Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch

by Marguerite Kaye

  Henrietta stared at him in speechless wonder. His words were but a ploy to break down the barriers she had erected between them. Still, they were effective in bringing to mind a similar awareness of her own desires. Being with him day after day had made her acutely aware of how deeply she felt about him. He was there when she closed her eyes, haunting her with his presence, and she yearned to have him hold her and kiss her without restrictions. But no matter how hard he tried to lure her into his arms, into his bed, she would not lower the barriers she had erected between them.

  His gaze met hers without wavering, promising more than she, in good conscience, could accept. Her hands trembled as she focused her attention on changing his bandages. Though she worked diligently and with care, she was aware that all the prodding and pulling must be painful for him, yet he never twitched a muscle, and when she glanced at his face, there was always that odd, inscrutable gaze that seemed to probe her inner mind and an enigmatic smile playing upon his lips.

  When she began wrapping the clean bandages around his muscular chest, in the next instant his hand rose and pulled her close, capturing her lips with his own. Off balance, she could not immediately withdraw and was held snared by a fevered kiss that scorched her cool-minded resolve to resist him. His mouth moved slowly over hers with a hunger that greedily sought for a like response. A rush of excitement flared through her and the need was there to answer him, but the sudden intrusion of who he was and how she had vowed never to become involved with a Jacobite—especially one who was being hunted as a traitor—made her push away with a sudden gasp. She stood up, her cheeks ablaze with shame of her own ardour.

  ‘Please don’t do this, Simon. You take too many liberties in my uncle’s house. You will destroy yourself and me and my uncle along with you if you continue to indulge in such foolery.’ Her rebuke only seemed to amuse him, for his grin deepened, making her doubt that she would ever be effective in discouraging his amorous tendencies. Regaining some measure of control, she collected the soiled bandages and placed them in the bowl at the side of the bed. ‘I’ve finished dressing your wound. It looks healthy and improves all the time. I will go and get you something to eat and then you can settle down for the night.’

  Without waiting for him to reply she left him then, a gnawing disquiet descending on her. She was disturbed by his presence, yet she could hardly order him to go. He was wounded, his wound still in need of attention. Yet she did not know how much longer she could tolerate being near him. He was a constant reminder of what she had done, what they had done together, when she had failed to hold her passions in check, carelessly forgetting the future.

  Her stay with her uncle had made her more aware of how far she had strayed. She was an unmarried woman of respectable birth, and what she had done—done in a night of abandon and again on the moor—could not bear repeating.

  * * *

  The day finally came when Simon could get out of bed. He was weak and unsteady as he began to move slowly about. Matthew would come in the morning, carefully help him to his feet and then let him shuffle unassisted around the narrow confines of the cave. The first day the pain in his chest and back proved so fierce, he almost passed out, and would have pitched forward had Matthew not been there to grab his arm.

  With each passing day his strength returned, though he tired easily and would return to bed and fall asleep, unmindful of the aches the punishing exercises had awakened in his body.

  Finally he began to bathe and dress himself, a most notable triumph, he thought wryly when he was at last allowed into the house and he eased himself into the bathtub. With English patrols never far away, he never left the cave until Matthew came to tell him it was safe. Then he would slip like a shadow from his rocky home and come to the house. Now Moira did not come to the cottage, Matthew had taken the cart into Inverness for news and provisions.

  As he splashed water over his body and vigorously soaped his limbs, he felt the days of being confined disappear. At that very moment, he was free of his injured body, his heavy spirits, and he was coming alive once more, shedding the lethargy that had encased his limbs since he’d been shot.

  As the water began cooling, he carefully eased himself out of the tub and began drying himself with a large bath sheet. At that moment the door opened and Henrietta entered. In her arms she held a basket of linens she had hung out to dry earlier.

  Her eyes widened when she saw him and the breath caught in her throat. His body was as lean as ever, his shoulders just as wide, his hips just as narrow. In all he was a splendid specimen of a man. Few men could lay claim to such an exceptional physique. She felt her own body glowing with sensual warmth as her eyes fed upon his nakedness. The sights were there for the taking and she devoured them. Raising her eyes to his face, she saw a wicked, knowing smile quirk his lips. Embarrassed to be caught looking, colour flooded her cheeks and she became flustered.

  ‘Oh—I forgot you were... I should have used the back door into the scullery... Pray forgive me...’

  He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Perhaps I should not have been so hasty in getting out of the tub. You could have washed my back.’

  ‘I think you are quite capable of washing your own back.’

  In painful embarrassment, turning her back on him, she crossed the room to the scullery. When she had tended him in his bed he had been weak and in no condition to render her helpless with his amorous desire, but now he was almost well and able to tend himself he was as dangerous to her sensibilities as ever and she was frightened he intended to continue his pursuit.

  When she had yielded to him before, her whole being had burned with the fire that he had torched. His hands on her body, his lips on hers, his forceful persuasiveness had been her downfall. She had not been able to withstand his ardour and her pride had toppled beneath his deliberate attack on her senses. He had brought her to that moment of sweet ecstasy, knowing full well what he was doing to her, and now she would for ever hunger for that same devastating bliss.

  Aware of the thoughts passing through her mind Simon went after her, reaching her in a moment. Taking the basket from her, he set it down and clasped her in his arms.

  ‘Please, Simon, don’t do this. I cannot.’

  Pulling back, he looked down at her, letting his eyes sweep the flushed cheeks and the rounded orbs of her breasts beneath the soft fabric of her bodice. ‘Then speak a lie, Henrietta, and say you want no part of me.’

  Though her mouth opened, no words formed and she could only stare up at him, helplessly caught in the web of her own desires. She had already sinned both in the flesh and in the mind, and even as she felt guilt seize her, she knew she would go to him again and again, that no irritating voice in the back of her mind could stop her overwhelming need for this man.

  Slowly he lowered his head and placed his lips upon hers to possess their softness leisurely and languidly. He met no resistance, and with a sighing moan her mouth opened under his and their breaths mingled.

  Henrietta lost track of time in the circle of his arms. It was as if they had never been parted, as if they had always been together. His kisses were strong yet tender, and, conscious of his naked body pressed to hers, she returned them with a fervour she had forgotten she had ever possessed.

  Raising his head, Simon smiled down at her and ran a fingertip down her cheek, tracing the line to her jaw. ‘I want you,’ he said huskily. ‘Here. Now. I am impatient, Henrietta.’

  For answer she reached up and kissed him on the lips. ‘I want you, too, Simon. But not here, not in the parlour.’

  He nodded just once. ‘Upstairs. In your bed.’

  Without a word, knowing she was indeed lost, Henrietta took his hand and led him to the stairs and up to her bedroom. Aware of what was about to happen, she was suddenly shy of him.

  Simon sensed her nervousness and smiled. ‘Am I the only one permitted to stand here shiveri
ng, or do you mean to undress sometime soon?’

  She laughed. ‘Help me.’

  He stood before her and delicately began removing her clothes, his touch as gentle as any maid’s. His hands lingered as he removed her dress and chemise, brushing her shoulders and hips, and as each layer of clothing was removed, she could feel her skin tingling, her breath catching as her clothes rustled to the floor. At last she was as naked as he.

  His gaze swept across her, taking in every detail of her slender, petite body, and he smiled. ‘You’re still as beautiful as ever. More so,’ he said, raising her chin. ‘So beautiful that I ache when I look at you.’

  ‘Flatterer,’ she murmured.

  ‘No. I have no need to flatter you.’

  Closing her eyes, she lay back on the bed, feeling it creak and dip beneath his weight when he finally covered her.

  ‘Your uncle?’ he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

  ‘He won’t be back for ages,’ she murmured. ‘But...’ She turned her head from him, her hair fanning across the pillows.

  Gently he took her chin in his strong fingers and turned her face towards him. ‘Look at me, Henrietta,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What is it? Are you afraid I will hurt you?’

  Slowly her eyes opened and she stared at him for a long moment.

  ‘Is that what it is?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then what is it?’ he asked as he bent his head and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, following its curve to the hollow in her slender throat.

  ‘I—I am ashamed of what we did—before. Of what we are about to do again.’ Her eyes closed once more, as if she could not look at him as she uttered these words.

  ‘I would not force you.’

  ‘I know.’ She took a deep, ragged breath. ‘But—but I have thought about it, and although I have tried to fight it and failed miserably, that this might be the damning of my soul, I do not care. I want you, Simon—while you are here with me. For as long as it lasts.’

  Again their mouths melded in warm communion, turning, twisting, devouring, until their needs became a greedy search for more. Passions flared and their hunger grew, mounting on soaring wings. Simon uttered hoarse, unintelligible words as he pressed fevered kisses along her throat, sending her world toppling into a chaos of sensation. The white-hot heat of his mouth on the pink peak of her breast and the licking flames that consumed her was a sudden shock that made her catch her breath. She writhed under his hands, her own caressing his body, but she was always careful not to touch his back where he’d been wounded.

  His fingers, so capable, so sure of their path, traced down her flat stomach to her satiny thighs. Pleasure jabbed through her, and the heat was growing until she was sure she would burst into flames. It was so wonderful to have him here, to be with him, to be loving him, to be loved by him. Without hesitation she brushed her hands across his body, feeling the ridges, the scars obtained in battles fought. But she also felt the hardness of his muscles, the strength of his body, the power of it. She ran her hands through the hair on his chest, let them wander down across his taut belly and then up once more to grip his shoulders.

  She opened beneath him, arching her back, and Simon smelled the fragrant, womanhood scent of her. With an intense moan, he thrust deep into her. Wave after wave of emotion and passion battered him and he felt her shudder beneath him. She moaned and cried out, her voice mingling with his, and tears of wonder and awe ran down her cheeks. For a while she lay quietly in his arms, her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which matched her own. After a while he rolled onto his side and, propping himself on his elbow, gazed down at her wonderingly.

  ‘You are very beautiful, Henrietta,’ he whispered and bent his head to kiss her inflamed lips.

  ‘You flatter me, Simon.’

  ‘It is no flattery, my love.’

  She sighed and said nothing. He bent his dark head and kissed the soft skin of her shoulder, touching it with his tongue. She shivered and moaned. His hand traced her waist and hip.

  Catching his hand in hers and placing it on her stomach, she whispered, ‘Just hold me, Simon.’

  Nodding, he let his hands rest. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The warmth of her next to his body comforted him. He breathed deeply, completely at ease for the first time in months.

  * * *

  Some time later Henrietta stirred, waking him from his light slumber. ‘We must get dressed before Uncle Matthew gets back. Do not forget that this is not my house.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ After all Matthew’s kindness and the danger Simon had placed both Matthew and Henrietta in by being there, the thought of him returning and finding them in bed together was like a dash of cold water on him. He seemed to sober instantly. Reluctantly, he released her and left her to dress.

  Henrietta watched him go before resting back on the pillows. With tears blurring her vision, she closed her eyes. She was a fool, she told herself, a fool for having gone to bed with him again. She was no saint, that she well knew. Perhaps she should send him away now, this day, tell him that he could no longer stay at the cottage. But, no, she knew he was not well enough to travel just yet. He would leave her soon, of that she had no doubt. Please, God, do not let him end his life on the gallows. Let him make it to France.

  But then she would be left alone, having given him her heart. Fresh tears formed in her eyes as she thought of not ever seeing him again. You cannot have it both ways, she told herself with disgust. You cannot have him, but not want him.

  There was no time or place for love in her life, she asserted to herself. No room for it as long as the issue concerning Baron Lucas’s will remained unresolved and Jeremy wanted to kill her.

  No room, she thought bitterly. I am a fool. A fool...for having fallen in love with Simon Tremain, a rebel, a fugitive, a man accused of seditious, traitorous acts against King George.

  * * *

  Letters arrived irregularly in the Highlands. Sometimes, considering the lengths to which messengers had to go to deliver mail in the outer reaches of Scotland, Henrietta thought it incredible that anything arrived at all. Crossing the yard from the stable, Matthew saw the messenger riding along the road to the cottage. Immediately he went to warn Simon, who had left the confines of the cave to enjoy a little time in Henrietta’s company. Unwilling to risk being seen, yet reluctant to leave the cosy fireside chair as he watched Henrietta go about her chores, Simon made a hasty retreat to his lonely dwelling place. Matthew greeted the messenger, who had brought a packet of letters and books. Matthew thumbed through until he came to a letter addressed from London.

  ‘At last. I was beginning to wonder when we would hear from Baron Lucas’s lawyer. I think this is what we’ve been waiting for.’

  He cleared his throat sharply as he settled himself in a nearby chair. Opening the letter, he began to read. After a moment a troubled frown creased his brow.

  Henrietta became uneasy. ‘What is it, Uncle Matthew? Is something wrong?’

  ‘It would appear so. The letter is from Mr Goodwin’s son, Christopher Goodwin. He has written in response to my letter and to inform me that his father is missing. With no leads as to his whereabouts, it is assumed that he may have met with a tragic accident.’

  ‘But—but that is terrible news. What can have happened to him?’

  ‘Heaven knows. Christopher Goodwin goes on to say that he has since taken over his father’s law practice and will look into the matter I raised in my letter concerning Baron Lucas’s will. He does stress that there should be a copy of the will, and if this is the case then claiming your inheritance will be a straightforward matter.’

  ‘I see. Well, one thing is certain. Nothing can be resolved while ever I remain in Scotland. I must go back to London.’

  ‘I agree—and soon. I said in t
he beginning that I will not let you deal with this alone. We will make arrangements to leave as soon as Simon leaves.’ Glancing out of the window, he saw Simon crossing the yard to the house. ‘Here he comes now. I’ll leave you to inform him of the contents of the letter. I must feed the horses. Thank goodness he’s a lot stronger and fit enough to travel. I can only pray he will evade the Redcoats.’

  * * *

  The following day Henrietta returned from a short walk over the moor and let herself into the house. Simon was resting in the cave and Uncle Matthew was visiting a neighbour to inform him of his journey south and to ask him to keep an eye on his property. He was expected back at any time.

  He had brought news from Inverness the week before that Prince Charles had abandoned the Jacobite cause and was trying to flee Scotland. So far he had managed to evade capture. It was thought that he was hiding out on the moor, where there would be many still loyal to the cause who would aid him in his escape. There was a price on his head of thirty thousand pounds, but as yet no one had come forward to claim the reward.

  He also told them that Cumberland had emptied the prisons in Inverness, people imprisoned by Jacobite supporters, replacing them with Jacobite prisoners themselves. Some prisoners were being taken south to stand trial for treason.

  Removing her cloak, Henrietta crossed to the fire to warm herself.

  ‘So this is where you’re hiding. I knew I’d track you down eventually,’ a voice jeered behind her.

  The sound made Henrietta freeze. She knew it too well. Its caustic tone evoked dark memories and suddenly she was afraid, enough that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She swayed in a stunned daze, then, drawing a deep breath to steady herself, she turned slowly and reluctantly responded in like manner.

  ‘Jeremy. Do forgive my surprise. I’m sure you can believe that your visit here is most unexpected. In fact, you’re the last person I anticipated seeing today.’