Only a Hero Will Do (The Heart of a Hero Book 2) Page 13

  A soft moan escaped her lips. Her body relaxed into his lean form. He brushed soft kisses across her forehead.

  “Better change your clothes.”

  ~~~

  The interior of the Purple Cow was thick with the scent of stale tobacco and strong spirits. Although Grant and Elizabeth, now dressed in her boy’s attire, looked the part of smugglers, they were still definitely fish out of water. The moment they entered, curious eyes turned their way, but they sauntered in as if they belonged.

  Grant scanned the room looking for the fisherman. In the nearest corner, concealed partially in shadow, a crusty old man with a wide brimmed hat huddled over a tall tankard of ale. He lifted his chin for the briefest moment, revealing a large raised scar that crossed the length of his face.

  Fisker.

  Keeping Elizabeth close, Grant strolled to the old man’s table as if they were the oldest of friends. “Might we join you, ol’ mate?” Grant slapped his hand on the man’s back. He uttered the code under his breath, hoping those around would not hear. “Have you noticed that Mr. Devlin’s bays are mismatched?”

  “Yes, I believe he acquired them in Dublin,” Fisker replied in an equally hushed tone.

  He eyed Elizabeth for a moment, a flash of recognition enveloped his eyes. “Ev’ning.”

  Thankfully she did not attempt to return the greeting. Grant didn’t think he would’ve been able to control himself if she spoke in that low, sultry voice again. No lad ever sounded like that.

  They took the two seats across from Fisker. Grant kept his back to the wall, wary of the surroundings and not willing to take any chances, especially with Elizabeth at his side.

  “There’s a storm brewing in the sea tonight,” the fisherman declared with a bellowing laugh as he slapped his large hairy fist down on the worn wood table. Grant watched Fisker’s performance patiently. They would receive what they came for all in good time.

  “Ha!” A dirty, grimy man from across the room shouted. “You always believe a storm’s a-comin’, Fisker. Mad ol’ coot.” His words were met with the boisterous sound of laughter. “Another round of drinks fer all me good friends.” A dozen cheers rumbled through the pub. Instantly the focus shifted from Fisker to the other man.

  “We won’t be bothered for at least ten minutes.” Fisker’s speech changed from rough to refined.

  Grant nodded toward the loud ruffian. “I take it he’s with you.”

  “Saved Foley’s life twenty years ago and he’s been by my side ever since. Don’t worry about him. He’s all show.” Fisker leaned in and whispered, “I have the information you seek.” He lifted the tankard of ale and downed half of its contents before settling back in his chair.

  “Where do they meet?”

  Fisker’s words were hushed, barely audible. “The image on the medallion…”

  At the mention of the medallion, Elizabeth shifted in her chair.

  “…and the cottage by the mill, they are—”

  Elizabeth interrupted and murmured under her breath in Grant’s direction, “I think we’re being watched.”

  The hair on the back of Grant’s neck stood on end. Shifting his gaze he noticed a pair of ruffians huddled in the corner, the only ones in the pub disengaged from the merriment with no tankard in hand.

  “Better not arouse further suspicion. Play along.” Fisker downed the rest of his ale before wobbling out of his seat and slithering to the floor. “Methinks I might’n of had too…” A rather comical false hiccup escaped his lips. “…too much…” His words trailed off as his head flopped down on his extended arm. Loud snoring sounds broke through the laughter coming from the other side of the room.

  “Guess the ol’ man’s not as hearty as him thought,” a drunken sailor bellowed from across the room.

  Grant hoisted Fisker up off the ground and over his shoulder. He pulled two coins from his pocket and tossed them to the barkeep. “I’ll take care of this one.” He met Foley’s gaze and nodded in farewell. He suspected the man knew exactly what danger they were in. He then nodded toward Elizabeth to follow.

  Picking up his pace, he weaved between the table and chairs. He kicked the door open and made his way around the corner. He did not release Fisker until they were out of sight.

  “That was close. You’re a lot stronger than you look,” Fisker teased as he straightened his coat and retrieved a small packet.

  He handed it to Elizabeth just as loud shouts came from out of the pub, interrupting their exchange.

  “Godspeed, Captain. Miss Atwell.” Fisker’s voice held all the urgency that was coursing through Grant’s body. He was never one to run, but this had nothing to do with him.

  Within seconds Grant and Elizabeth were in the carriage and heading back to Hartland Abbey. Once they were clear of the small village, Grant voiced his curiosity, “How did Fisker know who you were?”

  Elizabeth’s response was casual and nonchalant. “I met him at Hart’s estate several years ago, only I know him as Sir Harold.”

  “Anything else you would like to disclose?”

  “No.” Elizabeth let out a giggle as she met his gaze. “Why would anyone name a pub the Purple Cow? Doesn’t seem very masculine.”

  “I’m most certain the men who frequent the establishment would disagree.”

  “I suppose.” Elizabeth turned her gaze to the dark countryside, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, which suited Grant. He needed to think, to formulate a plan, to somehow keep from ravishing her.

  The hour was late, or rather approaching very early in the morning, when they walked up the grand staircase and toward the guest wing. The packet Fisker had given them weighed heavily on his mind.

  As they neared their rooms, Elizabeth pulled out the packet from her coat. His gaze cascaded down her body as she turned to face him. Bloody hell. She was entirely too fetching in her boy’s attire. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

  Elizabeth stepped forward, but Grant stopped her, doing his best to do the right thing. “It’s late. You should—”

  She crossed her arms and raised a delicate brow. He inwardly sighed. He was never going to win an argument with her.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Only you think so.” Elizabeth went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Are you ready to get some answers?”

  “You realize that if you step through this door, there’s no turning back.” He didn’t only mean in terms of the mission. He meant what he’d said earlier. He was tired of fighting what he felt for her. But Elizabeth was still the daughter of a viscount with a reputation to protect. They would decipher the information Fisker gave them and then Grant would return her to her chamber. Nothing more. When this was all over, he would return to London and ask Lord Atwell permission to court Elizabeth properly.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The meaning behind her words told him he might have to rethink his strategy.

  Grant led the way into his suite. The fireplace in the small sitting room was still warming the space, adding an air of intimacy.

  Elizabeth strolled to the fireplace, sat down on the rug, and then glanced up at him, waiting to see if he would follow. He obliged, occupying a warm spot next to the fireplace beside her. The fluid movement of her hand mesmerized him as she pulled the pages from the packet. Most of them appeared blank, but based on previous confiscated documents, he was certain there was more than met the eye with these as well.

  She must have had the same thought. Edging toward the fireplace, she took the blank pages and performed the simple task of heating them while Grant shifted his attention to the written notes, reading through page after page of nonsense. They worked in companionable silence.

  “It’s a drawing,” Elizabeth said as she turned one of the pages this way and that.

  Grant looked up from his task. Elizabeth worried her lip as she studied the image that was darkening. Her brow creased, before her eyes opened wide.

  “Fisker
mentioned the medallion.” The words rushed from her mouth with urgency as she pulled the medallion she wore over her head and compared the drawing to the medallion for several seconds.

  “It’s not just an image of a winged human with snake tails slithering beneath, it’s a map.”

  “A map?”

  She sat on the rug beside Grant and began to point out the different features. “On the medallion it is more difficult to see, but on the drawing, there is a clear starting point. Right here.” She pointed to the tip of one of the serpent’s tails. “It continues for so many paces before it turns. The winged human looks to be a structure of some sort and takes up a good deal of the area.”

  “Ward told you something about caves, if I remember correctly.”

  “Yes. He sang a song and—”

  “He sang a song?” It was a good thing the man was dead, otherwise Grant might have had to kill him for singing to Elizabeth.

  “Yes, I suppose he was trying to woo me with whatever talents he believed he had.” Elizabeth must have caught his look of worry. “Captain Alexander,” she began with a tease, “please do not tell me you are jealous of the ruddy-faced, and might I add now deceased, Mr. Ward?”

  “No.” Grant wasn’t any good at explaining his feelings, especially when all of this was so new. “It’s just…”

  She leaned forward, resting her hands on either side of him. As their eyes met, a shock ran through him. “I’m in love with you.” Her kiss was gentle, enticing. “Do you still have any doubt of my affections?”

  “Not at the moment.” He was feeling more comfortable with this, with her.

  “Good. We best get back to work.”

  He was thankful she changed the subject. He didn’t know how long he could maintain his self-control. It was already quite the scandal that she was alone with him, in his room and at this hour.

  “The song, do you remember it?”

  “I wrote it down.” She pulled a small, folded sheet of paper from her shirt.

  What was it with her and tucking things into places he found far too enticing?

  She began to read the song. “Farewell and adieu to you, my dear, farewell and adieu. The signal was sent on the darkest of nights, we’ve received our orders to sail in the dim moonlight. Farewell and adieu. A tankard of ale to set the mood right, the hill near the mill the fair maiden sings. Until we land at the cove the old castle waits, heed the dove’s warning, lead to the strait.”

  “Is that all of it?”

  She kept staring down at the paper. “I think I’m missing one of the choruses.” She looked over to him with a deep questioning look. “What does it mean?”

  As he edged closer to her, the faint sweet scent of vanilla that seemed to be part of her essence encircled them, teasing his senses, begging him to forget why she was alone with him. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, but duty called. He sucked in a deep breath attempting to tamp down the rising desire, and shifted his attention to the paper in her hand. “The first line is not surprising in relation to smuggling.”

  They stared at the paper for countless minutes before she spoke. “Look at the drawing. This section here is shaded; what if it represents a hill? I have to wonder if the starting point is at the tavern. If we follow the path up the hill, I’m willing to bet it leads straight to the old ruins.” Her brows creased together, as if trying to recall some detail. “Mr. Ward mentioned a small cottage…”

  “Dove’s Cottage?”

  “Yes. How do you know about the cottage?”

  Grant pulled out one of the papers he’d glanced at weeks ago. The translation hadn’t made any sense then, but all the pieces were slowly coming together. “Because of this.”

  It was a quick sketch of a small cottage with the words, Taube Haus, scrolled at the bottom.

  “I believe we will find what we’re looking for there.”

  Grant knew there would be no talking Elizabeth out of accompanying him. Perhaps it was better to have her close by his side where he could ensure her safety, than have her coming after him on her own. Nothing would surprise him with regard to the headstrong Miss Atwell. He so appreciated her determination, quick wit, and thoughtful responses. She was different to any woman he’d ever met.

  “I’ll send word to Lord Fynes first thing in the morning.” Grant stood, and then took Elizabeth’s hand in his and brought her to a standing position. They were inches apart, heat radiating between them. “It’s late,” he forced out, tamping down what he’d wanted to say.

  She silenced him with a searing kiss. The touch of her lips on his sent a wave of pleasure through his entire body. The control he’d managed to attain only moments ago was starting to waver. He was trying desperately to be a gentleman, not a rake.

  “We shouldn’t…” He started, not wanting to finish his sentence, but common sense won out in the end. “Lord Atwell would have my head.”

  She pulled back and looked at him with admiration. Her sincere smile echoed in her words. “My father approves of you.”

  Disbelief edged each word he spoke. “Your father, Lord Atwell- Viscount Atwell, approves of me seducing his youngest daughter?”

  On a titter she replied, “Well, perhaps not that, but he does approves of you.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You said if I stepped through that door, there was no turning back.” Soft lips brushed across his. “I’m not turning back.”

  His future without her flashed before his eyes. It was bleak and lonely, and one he didn’t want.

  “No more talk of titles or fathers or assignments.” She deepened the kiss, pulling him deeper into her world.

  His heart leaped with the possibility of having her by his side, sharing adventures, warming his bed. He’d known there was something special about her from the very beginning. His mind may have lost the battle, but his heart had won the war.

  Grant swung her into the circle of his arms and covered her mouth with a hungry kiss, which she returned with reckless abandon. Her hand glided across his shoulder, down his firm, sinewy arm. She wanted to feel more. She wanted his skin pressed against hers. She wanted to know every inch of him.

  A nervous giggle escaped her lips as she fumbled with his shirt. Shyness crept up, heating her cheeks.

  “I’ve never undressed a man before.”

  “Neither have I.” Another giggle escaped her mouth at Grant’s declaration.

  As he reclaimed her lips with a gentle hunger, shyness gave way to passion. Their clothes seemed to melt off their bodies as their hands explored and mouths devoured. There was no doubt or hesitation, just a hunger that begged to be sated.

  Within minutes, he stood before her completely naked. She took in his perfect form sculpted by years of military duty. The hard, defined ridges of his chest and firm strong arms mesmerized her. “Oh my, you’re beautiful,” she whispered.

  “I was thinking the same thing about you.” His confession warmed her insides, creating an in inferno of want and need.

  Giving into her desire to touch, to explore, she caressed his smooth chest with tender kisses. His heartbeat throbbed against her lips. Her hands traveled further down, reveling in the feel of his taut stomach. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

  As she roused his passion, her own grew stronger. Curiosity surged through her. One hand traveled lower still, exploring the full length of his manhood. A delicious deep moan escaped his lips, as he seemed to struggle to maintain control.

  She ran a firm finger up and down his shaft, surprised by the smooth velvety hardness of him. One of her sisters had once said that a man’s part could be small and unappealing, but Grant was neither of those things. He was strong and robust, full of life and passion. She took him firmly in her hand, rubbing the full length of him, wanting more, wanting to hear him moan in pleasure again.

  “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that,” Grant growled as possessive hands pulled her closer, firmly against his hard chest. The feel
of his manhood pressing against her stomach sent another wave of desire careening through her.

  He swept her, weightless, into his arms and carried her to his bed. She nuzzled his neck, inhaling his scent she loved so much. Gently, he eased her down on the soft bed and lay beside her.

  “It’s my turn to explore.” The caress of his lips on her mouth set her body and soul aflame.

  He slid one hand down her side, exploring her feminine curves. Her body tingled from the contact, and she desperately wanted more as he kissed a path from her stomach to her breasts. His touch was light, almost teasing, until he took a firm nipple in his mouth, rousing an ache that pleaded for release. She weaved her hands into his silky hair as she arched her back, offering more of herself to the sublime feelings rushing through her. Countless seconds passed as she slid into the euphoria of their love play.

  “You taste like heaven,” he whispered against her wet nipple, sending another bolt of desire straight to her core. He played and teased until she thought she would die from pleasure.

  “More,” she demanded, not quite knowing what more entailed, but her body was desperate to find out.

  A moment later, his mouth ceased its delicious torture. She was about to protest, but was soon compensated with a searing kiss. Their breath mingled, tongues tangled. It was the kind of kiss she would remember for the rest of her life.

  Grant’s hand gently weaved an intricate pattern down her body, settling between her legs. “You feel wonderful.” His hot breath tickled her ear as his finger circled the entrance to her womanhood before slipping into its wet folds. His thumb teased the swollen nub, sending a new wave of ecstasy slamming through her body.

  Her breath came in short spurts. “Oh, my,” she sighed against his lips. She’d never experienced anything like this before, it was beyond words.

  He raised his head, passion and hesitance colliding, clouding his features. “Are you certain—”

  She halted his question with an all-consuming kiss, before answering with words. “There’s no turning back.”

  It was all the encouragement he needed. He lowered his body over hers. Flesh against flesh, it was the most glorious feeling in the world. His tongue traced the softness of her lips before exploring the recesses of her mouth.