A Warriner to Rescue Her

by Virginia Heath

  His greedy palms smoothed down to her hips and then back up again to cup her face before they plunged into her silken hair. Of their own accord, his fingers found the pins that held it and plucked them out, filling his hands with the tumbling mass as he began to ease her slowly backwards on to the grass. And throughout it all, all he could hear was the rapid beating of his own heart as it rested deliriously against hers, as if it was meant to be there.

  Always.

  Which frankly scared the hell out of him.

  And probably out of her, too.

  Jamie abruptly ended the kiss and sat up, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his breeches considerably tighter than they had been a few moments ago. He had no right to be kissing her possessively. Or in anger. Or kissing her at all for that matter, despite the sight of her lying rumpled on the ground and looking positively ripe for the picking. Cassie had certainly made no flirtatious overtures or given any hint that such impertinence was welcomed. Theirs was a platonic relationship based on their mutual desire to complete her storybook. Why, she hadn’t felt the urge to visit him in almost a week, even after he had passed on a message through Joe at the church days ago telling her explicitly that he would be here. Waiting. Where he had waited, like the besotted fool he was, for three interminable days. Therefore, it stood to reason that the turbulent feelings choking him were one-sided. One-sided and doomed to be unreciprocated.

  Yet as fruitless as it all was, the last thing he wanted was to frighten her away. Meeting Cassie by the riverbank, talking to her, painting while she read to him or wrote were already the brightest, shiniest, most important parts of his day. To think he might have ruined what they had with one, irresponsible, irrevocable moment of jealousy terrified him more than the yearning in his heart as he gazed at her. Her clothing was in disarray, her lips swollen from his onslaught and her eyes screwed tightly shut, blocking out the hideous, maimed sight of him while he had foisted himself upon her like an animal, oblivious to everything except the overwhelming need to take her.

  Poor Cassie. His inappropriate, unwelcome personal desires were his alone to contend with and they shamed him. He had to fix it. Perhaps make it seem as if it had not meant the world to him. Lie if need be.

  * * *

  At first, Cassie was unaware the kiss had ended. Her eyes remained closed, her mouth eager and every nerve ending in her body positively vibrating with need. It had been a wonderful, impromptu surprise and a revelation. Who knew both of the scoundrels she had fleetingly kissed before Jamie had done it completely wrong? Or that, as she had always suspected, she was prone to swooning after all?

  His mouth had been all urgency and passion, his strong arms had held her tightly, not that she had had any desire to escape. Far from it. From the outset she had instinctively burrowed against him, shamelessly flattening her suddenly aching breasts against the firm wall of his chest and replicating the movements of his lips against hers. His teeth. His tongue. When he had pushed her backwards, she had surrendered gratefully, running her palms brazenly over his shoulders and moaning her appreciation loudly into his mouth...

  Which probably accounted for why there was at least a foot of fresh air between them now and he was blinking down at her in horror. Like her wanton mother before her, Cassie had gone too far and disgusted him with her enthusiastic and newly awakened passion. Hadn’t her father warned her almost daily that a good man would never condone a woman who would lustily give of herself for her own satisfaction?

  Well, now she had tangible proof. Jamie was mortified at her scandalous behaviour. Passion had no place in an honourable life or a marriage. The act of marital congress was for the creation of children and any unseemly, sinful urges of the flesh should be mercilessly ignored or she would end up like her mother. Shamed. Shunned. Her soul destined for eternal damnation. Five minutes in the arms of Captain Galahad and she would happily have burned in hell and not given a damn.

  ‘I believe I have proved my point. Your scoundrels knew nothing about romancing a woman.’

  The coldness of his words were a slap in the face. He had done this to prove a point? Not because he had wanted to. Not because she tempted him or appealed to him in any way, but because he had wanted to teach her that her scoundrels were not quite as skilled at the art of seduction as she had been led to believe. And that he was better.

  He held out his hand and hoisted her up, refusing to meet her eyes, then turned away from her. That blatant rejection stung and she felt her cheeks burn with shame. Like a needy fool she had allowed him to take all of the liberties she had denied those other would-be seducers and would have allowed him to take so many more had her pawing, mauling hungry passion not repulsed him.

  Or perhaps he was not repulsed, merely uninterested and unaffected by it? She was hardly the sort of woman who sparked besotted admiration in the male sex. She was an odd, freckled vicar’s daughter. Three sugars when one was enough. By his own admission he was vastly competitive. There might be a chance the kiss was simply a way to gain one-upmanship over those men from her past, just as he done with his own brothers growing up.

  Would he stoop so low?

  It went against everything Cassie thought she knew about him.

  Whilst such a convoluted explanation appeared unlikely, already Cassie could see the heated moment was forgotten as far as he was concerned. Jamie was blithely munching on an apple and rummaging in his saddle bag. When he produced some sketches and handed them to her as if nothing had transpired between them at all, she seriously considered the notion he had done it to win. While it hurt, it did give her the opportunity to appear as unaffected and worldly-wise as he apparently was. A kiss was nothing to him. Simply a physical act which could be mastered with practice. Something he was instinctively good at, like riding or painting. Something he could use to prove a point.

  ‘I should like your thoughts on the wedding picture.’

  She did her level best to act as composed as him, something which was inordinately difficult on account of all of the riotous loose hair tangled about her face. Evidence of his petty victory. Cassie tucked as much of it as she could behind her ears and pretended to study the picture rather than weep pathetically and drown in the ocean of tears which were forming behind her eyes.

  As always, the painting was perfect. His attention to the tiniest of details was impressive and endearing. Stanley was staring at Orange Blossom with pride and adoration, looking smart in a beaver hat set at a jaunty angle, her pretty pony had wildflowers and leaves woven into her long mane, while scarlet rose petals thrown by the wedding guests floated about their heads as they wandered beneath a formal, whimsical arch of crossed carrots.

  Behind them stood Miss Freckles and Captain Galahad. Miss Freckles was clutching a posy which matched the bride’s headdress and was beaming at the happy couple. But it was the Captain who caught her eye and made her heart bleed. Because in this painting he was not watching the bride and groom. His piercing bright blue eyes were slanted towards Miss Freckles with an expression which almost matched the black stallion’s. Bemused adoration.

  The tableau mocked her and she wanted to rip it into tiny shreds that matched the cheerful painted confetti and throw the whole lot in his arrogant, smug point-proving face.

  ‘It’s lovely.’ And I am dying inside. ‘And we are done.’

  ‘Yes. Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle is finally finished.’

  As endings went, this one was quite tragic and he was missing the point entirely. ‘I am going home, Captain Warriner. I shan’t bother you again.’

  He paused, his half-eaten apple hovering inches from his lips, and frowned. ‘If it is the kiss you are worried about, you needn’t. I merely wanted to show you that those scoundrels you put such stock in were not worthy. I meant nothing more than that.’

  Cassie found herself scrambling to her feet and striding towards he
r pony, hurt, irritated and insulted by her brooding companion’s blatant ambivalence, when he had just kissed her until she was insensible and that kiss had been so profound.

  To her.

  To him it meant nothing. He had just said so.

  Yet he had asserted his dominance and power over her. Whilst the way he had gone about it was wholly different from the way her father exercised his dominance, he had used those kisses to put her firmly in her place. Something which made her angrier the more Cassie thought about it. What was it with men that they had to be in charge? And why did they have to break a woman’s spirit to do it? To think she had been considering a happily ever after with a man who would stoop so low to prove a point. Ha! She still had her original escape plan to revert back to. One where she created her own happy ending. Devoid of domineering men who hurt her feelings and made her feel insignificant! She might have to tolerate her father until she could escape, because he was her father, more’s the pity and she had nowhere else to go. But she certainly did not have to tolerate Jamie.

  When he made to stand up to assist her on to her pony as he usually did, looking confused by her obvious overreaction, she wanted to slap him. The prospect of his hands on her body again so soon after it had betrayed her so wantonly was out of the question. ‘Do not trouble yourself getting up. I do not require your superior help in this matter as well. I could get on my own pony before you came along and I dare say I shall manage well enough going forward. You see, there is a tree stump over there.’ To prove the point, Cassie marched Orange Blossom swiftly towards it while he struggled to get himself off the ground and deftly used it to put her own bottom into her own saddle much quicker than she had ever sat on her saddle before. ‘Good day, Captain Warriner. Thank you again for lending me your painting talents. And I am glad I could facilitate another petty win for you and feel I must congratulate you in your exemplary seduction skills. Kindly keep them to yourself in the future.’

  Chapter Ten

  Well, he had made a spectacular hash out of that. Even Satan was staring at him incredulously.

  Could you have been more boorish or offensive, you stupid human? You ravished the poor girl, failed to apologise for groping her and made it sound as if you were teaching her a lesson for having the audacity to be delightful enough to inspire men to kiss her. What a thoroughly charming creature you are!

  To add insult to injury, Jamie could now apparently hear his horse speak! Or maybe it was his own disgusted voice in his head? Either way, he couldn’t argue with the sentiment.

  What had started as the perfectly pleasant afternoon he had longed for had deteriorated rapidly into one of the worst days of his life, thanks entirely to his legendary quick temper and a rampant case of jealous lust. The only day he could remember which had turned out to be worse was the one in which he had been shot four times and almost died from the injuries—although as he watched her lovely bottom disappear in the distance, that cute freckled nose defiantly poking up in the air in outrage at being treated so abominably, he would have swapped the shame he currently felt for those destructive, life-changing bullets in a heartbeat.

  If there had been a convenient brick wall close by, he would cheerfully smash his stupid head against it. Maybe he would go and find one, do it anyway and be damned. He doubted it would hurt more than his heart did. Who knew it was possible to grievously insult a woman in so many different ways in such a short space of time.

  Jamie began to snatch up his things in utter disgust at his own ham-fisted behaviour. Seeing the remnants of the lovely picnic she had prepared still strewn across the grass only served to further sour his mood. The poor girl had departed in such a hurry she had left it all behind. Even her leather-bound journal, the one in which she wrote her precious stories, sat discarded on the tablecloth. He picked it up and began to flick through it. The moment he saw the name Captain Galahad, a fresh wave of shame washed over him, his fingers tracing the flamboyant, sloping handwriting lovingly. Her words. Words which summed her up perfectly. Cheerful, funny, vivid. Generous of spirit. Thoughtful. And he had behaved with such thoughtlessness he wouldn’t blame her if she never ever wanted to see him again.

  He rode home listlessly and was grateful when he collided with nobody when he arrived. The drawing room was empty and silent, so for ages he sat miserably and stared out of the window. It went without saying he owed her the most enormous, grovelling apology it was possible to give, no matter how humbling or mortifying it was likely to be. He needed to explain why he had kissed her in the first place—or a watered-down version of why he had kissed her. One which kept his growing affection for her a closely guarded secret—and then allow her to decide if she still wanted to cut him out of her life afterwards.

  What was he thinking? For her to cut him out of her life he had to be in it in the first place, which he was entirely sure he was not. For almost a week she hadn’t given him a passing thought bar today, preferring to fill her afternoons with other, more enticing activities, than sit and talk to him. A humbling realisation indeed. Jamie rubbed his hands over his face and caught the lingering scent of her perfume. His fingertips smelled faintly of her, from where he had plunged them into her hair and greedily run them all over her body. When he closed his eyes he could conjure her at that exact moment. Tumbled on the ground, hair fanned out around her head, the gold-and-copper strands standing out in stark contrast to the rich green grass, her lush mouth swollen from his kiss. So lovely just thinking about it made his heart quicken. There seemed no point in stifling the urge to paint her, because when she sent him packing later, he would at least have that perfect image to remember her by.

  * * *

  With her father away overnight, Cassie was not in any hurry to go to bed. Not when she could sit and write at the kitchen table by the light of a proper lantern without fear of discovery or retribution. In her haste to leave Jamie she had left her journal behind, so she was forced to used loose pages of foolscap until she could find some manner of retrieving it while deftly avoiding him. Besides, she did not need her journal to write. Loose pages would suffice and she still had every intention of filling them. Opportunities to write at a table were few and far between, and too splendid an opportunity to waste. Hours and hours free to indulge in her passion for writing. Just her, her writing equipment and the whimsical stories in her head.

  Utter, utter bliss.

  Unfortunately, no matter how much she willed them, no words came out of her pen because all she could think about was him. The glorious feel of his lips on hers and the bitter sting of his reaction afterwards. Both events befuddled her mind in equal measure and effectively chased away the fantasy world she loved to write about.

  Why was she wasting so much thought on him anyway? He was not the first person to reject her and she very much doubted he would be the last. And anyway this relationship, like all the others she’d had in the past, would be transient. They would move away from Retford sooner rather than later, or her luck would turn and she would be able to claim her independence, therefore it was probably for the best she did not allow herself to become too attached to him. Although she already was. At least this way she would have time to get over him before she left rather than mourn his loss afterwards. It was also better that she was positively fuming at the audacity of the man.

  Proved my point!

  Of all the outrageous reasons to kiss her. Well, he had certainly proved it and now she had to prove her own point and that was James Warriner could go to hell. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t! All Cassie had to do was what she always did. Pick herself up, dust off her dented pride and pretend it did not matter, even if it did.

  Tea was undoubtedly the answer. A nice, hot cup of tea in which she would shamelessly dunk a vast number of the sugar biscuits she had baked a few hours ago to take her mind off him then as well. He had spent far too much time occupying her thoughts. Enough was enough.
Cassie decisively grabbed the empty kettle from the hearth and went to fill it from the jug, only to find the jug empty. With a huff, she strode out of the back door to go to the well and fetch more.

  A dark head suddenly popped out of a bush to her side and she screamed. The instinct for survival kicked in and she instantly threw the metal jug at the intruder as she darted back towards the house and heard the decisive clunk as it hit him smack in the face.

  ‘Ow!’

  She knew that voice.

  ‘Jamie?’

  ‘That was a blasted good shot, woman. Do you play cricket?’ He was whispering and rubbing his temple as he emerged limping from the leaves. ‘Because you have a very strong arm and excellent aim.’

  Cassie’s heart was beating so fast she put her hand to her chest to try and calm it down. ‘What in God’s name do you think you are about, James Warriner? You gave me the fright of my life. What are you doing in the shrubbery?’

  ‘I came to return your journal. You left it by the riverbank.’ He began to pat down his pockets and then groaned. ‘And apparently I have left it back at the house. Sorry. I shall fetch it back to you tomorrow.’

  He touched his fingers to his eyebrow and she saw a stain of something dark there. Blood. Instantly she felt guilty for throwing the heavy jug at his head, but really...he had rather brought it upon himself.

  ‘I think your forehead is bleeding.’

  ‘It’s only a little graze and I dare say I deserve it. My behaviour this afternoon was... What I mean to say is... Well, frankly, I’m not entirely sure quite what came over me earlier, but I am heartily ashamed of myself, if it’s any consolation, and I came here to offer you a grovelling apology for being an overbearing brute. I wish the whole sorry episode should never have happened.’ Sorry episode? Cassie’s teeth began to grind afresh. ‘And I think it would be best if we pretended it had never happened. Let’s go back to being friends again. I’ve been stood in this damn bush for close on an hour waiting for your father to go to bed so that I could throw myself on your mercy and beg for your forgiveness.’ He was still whispering even though there was no need.