. Sultry eyes. Long, jet-black hair. Wet limbs entwined. The Jessamine of his imagination was as passionate as she was tempestuous. Bold and wanton, her hands explored him everywhere, greedily caressing every inch of his naked skin. In the dream Flint lay beneath her, content to let her explore, watching her lips and tongue work their way up his chest, moaning his encouragement. She smiled down at him as her fingers dipped into his waistcoat pocket...

      Wait... If he was naked, why was he suddenly supremely aware of his waistcoat?

      Like lightning, his hand clamped around her wrist and pulled her so that she fell sprawled across his chest, his narrowed eyes inches from her shocked, wide ones in the darkness.

      ‘Give it back.’

      ‘You were having a bad dream...’ She attempted to rise on her knees, but he held firm.

      ‘Give me the key.’

      ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. You were restless...’ As she spoke in uncharacteristically reasonable tones, she was also carefully arranging her legs beneath her voluminous borrowed nightgown to bolt, so he twisted sharply to unbalance her and send her sprawling across his chest again.

      ‘You were trying to escape.’

      ‘Ce n’est pas vrai!’ And she was fighting him again, tugging her arm for all it was worth. Flint wrapped his other arm tightly around her waist and rolled them to reverse their positions, only remembering that his body was hard and needy from the dream when it rested damningly against her stomach and he saw her eyes widen with surprise. He didn’t want to want her, nor to have her know it, but it served her right and might deter her from interrupting his slumber again in the coming days. Even so, he shifted position to spare them both the embarrassment.

      ‘I won’t ask again.’ Her trim body felt too good beneath his. Thanks to the pale moonlight bleeding through the window, Flint was forced to notice all her silky, dark hair fanned across his pillow. The beautiful arrangement of her eyes, nose and plump mouth. Feel the fevered rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. His mouth scant inches from hers. Things he didn’t want to notice. Couldn’t afford to notice. ‘Give me the key.’

      ‘I don’t know what you are talking about!’

      He reached between them to retrieve her small, clenched fist and raised her hand to lie next to her furious face on the pillow. ‘Give. It. To. Me.’ Damn it all to hell, he wanted to kiss her. Badly.

       ‘Abruti d’imbécile!’

      It came as no surprise when she set her jaw and tried to heave him off her, but he was considerably bigger and easily used his bulk to pin her to the lumpy, straw mattress while his other hand slowly prised that determined fist apart. As Flint dislodged each stubborn finger to take back what she had stolen, she treated him to another stream of impassioned rapid French. He found himself smiling down at her, enjoying her hot-blooded spirit despite his better judgement. She was a glorious handful. Passionate and tenacious. Did those passions extend elsewhere? Best not to think about that now. Or ever.

      ‘This is pointless, madam, as you well know.’

      Typically, the minx didn’t make it easy, nor did Flint truly expect her to, but using far more of his strength than he had ever used on a female before—including his exasperating oldest sister Ophelia—he finally managed to remove the key from her grasp.

      Victorious and breathless, and shockingly aroused at the same time, Flint rolled off her and jumped to his feet.

      ‘Well, that was all very unnecessary.’ He pocketed the key again and she shot up from the cot like a wild cat, those vicious claws bared once again as she lunged for him. His surprisingly good mood vanished.

      ‘Tu ne comprends pas! I have to get away!’ Unwilling to defend himself because of that damn ingrained vein of chivalry again, he wrapped both arms tightly around her to trap her hands against the wall of his body and held on for dear life.

      The insults came thick and fast, but among them she was muttering about something which Flint sensed was important, but his knowledge of French didn’t extend to translating it all so quickly. When a button pinged off his waistcoat, he held her at arm’s length and positively growled, ‘Either rant more slowly, woman, or insult me in plain English. I know you speak that just as well!’

      ‘He СКАЧАТЬ