The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(64)
“Let me go.” She winced, glancing down at her arm. “Girard and O’Malley always handle the inn whenever I go to Talland. I’m sure they have everythin’ in hand, and there’s naught to worry about.” But she knew the lie was clearly that.
“Never underestimate your enemy.” John released her reluctantly. He checked on Nicholas one last time and then, walked through the stable doors without a backward glance.
Oriana surveyed the stable’s interior, her nerves on edge. This was her home, her inn. Why should she be afraid?
But she was. Terrified for the men she adored—Nicholas, Girard, O’Malley, and John—her heartbeat thrashed in her ears as the walls of the stable closed in and dizziness blackened her eyes.
She shook her head to clear it. “Nay.” She raced after John. “I’m comin’ with ye.”
“Very well,” John reluctantly agreed as he took her hand. He walked her to the side of the stable and, keeping close to the building, peered at the inn. “Is there another entrance?”
“Aye. Girard and O’Malley added a side door that leads to the hale, in case I ever came into trouble.” She’d fought against the renovation to her parlor at first, thinking it was ridiculous, but the more she’d pondered Charles, the gold, and Eliza’s belongings—things he’d coveted for so long—she’d grown to appreciate the carpenters’ foresight.
“Well done,” John said under his breath, as if talking to the two men and not to her. He glanced from the Roost’s entrance to the tavern door. “Show me the way.”
“Come.” She reached out her hand, clasping his as she darted out from the side of the stable.
Together, they ran across the courtyard to a hedge. The sea thundered close by, reminding Oriana that the sudden drop-off would propel her to her death if she didn’t take care to follow the path exactly as Girard and O’Malley had taught her.
Grasping the inn’s exterior stone wall behind her, Oriana led John along the perilous path. “’Tis difficult to access, which is why the whole idea is ingenious.”
“How much farther?” he asked, his fingers tightening around hers.
“Not far. But we must be very careful, lest we plummet to our deaths.”
Bramble caught her skirts, tearing at the hem. Panic clawed at her throat, and she bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. “Oh, I’m wearin’ the wrong gown for this.”
“I will buy you more gowns.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity of such a statement, but instead, she focused on absorbing his staid calmness and cool demeanor, and allowing it to help settle her nerves.
“I owe Girard and O’Malley a debt of thanks,” he added. “For going to great lengths to protect you from your brother.”
His velvet-edged words fed her the courage she needed to proceed. Inch by inch, Oriana shifted her feet, scooting to the right and leading the way to the hidden door with her clasping, searching fingers. She wedged herself into a narrow channel, just large enough for a body to fit through. “Shh. We’re here. From this moment on, we must be very quiet so that no one will hear us.”
“Aye.” John’s low, composed voice seeped into her as he stepped toward the breach.
Oriana prayed with all her might that John’s large frame would fit through the entrance. To her amazement and satisfaction, he did. Now they stood side by side in the garden, behind a massive hydrangea bush. No matter which way the wind blew, Girard said, the flowers’ overpowering scent and the plant’s size would mask any sign of their presence. She prayed it was so.
“There’s a door here,” she whispered. “All I have to do is find the latch.”
“Can you reach it?” he asked, his breath hot against her skin.
She closed her eyes, her fingers fumbling along the stone wall, as she tried to remember Girard’s instructions. Her hand brushed against something rough and cold—an iron latch. Angling her hand, she pushed inward on the panel until it gave beneath her fingers.
“We’re in.” She bit the inside of her cheek as she eased toward the opening. What was waiting for them inside? Their footsteps shuffled along the stone floor, echoing in the darkness as she turned around and reached for John. “Watch your step.”
He slipped in behind her, quiet as a mouse. “Lead the way.”
Dark and musty, the interior moaned as wind whirred through the entrance, and she blindly sought another lever that would seal them in. Once she located it, she pressed the device inward and held her breath as the door slowly encased them in a darkness as black as pitch.
“Follow me,” she said, worrying her bottom lip as she trudged forward. This had seemed so much easier with O’Malley leading the way.
“Wait.” John turned her in his arms. His hands sought her face, and like a bee drawn to nectar, he pressed his lips against hers.
His kiss was passionate as his velvet tongue slipped between her lips and into her mouth. The luxurious rippling sensation flowed down to her nipples, hardening them instantly, wickedly. Blood pulsed loudly in her ears, and an insistent need began to throb farther down between her legs. Surrounded by danger and sorrow, Oriana gave herself over to the darkness, John’s touch, and his kiss, desiring all the more to again experience the pinnacle he’d driven her to the night before.