Julianne MacLean (7 page)

She crossed to the door and turned the key in the lock. Struggling to remind herself that
Damien was still nearby, she moved to the bed and pulled the covers back. She gazed down at the white sheets with the moonlight spreading upon them—wrinkled and billowy in places from having been slept on this very night. She swallowed hard and climbed in, pulling the heavy blankets up over herself and resting her arms on top of them.

There was still warmth from his body down where her legs were. She lay flat on her back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Damien’s musky, masculine scent permeated her consciousness and swirled through her senses.

She pressed her face into the soft feather pillow and breathed deeply, filling her lungs until she could hold no more of him, then she did it again and again and again, squeezing the pillow until she felt satisfied, and fell asleep.

But only for a little while. The rest of the night was a stressful affair filled with many swift, frightful awakenings.

A
dele descended the stairs the next morning, her eyes burning from lack of sleep. She went to the dining room. Lord Alcester rose from the table they’d shared the night before and crossed the room to greet her.

She remembered with a shocking, tingling quiver how he had looked the night before in her bedchamber—surreal, like a god in the moonlight. Powerful and beautiful.

He looked beautiful again this morning, she thought with another disturbing shiver of anticipation. He wore the same shirt, waistcoat, tight riding breeches, and black boots as he’d worn every other day, but today Adele was more aware of his size and strength. She had seen it for herself last night.

“Good morning, Miss Wilson,” he said coolly, with a slight bow.

Adele couldn’t deny her disappointment at seeing him return to his formal manner and call her “Miss Wilson.” But she supposed it was best.

He escorted her to their table. As soon as they sat down, he said, “Did you sleep at all?”

“Not much.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep intake of breath, as if he felt that he had failed somehow. “You will no doubt be glad to join your mother, and arrive at Osulton Manor. There was a telegram from her this morning.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed it across the table to her. She read it quickly:

Adele’s heart relaxed a little as she read the words. It was a small connection with reality—a reminder of her real life. She read the telegram two more times, then looked up to see Damien’s concerned eyes staring intently at her, his brows drawn together. His dark gaze held her captive, and her pulse fluttered alarmingly.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m sorry if I was short with you last night. It was inexcusable of me.”

The gentleness in his voice as he delivered such a sincere, honest apology shocked her. She had to struggle to come up with a reply.

“You weren’t short with me. You were helpful.”

“You’re being polite. The fact is, I shouldn’t have left you alone when you were distraught. I should have listened to you when you told me you couldn’t sleep. Last night you called me your protector, and I was hardly that when I walked out on you like an irritable dog.”

She inclined her head curiously, and spoke without thinking. “Why
were
you irritable, Damien? Did I do something wrong?”

He stared at her across the table.

She didn’t know why she had asked him that question, with such an intentionally innocent tone of voice, as if she had no awareness of the fact that there could be something inappropriate simmering between them—which was why she suspected he had been bad-tempered.

She was putting him on the spot, wanting to know if the attraction she had been sensing was real, or if it was all in her mind. She was challenging him to acknowledge it.

The server arrived and poured coffee. Damien leaned back in his chair, looking slightly relieved to have been spared answering the question.

As soon as the server was gone, however, the question continued to dangle in the air between them. It could not go completely unanswered. That in itself would have revealed something was amiss.

Damien’s gaze swept restlessly around the room, and she sensed he was displeased with her again.

“You did nothing wrong,” he finally said. “I was the one who behaved badly. I was tired. Like you, I haven’t slept much the past few days, and I apologize for my unforgivable irritability.”

Adele nodded to thank him for his reply, then she picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. Even if he did feel an attraction, she thought, he would never acknowledge it. He, too, was loyal to Harold, and she at least respected him for
that
. Yes. If he were not, she would think him the worst human being in the world, and despite what she knew about his reputation, she did not think
that
of him. He had not tried to seduce her. He had been nothing but a gentleman since they’d met.

Though she herself had not always had the heart and mind of a lady. A part of her wanted something very wicked, and she wasn’t sure she would have the strength this time to put the candy back if she went so far as to actually take it in her hand.

Throughout the whole of the day, the coach lumbered jerkily over moors and dales and hilly green pastures, stopping around noon to change horses in a quaint village inn, where they had a bite to eat.

Adele had dozed off a few times in the coach, but the slightest bump or jostle awakened her with a start, and each time it would take a good ten minutes for her heart to settle down again. So when they stopped again, late in the afternoon, Adele had a glass of wine, hoping it
would help her sleep. She filled Damien’s flask with a little extra to take with her as well.

It was early evening when the creaky vehicle rumbled into another small village and pulled up in front of an inn much smaller than the one the night before. Adele should have been hungry, but she didn’t feel well enough to eat. Her stomach was rolling from the long drive, and consequently, she felt nauseated and had very little appetite. None in fact. But she certainly did feel sleepy from the wine.

As soon as they slowed to a stop, Damien opened the door of the coach and peered inside. “We’ve arrived. How are you?”

She took his hand and stepped out onto the dusty lane. “As well as can be expected. I slept a little along the way, though it was rather bumpy this afternoon. Did it rain? I seem to remember raindrops pattering away on the rooftop, though I don’t know when that was.”

Still holding her hand, he stopped in the street. “No, it didn’t rain.” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her and lowered his voice. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel fine.”

He hesitated, then took a step closer and leaned down to her ear. He was so tall, so much of a man, she shuddered at the overwhelming nearness of him. She found herself looking closely at the texture of his coat collar, and the details of the seam at his broad shoulder. She loved the way his thick black hair curled in a large wave at his neck.

She was almost close enough to touch her lips to that neck. She imagined how it would taste. Salty perhaps.

“Your speech was slurred just now, Adele.”

She felt the heat of his breath in her ear, and it sent the most delightful array of gooseflesh down her entire left side. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would feel like to wrap her arms around his neck and just dangle.

“Slurred?” she asked, remembering clumsily that he had just tried to tell her something.

“Yes. If one didn’t know better, one might think you were intoxicated.”

She felt her brows lift in surprise. “Good heavens! Intoxicated! I only had a little wine. Two glasses at most.” Though she felt strangely giddy.

He held a finger up to his lips and took a full step closer—
yes, closer
—crowding her in the most exhilarating way. Their bodies almost touched. It was shocking and breathtaking and undeniably wonderful. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know you had only a little to drink. I am of the opinion, however, that, my dear, you are suffering from an acute lack of sleep, which has given the wine an extra kick.”

My dear
. That was all she heard.

The next thing she knew, she was blinking up at him, feeling dim-witted and completely unable to remember what he had said after
My dear
.

My dear
. His voice was like sweet syrup. Sweet and yummy. She would like to lick it.

He glanced over her head, up and down the street. “You need a bed, Adele, and it is imperative that you close your eyes when you get there.”

She felt dazed, looking up at him. The strong line of his jaw was so lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. He would make a handsome statue on the chest of drawers in her room in Newport.

Ahhh, Newport. How she missed the gulls and the smell of the sea.

“It smells funny here,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Like sheep.”

She felt nauseated again. And dizzy. Still a little giddy, too.

Suddenly, Damien’s arm moved around her waist, and then she was floating toward the front door of the inn. No, not floating. She was being carried there. By a handsome black knight in not-so-shiny armor.

He smelled like the outdoors. Fresh and clean and manly—though there was a vague aroma of horse mixed in with the cologne she’d smelled earlier. Some horses were very manly. Yes. He was a stallion.

No, he was a knight. A stallionish knight with big, sturdy hooves.

She sighed and rested her face against the rough wool of his black coat, feeling it scratch her cheek. Her eyes were closed now. She sighed most happily. Wasn’t life wonderful?
Yes, yes it was
…

Carrying Harold’s snoozing, deadweight fiancée in his arms, Damien followed the inn
keeper up the stairs to her room on the second floor. She was mumbling something about her sister now, asking why she had wanted the blue bowl, when the white one was closer.

Damien carried her into the bedchamber and laid her down gently on the bed, careful not to wake her. He sat down beside her and moved the fallen locks of hair away from her face. She moaned softly.

“She hasn’t slept in four days,” he told the innkeeper. “She’s been ill.” It was the only explanation he could come up with, as he didn’t want to give away the details of their situation.

“Is she all right now?” the plump little man asked.

“Yes, she just needs to sleep.”

He gazed down at her freckled face in the gray light of the afternoon. She smiled and moaned again and rolled over on the bed toward the wall. The sound of her throaty, feminine voice and the gentle curve of her hips beneath her skirts sent a wave of desire through Damien’s tired, exhausted body.

He imagined for a moment what life would be like—what this moment would be like—if she belonged to him. If she did, he would lie down beside her and hold her, and he would stay with her all night until she woke up the next morning, feeling rested and more herself.

“Should I bring soup?” the innkeeper asked, startling Damien out of his thoughts, and thank God for that.

Damien stood. “Perhaps later, after she’s had a
chance to sleep awhile.” He reached for the wool blanket at the foot of the bed and covered her.

“She’s your sister-in-law, you say?” the man asked.

Damien met his gaze squarely. “Yes.”

The man inclined his head. “So I presume you’ll be wanting another room?”

The man was perceptive. He was checking to see if some other arrangement might suit Damien better. Another arrangement certainly
would
suit him better, but he would hold tight to his integrity. Though it was squirming like a wet fish in his hands.

“Yes, another room would be most appreciated.”

“My wife is preparing one now.” He left the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

Damien moved to stand over the bed where Adele lay sleeping, and let his gaze drift lazily over the exquisite, appealing length of her body.
Yes, if she were his
…

That very instant, something thumped in the next room—probably the innkeeper’s wife making the bed—and Adele sat up. She gazed vacantly at Damien’s face for a moment or two before she spoke.

“Did I sleep? Is it morning?”

He sat down beside her again. “No. You’ve been asleep for only five or six minutes.”

“Five minutes?” Her voice revealed her utter disbelief. She was hopelessly discouraged. “Why can’t I sleep?”

He ran his hand down her arm. “You need to relax and know that you’re safe.”

“I
want
to know it. When I’m awake, I know he’s not coming back, but when I go to sleep…” She took hold of Damien’s lapel between two fingers.

She was touching him. Touching his clothes…

“Please stay here tonight,” she said. “No one will ever know. I won’t tell. This is the last night of our travels, and tomorrow I’ll be with my mother and sisters. Everything will be normal then. But I can’t meet Harold looking and feeling the way I do.
I can’t
.”

She gazed up at him with bloodshot, puffy, pleading eyes, and his blood burned like fire through his veins. It was all he could do to keep from pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers.

For a long moment, he gazed at her in the fading light of the day while he fought to subdue his desires. God, he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to kiss the warm, supple flesh of her body and hold her naked in his arms. He wanted to bury himself deep into the heat between her thighs.

There it was. In plain terms.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He thought of Harold. Then he thought of his mother, who had betrayed his father. His father had died. His mother had died, too. So much of what had happened that day had been Damien’s fault. He had been the one to tattle on his mother. He’d had no
tact; he was only nine. His father had not taken the news well. The situation had exploded.

Then he thought of Harold again, who trusted him absolutely. Harold, who, for the first time in his life, had not only fallen in love with a woman, but had found the courage to propose to her. And he’d asked for Damien’s help to bring her home.

No. There would never be
anything
between Damien and Adele.
Never
. She belonged to Harold. She was to become Damien’s cousin by marriage. He could not feel what he was feeling. He could not devastate Harold. He could not. He had to bury this.

“Please, Damien,” she said. “All I need is one good night’s sleep, then I’ll be myself again. You need only spend one night in a chair, with a promise that you won’t leave. A good night’s sleep will cure me, I’m sure of it. I just can’t think straight now. My eyes hurt, and I can’t seem to differentiate between what’s real and what’s a dream.”

“Neither can I,” he whispered, feeling more than a little exhausted himself. It had been a long few days—first with the disturbing news of the kidnapping from Harold, then with his own quest to find Adele and bring her home safe to his cousin.