The Mercenary's Price Read online

  She put her hands to his chest to push him away but then something changed. His lips softened. His fingers relaxed, loosening their grip on her waist, allowing her to move away if she wanted to.

  She didn't want to. It felt good to be in his arms again, to be the center of his attention and the object of his desire. And he did desire her. She could feel it in the deepening of his kiss and the telltale bulge in his...oh my!

  "Thomas," she murmured against his lips.

  He pushed her away, breaking the kiss, and stepped back, stumbling on the hearth. He put one hand up to the mantelpiece to steady himself and dug the other through his hair. "Sorry," he said between deep breaths. "That shouldn't have happened."

  "But it did." He might want to deny that something had passed between them but she didn't. That old spark was still there, burning as bright and fierce as ever. She'd felt it and she knew he did too. "Thomas, my feelings for you remain—."

  "Don't!" He grabbed a candle off the mantelpiece and strode to the door. "Get some sleep. We leave at dawn." Then he was gone, taking all the air in her lungs with him.

  Eliza fought back the tears and wrapped her arms around herself. It seemed they would not go back to the way things were. Not yet. But perhaps before their journey was over she could get through to the softer, gentler side that he'd buried deep beneath a hard exterior.

  She removed her ruff and placed it on the table then reached up behind her neck and unfastened the top of her bodice. When she'd gone as low as her arms could reach, she undid the hooks and eyes at her lower back. But even after stretching and twisting herself into awkward positions, the bodice was still fastened in the middle. No matter which way she contorted, she couldn't complete the task.

  A pox on all women's clothing!

  She eyed the bed then her skirts, supported by the wide farthingale. She couldn't remove the stiff frame without first removing the skirts draped and pinned into shape over it. And she couldn't do that without giving herself an injury. There was only one thing to do. Thomas would have to act as her maid.

  Eliza marched out of her room and knocked on the next door. Thomas opened it a crack, paused, then opened it fully. She stifled a small gasp. He'd removed his doublet and ruff and stood in nothing but his shirt, unlaced down to the middle of his chest. She'd never seen the contours of his hard muscles before, although she'd felt them countless times beneath her hand, her cheek, her lips. The skin was darker than she expected—even in the candlelit room she could see he was tanned—and nor had she expected the sprinkle of dark hair. It took a very great effort not to run her fingers through it, to tease it the way he used to toy with the curls on her head. A thin white line cut diagonally across his chest, starting at his shoulder and disappearing into his shirt. How had he got the scar? Where had he been when he was wounded? She wanted to know everything that had happened to him since he'd left England. Left her.

  "Something wrong?" he asked, moving aside.

  "Er...of course not." She stepped into his room and noted it was the same as hers only more spacious. All her senses suddenly seemed aware of everything around her—the sweet smell of the herbs in the rushes, the tang of the tallow candles, the taste of desire on her lips.

  "I need help." She turned her back to him and closed her eyes in an attempt to shut it all out. It didn't work. Every part of her was alert to every part of him. "Unhook me please."

  There was a long moment in which nothing happened. She glanced over her shoulder. He was staring at her back.

  "Is there a problem?" she asked through her thickened throat.

  He drew in a deep breath. "No." He undid the remaining hooks of her stiffened bodice. She felt it part and brought her hands up to her chest to stop the bodice falling away. Another glance over her shoulder revealed he was still staring at her back. That's when she remembered her smock was made of sheer holland.

  Her face heated but she remained standing there. The task was not yet complete. "And my skirt too."

  "What about your skirt?"

  "Can you unpin it, please?"

  Nothing happened. She glanced around and saw his hands balled into fists. "Please," she said again. "I can't do it." Which was a small lie. She'd not tried.

  His long fingers unrolled, twitched once, then deftly removed the pins holding the pleats of her skirt in place over the farthingale's whalebone frame.

  "That should be enough," she said. "I can do the rest." There was only so much a man should see of a lady's underclothing and the farthingale wasn’t one of them.

  But instead of stepping away or averting his gaze, he parted the unhooked bodice further and trailed his fingertips down her spine. His burning touch branded her, the flimsy material of her smock doing nothing to protect her from the heat of his body as he moved closer, closer. His breath ruffled her hair and anticipation sizzled across her skin.

  She bent her head forward, exposing her neck, wanting him to kiss her there, everywhere. His mouth was so close to her ear she heard his breath hitch and the hard swallow as his throat worked.

  "Eliza," he murmured thickly.

  "Yes," she whispered. A thousand times yes.

  "Go back to your room."

  It took a long moment for his words to filter through to her brain. "My...what?"

  He moved away from her to stand by the door—so far away. His half-lowered lids hid his eyes but not the muscle pulsing high in his jaw or the flare of his nostrils. "Go," he said again. "I'll wake you in the morning."

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes but she would not let him see how much her heart ached at his coldness where before it had swelled with desire.

  "Good night, Thomas," was all she said as she slipped past him. "Sleep well."

  The knock on the door awoke her. "Yes?" she mumbled, half asleep.

  "Open up," came Thomas's voice. "I have food."

  She was starving. Her hunger almost overrode her embarrassment—and her desire—of the night before. But not quite. She pushed the bedcovers off and winced at the cold. Without a maid, the fire had died down to mere ashes and the room suffered for it. She threw the cloak around her shoulders and opened the door to Thomas.

  He entered carrying a tray of beef pie and bread. He placed it on the table and turned to tend the fire, all without looking at her.

  "Have you eaten?" she asked.

  He nodded.

  "Oh. Would you like to join me anyway?"

  "No."

  She sighed and sat but the delicious smell of the pie quickly blocked out all other thoughts. She shoveled it in, mopping up the trencher with a hunk of bread. It was impossible to be ladylike on an empty stomach.

  "You have a good appetite," he said, watching her with amusement.

  Eliza swallowed the last piece of bread. "I was hungry."

  "Good. I'm pleased you haven't succumbed to the latest court fashion of eating like a mouse."

  "It's a habit of mine that sends the dress-makers into a spin, not to mention my mother." She could almost hear the countess tut-tutting at her daughter gorging herself, as she would put it, and in front of a gentleman too.

  "I never did agree with your mother on anything. I like your—." He covered the end of his sentence with a coughing fit and turned away.

  Eliza wasn't fooled. "My what?" She stood and moved in what she hoped was a seductive fashion towards him, swaying her hips. "My curves?" She parted her cloak and placed her hands on her waist to cinch the smock and emphasize her hips. It was completely scandalous. But she didn't care. Not now when they had so little time left together. "You always did like them, Thomas."

  He gave a strangled sound and strode towards the door. "Be dressed in fifteen minutes," he said and was gone before she could mount a counter-attack.

  She sighed. It seemed he was going to be more difficult to win back than she first thought.

  Twenty minutes later she was on her horse, the village already behind them. Dawn had begun to seep over the horizon, struggling valiantly through the clouds, draping the rural landscape in pale light. They were heading south, their pace swift but not as fast as the previous night, and Eliza felt like she could breathe again. Not simply because she wore a less restrictive plain gray countrywoman's dress but because the dangers of the night before seemed like a world away. The countryside was so fresh and free compared to court, so full of life and wonder. The cool wind stroked her cheeks and teased her hair out of the arrangement she'd attempted to assemble without Flora's assistance. The air smelled like early spring blossom and damp earth and Eliza felt a strong desire to roll in it. With Thomas.

  "Why are you smiling?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

  She lifted one shoulder. "I feel...free out here."

  "Well, you're not. We need to remain vigilant. Stop smiling, it's distracting."

  She laughed, which she understood from his sour expression was not the reaction he'd wanted her to have. "Do you think they'll find us?" she asked, trying to be serious.

  "Hopefully we've lost them but I doubt they've given up."

  She sobered. Of course, she'd been silly to think that they would have. He was right. They needed to remain alert and careful. "Are we heading to London?"

  "Yes."

  Finally, a direct answer about her immediate future. "Where will I be staying? Whitehall? Or somewhere less...regal? Will Flora be there?"

  He urged his horse to pick up the pace. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "If you'd give me some proper answers I wouldn't have to," she said when she caught up to him. "Why are you avoiding answering me?"

  He shrugged. "I was ordered to."

  "Ah. I see. So it's very well for you not to answer my questions but I'm not allowed to keep my secret from you. Is that how we're going to play the game?"

  "Stop twisting my words."

  "I am not!" Again he moved ahead and again she followed. "And while we're on the issue of avoidance, it seems I'll have to be the one to mention last night's kiss."

  He grunted. "I wish you wouldn't."

  His words pricked her skin like needles. "Why can't you simply acknowledge that there's still something between us?"

  "Unfinished business?"

  "If you like, yes."

  "There isn't. You finished whatever business was between us seven years ago. I've moved on. You should too."

  The pricking became a scratching. "That kiss was not moving on. It was...sweet and wonderful and—."

  "Spare me the sentimental clap-trap."

  Men! Why did they have to avoid discussing their feelings as if it would bring the plague to their door? She fixed her gaze on his back. He too had changed into clothing more befitting a traveler than a courtier. His hose and cloak were made of brown wool and his jerkin of well-worn leather. It suited him better than the slashed silks and elaborately embellished courtier's ensemble. "Admit there is something between us still and I'll stop."

  "I cannot."

  He was a most stubborn man! "There is something between us."

  "Very well, I agree. There is," he said. "But it's your high opinion of yourself that separates us, nothing more. You think I still care for you after what you did?" His voice had lowered to a growl and he remained facing the road ahead. "You're wrong, Eliza. I want nothing to do with you."

  She fought back the tears. He was lying. He must be. Proud to the end, that was the Thomas Blackstone she knew. He'd rather die than admit he still had feelings for her. "Then why are you here? Why are you helping me?"

  There was a slight pause before he answered. "I'm a mercenary. I hire myself, my ship and my crew to the highest bidder."

  "Mercenary! Crew!"

  "I have a ship and a handful of men who work for me. And I work for whoever pays us. There. Satisfied?"

  "I... You're being paid to do this?"

  "Of course. Did you think I did it for sentimental reasons?"

  "Well...yes. I..." She shook her head to clear it of the fogginess and her stupidity. She understood now. Thomas wasn't there because he wanted to keep her safe. He hadn't volunteered his services because he didn't want any other man to take the job. He was doing it for the money. "I hope he's paying you well," she said, hearing the strain in her voice.

  "He is. They all do." He gave a harsh laugh. "The irony is, I'm quite a wealthy man now. Perhaps even wealthy enough to satisfy your mother's expensive tastes in sons-in-law despite my unfortunately low birth."

  His words cut through her, slicing away at her heart. She'd never cared for money or status or any of those things. Why couldn't he see that? Why did he have to thrust the knife in then twist it again and again? She put a hand to her nose to stifle a sob but it escaped anyway.

  Thomas turned to her. His horse slowed and he heaved a great sigh. He slumped a little in the saddle, suddenly looking very tired. "Ah, Eliza, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that. Forgive me?"

  She wiped away her tears and nodded.

  "Are you sure? Because I don't like you being angry at me. It's supposed to be the other way around."

  She glanced at him. He was smiling his familiar crooked smile at her, the one that stole her breath and made her want to kiss him. She couldn't kiss him, but she could laugh.

  "You're a beast, Thomas Blackstone."

  His smile vanished and he held up his hand for silence. That's when she heard it—the pounding of hooves on the road behind them.

  "Go. Now." He smacked her horse's rump and they both galloped off, southward.

  But they got no further than the next bend. Two riders intercepted them, swords drawn. Eliza reined in hard to avoid the danger then turned her horse but the way behind was also blocked by two more riders.

  Thomas withdrew his rapier and without further ado, charged at the front group. The clash of metal rang through the crisp air and reverberated around the tall hedges lining the road. One of the men grunted and almost became unseated by the onslaught.

  Eliza kept to one side, away from the fight. She glanced back at the other two riders, advancing on her. She had to get away but there was nowhere to go. If Thomas managed to open up a gap, she would have to make a dash for it. Already he'd forced one attacker off his horse, blood pouring from the man's shoulder. He was in too much agony to be of any assistance to his companion.

  "Lady Eliza," one of the unhindered horsemen said. "Please don't be afraid."

  She wished she'd had the presence of mind to borrow a knife from the inn and stow it about her person. "Don't come near me," she said with as much superiority as she could put into the order. Hopefully he couldn't hear the tremble in her voice. "I'll not go with you."

  "But Lady Eliza," the man said, frowning, "we've come to—."

  Thomas roared like a wild beast and lunged at the speaker. The man barely had enough time to parry a blow aimed at his head. Eliza glanced back over her shoulder. The second attacker lay on the ground, motionless.

  Both the remaining able-bodied men fought Thomas side by side but they were no match for him. He moved with power, speed and a kind of grace she'd not thought possible from such a big man. Each of his blows forced them back a little more but didn't dislodge them from their saddles.

  A grunt behind her drew her attention from the fight just in time to see the first attacker charge at Thomas, sword in hand, apparently no longer hindered by his wound.

  Instinct overrode her fear and she kicked out with her foot as he flew past. With an oomph, he landed face down in the dirt then began swearing and clutching his hurt shoulder.

  "Eliza!" Thomas shouted as he plunged his sword into the fray again.

  One of the attackers miss-timed his parry and received a sword through the chest for his mistake. The other one instantly backed away out of reach. He knew he could not continue on his own. It was the man who'd spoken to her.

  "My lady," he said, keeping an eye on Thomas, "you don't understand, we—."

  "Get out of here," Thomas growled at him. His breaths came as regular as ever as if he'd not just fought off four swordsmen. "Go and tell your master you failed. She's coming with me."

  The man glanced between them and didn't move. Thomas thrust his sword at him, stopping short of running the man through. It was the impetus needed to send the attacker galloping back the way he'd come. Thomas checked the three wounded assailants and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. There was a look on his face Eliza had never seen before. A terrible coldness that frightened her.

  "Very well, you've made your point," she said light-heartedly in an attempt to draw him out of his bloodlust. Her own heart was very far from light. It felt as heavy as a church bell and clanged just as loudly.

  "Point?" He glanced at the bloodied tip of his sword then sheathed it.

  "That you can protect me adequately, despite being only one man."

  He urged his horse forward, away from the ghastly scene. She followed and drew up alongside him. "So you're coming around," he said, glancing at her. She was relieved to see the return of her Thomas in his softening eyes. "Finally. Only seven years too late."

  "The snappy comments aren't making this situation any easier."

  "Nothing can make this situation any easier."

  She thought about the injured men they'd left behind. "You're right. I'm sorry. Do you think they'll be all right?"

  "I meant between us."

  "Oh." But she couldn't help thinking about the men and wondering if they would die there on the road. Or if they would recover and come after her again, or alert their fellow spies and—.

  "They spoke in English!" She stopped her horse. "Perfect Queen's English!"

  Thomas halted a little further ahead. "Eliza, there's no time for this. We must get to London by midday or the ship will sail without you."

  "Ship? Do you mean your ship?" Her horse bobbed its head at her shrill voice. "Good Lord, Thomas, when were you going to divulge that little piece of news? At the docks? Or were you going to wait until I set foot on the vessel?"

  He came up alongside her and grabbed her reins. "We have to keep moving. It's dangerous on the open road." He led her horse forward and she had no choice but to let him.