"Argh…" This time, Eve's exclamation was whispered in wonder and not in annoyance. The blue eyes staring up into Adam's were heavy with passion.
Eve knew somewhere deep inside that she should stop this foolishness, but then his fingers teased that perfect place between her thighs, and the tingling there grew to a fierce, overweening need that eclipsed all else. He began a fiery stroking. At last, he touched a spot that had her muscles clenching. It was surprising, delicious, and made her yearn to know all love's many splendors. After all, she was twenty-seven years old.
"I adore you," Adam gasped, his breathing heavy as he slid two fingers into her. She was tight and wet. The pearl of her passion was plump and juicy with need, yet another treasure for him to plunder. He needed her. He wanted her with an intensity that bordered on madness.
"Feel how much I desire you," he moaned, releasing himself from his trousers, his face dark with desperation. "I think I shall die if I don't have you right now."
My, my, Eve thought in stunned amusement. From what she could see, her husband was walking proof of Dr. Sigmund's theory of envy. And he wanted to share that magnificent specimen with her! She shivered—whether in anticipation or appreciation, she wasn't sure.
He had just begun the lengthy entrance when outside the carriage a loud shout was heard, and the galloping of horse hooves pounded the earth. "Halt that carriage or I'll shoot!" came a voice.
Adam's muscles bunched, and his face became a study in pain. The shout had caused him to halt his advance. With a ruthless gleam in his eye, he raised his head, and Eve tried to sit up, saying urgently, "It's a highwayman; I need to hide my jewels."
Glancing down at where they were half-joined, Adam winced and licked his lips. "That's what I thought I was doing," he muttered. His passion was overwhelming, and yet they could be in danger. He must protect Eve at all costs, even his own desire. Sighing, he added, "I suppose a different cache is in order." Once again, his seduction had been sabotaged. What rotten luck.
"I can't believe I don't have a pistol with me," Eve said. "But I don't!" Their carriage was slowing, and it hit a rut, knocking her head back against the cushions.
"What kind of pirate's daughter are you, no pistol?" Adam's expression was beyond grim. He ached with need and unfulfilled lust.
"A reinvented one," was her firm answer, and she stuck her pert little nose in the air.
Again a shout sounded outside the carriage. This time the robber's voice was much nearer, and recognizable. "Stop, ye bloody English. I know ye are carrying the king's gold. Ye think to fool me by traveling in disguise, but you shan't or my name isn't Napoleon Bonaparte. I'll have yer gold for me army. Charge!"
Startled, Eve managed to partially lift herself so that she could see through the carriage window. Despite the darkness of the night, there was enough of a moon to illuminate a horse and rider. The rider was perhaps four feet behind the carriage, and there were two men following him at a small distance.
Her expression filled with steely determination. "Bloody hell! That's Major Gallant playing highwayman! Where's his bloody keeper?"
Glancing over Eve's head, Adam retorted, "I do believe that's him 'galloping' up. He's as slow a top as that nag of his." He reached out a long arm and knocked on the carriage roof. "Don't stop, James. We'll haul in the loonies later. Much later—maybe never." The last was said with heartfelt disgust.
Glancing back outside, he noted that the third rider was sitting sidesaddle, without a stitch of clothing on—although the nude cuckoo was wearing his Hessians. "Oh, dear. I believe I see Jack the Rip riding along as well. What's next—Lady Godiva?"
"Is Jack dressed?"
"Is the moon pink?" Adam replied, lowering his head from the window and leaning it back against the seat. He shut his eyes tightly, his mouth a slash.
Taking one look at his agitated expression and general disarray, Eve glanced down at herself. The picture she presented was not a dignified one. Half sprawled across the crimson seat like the veriest wanton, she noted that her gown was bunched around her waist. She had one shoe off, and Adam's huge erection was bobbing at her like a Frenchman's salute. She shook her head in disbelief. A week ago she would never have been caught dead in such a compromising position, but here she was. Her giggles turned into heartfelt laughter, her husky voice filling the carriage with her mirth.
Adam's eyes popped open. Eve's eyes were dancing on his erection. "Well, this is a new experience. Women have swooned when I've revealed the family jewels. Some have dropped to their knees in adoration. But I don't recall a single one being struck with hilarity."
Eve couldn't help herself; his words made her laugh harder. Major Gallant's antics had drawn her back to her senses just in time, keeping her and Adam's Bonaparte. She pulled up her gown and began to fix the bodice. She knew better than to make love to Adam. She wasn't married to him, even if she felt as though she were.
Another shout outside the carriage door drew Adam's attention. In a black mood, he stuck his head out and yelled, "Get the bloody hell away from this coach, or I swear I'll stop and tear you up with my bare hands."
All shouting stopped, along with the sound of horses in hot pursuit. Eve continued to chuckle, half sitting and half reclining, her back shoved into the corner of the carriage.
Adam moved swiftly, placing both his hands on either side and trapping her between them. Growling low in his throat, he lowered his head to kiss her again—which she gently but firmly rebuffed. Placing her hands on his chest she shook her head, her curls bouncing.
"I don't think it would behoove me to take this lying down—or sitting up. Most especially since we are but a mile from the Towers."
Knowing the game was lost, Adam sighed. He would accept defeat for now, though not for long. Growling, he fervently wished that he could clip Jack's prickers and rip that would-be Napoleon a new Trafalgar. What infernally lousy timing! But then, the real Bonaparte had been known to spike a cannon or two himself.
The moment was fraught with sexual tension and unrequited desire, and he inhaled audibly, deciding humor in this instance would get him farther than petulance. Reluctantly he pushed himself back and plopped down on the opposite seat. "If your sensibilities are too proper to try it in a carriage, perhaps we could adjourn to your bed—or that nice Persian rug before the fireplace in your study?"
She still had a grin on her face, but said, "Don't think to end on top of this situation. I've come to my senses." Yes, she longed to broaden her horizons, but she didn't want her waist broadening with an illegitimate child. He had introduced to her the spicy taste of passion—a taste she would not forget anytime soon—but a full meal was a long way off.
"Come to your senses? Oh, no, my dear, you've surely lost them," he replied, wincing as he shifted and sat back against the seat. His trousers were definitely too tight. "Do you know, I believe I will shoot Major Gallant when we get back to the nuthouse. I've always disliked the French, and you can't trust a man who hides his hand. I mean, where's he been sticking it? And what can I say about Jack? He'd better be nimble; he'd better be quick—or else he'll get a nasty stick. Right up the backside," he added ineloquently.
Running a hand through his hair, he gazed at his wife with focused intent while she righted her clothing. His heart rate was beginning to slow, and his erection was now at half-mast. "Do you know, Eve, I have a reputation to consider. I don't like this one bit. If we don't relieve this sexual tension between us, soon I'll be howling like a mad dog. They'll think I'm one of your patients! Perhaps I'll join the major and Jack and take to the highways."