Temptation and Surrender (32 page)

T
hat was well done.” Lucifer nodded to Jonas as they stood outside one of the cells in the inn cellar, looking through the doorway at the stone box they’d deposited on the bench inside.

Closed once more, its brilliant contents concealed, the box looked incongruous—a strange inanimate prisoner.

Jonas swung the heavily barred door closed and turned the large key. “I wanted to make sure everyone knew there was no point trying to steal the newly unearthed Colyton treasure.” Although he spoke in response to Lucifer’s comment, it was Em his eyes rested upon.

She nodded, understanding completely. Not just that the treasure was now indisputably safe, but also his reasons for making his announcement; she was learning to appreciate his protective streak.

“Here.” He held out the key to her. “You need to keep this safe.”

Accepting the heavy key, she slipped it into her pocket; its weight dragged. “I’ll think of a safe place to leave it.”

The entire day still seemed like a dream; she was half-convinced she would wake up shortly and discover none of it was real.

They climbed the cellar stairs and returned to the common room, still comfortably crowded. Many had come to learn what was going on, and had stayed to dine. When she looked into the kitchen, she found Hilda like a general in the midst of organized chaos.

“They’re waiting dinner for you in the family parlor,” Hilda directed. “You and Mr. Tallent and Mr. Cynster should go up. Mrs. Cynster’s already there with Mr. Filing, Master Henry, and your sisters.”

Thus dispatched, Em climbed the stairs with Jonas and Lucifer. The others were already at the table, waiting; as soon as they’d taken their seats, Joshua said grace. Never before had she murmured a more sincerely fervent thanks for God’s bounties. As soon as the dishes were set before them, she dismissed the two maids to their own dinner in the kitchen, leaving the family, and Jonas, Filing, and the Cynsters, free to converse as they pleased.

While she, Issy, and Henry were still grappling with the enormity of their windfall, the twins were much less awed; in their imaginations the Colyton treasure had always been fabulous. The reality had simply lived up to their expectations. Consequently they’d already concocted some quite startling plans as to what to do with it.

The girls’ ebullient, exuberant spirits were infectious. Two hours passed swiftly; Em barely had a chance to think between dealing with suggestions such as “I think we should buy a house in London,” and “We need to buy a ship and sail to the Indies,” and maintaining some degree of polite discourse.

Phyllida understood. She caught Lucifer’s eye, indicated the door, then turned to Em and patted her hand. “Your head must be whirling. My one piece of advice, and I’m sure Lucifer will agree, is not to rush things. Take your time and let things sink in—give other options a chance to present themselves before you make any decisions.” She smiled, and Em could see the likeness to Jonas. “You’ve found the treasure and it’s safe, and so are you and your brood here in Colyton.”

Glancing at Jonas and Filing, both discussing some point with Lucifer, slowly getting to his feet, Phyllida added, “As I’m sure you realize, you, Issy, Henry, and the twins all have a place here among us.” She stood.

Meeting her dark gaze, Em inclined her head. “Thank you. That’s excellent advice.”

Collecting her husband, Phyllida left. Leaving Issy and Joshua watching over the twins, at last flagging, Em insisted on going down to show her face—the innkeeper’s face—in the common room.

Jonas sighed, but didn’t try to dissuade her. He accompanied her down the stairs, then sat in the tap with the other men, chatting and sipping ale, and watching Em flit back and forth, checking on this, having a quick word with some lady, then buzzing back to the kitchen to convey something to Hilda before reappearing at Edgar’s shoulder behind the bar.

He suspected it was her way of bringing herself back to earth. Finding and laying hands on the treasure had been exciting, but discovering the extent of her ancestors’ legacy had been a shock. An entirely understandable shock, one that would knock any lady for a loop, but most especially one who had spent the last months walking a knife-edge of incipient penury, all in pursuit of a dream.

A dream that had converted into a staggering reality.

He, of course, felt distinctly mellow, if not a trifle smug. Now she had her treasure, her newfound wealth would obviate a good number of the difficulties she would have wrestled with in accepting his suit. He wouldn’t have cared if she was penniless, but she would have. Now she would have a decent portion, enough to allow her to accept his hand without quibble.

And with Henry and her sisters’ futures now assured, she would soon have time to turn her mind to him, and his proposal.

Would soon have more time to devote to him, and the role he wished her to fill.

He was feeling distinctly in charity with the world when, the last stragglers waved on their way and the inn secured for the night, he followed Em up the stairs to her rooms.

Ignoring the candle left burning on the dresser, she led the way through the parlor into her bedroom. He followed, noting with a certain triumph her lack of hesitation, of consciousness in having him there.

She slowed, then halted in the middle of the room and turned to face him. Moonlight flooded in through the uncurtained windows, laying a pearlescent silver sheen wherever it touched. Her gaze scanned his face, then she looked down. “I think, if you don’t mind, that I’d rather you kept this.”

Following her gaze, he saw that she was holding the heavy key to the cell in her hand.

Something in him stilled.

An instant ticked by, then he forced himself to ask, “Are you’re sure?” Sure she wanted to entrust him with her family’s future.

Her moon-silvered lips curved. “Yes, I’m sure. Take it, please. You can hide it at the Grange. There are too many people coming and going at the inn these days, especially now we have paying guests.” She drew in a breath, lifted her head, looked him in the eye. “I’d feel much more comfortable if I knew it was with you.”

His hand closed about hers, removing the key from her open palm. His eyes locked on hers, he saw full comprehension of the moment in her face, in her expression; sliding the key into his coat pocket, he reached for her.

She came readily into his arms; reaching up, framing his face with her small hands, she looked into his eyes, then kissed him. Longingly, lingeringly, enticingly—a clear invitation.

They both had so much to celebrate.

He gathered her in, fitting her against him, where she belonged. He kissed her back, as gloriously hungry, as joyfully elated as she.

As intent on seizing the moment, on sharing the triumph, on celebrating their success—and all that it meant.

She was with him every step of the way as he steered them unerringly into the heart of the flames. This was indeed a moment to savor, a night to recognize, accept, embrace, and give thanks for the bounties that had come their way.

The Colyton treasure, yes, but along the way they’d discovered something with far greater potential, something more enduring than gold and jewels, and infinitely more precious.

She yielded her mouth, and he took, claimed, unrestrainedly plundered, then surrendered the reins and let her have her way while he set his fingers to her laces and the buttons closing her gown.

Clothes drifted to the floor.

Hers, his, until a drift of fabrics lay about their feet in the moonlight.

Naked, she was eager and urgent; he let her help him remove his boots and stockings, then yielded to her insistent demand and let her kneel before him and peel his breeches down.

Quickly he shrugged free of the shirt she’d already opened, eyes locked on her, reading the wild passions, the considerations and speculations gleaming in her bright eyes. Before she could act on any of them, he stepped free of his breeches, seized her by the shoulders, and lifted her onto her feet, then pulled her into his arms.

Skin met skin.

Em gasped, senses reeling in delight at the contact. With heated deliberation, she wound her arms about his neck, sinuously stretched up against him, seized an instant to glory in the feel of his rougher skin and harder body riding against her softer curves, then, with eager abandon, she locked her lips on his.

Yielded her mouth, his to possess, as she moved into him, pressing her breasts, already aching and heavy, against the solid planes of his chest as she fitted her hips against his thighs and wantonly undulated, stroking the rigid rod of his erection with her taut, silky-smooth belly.

Hands grasped.

His closed about her bottom, evocatively kneading, sending molten desire sliding through her, pooling at her core. His fingers drifted, traced, probed. Her skin grew fevered, damp.

He gripped, hoisted her up; instinctively she spread her legs, wrapped them about his hips, with eyes closed caught her breath on a shuddering gasp as he held her steady and pressed into her, released that breath in a shuddering moan as sensation, primitive and undeniable, washed over and through her.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, fingers gripping tight. His hands locked viselike about her hips, holding her immobile as he steadily, relentlessly, claimed her. Filled her, completed her. She gasped, arched, and took him in; her body welcomed him, embraced and clung, surrendered and seized.

Once he was fully seated, he held her securely and walked the short distance to the bed. He set her down on her back on the coverlet, her hips only just supported on the mattress; his hands curving possessively over the heated curves of her bottom, he held her, held her senses captive as he straightened, then, his gaze locked with hers, he withdrew, almost to her entrance, then with a sharp thrust of his hips, he solidly filled her again.

It felt different, the sensations of possession heightened given they were only touching there—she had no other tactile sensation to distract her; her mind, all her senses, locked avidly, greedily, on where they joined.

The slick friction from the steady rhythm he set, each long stroke filling her to the hilt, built and intensified until each solid penetration sent waves of pleasure pulsing down her veins, tightening her nerves.

Gradually overwhelming her mind; she closed her fingers, fisted her hands in the coverlet, flung her head from side to side as the bright fire within grew, heard her own moan as she felt the flames coalesce and ecstasy beckon.

But she wanted him with her. Tightening her legs about his hips, she pulled him closer, deeper, arched her spine as much as he would allow…

Jonas gasped as he felt the reins slide from his grasp, as his body answered her wild call. Chest heaving, he released her hips, leaned over her, arms braced on either side to hold him above her; head bowed, his gaze locked on her face as she writhed beneath him, he thrust again and again, taking every inch she offered, demanding her surrender.

Giving her his.

In response she demanded still more, craved more, her body luscious and heated beneath his, open and embracing; beyond his control, his body responded, thrusting deeper, harder, more powerfully.

A celebration in truth, but of something more primal, more primitive and elemental; it swelled, rose through them, flowing in a rush from where they so uninhibitedly merged.

A firestorm of passion, desire, and need, and something even more potent.

The flames roared through him, through her, and took them. For one blind instant, in an explosion of senses, sundered them from this world.

Transported them to one where ecstasy was the very air; they drew it in and it filled them. Overflowed…

The tumult faded into memory, leaving them gasping, clinging, awash on a golden sea.

From beneath drooping lids, their gazes met, held.

Their hearts slowed, beat as one, as knowledge seeped into their souls.

She smiled. Slowly, the gesture spreading across her sweet face, lighting her golden eyes with jewel green.

His lips curved in reply; he felt a chuckle rumble through his chest.

Disengaging, he lifted her, laid her higher on the bed, then joined her.

Felt vindicated, honored, and blessed—and felt certain she felt the same as she curled into him, settling her head on his shoulder.

Contentment held him, born of the certainty that she had to know, as he did, that
this
was true glory, that what had burgeoned and grown between them, and now slid, the finest elixir, through their veins, the power that caught them and held them, addicted and helpless, that shattered them only to fill them with bliss—that this—being that power’s pawn—was true heaven on earth.

As he sank into her bed, drew her into his arms, and flicked the covers over their cooling limbs, he was never more certain that
this
was meant to be, that this, and she, was his true destiny.

A
-hem!”

Em looked up from the open ledger on her desk to see Silas Coombe standing in the doorway of her office. “Mr. Coombe.” She pushed back her chair and started to rise. “Can I help you?”

“No, no, dear lady!” Smiling unctuously, Coombe advanced, waving her back to her seat. “It is
I
who have come to offer my poor services to
you
.”

Perfectly willing to keep the desk between them, she sank back into her chair and politely raised her brows. “How so, sir?”

“If I may?” Coombe indicated the chair before the desk; when she nodded he slipped into it and leaned forward to speak in a confidential tone. “It’s about the…ah, Colyton treasure, my dear. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m an expert of sorts, an authority on antiquities of various kinds.”

His expression one of scholarly seriousness, he continued, “Cynster is an expert on jewels and jewelry—you’d be wise to seek his advice on such items as fall within his scope. But one of my specialities is coins, old coins. I’d be very happy to assist you in evaluating and disposing of the doubloons and any other such items in the cache.”

Em had no doubt whatever that Coombe would be very happy—ecstatically happy—were she to hand the coins over to him for assessment and sale. She smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Coombe. I will certainly bear it in mind, but at this point my siblings and I have yet to decide what we will do with the treasure—what we will sell, what we will keep, whether we sell anything much at all.”

She rose, her smile still polite, but clearly one of dismissal. “I will, of course, inform you if we wish to avail ourselves of your kind offer. Thank you for dropping by.”

Good manners brought Coombe to his feet. He stared, mouth opening and closing several times before he realized she’d left him little choice but to accept her dismissal with good grace.

He drew himself up. “Indeed. Don’t hesitate to let me know if I may be of service. Your servant, Miss Colyton.”

He bowed rather stiffly and made his exit.

Em watched him go, then slowly sank back into her chair.

She’d spoken truly in saying that she and her siblings hadn’t yet made any decision regarding the treasure. For herself, she was still coming to grips with its scope. She’d been expecting a pouch of gold coins, perhaps a small cache—just a handful—of good gems. The staggering quantity they’d uncovered cast the family treasure in a significantly different light; dealing with it now loomed as a responsibility—both to her siblings and future generations. The decision of what to do with it had acquired a gravity it hadn’t previously had.

The cautious streak that ran alongside her Colyton recklessness urged her to heed Phyllida’s excellent advice. She would take her time, and make the right decisions.

Regardless, she wouldn’t trust Coombe, not even with a handful of coins. Lucifer, however, was a different matter. She’d never trusted easily—life had taught her to be careful from an early age—but she trusted her instincts, too, and they hadn’t taken long to accept Lucifer…in much the same way they’d accepted Jonas. As an honorable man.

More, along with Phyllida, Lucifer had somehow—entirely without pushing—achieved a status, not just with her but also with her siblings, as being almost family. She would, she decided, accept his offer to appraise the treasure, and then she would discuss with her siblings, and with Jonas, Joshua, Phyllida, and Lucifer, what would be the wisest thing to do.

It seemed odd to have others—other adults as well as Issy and Henry—with whom to share her deliberations. Strange to have people on whom she could call whose opinions and advice she valued.

She found her lips had spontaneously curved. Admitted to herself, as she picked up her pencil and refocused on the accounts, that having such people around felt good.