So close.
Later, he would not remember the climb up the gangplank or the journey from the deck to his cabin. He would, however, never forget what he found inside.
The door swung open, and he entered, gasping at the sight that greeted him.
“Ah, there you are,” purred the unctuous voice of a stranger.
Pausing on the threshold, Colin stared at the tall, thin man who held a knife to his valet’s throat. One of Cartland’s lackeys or perhaps one working for the French.
Regardless, he was caught.
His valet stared at him with wide horrified eyes above a cravat tied around his mouth as a gag. Bound to a chair, the servant was visibly trembling, and the acrid smell of urine betrayed just how frightened he was.
“What do you want?” Colin asked, holding both hands up to display his willingness to cooperate.
“You are to come with me.”
His heart sank. Amelia. In his mind, she was retreating. Fading.
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Excellent.”
Before he could blink, the man moved, shoving his valet’s head back and slitting his throat.
“No!” Colin lunged forward, but it was too late. “Dear God, why?” he cried, his eyes stung by frustrated, hopeless tears.
“Why not?” the man retorted, shrugging. His eyes were small and pale blue, like ice. Swarthy skin and late-night bristle on his jaw made him look dirty, although his simple garments appeared to be clean. “After you.”
Colin stumbled back out the cabin door, inwardly certain that he would die this night. The deep sadness he felt was not due so much to the loss of his life, such as it was. It was mourning for the life he had dreamt of sharing with Amelia.
His hands were shaking as he gripped the railings that supported the stairs leading back up to the deck. A sickening thud and low groan behind him made him jump and turn too quickly. He tripped and landed on his arse on the second-to-bottom step.
There at his feet lay his captor, facedown with a rapidly swelling lump protruding from the back of his head.
Colin’s gaze lifted from the prone body and found the man who had fought with Cartland in the courtyard earlier. He was short of stature and stocky, his body heavily muscled and clothed in nondescript attire of various shades of gray. The man’s features were blunt, his dark eyes wizened and jaded.
“You saved my life,” the man said. “I owed you.”
“Who are you?” Colin asked.
“Jacques.”
Just the one name, no more than that.
“Thank you, Jacques. How did you find me?”
“I followed this man.” He kicked at the fallen body with the tip of his boot. “It is not safe for you to remain in France, monsieur.”
“I know.”
The man bowed. “If you have something of value, I would suggest you offer it to the captain as enticement to set sail immediately. I will manage the bodies.”
Colin heaved out a weary breath, fighting the flickering hope inside him. The chances of him actually making it to English soil were negligible.
“Go,” Jacques urged.
“I will help you.” He pushed heavily to his feet. “Then you should disembark before you are associated with me.”
“Too late for that,” the Frenchman said, his gaze direct. “I will remain with you until you are settled and this matter of my master’s death is resolved.”
“Why?” Colin asked simply, too weary to argue.
“Arrange our departure now,” Jacques said. “We will have plenty of time to talk on the journey.”
Unbelievably, within the hour they were out to sea. But the Colin Mitchell who stood at the mist-covered bow was not the same one who had shared a farewell dinner with Quinn.
This Colin had a price on his head, and the cost to pay it could be his life.
Chapter 4
The fence was directly ahead. After making certain that the guard was still far enough away to miss seeing her, Amelia hurried toward it. She did not see the man hidden on the other side of a large tree. When a steely arm caught her and a large hand covered her mouth, she was terrified, her scream smothered by a warm palm.
“Hush,” Colin whispered, his hard body pinning hers to the trunk.
Her heart racing in her chest, Amelia beat at him with her fists, furious that he had given her such a fright.
“Stop it,” he ordered, pulling her away from the tree to shake her, his dark eyes boring into hers. “I’m sorry I scared you, but you left me no choice. You won’t see me, won’t talk to me—”
She ceased struggling when he pulled her into a tight embrace, the powerful length of his frame completely unfamiliar to her.
“I’m removing my hand. Hold your tongue or you’ll bring the guards over here. ”
He released her, backing away from her quickly as if she were malodorous or something else similarly unpleasant. As for her, she immediately missed the scent of horses and the hard-working male that clung to Colin.
Dappled sunlight kissed his black hair and handsome features. She hated that her stomach knotted at the sight and her heart hurt anew until it throbbed in her chest. Dressed in an oatmeal-colored sweater and brown breeches, he was all male. Dangerously so.
“I want to tell you I’m sorry. ” His voice was hoarse and gravelly.
She glared.
He exhaled harshly and ran both hands through his hair. “She doesn’t mean anything. ”
Amelia realized then that he was not apologizing for scaring the wits from her. “How lovely, ” she said, unable to hide her bitterness. “I am so relieved to hear that what broke my heart meant nothing to you. ”
He winced and held out his work-roughened hands. “Amelia. You don’t understand. You’re too young, too sheltered.”
“Yes, well, you found someone older and less sheltered to understand you. ” She walked past him. “I found someone older who understands me. We are all happy, so—”
“What?”
His low, ominous tone startled her, and she cried out when he caught her roughly. “Who?” His face was so tight, she was frightened again. “That boy by the stream? Benny?”
“Why do you care?” she threw at him. “You have her.”
“Is that why you’re dressed this way?” His heated gaze swept up and down her body. “Is that why you wear your hair up now? For him?”
Considering the occasion worthy of it, she had worn one of her prettiest dresses, a deep blue confection sprinkled with tiny embroidered red flowers. “Yes! He doesn’t see me as a child. ”
“Because he is one! Have you kissed him? Has he touched you?”
“He is only a year younger than you. ” Her chin lifted. “And he is an earl. A gentleman. He would not be caught behind a store making love to a girl. ”
“It wasn’t making love,” Colin said furiously, holding her by the upper arms.
“It appeared that way to me. ”
“Because you don’t know any better.” His fingers kneaded into her skin restlessly, as if he couldn’t bear to touch her, but couldn’t bear not to either.
“And I suppose you do?”
His jaw clenched in answer to her scorn.
Oh, that hurt! To know there was someone out there whom he loved. Her Colin.
“Why are we talking about this?” She attempted to wrench free, but to no avail. He held fast. She needed distance from him. She could not breathe when he touched her, could barely think. Only pain and deep sorrow penetrated her overwhelmed senses. “I forgot about you, Colin. I stayed out of your way. Why must you bother me again?”
He thrust one hand into the hair at her nape, pulling her closer. His chest labored against hers, doing odd things to her breasts, making them swell and ache. She ceased struggling, worried about how her body would react if she continued.
“I saw your face, ” he said gruffly. “I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you. ”
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked
rapidly, determined to keep them from falling.
“Amelia. ” He pressed his cheek to hers, his voice carrying an aching note. “Don’t cry. I can’t bear it. ”
“Release me, then. And keep your distance.” She swallowed hard. “Better yet, perhaps you could find a more prestigious position elsewhere. You are a hard worker—”
His other arm banded her waist. “You would send me away?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her hands fisted in his sweater. “Yes, I would. ” Anything to avoid seeing him with another girl.
He nuzzled hard against her. “An earl . . . It must be Lord Ware. Damn him. ”
“He is nice to me. He talks to me, smiles when he sees me. Today, he is going to give me my first kiss. And I’m—”
“No!” Colin pulled back, his irises swallowed by dilated pupils leaving deep black pools of torment. “He may have all the things that I never will, including you. But by God, he won’t take that from me. ”
“What—?”
He took her mouth, stunning her so that she couldn’t move. Amelia could not understand what was happening, why he was acting this way, why he would approach her now, on this day, and kiss her as if he were starved for the taste of her.
His head twisted, his lips fitting more fully over hers, his thumbs pressing gently into the hinges of her jaw and urging her mouth to open. She shivered violently, awash in heated longing, afraid she was dreaming or had otherwise lost her mind. Her mouth opened, and a whimper escaped as his tongue, soft like wet velvet, slipped inside.
Frightened, she stopped breathing. Then he murmured to her, her darling Colin, his fingertips brushing across her cheekbones in a soothing caress.
“Let me, ” he whispered. “Trust me. ”
Amelia lifted to her toes, surging into him, her hands sliding into his silken locks. Unschooled, she could only follow his lead, allowing him to eat at her mouth gently, her tongue tentatively touching his.
He moaned, a sound filled with hunger and need, his hands cupping the back of her head and angling her better. The connection became deeper, her response more fervent. Tingles swept across her skin in a wave of goose bumps. In the pit of her stomach a sense of urgency grew, of recklessness and flaring hope.
One of his hands slipped, caressing the length of her back before cupping her buttock and urging her up and into his body. As she felt the hard ridge of his arousal, a deep ache blossomed low inside her.
“Amelia . . . sweet. ” His lips drifted across her damp face, kissing away her tears. “We shouldn’t be doing this. ”
But he kept kissing her and kissing her and rolling his hips into her.
“I love you,” she gasped. “I’ve loved you so long—”
He cut her off with his lips over hers, his passion escalating, his hands roaming all over her back and arms. When she couldn’t breathe, she tore her lips away.
“Tell me you love me,” she begged, her chest heaving. “You must. Oh, God, Colin . . .” She rubbed her tear-streaked face into his. “You’ve been so cruel, so mean. ”
“I can’t have you. You shouldn’t want me. We can’t—”
Colin thrust away from her with a vicious curse. “You are too young for me to touch you like this. No. Don’t say anything else, Amelia. I am a servant. I will always be a servant, and you will always be a viscount’s daughter. ”
Her arms wrapped around her middle, her entire body quaking as if she were cold instead of blistering hot. Her skin felt too tight, her lips swollen and throbbing. “But you do love me, don’t you?” she asked, her small voice shaky despite her efforts to be strong.
“Don’t ask me that. ”
“Can you not grant me at least that much? If I cannot have you anyway, if you will never be mine, can’t you at least tell me that your heart belongs to me?”
He groaned. “I thought it was best if you hated me. ” His head tilted up to the sky with his eyes squeezed shut. “I had hoped that if you did, I would stop dreaming.”
“Dreaming of what?” She tossed aside caution and approached him, her fingers slipping beneath his sweater to touch the hard ridges of his abdomen.
He caught her wrist and glared down at her. “Don’t touch me. ”
“Are they like my dreams?” she queried softly. “Where you kiss me as you did a moment ago and tell me you love me more than anything in the world?”
“No,” he growled. “They are not sweet and romantic and girlish. They are a man’s dreams, Amelia. ”
“Such as what you were doing to that girl?” Her lower lip quivered, and she bit down on it to hide the betraying movement. Her mind flooded with the painful memories, adding to the turmoil wrought by the unfamiliar cravings of her body and the pleading demands of her heart. “Do you dream about her, too?”
Colin caught her wrist again. “Never.”
He kissed her, lighter in pressure and urgency than before, but no less passionately. Soft as a butterfly’s wings, his lips brushed back and forth across hers, his tongue dipping inside, then retreating. It was a reverent kiss, and her lonely heart soaked it up like the desert floor soaked rain.
Cupping her face in his hands, he breathed, “This is making love, Amelia. ”
“Tell me you don’t kiss her like this. ” She cried softly, her nails digging into his back through his sweater.
“I don’t kiss anyone. I never have. ” His forehead pressed against hers. “Only you. It’s only ever been you. ”
Amelia jerked awake with a violent start, her heart racing with the remnants of adolescent passion and yearning. Tossing back the covers, she sat up, allowing the chilly night air to seep through her thin night rail to her perspiration-damp skin. She lifted shaking fingertips to her lips, pressing hard against the swollen curves in an effort to stem their tingling.
The dream had been so vivid. She imagined that she could still taste Colin, a heady exotic flavor that she craved to this day. It had been years since she’d been plagued with such recollections. She’d thought they were fading, that perhaps she might be healing. Finally.
Why now? Was it because she had agreed to proceed with the wedding? Was Colin’s memory rearing up and demanding that the love of her life not be set aside?
Amelia closed her eyes and saw a white mask above shamelessly sensual lips.
Montoya.
His kiss had made her tingle as well. From head to toe and everywhere in between.
She had to find him. She would find him.
“What does he say?”
Colin refolded the missive carefully and tucked it into a drawer of his desk. He looked at Jacques. “He believes Cartland is leading a group of men here in England.”
“He will not want to bring you back alive.” Jacques walked over to the window and brushed the sheer panel aside to look down at the front drive.
The town house they occupied was a rental in fine shape. It was a short distance from the city, near enough to be convenient, but far enough away to ensure that no one would find them noteworthy. The distance also allowed them to ascertain if they were being followed or not, which Colin had been just a few nights past. The night he had danced with and kissed Amelia.
“It is good that you stay indoors during the day,” Jacques said, turning back to face him again. “You are being hunted on all sides.”
Shaking his head, Colin closed his eyes and leaned into the back of his chair. “It was foolish of me to seek her out that way. Now I have attracted St. John’s attention, and he will not rest until he knows why I displayed such interest in her.”
“She is a beautiful woman,” Jacques said, his voice laced with a Frenchman’s innate appreciation of such delights.
“Yes, she is.”
Beyond beautiful. Dear God, how was it possible for a woman to be so perfect? Stunning green eyes framed by sooty lashes. An imminently kissable mouth. Creamy skin, and the fully ripened curves of a woman grown. All carried with an air of latent sensuality that he had always found alluring.
“But that is not why you love her,” Jacques murmured.
“No,” Colin agreed, “it’s not.”
“I have rarely seen a woman with such yearning in her soul. Although I watched her as you did, she did not take note of my interest, only of yours.”
That was his fault, he knew. Repeated glimpses of her profile had only whetted his appetite to see her directly. Look at me, he’d urged silently. Look at me!
And she had, unable to resist when followed with such ravenous attention.
The eye contact had cut him to the quick, piercing across the distance between them and stabbing deep into his heart. He’d felt it, the yearning Jacques spoke of. That longing elicited a primal response in him to deliver it, whatever it was that she wanted. Whatever she needed.
“You could take her from the other man,” Jacques said.
He knew that, too. Had felt the wavering in her as they had danced and then again when they had kissed.
“I wish I’d never followed Cartland that night!” Colin growled, the frustration inside him a writhing, powerful thing. “Everything would be different.”
She would be in his bed now, writhing and arching beneath him as he rode her hard and deep, awakening the wanton he sensed was waiting just beneath the surface. In his mind, he could hear her voice hoarse from crying out his name, her satin skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
He would push her beyond reason, take her body places she never knew it could go . . .
“The twists in our lives happen for a reason,” Jacques said, returning to the desk and sitting across from him. “I could have lived the whole of my life without leaving France, yet I was destined to follow you here.”
Colin pushed the lewd images from his thoughts and opened his eyes. “You are a good man, Jacques, to carry your debt beyond the grave.”
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