Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman

by Unknown

  "Noah"

  "No, let me finish. This is rather a unique situation for me. It's just that you are such a combination of creatures that I'm left fumbling like a schoolboy." He captured her face in one large hand and lifted her chin to force her fleeing gaze to meet his. "I learned long ago that innocence and sweet honesty are forgotten qualities. I never expected to find them in one so beautiful as you. What I'm trying to say, Charity, is that I believe I'm falling very much in love with you."

  Charity was stabbed by a piercing sense of guilt. He was saying he loved her and she was deceiving him. She struggled against the guilt but could not seem to overpower it. Why couldn't the packet have been here where she could have found it? Why had she agreed to this horrible deception in the first place? Gregory . . . she knew Gregory loved her, and she knew that Noah had such a reputation that he could quite well only be seducing a girl he thought too young and naive to resist.

  Noah took her silence as shock and again cursed himself for being clumsy. If they had been at court he would have taken her to his bed and proven his point. But a man could not take a woman like Charity in that way. Besides, he needed to know that when she came to him, it would be by her will, not only his. He needed to see the warmth of love in her eyes.

  "Noah, you cannot love me. You don't really know me."

  "But I want to. Next week, when we leave for London, I want you to be with me. Until then, spend your days with me. Let me show you that love is simple and beautiful between the right people. Give me this time."

  Charity, furious that she could not fight the mist of tears in her eyes, and knowing she must make the trip to London to free Gregory, could only nod her agreement.

  Noah laughed softly and bent to capture her mouth again with his. His mouth lingered gently against hers as if he were tasting the sweetest of all nectars. He had drawn her one hand up about his neck and put his arms around her. She was not aware that her other hand slowly lowered until the brandy glass tipped and the brandy spilled slowly to the carpet. The glass followed, making a soft sound as it hit the wet carpet, and her other arm circled his neck as the kiss deepened.

  It was with reluctance on both their parts that the kiss ended.

  "God," Noah groaned softly. For a minute he continued to hold her close, then, his voice thick with

  restrained passion, he slowly released her. "You'd better go, for in another minute I'll be past the point where I can let you."

  She understood quite well what he meant, for the temptation had eaten at her will, too. She had lost herself in the kiss and was grateful for this reprieve.

  "Good night, Noah," she said softly. Then she was gone from his arms, and he did not turn to see her go. He closed his eyes for a second when he heard the door click shut.

  Charity lifted the long skirt of her nightgown and ran up the steps. In her room she closed the door behind her and leaned against it until she could get her pounding heart under control and stop herself from shaking. She could never tell Gregory how she had felt or what had happened. Would he laugh at her childishness at falling into Noah's neatly woven trap so easily? Would he be angry and call her a fool, or would he be hurt at how easily she might have ruined all his plans and endangered his future . . . and hers? No, she could not tell him. But then she would be lying to Gregory as well as Noah. She felt entangled in a spider's web of lies.

  She went to bed, wishing she had never seen Noah Morgan.

  Noah found sleep even more difficult than he had before he'd found Charity. Another glass of brandy made little difference, for he could see Charity's face with her mesmerizing green eyes in the flames of the fire, and he could still feel her soft curves pressed intimately to him.

  He had sensed every emotion, had known she had teetered precariously on the edge of surrender. But he had stopped himself because he would have never been able to bear a look of fear, or worse, condemnation in her eyes had he taken the situation to the conclusion he desired.

  His body raged with the fire of need, but another, more logical part of him knew he was right to let her go. There would be a time for them, he promised himself. But it would be the right time and place. It would be a night of perfection . . . He would make it so.

  Pushing aside the thoughts that would keep him from sleep, he rose from his chair and set his empty brandy glass aside. All the brandy in the world would not erase the indelible memory of Charity's touch.

  He walked to his desk and sat down, prepared to do enough work to make him tired. Only then did he notice that one of the drawers was half open. He reached out to slide it closed, a frown drawing lines between his brows.

  After a while he dismissed the incident, with a promise to remind the servants that his desk was never to be touched. It was a good thing, he thought to himself, that the things of real value were kept in his family's home in London. There he had the most trusted servant a man could have to stand guard.

  It was a long time before he rose and walked up the stairs to what he knew would be a cold and lonely bed. He had to pass Charity's room on his way, and he paused by her door. He reached out and laid his hand on the handle. Would she deny him if he came to her now? He could feel and taste her, warm and

  drowsy from sleep. He could imagine the pleasure he would experience to kiss her awake and make love to her the rest of the night.

  It took every ounce of determination he had to release the handle and walk away. Had he known that Charity had heard him pause by her door, sat up in the middle of her large bed, and watched breathlessly as the handle moved slightly, he might have been surprised. She had almost gone to the door, opened it, and asked him to come in. She was grateful when she heard him walk away, for she would not have had the strength or the desire to tell him to go.

  The next morning Charity woke just before dawn. Confused and jumbled dreams had made her sleep restless. She rose and wrapped a blanket about herself and walked out on the veranda. The sun was just about to come up.

  She watched the horizon slowly go from deep red to amber and gold, and then to pure white. How peaceful it was here, and how easy it would be to spend one's life here.

  She caught herself. Gregory would provide such a place as this and they would share it. She would be happy and able to forget her past and the longing to know who and what she was.

  A sound below her drew her attention, and she looked down to see the gardener shuffling out to tend the roses that bloomed profusely in the garden.

  She didn't want him to see her and was about to go back inside when a sound drew the gardener's atten-

  tion. He turned to look at a place Charity could not see from where she was; then he smiled.

  In a moment she saw Noah walk out to join him and they stood, speaking quietly enough that the gist of their discussion could not be made out from where she stood.

  She took the moment to admire Noah again. He was handsome, no matter what else was said about him. He wore only dark breeches and riding boots and a shirt that was buttoned halfway. His ebony hair caught the rays of the morning sun, and she liked the sound of his deep voice and soft laughter as he responded to something the gardener said.

  Then the gardener turned and clipped a half-bloomed rose and handed it to Noah, who nodded and turned from him as if to reenter the house.

  Caught up in her study of him, Charity wasn't quick enough to step back before Noah turned. He looked up at her first movement.

  Charity had been leaning her arms on the balustrade and gripping the blanket at her breasts. But it had slipped from her shoulders and her hair lay soft against her skin.

  When Noah looked up he stopped to take in her dishabille and smiled.

  "Good morning. You're up early. Didn't you sleep well?"

  She wanted to say no she hadn't.

  "Yes, I slept fine, thank you."

  "Do you always get up this early? I thought I was the only one in the house awake. Kat is a slugabed, and Mother hardly comes down before ten."

  "Oh, I like
mornings, they're so fresh and new. You

  can take the time to decide how you want to spend the day."

  Noah inhaled the sweet scent of the rose, then tossed it up to her. She caught it with a laugh of delight, hardly realizing the seductive picture she made.

  "It smells wonderful."

  "Marcus is proud of his roses. Come down and share breakfast with me."

  Charity nodded, and again she was held by the warmth of Noah's smile. Had he taken the rose to please Marcus, or had he intended to give it to her? The thought made her pulse race. She had to caution herself again . . . but how easy it would be . . .

  She raced back into the room, washed from the pitcher of water on her table, and dressed with disgraceful haste. What to do with her hair? She gathered it and pinned it atop her head as best she could. It was a heavy mass of curls and she could not control the strands that wanted to cling to her neck and cheeks.

  At the top of the steps she slowed her speed and was grateful that she did. Noah was standing at the bottom. She was also glad she'd carried the rose with her.

  Noah stood immobile, drinking in the picture she made. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed. Her mouth was pink and lush, and begged to be kissed. He had the strong desire to drag her back up the stairs to his room and lock the door behind them. His hands literally itched to loosen her hair and tangle themselves in the glowing silk strands.

  "Thank you for the rose."

  "Thank you for coming down. I really hate to eat alone." His words said one thing but the warmth in his eyes said quite another.

  He took her arm and tucked it under his and they walked to the kitchen together.

  "You don't have breakfast in the dining room?"

  "Too big," he replied. "The kitchen is much more comfortable, and much more informal. I'd like to show you Marcus's entire garden after breakfast. It's really quite a work of art."

  "I'd like to see it." She knew she should insist on going home, but she didn't want to. There were so many places in his study she hadn't searched, and there were only three days until they left for London. If the packet was here, she had to know. If it wasn't, then the trip to London was a necessity.

  Over breakfast Charity was entertained by amusing stories, and she found herself responding to Noah's unique ability to charm.

  When they walked in the garden later with her arm in his, she felt relaxed. Once again the thought came to her that maybe Gregory was wrong. Perhaps Noah could be persuaded to be merciful and let Gregory go. Noah was wealthy and he appeared a contented man. Why would he be so cruel as to use blackmail to get what he wanted? It seemed to her that if Noah Morgan wanted something badly enough, he was the kind of person who could get it on his own without using another to achieve his goal. She would have to talk this over with Gregory.

  The garden was lovely. She could easily tell that a

  loving hand had tended it carefully. Noah named every flower and told her of its origin.

  "Your gardener is a genius."

  "You have no idea," Noah laughed. "He has even constructed a maze."

  "A maze?"

  "You have never been within a maze?" Noah asked. She missed the sparkle of devilment in his eyes. "Would you like to see it?"

  "Yes, I would."

  When they stopped before the entrance of the maze, Charity looked at it in wonder. The hedge grew to several feet over her head. Noah took her hand as they entered, but after several turns she glanced back over her shoulder, wondering how anyone could find his way out of this.

  Turn . . . turn . . . twist and turn. Charity was totally disoriented. Then they came to the center. There was a fountain with several small benches placed at random. Roses bloomed in every corner. It was quiet except for the falling water, and it was secluded and beautiful . . . and dangerous.

  "This is one of my favorite places," Noah was saying. "I often come here when I want to think or read and not be disturbed."

  "How did you ever learn your way in and out?"

  "It's complicated, but it can be mastered."

  "I'm afraid I never could. Beth always said if you turn me about twice I'm lost."

  "Then I doubt very much if you would ever find your way out. Perhaps," he said softly, his hand

  brushing lightly against her hair, ''I should keep you my prisoner."

  "Noah" Her eyes were brilliant and she smiled. "We would starve to death. For the benefit of your own stomach, it would be better not to stay 'lost' very long."

  "So you're not frightened?"

  "Should I be?" she laughed. "Should I not trust you?"

  Her laughter was stilled when his arms came about her and his intent blue eyes looked deep into hers.

  "Maybe you shouldn't. I begin to believe you trust too easily."

  She wasn't sure what he meant. Did he warn her that trusting him, taking him at face value, was a mistake? Was Gregory right? Was Noah unscrupulous?

  "I believe you either trust by instinct or you don't trust at all. I choose to believe you will not take advantage of me, but will lead me from here as easily as you led me in."

  With intrigue and deceit, with liars and charlatans, Noah was a master. With Charity's plain, pure, innocent trust, Noah lost his hold.

  "As you will, my lady. But there is a price on your freedom."

  "You are not fair."

  "Ah, but my price is fair. One kiss, my lady, will see you to freedom."

  "You are a pirate."

  "Alas, I must agree. But the ransom is still the same."

  His eyes were filled with laughter and challenge, and she could not seem to deny either.

  "Then," she spoke softly, "to gain my freedom it is a ransom I must pay."

  She could feel his arms tighten about her and she was pressed against him until their two heartbeats blended.

  Slowly his mouth lowered to hers. She tried to remain in control, to keep herself above it. But she was caught in a storm that took her breath away. It was not a gentle, teasing kiss, but one that demanded response. And she could not stop the response as her mouth parted to accept the depth of the kiss.

  But she refused to let him continue. She drew away and heard him softly whisper her name.

  "Charity," he began.

  "One kiss was the ransom," she said breathlessly. "I have your word."

  Reluctantly and very slowly he released her. Then he laughed softly, and she recognized the wicked gleam in his eyes for what it was.

  "It seems you are the pirate here and I am caught in my own web." He took her hand again and started for the open way in the tall hedge. "But kindly remember, madam, that all is fair in love and war."

  Charity followed, not sure of which conflict she was engaged in.

  Chapter Nine

  All Charity's instincts told her to race back to the safety of Beth and Stafford Hall as soon as she could, but her conscience told her she would never have a better chance to find the packet that would free Gregory. After all, she owed it to Gregory to keep up her end of the bargain.

  When they returned to the house, Charity was more than embarrassed to find both Kathy and Sofia up and dressed. She knew she must look like a gypsy and did not miss Kathy's amusement. Nor did she miss the fact that Noah had no intention of explaining anything. He meant for his mother and sister to think exactly what they were thinking.

  She excused herself quickly and went to her room. She cooled her heated face and brushed the tangles

  from her hair. Her nerves made her jump when she heard a soft knock on her door.

  "Who is it?"

  "It's Sofia, Charity. May I come in?"

  "Of course," Charity replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Sofia came inside and closed the door behind her, then crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. She watched as Charity continued with her hair.

  "Charity, my son says you might be visiting with us these few days, then return to London with us."

  "He has invited me to stay. I agreed to g
o to London when you leave in a few days, but I think I might stay just today and then go home in the morning. After all, much as I enjoy your hospitality, I must pack and make preparations. Of course, I could not go without Beth."

  "Beth would be most welcome. You've never been to court?"

  "No," Charity replied. She could have laughed at the thought of a nameless person such as herself and her equally nameless friends, Beth or Amiee, being welcomed at court.

  "It is exciting, but it can also be a bit . . . unnerving."

  "Unnerving?"

  "It is not a place for a girl as pretty as you are, if she is not strong of will. There are dangerous currents that flow there and it's easy to be sucked into them." She tilted her head and looked at Charity questioningly. "Are you strong of will?"

  "I believe so." Charity paused in her brushing. "If

  you mean can I keep my thoughts to myself . . . yes, I'm strong of will."

  Charity wondered why both Noah's sister and mother had felt it necessary to warn her about the dangers at court.

  "I don't want you to misunderstand me, Charity. Since you came, I've seen my son laugh for the first time in a long while. I think you're responsible for that. But . . . things are different at court than they are here. He . . . he might seem different to you. I'd like to think you would not judge by gossip and jealous whispers." She looked at Charity with a penetrating gaze, as if she would read any words left unspoken.

  "I know quite well how malicious jealousy can make people. But I try never to make judgments on anything but my own feelings."

  "Excellent. You'll do well. I've always said that listening to one's own instincts is usually the best way." Sofia started for the door. "If there is anything I can do to help, please call on me."

  "Thank you."

  When the door closed behind her, Charity sat slowly down on the bed. Noah had asked her to share the short days with him before they went to London. But the question remained in her mind. Was the packet of letters still here or were they safely put away in London?