‘Don’t say that.’ She stopped as her voice began to quiver and took a sip of sherry. ‘Sorry, I’m being silly. It’s been a very difficult night.’
‘And you were formidable. Come here.’
Cameron took her glass from her, setting it down beside his on the hearth. Then he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head onto his shoulder.
‘We got what we needed, Kirstin. We now know who runs that club, and we know where the girls are likely being held, all thanks to you.’
‘I couldn’t have done it without your help. I was terrified that Griffiths either wouldn’t or couldn’t spill the beans.’
‘Well, you covered it up so well that even I didn’t notice.’ He dropped a kiss onto her head, his hand stroking her back. ‘As I said, you were formidable. We’ll find the girls now. I’m sure of it.’
She looked up. ‘It won’t be easy. We can’t expect to just stroll in and take them away with us.’
‘I know these men are secretive for a reason. They have a lot to lose if their activities are exposed, so we must expect the place to be well-protected. We’ll need a plan of attack. Tomorrow, I’ll watch the house, get the lie of the land. Maybe as soon as the next day I’ll be able to hand Philippa back to her mother.’
‘And it will be over.’
She would never see Cameron again. She had known this, right from the first day she’d walked into this hotel suite she’d known it, but for the first time she felt the chasm that would be his absence.
‘It will be over,’ Cameron agreed. ‘And when it is, Kirstin, I thought we might—’
‘No.’ Whatever it was he was going to suggest—another night, another week, another month—it would be both unbearable and utterly untenable. ‘No,’ she said again, ‘this is it, Cameron. This is all we have.’ She twisted around to face him. ‘So let’s make the most of it.’
She waited, tense and yearning, willing him not to dispute the point, knowing that if he did they would not even have tonight, knowing that if she kissed him he would not resist, but reluctant to persuade him in that way.
He studied her in the firelight, his fingers tracing the plane of her cheek, her jaw, making her tremble. ‘I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you,’ he said softly.
‘It is the same for me,’ she said.
No lie. She would miss him so very much. But still she forced herself to wait until he kissed her. When he did, she was momentarily overwhelmed, closing her eyes on the tears which filled them, telling herself it was the culmination of everything making her feel that way, not Cameron. And then surrendering to the sweet, sensual delight of their lovemaking.
It was utterly unlike what had gone before. This time she was acutely aware of their time together ticking away, and she wanted to remember every moment, to etch the memory on her mind for ever. Every kiss was to be savoured. The way their mouths adapted to each other, the slow sweep of their tongues, the sweet dragging ache inside her that their kisses aroused.
She tugged at the knot of his cravat, casting it aside, burying her face in the warmth of his throat, licking into the hollows at the base, tasting his soap, the faint tang of salt, her chin tickled by the soft hairs of his chest. She pulled his shirt out from his belt. ‘Take it off.’
He did as she asked. ‘Now you,’ he said.
But she shook her head. ‘Only you,’ she said, smiling wickedly, inspired by the way he had kissed her on the island. ‘For now.’
She pushed him, a gentle nudge, and he lay back obediently, his eyes lambent with desire. She leaned over him and began to kiss him, tracing the shape of his body with her mouth, licking, kissing his shoulders, his chest, hard muscle, smooth skin, rough hair. She could hear his heart beating wildly. She pulled out her hairpins, letting the thick curtain of her hair trail over his chest as she kissed downwards, tracing the shape of his ribcage with her hands, licking into the dip of his belly, hearing the sharp intake of his breath, the soft muttering of her name, her own heart hammering.
The belt which held his plaid in place stopped her kisses. She sat up to unfasten it, kneeling between his legs. He had kicked off his stockings. Teasingly, deliberately slowly, she ran her hand up one leg, calf, knee, thigh, her fingers just brushing the thick length of his arousal. His chest was heaving. His eyes were fixed on hers. He was utterly in thrall, hers to do with as she pleased. Save that all she wanted was to please him.
She dragged her eyes away, returning her attention to the plaid. It was wrapped several times around his body. Deciding against unravelling it, she pushed it roughly aside. He was completely naked underneath. And completely aroused. She touched him, feathering her fingers along the length of him, fascinated by the silky skin, the hardness beneath. She heard him swallow as she curled her fingers around him. Then, driven by the unstoppable urge to know him, she dipped her head and began to lick.
His body became absolutely rigid. Instinct took over as she took him carefully into her mouth. Cameron groaned. She drew him in deeper, astonished at the responsive throb. Fascinated, she explored him with her mouth and her hands, astounded at his response, at her own. He wasn’t the only one throbbing. She ached for his touch.
‘Kirstin.’ His voice was hoarse, a plea.
She lifted her head.
‘No more. I want—wait.’
He struggled to his feet, pulling her with him, the plaid unravelling behind him, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He was completely naked. She was almost fully dressed. She pressed herself against him, thinking to tease, but it was she who moaned in frustration. When he kissed her she moaned again, her head spinning with desire, her whole body taut with barely leashed passion.
‘Yes,’ he said, though she hadn’t spoken, ‘I think we’ve waited long enough.’
Scooping her into his arms, he strode through to the bedroom, setting her down by the bed. The pair of them made quick work of her clothes, falling onto the bed locked together kissing wildly, limbs tangled, hands stroking, clutching, urging.
His fingers slid easily inside her, making her gasp and clench. ‘Hurry,’ she said, ‘hurry.’
He laughed, a throaty sound that sent a frisson down her spine. ‘A moment, just one more moment.’
There was the briefest of gaps while he sheathed himself, though it felt like an hour, and then he pulled her back into his arms, rolling her on top of him, easing himself into her slowly, slowly, slowly, but even so she was so aroused, so near the edge, that his first careful thrust almost sent her over.
She tightened around him. He closed his eyes. And then she moved, and he moved with her, fast, hard, deep, each driving the other to completion, her climax triggering his, his hoarse cry mingling with hers as she fell on top of him and their lips fastened in one last deep kiss.
* * *
Lying in Cameron’s arms, chest to chest, her head beside his on the pillow, their legs tangled, Kirstin was confused by the surge of emotion that brought her to the brink of tears. She put it down to the culmination of momentous events, the strain of her interview with Griffiths, the fact that they were so close to finding Philippa—and to saying goodbye for ever.
Though she would happily have lain there, listening to the beating of Cameron’s heart, falling asleep in his arms, she forced herself to get up, turning her back on him and searching for her clothes.
‘The hotel staff will be up and about soon,’ she whispered, hearing the rustle of the bedclothes as he sat up. ‘Try and get some sleep.’
‘What about—?’
‘We’ll talk tonight. I will spend the day trying to collate any additional information I can glean to add to the details Griffiths has provided, and by then, following your observation of the house, you should have a good insight into the challenges involved in rescuing the girls.’
Throwing her gown over her head, she made for the door, bidding him a hasty goodnigh
t and closing it softly behind her before he could say anything more.
Her own bed was cold. Huddling under the covers, Kirstin closed her eyes, but sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.
When they found Philippa she would have made good on her promise and completed the terms of her contract. So why was she worried, rather than excited? As always, Eilidh was at the centre of it. Cameron didn’t want a child. Her child didn’t need a father, and even if she wanted one—well, Kirstin most certainly didn’t want a husband. She’d made many, many sacrifices for her daughter, but that was one she would never make.
Even if the husband was Cameron?
She sat up, plumped her pillows and threw herself back down on them. No, not even then! She would miss him—but working together, being quite alone together in this hotel, it wasn’t real. And, yes, in the last few days it had become increasingly clear to her that she’d miss him enormously. But there was nothing to be done about that, was there? When she returned to reality she would see there was no place for him, so the sooner she returned the better.
And that was an end to it. The explanation for those irrational tears. So now she could get some sleep, because tomorrow was a hugely significant day.
Kirstin closed her eyes, taking slow breaths, counting in, holding, counting out. It was the way he’d looked at her, she thought hazily. As she’d unbuckled his belt. So trusting. And the way it had felt...what she had done afterwards. Such a shocking thing to do. Yet all that had been in her mind had been to please him. To show him just how much...
* * *
Cameron didn’t bother trying to get to sleep after Kirstin left. Making love to her tonight hadn’t been a revelation, more of a confirmation. As he lay back, his hands behind his head, the taste of her in his mouth, the scent of her on his sheets, a slow smile crept across his face.
He loved her.
He had never been in love before, never come close, yet he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved Kirstin. He felt it in his bones. They were meant for each other.
Fate had brought them together six years ago, but neither of them had been ready to fall in love. The timing had been wrong, so fate had patiently waited and brought them together again when the time was exactly right. He knew it now. It was just a question of persuading Kirstin.
His smile faltered. It wouldn’t be easy. She was so determined not to see all the things which were suddenly so clear to him. The reason neither of them had married in the years since they’d first met was because no one else could measure up. That was why their lovemaking was so perfect. It was illogical. It was irrational. But that didn’t mean he was wrong. He loved her. He couldn’t feel like this if it was one-sided. He couldn’t.
Why would she not countenance the possibility of a shared future together? Was it his illegitimate status? But she’d been vehemently dismissive of those who condemned him for that. Was it because he’d been vehement that he’d never want to marry? No. It came back to those words of hers. Not possible, she’d said. That is not possible, whether we wish it or not.
Why the devil not? They both had businesses to run. They were both accustomed to living alone, answerable to no one. At present, they were settled in two different countries. But all of those things were mere practicalities that could be resolved, weren’t they? None of them made a future together impossible.
Cameron pushed back the covers and got out of bed, pulling on his dressing gown. He was missing something. There was something crucial she wasn’t telling him. But what the devil could it be to make it impossible for her to consider a future in which he played a part? He loved her, dammit! And he was sure she could love him, if only she would allow herself to. What was stopping her?
He rang the bell for breakfast and shaving water. It arrived with an express from Tommy Devine, confirming what they now knew, that the maid’s footman suitor was still in Edinburgh and innocent of any involvement. The young man had been wondering why he’d not heard from Jeannie, Tommy wrote, and when he’d discovered that she’d not written to any of the servants at the Ferguson household he’d become more worried still.
Cameron folded the missive, frowning. Louise hadn’t taken account of servants’ gossip, thinking only to silence Philippa’s betrothed. He’d better warn her to do something about it, or all her efforts to suppress a scandal would have been in vain. Ought he to tell her that they knew where Philippa was being held?
Draining his second cup of coffee, he decided against this. A vaguely positive report would be best until they had firm news.
It was not yet eight o’clock, but Cameron was eager to be out and finally taking action—even if it would involve a deal of inaction. He would have plenty of time, while watching the address Griffiths had given them, to think about Kirstin and to plan how to persuade her they had a future. He loved her so much. Far too much to let her go without a fight. There was a barrow-load of obstacles in their path, but he had always liked a challenge.
A foolish grin crept across his face. He was in love. He, Cameron Dunbar, had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love for the first and last time in his life. Who’d have thought it? Certainly not he.
Pulling on his greatcoat, and picking up his gloves and hat, he opened the door of his suite just in time to see a flash of red pelisse disappear down the stairs. Kirstin was going about her business very early too.
Without thinking, he followed in her wake. She walked quickly, and with purpose. If she’d looked back she’d have seen him. He made no attempt to hide himself, but nor did he try to catch up with her. She headed east, obviously a well-trodden route, for she knew the best places to cross, and never once had to check her bearings.
She was going home, Cameron realised with some trepidation. She had been so very careful never to reveal where her home was, she would be furious if she thought that he was spying on her. Which was exactly what he was doing. But some instinct made him decide to continue to follow her all the same.
The house was on Russell Square. Cameron stopped by the railings. A front door painted glossy black was thrown open as Kirstin approached the shallow steps. A little girl came bounding down, wearing a white pinafore, her coal-black hair in pigtails.
‘Mummy!’ she cried, throwing herself at Kirstin. ‘We didn’t know you were coming to see us.’
As Kirstin stooped to hug her daughter, Cameron had a clear view of the child’s face. His heart lurched. She looked to be about five years old. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was his. He knew it in his bones and in his heart.
He looked on, dumbstruck, until the pair made their way into the house. The door closed. His stomach heaved and he lost his breakfast in the meticulously tended shrubbery of Russell Square.
* * *
The morning was turning grey, cold and damp, the kind of day that soaked a person through without it raining. The kind of cold that got into a man’s bones. Heedless of it all, Cameron walked, heading south in the general direction of his quarry, the house on Half Moon Street. But it was not the future which occupied his mind, it was the past. His head reeling, he made for the quiet of St James’s Park. How could Kirstin have kept such a secret from him? A child! Their child! He counted out the years and the months. If he was right, she would be six years old in September. Was he right? How could he be sure?
Kirstin had told him it was safe, he remembered. He had been careful all the same. But he had not been sheathed. He gazed sightlessly out at the canal, where a group of ducks were circling to keep warm. And then it struck him. The proof was staring him in the face. If the child wasn’t his, Kirstin would have no reason to keep her existence a secret. Therefore she had to be his.
He had a daughter.
Now, finally, he understood Kirstin’s use of that word impossible. Now he understood why she’d been at such pains to reveal so little of her home life. But why had she kept her child a secret from him in th
e first place? She could have found him. She hadn’t even tried. Why the hell not? She had denied him a say, had decided he’d no right ever to know his child and, what was more, she’d decided that his child had no right to know him.
Seething, he strode along the banks of the canal, crossing into Green Park, his fists clenching and unclenching, walking faster and faster along Constitution Hill, oblivious of the astonished stares of the few hardy souls braving the weather.
Reaching the entrance to Hyde Park, he slowed, his anger began to fade, and reason returned. Six years ago Kirstin had known almost nothing about him. She had not judged his suitability to be a father, she had judged him—what? Unnecessary? Irrelevant? No. She had simply made the question moot, and by doing so had spared him.
And herself?
Cameron took a seat by the Serpentine, oblivious of the drizzling rain which had started to fall. Now the initial shock had begun to fade, he tried to see the situation from Kirstin’s point of view. Six years ago she’d been so excited, so full of plans, and confessedly terrified too, of the bold step she’d taken, leaving Edinburgh behind in search of a new life in London. To find that she was pregnant, with no one, never mind a husband, to support her...
He cursed long and fluently under his breath. What she must have gone through. The strength of mind, the resolution—and to have kept her daughter too, when she could easily have given her away, just as his own mother had done.
The tiny glimpse he’d had into their domestic life this morning had made the loving bond between Kirstin and her child obvious. He smiled wryly. It explained The Procurer’s ethos—her first test must surely have been to save herself. And what a job she’d made of it. He could see now too, where the ruthless streak which had made Griffiths crumble had its roots.
If only he could have spared her some of what she must have endured, or even helped her, at least.
A Scandalous Winter Wedding Page 19