Midnight Quill Trio

July 1763: Part Four

July 1763: Part Four

Rose scrambled out of bed and ran to the door, tugging the handle uselessly. How will I reach Will?

She swung around and ran across the room, flung open the shutters, heaved up the sash window, and leaned out. The moon showed a pearly face between drifting clouds.

The ground was very far below.

Rose turned back to the bed, her heart galloping in her chest. If she took the two sheets and the bedhangings and tied them together . . . No, they wouldn’t be long enough. But if she tore them into strips and plaited them into a rope, then they might be.

She worked feverishly, slitting the linen sheets with the penknife she used to trim her quills, plaiting the strips together, knotting them end to end. Midnight passed, and still her rope was too short. The bedhangings were next—cutting, plaiting, knotting.

The clock chimed one o’clock. Rose tried to plait faster, her fingers fumbling with urgency. Would Will come looking for her and risk being seen? Or would he think she’d changed her mind? That she’d decided to stay at Creed Hall rather than run away with him?

Finally her rope was finished. Rose tied one end to a bedpost and bundled the rest out the window. She took the suicide letter from the secret cupboard and flung it on her pillow, grabbed the rubies and the banknote, and slammed the cupboard shut again.

Rose stuffed the banknote and rubies into the pocket of her dressing gown, bundled the garment up, and threw it out the window. She tossed her slippers out, too. She peered down at the ground. It was a very long way down. She couldn’t see the dressing gown, or the slippers.

Rose gulped a breath, gripped the rope, and hoisted herself up on the windowsill. Her heart felt as if it was climbing up her throat. So did her stomach. If she fell, she’d be dead—but her terror wasn’t of falling, it was of Will leaving without her.

One minute and she’d be at the bottom. One minute. All she had to do was not fall for one minute.

She eased herself over the windowsill and let the rope take her weight. One minute, she told herself. One minute. The narrow plaited rope slid slowly through her fingers—then a little faster—then even faster. She couldn’t keep her grip. She was slipping, the rope burning her palms—

Her hands found one of the knots.

Rose clung to it desperately, bumping against the rough wall, her heart beating madly, her breath wheezing in her throat. Every muscle in her body was rigid with terror. I can’t do this.

She heard tiny ripping sounds above her as the plaited sheets stretched under her weight.

She had to do this. There was no way back, and she couldn’t cling here forever. The rope would break or one of the knots would give and she’d fall and die.

Rose inhaled a shallow, hitching breath and slid down another section of the rope. For Will. The rope slipped through her hands, burned—and then she reached another knot. Her heart hammered against her breastbone. For Will, she repeated. Another choked breath, another terrifying burning slide, another knot.

It seemed that hours passed before her bare feet hit the ground. Rose fell to hands and knees, gasping for breath.

The sound of a clock striking two drifted on the night air.

Rose stumbled to her feet. She was shaking so hard it took three attempts to pull on her slippers. She plunged her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown, checked the rubies were still in the pocket, and ran.

He’ll still be at the lake. He’ll have waited. But panic was bubbling inside her. No, not panic. Terror. Terror that Will would think she’d changed her mind. Terror that he’d leave without her.

Rose ran frantically through the moonlit woods, scrambling and stumbling, pushing herself up when she fell. Her throat burned, her lungs burned, her rib cage burned—and still she ran. Finally she burst out of the trees. The lake was the color of silver.

She halted, gulping air. Where was Will? Panic rose in a silent scream inside her.

At the water’s edge, a figure leaned over the rowboat. Pale hair glinted in the moonlight.

“Will!” She ran towards him.

Will met her halfway, catching her in his arms.

Rose clung to him, shaking, sobbing. He waited. He didn’t leave me.

“It’s all right, love,” Will said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Don’t be afraid.”

“It’s not that.” She tried to speak past her tears. “Boyle locked me in my room. I had to climb out the window. I thought you’d be gone before I got here.” Her voice broke on the last word and she was crying properly, gulping and choking.

Will hugged her to him, a fierce, rib-squeezing embrace. “I’ll never leave you, Rose. Never. That’s a promise.”

Rose inhaled a shuddering breath. She wanted to cling to Will forever, to bury herself in his warmth, his strength. She made herself draw back from him.

Will pressed another kiss into her hair and released her. “I brought clothes for you. They’re on the steps. You can dress while I take out the rowboat.”

Rose scrubbed her face with one sleeve and followed him to the lakeshore. She took the rubies and banknote from her pocket, then threw the dressing gown and slippers into the little boat.

Will stripped off his clothes.

“Don’t go too far out,” Rose said anxiously. “Be careful.”

“I won’t drown.” Will stroked his knuckles down her cheek, tilted up her chin, kissed her. “Don’t worry.”

She kissed him back hungrily, sliding her arms around his waist, pressing close. The heat of his skin burned through the linen nightgown.

After a moment Will groaned and stepped back. “We can’t, Rose. Not now.”

Rose swallowed her disappointment. “No.”

Will clambered into the rowboat. “I won’t be long.”

Rose nodded, but instead of going to the folly and changing, she stayed on the pebbly lakeshore, hugging herself, watching the rowboat grow smaller, listening to the splash of the oars become fainter.

Clouds drifted across the moon. She could no longer see the boat, no longer hear anything. Her tension grew as the minutes slid past. How well could Will swim? She crept forward until water lapped around her ankles, straining to hear, to see.

The moon reappeared, casting pale light, showing a swimmer in the water. Rose released the breath she’d been holding. There he is.

Will was shivering when he emerged from the lake. His hair was plastered to his skull. It gleamed pearl-white in the moonlight.

“You need to get dry!” Rose hurried to his pile of clothes. “Did you bring a towel?”

“No.”

Rose stripped off her nightgown. “Use this.”

Will dried himself. He looked like a Norse god in the moonlight, his muscles flexing beneath skin the color of burnished silver.

“How do you feel?” she asked anxiously. “Still cold?”

“I’m fine.” Will laid his fingertips lightly on her cheek. “Don’t worry about me.” He picked up his clothes. “Come, let’s dress. We’ve a long way to go tonight.”

Rose followed him to the folly, clutching the rubies and the banknote. The night breeze was cool on her bare skin. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve two horses tethered on the other side of the woods,” Will said as he climbed the steps. The marble gleamed whitely. “We’ll ride to Burdock’s Hatch. Twenty miles. Can you do it?”

“Of course.”

A small pile of clothes lay under the colonnade. “These are yours. Countess Malmstoke vanishes tonight. You’re a farmer’s wife for the next few days. I’ve a cartload of carrots waiting at Burdock’s Hatch.”

“Carrots?” Rose uttered an involuntary laugh. She put the banknote down and piled the rubies carefully on top of it. “Are we taking carrots all the way to Falmouth?”

“Just to Wiltshire. Then we’ll become more respectable and travel by post-chaise.” Will tossed aside the damp nightgown, laid down his clothes, and pulled her into an embrace. “It was the carrots that made me late, Rose. I’m sorry. I hope you weren’t too worried?”

She slid her arms around him. His skin was cool. “I knew you’d come back.”

Will bent his head and kissed her.

Rose kissed him back. Fierce hunger blossomed inside her. She pressed closer to Will, rocking against him. After the waiting, the worrying, the terror of the night, they were together again, and she needed more than a mere kiss.

Perhaps Will felt it, too, for his hands stroked down her back, sliding over her buttocks, caressing lightly, pulling her even closer.

Rose rocked against him again. Heat licked in her veins when Will’s body responded. His answering arousal pressed against her belly—but he dragged his mouth from hers and stepped back. “Rose, we can’t. We need to be in Burdock’s Hatch by dawn.”

“Please, Will.” She hesitated, and then reached shyly for him, touching his organ with light fingertips.

His breath caught in his throat. “Rose—”

“I want you inside me.” But it was more than mere want; it was need—something primitive and urgent and almost desperate, something Rose didn’t understand, merely felt. She stroked Will’s organ, running her fingers daringly along the shaft. “Please.”

Will expelled a shuddering breath, holding himself utterly still. “It’ll have to be quick, Rose.” His voice was hoarse.

Satisfaction bloomed inside her, sharp and hot, exultant. She released Will’s organ and pulled his head down and gave him a fierce kiss. “Quick’s fine.”

Will kissed her back hungrily, his hands reaching for her again. “Hold on to me,” he said, lifting her.

Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist—but instead of carrying her inside the folly, Will turned, so that her back pressed against one of the cool marble pillars. His fingers slid inside her briefly, and then she felt the hard heat of his organ, insistent, pressing for admission.

“Will—” Pleasure surged through her, choking her voice, as he slid deep inside her.

Their coupling was fast, fierce, almost animal. Will set an urgent rhythm that caught her and tossed her up, as if she rode the crest of a tidal wave. He’s here. He’s safe. He’s mine. Rose’s climax came sharply. She bit his shoulder to keep from crying out. A moment later, Will shuddered and groaned, his arms tightening around her, his muscles straining.

The tension and urgency drained from him. His arms became gentle, cradling her. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

Rose kissed his shoulder, where she’d bitten him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Will whispered.

They helped each other to dress. The garments were simple, the cloth coarse, but Rose loved the feel of them against her skin. This is the new me. No longer a countess.

Rose tucked the rubies and banknote into her pocket and tied the apron around her waist. She placed the mobcap on her head and looked around. Night surrounded them, shadows and moonlight and silence. In a few hours the sun would rise. A new day would begin. And our lives will start afresh.

Her damp nightgown lay on the topmost step. Rose picked it up. “Where did you sell the necklace?”

“In London. A shop called Theed and Pickett.” Will grunted a laugh. “Oh, God, Rose. I thought they were going to have me arrested for theft! Instead, they offered me fourteen hundred guineas. Fourteen hundred.”

“Is that enough to buy a farm?” Rose asked, folding the nightgown.

“It’s enough for a dozen farms.”

“I only want one. With you.”

Will met her gaze. His eyes were dark in the moonlight. “Rose . . .” He cleared his throat. “I bought you something in London.”

He felt in his pocket, and then reached out and took her left hand. Cool metal slid onto her ring finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Will’s words were low and quiet—and they held weight. As much weight as if they’d been spoken in a church.

Tears stung Rose’s eyes. “Will . . .”

“This is forever, Rose Cobb.”

Joy blossomed inside her. “Yes.” She threw her arms around Will, burying her face in his chest, holding him as tightly as she could. “It’s forever.”