They kept moving toward the door, skirting a pair of combatants rolling around on the floor. Gregory dodged a fist and rammed a chair into another man who charged at them. He did not see the man come up behind him, wielding a thick-glassed bottle, but Rylla did. She brought her cane up sharply, the metal knob on top catching the attacker on the point of his chin. His teeth clacked together, and he wavered, the bottle tumbling out of his hand. It smashed into his foot.
Leaving the attacker hobbling and cursing and wiping his bloody chin, Gregory and Rylla ran for the exit. They were trapped for an instant in a clog at the doorway, then popped through into the street. Gregory took Rylla’s arm and pulled her up the street, but she hung back, looking all around her.
“Rylla! Bloody hell, come on. What are you doing?”
“I saw him! He’s here!”
“Who?” Gregory stopped, pulling her back against the building. “Daniel?”
“No. Kerns.”
“The man who took your brooch? Where?” Gregory swiveled, looking up and down the street.
“I’m not sure. I can’t see him. No, wait, up there!” She pointed up the street, which climbed steeply. At the very top, a man was weaving along. He passed under a streetlamp. “I think that’s him!”
She started off at a run, Gregory right behind her. His long legs quickly outstripped her, but he slowed down, waiting for her.
“Go on! Go on!” she hissed. “I’ll catch up.”
“I’m not leaving you.” He adjusted to a loping pace alongside her.
As they neared the top of the hill, there was no sight of the figure. Pulling to a stop at the cross street, they peered around the corner.
“There!” Gregory started after the dark figure. Their quarry glanced back, saw them, and took to his heels. Gregory charged after him. With a flying leap, Gregory slammed into the man, and the pair crashed to the ground.
Chapter Ten
The two men rolled across the street, grappling, as Rylla ran up behind them. Rylla raised her cane to strike, but she could not get a clear shot at Kerns. He slashed at Gregory with a knife, ripping his coat. Gregory grabbed the man’s wrist and slammed it into the cobblestones.
The man let out a howl, kicking and punching with his free arm, but Gregory ignored his blows and smashed Kerns’s arm to the ground again. The knife skittered across the cobblestones. Gregory pinned him to the ground.
“Is this him?” he panted. “Is it Kerns?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Who the devil are you?” Kerns demanded.
“That’s not important.” Gregory hauled the man to his feet and twisted his arm up behind his back. “We have a few questions for you.”
“Questions?” The man gaped at him.
“Yes.” Rylla stepped forward. “We’re looking for Daniel Campbell. Do you know where he is? Have you seen him?”
“Nae. How should I know? “
“Because you’re the sharp who swindled him,” Gregory answered, giving him a shake. “You’re not the kind to lose sight of one of your flats.”
“I never swindled him. Anyway, I hae no’ seen him since he got up on his high ropes about his sister paying me for— Say!” He stopped and looked Rylla up and down. “You’re her, ain’t you?” He laughed. “Well, well, now . . . I’d be happy to play a few hands with you. Ow!” His face contorted and he rolled his eyes toward Gregory. “Hae a care; you’ll break my arm.”
“I’ll break both of them if you continue in that vein.”
“I dinna mean anything.”
“Never mind that,” Rylla said impatiently. “When and where did you last see Daniel?”
“I dinna watch the lad’s comings and goings. Six days ago, maybe seven. He came tae ask for more time tae pay. I told him you’d taken care of it. He flew up into the boughs about me talking to his sister. Went storming off. I hae no’ seen him since.”
“Where did he go? He wouldn’t have just disappeared.”
“My guess? He’s gang tae the moneylenders.”
Tears sprang into Rylla’s eyes, and she turned away. Behind her, Gregory pulled the other man away, bending down to talk to him in low, fierce tones. Rylla paid them no attention. All she could think of was the disappointment crushing her chest. She had been so hopeful when she’d spotted Kerns a few minutes earlier, so certain that he would be able to lead them to Daniel.
But they were no farther along than they had been. Christmas was the day after tomorrow. How could they find her brother before then? It was becoming clearer and clearer that Daniel did not plan to join the family. How could she and her family celebrate Christmas, not knowing if Daniel was well . . . or even alive?
♦ ♦ ♦
“I’m sure your brother is fine,” Gregory told Rylla, taking her arm and pulling her closer to the fire. She had been quiet all the way back to his home. He knew her thoughts had been on her brother. It amazed him how much he wished he could give her what she wanted.
“How can you know?” Rylla held her hands out to the warmth of the fire, not looking at him. She was so lovely, it brought a pain to his chest. Gregory’s eyes drifted over her pale, delicate skin, cheeks and lips reddened by the cold. She had taken off the hat she’d worn and combed her hands through her curls, giving her blond hair a charmingly tousled look.
“I can’t, of course, not for certain. But I do know young men. I know what it’s like to feel foolish and sorry and ashamed of something you’ve done. That is what is keeping him away. If something had happened to him, if he had been hurt, you would have heard.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.” She gave him a small smile and turned away, slipping out of her coat and jacket. “What did you say to Kerns there at the end? I saw you looking fierce and talking to him quietly so I wouldn’t hear.”
Gregory shrugged, propping his elbow on the mantel and watching her. Her breeches curved over her rounded derriere and hugged the contours of her legs. A sweet ache settled low in his abdomen. “I just reminded him it was in his best interests to keep his mouth shut and stay away from your brother. I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
“Thank you.” Rylla looked up at him with lambent eyes.
He could get lost in those eyes, Gregory thought. His fingers itched to reach out to her. He swung away sharply and picked up his greatcoat, searching the pockets. “I got this from him.” He extended his hand, palm open.
“My brooch!” Rylla drew in a sharp breath, picking up the piece of jewelry almost reverently. “But how—I would have thought he’d sold it already!”
“Apparently he hasn’t been able to get as much as he wanted for it.”
“But Gregory—I did owe him the money. I mean, Daniel did.”
He smiled. “Now you’re worried about Kerns getting swindled? Don’t be. I paid him for it.”
“Gregory! No, you shouldn’t. I can’t accept this from you.” She stroked her fingers over the brooch in her palm. “It’s too much.”
“Nonsense. It’s yours.” Gregory pulled his eyes from the sight of her fingers caressing the piece of jewelry. He cleared his throat. “Consider it a Christmas present.”
Rylla smiled. “I am not noble enough to refuse it.” She went up on tiptoe, placing her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and brushed her lips against his. “Thank you.”
Heat surged in Gregory. “I don’t ask for your gratitude.” His voice was thick, his mind heavy and slow, as if mired in a bog. Only his senses were alive, excruciatingly so.
“I know. But you have it, nevertheless. You are most kind.”
“I’m not. Sweet heaven, I am not.” Unconsciously he leaned toward her. He must not touch her. He was sure he would be lost if he did. But she was so achingly close, so warm and soft. So desirable.
“You have not kissed me these three days. Not even once.” Rylla continued to gaze at him, her eyes wide and limpid. He could not look away.
“No.” He sounded rusty as an old gate.
“Why?” The word was deceptively simple. He had no idea how to answer it. After a moment of silence, she added, “Do you not want to kiss me anymore?”
“Rylla . . .” The word came out a groan. His hands came up to frame her face. “Of course I want to kiss you. I can think of nothing else. But you must know I cannot. I would be a scoundrel to take advantage of you that way. Here, under my roof.”
“You mean you were a scoundrel when you kissed me here the other day?”
“No doubt. But at least then I did not know you.”
“It’s worse to kiss someone you know?” Her voice was lightly teasing. The treacherous tautness deep within him grew worse.
“You are playing with me.” He knew she must feel the rush of heat in his hands, hear the unevenness of his voice as restraint warred with passion.
“And you no longer wish to play with me?”
“There is nothing I would like more.” It was becoming exceedingly hard to think.
She laid her hands flat on his chest, sliding them up him as she rose onto her toes again, stretching up until her lips were perilously close to his. “Then why don’t you?”
“You have given me your trust. You’re in my care. I should protect you.”
“From yourself?” Rylla’s hands slipped over his shoulders and around to the nape of his neck. Her fingers glided up his neck and into his hair, sending shivers down his spine.
“Especially from me.” He could not keep from tasting her lips. Just one small kiss would not matter, surely. He knew as soon as his mouth touched hers that that was a lie. It was all he could do to pull away.
There was a wicked glint in her eye. “But who shall protect you from me?” Rylla tugged his head down to hers.
All resistance fled him. Gregory kissed her deeply and at length, savoring the pleasure of her soft mouth, exploring its welcoming heat. He let his hands glide over her, caressing her neck and breasts and sides. The journey was sweet, but he was too eager to reach his goal to linger on the way. He curved over her buttocks as he had been imagining all evening, fingertips digging in and lifting the firm mounds, pressing her into his body, imprinting her softness with the full hard evidence of his desire.
Rylla threw her arms around his neck, clinging tightly, hooking her leg around his, as if she would climb straight up his body. He lifted her from the ground and turned, reeling, until he came up hard against the wall. He was on fire now, desire pounding through him.
One arm braced against the wall beside her head, he pinned her there, kissing her as if his life depended upon it. His other hand slid over her body, impatiently opening her waistcoat and shirt and slipping beneath them. He roamed over her breasts, enticing the nipples into hard points of desire. His fingers moved down to the place between her legs that he had ached to touch for hours. For days. She was hot and tight, and it made him shudder to find the material already damp.
“Rylla . . .” Her name was like a prayer on his lips as his mouth roamed down her neck. His fingers moved insistently against her. She separated her legs, opening herself to him. “Rylla . . . no . . . tell me to stop. Else soon I will not be able to.”
Her answer was a little moan, and she arched up against his hand. “I don’t want you to stop.”
And he was lost.
♦ ♦ ♦
Rylla had been thinking of this, dreaming of this, for days. She had not known exactly what she wanted other than a recurrence of the pleasure she had felt at his hands before, but she understood now that this frantic, desperate need that pulsed in Gregory was exactly what she hungered for.
He swept her up in his arms, carrying her to his bed, kicking the bedroom door closed behind them, as though to shut them away from the world even more deeply. Gregory laid her down on the bed, treating her as gently as porcelain despite the taut hunger that limned every inch of him. His eyes on her, he disrobed swiftly, and Rylla watched with fascination. He was so new, so different, to her eyes, his long torso and limbs captivating her, as his fingers had, with their combination of strength and lean grace. The sight of his naked maleness brought a moment’s trepidation, but it was more excitement and eagerness than fear that welled up in her. Rylla fumbled at her own neckcloth, fingers clumsy on the unfamiliar clothes.
“Here, I’ll do it.” Gregory sat down beside her on the bed, expertly going to work on the neckcloth and the buttons of her waistcoat. She sat up and let him pull the garments from her and toss them aside, leaving her upper body naked to his eyes.
He drank her in, his face turning heavy and slack with passion as he reached out to cover her breasts. The look in his eyes made the low, hot ache in her throb more fiercely, and as he caressed her, she stretched beneath his hands like a cat, whatever embarrassment and shyness she had felt at her nakedness swept away by the pleasure of his touch.
Gregory reached down to pull off her shoes and stockings, pausing to caress each narrow foot and slide up her calf to the hem of her breeches. Then he went to the buttons at the top of her breeches, taking his time and sliding his hand inside to stroke and tease her. Rylla gasped at the intense pleasure and moved restlessly beneath his fingers, seeking more.
He stripped off the breeches impatiently, and she thought he would come into her then, but instead his hand returned to tempt and delight her, and he lowered his mouth to her breast. Rylla let out a low moan at the twin pleasures, and she twined her fingers through his hair, holding him to her.
An impatient need built inside her, and just when she thought she could not bear the exquisite pleasure any longer, he parted her legs and moved in between them. He slid up her body, his flesh probing delicately at her tight entrance. Her breath caught in her throat, and she knew with a burst of loss and confusion that this simply would not work, and then he was pushing into her, slow and steady. She started instinctively to pull back, but his hands went to her hips, holding her in place, and then, with a flash of pain, he was inside her.
He went still, and she could see the fierce concentration in his face as he waited. His voice was hoarse as he said, “Look at me, Rylla.”
She did as he said, gazing up into his glittering blue eyes, and let herself relax. He bent, taking her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Rylla curled her arms around him, giving herself up to the pleasure of his mouth. He slid into her, inch by slow inch, as he kissed her face and neck. He filled her, bringing her a satisfaction she had never imagined, and as he stroked in and out, she felt need knotting in her.
Rylla dug her fingers into his back, aching for something she could not name, knowing only that the tension in her was almost unbearable. His hand moved down between them, his thumb finding the sensitive bud of flesh between her legs, and she drew in her breath sharply. She tightened all over, digging in her heels, as he drove into her harder and faster. Suddenly the tangle of tension exploded, pleasure washing out through her in deep, strong waves. Gregory shuddered violently, a low cry torn from his throat, and collapsed against her. Rylla wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging, as she gave herself up to the sweet ecstasy.
Chapter Eleven
Gregory turned onto Rylla’s street, his head lowered in thought. He was unaccustomedly nervous. The timing was wrong. He should probably wait until after the holidays. Moreover, Rylla was distraught over their failure to find her brother. Which brought to mind the fact that Gregory had failed at the only thing he could do for her. Not to mention the fact that he had behaved like an utter bounder last night.
He frowned, his steps slowing. Today was possibly the worst day he could choose. Yet he could not turn back. He had to see her. Lifting his head, he looked down the street at the Campbell house and came to an abrupt halt.
A post chaise sat in front of the house. And his cousin was climbing down from it.
“Andrew?”
Sir Andrew swung round. His face lightened. “Gregory!”
“What are you doing here? Are you headed to Baillannan, after all?”
“No. No.” And
rew shook his head, tugging at his waistcoat and checking his neckcloth, then toying with the gold top of his fashionable cane. “Not Baillannan. No.”
When Andrew said nothing further, Gregory said, “Then . . . why are you in a post chaise?”
“What? Oh.” Sir Andrew glanced over at the yellow conveyance as if surprised to find it there. “Yes, well, fact is . . . I’m escorting Eleanor home. I mean, Miss McIntyre.”
“I didn’t know she was leaving.”
“Mm. Just here for a fortnight, you know. Her father wants her home for Christmas. He’s a clergyman.”
“Yes. I’ve heard.” Gregory frowned. “Andy . . . are you unwell?”
“Yes. I mean, no, I’m perfectly well. Quite, um . . . Devil take it, Greg! I think I may cast up my accounts right here.”
“Are you foxed?”
“No!” Andrew gave him an affronted look. “In front of Eleanor? I mean, Miss McIntyre?”
“Then why are you acting so peculiar?”
“That’s the thing. Have to be normal. Proper. Though I dare swear he’ll still dislike me.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“No need to shout. I’m talking about her father. Thing is . . . you see . . . I’m going to ask him . . . for her hand.”
“Miss McIntyre?” Gregory’s eyebrows sailed upward. “You’re proposing to her? Marriage?”
“Yes, of course, marriage,” Andrew replied testily. “Really, Greg, what else have we been talking about?”
“I’m not sure.” He regarded his cousin for a moment. “Andrew, are you certain?”
“Positive. He’s bound to dislike me. He’s a clergyman.”
“I meant, are you certain you want to marry Miss McIntyre? You told me she was rigid and prudish and rule-abiding.”
“Yes, um, perhaps I should not have said prudish.” A faint bit of color tinged his cheeks. “Anyway, one rather wants a wife who abides by the rules, doesn’t one?”
What Happens Under the Mistletoe Page 25