Virtue

5

At their lodgings, Judith waited in the sitting room while Sebastian changed out of his evening dress and into buckskins and riding boots.

"Where are you going to find a horse?"

"Steven Wainwright has offered to mount me on his spare nag." He checked through his pockets, counting the bills in his billfold. "You'll be all right, Ju?"

She wasn't sure whether it was statement or question. "Of course. We'll meet here when it's all over."

He bent to kiss her. "I hate to leave you… but…"

"Oh, go!" she said. "Don't give me a second thought. But just be careful. We have things to do and we can't risk a stray bullet."

"I know. Do you doubt me?" The excitement faded in his eyes to be replaced by the shadowed intensity so often to be found in his sister's.

She shook her head. "Never."

Judith listened to his booted feet on the stairs and the slam of the front door. She went to the window overlooking the narrow lane and watched as he strode, almost at a run, toward the center of town.

It was four o'clock in the morning and the city was as alive as if it were midday. Bells were ringing; people leaned out of windows in their nightcaps, shouting across the narrow lanes. She could hear the roar of the crowds in the streets a short distance away, a roar edged with hysteria. The citizens of Brussels were terrified.

Judith had no intention of missing the drama herself, although she couldn't have told Sebastian that. It would have ruined his own adventure. Swiftly she changed out of her ball dress into a dark-blue riding habit of serviceable broadcloth and drew on her York tan gloves. She unlocked the wooden chest under her bed, put away the paste jewelry she had been wearing, and took a wad of bank notes from the supply, tucking them away in the deep pocket of her coat. Into the other pocket went her pistol, cleaned and primed.

She let herself out of the house, locking the door behind her, then hesitated, wondering which direction to take. She needed transport, but she suspected that tonight horses couldn't be acquired for love or money. The inhabitants of Brussels would be holding onto their horseflesh in preparation for flight.

Following a hunch, she turned into an alley that would lead her even farther away from the fashionable part of town, into the poorer commercial areas. The people here would see less need to run from the ogre.

Raucous shouts, singing, and laughter came from a tavern at the end of the lane, yellow light spilling from the open door onto the mired cobbles. Some people were not intimidated by the prospect of battle on their doorstep. A farmer's cart stood in the shadows and her heart leaped exultantly. Between the shafts, a thin horse hung a weary head.

Judith crept up to the cart, patting the nag's hollowed neck. The cart was empty so presumably its owner had sold his produce that evening and, judging from the noise within the tavern, was probably drinking up his profits. With luck he wouldn't surface for hours and she could return the horse before he'd missed it. She unhitched the bridle from the post. Cautiously she backed the horse and cart away from the tavern. Then she sprang onto the driver's seat, shook the reins gently, and clicked her tongue. With a heavy sigh, the horse pulled away down the lane.

As soon as she emerged from the poorer sections, Judith realized the panic in the city was full blown. Houses stood open as their residents ran back and forth with possessions, filling carriages and dog carts. Men and women hurried through the streets, and everywhere was heard the cry for horses.

As she drove down a narrow cobbled lane, two men came out of the shadows, seizing her nag by the bridle, close to the bit. The horse came to an immediate stop with a snort indicative of relief. "All right, miss, we're requisitioning your horse," one of the men said. He wore the baize apron of a servant, but the man accompanying him was a stout, florid gentleman in satin waistcoat and knee britches. He stood breathing heavily, hanging onto the bridle for dear life.

"On whose authority?" Judith demanded, her hand moving to her pocket, closing over the pistol.

"Never you mind on whose authority," the stout gentleman wheezed. "I need that horse."

"Well, so do I," Judith pointed out. "Let go of the bridle, if you please, sir."

The man in the baize apron came round to the side of the cart, his expression menacing. In his hand, he held a club. "Now, don't make trouble for yourself, miss. You step down from there nice and quick, and no one's going to get hurt."

"I hate to disillusion you, but someone is most definitely going to get hurt." Judith drew the pistol from her pocket, leveling it at the man with the club. "Step away from the cart, and you, sir, release the horse."

The stout man dropped the bridle on a wheezing gasp, but his servant was made of sterner stuff. "She won't use it, sir. Never met a woman yet who could stand to hear the sound of a gun, let alone fire one."

"Well, let me introduce you to a new experience, my good man." For the second time that day, Judith fired her pistol. The bullet whistled so close to the servant's ear, he could feel the breeze. With a foul oath, he jumped back. The startled horse leaped forward at the same moment and Judith snapped the reins in further encouragement. The ancient nag fairly galloped down the cobbles, the cart swinging and bouncing on its iron wheels behind him.

Judith laughed with pure exhilaration, then she noticed that her hands were gripping the reins so tightly they were numb. She hadn't been conscious of fear during the confrontation, but now her heart began to pound. She drew back on the reins as they left the cobbled alley behind them and took several deep breaths until she felt calmer.

She turned down the broad, tree-lined thoroughfare that would take her to the Quatre Bras road.

Lord Carrington was standing outside a tall town house, observing the antics of his fellow man with both astonishment and amusement. He was in riding dress, tapping his whip against his boots, as he waited for his horse to be brought round from the mews. He had no difficulty recognizing the driver of the cart turning onto the street. She was hatless and the tumbling copper ringlets were unmistakable in the moonlight.

Where the devil was she going Without conscious purpose, as she came abreast of him, he moved to intercept her. He swung himself upward with an agile twist, and landed on the seat beside her. "Whither away, Miss Davenport? I find it hard to believe you're running."

Judith blinked at him, bemused by this abrupt, unexpected manifestation. "No, of course I'm not, but Sebastian has gone to view the battle and I'm not to be left behind to cool my heels while the men have all the excitement. What are you doing in my cart?"

"Hitching a ride," he said shortly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, going to Quatre Bras?"

"What's it to you, Lord Carrington, where I go?"

He didn't trouble to answer that question. "You're an irresponsible madcap, Miss Davenport," he roundly informed her. "What was your brother about to leave you to brew such mischief alone?"

"I am perfectly able to have a care for myself, my lord, as I rather think you're aware." She glared at him in the gray light of the false dawn.

"Against one unarmed man, maybe. But facing a rabble of looting, rapine soldiery in the aftermath of bat-de? Permit me to doubt it, ma'am."

"I've just protected myself and my horse most satisfactorily against two armed men," she retorted.

"Pray accept my congratulations," he said caustically. "However, I am not in the least impressed by your powers of self-defense, or your foolhardy courage."

"This is no business of yours!"

"On the contrary, you seem to be becoming my business with dismaying speed." He stretched his long legs in front of him, settling down with every appearance of permanence. "I've a mind to further our ^ne acquaintance." He cast her a sharp look and she had the grace to blush. "I should have expected a hornet's response from you to something kindly meant," he said, rubbing in salt.

Judith took a deep breath. "Maybe I seemed ungracious, but I don't much like being procured."

"Being what!" he exclaimed. "Well, of all the…" His shoulders began to shake. "What an eccentric vocabulary you have, lynx. Or perhaps it's just the product of an overactive imagination."

"I don't like being laughed at, either," Judith said crossly.

"Well, you shouldn't be so absurdly insulting."

Judith gave up a battle in which she seemed to be severely handicapped. The road for the moment was deserted, a pale glimmering ribbon ahead of them, the trees and hedgerows slowly taking shape as the night faded. The sky was a deep blue, the North Star a brilliant pinprick, and she had the sensation that they were alone together at the edge of the universe… alone and waiting for something to which she could attach no name. She had a slight sinking feeling in her belly and her skin seemed to have a life of its own. The tautly muscled thigh beside her suddenly touched hers on the narrow seat and her whole body jolted with a current of unidentifiable energy.

Marcus felt the jolt deep in his own body, the energy emanating from her, joining with his own. He increased the pressure of his thigh against hers. A recklessness had entered his soul. He wanted this woman as he didn't remember wanting any other, and he didn't care what he had to do to possess her. If he could take advantage of the strange magic of this dawn journey, the apprehension and excitement and drama of events shaping the present moment, then he would. He felt the tension building in the body so close to his and kept silent for a long while, letting her grow accustomed to arousal. When he spoke, it was with a cheerful nonchalance, quite at odds with the brooding tension of the previous silence.

"How did you manage to come by this dog-eared conveyance?" he inquired, watching her hands on the reins.

Judith stared out between the horse's ears, the ordinary question offering a breathing space. After a minute she replied calmly, "Oh, I found it outside a tavern. The owner is probably so far under the hatches by now, he won't notice its absence for hours."

Marcus sat up straight. "Are you telling me you stole it?"

"No, I just borrowed it," she said with an airy wave of a hand. "I'll put it back when I've finished with it."

"You are an incorrigible, unscrupulous, card-sharping, horse-thieving hussy!" Marcus declared, truly shocked. "By God, someone had better take you in hand, before you do some serious damage and find yourself at the end of the hangman's rope."

He jerked the reins from her grasp and guided the horse over to the side of the road, in the shadow of a bramble hedge. The horse dropped his head and began to crop at the grassy verge.

"What are you doing?" Judith demanded.

"I don't know yet." He turned on the bench, catching her shoulders, and the minute he touched her that jolting current surged between them. Judith looked into his eyes, glittering with purpose, and she shivered, feeling the heat in her belly slowly turning bone and sinew to molten lava.

"You weave the strangest magic, Judith," he said, his voice a husky murmur, his eyes holding hers. "You confuse me so much I don't know whether I want to beat you or make love to you… but I have to possess you one way or the other."

Judith shook her head dumbly. She seemed to have forgotten how to speak. She knew only that she wanted his hands on her; rough or gentle, it was immaterial.

Marcus groaned in defeat and pulled her against him, his mouth coming down on hers with a crushing violence akin to punishment. Judith responded unhesitatingly to the bruising pressure, her lips parting for the determined thrust of his tongue. Her hands found their way around his neck, her fingers raking through the thick, dark hair. Deep within her was a warm, throbbing core of excitement and wanting that seemed to spread in waves through her body. She had never felt anything like it before and she yielded to the hot, red sensation, reaching against him as if she would be a part of him as his hands moved over her, outlining her body, learning its contours.

Slowly Marcus released her mouth for as long as it took him to readjust his hold so that he could pull her sideways onto his thighs. "I need a little more of you," he said softly, finding her mouth again. Her head rested against his shoulder, her mouth below his now more vulnerable and accessible to the deepening exploration of his tongue. His hands found her breasts, molding the soft swell beneath her jacket, and she felt in some way opened to him. She stirred on his lap, her thighs parting without volition as the deep red heat within her threatened to consume reason and reality.

"Dear God, but there's a passion in you, my lynx." He raised his head, gazing down into the bemused but desirous golden eyes.

"It must be the champagne," Judith mi'rmured, reaching for his head again, bringing it back to her.

Marcus pulled back, laughter sparking in his gaze, rippling in his voice, lust's flame abruptly reduced to a smolder. "Did I hear you aright? You attribute such a passionate response simply to an excess of champagne?"

"I think it must contribute," she said, grinning up at him. But the mischief couldn't hide the banked fires in her eyes, the deeply sensual curve of her mouth.

"Wretch," he said softly. "I don't know what you deserve for interrupting me like that." His hand moved again to her breast, ringers deftly unhooking the frogged buttons of her jacket. Judith quivered, the moment of levity past. The tiny buttons on her lawn shirt flew apart and his fingers were on her skin, warm, firm, knowing. She raised one hand to caress his head, her body arching upward into his hand with the sweliing urgency of her wanting.

"I have never felt like this," she whispered on a tiny gasp of excitement.

"That's much better," he murmured. "We'll have no more nonsense about the uninhibiting effects of champagne." He smiled at her, a glinting smile of male satisfaction. Holding her gaze, he dropped one hand to her knee, hitching up her skirt inch by inch. The warm breath of a summer's night brushed her bared legs as the skirt reached her thighs. His palm cupped her knees and slid upward beyond her stocking tops, over the satin softness of her inner thighs.

"If you knew how often I've dreamed of this," Marcus said, still smiling, still watching her face, as his fingers crept upward on an intimate, tantalizing invasion. "While you've been treating me to the sharpest edge of your razor tongue, I've been tormented with visions of your body, with fantasies of how your body would respond to mine."

Judith made no response, but her tongue touched her lips, her eyes narrowing as she drifted in sensation, the rapid rise and fall of her bosom the only indication of her mounting excitement.

Abruptly the self-enclosed world of arousal was shattered by the sound of voices, the tramp of feet, a harsh clarion call of a bugle. The horse between the shafts started and plunged forward into the hedge. Judith fell off Marcus's knee with a thump and a yowl of indignant surprise. Marcus, swearing, grabbed up the reins he had negligently let fall and hauled back on them, dragging the terrified horse out of the hedge.

"Hell and the devil!" Judith expostulated, clambering back onto the bench.

"Nicely put," Marcus approved, looking over his shoulder. "We appear to find ourselves in the midst of a regiment on the way to battle."

"Well, it's most inconvenient of them," grumbled Judith, smoothing down her skirt.

Marcus shot her a sideways glance, radiating amusement. It seemed they must take a brief respite from passion.

"Tell me," he said with deceptive innocence. "Why would you consider my proposal this morning to be without honor, whereas a scrambling tangle in a hedgerow like a milkmaid and her swain on May Day is perfectly acceptable?"

Judith combed her fingers through her disordered curls. "Is that a serious question, my lord?"

"Most certainly."

"You haven't offered to pay for my services on this occasion. Surely you can see the difference between a whore and a lover."

Marcus inhaled sharply and then slowly exhaled, steadying himself. Eccentric principles were at work again. But he didn't care on what terms they conducted their liaison, only in its fact.

"And you are willing to be my lover?" he asked quietly. "I want you, Judith, with the most powerful hunger. If you say so, I'll get down here and leave you to continue your journey, and I will never interfere in your life again. Otherwise…" There was no need to complete the sentence.

"I don't want you to leave," she said, meeting his eye with clear candor.

"And you know what that means?"

"I know what that means."

Relief swamped him. It was a pleasure to deal with a woman who was plain speaking and unvirtuous. He'd never had a taste for ingenuous, virginal misses, and found sophistication and honesty infinitely more arousing.

He glared impatiently at the ranks of men marching along the road. How the hell long was the column?

Judith shifted on the bench. "Where are we going?" The die was cast, and yet she was suddenly apprehensive.

"There's an inn up ahead," he said. "If I remember the road aright… Thank God, I think the column's passed."

He drove the cart back onto the road and resumed the journey toward Quatre Bras. Full dawn was breaking. Red streaks slashed the sky, finally permeating the gray with a deep rosy glow.

"How beautiful," Judith said. "I've always loved traveling in the dawn."

He glanced sideways at her. "It's an unusual time of day for travel."

She shrugged. "Perhaps. For other people."

Marcus said nothing. He didn't want her to expand on that… not now… not at a moment when he wanted her to forget the constraints of the past, to be driven only by the urgent desire that he knew matched his own. She was an adventuress, wicked and unfettered, and right now he wanted her just as she was.

A thatched-roof building loomed ahead in the gray light, a creaking sign swinging in the dawn breeze.

"Journey's end," he said quietly.

Or journey's beginning, Judith thought. Her head swirled with an intoxicating brew: equal parts excitement, apprehension, anticipation. She didn't question her actions or her motives. She was accustomed to following instinct, but even if she hadn't been, she knew she was in the grip of a compulsion that must be satisfied. She wanted the man beside her, his body on hers, within hers. She wanted to feel his skin, to touch every part of his body, to know his body as she knew her own. It was a primitive bodily hunger, and at this moment she was as red in tooth and claw as any lynx in the jungle.