Probably since the first moment he saw her.
And he no longer had the strength to resist. He edged closer, his arm circling her waist as he tugged her flush to his body. She made a tiny sound of surprise and relief, but it was lost as he lowered his lips and finally claimed hers.
He hadn’t planned for the kiss, but when he knew it would happen he had thought he would be gentle. A brief brush of lips and then release her. But that didn’t happen. The moment their mouths met, it was chaos. Every hunger he’d ever felt, every need he’d ever suppressed came rushing to the surface and turned him into an animal who had finally conquered his prey.
He glided his tongue along the crease of her lips. She opened with another soft sound of pleasure, pulling him closer as her arms came around his neck.
There was nothing gentle about the way he claimed her, nothing sweet or careful. He devoured her, taking everything she offered, taking more and more as he tried to find the limit.
But she didn’t request a limit. She met him stroke for stroke, timid at first, but then passionate as she tangled her tongue with his, as she lifted into him with a natural movement that spoke of passions she had been told never to feel. But of course Anne would feel them anyway. She was too independent to listen to anything but her own heart and mind.
Right now those things were steering her toward him. They were deepening the kiss. They were mewling out cries into his mouth that he swallowed as if they could sustain him like food or water. The fact that she had the same lack of control as he did only made things worse. He pushed at her, backing her toward the wall behind her, pressing her there as he dragged his mouth down her jaw, to her throat. He sucked and she slammed her hips against him with a shuddering cry that seemed to flutter through her body.
She tugged at him, and then she whispered, “Rook.”
He froze. Rook. His name from the street. He was from the street, and he didn’t belong in her chamber or her mouth or her bed or her body. He didn’t belong. She only welcomed him in out of fear and upheaval and a need to find something solid to cling to.
She was compromised by the trauma of the past few weeks. He couldn’t be so low as to take advantage of that any more than he had.
He pushed back, running a hand through his hair as he turned away. “Fuck.”
She was silent for what felt like an eternity, and then she said it again. “Rook?”
He faced her slowly, trying to regain control. Trying not to let that animal take over again. The one that would lift her nightgown and make her come until she was weak and then put her in that bed and rut with her for as long as she would allow him that pleasure.
He would not listen to the worst part of him, the one that didn’t care if he became her greatest regret.
“I’m going to take my cold bath,” he panted. “And then I’m going to sleep on the settee.”
Her lips parted. “Wh-why?”
He closed his eyes at the question. At the need laced in that simple word. “Because if I don’t, I will do more than just kiss you, Anne. And that is a terrible idea. Please go to bed.”
She stared at him a beat, and he thought she might refuse his request. He thought she might take what he wouldn’t offer and he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to refuse that a second time.
But then she nodded. “Very well.”
She turned away and got into the bed, sliding beneath the covers and turning her back to him. He shook his head and went behind the screen to undress and bathe.
And his hard cock and regrets were his only company as he did so.
Chapter 9
After lying awake half the night, painfully aware of Rook on the settee so close beside her, Anne had been certain she would never sleep. But she must have, for she woke the next morning to the sound of heavy rain pelting the glass windows. She stared up at the cracked ceiling above her, girding her strength before she lifted her head and peeked toward the settee.
Rook was gone.
She supposed she should have been relieved. After all, what had happened last night…The Kiss—she had to refer to it as The Kiss because it wasn’t just a kiss—had haunted her mind ever since. It had been a foolish thing to allow. A wrong thing. A thing that proved she was somehow unfit, somehow broken when it came to her desires…
But God, she wanted more. The moment his mouth had claimed hers, all she’d wanted to do was find a way to get closer to him. All she’d wanted to do was explore those wicked things she’d read in the book she’d found in her father’s study months ago.
She’d wanted his hands on her and his tongue on her and his body joined with hers, wherever and however she could get it. Caution and reason and prudence had fled whatever tiny corner they occupied in her mind, and she’d been left with throbbing, pounding, wicked need pulsing through her blood.
And then he’d rejected her.
She frowned as she got up and shook out the dress she’d laid out for herself last night. Slowly, she put herself together, gown and hair, and pinched her cheeks as she looked at her pale, drawn face in the cracked mirror.
She’d felt the passion of his touch last night. But he’d been fully able to break away from her. He was capable where she was not.
She shook her head as she took another look around the room. His things were still stacked neatly on the settee by the low fire. It looked uncomfortable, and she supposed she could take some small, cold comfort in that. At least he probably hadn’t slept well either. She sighed as she left her small bag next to his things and made her way downstairs to look for him.
As she exited the chamber, she caught a whiff of delicious breakfast scents. She followed the bacon-and-bread aura down into the dining hall at the bottom of the stairs. When she entered the room, she stopped.
Rook was there, seated by the window where rain streaked down. He was reading the paper, a plate of food half-eaten before him.
She drew a deep breath, trying to control the rapid increase of her heart, and approached with a wavering smile. “Good morning.”
He glanced up at her and for a moment, his stare was only possessive heat that curled its way into her belly and made her legs shake and clench. Then he darted his gaze away and nodded. “Good morning.”
She sat without waiting for his leave and smiled as the barmaid across the room waved to indicate she’d seen her enter. Rook carefully folded the paper and she noted that the date on the item was over a week old.
“Like to read the old news?” she asked with what she hoped was a light smile.
He didn’t return it, but sipped what appeared to be black coffee. “This paper only arrived today. It always takes these things a while to get out here, but with the weather and the state of the roads…”
He trailed off and she winced. “I assume that means our own journey will also be slowed.”
He nodded once, his mouth tightening. “I asked about the stage this morning and it sounds as if it may hold back today and not go until tomorrow, if even then. They fear the wheels being stuck in the muddy roads.”
She caught her breath. That meant at least one more day on the road once they got started at all. One more day away from her family and the forgiveness she’d be forced to seek when she saw them again.
One more night in this inn and the room that felt so small whenever Rook was in it.
It felt like an eternity. But he showed no reaction and smiled up at the barmaid who set a plate in front of Anne and poured her tea before bobbing away, whistling a little tune like the world wasn’t falling apart around her.
He truly wasn’t affected by the kiss. That was evident. Yet he had driven it, claiming her lips with abandon and then stepping away just when she was ready to surrender. Why? Why, if he didn’t even want her?
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked, then clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t actually meant to voice the question out loud, the answer might be too humiliating.
He choked on his coffee, coughing into his napkin as h
e stared at her with watering eyes. She shook her head. At least she had moved him to some kind of reaction.
When he’d regained his breath, he glanced around the room, as if someone might have heard her.
She shrugged. “They all think we’re married anyway, Rook. But we’re…we’re not.”
He drew a long breath and fiddled with the lip of his cup with the tip of his finger. It was an oddly mesmerizing motion. Then he said, “I kissed you because you’re stunning. And I’ve spent almost every moment since the first one I saw you wishing to do just that. Any pot left on the fire long enough will boil.”
She gaped at him. Every moment since the first he’d seen her? She’d had no idea. She’d honestly thought he didn’t feel much of anything for her, especially in the early days of her arrival on his island when she’d hidden. He’d done nothing to press his case.
Even when she’d seen the fleeting desire in his eyes, even when she’d caught him…pleasuring himself…she’d believed that was general need, not specifically about her. And yet Rook claimed, quietly and calmly, that he desired her. That he had been unable to resist when he took what he’d denied himself.
Her blood quickened with the unexpected confession.
“Oh,” she managed to squeak out.
He lifted his brows. “Oh?”
She shook her head and dropped her gaze. She couldn’t look at him when she said, “I-I just thought the desire was only on my side. A deficit of my character and mine alone.”
“A deficit of character? What does that mean?” he asked.
She still didn’t look at him, she couldn’t bear to, but stared at her clenched fingers that trembled in her lap. “I was engaged to one man, I convinced myself to run off with another, and now here I am with a third man and wanting…wanting what I do not even know how to describe, let alone ask for. You must think ill of me, you do not have to hide it. Anyone would.”
He was silent for what felt like a very long time. Then he cleared his throat. “There may be many things I feel which I hide from you, Anne,” he said softly. “But none of them are ill, I assure you.”
She did glance at him then and saw that he had leaned forward and was staring at her intently. His gaze held hers for a moment, a long, charged moment. Then he shook his head and pushed back from the table.
“But we can only want, not act,” he said. “That’s all we can do.” He stood. “I’ll check again on our options. I think carrying on the road would be our best option if there is any way to do it.”
She watched him stride away, longing for the very thing she chastised herself for, that he denied her. Then she shook her head as the air left her body in a shuddering sigh.
“You’re a lucky one.”
Anne looked up as the barmaid took Rook’s plate with a smile for her. “Lucky?” she repeated weakly.
“To be married to a man who looks at you like that one does,” the girl explained. “I see a lot of folk come through these doors. Not many as handsome as him. Or as besotted.”
She walked away, leaving Anne to rest her elbows on the table edge and her head in her hands. Besotted Rook was definitely not. It was she who had the complicated, unstoppable feelings. And the longer they stayed together, the harder she knew it would become to deny them.
* * *
Rook walked down the muddy street, tugging his hat brim low across his forehead and hunching his shoulders against the unrelenting rain. He was cold and miserable and only half of that had to do with the weather.
The other half? Well, that was all about the lack of options he had when it came to getting Anne home, or at least to Gretna Green where he could assure her safe passage more easily. The coach was held up and the driver was talking about staying a third night to let the roads dry up even if the rain stopped soon.
The mail coach wasn’t expected for another two days either, and Rook couldn’t afford its higher fee. Perhaps if he sent Anne on alone, but after watching her be ogled by Talon the previous day, he wasn’t about to set her free into a world of danger.
There were no other options, not with the amount of blunt in his pocket, which had to be budgeted for rooms and board, as well. He was stuck. They’d spend another night in the bed at the inn together. And tonight he might not be able to stop himself when temptation stepped around the screen in her thin nightrail.
If he touched her again…
But no, he couldn’t think of that. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, but it wasn’t right. Wasn’t right to picture her up in that tiny room even now. Wasn’t right to fantasize about joining her.
He shook his head as he rounded the last corner toward the inn. The stable for the carriages and horses was full thanks to the weather, and as he moved to pass it, the sound of a familiar feminine voice caught his attention. He pivoted and found Anne standing beneath the awning, speaking to the horsemaster, an earnest expression on her face.
He moved toward her in time to hear her declare, “Thank you for your help, sir. You do not know what it means.”
“A pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Maitland.”
A flutter of emotion came over her face at the name, but she merely nodded and shook the man’s hand before she turned and nearly ran headlong into Rook. Her face lit up as she stared up at him, and his heart stuttered against his will.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She smiled. “Come inside, it’s too dreadful to discuss in the rain. You can warm up and I can explain everything.”
He thought to argue, but she was right about the weather, so he followed her back into the inn, divesting himself of his dripping greatcoat and hat. The steamy main room was buzzing with activity as the trapped guests had their afternoon tea and gossiped with each other in a merry cacophony of sound and smells and sights.
She caught his hand unexpectedly and drew him toward the stairs. “Why don’t we talk in our chamber?”
She had gone up two steps when she said it and he stopped, bringing her up short, as well. She turned back, her eyes bright as she stared down at him. They were almost equal height now, she only an inch higher thanks to the stairs. He stared into green eyes and felt the test of her suggestion in every inch of his aching body.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he murmured.
There was an emotion that flashed over her face. Pain. Rejection. Then she smiled. “It would be better to have privacy for what we need to talk over. Please.”
It was the please that did him in. He nodded and followed her the rest of the way to the room. The bed had been made and the place tidied, he thought probably by Anne since the coverlet was slightly cockeyed. He smiled despite the pressure of being alone with her and shut the door behind himself before he moved to the fire to warm up.
“What did you need privacy to discuss, Anne?” he asked. “And what were you doing at the stable?”
She clapped her hands together. “I have found a solution to our problem.”
He cocked his head. “A solution to our traveling problem?” He doubted it, but he shrugged. “What is that?”
“I bought two horses.”
He had been angled away from her at the fire, but now he pivoted in shock. “What?”
She smiled. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, Rook. Any carriage we could hire, whether the stage or the mail coach or even if we could afford something private, the problem will remain the same. Muddy roads, ruts that break axels…and company like the very unpleasant Mr. Talon. It’s too slow and too dependent on others. And it occurred to me that we could buy horses, and then we would be dependent only on their needs and our own for rest and recovery. They’ll handle the mud better. And once the roads become dry, they could make the trip fast as a dream.”
He had stared at her in silence as she declared the utter truth of the situation without explaining herself in the slightest. He stepped toward her. “Horses are expensive,” he said. “And I wonder how in the world you paid for them.”
He flinched. He knew several ways to trade for what she had arranged. God, was she so desperate she would give away the thing he had sought last night in this very room?
“Tell me,” he said, lower, firmer as he caught her arm and turned her back into him. Touching her was torture, as was the way she lifted her face toward his. He saw the tremble of her lower lip, the dewy glaze of tears in those startling green eyes.
“I simply traded something I didn’t need.”
“Anne!” he burst out. “I cannot let you do something like that. To trade your body is of no little consequence. And you cannot imagine—”
She jolted back from him and ripped her arm away. “Trade my body? No!” She shook her head as she stared at him in shock. “I-I wouldn’t even know how to go about doing such a thing. Certainly I can imagine the circumstances where a lady might be ready to give that little thing that is so valued by society, but I didn’t make that kind of arrangement, I assure you.”
Relief flowed through him like a raging river and he sank into the settee to stare up at her. “Then what did you trade?”
Her finger moved up to her neck and he watched her fingers flutter around the bare spot there. He wrinkled his brow. She’d had a necklace before, a little cross with emeralds that matched her eyes.
“Anne,” he breathed as he rose to his feet. “You didn’t.”
She shrugged and tried to make her expression bright, as it had been earlier. “The necklace was given to me by my father. My sisters have a matching one.”
“It was likely worth more than the two nags we’ll end up with from that stable,” he said. “Certainly, it is worth more in sentimental value.”
She struggled for a moment, her hands clenching at her sides, her chin lifting and trembling. Then she cleared her throat, fighting for the strength he so admired in her from the beginning. “My family is worth more. So what is the better thing, Rook? The sentimental attachment to a thing which represents them? Or returning as early as possible to beg forgiveness for the pain and fear I no doubt caused my sweet sisters?”
A Reckless Runaway Page 10