The Strength of Baffin Read online

  “You haven’t a clue what you are asking for, Miss Crymble,” he said finally. “There is only so much that a man can take.”

  She smiled then and his eyes zoned in on the movement. “Oh, I know exactly what I need, LeMark. I’m not some scatterbrained girl who’ll confuse such matters. There has been a throbbing need between my thighs for quite some time now and I need it remedied.”

  His eyes flew to hers, reeling back as if he’d been burnt. Tethran couldn’t believe his ears. Where was the innocent miss he and Sinclair had stormed upon back in Dumbar? And who the hell was this…this blasted temptress? Who was she?

  “You know,” she continued, resting one slender elbow on the table and leaned forward, watching him. “You never told me your name.”

  “Tethran.” He couldn’t hold it back even if he tried. Not when she was staring so wickedly at him.

  “Tethran,” she echoed, slowly smacking her lips as if she was tasting the word. “Tethran LeMark. It suits you. Jolin.”

  “Mm?” He was too focused on controlling his physical urges to comprehend a word she was saying.

  “My name is Jolin. Thought you’d like to know before we indulged in our intimate activities.”

  Okay, that woke him up. Tethran scowled. When had he agreed to-- Shoving his chair back, he grabbed Miss Crymble by the arm and dragged her across the room towards the wooden staircase. Through the corner of his eye, he saw the tavern owner, Mr. Smythe, shaking his head knowingly at him and Mrs. Smythe grinning like a dolt.

  He didn’t stop until he had shoved the door open to their room, tossed her inside and slammed it behind them. Miss Crymble was breathing hard, her gaze even more inviting than ever. Shit.

  “Have you lost your senses?” he barked, annoyed both at her and the pain in his loins. Tethran didn’t need to look down to know that his cock was now straining heavily against his fly.

  “Possibly,” she admitted. “But what a glorious thing that is.” She glanced at his evident erection, blushed and then looked him straight in the eye. “To lose one’s senses, I mean.”

  Tethran ran a hand straight through his hair, his heart pounding with need in his ears. He had to divert this woman, no matter how it pained him to do so. Miss Crymble was clearly suffering from some form of-- Well, he didn’t have a damn clue what she was suffering from but it must be something life-threatening for her to be acting this way. A woman of such…beauty, such innocence and promise did not…could not want a man like him.

  And he must do whatever it takes to ensure that she did not make the stupidest mistake of her life. Her father… Yes, he must confess that he’d never meant to let her go off on her search. That would turn all that…desire to bed him into anger. Drawing in a deep breath, Tethran opened his mouth to speak when a knock, two hard pounds, came on the door. He almost shouted ‘hallelujah’, turned from Miss Crymble and opened it.

  Sinclair shoved inside, breathing heavily. He stole a glance between the two of them and then grabbed Tethran by the shoulders.

  “I saw her. I just saw her. In a carriage. With him by her side.”

  Tethran gave his head a shake, un-confusing his rattled mind. “Josephine? Where?”

  His friend swallowed, an incredulous grin on his face. “She looks better than ever, LeMark. But that’s not the best part.”

  “What?”

  “She looked at me.” Sinclair shook his head and laughed. “She looked at me. I know she recognized me, LeMark. Even if it was only for a second, I know it.”

  “What on earth is going on?” came Miss Crymble’s voice quite belatedly. “And who, in God’s name, is Josephine?”

  * * *

  Jolin scowled at the two men a full two seconds before shooting LeMark a more crippling glare. Idiot man. Didn’t he see that she was attracted to him. Goodness, she must have really lost her senses for behaving like such a wanton fool. And worse yet, a wanton fool who had just been refused. If she’d had something solid and sharp, preferably metallic in nature, she’d throw it at his damn head.

  Composing herself, she tapped her foot against the floor and folded her arms. “So? Aren’t either of you going to explain to me who this ‘Josephine’ person is and why it was so important that she looked at you.” She angled her gaze on Sinclair who still had a stupid grin on his face.

  LeMark straightened but Sinclair stepped forward. “Miss Crymble, I suggest you take a seat.”

  Take a seat? Jolin huffed. “I’m quite comfortable standing on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

  Sinclair shot a glance at his sulking friend and then gave a curt nod. “Miss Crymble… My sister, Josephine, was apparently abducted twenty years ago and, though I’ve been searching for her ever since, I could not find her. I’d long given up hope and thought her dead but some time ago, I saw her. Grown and definitely Josephine. She’s currently a bought woman within the house of a man called Suth McCall. I intend to get her back.”

  Jolin felt her mouth drop open. Abducted. Josephine. His sister. Bought woman. Get her back. She raised a trembling hand to her temple and reached blindly for the chair, sinking down into it. These men had…hearts. They actually had…feelings. She glanced up at LeMark who was staring her down, his eyes intense. Sinclair frowned, his hazel eyes…pleading?

  “That’s why you came to Iqa City…” She murmured, putting two and two together. Here she’d thought that were just passing through; her own intentions to locate her father, a bonus adventure. “To find her.”

  Sinclair nodded and moved forward, planting one knee on the floor before her. “We…I need your help, Miss Crymble.”

  Jolin flinched. Her? “Me? How could I possibly help you? Even I know aiding in such a situation is far beyond my forte.”

  “Some doxies will be going to the castle in two nights time,” LeMark said, crossing his buff arms. “We’ll be going with them. And we want you to come.”

  Doxies? Of all the-- Wait a minute. Jolin squinted, her mind churning to gather all the possibilities of such a scenario. Then it hit her. Instead of releasing the scorching anger that was welling up inside her body, a boisterous laughter escaped her lips. She was somewhat shocked by it but that didn’t matter at the moment. She was too busy testing if her ears were suddenly failing her.

  “You’ve clearly had too much whiskey, m’dear,” she muttered, her brows clamped tightly together. “I wouldn’t have a clue how to pull that off. Unless I were to speak to one of these doxies, of course.”

  Sinclair’s breath hitched as if he was deliberately holding it in and LeMark’s jaw dropped an inch before he stalked over to her, hands gripping each of the chair’s armrests, his eyes murderous.

  “Miss Crymble, you are mad!” he thundered. “You were supposed to bolt out of your chair, stomp your foot, burst out one of your lady-like profanities and then curse us both to hell. You were supposed to be blazing angry, not actually considering this abominable scheme!”

  Jolin frowned up at him, taking in the sudden disarray of his beautiful hair, the tenseness in his muscles, the galloping pulse at the base of his throat. Her heart fluttered as she returned his gaze. This…wall of a man cared about her well being. Yes, she could see it in his eyes. Concern carefully hidden behind blistering rage. But he cared. Though any man would be angry about thrusting a woman into such a scandalous and, no doubt, highly dangerous plot, Jolin sensed that this was no ordinary concern.

  “Well, why would I do such a thing?” she said finally, attempting to rise from her seat but LeMark did not even budge. She sighed. “I find myself quite sympathetic with Sinclair and his sister’s situation. If I can help, I will. I’m a woman too and would like someone to do the same if it were me.”

  She heard Sinclair’s breath of relief, absorbed his grateful smile as he slowly quit the room. Jolin braced herself for what was coming next, eyeing the man before her anxiously, knowing full well he was ready to explode. But LeMark only shoved away and shot her a dark look.

  “Try not to ge
t yourself killed,” he spat before storming out.

  THIRTEEN

  Tethran felt his nostrils flare, heat prickling against his neck as he watched Sinclair hand up Miss Crymble into the black coach, her lovely rounded backside snugly fit in tight leather trousers. From where he stood, leaning against a post beneath the harsh lamplight, he could make out the soft curve of her naked back and her red décolletage cut so low, her creamy breasts were almost spilling right out of it. Tightening his fists, he shoved off the post and started into a walk. He wanted to curse, he wanted to rant. He wanted to lodge his boot so deep inside Sinclair’s ass, the man’s impoverished ancestors were likely to feel it.

  “I’ll give you the opportunity to pummel me once this is all over and done with,” Sinclair said as he advanced on him. “But a man will always do that which is necessary for the well being his sister.”

  Tethran’s teeth gritted and he shoved him hard in the chest, their faces coming only inches apart. “Miss Crymble is sheltered and naive. You took advantage and you bloody well know it.”

  Sinclair shrugged, having the audacity to look guilty. “I’m not in the position to refuse her help.”

  “You’d better hope that not even a hair on her head goes missing,” he growled, pinning his friend with his most ruthless glare. “Or else a pummelling isn’t what you’ll be worried about. I’ll make sure to give you a fine taste of my blade you’d soon never forget.”

  Sinclair’s brows rose with smug mockery, though his eyes sparked with anger. “You know better than to threaten me.”

  Tethran shoved a finger in his chest. “And you know better than to test my fucking patience.”

  The two stared each other down for a few more blistering moments until Miss Crymble’s head appeared in the carriage door, brows furrowed with disapproval. Tethran dragged his gaze from Sinclair and glared at her instead. Yes, let her feel just how angry he was about the damn situation. Perhaps then, she’d come to her bloody senses.

  “Do come sit with me, LeMark,” she called. “A word with you, please.”

  Cursing below his breath, he glanced behind him as two more coaches transporting the doxies pulled pass them and started along the road which led directly to the castle. When he entered the coach, it immediately rolled to a steady start, Miss Crymble watching him from across the dimly lit space. He could hardly make her out, except for the silver reticule clutched in her hand and those oh-so sparkling eyes. Thank God for small favours, for he didn’t at all wish to endure the entire journey staring at her supple breasts. He swallowed and gazed through the window.

  He heard her chuckle and his head snapped back to scowl at her. “And what, Miss Crymble, might you find so damnable amusing?”

  “Oh?”

  She answered with coyness. Bloody, stinking coyness. Tethran had no patience for coyness at the moment. But he could find it within himself to toss her over his shoulder, jump out of the wretched carriage and probably lock her away somewhere far from Iqa until she managed to recover her wits. Yes, he definitely had the patience for that.

  “I’d advise you not to mock me, madam. I’m man enough to paddle my hand across your stubborn hide.”

  “If I can recall, LeMark, you’ve been threatening to do just that since we first met.”

  His eyes strained to make out her face clearly, his fingers itching at the challenge in her voice. She had some nerve, testing him like that. He wondered if she really stopped to think about how dangerous a man he actually was. “Something tells me it’s not just your hide that you’d like my hands to be on.”

  Miss Crymble gasped. Served her right.

  He surged on. “Have you gone completely insane? To agree to such madness?”

  She sputtered. “I-I thought you’d be grateful. Isn’t Sinclair your friend?”

  “That hardly matters. You’re a lady. Not some common trollop. I demand you change your mind this instant.”

  “You demand?” Miss Crymble lurched forward, her entire face now coming into view. Her eyes were like twin bombs exploding in the darkness. That, and the effect the sight of her delicious bosom was currently inflicting upon him. “You are not my father, Tethran LeMark. And you have no authority whatsoever over me. Let me remind you that I am entirely of age and can do as I please.”

  He advanced on her, grabbing her arms with a pinching grip. “Your father is a fool to have left you alone! Better yet, he should have shackled you off to a husband years ago. What you need is a man to cool that tongue and knock some sense into that cloudy head of yours.”

  That speech earned him a hard slap across the face, so hard his head twisted sideways. The smack of her hand echoed throughout the interior of the coach, her offended breath puffing in his face.

  “How…how dare you!” she huffed, jabbing a finger beneath his nose. “How dare you liken me to a scatterbrain dimwit!”

  Tethran resisted the temptation to nurse his stinging jaw. Miss Crymble not only proved to have a stubborn streak that would surely lead her down the road of destruction but she also had bloody gumption. If she were a man, he would have grabbed that finger, twisted it all the way back and snapped it like a twig.

  Swallowing tightly, he dragged his eyes away and stared back through the window, clamping his mouth shut. He would not say another word to her this evening. She’d see at the castle exactly what he was trying to protect her from and, God help her, he only hoped she’d survive it. Shifting in his seat, Tethran felt his knees brush hers and he straightened instantly, keeping his gaze firmly averted. He wouldn’t dare look at her.

  For a moment, he found himself thinking about that night the guv had approached him to rid Mr. Wulf--her father--from the earth. He should have left for the outskirts the day before. He should have turned down the job. If he had, he would have been far from here by now. Sinclair would not have found him, and he and Miss Crymble would never have crossed paths. He’d already be enjoying his peace and solitude.

  But for some reason, Tethran could not bring himself to regret it at all.

  * * *

  Jolin blinked fiercely, ignoring LeMark’s furious glares as she absorbed Sinclair’s description of his sister. She doubted Josephine would be hard to find as she’d not seen any redheads since entering the city. Well, except for that…immodest barmaid back at the tavern. Lord have mercy. She should not be thinking about that right now. The last thing she needed was to be distracted by the feelings Tethran LeMark was invoking within her. Besides, she was not in an entirely good mood and she refused to even give him the satisfaction of invading her thoughts. Dragging in a shaky breath, she nodded at whatever else Sinclair was saying and smoothed trembling hands over her thighs.

  Her trousers-clad thighs. Darn it, why was she suddenly feeling nervous now that they’d arrived at the alderman’s gates? Her heart was currently doing a dozen back-flips a second in her chest and her stomach felt queasy. Swallowing tightly, she saw LeMark shot her an odd glance, and she forced a tight smile. She most definitely would not give him the gratification of seeing her cower, especially after he’d given her the opportunity to change her mind. But her dratted pride had made her hard-headed and she would undoubtedly look like a fool were she to back out now.

  Besides, Sinclair was relying on her and though she hadn’t known either of them for long, she believed in the sorrow she’d witnessed in his eyes. Call it stupidity or blatant naivete, but she believed. Furthermore, if that horrendous scene back in the town’s square was anything to go by, she couldn’t stomach what would happen to Josephine if she were ever to commit the slightest of offences. Jolin released another breath. She would enter the alderman’s castle. She would try her best to locate Josephine. She would not cower.

  At that very moment, the breeze kicked up and a flutter of cold night air skittered over her bare back and she shivered. Drat it!

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Sinclair asked, his hand steadying her.

  “I-I’m fine.” She darted a glance at LeMark who
was still watching her, arms folded across his powerful chest.

  Sinclair followed her gaze. “Don’t mind him. His bark is a whole lot worse than his bite.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that? I haven’t forgotten what you two do for a living, you know. What you are.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you don’t. At least that will give you the assurance that we won’t allow anything happen to you in there.” He jabbed a thumb behind him, towards the large overbearing iron gates and the stone structure that stood beyond it. “But don’t let LeMark scare you. The man is merely struggling with his newfound feelings.”

  Jolin scoffed but did not reply.

  “Come.” He guided her towards the gates, LeMark following closely behind. “Rafira would like a word.”

  “Rafira?”

  He nodded. “She’s the one who told me of the party tonight, and also provided your--er…your costume. She’ll be watching out for you this evening. She’s been paid well.”