Rowena's Hellion

by Velda Brotherton

  She sent the girl off, luxuriated in the warm water and soap cleansing her body, then crawled into bed without donning the gown Annie had laid out at the foot of the bed.

  She fell asleep and awoke sometime later, lying unclothed under covers pulled up to her chin, the room warm from the fire in the hearth. After eyeing the nightgown on the bed for long moments, she settled back down, naked. It felt so good to lie there wrapped in thick blankets, after so long out in the cold and snow.

  Thinking of Blair, she smiled, curled up nose to knees, and went to sleep, his face and voice following her into a pleasant dream.

  ****

  When Blair left Rowena’s room, his body ached with a dark passion that frightened him. The raging desire for the woman, much stronger than his need for whiskey, surprised him. Frightened him. If he ever allowed it free rein, he shuddered to think what might happen between the two of them. Loving her could be more dangerous than drinking. He would not let that happen, but the love had come upon him, and there was no denying it.

  Angry at himself for such thoughts, he went downstairs to make sure everyone was being taken care of. Grady waited in the entryway, hat in hand.

  “Yes?” Blair said, weariness putting an edge to his voice that he did not intend.

  Grady raised an eyebrow. “Can I do anything else before I retire?”

  “No, but thank you. For…for bringing them home safe.” Blair held out his hand, clasped Grady’s.

  Grady worked his hat on and clomped toward the door. “Does this mean I’m not fired?”

  “I guess not this time. You take Miss Rowena out in weather like this again, you can count on it.” Blair started to walk away, then stopped. “Cold out there, isn’t it?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Tell Annie to show you to the servants’ quarters. You can sleep there. It’s warmer than the barn loft.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Blair turned and went into his study, closing the door behind him. He filled a glass, then climbed the stairs to his bedchamber with every intention of going directly to sleep. Instead, he sat in a chair near the fire, trying to get warm. Weary and cold from the ride through the storm and all the excitement that had followed, he shook so hard he had to put down the glass of whiskey. Rowena lay just down the hallway, probably already asleep. He fought the urge to go to her. Climb into that big bed and snuggle close.

  It was quiet in the house. Everyone had gone to bed. He shoved himself to his feet, only then realizing he still wore the clothing that had been covered in snow, then frozen, and was now wet again. But he had to check on her, make sure she did not need anything.

  Half drunk and exhausted, he staggered out into the hallway and leaned against the wall for a moment before working his slow way to her door. He would knock softly. If she didn’t answer, he would go away, for he should not awaken her. The idea brought a smile to his lips. He doubted he had enough energy to return to his room. Better to just lie in a pile in the hallway until Simmons found him. A condition both were accustomed to.

  Head down, he placed both hands on the dark panel, all that stood between him and her, and took a few breaths. God, he was tired. What was he doing here anyway? They should wait. He should be strong enough to wait. Still, he didn’t go away. Instead he rapped his knuckles against the wood, a feeble sound she surely would not hear.

  “Yes?” came her voice from inside.

  “It’s me.”

  “Blair? Come in.”

  His palm slipped over the handle before he finally got a good hold and released the latch, staggering a few steps into the room when the door swung open. She would surely think him drunk, and he was…a little. Enough for it to be on his breath. Even as he neared her bed, lit by a lamp burning low on the table, he cursed his own stupidity. What was he thinking? Coming into her room like this, in the middle of the night, with her in bed.

  “Blair, are you all right?”

  His knees hit the mattress, but he caught himself before he fell, turned sideways so he was sitting near her.

  Slumped forward, forearms propped on his knees, head in both hands, he mumbled, “I am so sorry, love. So damned sorry.”

  She touched his back. “For what? You did nothing wrong. Darling, you’re freezing and wet. Why aren’t you out of your clothes?”

  A shudder racked his body. The worry for her safety had overpowered his common sense.

  “Take off those clothes, this instant. Boots first, then breeches. Unbutton your shirt.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Listen to me. Can you hear me? Blair, have you been drinking?”

  “No, I—uh, yes, but just a little.”

  “Blair. Boots, breeches, sweater, shirt. Now, or you will take pneumonia.”

  So weary he could barely function, he toed off one boot, then the other, raised his butt and slipped the soaked breeches off, then fell backward.

  Movement on the mattress and she was beside him, a coverlet wrapped around her. She managed to pull his sweater over his head and peel it off his arms. Fingers working the buttons on his shirt, she continued to scold him.

  “You are shaking and so cold. You should have been in bed already. Now,” she said, skinning the shirt off. “Climb in this bed, under the covers.”

  “Rowena, I cannot do that.”

  “Yes, you can.” She raised the covers that were over her. “Under here, now. It’s warm. I am not going to attack you or anything.”

  That wasn’t what he was worried about at all. He dare not go to sleep here, with her. If the demons came. Suppose he hurt her?

  When he remained as if frozen in place, she hooked her arms under his, tugged and groaned. “Help me, Blair. Come on, I cannot do this by myself.”

  He levered himself upright, swung both legs up and let her tuck him in, feeling an absolute fool. Then she put her arms around him, curled up against his back. Dear God. She was naked, her satiny skin warm against his shivering flesh.

  “You’re so cold, so cold.” She kissed the back of his neck and held him close.

  “We… You… I cannot.”

  He was so cold the words came out shuddery.

  “Blair,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Yes, love?”

  “Shut up and go to sleep. You are okay and I am okay.”

  “What will Simmons say?”

  That was the last thing he remembered.

  Rowena roused a little, cuddled closer to Blair, and opened one eye to bright sunlight. Holding him like this, hearing his soft breathing, his hair tickling her nose, she wanted never to move. When he awoke he would leap from her bed as if it were afire.

  Oh, Blair, can’t you see I will be the best wife in the world for you, stand beside you in all your battles? Let’s forget all this nonsense of sleeping and living apart. We will be married and live together. Please.

  Simmons crept into the room carrying a tray with a breakfast of scones, eggs, and ham. A cup of tea gave off fragrant steam.

  “How are you this morning, Miss Rowena?” he managed to say before he saw Blair’s dark hair poking from under the covers. “Dear me, I am sorry. I did not know.”

  “Ssh, he was so very tired. He came to see to me and I made him come to bed. He was freezing.” She grinned at him. “I am not sure why I am making excuses for being in bed with him. I did nothing but warm him up and hold him close. Let’s not awaken him.”

  “Very good, miss,” he whispered, and backed out of the room.

  He didn’t believe a word she said, but she did not care in the least. She snuggled back down against Blair, who chose that moment to turn over, his arm creeping over her bare hip, the other slipping under her head.

  She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent of leather and the wildness of the prairie and the lingering tang of whiskey, and fell asleep against his chest, embracing a feeling of contentment she had never before experienced.

  When again she awoke he was staring at her in puzzlement, though he had made no move t
o leave her side.

  “Good morning.” She could not resist planting a kiss on his cheek.

  “I must have been very drunk last night. I know I would remember this.” He gestured at her breast, peeking from beneath the covers.

  “You were not drunk at all, my lord.” She kissed him on the other cheek.

  He curled his arm tighter around her, cupped her head and kissed her so deeply she lost her breath. When finally he released her, he laughed and said, “Since I must be dreaming, you cannot be real. I am going to enjoy this immensely before you disappear, like you always do.”

  “I do not have the slightest notion what you are talking about. You are in my room, in my bed, so where do you think I can disappear to, dressed, or undressed as I might be?”

  Again laughing, he threw the covers from her, lowered his head to kiss each breast right on the nipple. A sweet kiss that ended with the tip of his tongue barely tasting before he pulled away. “You are one beautiful illusion, my dear. And you say you will not disappear? May I have the pleasure of your body for a while, then?”

  This was a Blair she had never seen. Sober, playful, teasing and gorgeous with a sparkle in his eye, a smile, and a tilt to his head that challenged her to play with him. Had something happened? Did he not know who she was?

  “Okay, I will play.”

  She slipped closer, until her breasts rubbed his chest, her stomach touched his, and their thighs met. “If you could just hold me.”

  “Only for a little while. You are different somehow.” His dark eyes studied her.

  “Different from who…what?” She rubbed her hands over his thighs, circled to his stomach, watched his eyes glaze with passion.

  “From when you usually come to my bed. Not so ethereal, more beautiful. As if you are actually real.”

  “Blair, are you all right? I have never come to your bed. I am real. I am so real. Go back to sleep, my love,” she whispered. “Rest. I shall keep the demons away.” Gathering his hand in hers, she placed it over her heart. “There, you are safe.”

  Limbs tangled together, his eyelids drifted closed and his breathing evened out. Then he relaxed, and soon she too slept.

  Blair’s eyes flew open and he gazed around, taking in the room, his dirty clothing in a heap on his muddy boots, then once again looking her up and down. He touched her with the knuckles of one hand.

  “You are real,” he said, awe in his voice. “You did not leave.”

  “Why would I leave?”

  He kept hold of her for a long while, not speaking, simply gazing at her. Then finally said, “Because everyone leaves.”

  “Do you think I am nine kinds of a fool? Do you think I am ugly or incompetent or too old? Tell me, Blair, why am I not worthy of your love?”

  Her question struck him mute, and he held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. His fingers traced the scars on her back, barely touching the marred skin, then trailed into her matted curls to hold her.

  “I am so terrified I will do something that will hurt you. Do you not understand that? How can someone so beautiful and intelligent as you choose to spend your life with a man who is half mad? How?”

  “Love, passion, need. I do not know. Take your pick, but stop pushing me away.”

  He laughed into her thick hair. “I am not exactly pushing you away at the moment. Truth? I want never to have to let you go.”

  “Then don’t. It is that simple. Let yourself go and love me. Let us marry and live together. Be happy together.”

  God, how he wanted to do just that. “I want to take you, treasure you, make love to you in the bed, on the floor, in the sweet-smelling hay of the barn, on the prairie when the sunflowers cast carpets of gold all the way to the horizon, on tables and chairs. And never let you go. But in truth, I cannot. I dare not.”

  He pried himself free, turned her loose, gathered his clothes and boots, and left the room, leaving her glaring after him. Running bare-ass naked down the hall to his rooms, he slipped inside without being seen…he hoped. He could not have bungled things worse had he tried.

  The room filled with his usual ghostly visitors, as if they had been waiting for him, and he fumbled for the bottle he kept under the mattress, took a swig directly from it and lay back on the bed, arm over his eyes.

  His heart felt as if someone were squeezing the very life out of it.

  Chapter Six

  After he dressed, Blair went downstairs to his study and poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey. What had happened in Rowena’s bedroom the previous night lingered in his mind. How had he ended in her bed? Better question, had he had his way with her? Damn fool drunk.

  A while later, hungry and not wanting to summon Annie, he headed for the kitchen. Usually when he came down off a binge, he didn’t want anything to eat, but he was starved. If he counted back the days he’d been without food or drink, and when one included all the physical exertion of those days, it was no wonder he was hungry. So like him, though, to satisfy his lust for whiskey first.

  He strode across the kitchen to the larder, found some fruit pies left from one of Annie’s baking sprees, and carried two of them to the table. A coffeepot sat on the stove, and he touched the side. Still hot. The fragrant steam filled his nostrils when he poured a large cup.

  Rowena padded in just as he sat down to his breakfast. She came to a halt when she saw him, her expression one of confusion. She looked as if she might flee.

  “Rowena, please join me. We can have tea and crumpets together.” He held out a hand, which she ignored, but she did remain.

  “Good morning. What have you found to eat? I’m still hungry. Annie brought me a tray, but it scarcely filled a tiny bit of the hole in my stomach. Um, that looks good.”

  He handed her the extra pie and gestured toward the pantry. “There’s more.” He chewed and swallowed a bite. Washed it down with a few sips of coffee. Moaned with pleasure.

  She came out carrying the entire tray of pies and poured herself a cup from the pot. “Any cream for the coffee?”

  A pitcher covered with a cloth sat in the box outside the kitchen window. She carried it to the table. “Mind if I join you?”

  Mouth full of spicy apple and flaky crust, he pointed to the chair next to him. He didn’t want her there, tempting him. Didn’t want her anywhere near him until they said their vows, but all the same it was good to see her. To listen to her babble like she did when she was nervous. If only he could gather her up and hold her till all the bad images disappeared from the dark corners of his mind. Too bad it wasn’t that simple. He so feared emerging from a nightmare, flying apart, lashing out at his imagined enemies and in the process hurting or scaring her.

  Sitting there watching her eat and sip her tea, her pale gold hair in a bit of disarray around her exquisite features, he admitted grudgingly that he loved her. In point of fact, she was the only one in this world he did love. That in itself was a good enough reason to keep his distance. God, how could he possibly think of marriage? Yet it seemed the only solution, for obviously they were going to end up in bed together. They both wanted it too badly to prevent it. It would not be long before everyone learned about it and her reputation would be ruined.

  “Frozen,” she remarked, holding up the pitcher. She rose and set it on the warming shelf of the wood cookstove, then returned to the table, walking so close to him he smelled the lemon in her hair, the soap she washed with. And most of all her, a fragrance he could pick out of a room in the dark. She barely touched his shoulder in passing, sending a ribbon of desire rippling through him like sweet honey.

  Dark rage followed the desire. A rage aimed at his inability to do anything about the way he felt toward her. Or about his journeys into darkness. He rose, kicked back the chair. It flew across the room, and she cried out in alarm. His coffee cup turned over and the dark liquid puddled, then flowed onto the floor. Like mud. Mud and blood that oozed across the wood and crept toward Rowena. He had to get out of there.

  Halfwa
y across the room, he turned, fists at his side. “And this is what it is like, my sweet Rowena, to live with someone like me. I do not want this to be your future.” He fled before she could reply.

  The sound of her voice followed him, words he barely comprehended. “My dear Blair.” and “Talk to me.” If he believed such a thing, he’d think his heart had cracked wide open and was bleeding out his very life.

  When he charged into his bedroom to change clothes, Simmons followed him and shut the door with a bang that sent Blair into yet another rage.

  “Goddammit, don’t sneak up on me like that. What do you want?”

  The determined look on the man’s face portended something Blair wasn’t going to like. Not one bit. Ripping open his shirt, he turned to face him. Take his medicine. It couldn’t be any worse than what had just happened.

  “Well, say it and be done.”

  Simmons went to the wardrobe, took out a clean shirt and a pair of breeches, and handed them to him without a word. His expression said it all.

  “I’d planned on taking a bath before dressing. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  Simmons reached inside the wardrobe and removed a dressing gown, held it out. “I will not talk to a half-naked man.”

  Blair shrugged into the silk maroon robe and sank into one of the pair of chairs near the tall double windows that looked out over the snow-covered prairie. “Then sit. It sounds much too serious to stand.”

  After he lowered himself into the other chair, Simmons studied Blair for a long moment.

  “Well, speak, man. What is it?”

  “Are you aware how much I care for you?”

  Blair nodded, swallowed harshly. It was going to be that kind of talk.

  “You’re like a son to me.”

  Again a nod and swallow. What could he say? His throat thickened recalling the loving care this man had lavished on him when he had nothing, knew only pain and anguish. And no one else gave a damn. When he could scarcely lift his head off the pillow. Cut loose from the hospital and with no place to go. Simmons took care of everything. Still he waited, not daring to let on how much he returned that love.