Passionately Yours

by Cara Elliott

  Alec looked as if he was going to say something, but after a moment or two of hesitation, he simply turned away to continue up the winding path that led to the crest of the knoll.

  As she watched him go, Caro could swear the intensity of his gaze was still tingling against her skin. Her cheeks felt oddly warm despite the shade of the trees.

  “It’s not much farther, Miss Urquehart,” assured Andover. “And the view of the city is quite spectacular.” Shifting the hamper from one hand to the other, he offered her his arm. “Allow me to assist you.” He cast Caro an apologetic look as he added, “The path is a little uneven up ahead.”

  “B-but…” Isobel stammered.

  “I’ll go on ahead,” said Caro quickly, “and help Lord Strathcona choose a spot to set out the picnic.”

  Alec had already chosen a spot in the sun to spread out the blanket. His expression, however, remained just as unreadable in the bright light. He was a cipher—no a Sphinx! A stone face whose carved features gave absolutely nothing away.

  His mood seemed even more reticent than usual, and they unpacked his hamper in near silence. The other two soon joined them, and as they both were in high spirits, the meal passed in pleasant conversation, despite the fact that Alec seemed to withdraw even further into himself. His aunt’s cook had indeed packed a generous repast—roasted fowl, rich cheeses, fresh bread, and the luscious-looking strawberry tart.

  Andover let out a blissful sigh as he forked up the last bite of flaky pastry and clotted cream on his plate. “I don’t think I can move a muscle for at least an hour.”

  “Mmmm.” Isobel leaned back on her elbows. “I may need a sedan chair to carry me back down to the boat, for I’m now definitely heavier than an overfed goose.”

  “Nonsense—you’re light as a feather,” assured Andover. “I can simply tuck you in the hamper, next to the remains of the cheddar.”

  She gave a groan at the mention of food.

  “Well, I for one, feel the need for a brisk walk,” announced Alec, who had barely touched a morsel of the food on his plate. “There is said to be a very interesting Roman ruin just beyond the glade of oak trees. I think I shall take a closer look.”

  Andover waved him on. He had brought a guidebook of the city with him, and he and Isobel were engrossed in trying to identify the buildings across the river.

  Too restless to sit still for such amusements, Caro rose a few minutes later and after excusing herself began to wander down one of the side paths. High rhododendron bushes screened her view, and it wasn’t until she came to the top of a wooded hill that she realized the twisting turns had brought her to the remains of the ancient observation tower.

  Alec turned from his study of the stonework.

  “Sorry,” she said, not wanting him to think she had deliberately followed him. “I did not know the other path also led to this spot. I didn’t mean to intrude on your solitude.”

  He shrugged. “You are welcome to have a look. The details of the carving are quite nice. Perhaps not nice enough to inspire an ode, but enjoyable, nonetheless.”

  “You,” she muttered, accepting the invitation to approach, “are in a very strange mood.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. Very.” They were now standing side by side, their shoulders almost touching. “One would almost think you were going out of your way to avoid speaking to me.”

  “We’re speaking now,” he pointed out.

  “I would call it verbal sparring.” Caro edged around impatiently, forcing him to look her in the face. “But now that I have you alone, I’d rather not keep trading thrusts and parries. I would rather discuss far more important matters—such as whether you have learned anything new about the attack on your sister?”

  Pursing his lips, Alec shifted his stance just enough to allow him to return to his perusal of the lettering on the column. “Not really.”

  “Ye gods.” She restrained the urge to take hold of his arm and give him a hard shake. “What sort of answer is that?”

  “The only one I intend to give,” he replied calmly.

  “Fine.” Caro watched the breeze ruffle his long hair, causing a tangle of red-gold strands to curl around his ear and dance down the freshly shaven line of his jaw. The faint scent of bay rum tickled at her nostrils.

  “Fine,” she repeated, after forcing herself to exhale. “Then I’ll just have to do a little poking around on my own.”

  That got his attention. He looked around abruptly, his gaze narrowing to a slitted stare. The movement was quick, but not quick enough to hide the sudden darkening of his eyes.

  “That wouldn’t be wise,” he growled. “The only thing I will add for now is that you should stay well away from Edward Thayer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” He let out an exasperated grunt. “Must you always plague me with questions?”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you would stop treating me like a feather-headed wigeon.”

  Alec’s scowl became more pronounced.

  “Haven’t I proved myself trustworthy and capable?”

  A small muscle on his jaw twitched. “I am not at liberty to give you any more details right now. All I can say is that…” As he drew in a breath, he seemed to change his mind about what to say. “Thayer is a charming fellow. No doubt his smooth words are more to your liking.”

  Deciding Alec deserved a bit of teasing, Caro pretended not to notice the roughness edging his voice. “Yes, he’s exceedingly charming.”

  If his storm-blue stare squeezed any tighter, it would be sharper than a razor’s edge.

  “And scrupulously polite,” she added.

  Alec was becoming more flustered. Small sounds were beginning to rumble in his throat, like the growling of a bear. “I do not have Thayer’s gift of making myself agreeable. He has a honeyed tongue, which seems to appeal to all the ladies.”

  “Honey is, after all, a great deal more palatable than vinegar,” Caro pointed out.

  He now looked utterly nonplussed.

  Caro let him stew for a moment longer before huffing an exasperated sigh. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, give me some credit for having a brain, Lord Strathcona! Of course I don’t find Thayer appealing. When honey drips that freely, it ought to catch naught but flies.”

  The growls ceased.

  Caro waited for him to speak.

  Ever so slowly, Alec shifted his feet, stirring tiny puffs of pale dust beneath his boots.

  The flicker of dark leather caused a momentary spasm of doubt as she recalled her chilling encounter in the churchyard.

  Alec as evil? She couldn’t explain how, but she knew with a certainty that resonated right down to her very heartbeat that it couldn’t be true.

  “Are you saying you would trust my word over his?”

  “Yes, you big lummox! I don’t know why I should, but I prefer your snaps and growls.”

  A dappling of sunlight seemed to catch on the curl of his lashes, gilding them to a gleaming gold.

  “You are forthright, you are honorable in your own maddening way,” she went on. Oh, no man ought to have such beautiful eyes.

  She found herself staring, and at that moment, all rational thought seemed to dance away in the breeze. His face was utterly intriguing—a mix of chiseled planes and well-defined features that hinted at hidden secrets.

  “And… well, you are quite the most interesting man I have ever met.” Her legs suddenly seemed a little unsteady, so Caro reached out and caught hold of his lapels.

  Looking up, she found his mouth was only inches from hers.

  “Oh, bosh—I shall probably regret this…” Standing on tiptoes, Caro kissed him. Not a mere feathering of flesh against flesh, but a hard, hungry embrace that she let go on for far, far longer than any proper young lady should dare.

  “There, I have no doubt shocked you.”

  The tip of his tongue traced along the swell of his lower lip.

  “I imagine you think me a wanton hellion, and I sup
pose I am. It must be my eccentric upbringing. I don’t care very much for rules.”

  Caro knew she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop. “You may consign me to the Devil. But at least I shall dance a merry jig on my way to perdition.”

  Was that finally a hint of smile?

  She finally dared pause to take a breath. A long, shuddering breath. Now was the time to flee, before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

  But Alec suddenly shifted again, blocking her way.

  “I, too, shall probably regret this,” he said as he slowly circled his arms around her and pulled her close.

  She opened her mouth. To protest?

  Before she could make any sense of what she had set in motion, their lips met again, setting off a fierce jolt of fire.

  Chapter Eight

  Ye gods.

  Her mouth was more tantalizingly sweet than Alec had allowed himself to imagine. Soft and yielding—in contrast to the stubborn strength of her words and ideas. Strangely enough, he found both equally alluring.

  Equally arousing.

  Framing her face with his hands, he slid his fingers up the delicate line of her jaw to tangle in her raven-dark hair. It was like spun silk against his calloused flesh. Beauty and the beast—he was so big, so awkward, so roughhewn, while she was ethereally slender and graceful, like a Celtic faerie.

  And yet, her perfect mouth parted willingly, and the taste of her flooded his senses.

  Sweet beyond words.

  Her tongue flicked against his, and that was the last conscious thought he had before all rational powers escaped on the rasp of a deep groan.

  Madness—this was madness.

  Alec was dimly aware that a part of his brain was warning of the danger. But the message went unheeded by the rest of his body.

  It was reacting on instinct rather than reason.

  Another groan rumbled as he deepened his kiss. Need, desire, pure primal lust—emotions he had thought were locked safely away in the darkest recesses of his heart suddenly slithered free. And he was, at that moment, helpless to hold them back.

  Caro hitched her body closer, and heat pulsated against his chest and his thighs, bringing him to instant arousal.

  It was frightening—no, it was exhilarating—to be so out of control. Pulling one hand free, he traced the line of her spine. She moaned, and bringing her hands up to the slope of his shoulders, she slid them back and forth, the friction of the fabric setting his skin on fire.

  Breaking free of the embrace, he feathered a trail of kisses across her cheek, wanting to savor the sensations of her smooth skin and beguiling scent. Neroli and roses?

  Alec inhaled, only to feel a little light-headed.

  “You are,” he rasped, “sweeter than sin.”

  Was this sin?

  Caro closed her eyes for an instant, overwhelmed by the feel of liquid fire bubbling through her blood.

  She had, of course, read about kisses. And her sister Anna described them very well in her novels. But the actual experience defied words. Textures—a man was a mix of intriguing textures. Soft lips, skin stubbled with a faint hint of whiskers, jawline sculpted of smooth steel.

  Pressing closer, she felt the roundness of her breasts yield to the hard planes of his chest. Through the layers of muslin and linen, the subtle slabs of his shape seemed to imprint on her body. Her palms stroked over and over the ridge of his broad shoulders, exploring the contours of muscle.

  He was so very big and very solid, like a slab of Highland granite. And yet, beneath the surface she could sense heat coursing through him. Above the starched points of his shirtcollar, his skin was a little damp, and each throb of his pulsepoint stirred a mix of very masculine scents. Tobacco, leather, bay rum, and an earthier essence that she couldn’t put a name to.

  Desire?

  His mouth found hers again, hot and demanding. Responding with equal ardor, she opened herself. Eagerly, eagerly. That he was not impervious to passion sent a fresh frisson of fire through her.

  If this was sin, then she was damned for all eternity.

  I am bad—very bad, she thought hazily as she touched and twined her tongue with his. And cheerfully unrepentant. This irresistible attraction to Alec simply felt…

  Right, not wrong. Good, not evil.

  Everything about his long, lean body—his sculpted shoulders, his tapered waist, his corded thighs—radiated an essence of honorable strength.

  A shiver sizzled through her, and with a soft sigh, she touched a tentative caress along the line of his jaw.

  A ragged groan whispered against her lips.

  “Alec.” His name slipped free from her lips.

  He eased back, looking… well, she wasn’t sure how to describe his look.

  Longing? Lustful?

  Quite possibly, it was an expression of utter shock.

  “Good God, I’m sorry—”

  “Oh, please!” Her hand stilled. “If you apologize, I swear I shall strangle you.”

  His mouth went through an odd set of contortions. Was he whispering a prayer of penance? Or trying not to laugh.

  “Caro? Alec?” The calls were coming from close by.

  “Damnation.” Stumbling back a step, Alec tugged at his coat and cravat, trying to restore some semblance of order.

  Echoing his oath, Caro shook out her skirts and straightened her bodice. A few hasty jabs refastened her hairpins, but with a fleeting touch to her mouth, she realized there was nothing she could do about the kissed-ravaged swell of her lips.

  Thankfully, Andover was far too much a gentleman to comment on her appearance.

  And hopefully Alec’s sister was too innocent to notice.

  “Ah, there you are!” Isobel started across the clearing, then stopped short. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

  “No, no, nothing important,” said Caro, hoping her voice didn’t sound as brittle as glass to her friend. “We were just discussing…” Her mind went utterly blank.

  “Roman ruins,” finished Alec.

  “A fascinating topic,” said Andover, who had followed a few steps behind Isobel. He darted an amused glance at Alec and then at the ruins. “Clever chaps, those Romans. Very adept with their hands.”

  Alec gave a strangled cough. “Yes, weren’t they? The lettering on the column is quite interesting.”

  “Oh, really?” Andover raised a brow. “What does it say?”

  The rather lengthy reply, uttered in classical Latin, then translated into English, quickly wiped the look of amusement off his face. “Er, right-ho. Well, we just came to say that it’s getting late and the ferryman will soon be arriving to collect us. Why don’t I hurry back and start packing up the hampers so we are not tardy.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” said Alec.

  “I’ll come along and help,” volunteered Caro. Not waiting for an answer, she hurried to take Andover’s arm. A little shove started his feet moving. “We shall meet you and Isobel at the fork in the main footpath,” she called over her shoulder to Alec.

  “You can stop pulling at my sleeve,” murmured Andover, once they were out of earshot. “My valet will swoon if he finds the fabric stretched. He is very fond of this coat.”

  Caro released her grip.

  “Might I ask—”

  “No!” she said. “In fact, if you say a word on the subject, I shall… I shall see to it that you don’t get the last slice of strawberry tart.”

  “Oh, dear.” He stifled a chuckle. “In that case, my lips are sealed.”

  “Good.” She marched on in awkward silence, hoping her cheeks weren’t as flaming as they felt.

  He let several more moments pass before asking, “And what happens when the tart is gone?”

  “I shall think of something else,” answered Caro sharply. “And as you know, I have a very vivid imagination, so unless you want something slimy and slithery appearing at an inopportune moment, you’ll not mention the matter again.”

  “I didn’t know you had
developed such an interest in Roman antiquities,” remarked Isobel as she and Alec started down the lower footpath.

  “Don’t be impertinent,” he said, summoning his most imperious scowl to accentuate his words.

  The warning silenced her. But only for a few steps.

  “Caro is exceedingly nice, as well as exceedingly interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” he repeated.

  She lifted her chin and waggled a brow. “Since when is it impertinent to speak the truth?”

  He pursed his lips, wondering how to extract himself with any dignity from a very deep hole. No doubt it served him right for being a bloody fool.

  “Since I have invoked the privileges of an older—and wiser—brother to say it is so,” he answered, deciding humor was the only option.

  As he had intended, she laughed. However the sound quickly floated away on the breeze—along with his hope that she would drop the subject.

  “Caro is very knowledgeable about poetry.” Isobel picked up where she had left off. “Apparently she writes it as well, though she hasn’t yet shown me her work.”

  “I am well aware of Miss Caro’s interests,” snapped Alec.

  “And?”

  “And that is the end of this conversation.”

  His sister fixed him with a searching look. “Because you intend to live in the past for the rest of your days?”

  “Damnation!” Alec bit back another oath. “Stop plaguing me with your ridiculous questions.”

  “It’s not my questions you need to answer,” she replied stiffly. “But rather your own.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he said through gritted teeth.

  Isobel looked away with a sniff. “I would hope that my big brother is wise enough to figure it out on his own.”

  Damn, Damn, Damn. The crunch of gravel echoed his testy mood. They walked the rest of the way to the meeting place without speaking, Isobel wrapped in a fugue of injured pique, while he…

  He wasn’t quite sure how to order his emotions.

  Having his innermost private wounds probed was horribly painful. Though old, they were still raw and unhealed, and even the gentlest touch hurt more than he cared to admit. But the first searing stab had quickly died down to a dull ache. Isobel meant well, and a part of him knew she was quite right. He should face the past.