by Tracy Sumner
Kat.
Her beautiful face flashed in his mind as darkness claimed him.
“Tell her to go to hell,” Kate said, lifting a damp cloth from Tanner’s brow. “I’m not leaving until he wakes up. What more do I have to say to make her understand? I’m not concerned with the appropriateness of the situation.”
Charlie stepped into the dimly lit room and closed the door behind her. “I’ll express your concerns. Not quite that way, perhaps. I’m too frightened of your mother to tell her to go to hell, even if her daughter sent the message. She’d insist on escorting me to church every Sunday for a month as penance.”
Kate dipped the cloth in a bowl of water, and wrung it out, her hands chapped from the repeated procedure. Heavens, no matter how much she washed Tanner’s face, his body, the scent of charred wood remained.
“How is he?” Charlie perched her hip on the rosewood bedpost.
“Better. His fever is lower. His breathing finally clear, thank God. I thought I’d go crazy listening to him wheeze. His chest rising so slowly, almost an afterthought.” She tilted her head, her neck cracking from the uncomfortable position she’d imposed upon it the last two days. “However, this is what the doctor told us to expect.” He had also informed them of the possibility that Tanner would never wake up, which Kate refused to consider.
Charlie sighed. “If only he hadn’t been unhealthy before. So—”
“Exhausted. Stitches and gunshot wounds. He told Adam he’d hardly slept in weeks.” Kate squeezed the cloth, an angry reflex, drops of water falling to the pine floor. “Fool man. Running into a burning building, playing hero. One of the characters he pretends to be while researching his articles.”
The post creaked when Charlie lifted from it. “Kate, darling, he is a hero. Two people would have died if he hadn’t gone in. That bunch of drunkards couldn’t find a pitchfork if it protruded from their bottoms. Adam and the rest of the men would have arrived too late. Much too late.”
“Yes, a hero. My, how will—what does Tanner call her, Cowboy-lover—repay him for his gallantry?” She grunted, swabbing his cheek with a bit more vigor than necessary. “By reaching inside his trousers, that’s how.”
“Oh, Kate.” Charlie pressed her hand to her lips, laughter bubbling forth. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. Her hand lifted, revealing a broad smile. “Oh, Kate...you do love him.”
Kate searched Tanner’s face. Shadowed crescents beneath each eye, dark lashes curling where they met skin. She brushed a lock of hair from his brow, let the silky softness glide through her fingers. “Yes.” She tried to ignore the dull ache in her chest, the tears pricking her lids.
“But, your mother, she said—she was trying to give me the stagecoach schedule. You’re not, does that mean...you’re not leaving, are you?”
Kate met Charlie’s questioning gaze. “As soon as...as soon as I know he’s all right.”
“Why?”
Why? Because the fear of losing him, of loving him, scared her to death. She was scared to death of life, she supposed. She hated her vulnerability, she wanted to be stronger, but the misery that followed loving him before had nearly killed her.
“Don’t...even...try...” A hoarse croak, the words disjointed. A shaft of sunlight flooded the room, throwing shadows into Tanner’s hollowed cheeks. His eyes opened, lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of blue. His hand tensed, bandaged fingers raising an inch, trembling, then falling to the mattress. Releasing a raw sigh, his lids drifted low.
Kate stared, unable to speak, unable to think beyond the mad rush of relief. She lifted his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss upon his fingertips. Vaguely, she heard the door shut and footfalls echo down the hallway.
Tanner’s mouth opened; his throat worked as he swallowed.
“Shhh...you need to rest. Don’t try to talk.”
“...got me....”
She leaned in, her ear brushing his lips. Below the scent of smoke she smelled him and her stomach clenched.
“I...can’t win now. Beg, keep you” —Tanner coughed, chest hitching beneath the cotton sheet— “from leaving. But...watch over your shoulder...Princess. Watch for...me.” Words thickening, his head sank deeper into the feather pillow, his hand going slack in hers. “Just when you think I won’t...I’ll be there. I will. Because I told you the truth.”
7
Watch over your shoulder, Princess. Watch for me.
Kate did every second it seemed, seeing only tilting shadows cast from the Astral lamp by her side. The seamstress had left the dressing room twenty minutes before and had not returned. She had taken Kate’s clothing, which allowed her to do nothing but pace the small enclosure in her corset and drawers.
And pause every third step to question what, exactly, she was doing.
And when Tanner would appear.
Kate shivered, goosebumps rising, and she rubbed her arms to dispel them. Naturally, she did not want him to appear. Only, she couldn’t help but wonder if he would. His intractable tone, his warning—I’ll be there—had made it seem highly…probable.
When she first arrived in Richmond, she’d cloistered herself in her sister’s home like a nun awaiting sanctification. She’d feared looking out her window—but had looked quite often—afraid Tanner would leap from behind a hedge, swoop down, and pluck her up like a hawk. But, the days passed, and she realized that feverish, delirious men did not often honor their promises.
She walked to the window and pressed her chin against the frosty pane. Her breath against glass rendered the world outside a blurry, indistinct mess.
The door behind Kate opened. “I hope the dress is finally ready,” she said, streaking her finger through the misty circle on the pane. “It’s quite cold in here.”
“No doubt, in that get-up.” The door clicked shut. “Damned if I don’t like it, though.”
Kate’s breath stalled in her throat. She spun around, bumping the table holding the lamp, causing shadows to bounce across the floor. Across hollowed cheeks and a broad smile.
Tanner. Ankles crossed, his lean body held at a slight pitch, he lounged in the doorway as if he owned the place. Arching his brow, he glanced at the tottering table. “No more fires, please. I just recovered from the last one.”
Kate’s mind went blank, completely blank. She struggled to form a sentence as he scraped a match across the heel of his boot, cupped his hand around his mouth, and lit a cheroot—pretty as you please. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, the damned thing dangling from his lips.
Dear God, he looked good enough to eat. No, better than edible: good enough to dive into feet first. His hair, recently trimmed, gleamed. His face, filled out in the two weeks since she’d seen him, bloomed with healthy color. His lips, oh, those lips. Powerless, a little desperate, she licked her own, while studying him studying her. His lids drooped, sheltering his pale blue gaze as he shifted and peeled off the wall.
She stumbled back, her knees quivering with...well, certainly not excitement.
Only, if he walked over on those powerful legs and touched her, it would be a little exciting.
Determined to ruin her fantasy, Tanner halted in the middle of the room, rotated a chair with the toe of his boot and straddled it, all the while presenting his easy, delicious smile. Laying his arm along the back, he lifted the cheroot from his lips and flicked ashes to the floor. His head tilted, his gaze drilling into her. “Looking mighty nervous, Princess.”
“Nervous?” Kate laughed and backed up a step. His distinct scent—soap, mint, leather—sneaked, uninvited, into her mind, screaming Tanner. “I’m simply trying to think—”
“Don’t. Please.” He grimaced and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “That’s what has gotten us into trouble all along.”
“I can’t imagine—”
“Go ahead, Princess. Imagine. I would have guessed you’d been imagining for two weeks now.” He shrugged, calm and unconcerned. “I told you I would come.”
“Yes, but
—”
“A bit delayed, I’ll admit. Train from Wilmington was held up for two days. For a time, it seemed I’d have to saddle a horse and ride like hell, oh, excuse me” —he nodded in her direction— “to get here, but my luck held and with your lovely sister’s help” —he snapped his fingers, his mouth kicking high— “here I am.”
Fury, swift and sharp, nipped at her. Fury and the blessed excitement she tried to deny. “Get that crooked grin off your face. There are four loud-mouthed ninnies who have hardly spoken to me in months waiting outside this room.” She stalked forward, shaking her finger in his face. “Waiting for a woman who is trying very diligently to erase a gigantic black mark from her record. A black mark in your handwriting. If you’ve messed this up, so help me, Tanner Barkley, I will kiss...I mean I will kill, oh!”
Tanner laughed and shoved the chair aside, catching her about the waist as she raced for the door. “Whoa, love, whoa,” he said as she struggled to break free. “We don’t want to bring the ninnies scurrying in here, now, do we?” He dragged her against his chest and pressed a kiss to her neck, instantly reducing her struggle. His lips trailed to her ear, tugged on her earlobe, his tongue flicking inside. Cupping her breasts, his thumbs worked her nipples in leisurely circles.
Struggle ceased.
Kate dared her knees to hold her weight as she battled a fierce rush of desire. Though she could not halt the shift that settled his arousal more firmly, surely, against her bottom.
“All right, enough games,” he whispered, a rough edge to his voice. He turned her in his arms and covered her mouth, slid his tongue inside before she could argue, which at this point she probably would not have. In response, she lifted on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Tangled round each other, they kissed. Starving, open-mouthed desperation. Kisses of shared loneliness. Of painful separation. Of heartfelt love and renewed fascination.
Hip rocking, blood-thickening and gunmetal hot.
Tanner came up gradually. “I have five things to say to you. And, you’re going to listen.” He dipped his head, claimed her lips in a brief, urgent kiss, before drawing back. His eyes blazed: blue, ocean blue.
Befuddled, Kate reached for spectacles she had left in her bedroom. Tanner smelled so good she wanted to bottle his scent and sprinkle the mixture on her sheets, pour it in her bath water. She glanced around, having to concentrate—dear God, concentrate—to remember where she was. “Tanner, I—”
He tapped his finger against her mouth, silencing her, then paused to stroke his thumb across her bottom lip. “Hush,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed passion. “One. Cowboy-lover did not show her gratitude by reaching into my trousers, as you so delicately phrased it. Nor did she ever come close to having the pleasure. Reserved for you, Princess. Although, she did give me a rather exuberant hug on my departure.”
Kate snapped back in his arms, but he yanked her against his chest, and actually had the nerve to flash one of his tasty grins. He dropped a kiss to her brow, lingering a moment, his lips warm, slightly chapped. “Two. Because you seem to think this is information I purposely withheld, I finished at Oxford in” —he trailed his fingers through her hair while nibbling lightly on her jaw— “1841. Then I spent two miserable years toiling away at Sloane-Barkley. Writing loan agreements, persuading old men to take their savings from beneath feather mattresses and deposit it in a secure, metal vault.” His mouth settled over the sensitive patch of skin just beneath her ear. “Two years of dry bank forecasts and financial records with no end. Absolute drudgery.”
“Oxford?”
He cupped her breasts, lifting them above her lace-edged bodice. “You think my western accent is adequate. This one is my bloody best,” he said next to her ear in a pitch-perfect aristocratic British accent.
“Hmmm....”
Sliding lower, his hands closed about her hips and drew her against him. “Three. My editor promised to hold the story for one week, Princess. You remember, we had a lunch appointment. At the Pale Lily on Market Street, I think.” A slow grind, wool and cambric not enough to keep his heat from flooding into her, liquefying, preparing her for him. Following the curves of her body from waist to shoulder, he gripped them and set her back. “I swear I planned to tell you. That day. I’d been rehearsing it for days, weeks.”
Kate stared, unfocused amber, the remains of a battered chignon grazing her cheek. Tanner grinned ruefully. Perhaps his persuasive techniques were a bit overzealous.
He rooted around in his waistcoat pocket and then lifted her hand to his lips. “Four.” He slipped the ring on her middle finger, turned her hand in the lamp’s golden glow. The stone shimmered, a perfect fit. He had known it would be. “I had this with me the day the story came out. Just picked it up from the jewelry store the day before. Had it resized. Grandmother Sloane was notorious for plump digits. Damn thing was tucked in my pocket when you hit me in the shoulder with that rock, if you want the entire truth.”
Her hand trembled in his, her fingers beginning to curl into a fist. “Tanner, I—”
“Marry me, Kat. Now. Today.” Fear seized him. Surely, after this, she would not refuse. “I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to live without you. Not for an hour, not for one minute.” He captured her hands and kissed her until she shoved against his chest, gasping for air. Her lids fluttered, her gaze finding his. “I love you, Kat. I love you more than life. More than I’ve ever imagined someone could love another person. More than I ever wanted to love someone. Plus” —he glanced down, laughed— “I’m dressed for a wedding. My family is, too. They’re taking up an entire pew at St. Andrews.”
She lifted her hand before her face and caressed the stone as if it might shatter. “Family? But...Crawford, he and I, we have an agreement to—to break off our friendship at an appropriate time.” She shrugged. “To lessen gossip.”
Tanner rocked back on his heels. “Well, you see, I took care of him.”
Her face paled. “Took care, oh, you didn’t kill him, did you?”
“Thanks a lot, Kat.” He raked his hand through his hair. Jesus, she thought highly of him, didn’t she? “I just transferred a modest amount into his bank account. You were a rather good deal, I think.”
“You bought me?”
Her sharp tone had him stepping back, arms raised, fingers splayed. “No, not bought. Just a small contribution to keep his mouth shut nice and tight. Avoid some of the gossip you mentioned.”
“You paid for me! Like a horse?”
“Much less than a horse. Unless I bought an old nag. Or a donkey, maybe.”
“Donkey,” Kate muttered and walked to the door.
With an easy stretch, Tanner hoisted her over his shoulder. He laughed, then sighed, and finally slapped her bottom, which was writhing, quite enjoyably, against his cheek. “I’ve had about enough of this, Kat. Either you love me or you don’t. Do you?” Another gentle slap. “Well?”
“Yes! I love you, I always have, you arrogant—”
No slap this time, just a lewd caress. “Marriage? Today?”
Her head bumped his back, bottom rocking high. “Yes, yes.”
“A deal then.” He let her slide down his chest, over his stomach and his aching arousal. His head dipped as he gave in to the kiss he wanted above all else.
“Tanner,” Kate whispered against his lips. “What about number five?”
With a smile, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Ah, yes, I almost forgot. A bit belated, but....” He tilted her chin and stared straight into her eyes, a soft smile curving his lips. “Merry Christmas, Princess.”
Also by Tracy Sumner
Southern Heat Series
To Seduce a Rogue (Book One: Adam)
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The Seaswept Seduction Series
Tides of Love (Book One: Noah)
Tides of Passion (Book Two: Zach)
Dear Reader~
When I finished TO SEDUCE A ROGUE, I really had this great feeling about Adam Chase’s b
est friend, Tanner Barkley. A bit cynical, secretive, sexy, in other words, the perfect hero! And who better to pair him with than the daughter of Charlie’s somber chaperone in ROGUE? No daughter of such a severe woman could suffer fools easily.
And we all know how foolish a man in love can act.
Then my editor invited me to participate in a Christmas anthology and TO DESIRE A SCOUNDREL was born.
Katherine Peters is made for Tanner, and for the first time, I wrote about a hero who realizes this simple fact before the heroine! (If you recall, in ROGUE, Adam is clueless until nearly the end. Even Tanner tries to tell him the error of his ways. How sad is that?)
I hope you enjoy this holiday novella as much as I enjoyed writing it.
For more information on my other novels, please visit my website at: www.tracy-sumner.com. I love hearing from readers!
Happy reading,
Tracy
Meet Tracy Sumner
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Tracy's story telling career began when she picked up a copy of LaVyrle Spencer's Vows on a college beach trip. A journalism degree and a thousand romance novels later, she decided to try her hand at writing a southern version of the perfect love story. With a great deal of luck and more than a bit of perseverance, she sold her first novel to Kensington Publishing.
When not writing sensual stories featuring complex characters and lush settings, Tracy can be found reading romance, snowboarding, watching college football and figuring out how she can get to 100 countries before she kicks. She lives in the south, but after spending a few years in NYC, considers herself a New Yorker at heart.