Smirking, Claire went up on her tiptoes and spoke in an exaggerated whisper in Cam’s ear. “She’s lovely, McLeod. Well done!”
Esme couldn’t help it. Her smile grew wider.
Cam rolled his eyes. “Come, Esme. The others are in the drawing room.”
“See you soon, Esme, dear,” Claire called as she left. Esme couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. She was going to like these women. She could feel it.
They returned downstairs, where they parted with Mackenzie, who returned to the study. Cam led her in the opposite direction, and he knocked on the door at the end of a short corridor.
“Come,” said someone from inside, the voice low but stern.
Cam opened the door and stepped into the room, tugging her to stand beside him.
Two men rose as they entered. Both were dark-haired and handsome, but one looked a bit older, with gray streaking at his temples. These men didn’t have the light, easy smiles of Duncan Mackenzie. Seriousness cloaked both men, especially the younger of the two.
Cam moved forward, bringing her along with him. “Esme, this is Major Campbell. And Sir Colin Stirling, who was a captain of the Gordon Highlanders, like I was.”
She curtseyed to both men. The major smiled at her. “Welcome, lass. Have you met my wife? She’s looking forward to your arrival.”
“Yes, thank you. We just spoke. I was so pleased to see her again.”
“You know each other?” he asked.
She nodded. “We met once or twice, years ago, during our first Seasons. But I’m sorry to say we haven’t seen each other much since.”
“Are you ready for your wedding?” Stirling asked. Her gaze went to his. There was a darkness lurking in the depths there, and she shuddered a bit, wondering at the cause. Then she remembered that this man had been a captain in Wellington’s army. From the shadows in his eyes, it seemed like he was reliving the horrors of battle even now.
She shrugged, feeling she could be honest with him, for some reason. “Can one ever be ready for his or her wedding?”
“I am,” Cam declared. “Absolutely ready.”
At that, Sir Colin smiled. “You’ve changed him, lass,” he said quietly.
She returned his smile, knowing he meant that as a high compliment. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“You’re Sam Hawkins’s sister, aye?” the major asked.
“I am,” she said proudly. That was the thing about Sam. Even though he was widely known as the bastard of the Hawkins family—a label that should have brought great embarrassment and shame—she’d always been utterly proud of him. He was a hero of the realm. Brave and honest and strong. By the way the major had asked, it seemed he held great respect for Sam as well.
The major nodded. “And you’re aware of your brother’s connection to the Knights.”
“I am,” she said quietly.
“You ken that our positions at times lead us—and unfortunately our families—into great danger?”
She glanced quickly at Cam, who was giving her a rare serious look.
“Yes.”
“Then you understand what you’re getting yourself into?”
She couldn’t lie and say she did, exactly. Sam had never involved her in any of his missions, but even so, she’d been exposed to the danger.
“Three years ago I was kidnapped and held by one of Sam’s—and the Crown’s—enemies. I know what kind of danger you’re involved in. All too well.”
The major spoke to her, but turned his gaze to Cam. “Aye. Good. It isna a thing I’d drag a lass into unknowingly.”
Cam stared at her in disbelief. “Kidnapped?” he whispered in incredulity.
She shrugged and tried to smile it away. “It was years ago,” she said. “It’s all over now. Everything turned out for the best. Sam and the rest of my brothers came to my rescue.”
“Jesus,” Cam muttered. “There’s so much I still dinna ken about you.”
She nodded. “Yes. But those are details we have the rest of our lives to share. You might not know where I was on any given day or what I was doing, but you know me. The real me. You’re the only person who does.” And that was the truth. He’d barreled into her life and in a matter of moments had torn down all the barriers she held against the world.
His expression softened. “Aye,” he said gruffly, “I do.”
He glanced up, seeming to notice the other two men in the room for the first time. “We should be off, then,” he said, his voice still rough with some emotion Esme couldn’t name. “Come, lass.”
Even as Cam tugged on her arm, she gave the two other men a curtsey. “It was nice to meet you, Major, Sir Colin.”
The men murmured the appropriate responses, and then Cam and Esme were out of the room, heading back down the short corridor.
“Where now?” she asked.
“Somewhere we can be alone,” Cam said tersely. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
Chapter 23
Cam tugged her into the mews behind the house, then into the stables. A horse whickered in surprise at their entrance, but Cam pulled her up a narrow flight of stairs at one end of the half-dozen or so stalls.
“Where are we…? Oh.”
Cam had led her inside a small but tidy room that contained a narrow bed, a row of cabinets, and a stove. “The stable master once lived here. But we dinna require a stable master, so the place is empty now.” He gave her one of his wickedest grins. “We wilna be interrupted here.”
She returned his grin with a wicked one of her own and threw her arms around him. It had only been a couple of days, but she’d missed him so much.
He deftly untied her bonnet then tossed it onto the tiny round table. Then he kissed her. Without breaking their lip-lock, they managed to undress each other, laughing and fumbling with ties and tapes and buttons and buckles. When Esme was down to her chemise and stays, Cam growled and turned her around so that her back was to his front, and pushed her between the shoulder blades until she was bent over the edge of the bed. He flipped up her skirts, rubbing her thighs above her garters, then yanked down her drawers, smacking her bottom lightly as he drew them off her. She gasped and wiggled, her sex contracting at the imprint of heat his hand left behind.
“You’ve such a bonny arse,” he gritted out, kissing her rounded cheek as he rose up behind her.
She braced herself as he moved into position and guided himself to her opening. Without hesitating, he thrust in hard, burying himself deep. Then he stopped, holding still as she adjusted to his girth. “Oh, Cam,” she whispered. “Oh…”
Her body fluttered around him, so aroused it almost hurt her when he held himself still.
“Your cunt feels so good wrapped tight around me, lass.”
She whimpered in response. Even during her research, she’d only ever read that word, had never in her life heard it spoken aloud. It was deliciously dirty and wicked. She wiggled, trying to get him to move.
He obliged, starting a hard, firm rhythm that made Esme see stars. As he thrust he bent over her and pressed his hand to her cheek, forcing her to turn her head. He kissed her, wet and hot and thorough, as he moved within her. She arched her back, her body wanting more, harder. He seemed to read her desire, and he gave it to her, going deeper, kissing her fiercely, until she was moving with him, her pants quickly escalating to low moans as he brought her ever higher.
He reached beneath her, pinching her nipple between two fingers before gliding his hand lower to rub his fingers over the sensitive spot between her legs. She cried out, because the sensation was so strong she wasn’t sure she could endure it. But she had no choice. He held her trapped under his body, ramming himself into her so that she was pushed hard against the bed with every thrust.
He gave no quarter and, deep inside, she didn’t want it. He was ruling her, body and soul, and she wanted nothing else but to be ruled by this man.
In the most intrinsic sense of the word, it was free
ing to be dominated like this. Giving up control of her body and mind was absolutely liberating. She could just be. She could just feel.
Pleasure surged through her body, and she released that last bit of control, letting it go free. The orgasm raced through her, pinpricks of ecstasy in every bit of her, deep in her core to the surface of her skin, making her gasp and shudder uncontrollably.
When it ran its course, she melted into a pool of pleasure, his movements inside her now causing frissons and sparks to detonate. She shivered, simply being here, with him, simply enjoying what Cam had done to her, what he still continued to do to her.
And then there was a noise downstairs. A slam of a door, then shuffling as a horse and man entered the stables.
Cam went still, covering her mouth with his hand. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s just Innes returned from Pinfield duty. Be quiet.”
She was quiet, and he began to move again, slowly, as she heard the man below shuffling around, mumbling to the horse, probably brushing the animal down. It seemed to take forever before he finally took his leave. When the door clicked behind him, Cam’s hand instantly fisted in her hair, pulling near but not quite to the point of pain. And his thrusts turned hard again, forceful. She felt him growing inside her, impossibly hard, his body tensing as he let go of his restraint and pummeled her against the bed.
It didn’t take long. Soon, he was spitting out words in Gaelic, cursing, perhaps, and suddenly all went silent as he trembled over her, releasing his seed deep into her womb.
She gasped and breathed through it—he was so deep and she was so full, it was just on the edge of being painful.
“God help me,” he muttered when he’d finished. “Get on the bed, Esme.”
She scrambled up on the blanket and he climbed on after her, drawing her into his arms. She loved how he held her after they’d come together like this. His hold was possessive, but also loving. He nuzzled his lips into her hair, and she sighed in contentment.
They were silent for a long while. Then he pulled the blanket up over them. “What’s this about being held hostage?”
“It happened three years ago. Sam was after a very bad man, who kidnapped me in order to get to him.”
“Good God.” He tugged her closer.
“He had me trussed and frightened out of my mind for four days before Sam and my other brothers—and Élise—found me.”
Cam shuddered.
“Why are you shaking?”
“The thought of you…frightened. Trapped.” He pulled back slightly, looking down at her. “I canna imagine it. Just the thought of you suffering…it hurts.”
He sounded surprised by that revelation and she leaned forward to press her lips against his chest. “I’m all right. The men were arrested, and none of my brothers or my sister-in-law were injured.”
“But the major was right. It could happen again. The men we encounter in our job…they wilna hesitate to use our loved ones against us.”
She smiled. “Am I a loved one, then?”
“Of course you are. You’ll be my wife.”
That wasn’t exactly the declaration that she’d yearned for, but it was enough. “As I told the major, I’m aware of the risk. It didn’t stop me. Evidently, it didn’t stop Lady Grace or Lady Claire, either.”
He shuddered again. “Lady Grace…” He shook his head and closed his eyes, and alarm flared briefly in her chest.
“Whatever happened to her, Lady Grace is all right now, isn’t she? She seemed perfectly fine today.”
“She is. She’s a strong woman.”
“And so am I, Cam.”
“Aye. You are. But I’ve seen what can…happen to a woman.” He thrust his hand through his hair.
“Grace?”
“My sister.”
Something clenched in Esme’s chest. “I know,” she whispered. “I’ll be as careful as I possibly can.”
That would have to be enough.
—
On the night before her wedding, Esme couldn’t sit down, much less sleep. She was a bundle of anxiety and nerves.
She wanted to see Cam.
She fought that desire. Successfully, for most of the night.
The wedding was only a few hours away, and she’d see him then. She glanced over at the door to her closet, where her wedding dress hung.
She was getting married soon. She couldn’t quite believe it. And it wasn’t to Henry Whitworth…it was to Lord Camden McLeod. The heir to the Scottish Earl of Sutton.
She’d fallen in love with him. He accepted her as she truly was—her embarrassing flaws, her common parentage, and her writing. She could never have imagined a potential spouse—especially one of her class—would approve of her engaging in such an activity as writing novels. But Cam was special. He did.
She had to see him. Had to cast eyes on him one last time before she faced him in the church.
She glanced at the clock, knowing there was no chance she’d be getting another wink of sleep. It was four o’clock—early, but the household would awaken early this morning to prepare for the wedding breakfast. They would begin to stir soon.
If she was going to slip out, this was her chance.
She managed to leave the still-quiet house without anyone seeing her, and she walked all the way to Westminster. Keeping a fast pace, it took her under twenty minutes. She picked the lock to the back door of the Knights’ house—she knew how thanks to growing up in a household with five brothers, and it didn’t take long before she slipped inside.
There were no lights on downstairs, and she walked down the corridor, running her hand along the wall and using her memory as a guide. She found the stairs and mounted them, then located the door to Cam’s room.
A line of light glowed under his door—and low-pitched voices came from within.
Esme hesitated. This wasn’t what she’d planned. She’d thought he’d be asleep, that she’d sneak into his bed and lie beside him. Now what?
“You didn’t,” said a voice from inside. She thought the voice might belong to Sir Colin Stirling.
“I did. I shouldn’t’ve. But I did.” That was Cam’s voice.
What had he done that he shouldn’t? Esme leaned toward the door, knowing she was eavesdropping, but not feeling as sorry as she probably should about it.
“Hell,” Cam gritted out. “I had to do it. I had to.”
“Why, man?” Disappointment rang in Sir Colin’s tone. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“She wouldna make up her mind. She said she needed time—”
Oh, God. Was Cam talking about her?
“Time for what?” Sir Colin asked.
“Time to recover from her failed engagement to Whitworth. But she didna need to recover. There was naught to recover from. They didna love each other.”
“Aye, but maybe it wasna right to do that.”
What wasn’t right? What? Esme pressed her ear against the door.
“I canna feel guilty about it. It gave me what I wanted.”
“Which was?”
“Esme.”
“And what about her?” Sir Colin asked softly.
“It gave her what she wanted, too.” Cam’s voice was hard and determined. “Me.”
“Aye…but…”
“But what?” Cam sounded annoyed.
“Wasn’t it uncomfortable to have her brother discover you in her bed?”
“I was prepared for it.”
Esme went still, holding her breath.
“Aye, but was she?”
“Nay. Not exactly.”
“I imagine she was appalled,” Sir Colin said. “Embarrassed. Mortified.”
“Aye.” Now a bit of guilt crept into Cam’s voice. Esme’s mind was roiling. What had he done? How had he been prepared to see Trent catch them in bed? “But it all turned out for the best, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?” Cam asked his friend.
“If you want my absolution, man, you’ll not be getting it. You bribed a maid to
inform the duke there was someone in his sister’s room. You kept the truth of it from your intended. Your conscience, and your conscience alone, will be needing to decide if that was the right thing to do.”
Wait…
Esme’s throat went so tight she couldn’t breathe.
Cam had essentially told Trent he was in her bed?
He’d meant for her brother to catch them there?
He’d planned the whole thing?
Yes. It seemed he’d planned the whole thing. He’d wanted Trent to find them in bed. Because she’d been wavering on committing herself to him, he’d forced the issue.
A sheet of ice sliced into her, the coldness spreading through her until her heart froze to a heavy lump. But her thoughts were clear and cold, her mind as frigid as a lake in midwinter.
No. Sir Colin was wrong. Cam’s conscience wouldn’t decide whether he’d done the right thing. She would. And she already had.
He’d manipulated her. Lied to her. Forced her into a decision she hadn’t believed she was ready for.
She was finished.
She hadn’t heard what the men had said for the last several seconds, but it didn’t matter.
She was done being controlled. Done being manipulated. Done having her life decided for her.
“My da would’ve…” Cam said, but she turned away, refusing to listen to any more.
She slipped out of the house and hurried back to Trent House as dawn began to lighten the sky to a deep gray. When she opened the door to the kitchen she saw movement in the pantry.
It was a servant she didn’t think she knew, but she could only see him from the back. He was walking toward the cabinets with a slight limp, and his hair looked light brown or perhaps blond—it was hard to see in the dim light. When she saw what he was carrying—a case of champagne—his presence here made sense. He was delivering the champagne for the wedding breakfast.
Champagne she certainly wouldn’t be drinking.
She walked past him without making eye contact. With her head down and her cloak pulled low over her forehead, he probably wouldn’t recognize her. “Pardon me,” she murmured as she brushed by. He didn’t say a word.
Esme rushed upstairs after that, thankfully making it to her bedchamber without anyone seeing her. She packed a valise, then paced her room for a good hour. At eight o’clock, when she was fairly certain Trent and Sarah would be awake, she knocked on her brother’s door.
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