Her fingertip slid along the line. “A sharp blade was held against my throat—”
“Good Lord,” he said. “On your journey here?”
“Aye.” She glanced to Jane and then back to the doctor. “When bandits set upon us. I sent my injured maid back in the carriage after Nathaniel and I dispatched the bastards.”
Dr. Witherspoon’s eyes bulged wide, and Jane pressed her hands together before her. Cat’s gaze moved back and forth between them. “I have been using a bit of salve on it, and it seems to be healing well. Nearly gone now.” She smiled, her lips closed tight.
Dr. Witherspoon sniffed, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his nose and shook his head. “It certainly is. What an adventure.” He cleared his throat and tucked the handkerchief away. “Drink your tea, and your ankle will heal quickly. Perhaps one day, we can discuss your medical experiences.” He chuckled. “I have some stories of my own to share with someone who doesn’t swoon or look on in distaste.”
“Aye,” she said, sitting up even higher with his praise. “If ye travel to Whitehall, I will look for ye.”
His brows rose, and he glanced at Jane, his smile falling. “Whitehall? ’Tis a dark place at present.” He gathered his supplies into his leather bag. “Best of luck, Lady Campbell.” He nodded to her and quit the room.
Jane shut the door behind him and came back to the bed. “You are fed, bathed, and wrapped. Now you sleep. In the morn, we will begin your lessons and fittings.”
“Nathaniel gave ye Lady Evelyn’s letter?”
“You, not yeeee,” Jane said and waited.
Cat frowned, her words coming slow. “Did Nathaniel give yooooo Lady Evelyn’s letter?”
“Yes,” Jane said, “and Lord Stanton informed me that the Duchess had sent word to the Highland Roses School when he arrived from London three days ago. I was not sure who would arrive but readied the staff for all potential requests. Also…it is not Nathaniel. You will refer to milord as Lord Worthington or Viscount Worthington.”
Cat met her critical gaze. “Bloody hell. This is going to be enjoyable.” Sarcasm was another of her talents.
“And keep your curses to pish, pshaw, by gad, and if you must, God’s teeth.”
Cat scrunched her nose. “No damnation, blast, bloody hell, bastard, frig, or fok here in England, eh?” Cat would have missed the slight tick upward in the pinch of Jane’s lips if she hadn’t been watching her so closely. Was there a grin hiding behind her stiff demeanor?
“Rest well, Lady Campbell,” Jane said, turning toward the door.
“Youuuu…” she pulled out the word with emphasis, “may call me Cat.” Jane paused but then left without a word, shutting the door softly.
Cat held her breath, listening, but there was no sound of a key in the door hole. Did one sleep with the door unlocked at Hollings? With her ankle still tender, running and kicking would not protect her. She must rely on her throwing arm and blades, which she’d hidden under one of the ridiculously plump pillows.
“Och,” she whispered, eyeing the other closed door. She’d forgotten to ask Jane if she could sleep elsewhere. This room, with all its silk and gold damask, along with knowing how unhappy Nathaniel’s mother had been in it, made her long to seek a simpler bed.
She huffed. Would Nathaniel come by? He had a pack of jackals to deal with below, and then he’d likely eat, bathe, and fall into his grand bed somewhere within this labyrinth of rooms. He’d done his duty in getting her down to England with little harm done and her maidenhead intact.
A small flush bloomed up into her cheeks as she thought about her request in the tent nights ago. Was there someone else here in England that captured his mind tonight now that he wasn’t burdened with her sleeping next to him? He said he didn’t love anyone, but was there a lady that he lusted after? Now that Cat knew how strong the ache of desire could be, she should have asked him if he wanted to bed anyone as one of her questions in Cards Up.
Cat fished her hand under the far pillow and drew out her hair spike, the one that all the Highland Rose students received when entering classes at the school. It was a twisted piece of steel with a sharp point on one end and a knot of steel to resemble a rose on the other end, which the non-artistic blacksmith in Killin had made. All the Roses wore the spike in their hair to be plucked and used as a weapon if needed. She held it, feeling its familiar weight. With a full inhale, Cat slid out from the silk cover and soft sheets. Grabbing her satchel, she hobbled to the side door and turned the knob.
Grumbling at the darkness that met her, she retreated to the hearth to light a candle inside a glass globe and carried it with her. The room was a dressing chamber with two clothes presses, several chests, a wash basin, mirror, and another door opposite. She continued on, opening the next door, and smiled when she saw an unadorned bed. It must be for a servant, although it was larger than the one she used at the Highland Roses School. She stepped inside, closing the dressing room door.
“Simple and comfortable,” she said, dropping her bag on the side table. Patting the coverlet, she was thankful the bed wasn’t full of dust. Likely Jane kept the rooms fresh just in case royalty stopped by for tea.
Rap, rap, rap. The faint tapping sound, out in the hallway, sent Cat to the door that opened into the hall, turning the knob silently. Her breath caught as she glanced down where candlelight illuminated Nathaniel knocking on the door to his mother’s bedchamber. Planting her palm on her chest, she could feel the deep thud of her heart.
“I am here,” she whispered, making him whip toward her.
“Cat?” He looked back at the door he’d been knocking upon. “Why are you not…?”
She beckoned him with one hand. “Finished with the pack of bloodthirsty old goats?” she asked as he came near.
He looked over her head into the room. “I asked Jane to put you in the rose room.”
“’Twas your mother’s room, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She pulled gently on his arm to get him to step into the simpler room and closed the door. No need for anyone to come upon them and cast more rumors.
“It is too fancy for me,” she said and indicated the simple furnishing and covers on the bed. “I prefer this room, and it was vacant.”
“Nonsense,” he said, frowning.
She flung her hand toward the wall. “The blasted pillows over there must hold the feathers of ten geese each.”
“You deserve luxury, especially after the last two weeks.” He reached to pick her up, but she stepped back.
“I do not want to be in her room,” she said. When he looked like he was going to argue again, she huffed. “Ye said your mother cried all the time. My mother did, too, practically soaked her bedchamber with her tears and sorrow. I will not stay in a room like that. I moved out of a house that held sorrow so heavy that it is right now bringing the thatched roof down.”
“The vacant cottage in Killin past the smithy?” he asked, and she nodded. He glanced around the room and then back at her. “Is that why you moved to a cottage in the woods?”
She sat on the edge of the less luxurious bed, propping herself with her hands. “After my father was killed, I worked for six months to build the cabin in the woods and took Izzy and my mother out there to live, hoping it would remind her less about losing him.”
Shadows from the candlelight seemed to draw the creases in Nathaniel’s face darker, and he moved to the cold hearth, setting his lamp down on the brick. He fixed kindling around a small stack of coal already set, added some wool, and took off the glass globe from his candle to light it. Within a minute, the kindling caught, and he blew it gently to catch on the black rocks of coal. The fire gave the room a cheery glow.
“My mother used her tears to sway people,” he said. “I suppose she had real sorrow at times, but her tears were, by far, a weapon she wielded to bend people to her will. Everyone except my father, who hated her for her weeping.”
“Oh.” She clasped h
er hands in her lap. “Sounds like…they did not get on then?”
“No, they did not.” He turned back toward her to lean against the hearth. “Did the change of house help your mother?”
Cat looked down at her intertwined fingers. “Nay. She…loved my father, despite his very unlovable ways, his drinking, his temper…” She exhaled long. “And his running off to battle for his cause.”
“As a covenanter?”
“Aye, though it was more about fighting than religion to my da. He loved two things,” she said with a wry smile. “Whisky and picking a fight. Some say I take after him. The fighting part anyway.” She looked to him expectantly.
“I have no comment with regards to that statement.”
She laughed softly. “Ye sound like a member of parliament already. Ye have been trained well.”
His slight grin faded, replaced by a tight set to his mouth and jaw. “As I grew to manhood, my father made certain I was exposed to all parts of the government, both here and during my time living with Lord Broughton. He was a general with the English army before I apprenticed with him.”
She watched the lines of Nathaniel’s shirt stretch across his broad back as he added some more coal to the growing fire with a pair of iron tongs. She’d seen his naked skin, the scars from the iron ball she’d dug out of his chest, the thick cording of muscles that showed his reserved strength. The tailored trousers fit along his legs and perfect arse as he crouched, then straightened. His white shirt was undone at the neck, showing a vee of tanned skin. Cat wet her suddenly dry lips. Did he feel the fire that still raged between them? Or was it her curse to bear alone?
She caught his gaze slipping down slightly and then back to her eyes. “I have…” he started and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I have gained much experience. How to deal with nobility and overstuffed lords like Stanton. How to…lead a battle.” He dropped his arms, one hand reaching up to rake through his hair. “Cat,” he said, stepping closer to her. “There is much you do not know about me.”
She stood before him, repressed passion trickling along her limbs. “There are things ye do not know about me,” she said. Raising one bare hand, she set her palm on the thick bicep held hidden within his linen shirt. “Like…how many freckles I have under my smock.” The words came out on a whisper, and her cheeks warmed. Bloody hell. She’d never tried to seduce a man before, had never thought she’d want to entice a man. They were usually odorous and thought they knew better than her about everything. Nathaniel was different. First off, he smelled wonderfully clean. A dampness around his collar showed his hair to still be wet from a bath.
“How many freckles…?” his question faded to silence as he stared down at her upturned face. They were so close that she could feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of her smock. The clean fragrance of spice, mixed with his natural scent, turned her insides molten.
“This fire that is still between us is making me go mad,” she said. The intense look on his face changed to frustration. He did suffer, and the revelation blew under the tiny flame of her hope.
His fingers came up to slide along her cheek. “There are things in my past…things I am not at liberty to explain until I speak with the king. And Cat, I cannot wed you,” Nathaniel said. “If you think that us joining would—”
Thump. She smacked a flattened palm against his chest, leaving it there, her fingers outstretched against the taut muscles hidden from her view. “I told ye that I will not wed anyone. Not even a Viscount with a fortress for a home.”
She dragged her hand away, ignoring the flush in her cheeks. “I need to have my wits about me at Whitehall, and whatever has been stewing between us is muddling my brain.” Her hand went to the curls around her head, sliding her fingers among the tight tresses. She looked back into his eyes. “I need clarity and not to be thinking about ye stripping me naked and making me thrash like I did in the tent.” There. She’d laid up a queen of hearts on the table.
His eyes were intense as he stared into hers. She slid her legs back and forth against the ache pulling in her core. “I want ye, English,” she whispered, her voice strained. “I do not expect vows and a ring or a name or a farthing.” She moved closer, her thigh nudging against the hardness that showed her that she wasn’t the only one affected by want. “I just need this ache in me to go away, so I can think straight.” She slid her hand down his chest to the bulge in his breeches. Laying her palm along his shaft, she rubbed up and down while his hands touched her back, sliding down to cup her arse. His biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt as he lifted her to fit intimately against him. Hardness against softness, opposites that molded together perfectly. A thrill twined with a thread of nervousness to climb up through her.
Nathaniel held his face away from hers, cradling her cheek with one palm. He stroked his thumb across her skin, the gentleness almost making her wobble with the waiting. “Cat, you are so beautiful. You could have anyone.” He inhaled as if sucking in her essence.
“I am the same wildcat from the woods. And just like I did then, I bloody hell want this.”
“I should tell you things first,” he murmured, strain in the planes of his face.
“I do not want to talk right now,” she said, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. “And I am tired of shoulds and proper ways. Let us just be Nathaniel and Cat tonight. We can be lord and lady tomorrow.” She curled her fingers into his shirt to lean closer and lowered her voice, her words coming slowly as she pronounced her words without the heaviness of her Scottish accent. “Nathaniel…I absolutely and completely want you.”
Chapter Ten
The fire that had been smoldering since their night in the tent soared up through Nathaniel like an inferno, turning all his discipline to ash under the spell of her words. Let us just be Nathaniel and Cat. No government secrets. No pledges of silence. Only the two of them. Damnation. He wanted that more than anything.
He lifted both hands to cup her smooth, warm cheeks, his mouth descending to cover her open lips with a kiss. More than a kiss, for he’d kissed a woman before, but never like this. It was as if he wished to share his whole self with her, his passion, his heat, everything except his secrets.
Cat’s lips moved across his, her tongue exploring, as she rucked up his shirt to slide her cool hands underneath along his flushed skin. The caress of her fingers over his muscles sent lightning through him, and he groaned, yanking his shirt off over his head. He pulled her to him, her unbound breasts pressing against him. She gasped softly on an exhale when he picked her up, one arm under her knees. But instead of going to the bed, he carried her closer to the hearth where the fire leaped like his pulse. Lowering her, he turned her so that her back was against him, his arm winding to the front. He pulled her to lean back into him, taking her weight.
“What are ye doing?” she whispered.
He answered by kissing a path down the side of her neck, breathing in her warm, sweet scent. “Close your eyes and feel,” he whispered against the delicate curve of her ear and felt her shiver. Sliding his hands up and over her hips, waist, and the sides of her full breasts, his fingers untied the wide neckline of the smock, letting it fall open to reveal pale skin with little brown specks covering her soft womanly slopes. The gown slipped off her shoulders, pooling around her ankles. Over her shoulder, his gaze skimmed along her gently rounded stomach and curved hips down to the curls at the juncture of her long legs. He thrummed against her peaked nipples and palmed her full breasts. So lush. So soft. She stood tall, her head thrown back to rest against his chest, the fire before her keeping her warm.
He swallowed. “I have never seen anyone so exquisite in all my life,” he said, his voice rough with want.
A slight smile tugged up the corners of her luscious mouth, and her eyes opened to gaze up at him. “No one has seen all of my freckles before.”
“I am honored,” he said, turning her in his arms. He kissed her, taking a long, slow taste of her sweetness a
s he teased a path along her spine, stroking the curve of her full backside. His mouth left hers to kiss along her jawline. “I will count every single one,” he whispered at her ear and loved her shoulder with hot kisses, his hand rubbing her hip to tease a path to her center. She shuddered in his arms, her legs shifting as she pressed into his hand. “You are perfect,” he said as he strummed across the pearl hidden in her curls.
She trembled but still chuckled. “Absolutely not.”
“Perfectly imperfect then.” Her wet heat beckoned him, and she moaned against his mouth, her hands stroking down to his rigid jack. Lord, he wanted to see her and love every little inch of her. He pulled back to study the smattering of freckles over her creamy skin. “Like stars in a clear sky,” he said, tracing his finger down her chest, connecting the small brown dots.
She tugged on his trousers, reaching past the ties to dip her hand inside. A groan rumbled up from his taut chest as she wrapped cool, slender fingers around him, sliding in a rhythm that would finish him much too quickly. With a kiss, he pulled back and slowly shucked his trousers. Her eyes dropped to his erect length, and he watched her inhale, her chest filling.
“A beast of power and beauty,” she said, her gaze meeting his, a smile on her ravished lips.
He chuckled, stepping forward to pull her into his arms again. Careful of her wrapped ankle, he guided her the few steps to the small bed that she’d chosen and pressed her down on the edge. He captured her face in his hands, kissing her as he knelt between her legs. His hands lowered to stroke her soft stomach, marveling in the curves, the softness she exuded. He kissed a path down her neck to her breasts, their perfect peaks begging to be teased. Cat sucked in sharply as his mouth fell over one, his tongue swirling around as his palm lifted. He moved to the second full breast, teasing it with kisses and nibbles.
She squirmed on the bed, and Nathaniel stroked downward over the soft skin of her stomach and lower still. A soft gasp came from her as he brushed her intimately, finding her sweet nub again in the damp curls. Her head fell back as she leaned her elbows on the bed behind her, her legs parting as he worked against her wet heat. Looking at her spread before him, he had never known a need so strong. “My wildcat,” he said, his voice a rasp.
The Wicked Viscount (The Campbells) Page 12