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“A just heart that gives succor to a boy who would’ve shot you without a qualm.”
“You don’t know that.”
He watched the hills. “I know he set off last night with older men and a loaded gun. If he did not mean to use it, he should never have loaded it.”
He felt her gaze. “Why didn’t you shoot last night?”
He shrugged. “The highwayman’s pistol went off and used the shot.”
“Mr. Pynch told me this morning that there are pistols beneath the seat.”
Damn Pynch and his loose tongue. He glanced at Melisande. Her expression was curious rather than condemning.
He sighed. “I suppose I should show you so you can use them if need be. But for God’s sake don’t take one up unless you intend to use it, and always keep it pointed at the ground.”
She raised her brows but didn’t comment.
He moved across to her seat an sto ut d pulled up the thin cushion from his own. Underneath was a compartment with a hinged lid. He lifted the lid to reveal a pair of pistols. “There.”
She peered at them and Mouse jumped from the seat where he’d been dozing to take a look as well.
“Very nice,” Melisande said. She looked at him frankly. “Why didn’t you take them out last night?”
Jasper shoved the dog gently aside before closing the compartment lid, replacing the cushion and sitting back down again. “I didn’t take them out because I have an unreasoning dislike of guns, if you must know.”
She raised her brows. “That must’ve been a handicap during the war.”
“Oh, I shot a pistol or a rifle often enough when I was in the army. I’m not a bad shot either. Or at least I wasn’t—haven’t picked up a pistol since I returned to England.”
“Then why do you hate guns now?”
He used his left thumb to rub hard at the palm of his right hand. “I don’t like the feel—the weight maybe—of a pistol in my hand.” He looked across at her. “I would’ve gotten them out, though, if there was no other way. I wouldn’t’ve risked your life, my heart.”
She nodded. “I know.”
And that simple sentence filled him with a feeling he hadn’t felt in some time—happiness. He stared at her, so sure of his competence, so sure of his courage, and he thought, Please, Lord, let her never find out the truth.
SHE WISHED SHE could simply tell Vale that she didn’t want to sleep apart from him, Melisande thought later that night. She stood in the courtyard of another inn—this one fairly big—and watched as the hostlers unhitched the horses and Vale talked to the innkeeper. He was procuring a room for the night.
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.
