The Widow Vanishes (11 page)

"You would rather wear cast-offs than accept a gift from me?" he'd said, scowling.

She'd tried to explain to him that she wanted to earn her own keep. For in the deepest chamber of her heart lay a secret ember of hope: if she could make something of herself, then mayhap one day she might be McLeod's … equal. Or at least lessen the discrepancy between their situations in life.

"Now before the master returns," the housekeeper was saying, "I wish to speak with you about something."

"Yes, Mrs. Ramsbottom?"

In reply, the other held out a letter. Annabel took it, and when she saw the name of the addressee, her brows shot up.
Peregrine
William McLeod? McLeod had never mentioned a Christian name other than William … and now she knew why. She stifled a grin.

Turning the letter over, she studied the wax seal: the letter "S" framed by imperial flourishes. The sender's address was in Lanarkshire, Scotland. Wasn’t that where McLeod had said his brother lived?

"Arrived just now," the housekeeper said, "same markings as the other two letters the master hasn't opened. He's a close-lipped sort, so I don't know the details of his past, but I do know that an estrangement from one's kinfolk is a pity. You don't realize how much family matters until you're alone." Sadness ghosted through the lady's eyes. "Lost my own son at Quatre Bras."

Empathy percolated through Annabel—she understood all too well the sorrow of losing beloved family members. She gave the housekeeper's hand a squeeze before taking the letter and tucking it in her skirt pocket.

"I'll give the letter to him, but I can't promise he'll read it," she said.

"One can only lead the horse—or in this instance, the stubborn ass—to water."

Annabel chuckled just as the door bell rang.

"About time," Mrs. Ramsbottom said.

Annabel hurried to the antechamber. At the sight of her tall, handsome lover, her heart fluttered. His coffee-colored eyes found her immediately.

"Now there's a welcome sight." His lips curved. "Missed you, lass. How was your day?"

She walked into his open arms.

*****

After supper, Annabel took her bath with McLeod in his bedchamber. The oversized tub was set in a snug alcove next to the fire, shielded from the rest of the room by a dressing screen. She loved the lazy intimacy of lying with the Scot in the sudsy water, watching as shadows flickered across the silk panels. Cradled against him in their balmy cocoon, she felt utterly safe and content.

She turned her head to look at him. "How was your day?"

"Well enough." In the firelight, his rugged features had a somber cast. "I've reviewed Harding's schedule with Todd. According to my analysis, the best time to nab the cove is when he's leaving his weekly visit with his mistress. He only brings a few men, and his routine is predictable. We'll have an opportunity tomorrow night—and Todd wants to go ahead with it."

Heart thumping, Annabel twisted fully in his arms. "Tomorrow? Are Harding's men armed? McLeod, that sounds dangerous—"

"Don't fret, lass. I'm just the scout. I'll lead Todd's men to the location, but they'll do the dirty work."

"But anything could happen! I couldn't stand it if ..." Frantically, she cupped his jaw with both hands. His night beard scraped her palms as she made him look at her. "McLeod, you're important to me. And even though you're the strongest man I've ever met, you aren't invincible. You must take care."

"I will. Now that I have a reason to care." His gaze enveloped her like a warm blanket. "One more night, Bella—and then we'll be free."

His words resonated with promise. His mouth claimed hers with absolute possession. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was now. She gave into him, into the unquenchable need to be as close to him as possible. She moaned as his palms covered her breasts, rubbing slick foam over the budded tips.

In husky tones, he said, "Have I told you that I adore your breasts?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice," she said breathlessly.

"Can't blame a man for being obsessed. You're a perfect handful, Bella." Her spine bowed against his chest as one of his hands disappeared beneath the water and slid between her thighs. "In fact, you're perfect everywhere."

It would be so easy to let him take the lead as usual. Yet a different craving took hold of her. The imminent danger he faced made her pulse thrum with a wild mix of love, fear, and gratitude. He'd done so much for her and asked for nothing in return. He was the noblest of men—her hero.

For once, she wanted to take care of him. Tonight, she wanted to show him how much she loved and appreciated him ... in action if not in words.

Pulling free, she turned to face him.

"What's the matter, lass?" he said in surprise.

She straddled his lap, her core fluttering when his iron-hard cock sprang up between them, pressing insistently against her belly. She looked into his smoldering eyes. "I want to make love to you, McLeod."

"Trust me, we're of a same mind." His hand rested possessively on her hip.

"You don't understand—
I
want to pleasure
you
. And I want you to lie back and enjoy it."

He cocked a brow. "Is that an order, lass?"

She thought about it. "Yes."

Slowly, he released her. His arms rested on the edges of the tub, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. "Your wish is my command."

A teasing quality tempered his deep voice. Well, he wouldn't be laughing for long if she had anything to do about it. Determined to please him, she rose on her knees and captured his earlobe between her teeth. His breath came harshly as she licked the sensitive lobe, suckling it. She kissed and nibbled her way down the tough, flexing column of his throat.

His neck arched; a raspy sound escaped him.

Her hands swept over the wide, muscular expanse of his shoulders, the rigid contours just below. As her fingers tangled in his wiry chest hair, a sense of deep, feminine possessiveness rooted inside her.

"You're so fine, McLeod."
And, for tonight at least, you're mine.

"Glad you think so, lass." He sounded like he was having difficulty breathing.

Excellent. She touched one of his small nipples lying just above the line of water. Bending her head, she flicked her tongue across that hard point. He groaned.

"I want to taste you everywhere," she said. "The way you've tasted me. Will you allow it?"

"Anything you want, lass," he said in guttural tones. "As long as you're certain."

"Sit up on the tub's edge, then. I want to see all of you."

He rose, water sluicing from his magnificent form, and arousal buzzed through her. McLeod was a male in his prime, all sculpted edges and hard, bulging lines. Droplets of water clung to the whorls on his chest, dripping in tantalizing rivulets over the lean ridges of his torso and belly. He looked arrogantly assured sitting on the tub's edge, his back propped against the wall of the alcove and his thighs boldly splayed.

A handsome, virile devil of a man.

"Just going to ogle me, lass?" he said with a hint of a smile.

In answer, she rose on her knees so that she was at eye level with his fully erect cock. The potent shaft stood straight up from its brown nest, heavy stones dangling beneath. Breath hissed through his teeth when she wrapped her fingers around the turgid stalk, prying it gently away from his taut belly. He was so big and thick that she had to use both hands. The rosy brown pole throbbed between her palms, jerking when she worked the supple skin over the iron core.

When she kissed the fat, burgeoned tip, he sighed.

When she took his cockhead inside her mouth, a moan scraped from his throat.

Having never done such a thing before, she relied on instinct. As McLeod's cock slid against her tongue, she understood why he enjoyed pleasuring her in this fashion. A charge pulsed through her when he shuddered with bliss, rewarded her with the first salt of his desire. She licked along the length of his member, tracing the ridged vein that snaked up and down its underside. When she reached the head, she mouthed the crimson knob gently again.

"Bella, love." His gravelly tone made her skin tingle. "Do you want to suck my cock?"

Desire made her breath choppy. "Yes. Will you show me how?"

Wildness sang in her blood when his fingers tangled in her hair, directing her movements.

"Take me deeper," he said. "As deep as you can, love."

She opened her lips to accept him. To take as much of him as she could with her lips and hands. He guided her head in a bobbing movement, murmuring hot praise when she caught onto the rhythm. She felt powerful and desired as she sucked and fisted her lover's rod. Warmth gushed between her legs as his hips began to thrust, savage sounds tearing from his chest. The knowledge that she could undo him, could tend to his primal needs, lifted her soul: she wanted to give her lover pleasure that he'd never forget.

With thudding excitement, she discovered that breathing through her nose and relaxing her jaw allowed her to take him deeper. He hissed her name, his hands clenching against her scalp. His next thrust nudged the back of her throat, and she swallowed in reflex. He did it again and again, groaning, cursing, and then he suddenly wrenched from her kiss.

Fisting his cock, he bit out, "Sweetheart, I'm going to come."

She witnessed the onslaught of his climax with awe. The muscles of his torso turned to steel, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief. He yelled out as his seed exploded from him, and she whimpered as the scorching arcs lashed her breasts. As his pleasure shot endlessly against her skin.

Finally, their gazes met and held.

Her breath puffed between her lips. Too stimulated to speak, she cupped her breasts with trembling hands, moaning as his slick essence smeared over her aching nipples.

"By God, woman," he growled.

In the next instant, he swept her up and out of the tub. To her shock and delight, she could feel his stiffening manhood against her thigh.

"Already?" she said breathlessly.

Laughter and desire blazed in his eyes. "Aye, lass. Try to keep up."

FIFTEEN

"McLeod—you're leaving already?"

Will finished buttoning his waistcoat and returned to his lover. Not for the first time, he wished that he had an artist's talent for capturing beauty. For there was nothing as riveting as the sight of Annabel in his bed. Her eyes were a deep, saturated violet, her cheeks flushed from a night of lovemaking interspersed with sleep. Sitting on the mattress, he ran a possessive hand over her gloriously tousled locks.

"Aye, lass," he murmured. "There's much to be done today, and I must get started."

The contented expression fled from her eyes. She sat up. "I don't like this, McLeod. Don't like what you're risking for me. There must be another—"

"We've been through this before, love. This is the only way." He cupped her trembling jaw. "I'll deliver Harding to Todd, and it'll all be over."

Her lashes lowered for an instant. When they lifted, the sheen in her gaze made his breath catch. "Promise you'll come back to me, McLeod."

Other promises flirted at the edge of his mind. The last two weeks had been the happiest, most pleasurable ones he'd ever spent with a woman—and he wanted more time with Annabel. Mayhap even ... forever?

Elation and panic shot simultaneously through him. Even as he reveled in the idea of claiming Annabel as his, he was reminded of what had happened the last time he'd sought permanence. And he'd known Laura for years—Annabel for less than a month. How could he be certain of his feelings … of Annabel's? She might want him now, but would she still desire their arrangement—never mind a more enduring one—after she was free of Todd?

Her words returned to him.
'Tis not commitment I'm after … not after my marriage and mayhap never again.
He respected her honesty, her courage to live with passion and no regrets. He admired the lass' fierce independence—and at times it irked him. Her stubborn refusal to let him buy her anything chafed at his pride. And, aye, made him worry. 'Twas as if she didn't want any ties to him—as if she feared committing herself to him even in this small way …

His chest knotted. His first priority was to keep her safe. Once that was accomplished, he could address the future with her.

Capture Harding first—figure out the rest later.

"I'll come back for you, Annabel," he said. "I vow it."

"Thank you." Smiling tremulously, she took his hand, brushed her lips over his knuckles.

Some of his tension eased at the gesture. There was no denying that their initial attraction had only grown more intense, deepening over the past fortnight. He told himself that the hesitancy he sensed from her was mere skittishness: after her disastrous first marriage, he didn't blame her.

"Before you go, I forgot to tell you," she said. "A letter arrived yesterday from Lanarkshire."

He stilled as the past reared its fists, punched him in the gut. Answering anger surged through him.
Goddamn Alaric—why can't he let sleeping dogs lie?

"It's your brother, isn't it?" she said hesitantly. "Could it be important?"

"I don't give a damn. His business is none of mine."

She bit her lip. "I know it's not my place to pry. But he is your brother, after all. I know you two aren't close, but perhaps the problem could be overcome—"

"You don't know the half of it," he bit out.

"Then tell me," she said. "What was the cause of your falling out?"

The memory twisted like a knife in his gut. But Annabel looked at him with pleading eyes, and he felt a yearning ... to unburden himself. To lay out his past with someone he could trust.

And he
could
trust Annabel. She'd proven a worthy confidante, one who listened and didn't judge. He'd found her counsel, when she offered it, to be well-considered. With her, he could talk about most anything—and nearly had. A first for him with any woman … with any
person
, period.

"After I left the regiment, I returned home to Dumfriesshire," he said. "Leased a farm—I wanted a peaceable living after the war. The owner of the estate, Viscount Kincaid, had a daughter. Lady Laura was known as the fairest lass in the county." With smoldering embarrassment, he recalled how smitten he'd been by her beauty. How easily he'd been taken in by her demure smiles and coy glances. "One day, Lady Laura was riding by the farm on a new horse that hadn't been properly broken. She got thrown off—I rescued her before she got trampled."