A Reckless Encounter

by Rosemary Rogers

  She wanted to ask why he’d rescued her, how he’d even known she was in danger, but wasn’t at all certain she wanted to hear the answer.

  Shuddering, she slowly became aware of his hands in her hair instead of the brush, of the leisurely sweep of fingers combing through the heavy mass to lift it from her neck, fisting it in one hand. It was sensuous, a relaxing moment of comfort. Surprisingly gentle.

  Then he was pulling her to her feet, turning her into him, his hand on her back a steady pressure.

  “No, don’t move away,” he said softly. “There’s not anywhere for you to go tonight. And you don’t really want to, do you.”

  She wanted to say yes! but her throat was still too sore to speak. Only mangled sounds were able to escape as he pulled away the blanket, let it puddle on the floor at her feet as he removed the last of her garments, the shift a pale drift atop the blanket. Cool air made her shiver. His hands were firm against her shrinking flesh, hot and far too intimate.

  Despite her resistance, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the tub, lowering her into it until the water level was over her breasts.

  It was infuriating, but her attempts to keep him from washing her were futile. He easily evaded her slaps at his hands as he dragged a soapy cloth over her face, then down her throat to her breasts. It was a vivid reminder of the last bath, when he’d made love to her and she’d been foolish enough to think he meant more by it than just the moment.

  But this was no time to remember that. He was touching her intimately, his hands moving over her with brisk efficiency. He held her squirming body still, his grip gentle but firm as he scrubbed the cloth over her back.

  “Be still, princess. I’m not much of a hand at this,” he muttered when she tried to twist away. “You may not know it, but you’ve got scratches and bruises all over you. Bloody ones, at that. While you don’t think I’m much of a gentleman, those men were certainly not. You look like hell, pardon my bluntness.”

  She turned to glare at him, and he lifted his brow as a wolfish grin squared his mouth.

  “What did you expect? A nice lie? There’s a mirror by the wall that would tell you the truth soon enough,” he said calmly. “And I seem to recall you stating a decided distaste for liars. Ah ah, no splashing about. You’ll get my evening clothes wet and Beaton will be put out about it. A gentleman lives in terror of his valet, you know.”

  If she could speak, she would tell him that he was certainly no gentleman!

  He continued to talk to her while he bathed her, so that she barely winced when he cleaned the cuts that were indeed bleeding. Why hadn’t she noticed before? There were bruises that would be quite ugly by morning, and several long scratches on her arms that looked rather deep.

  But I don’t remember getting these, she thought with a vague frown as she allowed Colter to scoop water over her shoulders to rinse away the soap.

  Perhaps it was the brandy, or the hot bath, or even his gentle—if a bit too familiar—touch that soothed her, but by the time the bath was finished, she was almost relaxed.

  He lifted her from the tub, wrapped a thick towel around her body and carried her from the sitting room into the bedroom where he put her on the wide canopied bed shrouded by heavy draperies. There was an inevitability to it, to his touch, to what came next and to her own response to him.

  Yet tonight she needed this, needed to feel something other than fear, needed to feel…needed to feel what he was doing now, with his hands on her body. Oh God, yes. It was as if she’d been waiting for this moment since the last time.…

  21

  Celia sighed softly. His hands were much more gentle than she remembered, though his caresses were hard and almost painful, thumbs digging into tender skin to rub away the soreness. Fingers spread over her bare skin, kneading flesh with an expertise that was unexpected. How had he learned such a wonderful skill?

  The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he shifted, and his hands moved from her shoulders down to the small of her back.

  “Your muscles are so tight,” he said, and his voice seemed to come through layers of gauze, muffled by her hair and the steady rhythm of her blood in her ears. “You need to relax. You’re safe now, and you know that. No one will find you here.”

  His hands drummed against her sore muscles, pounding away tension as he said, “I learned this from an East Indian holy man, who believed that the body could be cured of most ailments by the mind and simple rituals. He was probably right, but it’s taken me a long time to realize that.”

  It was shadowed in the bed, a lamp across the room the only light. It felt suddenly intimate, familiar, as his hands moved from shoulders to the small of her back, kneading and rubbing away stress. She was lulled by his low, husky voice and soothing hands, drifting on a tide of well-being that must have been summoned by the brandy and hot bath.

  “Did you recognize the men who attacked you, Celia? You don’t need to talk. Just nod if you did.”

  She gave a slow shake of her head, tension returning at the memory, and he soothed her with circular motions of his hands across her back, his tone pragmatic and calm.

  “I’ve got my own ideas about who it was, but I need you to be honest with me. If you aren’t, you could be in danger yourself, though you may not even know why.”

  She started to turn over, but he held her still, his knees tightening on each side of her hips, his hands a firm, steady pressure on her back.

  “No, lay still for now. Listen to me instead of trying to talk. I know there are some things you aren’t telling me, or even your cousin.” His hands tightened again when she jerked, his voice relentless. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything. If I’m wrong, then you’ll just have to take my word that I only want to help you.”

  Help? She strangled a painful laugh. How much help would he be if she told him she wanted to destroy his father?

  Oh, she’d had too much brandy, her head hurt and her entire body was sore. She wanted to go to sleep, yet she wanted him to continue rubbing away the aches, wanted his hands on her, needed to feel him close and know that she was safe. Odd, of all men in the world, he was not the one she would have thought she’d feel safe with, yet she did. Yes, it must be the brandy. How else to explain it?

  “Celia, I want to know how well-acquainted you are with Carlisle. This isn’t the time for secrets.”

  Carlisle? But what had he to do with anything? Unless…oh, he wouldn’t have attacked her. She would have recognized him, she was certain. Why on earth did Colter think she was familiar with the man?

  “I know,” he continued, his hands still massaging her sore body, “that you met him aboard the ship. It couldn’t have been a long acquaintance, unless you knew him, or of him, before that. Did you?”

  She shook her head slowly, hands kneading the clean white linen sheets that smelled slightly of laundry soap and exotic scents. This house was nothing like she’d imagined a house of ill repute would be, she thought distractedly, with clean sheets and baths available, and rather decadent furnishings, if opulent and luxurious—What was he saying now?

  “What did Carlisle give you to hold for him? A book, perhaps, or a package?”

  She tried to think through the waves of muddled heat in her brain, her body urging her to oblivion but her mind still straining to hold to coherence. Carlisle’s face was a vague blur of memory, his offer to escort her once they disembarked in London summoning a niggling detail that she couldn’t quite capture. There was something…yes, he had given her a map, but that wasn’t the same thing as a book or a package. Was it important? And why was he asking all these questions…Oh, if only she could think clearly, but her head ached so…

  “Celia love, what did Carlisle give you to hold for him? Answer me, and I’ll let you go to sleep.”

  He sounded so demanding, his tone almost harsh now, as if he was irritated. Celia tried to recall what she had been thinking a moment before. Yes, there had been the map. She managed a nod o
f her head as she ground out, “A map,” then heard Colter swear softly before he said, “Go to sleep now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow…yes, tomorrow would be better, for maybe then her head wouldn’t hurt so badly and she could focus on what he was asking her—and why. But right now it hurt too badly to think, to do more than just feel, and he was being so unusually gentle.

  It was almost as if he was a different person, a man who shed personalities the way she changed cloaks.

  For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt safe, as if no harm would come to her while with him. It was as astonishing as it was comforting.

  She must have slept, for when she woke it was to an empty bed and thin threads of sunlight piercing heavy drapes over the window. Blinking against streamers of dusty light, Celia took a cautious survey of her aches and pains. Amazingly there was little soreness, though there were thin red scratches on her arms, and the bruises were a deep purple.

  At least her throat was no longer sore, but it was very dry and she was thirsty; there was nothing on the bedside table to drink, not even her brandy from the night before. It looked as if the room had been cleaned, for through the open door she saw that the bath had been removed from the sitting room. It was quiet in the house, very still. Where was Colter? Had he just left her here?

  Groggily she sat up and stuck her legs over the side of the bed, holding the coverlet over her breasts as she slid to her feet to wobble to a small round table nearby. A wave of dizziness made her falter, and she leaned on the top of the table to steady her balance.

  A pitcher of water and two glasses sat on a silver tray. The chink of fine crystal sounded quite loud in the room as she poured a drink rather clumsily; she was loathe to release her only covering. What if someone should walk in?

  She must find her clothes and manage to leave as discreetly as possible. But her gown had been torn, she remembered, as the events of the night before came rushing back. Her hand shook and water spilled onto a lace cloth arranged over the table. She set down the pitcher before she dropped it.

  The water tasted slightly musty, but eased her parched throat, and she drank two glasses before she felt she had had enough.

  “Ah, my little camel, I see you’re awake,” Colter said behind her, and she managed to set down the empty glass and turn to look at him without falling over or losing her grip on the bedclothes. Her heart gave an erratic thump. He was leaning negligently against the door frame, regarding her with a faint smile. He’d changed clothes, and now wore a dark coat, snug trousers and boots to his knees.

  Must he look so handsome this early in the morning? She probably looked a fright, with her hair all loose and eyes puffy from sleep. Just where did he sleep last night, she wondered as she tightened her grip on the downward sliding blanket, chin jutting out when he grinned insolently at her hoarse reply.

  “Yes, and it’s time for me to leave. My cousin must be worried sick about me, and—”

  “And I’ve taken care of all that. Your reputation is safe, your cousin mollified, and now all we have to do is figure out where to hide you.”

  “Hide me!” She stared at him. “Have you gone mad? Why on earth should I have to hide anywhere, and why did you take it upon yourself to make explanations to Jacqueline? What did you tell her? She must wonder where I am and why I left like I did—which is what I’m wondering myself. Who were those men and why did you bring me here?”

  “I brought you here,” he said as he crossed the room, “because it’s the one place I knew they wouldn’t look for you. And even if they did, Webster is armed and capable of keeping secrets.”

  “Who are they, and who is Webster? Really,” she said with growing exasperation, “this seems so unnecessary. I’ve no need to hide from cutpurses, especially not here.”

  “You don’t like it here? Odd, it’s one of the most popular, frequently visited spots in London. But perhaps you’re right. It’s not exactly the sort of establishment you can mention in polite company. As fetching as that blanket is on you, my love, I think you’re going to need to wear clothes that cover up all that tempting bare flesh.”

  His dark blue gaze seemed to penetrate the blanket she held almost to her chin, and she felt a hot flush scour her face. “I told you,” she said sharply to cover her sudden embarrassment, “that I am going home to my cousin. If my clothes are ruined, you can find me another dress.”

  “I think I liked it better last night when you couldn’t speak at all, but at least the medicine worked.” His mouth curled in a mocking smile at her angry hiss. “You needed it. It relaxed you, and nothing bad happened. You know, with your green eyes slitted at me like that, you look remarkably like a cat, love. That’s good, because you’re going to need to put on a show if we’re to escape notice.”

  “What are you talking about now? Escape? A show?”

  “I hope your acting has improved.” He moved past her to a tall armoire set into the wall, and flung open the doors. A row of gowns dangled from hooks—red silks, satins, demure muslin and a taffeta gown in bright yellow hung like wilted flowers. “Here.” He reached inside, grabbed the taffeta gown and tossed it to her. “Put this on and see if it fits. If not, Madame can alter it for you.”

  She’d caught the dress, a reflexive action, then had to grab at the blanket as it slipped from her breasts.

  “I have no intention of wearing this ugly thing!” She threw it to the floor. “If you expect me to go along with whatever scheme you’ve concocted, you’d best tell me what it is or I refuse to step a foot outside this room.”

  A dark brow cocked, and his grin widened. “Madame wouldn’t mind having a new girl in her stable, I suppose, though after the first few nights you might change your mind about your new vocation.”

  He moved toward her, two steps bringing him close.

  “Should I interview you for the position? Which do you prefer, love, on your back or—”

  “Stop it!” She retreated a step, her heart thumping alarm when he followed with a determined glint in his eye. “Why are you doing this? I don’t know what’s going on or why I was brought here, or even why those men attacked me. And you aren’t making things any clearer.”

  “They’ll be clear soon enough. I know it’s a lot to expect you to trust me, but you really don’t have any choice right now, Celia.”

  He reached for the blanket she held tightly, and pulled it free despite her grip and protests.

  “What are you—oh!”

  As the blanket slid to the floor, Colter drew Celia to him, his hands sliding around her back to pull her hard against his body. She felt his muscles tighten when she put her hands on his arms.

  “Please,” she said, and hated the way she sounded so breathless. “If you’ll only tell me what’s happening and why I’m here…”

  “I will, love. I will.” He lifted her in his arms, took her the few steps to the wide bed still mussed from the night and dumped her on it. “Has anyone ever told you how appealing you are with your hair all loose and tumbling over your shoulders like that? It’s a bloody shame females keep their hair in tight coils, when it’s much more alluring like this…a cloud of raw silk, the same color as honey.”

  He’d lifted a curl of her hair in his fist, his hands not ungentle as his fingers tunneled through to push it back from her face. Leaning over her, there was an intently fierce expression on his face, his eyes a dark, glittering blue as he stared down at her.

  “Open your legs for me, Celia,” he said softly, and she thought for a moment that her ears were playing tricks on her. But then his hand moved with swift certainty over her body, not as it had the night before, but more intimate now, touching her breasts, moving lower to her belly and then below to tease the nest of curls between her thighs.

  “If you’re going to play the part, perhaps you should have more instruction first, my sweet.” His voice was soft, husky, and he lay down beside her, his weight dipping the mattress so that she slid closer.
>
  It was oddly arousing to lie naked next to him while he was still fully clothed, but she felt vulnerable, too, and began to shake her head uncertainly. He threw his leg across her thighs when she tried to move away.

  “No, don’t resist. You don’t really want to, and we’ve done this before so there’s no harm, is there? You enjoyed it then, didn’t you, love. Now it will be even better for you…yes, let me kiss you there…”

  His tongue flicked over the taut peak of her breast in a hot, damp stroke, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the piercing sweetness of it. His hand caressed her as his lips closed over her breast, drawing her nipple into his mouth, a strong suction that sent shivers of heat through her entire body. Oh God…it must be the residue of the medicine he’d given her, for she found it difficult to think, to resist as his hands moved over her so intimately, shaping her other breast in his palm, thumb and finger tugging at the nipple in a deliciously erotic play. A pulse began to beat between her thighs, strong and hot, and she moaned softly.

  Colter tangled one hand in her hair and kissed her on the lips, fiercely, his mouth a bruising pressure. Then she felt his tongue in her mouth, seeking, and she returned his kiss at last, her hands moving to clutch at him, fingers curled into his shirt to hold him tightly.

  Oh, no! What was he doing now? Confused, she felt him move back, part her legs with his hands on her inner thighs, fingers sliding down to touch her, then slip beneath her to lift her slightly. Then, shockingly, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and held her there, his hands moving to her breasts again, fingers teasing her nipples until she muffled a cry with her knuckles pressed against her lips and teeth as his mouth found her.

  No, no, no…this was not meant to be…She heard as if from a distance the sounds she made, soft sobbing cries that were somehow mixed up with embarrassment and desire and the need for him to continue. His mouth seared into her, tongue like a flame on soft flesh, and she shuddered at the tight, hot growing pressure forming. It wound tighter and tighter, until finally there was an abrupt release that left her shaking, crying out his name, her hips arching into him as she sobbed helplessly.