Page 25 of The Rebellious Countess
—A letter from Nashford Xavier Harding, Duke of Ross, to his wife Iseabail Blair Handcock Harding, Duchess of Ross, regarding her missing sister, Lady Máira Blair Drake, and her scoundrel of a husband Sir Elias Alistair Drake
Bloody hell. Where had a virgin learned to do that? She hadn’t been an expert by any means, but she’d taken his cock all the way down her throat. Only the most experienced courtesans had been able to tolerate his size before tonight. She was the first virgin he’d ever—he’d never even touched her. He’d kissed her. He’d washed her hair, and he’d watched her touch her breasts, but he had never touched her. Fuck. He wanted to return the favor, but he couldn’t. If he tasted her, he would take her virginity and then what would he do? What kind of life would he force her to live? A life with a husband who was never home and had very little to his name.
She deserved much better than he.
And he had a job to do. An important man to rescue. He’d already lost two days and his informant was dead. He looked over at his wife. His beautiful, giving wife who even slept with a smile on her face. He wasn’t sure what to do with her. She’d missed her passage home and there wouldn’t be another ship heading for England until he commanded theMaribelleback—or it left without him. Sailing these waters was dangerous, they were at war after all. For a woman, they were doubly so. Most of the men on those ships couldn’t be trusted with pirated cargo, let alone someone as precious as Máira, with her cerulean eyes that turned the color of midnight in her passion.
Experiencing the change in her eyes as heat flared in her body had been one of the greatest gifts of his life. He didn’t want her to lose it, despite his selfish need to be the onlyman to witness the transformation. That need, however, came secondary to her need to live a full and happy life. Even now as she lay next to him, her hair glistening in the moonlight as if sprinkled with angel dust, he couldn’t imagine himself with any other woman.
His thoughts were dangerously close to ballads again. The woman was bloody dangerous without even lifting a finger. Elias got out of bed and did the only thing he could—he wrapped himself in the bed linen he’d discarded in the night, since he was loath to put the dirty horse blanket around himself again, and headed downstairs. He needed Hag—it was either that or go utterly mad about moon dust.
Elias made it out of the room and down the stairs without waking his lovely wife, and found Hag sitting at the bar, sipping a whisky with her back to him. The tavern was completely empty except for her loyal guard, Tomás, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. He’d never understood their relationship, but Tomás was always there, watching over her, taking care of the riffraff who inevitably came ashore from the ships. It was the one thing which puzzled him about Hag shooting his informant.
That was Tomás’s job.
“Why aren’t you taking advantage of my fine bed?” she asked in English, her accent a thing of beauty he had always admired.
“I needed to talk to you.”
“I certainly wouldn’t be down here if my bed was empty.”
“You wouldn’t have left it unlocked if you hadn’t expected me to use it.”
The corners of her lips drew up and she took a sip of her whisky. “Don’t think I have a soft spot for newlyweds.”
He drew back in mock bewilderment. “I wouldn’t dare.” He pulled up a stool next to her and reached over the bar for a glass.
“You’re going to have to pay for that.”
“Damn, but you are ever stingy these days.” Elias reached for her bottle of Scotch and poured himself a drink. “I hear this is a very good year.”
“Eh, it’s about average. The Scots don’t know how to let things age like we do in France.”
He looked at the bottles behind the bar. “I can see you have some of the finest wine in France.” He lied. She had some of the best wine on the Continent. “Any luck locating clothes so that I don’t offend the fine ladies of France?”
“If you were afraid of offending, you should have sent your wife for clothes.”
“My wife prefers me naked.”
Tomás snorted and crossed his arms at his chest to eye him with a disdain he reserved just for Elias. The man stood as straight as a sarcophagus, and he was just as big as one, too.
“Your clothes will be here first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.” He paused and got to the real reason he was here and not upstairs in bed with his wife. “Now that we’re alone, are you going to tell me what happened?”
Hag swirled the contents of her glass, creating a miniature vortex of amber liquor. She watched each whirl of Scotch as if she expected something magical to appear. “You didn’t ask your wife?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We were otherwise engaged.” He didn’t want his wife to know about the meeting, let alone the importance it held.
“Your bride has been through much turmoil since your ship came into harbor.”
“How much turmoil?”
“Tomás saw her wandering about outside early yesterday. She appeared lost and confused.”
