“Perhaps,” he allowed. “At first.”
For some reason, his honesty only made her angrier. “And then you thought, if she’ll take George, she’ll take anyone, including me!”
At last she’d succeeding in startling him. His eyes widened and his lips fell apart—in shock, no doubt, that she’d found him out.
She laughed. “As Mrs. Ross explained, my reputation arrived before me. Courtesy, no doubt, of George, who is wrong in just about everything! My choice is far smaller than you think. You couldn’t win me that night, Mr. Ogilvy, and you can’t win me now.”
She made to rise, meaning to mount the mare and ride home alone, but he caught her forearm and tugged. She fell back upon the cloak and he loomed over her, scowling, his eyes suddenly both serious and turbulent.
“I think I can.”
Before she could sneer, his mouth came down on hers in the wildest kiss she’d ever known. Hard and passionate, it took her entirely by surprise, and it seemed she had no control over her own lips or tongue, which he plundered mercilessly. She would have been afraid except for the sudden, leaping joy of her body, which arched into his from pure instinct. He groaned, deepening the kiss impossibly while he lowered his whole body onto hers, fitting his erection just at the juncture of her thighs.
She let out a tiny, inarticulate cry of excitement and he began to move, caressing her with his whole body. The beat of his heart battered against her. Desire, more powerful than any she’d ever known, pounded through her. Never in her life had she felt so helpless or so wonderful at the same time, especially when his hand closed over her breast in a sweet, arousing caress.
“I can win you,” he whispered against her lips. “Not for one night, or two, or ten. I want forever.”
She closed her eyes tightly as he raised his head at last. “You’re insane,” she said shakily. “You barely know me. And I have no interest in forever.”
“We could start with this afternoon,” he murmured, kissing her ear. “And then see how you feel.”
In spite of everything, a spurt of laughter shook her. “An excellent seduction technique, but it misses the mark with me.”
He trailed his fingertips across her cheek and lips. “Really? I could have sworn I was close. Why are you afraid of forever?”
“I told you. I like being a widow.”
He regarded her, his head tilted. She thought he would argue the point, but instead, he took her by surprise all over again. “Why did George feel so…entitled to you? Aside from the fact that he’s a fool.”
“We flirted once. I considered him.” She curled her lip in a self-deprecating smile. “Quite seriously, in fact. I thought he was young and charming and just a little different. And then I found…”
“What?” he urged when she trailed off.
She brought her averted gaze back to his. “That he was engaged to be married.”
His perceptive eyes searched hers. “You don’t seduce married men? Aren’t they the safest for a lady who doesn’t want forever?”
“I don’t seduce other women’s husbands,” she retorted, pushing against him to sit up.
He eased himself off her and helped her, though his eyes were disturbingly astute. “That’s what happened to you, isn’t it?”
She shook out her sleeves and reached for her somewhat crushed hat, which had either fallen off or been shoved aside. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. I think your husband kept a mistress and it hurt you.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to relive that pain. “Only my pride. My husband showed me every kindness, civility and respect.” She wanted to glare at him, to dare him to speak further on so intimate a subject, but she was afraid he would see the old hurt seeping from her eyes like tears.
“My God,” he whispered. “If you were mine, I would show you so much more than that. Every day. If you were mine, I could never look at another woman. Why would I?”
She gasped in a last effort to thrust the memory away, and suddenly his arms were around her again, dragging her against his chest, the hapless hat scrunched between them.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You loved him. Women bear so much and men are so unthinkingly cruel, while believing they are all that is honorable.”
“It broke my heart,” she whispered, admitting it for the first time. “I was nothing to him but the woman fit to bear his children. And even there, I failed.”
“He failed. He failed you.”
For an instant, she clutched his arms, soaking up his comfort and the warmth of his rough cheek against hers. Then she pulled back, dashing her sleeve across her eyes like a child. “It was a long time ago. I never think about it. There must be something about this place that churns up the emotions.”
It wasn’t a bad attempt.
As though playing along, he grinned at her. “Not a chance. It must be me.”
She suspected that was alarmingly closer to the truth, though she would never admit it.
“When I came out of mourning,” she said, for he might as well hear the rest, “and I did mourn him, quite genuinely, I began to realize I was still young and free to live. So I did, and I do. I go where I please with whomever I please and I have fun and romance and laughter in my life. I am happy.”
“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “And you came here.”
She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but had no intention of finding out. She rose quite suddenly, afraid of this new intimacy, and spun away to face the waterfall. Which is when she saw the man standing at the top of the hill, just at the water’s edge. He seemed to be looking straight at her.
“Rob!” she exclaimed, seizing the Rosses’ name for him in her panic as she reached blindly for his arm. “Who is that?”
But the figure vanished before the words left her lips and she found herself pointing at no one.
“Someone was there,” she said urgently. “Watching us.” So much for the discretion he’d claimed. “How disheartening to be caught in a moment of actual innocence.”
“It might not be your morals or social gossip he’s interested in,” Rob said, with a trace of grimness. Hastily, he began to gather up the remains of luncheon and the cloak on the ground.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he could be one of the strangers who broke into your house. Strangers were seen in the area, but no one saw where they went. I was afraid they were still here.”
“Is that why you led me here by such a circuitous route?”
He cast her a quick smile as he seized the mare’s reins. “You noticed. Yes, I was looking out for any sign of them.”
“We should chase him!”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked, holding down his locked hands to boost her into the saddle.
With quite a different kind of excitement than that she’d discovered in his arms, she sprang from his hands to the saddle and gathered the reins. It took him only a moment to mount the white stallion.
“Stay close to me!” he hurled over his shoulder and kicked the horse to an almost instant gallop.
Even with the alarming purpose of the chase, it was an exhilarating ride around the hill, across both open country and woodland. Sheep scattered around them as they rode down the hillside, and a dog barked at them, but of the man she’d seen—or any other man, in fact—they saw no sign.
“How utterly frustrating!” Etta exclaimed as they finally turned their horses’ heads back toward Ardbeag House.
“Agreed.”
“Despite my seeing him, we’re no farther forward, are we?”
“We might be,” he said cautiously. “Since there was no sign of them coming down, I have an idea where they might be hiding.”
“Where?” she demanded.
“I’m not daft enough to say,” he retorted, “or you’ll be sneaking up there to confront them alone.”
“Won’t you come with me?” she wheedled.
“On this occasion, no,”
he said firmly. “I suspect I’d be leading you into a trap. No, we’ll retreat as though defeated, and then when they’re least expecting it, I’ll go back with a few useful men.”
“Then I shall come with you.”
He raised one eyebrow. “And shatter our discretion?”
In spite of herself, she blushed. “I’m not sure discretion is a consideration when hunting thieves.”
He only smiled and guided his horse across the burn.
“Mrs. Ross believes they were looking for Prince Charlie’s gold,” she said.
“I suspect they’re sixty years too late for that.”
“Then you believe it was discovered?”
He shrugged. “Yes, if it ever existed. Enough people have torn the place apart looking for it. If it was there, someone must have found it, whether that was a government soldier slipping off with it, some fugitive ancestor of Mrs. Ross, or your grandfather-in-law. Or any of the people who rebuilt and redecorated the house for the Derwents.”
“Then why do people still believe in it? Enough to break into the house and then lurk in the vicinity, presumably with the intention of looking again?”
“People who have little or nothing like to believe in something. Luck, usually. But don’t worry. We’ll catch them before they get the chance to look again. You’ll be quite safe.”
“They won’t be if they come back,” Etta said darkly. “I have a dedicated poker with a purpose!”
Chapter Five
As they rode up to the house, Archie came to meet them and take the horses. “Did Mr. Ross not find you, then?”
“No, he never did,” Etta said. “You did pass on my message?”
“Aye, he was over at the Hoggs’. I suppose something must have come up.”
“I suppose it must,” Etta agreed. In truth, she didn’t know whether she should be annoyed with Ross for ignoring her request, or grateful. For somehow, despite the releasing of unwanted memories and emotions, she couldn’t quite regret the growing intimacy between herself and Robert, and that could never have happened to such a degree if Mr. Ross had accompanied them.
“You’ll have tea?” she asked, turning toward the house. Ridiculously, she found she was holding her breath for his answer.
“Thank you, I will,” he said easily. “I’ll just have a quick word with Archie, if you don’t mind, and follow you inside.”
“Of course.” She only just managed to stop herself bestowing a huge smile upon him. Instead, she walked into the house with a careless nod, but she couldn’t prevent the warmth seeping through her. Something was happening to her, something to do with Robert Ogilvy, something she wasn’t sure she wanted. She couldn’t explain these feelings, yet she couldn’t help liking the mix of excited anticipation, comfort, gladness, fear…
“Tea, Morag, if you please,” she ordered as she handed the maid her somewhat battered hat. “In the drawing room, for three. Mr. Ogilvy will be joining us. Oh, and ask Mrs. Ross to step up when she has a moment.”
The drawing room was probably the finest room in Ardbeag House, and yet it retained an atmosphere of welcome and pleasantness that Etta liked. She’d taken to sitting here in the evenings, with the curtains open, watching the sky change color and darken over the hills while she read one of the treasures from the library. Although she could never live here, there was much to recommend it, much that she would miss. Not least, the man who walked through the door a few minutes later.
Her stupid heart gave an unseemly lurch. He shouldn’t be so handsome. He shouldn’t walk with that quick, lithe grace that made her wonder, in spite of herself, how he would move as he made love. He would be unpredictable, both tender and wild, but always intense, passionate…
Hastily, she blinked away such unknowable fantasies.
“Archie’s going to bring up a couple more men to keep an eye on the house tonight,” he said as he sat on the sofa opposite her.
“A couple more?” she pounced.
“Well, Ross and I thought it sensible to have someone watching, in case these men really are focused on this house. And now that we’ve seen one of them, and he knows we have, they may well hurry things along.”
Etta, who’d arranged a series of watches among the house servants last night, wasn’t sure she cared for his additional interference. And Mr. Ross should not be arranging things with him, but with her. However, before she could even think how to make her displeasure known, Morag and Mrs. Ross appeared with the tea.
“Won’t you join us, Mrs. Ross?” Etta said as the housekeeper made to follow Morag out of the room.
Mrs. Ross sniffed, still clearly bearing a grudge about being dismissed from tea yesterday morning. “I would not presume.”
“Oh, sit down, Mrs. Ross, I particularly wish to speak to you.”
“About what?” Mrs. Ross demanded, sitting stiffly on the edge of the chair opposite Rob.
“About this Jacobite gold.” In fact, she knew neither Mrs. Ross nor anyone else had anything useful to contribute to the legend, but she wanted her to feel useful. So, while Etta poured the tea, and they drank it, they discussed all the local rumors, each more unlikely than the last, and speculated on how these rumors could have risen to the surface once more and come to the ear of criminal elements.
When she’d finished her tea, Mrs. Ross rose in much better humor than she’d sat, and went about her housekeeping duties, leaving the drawing room door open as was only proper.
“You’re humoring her,” Rob accused.
“Well, I have sympathy for her confused place in the world. Besides, even when she’s at her most infuriating, I know she’s trying to be kind and look after me. It isn’t her fault I’m difficult.”
“I think it’s you who is kind.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I’m not, believe me.”
He set down his empty cup, rose, and closed the distance between them. She waited, silly panic mingling with anticipation. To her surprise, he crouched at her feet and took her hand.
“There is no role to play here. People will love you for who you are, without judging you.”
Surprise prevented her from snatching her hand back. She would have poured scorn on his words except she recognized a certain amount of truth in them. She liked playing the wayward, slightly fast widow, partly because it was such a relief from the humiliation of the wronged wife, a role she despised and had always refused to play, although she suspected it had stuck to her anyway.
He said gently, “There is a lot to love.”
She swallowed. “You don’t know me, Rob Ogilvy.”
“I’m beginning to.” He lowered his head and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. “I’ve never met anyone remotely like you. You delight me.”
“I don’t need flattery,” she said with a hint of anguish because she wanted it to be true. She wanted to delight him. “I don’t need love.”
“Your kiss said otherwise.”
“I did not kiss you,” she said with dignity, although she flushed all over at the flooding memory of his embrace. “You kissed me.”
He smiled. “There were two of us in those kisses. I’ve never known such sweetness.”
There should have been a witty riposte to that, something to lighten the sudden tension, but it eluded her.
“Don’t say such things to me,” she whispered, touching a strand of his tangled hair because she couldn’t help it. “I only want honesty. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I’ve only ever been honest with you.” He reached up to her nape and she gasped at his touch. Her heart seemed to soar as he drew nearer and kissed her.
Her fingers curled around his wrist, though whether to keep him or to stop him, she wasn’t sure. In any case, it felt so sweet, so curiously right, that she opened to him almost at once. And this time she quite consciously kissed him back, because she wanted to, because it was tender, and meltingly sensual. She loved the feel of his lips, so hot and firm and sure, and the delicacy of his exploring t
ongue. Her fingers slid upward from his wrist over his muscled arm and shoulder to his neck, tangling in his soft hair.
Very slowly, very reluctantly, she let him break the kiss.
“I ask nothing of you, Henrietta,” he whispered. “Except that you don’t run from this. Give it a chance.”
“What is this?” she wondered, almost brokenly.
His lips quirked. “Wonderful,” he said, and took back her mouth.
He was right. Nothing and no one had ever felt like this and she, who’d so desperately sought experience of life’s delights, would be a fool to let this slip through her fingers.
She touched his rough cheek, caressed the corner of his mouth. Her heart thundered with the enormity of what she was about to offer, to enter into.
“Will you stay?” she whispered against his lips.
He stilled. His eyes opened into hers. Slowly, his lips stretched into a smile before they kissed her again. “I won’t stay.”
It was like a bucket of cold water. Only no water could ever have hurt her as his words did. She jerked back—or, at least, she tried to, but his arms went around her, holding her to his chest.
“I won’t stay,” he repeated. “But I will come back. Tonight, if you’ll let me.”
“You won’t get in,” she said, breathless but determinedly flippant. “The house will be locked up like a fortress, with an army of guards.”
“Oh, I’ll get in,” he promised, rising to his feet and drawing her with him. She thrilled to his words and the strength of his body as he pressed her to him. There was another kiss, overtly sensual and passionate and just a little wilder than his previous embraces, a taste, surely, of the delicious night to come. “Discreetly,” he added with a quick grin as he finally released her. “So, don’t hit me with the damned poker.”
***
Rob felt as though he were flying as he rode from Ardbeag House back to Lochgarron. He’d never felt such intense happiness, and it wasn’t just the prospect of a night with her, or even the possibility of more nights, or that she would give in to forever and be persuaded to marry him. It was just being with her, of watching the laughter and sadness play across her face, hearing her voice, seeing her kindness, beginning to understand her. On some level, he’d sensed all this when her beautiful eyes had first captured him at the ball, the rest was only confirmation and detail. But it was all joy.
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 25