The Steel Rogue: A Valor of Vinehill Novel Read online

“I hate being on a wooden prison floating on the water with no hope of escape. That, I hate.” A half smile lifted his cheek, his steel grey eyes sparking warmth. “But the sea, the sea itself, I love. How it undulates across the expanse. Rough and smooth. Everything twisting and crashing together. The paradox of everything it is. Your legs. You.”

  His voice dropped to the deepest rumble. “But convenient? A curiosity? Yes, you were those things.”

  A sharp intake of breath flooded her lungs.

  His fingers tightened along her neck. “And also my everything. I have been in love with you since the storm and lightning of you appeared in my cell at Newgate. Since you stood over me and told me I should rot in hell and you were glorious in your fury. When I had turned from you at the fire, you were broken and weak and were sure to die. But then you appeared over me. A rising, vengeful angel or demon, I wasn’t sure which. But it didn’t matter. I loved you from that instant. And I have never veered from that love. I haven’t been able to, no matter how much I have tried to let you be.”

  His words fell silent and it took her one breath…two…three…to understand exactly what he was saying.

  He watched her, his grey eyes intent on her face, not asking, not demanding anything from her. Only understanding.

  And she did. She understood.

  The breath seeped out of her, leaving her no words.

  He’d demanded the most vulnerable part of her and he took it, claiming it as his own, protecting it with everything he was.

  Her hands lifted slowly, trembling as she placed them on either side of his face. She pulled him down slowly to her, her lips crashing into his, the heat of his breath filling her, becoming her own.

  Lifting herself to her knees, she met him and both of their hands went into a flurry, threads tearing off buttons, fabric ripping, clothes dropping off their bodies in a storm of ferocity.

  Roe lifted her to her feet, dragging the length of her naked body long onto his as he moved to the side of the ruby red chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. He spun her away from him, then pressed himself against her back, his member setting hard into the dip of her backside. Brushing her hair to the side, his lips went down to her neck, his teeth raking along the delicate skin over her collarbone.

  “Look at your body, Tor. Look at the beauty of it. All of it. See it how I see it.” His mouth stayed on her skin as his grey eyes lifted, pinning her in the tall mirror in front of them.

  “Look, Tor, look. Watch how I touch you.”

  Her gaze tore from his, traveling downward. His left hand at her breast, cupping it, teasing the nipple, and then his fingers went inward, trailing along the shadow of the long line between her breasts that led down her body to her belly. His hand sank further, moving into the crux of her, his fingers dipping into her folds.

  A gasp, her breath stolen at the instant way her body reacted to his touch. Every time. Her chest tightening, the core of her taut in anticipation.

  He sank out of view behind her, his legs straddling the settee as he sat on the tufted red silk cushions.

  “Watch you. Watch your beautiful body.” His hands gripped her hips and he pulled her backside toward him, not stopping until her legs were outside his thighs and the swell of her buttocks curved into his chest.

  His hand slipped back into her folds, priming her. One finger, two. The wetness he pulled from her only the slightest indicator of how harsh her blood was pounding, how much she needed him inside of her. Every heartbeat sending pangs of desperation along her core.

  “Watch your body take me in.”

  Her look riveted on their bodies in the mirror, she could do nothing but follow instructions. Her legs straddled the outside of his thighs and she sank, taking his shaft slowly into her, burying him until she’d reached the hilt of him.

  A tortured groan behind her and she looked at his face over her shoulder. The harsh strain along his forehead, about his eyes, belied the calm heat of his voice.

  “Lift yourself. Watch how your legs hold you up. Give you pleasure as you ride me.”

  Her thighs strong against his, she lifted herself, sliding long and fast along his member. His grip on her hips held her balance, and she rode him, long and slow, fast and desperate.

  “Watch how strong they are. How strong you are.” His left hand moved inward, pulling the last vestiges of control from her core.

  She leaned back against him, her right arm going up over her shoulder, gripping the back of his neck. She needed the stability as her back curved, arching away from him. But her head stayed by his, the rough scruff along his chin grounding her to him.

  “Watch the cords of muscles along your belly tighten as you reach this brink.” His hand dipped down further, his fingers sliding across her nubbin, drawing her to the precipice as she drove herself down, his shaft deep within her.

  His look locked onto her, his voice a rumble that vibrated her whole body. “You can scream in here. Scream and feel it. Feel it like you never have.”

  Her lips parted, the breaths she was gasping getting louder until it was all she was left with—a strangled scream that took her air, her heart, her mind away. Her body coiled and expanded from toes to head, the waves of heaven and hell washing through her muscles.

  A scream to match hers thundered into her ears, and Roe’s mouth sank onto her shoulder, his body tightening into granite behind her. Under her. Exploding deep within her.

  Deep within her.

  Filling her like nothing ever had before.

  Right. It felt right. She had just trusted him with everything she was.

  And he had just trusted her with all of him.

  Roe lifted them both and shifted backward on the bench, then collapsed onto the scrolled angled side of the settee. Bringing her body with his, he flipped his legs long onto the bench and set the back of her full and long on the front of him, his right hand reaching up to splay wide across her belly. Holding her close to him.

  She set her palm on the back of his hand, wanting him to hold her in place just as much as he did. With the angle of their bodies, she watched the reflection of his face on a fat gilded mirror tilted downward from the wall at the crux by the ceiling. Her body lifted and dipped with each of the breaths filling his lungs.

  He played with a rogue strand of hair along her temple, twirling the dark lock of it along his finger, letting the curl fall, and then re-twisting it again and again.

  His look caught hers in the mirror, and his voice low, he sneaked up upon a request she wasn’t prepared for. “Tell me of them.”

  “Who?”

  “Your family.”

  Her gaze dropped, her look focusing on his toes hanging off the red tufted edge of the chaise.

  She knew what he was asking her.

  To open that door to the past. Open it so he could live it with her. Open it so he could feel her wounds as harshly as she did.

  She stilled, silent for seconds.

  She couldn’t.

  Just as she opened her mouth to refuse it, she clamped down on her tongue.

  Except she trusted him. Trusted him with everything she was.

  She had just felt it. Just known it.

  Now she had to honor it.

  “My mother was always singing. Always humming.” Her look lifted from his toes, meeting his gaze in the mirror high on the wall. “It’s what I remember most of them. When I would visit—she was so happy she couldn’t contain herself. She wanted so much more for me, which is why they sent me to live at Vinehill to be Sloane’s companion—to give me another family. It was because she loved me that she did it. I always knew that. She didn’t want me to suffer the worry of their life. The worry of their home being taken away in a clearing.”

  “The clearings were prevalent in the area?”

  “They were. My father was stoic on it—my brother even more so. James was only two years younger than me and he grew up knowing what he was to inherit on that land. The clearings were happening all around them. Every mon
th, another farm gone, another family displaced to the coast, to the Americas, to heaven knows where.” She turned on her side, settling the front of her body onto Roe’s, her hand splaying across his chest as her head nuzzled into his left shoulder.

  “But James was also loyal—he never thought about leaving for other things. And my father was stubborn—so very stubborn. But he adored my mother—I saw it every time I was there. Everything he did, he did for her. He would make her little bouquets of grasses. And she would always fuss over them as if he’d found roses.”

  “I remember your mother fondly—she was very good at taking in the stray dog that she thought me to be. I was always welcome, no matter what I wore or how bad I smelled. And she never asked on the blood on my clothes. She was the type of kind that you almost cannot believe in—it is so true in form. And I’d had very little of that—kindness—traveling across Scottish lands as I did in those days.”

  She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his skin. “People used to describe me as her—her kindness—I once had it in full force. It was one of the most beautiful things she gave me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “And I lost it…lost it along the way.”

  “It echoes in you, Tor. Her kindness. I see it all the time.” His left arm curled along her back, his hand settling along her hip. Warmth against her bare flesh. “The times I was there at their farm—it seemed as though they managed to find happiness under the shadow of worry?”

  “Yes, or they made whatever happiness they could. They were simple. They never wanted to be more, and even with time against them, they were happy.”

  “And what was your oldest cousin—Jacob—like?”

  Her chin curled down to her chest, her body instinctively coiling against the pain still raw in her heart. “He…he was the one I counted on the most. He wasn’t just like an older brother, he was a brother, a father to me. He was our leader, the one we looked to for everything.”

  Silent, Roe’s right hand came up, his thumb gentle onto her cheek. The simplest motion, taking pain, giving strength.

  “His…his was the one—the one death that shattered me.” Her voice hiccupped into a whisper. “One of the strongest, wisest people I’ve ever known. Fair to a fault. He always picked me up when I fell. Always there. He was the one with the brightest future, not because of what he would inherit, but because of the man he was. Honorable and handsome and kind and funny. That all of that—what he could have been—was extinguished on that day…”

  The lump in her throat welled so large, she couldn’t force air past it.

  “A travesty.” His left arm tightened around her waist, his fingers digging into her side.

  “A waste. Such a bloody waste.” She nodded, the tears falling onto his chest slick between their skin. “I was the one that needed to go to save my family—and I should have known Jacob and Sloane would never have let me go alone. Lachlan was the soldier, he was coming to help, but he was too late and I wouldn’t wait. It was my fault they were there that day. My fault Jacob died. He did it for me—went into that burning cottage for me—to drag me and Sloane out—and back in again to drag my family out. He did it for me.”

  Roe stiffened under her, then jerked slightly, his right hand going under her chin and forcing her face upward to look at him. “No, Tor, not your fault. He did it because that was the man he was. Run like hell, into hell to save those you love. Your words. And he obviously loved you, Torrie. That is not your fault. That is a man making a decision. Just like you made a decision to go after your family. He did as well. That decision was not your fault.”

  “It is what it is, Roe. Tell me you would think differently if it had been you in my shoes.”

  His chin jutted out for a long breath, his steel grey eyes storming clouds. A statement he couldn’t refute.

  He exhaled a long sigh. “The man truly responsible for it all, Molson—I understand he died long ago?”

  Torrie nodded. “Lachlan took care of him months after the fire and he had killed the other brutes there that day when he arrived to help us. Too late to save my family, but he was there in time to save Sloane and me. We would have died had he not shown.”

  “Did the vengeance of it help any of you? Sloane, Lachlan…you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I should have known then how empty vengeance was, but I didn’t. I still had so much hatred and all that fury had no target, so it all funneled onto you. Lachlan and Sloane took care of the men responsible for the clearing, so you were all that was left to hate.”

  His look centered on her. “I don’t mind it.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “I’ve been hated by a lot of people in my years, but there’s only been one that’s hated me just as much as I loved her.” He paused, his mouth pulling tight before he continued. “For her—you—I can take all the hatred in the world. My shoulders are more than that strong.”

  She grinned, poking at his right shoulder. “Especially now that your shoulder is back in place.”

  He laughed. “Especially now.”

  Her look drifted off of him, taking in the room around them. “I must admit, I thought I was above the mirrors when we first came in here.”

  “You’re not?” An impish smile came to his lips. The bugger already knew the answer.

  She laughed. “No—and I’m not even ashamed to admit to it. I like watching the muscles along your shoulders flexing as you’re holding up my weight. Your shaft thrusting up into me. Your hands strong over my breasts. My fingers deep in your hair—I like it all.”

  He groaned, burying his face into the top of her head. “Hell, my little minx. You’re making me hard again and my shoulder can’t take another round.”

  “Then you need to lie back.” She lifted herself up and crawled on top of him, her hands on his chest holding him flat to the scrolling curve of the chaise. “And you get to watch on the ceiling this time.”

  He laughed, grabbing her neck and pulling her down to him to kiss her until her breath dissolved. “I’m going to enjoy this show.”

  A wild grin came to her lips. “If I’m doing it right, then yes. Yes, you will.”

  { Chapter 15 }

  The crunching of the gravel drive under the coach they had hired to take them across the land to Berkshire faded into the night as it made its way down past the line of carriages parked along the main drive to Culland Hall.

  Blast.

  The bloody ball.

  Of course his luck would have him arriving at his brother’s Berkshire home the night of the Rising Giles Gala.

  Roe looked up at the sky. In the darkness the moon slid behind a puffy cloud, sending the white of it into an eerie yellow glow, yet he could still see his hand in front of his face. Full moon. He should have remembered.

  “You said that London wasn’t safe for either of us at the moment, but you won’t tell me why. You said that we were traveling to your brother’s home and now we arrive at this…this…this thing.”

  His gaze dropped to Torrie. Her eyes were trained on the symmetrical Georgian mansion, a glowing beacon in the night, the large white stones of its facade reflecting the torches that lined the front of the hall. Large and impressive and designed to intimidate. It’s where his brother conducted all of his London business, making associates travel to him from the city.

  “I did tell you that. And now we are here.”

  Her head swiveled to him, her eyes wide orbs reflecting the moonlight. “Then you have avoided telling me far too much, Roe. Who is your brother?” The words seeped out of her as if all air had left her body.

  “The Duke of Culland.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How—how did I not know this? The man I hired to follow you, he—”

  “He didn’t do his research, apparently. However, I have removed myself far from my brother, so his lack of investigation is forgivable.” His head tilted to the side. “Though you should give me his name so I make sure to never hire the man myself.”


  She shuffled a step backward, her hand lifting in front of her to block the manor from view. “No—no. This is a joke. You don’t know these people and by the number of carriages waiting and the slew of lit torches out here, there is obviously a grand event taking place tonight.”

  “A ball. A gala to raise funds for an orphanage, to be exact.”

  Torrie’s look darted to him, her brow furrowed. “What? How do you know that?”

  Roe’s head angled to the brightly lit windows lining the front of the main hall. “He’s my brother and he always throws the gala during the full moon at this time of year. I didn’t think on it until the carriage pulled up here and the place was lit to the hilt.”

  “But…”

  “Come.” He set his hand on the small of her back, prodding her forward. “We’ll go around to the back entrance to the ballroom. There is a tall set of stairs leading up from the garden to it, so we’ll be able to slip in. Logan likes to hover about that entrance during these things.”

  Her head shook as her feet started to move. “I know you said it, but let me repeat it. Logan is a duke? Your brother is the Duke of Culland?”

  Roe stifled a chuckle. He couldn’t fault her for her shock. He lived his life far, far away from his brother and the world he was encased in.

  “He is.”

  She nodded to herself, her look going forward, confusion still thick in her eyes.

  They rounded the southern outside corner of the hall, strolling along a herringbone-paved trail that lined the side of the building.

  Her face jerked to him. “You must think me a ninny—forgive me. It is just that I have always thought of you in one way, and then on the ship, I’ve come to think of you in a very different way. And neither of those people I thought you were had a fig to do with your brother being a duke.”

  “I think I’m still exactly who you think I am, Tor.” His right cheek pulled back in a half smile. “My existence is kept quiet—on my accord, mostly, seeing as how I was in prison for so long. I don’t want Logan’s life tainted with the mess of mine.”

  “But your life isn’t a mess, Roe. Not now. You are as far from a mess as I’ve ever known a man.”