“Brand new.” Simon picked one up, liking the balance, and handed it to Jackson. “Would you be able to shoot this? I assume your experience has been with long guns rather than pistols.”
“You assume rightly, sir.” Jackson accepted the pistol reverently, feeling the balance and examining how it was made. He raised the weapon in his right hand and sighted along it. “It’s a beautiful weapon, sir. I could shoot it, but I don’t know about loading. I could likely manage, but I’d be slow.”
“My wife and I are going to take a journey south for a few days. The news about Bonaparte might make the countryside a little unsettled. Maurice will drive the coach and will have a rifle and pistol holstered by him. Would you be willing to ride in the seat beside him as the guard? I assume that you could shoot an attacker if your weapon is already loaded.”
Jackson’s eyes lit up. Working with the confidence of a professional soldier, he lifted the pistol, rested the barrel on his clumsy left wrist, then released the safety and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck with a hard click and his grip kept the barrel steady.
Looking pleased, Jackson said, “Yes, I can do that. A rifle’d be more accurate, but this will take down any bandits who get too close.”
“Could you pull a loaded shotgun from a carriage holster and fire it?”
“I think so, if the shotgun isn’t too heavy. I’d want to practice first.” He stroked the pistol that he still held. “But why are you going to so much trouble to use a cripple? Wouldn’t it be easier to hire a guard or two?”
“You’re an experienced soldier and your training and judgment are valuable. The same is true of Maurice. Also, I trust you.” His eyes glinted. “Am I wrong?”
“No, sir!” Jackson’s straight gaze was man to man. “You and your lady have given me and Jenny second chances and a better life than we could’ve dreamed of. I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” Simon smiled. “And since you believe you can use the pistols effectively, they’re yours.”
Jackson gasped. “Thank you, sir! They are . . . magnificent! I don’t know if I can do them justice.”
“If you like, I can buy you a membership in a local shooting gallery so you can practice regularly.”
Looking a little overwhelmed but grateful, Jackson said, “That would certainly be helpful, sir. ‘Tis practice and drill that makes a good soldier.”
“Let us hope these pistols never need to be fired in anger,” Simon said quietly. “But with the world turning upside down again, it is best to be prepared.”
“Aye, Colonel.” Jackson’s expression was steely. “We will be.”
Chapter 19
Napoleon might be gathering his armies to invade the rest of Europe again, but Suzanne felt warm and safe when she flowed into Simon’s arms that night. “What a day it has been! Is your head still aching?”
“Only a little.” Simon’s hand gently kneaded down Suzanne’s back. “Madame Maurice gave me some willow bark tea, which helped. I don’t think much of the taste, but honey helped.”
“Kirkland has assembled quite a competent household here, hasn’t he?”
Simon laughed. “I suspect that all of the servants have aided him in the past, and giving them a comfortable house and regular income is a kind of pension to reward them for past service. It also provides Kirkland with a listening post in the Low Countries and a place for friends and guests to stay.” Simon’s hand caressed lower. “Very efficient.”
“Mm . . .” More interested in Simon’s closeness than Kirkland’s undoubted efficiency, Suzanne rolled onto her back and caught Simon’s hand, bringing it to rest over her heart. He gave a small exhalation of contentment. She thought that tonight was a good time to expand their repertoire of touching.
She tentatively moved their joined hands up to rest on her left breast. His hand lay quietly for long moments, but she could feel the quickening of his pulse beating through her flannel nightgown. Very slowly he began massaging her breast. She forced herself to push thoughts of the past away so she could concentrate on this moment and the pleasure of his touch.
He bent his head and kissed her other breast through the soft flannel. She stiffened at the shock of sensation and he stilled. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “You can . . . continue.”
“Thank you,” he murmured in return. “Let me know the moment that you’ve had enough.” He returned to kissing her breasts, the warmth of his mouth triggering a spreading warmth downward through her body.
She concentrated on that growing pleasure as it curled sensually into her most secret core. Heat, moisture, the sensations she’d felt as a young bride when her first husband was applying all his considerable amatory skills to showing her how lucky she was to be his wife.
Sensation began crowding out all the memories of the pain and fear she’d suffered in captivity. She sank into present heat and urgency, glorying in rising passion. Refusing to doubt that she was ready, she raised her nightgown to her waist and drew Simon’s hand down to rest on the bare flesh of her belly. He sucked in his breath and she felt his fierce reaction throughout his body—and her own.
With exquisite care he slid his hand lower until his palm rested warmly over the soft triangle of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs. Delta of Venus. The poetic name swirled through her mind as her hips began involuntarily pulsing against his hand. He responded by delicately sliding his fingers between her thighs, finding heat and moist welcome.
With a rough breath, she separated her legs to give him better access. He stroked and teased and built rising flames as she throbbed against his hand. When he touched the most exquisitely sensitive spot of all, she began writhing under the sweet pressure.
With a sudden, shocking explosion, she tumbled out of control and her body was consumed with unexpected ecstasy. Her fractured emotions urged that the time had come to complete their marriage.
She tugged at his shoulders, wordlessly shifting him so that he was suspended over her. His breathing ragged, he followed her guidance, positioning himself between her legs, moving forward into her slowly, carefully. . . .
