Perry’s shivering kicked up to a frantic pace, shock overtaking her.
God’s blood, she’d almost died.
“Who was he, Pip?”
“I don’t know,” he rattled out quickly, “Some Frenchie.” The boy glanced up at the promontory. “He got away.”
Fox saw the fear blooming on the boy’s face. “No. He didn’t.”
“You killed ’im?” Pip’s eyes went big. “You ain’t a real painter?”
“I’m a painter.”
The rope gave way and the boy clambered to his feet. “Can you walk?” Fox asked him.
“Aye.”
Fox scooted near Perry, pulled out his tucked shirt and pressed the hem to her head. “You’re bleeding, my lady.”
Her head plopped onto his chest, rattling his breath and his heart.
“Pip, run up there onto the point. Bring my boots, my coats, my pistols and my knives. Make two trips if you have to. Careful with the weapons.”
The boy scooted off.
He lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes.
“I h-hear you, th-thinking.Sh-she shouldn’t have left.”
He wanted to throttle her. Now wasn’t the time.
She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I’ll get it right the next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.” He braced an arm around her shoulders and settled his lips against hers, his cheek pressing her nose. She was cold, so cold?her lips, nose, and shoulders. He nipped and teased, trying to get her to open, trying to warm her.
She turned away. “No.”
“Yes.” He forced her chin around and pressed again, nudging her lips with his tongue. “You could have died,” he murmured.I could have lost you.
“No,” she groaned.
There’d be no next time. It was this time. This time for them. This night, and as many more as he could manage before Shaldon came and killed him.
He pressed and caressed, found his way under her coat to her breast, teasing the nipple, already hard from the cold. She gasped and opened and accepted his kiss. Heat swamped him and he pushed it at her, letting it swirl around them both. He shifted and sat, pulling her onto his lap, into his heat, kissing her.
A loud throat-clearing interrupted. Clutching her tightly, he broke the kiss and looked up.
Pip stood shivering, his arms full of coats. Davy held the knives and the pistols. Gaz had the boots.
Even in the dark, he could see Gaz’s glower.
“Buggerin’ painter,” Gaz muttered.
“Gentlemen.” Fox held onto Perry. “Give me that coat. Pip, wrap yourself in the waistcoat.”
“No.” Davy set down the weapons, shed his own coat and wrapped it around his boy. “You’re drippin’ too. You take the waistcoat.”
Fox draped Perry in both his waistcoat and coat and started pulling on his boots.
