He squashed the urge to laugh. “Should I be?”
She tilted her head and looked him up and down, amusement in her clear grey eyes. “No. I think a man of your size would have no difficulty fending me off, should I decide to attack you.”
He recalled the vague accusation of poison waved about by Mrs. Tracey, and pushed it aside. “Come for dinner. Tonight. Bring your mother.”
The light in her face disappeared. “I must not. I should not have visited Lady Jenna today. I should have known the gossip would have reached the village. I would not have my problems tainting your innocent cousin.”
“She will not care. I will tell her there is no truth to—”
“Oh, but you see there is always a foundation of truth to rumors.” Annabelle shook her head wearily. “It will not do.”
So it was at an end. She was going to walk out of his life again? Unfair. He was the one who’d left, called away on an errand for his father. Not that an offer from Gordon would have been acceptable. Nor was it now, with all his funds tied up in his investment. But he could not let her go. “And if I refuse to take no for an answer?”
“Will you follow me to Edinburgh?”
“If I must.”
Her eyes danced with amusement. And a challenge. “Not a wise idea. For either of us, I think.”
Reason had nothing to do with it. Passion did. Desire. It shimmered in the air. Sent tingles down his spine. Pumped hot blood through his veins. He clenched his fists to stop himself from hauling her up against his chest and kissing her till she succumbed to his will.
Without warning, she stepped inside the garden gate and pushed it closed between them. Effectively shutting him out.
She looked up at him with a brittle smile. “It was so nice seeing you again, Gordon. I wish...” She shook her head. “Wishes can’t change the past.”
It wasn’t much, that unspoken wish, but it was all that he needed. He easily vaulted the gate.
Startled, she stepped back. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing you to your front door, as is my duty.”
Huffing out a breath, she turned and walked up the path. At the door she turned to face him. “Thank you for walking me home.”
The scent of roses filled the air. The scent of Annabelle. He gazed down at her, felt himself falling into those lovely dove-gray eyes all over again. “Annabelle,” he breathed.
“Gordon,” she said softly. She reached up to touch his cheek with her gloved hand. He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. Her face tipped up, her eyes watching him, drinking him in, her lips so close, so soft, so sweetly parted. Before he knew it, one arm was around her waist and the other hand cradling her nape. Secluded by roses, he dipped his head and kissed her. The feel of her satiny skin against his mouth only made him want more. Much more. And when she melted against him, he swept her mouth with his tongue, tasting her, wooing her with all the skill at his command.
By the time he let her go, they were both breathing hard. She pressed trembling fingers to her rose-tinted lips for a second. “Are you trying to ruin me further?”
He winced. “No. But I won’t just walk away. Not this time. Not unless you insist.”
Concern filled her face and he felt guilty, but he would not let her go. Not yet. Not when he had only just found her again.
“I cannot deny I would like to hear about your adventures in America,” she said wistfully. “To know more of your life.”
“We owe each other that much,” he said, pressing as hard as he dared. “Let me call on you.”
She breathed a long sigh, a sound of defeat, as if she had been engaged in some battle with her own inclinations. “No. No calls. Mother would hate it. There is an inn beyond the village. The Bell. It lies some ways east of the village, off the main road. Arrange the private sitting room at the top of the stairs from the side door. The landlord will know. I will meet you there tomorrow after midnight, once Mother retires.”
An assignation. The suggestion went straight to Gordon’s groin. His mind emptied of rational thought. He could only stare at her.
“I can think of no other way. Is it yes or no, Gordon?”
“Yes,” he managed to reply.
“Send word to my coachman if you change your mind,” she said softly. “I trust him with my life.” With a small dip of a curtsy, she opened the front door and disappeared inside.
And what would he say to her, when he had her alone? Gordon wondered. Would he really be able to reconcile this seductive woman with the girl he had kept frozen in time in his heart?
It seemed he would know soon enough.
Chapter Three
The next evening, Annabelle hunched deeper into her hooded cloak. What on earth had she been about in agreeing to this assignation? Was she trying to recapture her youth, for goodness sake? Her innocence? It wasn’t possible.
John Coachman and Betty, her maid, had made no bones about their disapproval when she explained her intention. But she did not doubt their loyalty for a moment. They had helped her under far worse circumstances and would not let her down.
It was the other servants who had gossiped about what had occurred the last night of Merton’s life. Although they had never learned the half of it.
And so here Annabelle was, preparing to play the merry widow to the man she had always loved. Tears burned at the back of her throat as she made the admission she’d tried so hard to quell since the first moment she saw him in the village. She couldn’t keep him, of course. It wouldn’t be right. But didn’t she deserve a little happiness after doing her duty to her family and both of her husbands? Some joyful memories to hug to herself?
Letting him go for a second time would be hard. But she had decided that one night in his arms was worth the ensuing pain. Her mother had always said she was stubborn to a fault. And having buckled under his pressure, she would see this evening through. No, not see it through. She would revel in it.
John pulled into the yard and helped her down. “Shall I see you in, my lady?”
“No, John. I can manage.”
The frown on his face deepened. “It is not right you should take such risks.”
Merton had hired John not only as coachman, but as her protector during his many absences. “There is no danger, John. I swear it.” No danger for anyone. A widow did as she pleased, so long as she was discreet. And during her marriage to Merton Annabelle had learned to be the soul of discretion.
So why did her pulse race and her body tremble with doubt? Even her mouth was dry. Cowardice. She was afraid to take something she wanted for herself.
She stepped through the side door and softly climbed the stairs, which were lit by several iron sconces. The door at the top was ajar and she paused outside. Gordon was standing beside the hearth with a glass of wine in his hand. He looked up, saw her, smiled and came to greet her. He took her hands, gazing down into her face as if searching for something important.
“I wasna sure you would come,” he murmured finally, drawing her into the room. “I heard the carriage, you understand, but did not look in case it was no you, after all.”
She shook her head at him, laughing, feeling as giddy as the girl she had been when they first met. “I am not one to go back on a decision once it is made.”
He gave her a considering look, as if wondering if there was something behind her words. Did he feel guilty about leaving all those years before? What had happened was not his fault or hers, it was merely life playing its ugly games.
“May I take your coat?” he asked.
“You may indeed,” she said, and began unfastening the buttons.
He brushed her fingers away. “Let me help.” He did so with practiced ease, untying her cloak, sliding it off her shoulders and throwing it over a chair. He tugged at her bonnet r
ibbons, but waited patiently while she removed it from her head. Clearly a man of experience, he knew better than to destroy a lady’s coiffure. At least not at the beginning of the evening. The thought made her smile.
He drew in an appreciative breath. “You really are lovely.”
Clearly a compliment designed to put her at ease. It seemed they had both learned a great deal in the intervening years.
She chuckled when she saw him frown at the frilly little cap that covered her crown. A nod to her widowhood. Not the kind of thing she had worn when they first met.
He led her to the settle beside the hearth and saw her comfortably seated. “May I offer you burgundy or sherry?”
“Burgundy, if you please.” She glanced around the room, the warm glow of the fire and candles on paneled walls making it seem all the more cosy. And of course there was the other door. The door to the bedroom. Discreetly closed. “I hope you find the room to your taste?”
He handed her a glass of wine and sat down beside her, stretching out his long legs. “I do indeed.”
She leaned back against the cushions, toasted him with her glass and took a deep swallow, letting the ruby liquid roll down her throat and take the edge off the nerves fluttering in her belly. “Tell me about America.”
“It is hard to know where to start. It is a vast country full of opportunity for those willing to work hard.”
“A lot of Scots have gone there.”
“Not all of their own accord.” He sounded a little grim.
“You did not wish to go?”
“I wasna thinking of me. I was thinking of a distant cousin. Drew Gilvry. It was because of his sudden disappearance I was despatched to fill the breech at short notice.”
“Oh, I see.” She had always wondered why he’d said nothing of his intentions to go abroad the day after they met. Not that it would have made the slightest bit of difference to her life. Once Jenkins made his offer, her path was set. For her family’s sake. “But you did go willingly?”
“It was my duty to my family. Recently, I have ventured into business there on my own account.”
“I can understand why you would,” she said. “It feels good to take control of one’s own life.” She took another swallow of wine.
His eyes widened a fraction before a frown creased his brow. “Is that what you have done? Taken control?”
Oh, dear. How much had he heard? She gave him a bright smile. “I have indeed.”
Silence fell between them. A silence charged with a tension fraught with sensations that tightened her body, and rippled across her skin. Calm as he appeared, there was something running beneath his surface that affected her deeply.
“You have lived in Edinburgh until now?” he asked.
Let him make of her history what he would. Perhaps it would change his mind about wanting to be here with her. “Being half-Scottish, I was soon accepted in Edinburgh society. Mr. Jenkins was a classics scholar at the university and well regarded. My second husband was high in society.”
“You have children?”
“No.”
His gaze shot to her face. She smiled calmly. Or she thought she had, until he put down his glass and took her hand in his warm grasp and stroked its back with his thumb. “Were they unkind to you?”
Oh, yes, he sensed something was wrong in her marriages. But then she and Gordon had been perfectly attuned from the moment they met. Understanding each other almost before any words were spoken. It had been uncanny then, and magical. Now it made her fear she might break her word. She gave a small shake of her head and smiled. “Not at all, though both were born of convenience.”
His grip tightened, then slowly loosened. “It sounds soulless. I can understand why you found your entertainments elsewhere.”
Was that a note of jealousy she heard in his deep voice? A traitorous twinge of excitement clenched within her body at the thought he might care deeply enough to feel jealous. Or was it a note of disapproval? A far more likely emotion, she decided. She held his gaze steadily, bravely, daring him to criticise. “Merton gave me free rein to do as I pleased.”
Gordon’s hand came to her cheek, and as light as a butterfly wing, brushed her jaw with his knuckles. “There is something you are not telling me. But I’ll no press you. For what is past is over and done. It is the future I care about.”
Shocked, she gasped. They could have no future. “For me, there is only the here and the now.”
He frowned, but then bent his head and took her mouth in a scorching kiss.
She felt herself relax in his arms, let the bliss of his wooing lips carry her away, the way it had when she had been young and foolish. When she had thought the world was fair and kind.
And yet she trusted him. Even after all this time she trusted him as she would trust no other. It was an odd realization. Strangely freeing.
As she melted in his arms, Gordon could not have asked for a better response, or been more delighted with the encouraging warmth in her eyes. Even if he was a little disconcerted. He had to keep reminding himself she was just as worldly as he,and not the innocent girl of his youth.
Something for which he ought to be grateful.
Yet the idea was more than a little bittersweet. And he felt a sense of something precious lost.
Then her lips parted to his tongue and he swept her mouth, tasting her deeply, and all regrets faded into the heat of desire and the need to hold her close. He gathered her up, brought her onto his lap the better to plunder the warm sweetness of her mouth and to feel her breasts pressed against his chest.
She made no resistance. Quite the opposite. She tangled her tongue with his, artfully teasing and wooing his tongue with her own until his brain emptied of anything but the most base of urges. The need to get closer. To be skin to skin with a woman he desired over all others.
What a fool she would think him, if she knew.
The small sounds coming from the back of her throat, sounds of pleasure and encouragement, emboldened his hands. One wandered the slight span of her back, explored the bumps of her spine through the delicate fabric of her gown, traced the blade of her shoulder, the ridges of her ribs, while the other shaped the curve of her slender waist and found the swell of the underside of her breast.
Beneath his hands her ribs expanded and contracted, and the flutter of her heart was a live thing against his palm. But there was no fear here. Only longing.
Slowly, his hand drifted upward, cupping the firm flesh of her breast. Learning her shape, weighing the fullness, rubbing the pearled tip at its peak.
He groaned and broke their kiss, looking down into her flushed face, her lips damp and rosy from his mouth and curved in a smile of sensual delight.
“You are more beautiful than I ever remembered,” he said softly, and knew it for a truth. She smiled at him so sweetly his heart caught. A painful little twinge.
She ran her fingers down his jaw. “Time has treated you well,” she murmured.
It had, Annabelle realized. Maturity sat well on those broad, brawny shoulders. The man was far handsomer than the boy had ever been. As he smiled, looking pleased at her compliment, a dimple appeared in his cheek.
Ah, there he was. The boy she remembered. A little shy and a lot pleased with his daring. The boy she had kept close in her heart all these years. A treasure she had hoarded, never expecting to see him again.
Unbidden, hot moisture prickled at the back of her eyes. A hard lump formed in her throat. Such foolishness. Too feel the heartbreak of it now, after all this time, when she had never allowed it to hurt her before.
“Sweetheart?” he said, concern filling those lovely sapphire eyes.
She fought back the emotion and swallowed the lump with a laugh that sounded a little too husky. “Oh, Gordon. I am so glad to see you again after all this
time.”
“And I you,” he said softly, rising effortlessly to his feet, while holding her in his arms and carrying her to the bedroom door.
A delicious little thrill went down her spine to take residence low in her belly. She reached up and pulled his head down, to press a kiss to his cheek, and whispered softly in his ear, feeling lighthearted. “It must have set you back a pretty penny to order these rooms.”
He made a slight scoffing sound in the back of his throat and set her on her feet beside a large four-poster bed with the sheets already pulled back, waiting. For them. “Worth every penny, lass.”
The hangings were crimson. The fire in the grate sent shadows dancing across the fabric, making it shimmer and waver. Or was it that surprising welling of emotion once again?
She spun around to face him, to throw her arms around that wall of chest, to make sure he was real and not just a dream.
He tipped her face up, with gentle fingers warm on the skin of her jaw. “Crying?” he asked softly.
“Tears of happiness,” she choked out.
He cradled her cheeks in his hands, held her tenderly, his gaze searching her face. “You don’t know how many times I wished I had taken you with me the night we met. Whisked you away.” He let out a sound that was half groan, half laughter. “I had no money. No way to give you what you deserved, but if there had been anything, any way, I would ha’ done it.”
She caressed his cheek, his jaw, and smiled. “This is not the time for regrets. We have tonight. Let us make the most of it. I must be home before morning.”
A sound like a growl came from his throat. His hungry gaze raked down her body. “Only a fool would let an offer like that go to waste.”
A laugh escaped her. “And you are not that.”
His hands tore at his cravat. “I am not.” He unwound it and tossed it aside, and went to work on his coat.
She untied the bow at the neck of the dress she had chosen so carefully for tonight. Held only by the gathering at the neck and the ribbon tied high beneath her breasts. It opened with the smallest tug at the ties. Smiling, she let the gown slither to the floor and puddle at her feet. Beneath it she wore nothing but her fine lawn shift, her stays and her stockings held above her knees by garters embroidered with roses.
One Night with the Highlander (The Gilvrys of Dunross) Page 3