Highland Temptation (9 page)

Jesus. Colin clenched the reins in his fists, his bluntly cut nails digging into his palms as hot rage settled over him. He would kill Pinfield. He'd tear the man's fat limbs off, one by one.

“I wilna let him touch you,” he said, trying and failing to hide the depth of his anger.

She smiled sadly at him but continued, “When he finally stopped beating me, he sent me to my room. I waited for him to come upstairs, then, when all was quiet again in the house, I went back down. The fire had been going in his study and the documents were no longer where I'd originally found them. So it's possible he burned all of it.”

Colin nodded. “It doesna matter,” he said. “One of his accomplices will reveal everything.”

Emilia closed her eyes. “He was right,” she said so quietly Colin had to lean closer to hear.

“About what?”

“I'm a terrible daughter. A traitor.”

They stopped in the next post town to change horses and took a table inside a tavern, where they were served a luncheon of bread, cheese, and sausages while Colin composed his letter to the Knights.

Emilia felt too shaky to draw, and she couldn't eat. Her stomach was twisted into ten thousand knots. She hadn't yet told Colin everything she knew, but she'd given him the most crucial information. She'd offer him the rest without hesitation when he asked for it.

She felt like she was going to vomit. “Can you tell me names of the other accomplices again?” he asked her from across the table, looking up from his letter, the writing of which was painstakingly slow, given that he was writing it in code. “Chalmsworth, Mountebank, Fawkes. Who else?”

She listed them, her voice quiet and flat. He sighed when she said “Lord Merrington,” the last name on the list, no doubt remembering their adventure to Vauxhall last year. She and her father, Lord and Lady Merrington, and their ten children had all gone to Vauxhall together to enjoy the music and fireworks. The night had started off pleasantly but that had come to an abrupt end when Colin's brother Knight, Sir Ewan Ross, had been attacked, and the Knights had rushed Emilia and her father home.

Merrington had been a constant in Emilia's life since she was a small girl, and she counted several of his ten children among her few friends. She'd spent much of her life assuming she'd marry one of his sons, though neither her father nor Merrington or the boys had ever mentioned it as a possibility.

Well, it certainly wouldn't happen now.

Anyone not in league with her father would tell her that she'd done the right thing. From the beginning, she'd known deep in her heart that she'd have to reveal her father's intentions. There was no way she could allow him and his friends to murder all the Hanoverian heirs. There was no way she could be a willing party to treason of that magnitude.

Still, she was faithless. Untrustworthy. A bad, bad daughter. After enduring so many years of her father accusing her of being a terrible daughter, she'd finally proven him correct.

Suddenly, Colin's hand closed over hers where it lay squeezed into a tight fist upon the table. “Emilia.” His voice was soft.

She gazed into his solid amber eyes. “It's going to be all right,” he said.

Trying to smile, she nodded.
But how can that be?
she wanted to argue. How could it be all right? Her life as she'd always known it was over. Never again would she live with her father in their London house. And without that place to anchor her, where could she go? Where did she belong? Soon all of London society would know that she'd betrayed the Viscount Pinfield. That the Viscount Pinfield, her father, was a traitor. She'd be forever tainted by the stain of his treachery. The truth was, she'd be a pariah for the rest of her life. There was no way around it.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand then let go to continue writing. She watched him, not touching the food or the drawing pencils she'd brought in with her, for the next quarter of an hour.

“It's done,” he finally said.

She struggled to breathe—her chest crushed under the weight of an elephant's foot.

“The mail coach headed for London arrives at ten after four this afternoon,” he said. “That means the letter will arrive in London about thirty-six hours later.”

“So fast,” she murmured. The mail coach would be traveling much faster than they had. But then, the mail drove on through the night, every night, stopping only to change horses and collect or deliver the mail—although oftentimes “stopping” simply meant slowing down enough to throw the mailbag into the inn's doorway and then catching the bag of outgoing mail when it was tossed from a window.

“Aye.” He held her gaze steadily. “By the time we reach our destination, it might already be over.”

Over.
Meaning her father and his accomplices would all be imprisoned and awaiting their trials for treason. She shuddered.

Colin spoke to a boy about readying their carriage and ensuring the letter was mailed safely, then pressed a coin into the lad's hand along with the folded missive addressed to Major Campbell. Finally, he turned back to her and frowned at her untouched plate of food. “Have you eaten enough, lass?”

“I'm not very hungry,” she managed.

His lips tightened, then he turned to direct one of the hovering serving girls to bundle the rest of the food so they could eat it later. After the girl left, he turned back to Emilia. “I'd sit here and hand-feed you if I could. You need your strength. But we also need to be on the road. Since that woman recognized you last night, I dinna wish to take any chances.”

She nodded, and a few moments later the maid returned with their luncheon, now wrapped in a clean linen cloth and tied with a bit of twine. “Thank you,” Emilia murmured, taking the package.

“Your carriage is ready, sir,” the boy said, rushing toward them from the entrance.

“Well done, lad.” Colin took her arm in his and led her out to the circular drive at the front of the inn, where their phaeton already awaited them, a pair of fresh horses hitched to it. In moments the town was behind them, and they were back in the countryside.

Emilia could so easily allow herself to melt into a complex soup of self-loathing and fear, but she desperately wanted to avoid that. The truth was, for the first time in her life, she was truly free. She didn't yet know what to do with her freedom, but freedom was precious and highly sought after for any young lady of the
ton.
She shouldn't squander it.

Once again, she took out her pencil and paper and a square board to work upon, and began to draw, soon becoming engrossed in the task, her gaze flicking between her paper and the fields of endlessly rolling green, punctuated now and then by pale yellow bales of hay and dotted by the occasional flock of sheep.

Beside her, Colin was a quiet, steady presence, and she was glad for that. She didn't know how she could possibly talk to him right now and sound like a sensible, rational human being.

Hours passed, and it was near dusk when Colin shifted beside her. “You havna eaten your luncheon yet, Emilia.”

She looked up at him, blinking her eyes as if emerging from a long sleep. “I forgot,” she admitted, and her stomach growled, perhaps in annoyance at her lack of concern for it. Emilia returned her attention to her drawing, tilting her head to study it.

Colin made a whistling sound through his teeth. She slid him a glance to see his gaze on her drawing. “You're talented. You didna tell me you were so skilled.”

She narrowed her eyes at the paper. One of the problems with her drawings was that she could always see the flaws in her work, never the beauty. She threw most of her drawings away because of that. But now, even though the flaws of this one laughed at her from the sheet and her fingers itched to grab the paper and crush it in her fist, she didn't.

Holding both reins in one hand, he reached over and touched one of the sheep she'd drawn. “A black-faced lamb.”

“Yes, we passed one a while back. It was with its flock near the road. Did you see it?”

He shook his head. “Nay. I saw the flock. They were a baying and restless bunch.”

She smiled. “That was them.”

Glancing up at the dark sky, he said, “It means rain.”

“What means rain?”

“The behavior of those sheep.”

“Really? Sheep can now predict the weather?”

“Mayhap.” He shrugged. “ 'Tis one of the superstitions I learned as a lad. Another was that of the black-faced lamb.”

“What was that?” she asked.

“Black-faced lambs bring good luck.”

“Do they?”

“Aye. And since you drew one, I'd wager that means we'll be doubly lucky.”

“I hope you're right,” she said.

“You may disagree, being English, but I've found that much Scottish superstition has a basis in truth.”

“I'm not very familiar with Scottish superstition, so I couldn't say I have an opinion one way or the other.”

He nodded, a corner of his lips tilting up in a smile. “I'm sure you'll hear your share of superstition in the next few days.”

“Please teach me about your superstitions. I'd like that.”

“Oh, aye? Even the stories of the monsters that lurk in the lochs and the moors?”

“Yes.” She gave him a dry look. “I'm not easily frightened.”

He chuckled softly. “Aye, I've learnt that. You're a brave wee lassie.”

Heat flushed over her cheekbones at the sweet compliment. No one had ever called her brave before.

He nodded. “I will, then. I'll be telling you all the stories of the
sidhe
and brownies and kelpies that my sisters told me to scare me at night.”

“Oh yes, please do.” A part of her wondered whether the stories of monsters his sisters had told him had given even more life to his demons.

“But this…” He touched the black-faced lamb in her drawing. “…'tis good luck. I'm sure of it.”

“I hope you're right.”

“And you've a fine eye for drawing, lass.”

“Thank you.” She set the paper and the wood board beside her and unwrapped the linen bundle of food and began to eat small pieces of bread and sausage.

“I thought we'd continue on a bit longer tonight,” he said.

“All right.” It made sense. The horses were still fairly fresh, the clouds threatening rain had not delivered, and the puddles from yesterday had begun to dry.

At dusk they stopped for a few minutes to relieve their bladders and light the lanterns on both sides of the carriage. They continued on at a slower pace as the light disappeared and pinpricks of stars began to glow in the small clearings between the clouds.

As the sun disappeared, so did any semblance of warmth, and Emilia tucked herself up against Colin's body and covered them both with plaids.

“Colin?”

“Hmm?”

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. Then she whispered, “I want to learn about your superstitions, about your fairies and your monsters, but first…will you tell me about your demons?”

His body gave a small jolt then instantly grew tense. “Why?” The word was a mere crackle.

Emilia kept her breaths even. “One should know one's enemy, don't you think?”

“ 'Tis my concern, Emilia. Not yours.”

A part of her tried to wither at the harshness of his words, but she wouldn't let it. “I said I'd help you. I meant it.”

He sighed, and she pressed on. “Do they only come when you're asleep?”

“Nay.”

“When, then?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “They also come…when I'm alone.”

“Oh,” she murmured. They attacked him when he was by himself and vulnerable, when other matters weren't occupying his mind. Knowing his mind was open to them, his demons snuck in, an insidious invasion. “How do they appear to you?”

“I dinna see them when I'm awake,” he said tightly. “Only when I'm asleep. When I'm awake I only feel them.”

“How do you feel them?” she asked, frowning. She was so curious, but asking these questions made her uneasy. They were so personal, and she didn't want him to think he was being interrogated.

“Inside. They steal my breath. They wrap around my chest and my throat until they threaten to crush me.”

“I hate them,” she whispered. When he gave her an odd look, she explained, “I hate that they hurt you.”

He shrugged. “I have recovered every time. But twice I have lost consciousness.”

“Oh, Colin.” She wrapped her hand around his arm. “We need to learn how to make them go away.”

He sighed. “I dinna think they will.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated for a long moment, his gaze trained on the road. Then he said, “They're determined to kill me. And they wilna stop until they do.”

Late that night as the rain promised by the sheep finally came, pounding down on the inn's rooftop, Colin learned Emilia's determination was nothing to be trifled with. She refused to allow him to sleep on the floor, throwing their conversation from earlier in the day back at him.

“You said the demons attack when you're alone,” she argued. “If you're lying beside me, you're not alone.”

If I'm lying beside you
, he wanted to retort,
I'm so painfully hard from wanting you, I canna sleep, anyhow.

Truth was, he didn't trust himself. Every day, his desire for her had increased, and now it was a hungry, living thing inside him, demanding to be sated. And his weapons of logic and honor were beginning to falter behind the assault of such fierce need.

“I'm not afraid of you,” she told him, gray-blue eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't hurt me.”

How could she be so confident when he was not? It must be because she was inexperienced in matters between men and women.

“I think you're the one who's afraid,” she accused.

She was right about that.

“If you're sleeping on the floor, then so am I.”

“Emilia,” he said on a sigh.

“Colin.”

They stared at each other, a contest of stubbornness. One he was destined to lose.

He shook his head. “Why?”

“You protect me with everything you have,” she said. “Why will you not allow me to do whatever I can to protect you?”

That wasn't all there was to it. He didn't know her level of awareness of it, but she was attracted to him, and that attraction made their sleeping together even more dangerous.

She looked away from him. “There's more,” she said softly.

Of course there was. Much more.

“I sleep better when you're close. The nightmares go away.”

He scowled. “You have nightmares?”

Still not looking at him, she nodded.

“About…what happened with your father?”

“They started before that incident,” she rasped out. “But…yes. Last night I was having a nightmare when I woke and realized you were having one, too.”

He blew out a breath.

“He was chasing me. With his cat-o'-nine-tails.” Her chest rose and fell, and her eyes grew bright. “But each time you've slept at my side,” she continued, her hands curling into fists, “I haven't dreamed about him at all.”

With that, his arguments died away. “Verra well, then,” he said in a clipped voice. “I'll sleep on the bed.”

She breathed out in relief, but her gaze held more than relief. It held heat.

As he expected, it was a long night. She lay beside him, warm and sweet, with her arms twined around him. Torture.

He had to will his cock down a dozen times throughout the night. At one point, he woke from a tremulous doze with a straining erection, only to find the weight of her palm pressed against it. Glancing at her revealed that she was fast asleep, her face peaceful in slumber. Gently, he removed her hand and turned away from her, facing the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

It was tempting to fill his mind with thoughts of battle, because it was the fastest way for him to deal with an unwanted cockstand, but that topic might also call up his demons. Instead, it took twenty minutes of multiplying three-digit numbers in his head before his errant erection went down.

Hours later, he opened his eyes to gray morning light. A misty rain fell from the sky, but here in bed, it was comfortably warm. Emilia's arm was around him, her body pressed against him from behind. Then he realized she was kissing him, her lips moving softly over the back of his neck.

God. He was so drowsy and it felt so damn good. He should jump away, put distance between them. He was already hard again. But he was weak. He closed his eyes once more, wanting to enjoy her closeness, her kisses, for just a moment longer.

She nuzzled his ear, then gently turned him over, straddling him directly over his hardness. He let her manipulate his body, then opened his eyes again to see her gazing down at him, her curly blond hair like a halo framing her face.

Without a word, she leaned down and fused her lips to his. He opened for her, and they kissed for long, languorous minutes. She lay atop him, threaded her hands in his hair, and kissed him so sweetly he was certain he was going to explode with need.

He stroked her back, palmed her soft, round bottom through her nightgown, and tried to ignore the insistent, demanding throbbing between his legs.

Hours might have passed, he didn't know. He had no sense of time when he had Emilia in his arms. But finally, she pulled back, a smile quirking her lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said, cupping her cheek in his palm and gazing into her eyes. Her skin was creamy soft.

“I like kissing you.”

He smiled. “I like kissing you, too, lass.”

She considered him, chewing on her lower lip. Then she sighed. “There's no danger, you know.”

He raised a questioning brow.

“I mean, I am no longer who you think I am.”

He still didn't understand.

“I'm no longer a lady of English society,” she explained. “I cannot change my blood or my name, but my position in society will forever be changed.”

You can change your name
, Colin thought,
if you marry. If you marry
me
.

He drew in a breath through a suddenly constricted throat as she continued. “I have become an anomaly. The people who made up my social circle will no longer be interested in associating with me. The rules of society don't apply to me anymore, Colin.”

His lips tightened. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I've slept beside you,” she said softly. “I've run away from home. My father is a traitor, and I've shared his secrets with the world. My reputation has already been ground to dust.”

His heart thumped hard against his breastbone.

“All the arguments you've had against touching me are no longer valid. I can be with you, Colin. Don't you see?”

“Emilia,” he ground out.

She wiggled against his pulsing cock, and it practically leapt with joy.

“You want me, don't you?” Her eyes were so wide, so innocent. He was going to expire. Right here, right now.

He closed his eyes tight, unable to bear looking at her for a second longer. She was too damned bonny to look at.

“You ken I do,” he managed.

“Then you should take what you want,” she said. “It's what I want, too.”

“You dinna ken what you're saying.”

“I do,” she argued. “I know exactly what I'm saying. Do you think I have been kept sheltered from all aspects of human relations?” She shook her head, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “I have always been a curious person, Colin. If I want to learn about something, I find a way. Alas, that particular quality has been much to my detriment when it comes to my father's affairs.”

No doubt about that. But she was teasing the hell out of him, her pelvis rubbing rhythmically against his. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You're a minx.”

She shook her head, and a smile played on her lips as she moved above him, a sweet grind over his cock. “I have always known what I want,” she said quietly, “even when I knew I was only dreaming and could never have it.”

He loved this confident part of her that was cracking out of the shell her father had beaten onto her.

“I know what I want now,” she continued. “And I'm thinking it's not as impossible as it might once have been.”

Perhaps she was right. Nay, she
was
right. Colin knew how to please a woman, and, more than anyone he'd ever known, this woman deserved the pleasure he could offer her. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice a rumble in his chest. “Kiss me.”

She bent over him, her breasts pressing to his chest. God, if only his shirt and her nightgown weren't in the way…Her sweet lips touched his, and he immediately took control of the kiss, wrapping his arms around her upper back and slanting his mouth over hers. She was berries and cream, silky smooth and delicious, so small and feminine she brought out all his protective urges.

He could kiss this woman forever and be a happy man. Of course, the rest of his anatomy might have something to say about that.

He realized he was thrusting up toward her, instinctively searching for that basest of connections, and he gently turned her over so that he was on top, his legs wedged between hers. Her wounds had finally healed enough for this position, and that made him happy. He preferred to be on top.

Dropping kisses over her cheeks and jaw, he murmured Gaelic endearments to her. “
Gaolach
Emilia,
mo leannan, tha gaol agam ort.
” She didn't understand, of course, and for that he was glad. He wasn't ready for her to hear such intimate words of love in English. But as he spoke, she gasped, and when his lips reached her throat, he felt her pulse beating frantically under her skin.

Maybe a part of her understood. Perhaps that's why her breath caught and her hands fisted in his shirt and her body arched beneath him. He hoped so. He hoped she understood that he wasn't making love to her just because his body demanded it, but because something was happening to him that had never happened before. Something deep in his core, irreversible and permanent.

He kissed her chest, his lips searching for the taste of her skin but encountering only the cotton of her nightgown. He counseled himself to patience, wanting to give her time to experience and enjoy each new sensation. While his body demanded immediate relief, his mind and heart wanted to give her everything.

He grazed his teeth over her small, rounded breast until he reached her nipple, which was already peaked, a sharp point against the fabric. He flicked his tongue over it, and she squirmed, gasping, her fingers tightening in his shirt. Smiling, he moved to her other breast, giving it similar treatment.

Moving back and forth, he loved each of her breasts with his mouth and his hands until she was panting. Then, keeping one hand on her, his thumb grazing over her nipple, he moved downward, kissing a line over the center of her flat stomach, over her navel, and lower.

Her breaths changed, grew shorter and choppier, when he reached the apex of her thighs, where the nightgown was bunched, exposing the tops of her legs. Kissing her through the folds of cotton, he moved his hand down, starting at her knee and stroking upward, moving the nightgown over her lower belly. He fit his hand into the dip of her waist. Her skin was warm, soft, and smooth under his palm.

He raised himself up on his free hand, high enough to see her face.

“I'll be touching you now,” he told her. “Here.” He cupped the tight blond curls between her legs, pushing with the heel of his palm into the softness that was her womanhood.

She stared at him, her eyes glazed with lust, and her body shuddered.

“I've read…that this is sometimes done.”

His lips twisted. “Have you, now?”

She nodded. “There were certain books in our library…
The School of Venus
,
Aristotle's Masterpiece
. I read them.” Her eyes locked onto his. “
All
of them.”

And knowing her uncanny ability to remember small details, she could probably recite them to him line for line. She could probably teach
him
a few things about coupling. “Curious little minx,” he growled.

She huffed out a laugh that was cut short as he dropped back down, replacing his hand with his mouth.
No mercy,
he thought. He was going to drive her mad with pleasure.

He went to work, spreading her wide and devouring her like a feast. She was hot and sweet, and before long, her thighs had tightened around his shoulders and she moaned on every breath.

He took his time, learning every fold of her pussy, judging by her responses where she was most sensitive, where she was
too
sensitive.

When her hands threaded into his hair, he kept kissing her, suckling her, teasing her opening with his lips, but he added a finger, stroking as he worked her with his mouth, sliding through her slick folds, circling the sensitive nub above her opening.

Her legs began to tremble, little vibrations against his shoulders, and her fingers tightened in his hair. She was close. Slowly, he pushed a finger inside her tight, virginal channel, and she arched up to meet him, swallowing his finger with her body and releasing a low groan of pleasure as she did so.

Good God. She wasn't just a minx, she was a goddess. Colin had always considered himself highly sexed. He'd always loved women, loved the feel of their bodies under him, the exquisite sensation of having their sex wrapped tightly around his cock.

But Emilia…she might be his equal. She was a pulsing fireball of carnal energy. When he'd first met her, he'd thought her lovely but shy and unassuming. Now he knew she was a true force of nature. Not wilting, but blooming, vibrant, and full of life.

“Jesus,” he muttered against her, his cock hot and hard enough to cut diamonds. He moved his finger, sliding so the tip pressed her slick inner wall, and pumped in and out of her, bringing his mouth back to that sensitive nubbin.

“Oh God,” she murmured above him. “Oh Lord.”

He couldn't blame either of them for invoking the deity at this moment. She was shaking now, her whole body shuddering around him, her channel clenching at his finger, so wet he was sure she'd drenched the mattress with her juices.

He was shaking, too, close to coming even though his cock hadn't been near her body in long minutes. His hips pumped against the bed in time to his finger pumping into her, and he was shaking uncontrollably, and he was losing his damned mind.

He suckled her nub, circled it with his tongue, pressed the flat of his tongue against her. She wasn't just shaking now, she was undulating, her fingers nearly pulling his hair out by the roots—but that only made him hotter.