Thread: Au-delà du Temps: Beyond Time (LeatrixSage x SacrlettRose)

The Marquess of Wessex wished he could say that one simply became accustomed to being shot. However, that was far from the case. At least the jeering pain in his side was not too shocking as he knew what to expect. It was hardly the first time he'd been shot but of course there was always the very real possibility that it maybe the last. Moment's of strife like these always seemed to hurl time forward pretty fast. One moment he was engaged in a fight for survival with a fiend and the next he was atop his steed in the cold silent dead of night. Of course, it wasn't silent for too long. Roarke had the faint realisation of Adelaide hurtling out of the carriage as it rolled to a stop. The ringing from the shot was still vibrating in his ears as he tried to tell the blasted woman to stop being so damned hysterical and that he was perfectly fine. He should have known better as his complaints fell of deaf ears and the next thing he knew his men were man handling him off Pooka and into the damned carriage. Wessex gritted his teeth against the sharp pain as he was shifted. Slumped in a corner, bleeding all over the fine upholstery he watched out the window as his fiery captive took command of the situation. She was becoming an utter enigma to him. He had caught the conversation between her and their attacker and it left him bewildered. It anything, Roarke suspected she would have taken the first shot at escape with her people however, the absolute opposite was the case . . . It was puzzling to say the least and made the Marquess rethink upon her story. Yet, there was still something . . . not quite right with Mademoiselle Aedler. Despite the Marquess' trepidation in regards to his errant detainee as soon as she stepped back into the carriage and despite his injury he found his mood turning playful. Especially to put her at ease when he witnessed her face drain and her hands shake slightly at the sight of his wound. Clearly, she was a woman not used to such a devastating sight which again made him wonder about whether she truly was who he thought she was . . . I know how very disappointed you were when I was not riding with you. Roarke teased through the pain, observing her every move as she undid her dark splendours locks, letting them cascade down the arch of her back to tearing off her coat, lifting his clothing and pressed it against his wound nursing him. I thought I'd indulge you in the joys now. His deep blue gaze never left her face in the lamp light as he stretched his long legs across the space in front. What the devil was he to do with such an enticing creature . . . However he was to proceed, Roarke was certain it was to be away from the audience of his servants. Plus, there was the fact that they were running on a tight schedule that they were already falling behind on thanks to the intrusion of their visitor. Peering out the window once more, Roarke bid his men to come over. You two, ride on ahead. The Marquess instructed the two young strapping footmen. On the steeds. Tell my friends to have the boat ready for our arrival. I want no delays. Oui mon Seigneur. They bowed and went off to do their master's bidding while Roarke told the carriage driver to press forward. Thus the carriage lurched forward in the lifting dark of the night. The Open windows admitting a much needed cool breeze to his damp skin. When Adelaide spoke again Roarke found himself laughing merrily and instantly regretting it, once more gritting against the pain in his side. Though the grin did not leave his lips. He looked drained and almost boy like in the features of his face as he swiped her hand away with the cloth that was pressed against his oozing wound to examine the aftermath. I fear my sweet, I must disappoint you. As much as you need any excuse to see me disrobed I cannot oblige you. Roarke grinned wider as he relaxed back in the cushioned carriage seats. I am in no danger, see. Taking her hand by the wrist, ever so slowly, even seductively in manner one might say, finger by finger he pulled off her blood soaked glove and then brushed her silky soft fingertips across the small round wound to his side and then slowly back around, trailing against his skin to the round wound on the parallel side of his back. Out. The bullet had gone straight throw. Any immediate danger had been averted for the time being, though the bleeding was still prevalent it had slowed considerably but Wessex could hardly think of that when her skin against his was scorching fire wherever she touched. His breath had quickened and his gaze had narrowed on the object of his desire. Wounded or not, the Marquee was very capable at this very moment of sating his appetite. Had he ever laid eyes on such a perfect creature in his entire life? He was certain he had not. Wessex's long fingers abruptly coiled in Addie's long dark locks, pulling her forward so her pretty face was but a breath from his. Glowering into the pools of her eyes. The sudden memory of the pistol pointed through the window of the carriage prompting the Marquess to tight his grip in the mass of her midnight hair. In the future, if someone asks you where I am you tell them you stupid woman. In the next moment his lips were tasting hers. Urgent. Deep. Demanding. Consuming her very soul. Pulling his captive onto his lap. The pain at his side far to dim to over power this moment of pent up need for this fairy. This creature of myth. His hand still tangled in her mane while the other hand travelled the course of her curves. Roarke groaned against her lips. The thought of some harm coming to her was something he could not tolerate for some unknown reason that the Marquess could not fathom. Harm due to him or her own stupidity, trying to protect him, though he still could not figure out why she of all people would do that. It hardly mattered at this very moment when he had her slight frame in his arms. She was safe now with him and that was all that mattered. His tongue demanded entrance pushing until he got what he wanted. Tasting her, running along that sharp silver tongue that could cut him in half if he riled her up enough. Roarke could not get enough her. Yet, without warning, he pushed her off his lap, breaking their untamed embrace. There. I'm sure that's more comfortable for you. He said, having loosened her corset while they had kissed. He was infamous in fact for having the talent of unlacing lady's corsets without removing their dresses. Before pointing to the seats across, he instructed her to lift them where she would find bandages to wrap him up and other assortments of important items. Amongst them being those parchment's taken from Monsieur Murat's home and a box tied with pink silk ribbons with a note attached that read For Pippa, the prettiest girl in all of England. He wanted to ravage her. Wanted to take her right now. Right this moment. Still . . . something held him back. And this was a first for Roarke. Never had be taken a step back with any woman he pursued but then again . . . Adelaide Aedler was hardly any woman and technically he wasn't pursuing her per-se . . . But oh how he wanted her . . . This was going to be the damned longest journey of his life! Dawn was just breaking over the horizon as sleepy Calais came into view and with in the Channel that would take him home at long last. He could almost see in his mind's eye the white cliffs of Dover. The welcoming sign of his homeland . . . You'll earn your keep Mademoiselle Aedler. Last edited Aug 4, 2018