“Careful now. You never know when a gun is loaded, and flintlocks are notoriously jumpy. You wouldn’t want it to go off before you’re ready.”
Brow tightening in great solemnity, she nodded. She was taking this seriously, and he pitied any London gentleman who crossed her when she returned.
He drew out the powder flask, the rammer, a leather patch, and a lead ball, then set down the case. Soon he was showing her how to check the flint and ready the patch and ball, but every motion seemed laced with sexual meaning. Readying the patch meant sucking on the thin leather square to dampen it—an action he’d never thought twice about until he said, “Now you try,” and she did so. As he watched her suck the leather, all he could think was how it would be to have that delicate little mouth sucking on his—
With a curse, he took the pistol from her and demonstrated how to pour the black powder down the muzzle and ram the ball down after it. Except that it meant shoving the rammer in with a deep thrusting stroke—
He groaned. This was absurd. He was getting hot and hard over loading a gun, for God’s sake!
Well, at least he’d be safe with the shooting part. Lifting the pistol, he fired easily at the center of the target. Her horse whinnied, and she gave a little shriek. When he glanced over at her, she looked pale. He suppressed a smile. It was one thing to contemplate shooting a pistol in the abstract and quite another to do it. He handed her the gun. “Now you try loading it. But be careful—the barrel’s still hot. Wait until it cools a little.”
She held the gun gingerly, less eager than before. “What if I do it wrong?”
“Then you’ll blow your head off,” he drawled. When her gaze jumped to him in abject alarm, he chuckled. “I won’t let you do it wrong.”
That seemed to satisfy her. Biting her lower lip, she propped the butt against her hip as he had, then concentrated on following the steps he’d shown her. He tried not to dwell on her erotic motions. He had to keep his mind on the task at hand, or she’d hurt herself.
To his surprise, she was as nimble at manipulating a gun as she was with a needle. God help him if she ever did decide to put a ball through his skull.
When she finished, she cradled the butt awkwardly in both hands. “So it’s loaded.”
“Yes. Do you want to try shooting it?”
“I-I suppose.”
Stifling a laugh, he stepped closer to fit her hands more securely around the butt. “Hold it as if you control it, or you’ll never convince anyone of your willingness to fire. Half of the power in having a pistol comes in the brandishing of it.”
She nodded, but her hands shook and her fingers were placed all wrong.
“Here,” he said impatiently, moving behind her. Reaching around her on either side, he maneuvered her fingers into the correct position.
He was painfully aware of having her so close, so soft in his arms. The sun-warmed scent of lilac in her hair, the fragility of her fingers around the huge gun made him swallow hard. He wanted those fingers curving around something else, gripping it, stroking it—
“How do I shoot it?” she asked.
Well, first you squeeze…
He swore under his breath, released her hands, and stepped back. The woman was downright dangerous, no matter what she gripped. Best to remember that. “Curl your index finger into the trigger hole.”
“Like this?”
He glanced easily over her shoulder at her hands. By thunder, she was a petite thing, wasn’t she? “Yes, like that. See that bump on the end of the barrel? That’s the sight. Lift the pistol until you can look straight down the barrel and see the center circle of the target sitting right on top of that bump.”
She did as instructed. Her grip was firmer now. “Tell me something, Sebastian.”
“What?”
“You knew what you risked in being around me. You knew I might recognize you as Morgan at any moment, yet you continued to play my games. Why?”
He’d expected a question on pistols. The abrupt change of subject made him tense up. “I thought this was a shooting lesson, not another of your inquisitions.”
“I’m making polite conversation, that’s all.”
“It’s hardly polite to accuse me of things I didn’t do.”
She didn’t rise to that. He could see her hands tremble, but she didn’t lash him to ribbons with her tongue. Instead, she squeezed the trigger, sending the ball off into the trees beyond the target somewhere.
“I missed,” she said in obvious disappointment.
“No one ever hits the first time. It takes practice.”
She lowered the pistol. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Because it’s one of those you can’t answer without incriminating yourself. Like ‘When did you stop beating your wife?’”
A laugh burst from her. “Nobody ever asks a question like that.”
“You just did.” Taking her hand, he pressed the powder flask, another ball and patch, and the rammer into it. “Load the pistol again.”
Apparently not minding his abruptness, she did as he said. “All right, let me rephrase the question: Why have you been spending time with me? Why did you agree to my silly proposition to have you ‘tutor’ me?”
He saw no point to lying. “For the same reason any man spends time with an enchanting woman. Because he’s attracted to her. Because he enjoys her company.”
“Nothing more than that?”
He wasn’t sure what she was fishing for. “Nothing more than that,” he repeated.
She lifted the gun to look down the sight, but either she was nervous or she hadn’t quite grasped how sighting down the barrel worked, for her aim was substantially off.
He reached over to steady her arm. “Here, forget about the sight. Just think of the gun as an extension of your index finger and point it at what you want to shoot.”
She fired. This time the ball nicked the outer rim of the target.
“Very good.” He took the pistol from her. “Practice makes perfect.”
She wiped her shaky hands on her skirt. “Is that why you spent time with me—to practice honing your skills with women? I suppose you were merely amusing yourself with me since I was conveniently here.”
The ache in her voice was unmistakable, and it suddenly dawned on him what she wanted to know. “It wasn’t like that.” He loaded the pistol himself this time, needing to keep his hands from reaching for her. “To be honest, my interest was more honorable. I was courting you.” He held his breath, uncertain what she’d say to that.
“Rosalind said the same thing, but I didn’t believe her.”
He let out his breath. “Why not?”
“Because I’d already decided you were trying to distract me from my purpose.”
“That’s what you were doing. Trying to madden me into saying something rash.”
“Yes.”
Her honesty startled him. “Yes?”
“If you’ll recall, the straightforward approach got me nowhere that first night.”
She had him there. Turning, he stared out over the fields beyond the cottage and asked the question that had been plaguing him for a week. “So all that talk about my ‘adequate’ kissing and my trite compliments—”
“—was the not-so-straightforward approach.” She lowered her voice. “You melted my bones when you kissed me two years ago, and you’ve done it every time since.”
Pulse racing, he swung around to stare hard at her. “Is frankness your latest trick?”
She shook her head, her eyes dark with imploring. “No more tricks, I told you. I’m being perfectly honest. I’m attracted to you, too. I enjoy being with you, too.” A blush stained her cheeks. “I-I enjoyed what you did…what we did…” She stiffened. “But I can’t go on without knowing why you kidnapped me. Is it so very much to ask?”
Hot blood pulsed through his veins. When she looked at him like that…
He must escape her, before she dragged him back under. “You have no idea,
” he ground out. Turning, he stalked toward the cottage.
She froze a moment, then hurried to catch him, reaching him just as he’d opened the door. She caught his arm. “Please hear me out, Sebastian. I know you think I want revenge, that I’ll use the truth to hurt you, but I swear I won’t. Don’t you see? It’s the not knowing why you did it that’s tormenting me. I just have to know why.”
He stood with his hand on the doorknob, shaking with the need to tell her. But what if this was the most devious trick of all?
Her hand tightened on his arm. “Isn’t there some way I can prove that I’m not seeking revenge? Something that will make you feel secure enough to confide in me?”
There was one thing. He stared down into her anxious face and felt a twist inside his gut. “You could marry me.”
She released his arm, paling. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Precisely what I said. If you marry me, then I’ll know that whatever secrets I have—if there are any—are safe with you. It would prove I could trust you. You wouldn’t turn against your husband. I know you wouldn’t.”
She frowned and glanced away. “But if I marry you and discover that you’re not the man I thought, that you possess a dark or criminal nature, then I’ll be trapped in an unworkable marriage with no recourse.” Her gaze swung back to him. “No, you have to tell me the truth first. Then I’ll consider whether to marry you. That’s only fair. You weren’t the one wronged, after all. I was.”
She was right, and he knew it. He wanted her so badly, he almost agreed. But he wasn’t ready to risk so much, not after having glimpsed how strongly she felt about what he’d done. And certainly not with his life and Morgan’s in jeopardy.
Suddenly he thought of a solution to their dilemma. “All right. You could do one thing that wouldn’t trap you, but would prove you care for me enough to keep my secrets.”
“What’s that?”
“You could come to my bed.”
Chapter 15
Take heed lest passion sway
Thy judgement to do aught, which else free will Would not admit.
Milton’s Paradise Lost, sketched, but never worked, by Juliet Laverick when Rosalind talked about going on the stage
J uliet gaped at him, certain that she’d misheard. “You mean—”
“Let me make love to you.” His intent gaze sent luxurious shivers dancing along her spine. “I know you, Juliet. After your unwise elopement, you’d never give yourself to a man frivolously, even to learn the truth. If you share my bed, it’ll prove to me that you’ll keep an open mind and not be ready to condemn. It will prove you have genuine feelings for me.”
“And if what you say destroys my…feelings for you?”
“It won’t, I swear it.” He set down the pistol case just inside the door, then caught her hands and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with such gentleness it made her throat ache. “But if it does, you’ll still be free to do as you please, to marry where you will.”
“How? I’ll be ruined!”
“Yes. And I’ll be ruined—my brother will be ruined—if what I tell you sends you crying to Knighton or the authorities. So we both risk something, you as much as I.” He lowered his voice to a husky thrum. “If, however, what I say doesn’t send you fleeing me in horror, then we can marry and no one will be the wiser about what we’ve done.” He smiled. “Though we may require a hastier wedding than usual.”
How crafty he was. Surely he could guess how those words, hinting of a future for them with children and happiness and a real marriage, would affect her. Suddenly, she could envision them together, surrounded by their own little ones by day, wrapped in each other’s arms by night. The image seduced her more than any estate or title.
Goodness gracious, she couldn’t believe she was actually considering his insane bargain. “When?” she asked shakily.
Naked hunger flared in his eyes. “Whenever you want. Now. Here.” He jerked his head to indicate the open door. “This cottage has a bed, you know.”
She swallowed convulsively. Feeling awkward, she quipped, “Yes, but does it have a pedestal?”
He sucked in a breath. “It has whatever you want, sweeting.” He caught her up in his arms and carried her inside. All she could do was hold on and pray she hadn’t gone completely mad. Then he kissed her with such flagrant need that she was utterly lost. His body still held heat from the forge, and his embrace was like slipping into a warm pool of wickedness. Such delicious wickedness.
He tore his lips from hers as he reached the stairs. She only had time to glimpse the cozy surroundings before he was carrying her up and up, no doubt to the bedchamber above. Her heart pounding with an excitement she couldn’t squelch, she pressed her flaming cheeks to his chest. He smelled of fire and iron—strong, powerful smells that made her breath catch in her throat.
“Does anyone know where you are?” he asked in a rumbling voice. “How did you know to look for me out here?”
“Rosalind told me.”
Alarm swept his face. “How much does she know about us?”
“Not much. I’m not so foolish as to tell my sister I’ve been seeing you in private. But she has guessed that there’s something between us.”
“Has she?” Scant moments later, he’d kicked open the door to a small room dominated by a rumpled bed that would scarcely hold one person, much less two. Setting her down beside it, he turned her around and began unbuttoning her gown, impatiently, urgently. “Is there any chance that she and Knighton will troop out here to interrupt us?”
“They’ve gone to town for several hours.” She unpinned her hat and set it aside.
“Thank God,” he said hoarsely. He made her face him, heat flaring in his gaze as he dragged her gown off, leaving her in her filmy chemise. “I’ll need every bit of that time to make love to you as you deserve.” He skimmed her arms and hips and waist with his hands, a blind man feeling his way along uncharted territory. “Ah, sweeting, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”
“Two years?” she teased, unable to resist.
A frown creased his brow. Turning away abruptly, he strode to the fireplace and bent to stoke up the nearly dead fire. “Your questions will be answered, Miss Inquisitive, but not just now. Later. After we’ve sealed our bargain.”
Not just now. Later. That rankled. It echoed too closely the way he’d treated her during the kidnapping—with the indulgence of a man in complete control.
“Everything is always as you want, isn’t it?” She unpinned her hair, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “You snap your fingers, and we all come to attention. You must always hold the reins, always be the one to say when and where things are done.”
He stalked back toward her, his eyes glittering dangerously. “What do you mean?”
“Charnwood. The kidnapping. Telling me the truth.” She shook her hair out. “Everything. Everything follows your timetable. You dictate your terms, and we all must accept them. You won’t tell me the truth without making love to me, so here I am.”
As if in a trance, he reached up to stroke the blond strands where they fell over her shoulders. “I didn’t ask you to seek me out. Not when you first came to Charnwood and not today. You began this discussion—not I. You could have stayed far away from me. Even now, you could go back to London and refuse my offer. I would never force you.”
“I know that. But leaving without knowing the truth is no choice for me.” When uncertainty clouded his face, she added quickly, “Don’t misunderstand me—I want this bargain. Not only because I want the truth, but—”
She swallowed, a little embarrassed. Yet she’d said she wanted honesty between them. “But also because I want to share your bed. Even if that makes me the most wicked creature in England. I don’t even care what you tell me afterward—that’s how badly I want it.” She managed a wan smile. “I suppose I thought to get the token resistance out of the way. Because we both know once you start kissing me I turn into a puddle of mush.”
The clear satisfaction on his face peeved her a little. “Of course. It’s exceedingly annoying. I hate how you win every time, how you always gain the upper hand, with the kidnapping and your chess pieces and trapping me on that pedestal. And I hate that you know it.”
Indecision flickered in his features as he glanced away and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t realize how it affected you.”
“Don’t let it bother you,” she said dryly. “Soon, it won’t even bother me.”
“But I don’t want you to feel that way with me. I don’t want you to feel forced.”
“I don’t feel forced, not exactly.”
“What if I…let you hold the reins for this?”
“Meaning what?”
“Why don’t you take charge of our lovemaking? At least until you feel comfortable.”
What an odd suggestion. So why did it send a strange thrill coursing through her veins? “I wouldn’t know how to begin. I’ve never been with any man but you.”
His eyes gleamed down at her with intense satisfaction. “I know.”
“And you have so much experience—”
“So I’m not an inept dullard, after all?”
She sniffed. “You aren’t inept at anything, as you know very well, you devil.”
That earned her a broad smile. “All the same, you might feel more comfortable if you set the pace, have some control.” He held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of complete surrender. “I’m at your mercy, madam. What do you want from me?”
For a moment, she was at a complete loss. It was ridiculous really, and a bit embarrassing, to think she could tell him how to proceed. Yet their afternoon in the conservatory had taught her a little of what men and women did together. And what felt good and what she liked. Combined with what her sisters had told her, perhaps she could blunder through some of it.
Besides, at this moment she knew precisely what she wanted. “Kiss me.” When he grinned and started toward her, she said, “No, wait. Take off your shirt first.”
After the Abduction Page 20