Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

by Ann Lethbridge

  Not that Samuel had, she acknowledged. With him it was more her pride that had been hurt. But with Drew it would be different. If she gave him her heart and he threw it away, she would want to die.

  No, what she had was the memory of his touch. The way he made her feel. Dreamily she stroked her feminine flesh, recalling the way his fingers had felt. And his tongue.

  Languorous pleasure blossomed low in her belly. Good. But nowhere near as delicious as his touch had been, or as arousing as his harsh commands. A flush travelled over her skin at the memory.

  A knock sounded at the door. Hot with arousal and embarrassment, she jerked upright in the tub, water sloshing on to the floor.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Eva, madame. Belle sent me up to ask if you are done with the tub and to send up a bit to eat to tide you over until dinner.’

  ‘Thank you. Wait a moment and I’ll open the door.’

  ‘No need, ma’am. I’ll leave the tray outside. Bobbie’ll be up in a minute or two to take the tub and bring your clothes down to be washed.’

  ‘But I have nothing else to wear.’

  ‘You’ll find a robe in the cupboard,’ the girl said cheerfully. ‘Help yourself.’

  Afraid Bobbie might arrive at any moment, Rowena stepped out of the bath and dried herself off. The porter, she suspected, wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at finding her unclothed, given the place he worked, but she wouldn’t feel at all comfortable. The offered robe she discovered was a little diaphanous for her taste, but beggars could not be choosers. She opened the door and carried the tray in and set it on the table.

  A bite to eat consisted of a round of cheese and a heel of bread, with a pat of fresh butter, cake and a pot of tea.

  Whatever one might think about her profession, Madam Belle was clearly a very kind woman.

  A few minutes later, Bobbie and a young lad came for the tub. Rowena wrapped herself in the red quilt before she let them in and watched with interest as, working together, they lifted the tub and tipped the water out of the window after a shout of ‘Gardy loo!’ to anyone unfortunate enough to be walking in the alley below.

  ‘Will there be anything else, ma’am?’ Bobbie asked, his gaze fixed at a point above her head.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  He and his lad trundled out with the tub and she locked the door behind them. She went to the bed, intending to rest until Drew returned. Her foot hit something beneath the bed. Thinking it might be a book, she bent to take a peek. Beside the chamber pot was a wooden box. Intrigued, she picked it up and set it on the bed.

  She opened the lid.

  And her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

  * * *

  Drew nodded to Bobbie when he let him in the back door.

  ‘The missus is finished with her bath,’ the bruiser said with a wink.

  An image of Rowena naked flashed through his mind, doing away with all the good effects of the cold plunge. His shaft gave a happy little twitch. He gave Bobbie a hard-eyed glare and headed upstairs, rubbing his close-shaven chin with his thumb and wondering if she might welcome him in her bed a second time. If he kept things on an even keel.

  Behaved like a gentleman.

  As if. And nor did he want her to. He still couldn’t believe her courage. She’d actually risked her own safety to rescue him from McKenzie’s men. He owed her more than he could ever repay. He was not going to take advantage of the kind gentle woman who hid behind the facade of stern reserve. Samuel MacDonald had been a fool not to realise the treasure he had in his wife.

  He tapped on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ Her voice was husky, almost breathless.

  Had something happened? ‘Drew. Let me in.’

  There was a scuffling sound, then the door opened. Her face was bright pink. He took in the see-through robe she was wearing. It clung to every swell and hollow, revealing more than it hid: the small, high bosom, the curve of her waist and swell of her hips. He jerked his gaze up to her face. Far from trying to avoid his gaze, she seemed to be trying to block his view of the bed.

  A sharp blade of something ugly twisted in his chest. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Guilt filled her voice. He stepped around her. His gaze swept the four-poster bed and... His stomach lurched. Cold as ice, he turned to face her. ‘Where did that come from?’

  She gave an awkward laugh and unsuccessfully tried to look severe. ‘I found it under the bed.’

  Had Belle brought it up, thinking he would want it? His mouth dried. His heart pounded hard. His shaft hardened to rock.

  He brought his gaze up to her face and saw excitement in the flush of her skin and the sparkle in her silvery eyes.

  He had to be imagining it. If she had opened it, she would be horrified.

  Her gaze slid away. She gestured to the table. ‘Belle sent up tea for me and whisky for you, if you would care for some. Supper will be sent up later, I understand.’

  Whisky might dull the terrible ache in his groin. He strode to the table against the wall and with a shaking hand poured some into the glass. He swallowed the liquid in one swallow. Felt it burn all the way to his belly and poured another glass, glad to see his hand had steadied.

  He nodded at the bed. ‘It must have been left by the previous occupant.’ He looked into his glass. ‘This whisky is excellent.’ Much better than the gut-rot he’d shared with McKenzie’s men.

  ‘Eva said it comes from Dunross. The...er...mistress of the house orders it for her special clients, though Eva says she never tells them where it comes from.’

  He rolled another sip around in his mouth and she was right—it tasted of home. A wave of longing surged through him. He ruthlessly crushed it. ‘I thought it tasted familiar. Did Eva say why they keep it a secret?’

  She gave a little shrug. The filmy fabric skimmed over her nipples, making them pearl. His breath caught in his throat.

  ‘Something about McKenzie not liking the competition,’ she said. ‘Apparently, it’s all right to tell me because I’m a Gilvry. I didn’t disabuse her of the notion.’

  He finished his drink and turned to pour another, then put the glass down. Too much whisky and he’d lose what little control he had.

  Again his gaze strayed to the bed. Rowena moved away from it with a look of embarrassment. As she would, given that they were alone in a room in which the bed was the focus. She wasn’t an innocent. She would know what went on in a bawdy house, if not in detail, then in general terms at least.

  He just wished she hadn’t found that box. Its contents were all too familiar. Too damned tempting and she was too good for him and his needs.

  * * *

  How awkward that Eva had not delivered her clothes before Drew arrived. More awkward yet, he had returned before she’d had a chance to put the box and its strange contents back under the bed. Just looking at what it contained had sent her blood pounding through her veins, which in turn had made her feel hot all over. The slide of the silky robe on her sensitised skin had only made the strange feelings grow worse.

  Her imagination had run riot as she’d picked each item out of the box. Her body had tingled and burned. She’d wanted to stroke her breasts, touch her— She blocked out the wicked thoughts. Only Drew’s arrival had stopped her from behaving in the most shameful way.

  And now he was looking at the box with a dark expression. Not anger. It held too much sensuality for that, but not interest either. A kind of dread.

  ‘I stubbed my toe on the box,’ she said, her voice sounding a little breathless. As if she’d been running. Was it her imagination or had the chamber become warm and close? She swallowed and looked away from the piercing look he shot her from under his brows. ‘It’s...um...things. For use by the girls who work here, I assume.’

&n
bsp; ‘Are you saying you looked inside?’ he asked, his voice low and gruff and incredulous.

  She gave a small laugh that sounded forced. ‘I was curious.’

  He turned away, staring down at the decanter, his face rigid. He must think she was dreadful. Wanton.

  But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from asking the question that had been on her mind since she opened the box. ‘Do you think they use all those things?’

  ‘Things?’

  A shiver rolled down her back. ‘Chains. Ropes. Blindfolds. A schoolmaster’s leather strap.’ Her inner muscles tightened with a pleasurable little pulse and she swallowed a gasp.

  He made a sound of disgust. ‘I’ll have them come and fetch it away.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked down her nose at the polished wood. ‘Of course. But Eva told me she would be busy downstairs for the next little while.’

  When she looked back at him, he was watching her with hooded eyes, but even so she could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin.

  Oh, how she wished she had never opened that box. She moved to the chair by the fireplace and looked up at him. ‘Were the baths to your satisfaction?’ she asked as a mean of distraction.

  ‘Aye. Yours?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Eva took my clothes to be washed. You might want to give her your shirt if we are to visit your brother tomorrow.’

  He moved to the window and looked down into the street. ‘I’ll take it down later.’

  With the box. Stop thinking about it. She clasped her hands together in her lap. ‘I expect you are looking forward to meeting him.’ Oh, heaven help her, she was babbling.

  ‘Yes.’

  His monosyllabic answers were unravelling her nerves, but she couldn’t seem to stop asking questions. ‘Do you know where to find him?’

  He turned back from the window, his face expressionless. ‘The attendant at the bathhouse gave me the address. I went round to take a look at the building. He’s in a wynd just off Princes Street. The office opens at half past nine in the morning.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, mollified by the fullness of his answer. ‘So we know where we are to go.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘He will be surprised to see you after all this time.’

  ‘Surprised, aye.’

  ‘And pleased,’ she hazarded.

  He shook his head. ‘Doubtful. But he’s not one to turn his back on his own.’ His jaw flickered. ‘Not the Niall I knew anyway. Things may have changed since...’ He let his voice trail away. He seemed to be looking into the past. He shook his head. ‘There’s no sense in guessing.’ His hands opened and closed.

  He was worried. And not only his tension gave him away. She could see concern in the shadows darkening his eyes from their usual emerald to the colour of pine forests.

  ‘I saved you a piece of cake,’ she said, pointing to the tea tray. ‘To tide you over until dinner. Unless you ate while you were out?’

  ‘No. I didna’ realise dinner would be late, so I didna’ give it a thought.’ He picked up the slice of cake and it disappeared in one bite.

  ‘I should have saved more of it.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’m more used to an empty belly than you are.’

  She wasn’t so sure of that. Governesses did get fed, but they often had to wait until after their charges were looked after.

  ‘I should write to my employer again,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Tell her where to send my wages.’

  She frowned. ‘And if in the end there is no money set aside, I fear it will be difficult to find another position without a letter of reference.’

  His face looked grimmer than ever.

  ‘Please, Drew, don’t blame yourself. I should have known better than to think Samuel would have done anything so sensible as provide for me.’ She tidied up the tray. ‘Eva said to put this outside the door. One of the footman will pass by and pick it up.’ She glanced at the bed. ‘We could leave that outside, too, if you wish.’

  He gave the box a look of dislike. ‘Aye. It would be best.’

  She hurried to the bed and picked up the chest. For some unaccountable reason her hands were shaking. The heavy weight slipped through fingers that seemed to have lost all of their strength and it crashed to the floor, scattering its contents across the carpet.

  Drew let out a curse. In one long stride he had reached the site of the disaster and crouched at her feet.

  She dropped to her knees beside him as he righted the box. She picked up a pair of manacles. They were heavy and lined with velvet. She glanced up and found his gaze fixed on her hands. She rubbed at the velvet with her fingers, her breasts tightening. His gaze drifted from her hands up her body to her nipples, which she was sure he must be able to see through the fabric of the robe, and then continued up to her face.

  His breathing sounded harsh in the silence as their gazes met.

  She licked her lips and swallowed the dryness in her throat. Her heart was rattling in her chest, making it hard to form words. ‘Have you ever...?’ she whispered. ‘I mean, do you know...?’

  ‘What?’ he said his voice harsh. ‘Do I know what?’

  ‘How they are used?’

  He stilled. Something changed in his expression; it lightened, and though he frowned, the glint in his eyes was curiosity, not anger. And yes—at least, she was almost sure—hope.

  ‘Do you like the idea of being shackled?’ His voice deepened and became silky and dark and mesmerising as his eyes seemed to look right into her soul. ‘Of being held in chains. Helpless to defend your honour against a man who will do with you just as he will.’

  Her insides melted. She gasped, helpless against the deliciously wicked sensations rippling through her body. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to speak. Afraid of what she might reveal. Fearing he would turn away in disgust. Then she nodded and waited for his revulsion.

  ‘And would you submit to such a man, obey his every dark demand?’

  Her eyes fluttered closed on a little moan of helpless pleasure.

  ‘Rowena,’ he said, his voice a rough whisper. ‘Look at me.’

  She opened her eyes. His mouth was so close to hers. His breath warm on her lips.

  ‘Rowena,’ he murmured, ‘would you submit like that to me? Let me do as I willed? Give way to my every wish?’ He drew in a harsh breath. ‘If I promise I wouldna’ hurt you? Not really?’

  All her life she had longed for a man who would want her badly enough to take command of her body and soul. Could she humble herself enough to ask for what she wanted? ‘I have dreamed of a man who...’ He would find her disgusting.

  ‘Of a man who what?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Who what, Rowena? Answer me.’

  ‘Who would be my master and I his slave.’ She blushed and bowed her head in shame. ‘It is a foolish fancy.’

  She started to rise.

  He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not move.’ He picked up the box and set it on the table beside the bed.

  She looked up at his face, the face of half devil, half angel. ‘I—’

  ‘You do not have my permission to speak.’

  She shuddered with pleasure.

  * * *

  Drew stared down at her bowed head. Had he understood? He thought he had. Or had he simply wished to hear what he wanted? Or had she agreed because she was afraid?

  ‘Look at me, Rowena.’

  She raised her gaze to meet his and he saw excitement and breathless anticipation in her expression.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I do,’ she said. ‘If you think you would like it.’

  Like it? He had a feeling it would kill him if she changed her mind. ‘If anything I do, we do, makes you afraid, you can always stop me. Cry “
uncle” and I’ll stop at once. I swear it. Do you understand?’

  ‘Uncle,’ she said, nodding.

  ‘So you want to stop?’

  ‘No. Not now. Not yet.’

  He looked down at her, saw the courage in her eyes and the melting softness. Had he actually found a woman who liked this game as much as he did? She always seemed so strong, so self-contained. But as she knelt before him, he could see that this was something she wanted and he let the beast inside him out of its cage. Not loose—never did he let it go entirely free—but he would let it play a while. Just for a moment or two.

  ‘Stand up, girl, and face me.’

  She did as he bid. He could see she was trembling, the sheer fabric of her robe shivering at the hem.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I have captured the ship on which you travelled and will sell you in the slave markets of Algeria if you do not please me.’

  Her soft mouth parted on a gasp and her breathing quickened. His blood pounded in answer to that betraying little sign of pleasure.

  ‘Let your hair down. I want to see it free around your shoulders.’

  She pulled the pins free and it tumbled down. It reminded him of the way he’d seen it at McRae’s. It was long and straight and a pretty shade of chestnut brown.

  ‘Untie your belt, girl. Quickly now.’

  Her lovely long fingers hastened to do as he bid and the robe fell open.

  Just as he recalled from the night in the bothy, her breasts were small and high and beautifully firm. The curls at the juncture of her thighs were a lovely dark chestnut, darker than the hair on her head.

  A desperate urge to touch her with hands and mouth almost overwhelmed him, but she was not yet ready. ‘Let the robe fall.’