Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine (15 page)

His lips left her neck to work their way up her jawline to her ear, leaving a trail of heat behind. “Don’t you?” His fingers slipped around her back and started plucking one by one the small pearls that fastened her dress. “It’s because unlike the last time we were together, this time it will mean something.”

She stiffened. “You—”

“Were right. It meant something even then.” He captured her lips in a hard, insistent kiss and did not stop until the tension in her body vanished and she was breathless with anticipation despite the disjointed emotions that were tumbling through her. He eased the silken fabric away from her shoulders, leaving her sheer chemise behind. Slowly, he eased her dress down her ribs, across her hips, and onto the floor. Her shoes and stockings joined her dress, until she was clad in only her thin chemise.

He eased off the bed and gathered her gown, then set it on a nearby chair before he released his belt. The fabric of his tartan tumbled to the floor. She expected him to come to her wearing his shirt. Instead, he removed it, leaving him gloriously naked and aroused before her.

His body was perfect, and she wondered for a heartbeat why he had left the garment on the first time they had made love. But the thought vanished a moment later as he moved toward her. Golden candlelight bathed his flesh in a shimmering light as he strode back to her, confident and strong, then settled on the bed beside her.

Slowly, he eased the edge of her chemise up her legs, over her thighs, her chest, and finally over her head. The fabric caressed her skin, leaving her tingling and wanting as she lay bare before him. Desire reflected in his eyes, pounded in her heart, and filled the room with need. He put his hand on her arm, his thumb stroking soothingly.

Moments ticked by as he looked into her face. His eyes, dark with a promise she could not read, held hers, until he bent his head and his lips found hers once more. A deep-seated ache burned through her at the feel of warm, strong hands sliding over her bare arms, across her stomach, to her hip. Instinctively, she turned into his caress, her body on fire with need.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the fresh, masculine scent that was only his. She ran her hands through the silk of his tawny hair, delighting in the way the waves curled around her fingers. His hands ran possessively over her breast, cupping its fullness, then teasing her nipple to taut awareness. He brought his mouth down and grazed the sensitive bud while his hands moved to the other. She moaned as he increased the pressure.

Her hands slipped across his back, exploring his flesh, when she suddenly stopped. The ripple of scarred flesh greeted her fingertips. Her chest tightened as she ran her hands up and down the multiple lacerations that marked his back. “Who did this to you?”

This time there was no shame, no apology, no fear in his eyes. “My jailers. They were convinced they could whip the evil out of me.”

“There is no evil in you,” her voice was ragged at the thought of what he had suffered.

“I used to believe there was.” He shrugged. “I still do to some extent.”

“I understand, but know that to me you are perfect, Jules.” His name fell from her lips in a breathless whisper of longing. She stared into his eyes, hoping he saw the truth. Proving her point, she slid her hands over the rigid muscles of his chest, watching as his muscles coiled and flexed beneath her touch. She brushed her fingers against his nipples, then brought her tongue down to flick the sensitive bud as he had done and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from him. His hands stilled against her back as she continued sliding her hands lower until she stroked the length of his arousal, felt it pulse beneath her touch.

His hands splayed against her back as he held her to him, then shifted her beneath him, his rigid shaft poised at her entrance. Their gazes met. Across the few inches of heated shadows between them, their gazes held as she slid her arms up around his shoulders and Jules eased into her tight passage until he filled her with heat and strength. She welcomed his warmth, his weight, as he slowly drew back with agonizing slowness and controlled intent before he surged slowly forward again.

The friction was exquisite and intense as sensation after sensation rippled through her. Claire felt something wild and primitive building inside her as his slow caress continued. This time between them was different, though just as pleasurable; this time was more intense and all-consuming.

His rhythmic thrusts accelerated their tempo as he drove into her again and again, sending pleasure streaking through her in endless waves. She arched into him, in a fevered need to take him with her into that sweet abyss. Ecstasy overtook her, and she cried out her joy. At the sound, he released a groan and gave in to his own release. With earth-shattering glory, they climaxed together and tumbled headlong into the abyss.

After a time, they floated back to reality in each other’s arms. When some of their strength returned, Jules moved onto his side, taking her with him. Her hair spilled over his chest in a red, silken waterfall. He lifted a hand to smooth it back from her face and gazed into her eyes. “Even after all my searching, I have no idea why, exactly, you came into my life. But I am thankful. You belong here with me.”

Despite the satiation flowing through her limbs, Claire tensed and wished with everything inside her for a future together. Tears came to her eyes at the thought of what she had to do. He would never forgive her.

She would never forgive herself.

“Claire, why are you crying?”

She offered him a tremulous smile. “Because I am happy.” The image of Penelope came to her once more. She let her tears fall. After tonight, she would never be happy again.

With a heartbreaking smile, Jules rolled her onto her back and devoured her with his mouth, claimed her with his hands, and then his body. Claire let him ease her sorrow as she gathered up every touch, every kiss, every caress, in the hopes they would get her through the rest of her days—days that would be dark and alone.

I
’ve never seen Jules look so happy,” Jane said as she watched her friend carry his new wife out of the ballroom, away from their guests.

Beside her, Nicholas looked on with a dark frown. “I only hope she doesn’t crush his soul.”

Jane startled at her husband’s uncharitable words. It was so unlike Nicholas. “Why would you say such a thing?”

His expression softened as he looked down at her. “Men who have lost everything, then find what they were missing, fall harder and faster when it is taken away.”

Jane froze as her gaze moved past her husband to the vacant doorway. “She won’t . . . will she?”

“It’s hard to tell.” Hollister stepped forward, joining the discussion with Margaret on his arm. “We know so little about Claire. What ever became of our inquiries?”

David joined their little group near the back of the room. “Claire is what she says she is, a teacher. She rents a tiny painting studio on Leith Road. She has three wards, all of whom are child prodigies, much like herself, who were orphaned early in life. Claire took them in and not only teaches them, but she is for all intents and purposes their mother.”

The information startled Jane. “Then where are those girls now if Claire is here?”

“And why didn’t she say anything about them to Jules? She—” Margaret broke off with a gasp. Her hand went to her distended abdomen. “Sometimes I believe this little one is a musician in the making. Whenever I am around music the baby dances inside of me.”

“Margaret, are you feeling well?” David asked her, his face pale with concern.

“Yes,” she said with a light laugh. “The kicking only hurts for a moment.”

“You are certain?” David insisted.

“Why do you ask, David?” Hollister brought his hand down to cover Margaret’s abdomen protectively.

David bent down and moved the edge of Margaret’s skirt out of the way to reveal a palm-sized circle of blood on the wooden floor.

Margaret gasped and leapt back, revealing two more drops of blood. “It is not me, I promise,” she said, reassuring the man at her side.

Hollister pulled her into his arms. “I’ll not take that chance. We are going to our room to lie down. I will send for the physician.”

“Sweetheart, there is really no need.”

David dipped his finger into the red droplets before him. “There is no harm in rousing the physician, because if this is not your blood, then it most definitely is someone else’s.” He stood and moved past the droplets near Margaret’s feet, following the trail of blood.

A shiver moved through Jane. Someone was hurt.

“Hollister, take Jane and Margaret with you to our chambers while I help David,” Nicholas said, with a fierce look in his eyes. “Keep them safe.”

Hollister didn’t hesitate. He gathered both women and escorted them from the room, but not before Jane saw David and her husband following the trail of blood across the floor.

The blood was fresh. David followed the trail, all his senses on alert. Images swam in his head of the pretty dark-haired girl with the striking blue eyes he had seen earlier that night, peering through the crowd, her face pale as she watched Claire and Jules dance. He didn’t know why, but something inside him had connected with the girl.

He knew that look—hopelessness mixed with fear and anger. David clenched his fists, forcing that image from his mind. There was no reason in a room full of people that the person they were looking for was the one he could not clear from his thoughts. The trail led to the far corner of the ballroom, behind where the head table resided before it was taken away to make more room for dancing and mingling. But there was nothing there, only a group of people talking.

That was when David heard a gasp of pain coming from behind one of the new tapestries that had been hung only this morning—a wedding gift from Lord and Lady Davison. He stopped before the finely woven depiction of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, lifted the bulging edge, and froze.

“Merciful heavens,” Nicholas ground out beside him.

It was her. The dark-haired girl. Blood covered the front of her dusty-pink gown. She clutched her hand in the fabric of her dress as she slumped against the floor.

David knelt down beside her. Gently, he lifted her face and forced down an expletive at her bloodied lip and swollen cheek.

She turned her pale blue gaze on him. “Help me,” she whispered. “Don’t let her find me.”

A chill shot through him at the terror in her eyes, in her voice. “My God, who did this to you?” That chill turned to rage.

“Don’t just stand there staring at her,” Nicholas’s voice pierced his dark emotions. “Let’s get her out of here.”

David appraised her quickly, looking for the best way to lift her in his arms. Her hand was hurt, bleeding. He slipped his arm beneath her legs and another around her shoulders and lifted her slight form against his chest. She cried out in pain as David got to his feet, jostling her hand in the process. “We will keep you safe,” he promised, his voice thick.

She tried to lift her head as they shepherded her from the chamber without notice, then down the stairs and to a bedchamber near his own. “You’re safe.” He repeated the words over and over. A chant he hoped was the truth.

Claire stirred from her slumber before dawn. Jules curled against her back. His arm kept her close while his hand cupped her breast possessively, claiming her as his even in his sleep. The closeness they had forged last night lingered deep inside her as she lay there for several long moments. She allowed the silence of the morning to wrap around her.

Satisfaction warmed her and brought a smile to her lips, until she remembered that everything they had shared last night was a lie. Everything about their life together, except their actual marriage, was a dream that could not continue.

In the silence of the morning, she heard rain as it pattered against the window. A flash of light followed by a roll of thunder confirmed that a summer storm had come in over the night, perfectly reflecting Claire’s somber mood.

Slowly, gently, she slipped out of Jules’s embrace until she stood beside the bed. She had intended to reach for her dressing gown, then realized the only clothing she had in this chamber was from last night. She slipped her chemise over her head then moved to pick up her gown when her gaze snagged on a small, wooden box tied with a pretty red bow near the door.

Claire set her gown aside and moved toward what appeared to be a present. She knelt beside the package. A note had been tied to the bow and read,
For my darling Claire
. He had called her his darling once before, but only in anger
. . . She glanced back at the bed, to Jules lying there, relaxed and at ease. How had he managed such a feat while she had been lying curled in the warmth of his arms all night?

Curious, and a little nervous to see what he had left for her, she slid the bow off the box and lifted the wooden lid. A note lay inside.

Penelope can no longer paint.

Claire frowned. What did it mean? She removed the note, then gasped. She felt a sudden cold sickness in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers trembled as she stared at the contents.

A bloody, severed index finger lay inside the box on a bed of dusty-pink fabric. It took only a heartbeat for Claire to remember the familiar face she had seen amongst the crowd.

Penelope.

Claire couldn’t breathe. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Did this all mean Penelope was here, that it was real? Claire drew in a shattered breath and reached for the door latch. She had to find Penelope before something worse happened to her charge.

She grabbed the gown she had thrust aside, slipped it over her head, fastening it quickly before hurrying from the room. She stopped in the hallway. Where would she look? Tears came to her eyes, and she let them fall to her cheeks. Why was this happening? She was doing everything they had asked. She would give Jules up to keep her girls safe, exactly as they had demanded.

And they had harmed Penelope anyway.

“Claire,” Jules called from behind her. “What is wrong?”

When she didn’t respond, he grasped her shoulders and turned her around. Her gaze fixed on his face as agony tore through her. She couldn’t tell him. They made her promise not to tell him anything. She stiffened suddenly. They’d also promised not to hurt the girls.

His eyes darkened with concern as they searched hers. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and held out the box, her decision made. He would hate her when he found out what she had done, but right now she needed his help if she was to get Penelope away from her tormentors.

Jules’s eyes flared as he stared at the contents. He grasped Claire’s hands, searching for a missing finger.

“It’s not mine.”

He frowned. “Then whose?”

“One of my wards,” her voice was raw. It hurt to speak.

“Your what?” His face contorted. “I don’t understand.”

“I have three wards.” She reached for her locket and flicked it open, showing him the miniature of the three girls inside. “Penelope is here, somewhere. I saw her tonight, in the ballroom. The glance of her face was so quick I had assumed it was only my imagination.” A sob broke free. “They promised not to hurt her.”

“They who?”

“The people who threatened me.” She stared into his face, memorizing his features one last time before she pulled free from his grasp and backed away. Her blood ran icy cold.

“Who threatened you?” Jules spoke haltingly.

“I don’t know. All I know is . . .” Pain tore through Claire. She wanted to heap explanations and apologies on him, to make him understand why, but she knew it wouldn’t help. “They forced me to marry you, to come here.”

He watched her closely, his face a hardened mask.

She swallowed roughly and continued. “They wanted me to make you fall in love with me, then to leave abruptly.”

He went so still it was frightening.

“Say something, please.”

He stared at her, his face pale. “You used me?”

Claire flinched at the word. “Yes, I won’t deny it, but it was only because of the girls.”

She had hurt him. More than she realized she would. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but the words were little and useless in the face of reality. So she stood there, staring at him, waiting.

“Christ, I feel like a puppet,” he said closing his eyes.

“I had no choice,” she said hoarsely.

His eyes opened to reveal his anger. The heat of his gaze forced her to step back. “Who gave you the right to manipulate me, my friends, everyone who came here last night to celebrate our union?”

“I didn’t only take, Jules. I gave you myself in return. I gave you what you wanted—a wife.”

He laughed. The sound stark, cold. “That’s right. You gave me your body. I would say it wasn’t a fair trade, Claire. I lost even more than I already had on that bargain.”

The words cut deep. She deserved his anger and his bitterness. She turned. “I need to find Penelope. She has to be here somewhere.”

“Now who is running away?” Jules reached for her, clamping her shoulder. He turned her around. “Let’s finish this.”

“No.” She took a step back, out of his reach. “We do not have to pretend any longer. And I refuse to hurt you any more than I already have.”

“Claire—” His contemptuous gaze raked her. “If that is your real name . . .”

“It is. That was no lie.”

“Why?” She could hear the rawness in his voice, the need to understand.

Tears glittered on her eyelashes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. “I love you, Jules. That wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did. I fell in love with you, everything about you. And for a moment I considered sacrificing the lives of the girls to continue our life together. But I couldn’t do it. I could not sacrifice the lives of others to maintain the happiness I felt in your arms.” She paused as tears fell onto her cheeks. She forced the words she had to say past the tightness in her throat. “Last night was a gift I will treasure forever.”

“Last night was a mistake.”

She flinched at the hatred in the voice she loved and drew a sharp breath. “I will always think otherwise. Now, I must go find Penelope, Anna, and Eloise before it is too late.” Claire turned away only to see David at the end of the hall. How much of their conversation had he heard?

“If you are looking for Penelope,” he said, “she is in this chamber.”

“Alive?” she asked, her heart hammering wildly.

David nodded and motioned toward the door. “The physician has been to see her. He had no choice but to cauterize her finger to stop the loss of blood.
”

The smell of blood and burnt flesh reached out to her even before she entered the chamber. Claire swayed at the thought of losing a finger. Penelope had to be devastated by its loss—a loss that was all Claire’s fault. If she had only done as she had been instructed . . .

Claire forced the thought away. There would be time enough for guilt later. Penelope was alive, and where there was life, there was hope.

Striding through the doorway, Claire crossed the room, then sat on the bed next to her young charge. The flickering candlelight revealed Penelope, asleep. Her face was calm, her body at ease.