Page 107 of A Figure of Love

“As we suspected, he was set upon by two masked men in broad daylight, just to the south of Shooter’s Hill,” he said, naming the notorious lay of robbers and highwaymen, although not usually in the middle of the day. Her hand froze in mid-stroke and he realized he had better continue his tale. “The two men had just relieved him of the money and were heading off with his horse when Steele came over the hill with five of his fittest, most fearsome Bow Street compan—” He broke off as she began to work him in earnest, thrusting into her tight hand.

But then the vixen stopped.

“Please continue.” Her voice was cool and toneless and if Gareth had been a more suspicious sort he might have wondered if she were mocking him.

He had to swallow several times and gather his scattered wits. “The Runners made short work of the robbers who, when their masks were removed turned out to be—”

“Sandford and Leeland.” She had released him, her voice thick with disgust. “It was them, was it not?”

“Yes, you are correct.”

She groaned and turned onto her back, covering her eyes with her hands.

“What is it?”

“I should have known. He came to me in London, furious and threatening. He thought I was the one who said something to you to get him discharged. He was in the process of making good on his threat when Miles, a very good friend of mine, interrupted and drove him off.”

Gareth shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me this, Serena?”

“I could hardly say anything at the time, and it never occurred to me when we learned what Etienne had done. I should have known two such slimy characters would find each other.”

“According to McElroy, who only stayed around long enough to watch Steele get the entire story, Featherstone went to Bardot. He claimed the Frenchman was desperate for money and told him I would likely pay money to protect you and the boy.”

She turned to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Gareth, I am so sorry you have been used this way.”

“I am sorry I didn’t have Steele keep Bardot when he had him the first time. None of this would have happened.”

She slid a hand from his shoulder up his neck. “You couldn’t have known.”

He inched closer. “None of that matters now. What matters is that Oliver is safe. Fortunately Bardot never told them of his relationship to Oliver, so I suppose we can thank him for that.” He rested a hand on her belly, which jumped and quivered at his touch. “The Featherstones are someplace they can never hurt either of you again.”

Her body froze. “Gareth, you haven’t . . . had them killed?”

The thought had crossed his mind, but he knew what killing another man had done to Dec, no matter how justified.

“No, Dec just sent them on a little trip.” He stroked her stomach in ever growing circles, his fingers accidentally brushing her mound.

She shook her head. “I won’t ask—I don’t want to know.”

He rubbed her in silence, until her legs spread a little.

Gareth accepted the invitation and entered her, thrilling as her sheath tightened around his finger.

“Ah.” The sound accompanied a softening of her body, her core molten beneath his questing hand. Her hand caught at him. “I want you.”

Her words enflamed him, but he shook his head, rising up on his knees and kneeling between her thighs, spreading her wider, his eyes flickering from his hand to her face.

“Not yet, but soon. You will come for me first.”

She tightened at his words and her breathing quickened. He smiled down at her, pleased to know she was aroused by his command. And when she came, which she did far too quickly, he prolonged her ecstasy, teasing her climaxes out in waves.

He entered her in a long smooth thrust, taking his weight on his forearms while tasting her breasts, his hips driving into her in deep, hard strokes until he pushed them both over the edge.

∞∞∞

He woke with a start beside her, his body rigid, his eyes wide.

“Gareth?” The candles had guttered low and darkness claimed all but the bed.