by Amy Sandas
He shoved unsteady hands through his hair.
Good God, he was shaking. And it wasn’t just his hands. He felt as if his entire being had been jolted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such pure desire. The moment he had her in his arms and felt the response in her body, he had been driven by a need so great he’d nearly lost himself in it.
No. Not nearly. He had lost himself.
Leif’s gut clenched at the realization. It was an uncomfortable combination of selfish lust and guilt that couldn’t quite find proper purchase. He knew he should feel like a wretched cad for taking advantage of her innocence. He should hate himself for claiming every inch she unwittingly offered. But he couldn’t.
Sex had become many things to him over the years, but he could not recall ever feeling the intensity of sensations she had aroused in him so effortlessly. He had never known a woman to submit so completely to the heady rush of physical need. His body pulsed with the memory of her gasping breath, her slim arching body and artless demand. The poignant recollection of those long, luscious minutes would remain with him indefinitely. No man could know such an untainted expression of desire and not be changed forever.
Leif had thought himself jaded well beyond such notions, but there was no denying something extraordinary had just happened.
But now what?
He didn’t even know where the hell they were. Not in London. That much he had been able to determine when he looked out the small window in the room and saw rolling fields in a blended wash in shades of dull green and brown.
The thundering headache he had woken up with started again in his skull as he tried for the hundredth time to recall what had brought them to this place with Irish bound and gagged apparently by his hand.
When he had woken that morning, it had been with great effort. He had to break through multiple heavy layers of unconsciousness and the further along he got, the more he wished he could remain in the numbing stupor. His brain had throbbed against his skull with the force of a thousand drums and his stomach rolled about like the contents of a ship during a hurricane. He had groaned at the thought of enduring another torturous hangover.
The pleasant void of unconsciousness had beckoned like a greedy lover. But he had not been able to ignore a persistent sense of urgency that stretched forth from the farthest reaches of his mind. It had been as if a long, craggy stick were poking at him from the darkness, prodding him to remember something. Something imperative he had to take care of. He just couldn’t recall exactly what.
His memory was a vast blank canvas washed clean by too much liquor. And the effort to recall anything caused pain to pierce through his head so brightly it made his stomach roil.
When he had attempted to stretch the stiffness from his limbs, he had noticed the weight of another body alongside him. Not unusual in itself. It certainly wasn’t the first morning he had awoken with a horrid hangover and a stranger beside him. But something hidden in his foggy consciousness had warned him that the situation was more than it seemed.
In spite of the bright pain in his head, he’d struggled harder to reach awareness. An odd panic had set in. He’d rolled his body to a seated position and his head fell into his hands feeling like it weighed more than twice the full weight of his body. He’d cracked his eyes open and noted his unfamiliar surroundings in the dull light of a late cloudy morning. Carefully turning his head so as not to unnecessarily jostle his alcohol-soaked brain, he’d looked down at the bed beside him.
“Bloody hell!” He’d jumped to his feet then nearly fallen to his knees at the renewed thundering in his skull.
He’d struggled to comprehend the hazy vision before him.
Miss Granger, the woman who had been tantalizing the edge of his dreams for the last fortnight lay curved on her side, dressed in a very modest white nightgown, her chest rising with the steady breath of one who was in a deep sleep. He’d swallowed hard as his bleary gaze swept hastily over the other details of her appearance.
Her lovely pale red-blonde hair was a tangled mass draping about her shoulders, held back by the white cloth that had been haphazardly tied around her mouth as a gag. The cloth looked suspiciously like a cravat. Leif lifted a hand to his throat and swallowed hard when he found it devoid of a neckcloth. Her hands rested in front of her. They were clasped together and tied at the wrist with what appeared to be a lady’s stocking. Leif glanced down at her feet and saw the end of the stocking’s partner trailing out from beneath the hem of her gown.
He’d stumbled back and practically fallen into the chair placed near the bed. And that was where he had stayed until she finally started to stir from her deep slumber. It took more will-power than he knew he had to remain unmoving when she had woken and her eyes had finally found him.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and the narrow hall opened to a good-sized common room, empty except for a large steel-haired man carrying a crate on the surface of his broad shoulder. He stopped when he saw Leif and swung the crate from his shoulder to set it on the narrow bar that separated the common from a kitchen beyond.
“Good day, m’lord,” the man said with a wide grin.
“Good day,” Leif answered vaguely and rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to clear away the distracting headache. He was finding it damned difficult to piece his thoughts together.
“Is there anything I can get ya?” the man who must be the innkeeper asked.
Leif looked at him blankly for a moment, then asked, “Do you have any whisky?”
The man nodded heartily and reached into the crate he had just been carrying and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He set the bottle on the bar and reached beneath to pull up two small glasses, scratched but clean.
Leif approached the bar just as the man finished pouring a bit of the bracing liquor into the glasses. He pushed one toward Leif and with his grin growing even wider, he picked up the other and lifted it in a toast.
“Never let it be said that a man must drink alone in John Donnelly’s establishment.” He tipped his glass and downed its contents.
Leif followed suit, the bracing fire of the Scottish whisky bringing a sharp clarity in its wake.
Donnelly poured him another glass and set the bottle on the bar.
“I’ll leave the bottle for ye.”
“Thank you,” Leif murmured, barely noticing when the man hefted the crate onto his shoulder and carried it into the back room, leaving Leif alone again for the moment.
He swirled the glass and stared absently into the amber liquid.
Maybe if he started with the last thing he did remember.
His gut clenched painfully as he recalled the devastating visit to the solicitor’s office.
Was that yesterday afternoon?
No, the day before.
Then he had run into the group of enthusiastic lordlings and they had seen it as their mission to drag him around to every one of their favorite pubs and dancehalls. In typical fashion, he had been more than willing to trade his wasted life for a mindless night of never ending drink, willing wenches and useless merriment. He grasped at a hazy recollection of waking up on the floor of an inn at the edge of Whitehorse. A naked woman curled up on each side of him for warmth. The drunken snoring bodies of his cohorts and a half dozen prostitutes were strewn about the rest of the room in less than decorous positions. He had thought to get his arse home then, but the son of a duke had woken and shoved another drink in his hand.
Leif’s gut rolled queasily at the foggy memory. They’d spent the entire next day in drunken revelry. He’d ingested so much it was a bloody wonder he was still alive.
But none of that explained how he had come to abduct Miss Granger and bring her to this godforsaken place.
What in the name of the devil and his father had prompted him to do this?
His self-disgust nearly overwhelmed him and he drained the second shot of whisky. But when he reached to for the bottle to fill it a third time, he paused.
Getting
drunk might ease the clenching discomfort in his stomach and the aching in his head, but it would do nothing to resolve the current situation.
He turned from the bar and strode quickly to the front door, desperately needing a healthy dose of fresh air. He followed a well-trod path from the inn to the lane that passed in front of it. He turned down the lane and seeing nothing but country road ahead, his stride grew longer. The steady rhythm of his steps encouraged his mind to find proper focus, something he was in terrible need of at the moment.
Having so many questions with no answers frustrated Leif to no end. The hole he dug for himself just grew wider and deeper. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat and encountered something unexpected. His steps slowed to a stop as he slowly withdrew a small but hefty sack of coins. He tested its weight in his palm, hoping he wouldn’t have to add thievery to his list of sins from the last few days.
Leif stared intently at the brown sack as he tossed it into the air and caught it deftly in his palm. The jingle of the coins recalled him to an alcohol-clouded scene around a faro table. He tossed the sack again. The sharp edge of his headache pressed against his temples as a memory came loose from the soaked silt of his brain.
There had been a wager. A drunken challenge.
Leif closed his fist around the bag of coins. A small loan to aid him in his task.
A streak of white-hot panic shot through his body.
Oh fuck.
He suddenly knew without question where they were heading.
He turned on his heel and headed back toward the inn, searching the area for a small building that would serve as stables for passing travelers. Seeing it just beyond the inn, he stomped toward it.
Just over an hour later, he made his way back up the narrow staircase, dreading the scene that would unfold once he reached the top. He and Irish were the only guests and the upper floors were silent as he turned down the hall toward their room. A good thing, he supposed, that no one would hear her temper unleash.
He opened the door without knocking. It was a small room and it took him only a moment to find her in front of the only window. The narrow casements had been thrown wide in spite of the damp chill that permeated the air and she stood gazing intently outward. The white nightgown flowed around her slim body, disguising its feminine curves, doing nothing to give away the heat of her skin beneath. Such slim and delicate shoulders she had, yet she never gave the impression of fragility. She had found a way to tidy her hair and it fell in heavy silken waves down her back, the ends curling gently against the swell of her buttocks.
Startling at his entrance, she turned to face him, her chin tense and her pale eyes bright as they focused on him with apprehension. If he did not still feel the deeply pleasant aftereffects of sexual release, he might never have guessed that not long ago she had been writhing in ecstasy beneath him.
The girl had amazing self-control.
He stared at her, greedily reliving the feel of her breasts against him, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, the intoxicating taste of her mouth, the way her whole body shuddered in his arms as she came.
He did not hide his thoughts from her view and was quickly rewarded with a swift blush of awareness in her cheeks and a glowing flash of heat in her beautiful eyes.
Leif smiled.
It was a cheap manipulation, but he was pleased beyond measure that she could so easily be recalled to her pleasure. It was only fair considering he hadn’t been able to shake the pulling desire to know her again. It amazed him that he could want her so badly so soon after having sated the poignant pain of his lust. He took a moment to revel in the deep craving of his body, something he had started to think he may never feel again with such intensity.
His physical reaction warred with the guilt that had settled around his shoulders when he realized the full extent of his trespass against her. Not only had he taken her innocence, but for better or worse he had secured her future as well.
“Contemplating jumping?” he asked with a casual nod toward to open window.
She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have lived through far too much to consider killing myself now. And the drop is too high to make safely. I would likely break my legs on the landing and then I will be even more at your mercy.”
Leif swallowed back a smile. “Good to know you have thought it all out.” He walked forward to set the bundle he was carrying down on the foot of the bed.
“Yes, well,” she replied stiffly, “I determined that you have not left me with many options.”
Leif couldn’t stop the rueful smile from curving his lips then. “Perhaps less than you realize.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed. There was no getting around the words he had to say. He gestured toward the bed. “Come, sit down. You are not going to like what I have to tell you.”
Her eyes turned wary as she shifted her gaze between his outstretched hand and the bed beside him.
He waited, knowing she would come. She had no other choice.
After a brief moment of hesitation, she crossed the room and ignored his hand to sit in the wooden chair instead. She perched unmoving at the edge of the seat.
He took a spot on the bed across from her and forced himself to remain unmoving under her intent regard though his nerves started to tingle with strange anticipation. Her gaze was like a soft but insistent tide, drawing him out to sea. His gut clenched with a touch of nausea and he resisted the desire to glance away. He felt as he had when he had come upon her in the conservatory, as if she were searching past facades to see what lay beneath. He wasn’t worried she would see anything. He was well practiced in shielding his inner thoughts, the parts of him that were most vulnerable to judgment. But still, he felt disturbingly exposed under the gentle wave of her scrutiny.
He couldn’t tell if she was finally satisfied with her perusal or if she simply decided to give up. She straightened again in her seat, stiffening her spine with purpose. Lifting both hands, she smoothed the soft fly-away curls back from her face and twisted the length of hair before dropping it down her back.
Displaying amazing patience, Irish looked back at him in silence.
He cleared his throat. Discomfort settled heavily in his gut and his throat felt dry beyond belief
“I have discovered where we are and where we are heading.”
A fine strand of hair slid forward against her cheek and she lifted her hand to tuck the tendril behind her ear. Her slim fingers trembled with the task, and though her gaze was direct and fearless, her teeth worried at her lower lip. She was not as composed as she tried to appear.
“We are quite a distance north of London.”
She blinked, but otherwise did not show any reaction to his statement.
“How far north?” she prompted.
“Only another full day and night from Gretna Green.”
Her spine jerked as if she had been poked in the ribs and her wide eyes fell on him with wary disbelief. “Excuse me, but it sounded like you said Gretna Green, as in Scotland.”
“I did.”
“Isn’t that place infamous for elopements?”
Leif tilted his head and cast her a teasing grin. “It would seem you were so desperate to have me for a husband you just couldn’t wait to go the traditional route.”
He had hoped to get at least a flicker of a smile, but she just stared at him as if he’d claimed to be the King of England. Her jaw dropped open, then snapped shut again. She took a strong and steadying breath, and when she spoke it was slowly as if she wanted her words to be clearly understood.
“There’s nothing living on this earth that’ll convince me to marry you.”
“Nothing,” he repeated with raised brows. He couldn’t help glancing aside at the bed where they had lain together. Would the girl try to deny he had claimed her maidenhead?
She noticed his minute gesture, and though she blushed she did not look away.
His Irish never glanced away.
Leif was quickly coming to realize that she much preferred to face things directly. It was such an unexpected trait in a woman so young, but he appreciated it though he wasn’t certain he fully trusted her calm composure. Her passions ran deep and strong. That she managed to control such turbulence proved that what she displayed on the outside could be masking any number of emotions churning inside.
He had made it his aim to know many different women very well. What they dreamed of at night, what they feared, what they yearned for and loathed. He had spent years practicing the art of quickly and accurately reading a woman’s weaknesses and strengths. But in the young woman before him was a blend of female elements different from any he’d encountered before.
“We are going to be wed,” he insisted, trying to put a large measure of calm certainty into his voice. “And if you’ll hold onto your righteous fury for just a bit longer, I’ll explain why we really haven’t got much of an option at this point.”
He knew it was tantamount to prodding the lion, but he couldn’t seem to resist the opportunity to tease her. He leaned back on the bed, propping himself on widespread hands, and his expression slid purposely into one of sexual suggestion.
“Though if you wish to release your wrath, I completely understand and will be more than willing to oblige you in redirecting your passions to a more pleasurable pursuit.”
In spite of her obvious embarrassment, her jaw was tense and her gaze direct when she replied. “You’d be surprised how much pleasure I can derive from unleashing my wrath, my lord.”
Her ready and clever retort surprised him, and he had no doubt as to the truth of her words. Her voice still rolled with the sounds of her brogue, but not nearly as heavily as before. Yes, she was still angry, but the earlier flames of fury had been reduced to a glowing smolder. Again, he noted the control she exerted over her emotions. After having experienced just how brightly her passion could burn, in fury and in desire, it amazed him that she managed to contain them at all.
He was startled by a swift and hungry yearning to test her inner resolve. Not now over the matter of her abduction. Later. In his bed. Her slight body spread open and vulnerable before him, trembling in resistance to the gentle manipulations of his lips, tongue and fingertips as he searched for the key to unlocking her self-restraint. He needed to take more time with her, devote himself solely to unleashing the full force of passion she fought to withhold.