Page 1 of Meet A Rogue At Midnight
Chapter One
Jonas stood bare-arsenaked before a crackling fire, bathwater dripping down his chest. There was no time for a proper dry off. The drapes were stirring in his bedchamber though the window was closed. He snatched velvet breeches off the chair and slipped them on, casual as you please—minus his smalls. All his clothes sat in a battered sea chest next to a pair of black boots peeking out beneath blue drapes.
Boots that weren’t his.
With a cautious hand, he lifted a heavy dragoon pistol off the mantel, keeping an eye on the modest-sized side boots. A lad? Who would want to ambush him here? His coming home to Plumtree should be of no consequence, not after ten years gone.
The village and his grandfather’s stone house hadn’t changed much. Humble, quaint, and cramped. He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. The sooner he took care of matters with his grandfather, the Captain, the sooner he’d be on his way.
But, his first order of business was dispatching the unskilled housebreaker.
“I know you’re hiding behind the curtains. Show yourself.”
The boots didn’t move. Howls of laughter drifted up from downstairs. Christmas Eve celebrations must be going well in the parlor. The house burst with fresh pine boughs and spiked cider, the green and spicy scents floating everywhere.
“Come now,” Jonas said, buttoning his placket with the pistol in hand. “This is not a night for ill will.”
Housebreaking was a serious crime with grisly consequences. He’d give the lad an earful while sneaking him out by the scruff. But, it’d have to be quick. The Captain was expecting him…all the better to convince Jonas to stay for good. Raucous guffaws exploded through the floorboards. Mr. Goodspeak, fine soul that he was, brayed the loudest. Fiddle music played a Yuletide carol in double time while salty, old sailors stomped a bad rhythm. The Captain must’ve shared his best whiskey, the kind that warmed a man as good as a woman.
Weary from a hard day’s ride, Jonas could use a dram. And a woman.
“I’ll count to three.” He padded barefoot across the room, holding the dragoon against his thigh. “One…two…”
The drape bulged with the business end of a pistol. Jonas froze. This changed the complexion of things. Eyes narrowing, his finger curled over the trigger.
“…thr—” Jonas dropped low and rammed his shoulder into the housebreaker’s midsection.
“Umph!”A shiny piece clattered to the floor. A fine Spanish wheel lock.
Jonas kicked the weapon backward. Fists pummeled his back as white hot pain shot up from his toes. He looked down at a black boot mashing his foot.
“Enough,” he growled, hoisting the lad over his shoulder.
Foot throbbing, Jonas spun away from the window. Cloth ripped overhead. The drapes and rod crashed down on their heads. Whoops and hollers rang through the house. The Captain and his cronies had to be deep in their cups not to hear this scuffle. Jonas knocked the wool off his face as the housebreaker kicked and…squealed.
Squealed? He squinted at the bottom wiggling against his cheek, and the split second cost him. A knee jabbed his ribs.
“Oomph!”His gun slipped, and the brass buttcap hammered his already aching toes. Air hissing through clenched teeth, Jonas hop-stepped to the bed. “Stop!” he bellowed and landed all his weight on the lad.
The bed rattled from the assault. The housebreaker sunk into the down mattress, fighting hard. Blue drapes sheathed the fool from head to toe. Jonas drove his head into the criminal’s chest and two mounds pressed his face. Soft, round, and jiggling.
He blinked, a slow smile forming. He was nose deep between sizeable breasts—an excellent pair as breasts go swathed in old drapes.
“Well, bugger me.”
The housebreaker wheezed. “I’d…rather…you get off me!”
Jonas rolled sideways and clamped his thigh across her thrashing legs. The woman’s mouth gaped behind wool like a caught fish. She flopped like one, too. A feminine hip squirmed at the juncture of his thighs. Fingers clawed the curtain. His midnight visitor tussled fiercely with the drape, the bed ropes creaking madly beneath her.
“Shhh.Let me uncover you,” he said, staying her busy hands.
“So you can shoot me?”
“No. So you can breathe easy.” His grip on her wrists was full of authority. “We can stay like this all night, or you can trust me. It’s your choice.”
Yellow firelight danced on waves of mussed bed sheets. Land-locked sailors sang off-key below stairs. Music pitched fast and high from the parlor, but the storm on his mattress calmed. Tautness in the wrists he held eased a fraction. The housebreaker lay stiffly against him, smelling oddly of…vinegar.
She panted against the drape. “You call those choices?”
