by Pamela Clare
Not that the man didn’t look dangerous. The damp shirt clinging to his skin made her intensely aware of his virility and strength. Before she could catch herself, her eyes moved from the muscles of his chest, where his flat nipples stood like dark circles beneath the wet cloth, down his abdomen. Moved by some force she could not name, did not even want to consider, she took a step toward him. Then another.
“The cut on my hand was bleeding. I had to stop.” Feeling silly, she sought for words to fill the silence.
His gaze moved over her body, stopping briefly as he perused her breasts and thighs. His gaze was so intimate, he might as well have touched her. The intensity in his eyes when they met hers again made her breath catch in her throat. As if in response, her nipples tightened against the worn fabric of her damp dress. It seemed to Cassie he looked upon her as a starving man might look upon a holiday feast. She involuntarily moved a hand to shield herself.
This time, it was he who stepped closer.
“I saw the black eye you gave Zach.” She reached for the safety she felt in authority. As the person who owned Cole’s indenture, she was in control. As a woman, the object of his desire, she was vulnerable.
He smiled rakishly. “And you intend to reprimand me?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, but don’t be too hard on me. I’ve already apologized, though I must say the man deserved it.”
“My father does not tolerate fighting among the men.” Her voice carried none of the reproach she’d intended to convey, but in truth, speech had become most difficult.
If his eyes revealed desire, they were a mirror for the torrent of emotion that sprang from somewhere deep within her and flooded every part of her body.
“And well he should not.”
“Wh…what are you doing here?”
“The rain reminds me of England.” There was sadness in his voice. “What are you doing here, Mistress?”
“I wanted to climb the knoll, look out over the fields.”
“You should be careful. There could be predators about.” He reached for the hand that covered her bosom, gently brought it to his lips, and placed a lazy kiss on the inside of her wrist. She could not help the thrill that passed through her body when his lips touched her skin.
Alec knew he was a fool to do this, but damned if he could make himself just walk away. He had tried. As God was his witness, he had tried. Then she had spoken and come toward him, looking like some wild forest sprite from a pagan legend. The rain had washed most of the mud from her face and arms, and her wet dress hung limply on her body, outlining her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Even dressed in muddy rags, her long hair in wild disarray, she put Isabelle with all of her fine silks and careful grooming to shame. Her wide green eyes held none of the practiced seductiveness he’d seen in the women he’d known. Instead her eyes gave play to every emotion that passed through her—wariness, confusion, the stirrings of desire.
With a frustrated groan he slipped an arm behind her back and pulled her to him, capturing her lips with his in a fierce kiss that shattered what was left of his self-control.
Rain.
Warm honey.
He ran his tongue over her lips, urging them apart. He felt her stiffen with surprise, then felt her relax, her tongue joining tentatively with his.
Her arms slipped behind his neck.
“Cassie.” He kissed her forehead and cheeks.
She gazed at him from under half-closed lids, her eyes dark with arousal.
“God, woman, you’re driving me mad.” He returned to her lips with a growl, overcome by an all-consuming hunger that defied logic and made a mockery of his attempts to control it. He felt her arch against him, molding the soft curves of her body to his. A small whimper escaped her. He bent to taste her throat, raising goose bumps along her wet skin. Her shy responses told him that, though she had borne a child, she was still unpracticed when it came to sex. For some reason the thought was exhilarating.
He buried his face in the thickness of her hair, pulled loose the ribbon that still held most of it prisoner, and took the heavy mass of wet curls in his hands. He felt her kiss his throat, timidly at first, then boldly, her lips hot against his skin.
Was this worth getting his neck stretched?
Some rational part of him fought for his attention. Her tongue traced a path across the sensitive skin on his neck. Her hands cautiously explored the muscles of his chest.
Sweet Jesus, yes.
Cassie felt as if she might faint. This was like nothing she’d imagined. What he was doing with his tongue had never been a part of any daydream. Did people really kiss like this? His arms held her even tighter, his hands pressing into the flesh of her back, the heat of his rigid sex startling her as it pressed against her belly. He was so hard and warm, and he tasted of salt and rain. She let her hands explore the planes of his back through the irritating obstacle of his shirt.
What was she doing?
His lips and tongue explored her throat and cheek, his kisses leaving a trail of heat. Some small part of her knew she should flee. She was practically making love with a man whose identity she could neither disprove nor confirm. A man who could be a dangerous convict. A man she’d sworn only hours earlier to avoid.
“Stop! I . . . we can’t.”
He released her, his face now hard, the gleam in his eyes the only sign that he was feeling anything at all. “You play a dangerous game, Mistress.”
She watched him walk away.
He was right. She was playing a dangerous game. What if she’d suddenly found herself on her back, her skirts lifted to her waist, his hands around her throat? No one would have felt the slightest sympathy for her. In the eyes of society, women who allowed themselves to be alone with men deserved whatever they got. But no. He’d had his chance to violate her, but he hadn’t. If he hadn’t exactly been gentle, well, he certainly had not hurt her.
What if she had lost herself completely, allowed him to take her just now? Would it have been as pleasurable as his kisses? Would she have enjoyed it? Would he have started a baby growing inside her? Something in her blood ran hot at the very thought. Still, however she might long for children, the public humiliation of bearing a bastard was not a price she wanted to pay. If anyone discovered the child’s father was a convict, she’d be dragged through the streets, perhaps flogged. It had happened more than once. It was said no woman could lie about the identity of her babe’s father while suffering the pangs of childbirth.
What had she done? The future of the plantation and all who lived on it depended upon her keeping a level head. If only her body wouldn’t betray her like this. She wrapped her arms around her waist to still her trembling.
* * *
Alec slowed the galloping stallion to a walk and smiled with satisfaction at the powerful animal’s instantaneous response. He’d been working with Aldebaran every day for two weeks and was pleased with the horse’s progress. Though initially stiff from lack of proper exercise, the stallion was daily improving in both speed and stamina. With continued training, there’d not be a horse in the entire colony that could outrun this creature.
He patted the animal reassuringly on its withers as Aldebaran jerked on the reins, signaling his eagerness to run again. “We’ll go even farther tomorrow. I promise.”
He’d ridden Aldebaran through the fields and down a muddy and rutted wagon road toward the Rappahannock. Pine forest now gave way to brackish marshland and sandy beaches—and the grandest river he had ever seen. He stopped for a moment to breathe the salt-tinged air and watch the dark waters roll toward Chesapeake Bay. Gulls drifted on air currents or bobbed on the surface of the river, their cries carried aloft on the humid breeze. Water lapped against the sandy shore, where sandpipers scoured the shallows for their midday meal. Mosquitoes, revived by the recent rains, gathered in hungry, buzzing swarms in the shadows. In the hazy distance, he saw the opposite shore, a blurry dark line against the cloudy sky. These waters had brough
t him here, and they would take him home again—one way or another.
How simple it would be to ride off on Aldebaran and not return. He could plunge into the current, where dogs could not follow his scent, and swim with the horse to the other side. Then he could ride upriver to Hobbes Hole or head over land and river toward Williamsburg. Once the horse was in top form, he’d be able to stay far ahead of any pursuers. With any luck he’d be able to join the crew of a ship bound for England before the reward posters and word of mouth caught up with him. The plan had its flaws, but sitting astride Aldebaran and watching the river flow toward the Chesapeake and freedom, he was sorely tempted to try.
But he had given his word, and he would keep it. For now. The sheriff had sent a message several days ago saying he’d soon be arriving with two convicts who’d come over on the Easy Mary and claimed to have met Nicholas Braden in Newgate. There was no sense in Alec’s risking the dangers of an escape when he could be a free man any day. He reluctantly turned the stallion’s head and, with the slightest movement of his heels against the animal’s flank, brought Aldebaran to a canter.
He let the wind rush through his hair and tried to clear his mind. It had been a fortnight since his foolhardy tryst in the forest with Cassie ... Miss Blakewell, he corrected himself, eager to force whatever distance he could between himself and his damnably lovely “mistress.” How could he have been so stupid? It was not like him to be led about by his cock. He’d never lost his head over anything, much less a woman. Yet, had Cass... Miss Blakewell ... not objected, bringing him back to reality, he would have taken her then and there, consequences be damned.
She had apparently kept the incident to herself and seemed as eager to avoid him as he was her. She spent her days tending the garden and helping the cook in the kitchen. He took long rides around the plantation and worked in the stables. When they were forced to be near one another, as they had been when he’d saddled her mare earlier today, he found his craving for her as overwhelming as it had been on that rainy afternoon in the forest.
Where had she gone this morning? Riding out at roughly the same time each day, she always left carrying a basket laden with food and drink far more than one woman could eat alone. No explanations were given. When he’d questioned the cook, Nan had made up a story about Miss Blakewell taking Jamie for a picnic, yet Jamie had remained near the house all day. There seemed only one explanation: She had a lover. Perhaps the very man who’d fathered little Jamie, only to forsake her and the boy.
Why should it bother him? Isabelle had had other lovers. Most of Alec’s lovers had been married women who returned to their husbands’ beds after warming his. Never once had he cared. But the thought of Cass ... Miss Blakewell making love with another man ate at him until he found himself plotting like some jealous husband to follow her. One glimpse of her slender throat, one whiff of her skin, one moment’s contact—even the sound of her voice—and his balls began to ache. When he went to bed at night, his mind was filled with her: her scent, the feel of her skin, the image of her—eyes closed, lips parted and swollen from his kisses. Not even old Charlie’s lethal corn whiskey drove her from his thoughts. He wanted her. He wanted her beneath him, bared to his touch, moaning with unbridled pleasure. He wanted her to cry his real name as he brought her to her climax and found his own within her.
Alec shifted, uncomfortable in the saddle, and cursed. To imagine such things only made his predicament worse. To have her was impossible, or at least a very bad idea. Miss Blakewell was nothing but trouble.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the man hiding among the trees watching him.
* * *
Cassie stood in the doorway of the cookhouse and sighed with pleasure as, at last, a sticky breeze caught her, bringing some relief from the almost unbearable heat. The morning’s rain had left the ground muddy, the air heavy and humid. Though the cooking fire in the hearth had burned itself low since midday, the kitchen was a furnace. She’d worn her pale green cotton gown, the lightest one she owned, and still she was uncomfortable. Standing over steaming dishwater, as she had been for the past twenty minutes, only made matters worse.
“I’d wager even Satan thinks ’tis hot today.” Nan sat at the table, peeling potatoes.
“Aye.” But Cassie was only half listening.
The slow click-clack of a horse’s hooves on cobblestone grew louder. She withdrew into the shadows, where she could not easily be seen and watched as Cole led Aldebaran through the courtyard toward the well, Jamie following behind. The past two weeks had taught her he had not been lying when he’d said he was skilled with horses. She’d made a point of checking up on his work at night and had been both pleased and surprised with the results. The stables had been cleaned and reorganized; the tack cleaned, oiled, and hung; broken boards and shingles replaced. The horses had been groomed from forelock to heel, and several had been reshod. Aldebaran, the only horse of which Cassie had ever been remotely afraid, had responded to his handling like a frisky but harmless puppy. It seemed she was not the only living creature rendered pliant by this man’s touch.
As if he knew she was thinking of him, Cole glanced her way before tying off Aldebaran’s reins and lowering the bucket to draw water. She stifled a gasp as he looked directly at her, but his eyes passed lightly over her, as though he did not see her. He looked so like an English country gentleman, with his proud bearing and long, graceful stride. Alec Kenleigh. She allowed herself to whisper the name, testing it. For what must have been the thousandth time since receiving the sheriff’s dispatch, she found herself hoping Cole was telling the truth. It would assuage her guilty conscience greatly to know she craved the touch of a gentleman and not a lying felon.
And crave his touch she did. She could no longer deny it. She thought of Cole every waking moment. Not a night had passed this week or last when she had not lain in bed and remembered, in tantalizing detail, what had happened between them. She’d been burning with questions since then. Was it always like this between men and women? Was she a loose woman for having wanted it so? Was it possible to make these feelings go away?
But whom could she ask?
Not Nan. The cook might, out of fear for her safety, tell Micah, and then Cole’s indenture was as good as sold. Besides, Nan had never married and wasn’t supposed to know about such things.
Not Rebecca. Though Rebecca was a married woman with a child in her belly, Cassie was her mistress and could ill afford to lose her respect. If news of her feelings for Cole became common knowledge among the redemptioners, they’d have nothing but contempt for her.
The only person left was Takotah. Cassie knew Takotah would take her secret to the grave. Still, Cassie couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone what had happened. How could she possibly explain it when she did not understand it herself?
She was about to return to washing dishes when she saw Jamie clamber up the stone side of the well to pat the stallion on the head. She started to scold him and tell him to climb down when Aldebaran shrieked and reared.
The reins went taut and caught Jamie’s legs.
Cassie screamed and ran toward him.
In horror she watched as Jamie toppled backward into the well.
Chapter Ten
“Jamie!”
Deadly hooves slashed through the air around her, striking wood and brick. Heedless of the danger, Cassie dashed past the screaming horse and looked over the well’s rim.
Her heart stopped.
Somehow Cole had managed to catch one of Jamie’s ankles. Below Jamie loomed darkness.
“Cut the reins!” she heard Cole shout.
The stallion shrieked and reared, jerking at the bonds that restrained him.
Cassie darted back to the cookhouse, where Nan stood, mouth agape in horror, and grabbed the potato knife from her hands. Sharp, hard hooves were everywhere, chipping wood, masonry, cobblestone.
Not even thinking, Cassie dashed back, grabbed the reins, and cut through the
tough leather.
Aldebaran reared once more, his dark eyes rolling in his head, then galloped away.
“I won’t let you go.” Cole spoke to Jamie, his voice soothing.
Jamie’s frightened whimpers echoed from below.
Cassie peered over the rim, unable to breathe, as Cole slowly pulled Jamie up.
“I’ve got you.” Cole slowly lifted Jamie over the edge and into his arms. “Take him.”
Cassie grabbed for her brother, hugged him to her, and carried him to the cookhouse steps, where she sank in a trembling heap.
“Praise the Lord!” Nan cried. “Bless ye, Cole Braden! Bless ye!”
“It’s all right. It’s all right.” Cassie did her best to reassure Jamie, but couldn’t stop the quavering of her voice. “You’re safe, love.”
Was that Jamie crying, or was it her?
She kissed him over and over on his downy curls, holding him tightly. “Don’t ever climb up there! And stay away from that stallion, do you hear me?”
Fear made her words sound angry. She held him tighter, stroking his hair.
In her arms, Jamie whimpered.
“It wasn’t the stallion’s fault.”
Cassie looked up to see Cole doff his shirt and hurry toward them.
“That animal nearly killed all three of us! Jamie didn’t do anything to frighten—”
“It wasn’t Jamie’s fault, either.”
It was then that Cassie saw the angry red welts on his chest, arms, and abdomen. “Oh, Cole!”
“If I were you I’d get indoors,” he said. “I think those hornets are feeling spiteful.”
Then Cassie heard it—a faint buzzing sound.
“Hurry!” Nan scolded. “I’ll nae have those devils swarmin’ into me kitchen!”
Gathering Jamie in her arms, Cassie stood and stepped quickly inside, Cole behind her.