A Night to Surrender

Her brow fell to his shoulder. He could tell from the helpless whimpers of pleasure rising from her throat, she was close to the edge. He was already dangling over the edge, clinging to it by his gritted teeth. Pleasure buzzed up and down his spine, desperate for an outlet.



Hold out, he told himself. Just a minute more.



He needed to feel her body convulse around him, hear the cries she made when the pleasure hit. His pleasure would be meaningless without hers.



Knowing full well it would shred the last remnants of his control, he arched his hips for deeper penetration and quickened his thrusts. Her breath came hot and fast against his ear. Her nails bit into the soft flesh of his nape, and her breasts galloped against his chest. He was losing his battle for restraint, careening full-speed toward what was sure to be the most devastating pleasure of his life.



“Love, I can’t hold back.”



“Stay,” she said. “Stay with me.”



“Come,” he forced through gritted teeth. “Come with me.”



They stayed together, and they came together. Bucking, gasping, clutching each other tight. With the first tight, delicious pulse of her climax, she pulled him straight over the edge into bliss. Somehow her mouth found his, and they swallowed each other’s cries of passion. Bram thought he would burst from his skin with elation. The blinding pleasure of his climax was only eclipsed by the fierce joy of filling her with his seed.



She was his now, forever. And he was hers, body and soul.



They were one.



“Stay,” she murmured, slumping forward and pressing her damp brow to his chin. “Stay with me.”



His heart squeezed. He wouldn’t desert her, ever. But he had orders now, and she needed to get away from this place. “Come,” he said. “Come with me.”



She made a sound of incredulity.



“I’m perfectly serious. It’s not exactly a pleasure cruise, but I have guaranteed passage to the Continent next week. Come with me. As my wife.”



Her brow creased. “But . . . I thought you believed women don’t belong on campaign.”



He forced down the instinctive surge of worry. “Most don’t. But you’re stronger than most. You know how to look out for yourself. We’ll sail from Portsmouth, and the captain can marry us on board. We’ll honeymoon in Portugal.” He skipped a light touch up her spine, tangled his fingers in her hair. “It’s beautiful there, Susanna. Vineyards and olive trees. An ocean so warm and blue. Groves of citrus, overburdened with fruit. Imagine, wading ankle-deep in lemons and oranges. The scent haunts you for days.” He nuzzled her neck. “We’ll let a villa by the sea. We’ll make love on sandy beaches.”



“I was thinking it might be nice to make love in a bed, just the once.”



“I’ll buy you the finest bed you ever imagined. Heaped with mattresses three feet thick. Sheets of silk and the softest down pillows.”



“It sounds lovely, but . . .”



“But nothing. Just say yes.”



She lifted herself off his flagging erection and resettled on his lap. Her lip folded under her teeth, and her eyes were downcast. Maybe he was pushing her too hard, too fast. He took his time refastening his breeches, giving her a moment to contemplate.



“I know this day has been devastating for you. You’re feeling confused, overwhelmed, betrayed. But I’m here to tell you, there’s only one decision you need to make right now. And that’s to trust me. Trust me to look after your happiness, Susanna. I swear, I will not let you down.”



“I do trust you. I’d trust you with my life. But think of the village, Bram. All the young ladies.”



He caught her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Think of you. Brilliant, beautiful, remarkable you. You do great things here in Spindle Cove, but I know you’re capable of far more. Let me show you the world, Susanna. More than that, let me show the world you. Don’t let fear hold you back.”



“I can’t help but feel a little scared. You’re asking me to leave behind everything and everyone I know, and you haven’t even said . . .” She went silent.



Ah. So that was the problem. She was waiting to hear his feelings. He should have guessed as much. Hadn’t labeling those emotions always been the sticking point with her?



At that moment, the air trembled with the force of a distant explosion. With a surprised cry, she huddled into the protection of his coat. Overhead, the sky burst into sparkling trails of gold.



She stared up in wonder. “Am I hallucinating, or are those fireworks?”



He swore with amusement. “Those can only be Colin’s doing.”



Another whistling rocket soared into the air, exploding into silver sparks. Bram’s heart lit up like a Roman candle. This was just like the first time they’d met. She was in his arms, so soft and warm. The perfect place to land. And she trusted him to keep and protect her, while the world exploded around them.



He turned her face to his. Her pupils sparkled, mirroring the fireworks overhead. But even those glittering reflections couldn’t outshine the emotion in her eyes.



Ridiculous, how damned nervous he felt. He was a big, strong man. All she asked of him were three tiny syllables. But somehow, it seemed easier to order his life around the sentiment than voice it aloud. What if he said the words, and they still weren’t enough?



He wet his lips and steeled his nerve. “Susanna fair. I . . . God, how I—”



Boom.



His words were stolen by a fresh explosion—a louder, earthbound, bone-jarring blast.



After that, all they heard were screams.



Twenty-six



“Oh Lord.” Susanna’s heart stalled. “What’s happened?”



There was so much noise, and she couldn’t make sense of any of it. A loud ringing filled her ears. Her blood thundered in her chest. Frantic voices rose in indecipherable cries. Horses whinnied. The soles of her shoes slapped the packed-dirt lane.



She was running. When had she started running?



Bram paced her, loping at her side. His hand settled at the base of her spine, steadying her. Pushing her onward. They rounded the corner and joined the throng of people rushing toward the carriage house and stables.



There was blood. A great deal of it. She smelled it even before she glimpsed the spatter of red on the straw-covered ground. The pungent odor worked as a helpful antidote to the encroaching panic. She could not lose her head. Someone was wounded, and she had work to do.



“Who’s injured?” she asked, elbowing a wailing Sally out of the way and pushing her way through the stable door. “What’s happened here?”



“It’s Finn.” Lord Payne was there, pulling her through the crush of bodies, into an empty stall lit by a hanging carriage lamp. “He’s been hurt.”



To say Finn Bright had been hurt was rather an understatement. The boy’s left leg was a raw, ragged horror below the knee. His foot, or what remained of it, dangled at a grotesque angle. White slivers of bone gleamed from the open wound.



Susanna knelt beside the boy. From the sickly pallor of his face, she could tell he’d already lost a great deal of blood. “We need to stop the bleeding, immediately.”



Bram said, “We need a tourniquet. A girth or billet from the tack room will serve.”



“In the meantime . . .” Susanna turned to Lord Payne. “Give me your cravat.”



He complied, loosening the knot of his neck cloth with trembling, jerky motions and sliding the length of fabric loose. Susanna reached for it and wound it about Finn’s calf just below the knee, pulling with all her might to cinch it.



That accomplished, she turned her attention to the boy. His breathing was shallow, and his gaze unfocused. The poor youth was going into shock.



“Finn,” she said in a loud, clear voice, “can you hear me?”



He nodded. His teeth chattered as he whispered, “Yes, Miss Finch.”



“I’m here.” She put a hand to his cheek and tried to meet his gaze. “We’re all here. We’re going to have you put to rights just as soon as we can.”



Aaron Dawes crouched at her side. “I’m readying a cart. We’ll have to take him to the smithy for bonesetting.”



She nodded her agreement. While Susanna dispensed salves and tinctures to the villagers, anything that required brute force—the setting of bones, the pulling of teeth, and so forth—all fell to Dawes, as the village blacksmith. Although, from the looks of Finn’s wound, she wasn’t at all sure this injury could be set. There was a very good possibility he would lose the foot entirely.



Assuming he lived.



She smoothed hair from Finn’s sweaty brow. “Are you in a great deal of pain?”



“N-n-no,” he said, shivering. “Just cold.”



That wasn’t a good sign.



Bram knew it, too. He handed her a buckled strap of strong, cured leather. As she wound the strap around Finn’s leg, he found a horse blanket and draped it over the boy’s torso.



“There now,” he murmured. “Be strong, Finn.”



Bram took the strap from Susanna’s grip and yanked it tight, securing it much better than she could have done herself. Obviously, battle had given him a great deal more experience with wounds of this nature than with attacks of asthma. The blood loss instantly decreased.



Rufus knelt at his brother’s head. Susanna could tell he was struggling to hold back tears. “Will he be all right, Miss Finch?”



“He’ll be fine,” she said, trying to convince herself. “But how did this happen?”



Lord Payne shook his head in dismay. “The fireworks. I meant them to be a surprise for tomorrow, but . . .” He turned his head to spit a violent curse. “Seems I can’t touch a damned thing without ruining it. I was distracted, and the boys got it into their heads to test a few.”



“But fireworks could not have caused a blast that strong. Could they?”



“No,” he said. “That was the cannon.”



“The cannon?” Dread sank like a stone to the bottom of her gut.



“After the fireworks, they coaxed Sir Lewis into a demonstration. The thing backfired.”



Oh Lord.



“Where’s my father?” Releasing Finn, she struggled to gain her feet. She stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to view the group. “Papa?”



The men bustled about, preparing a cart to transport Finn to the smithy. Susanna forced her way through the crush of bodies. She found her father in the courtyard, picking through the cannon’s wreckage.



“Damnation,” he said in an anguished voice. “How did this happen?”



“Papa, don’t!” She grabbed his arm just as he reached for a brass fragment. Leaning back with all her might, she tugged him away from the scene. “You’ll burn yourself. You shouldn’t be near this at all, with so much explosive still about.”



Just then, a wafting spark landed in an open crate of fireworks, setting the packing straw alight and sending a rocket shooting sideways.



“Look out!” she cried, pushing her father to the ground and diving after him. She tripped and landed awkwardly, bouncing on her side. A half-buried rock crunched into her rib cage.



Ignoring her smarting ribs, she crawled to her father’s side. “Are you well, Papa? Is your heart paining you?”



“How could it not?” Struggling up on an elbow, he lifted a handkerchief to his face, wiping away a mixture of tears and sweat. “What senseless destruction.”



“It was an accident, Papa.” One that should have never happened.



“I don’t know what went wrong,” he muttered. “Too much powder? A flaw in the casting? I was so certain this time.”



“You’ve been certain several times before.”



“Oh God,” he moaned. “Such a tragedy. My beautiful cannon.”