Sweet Savage Eden (37 page)

It was his temper, he thought, his damnable temper,
and the jealousy that soared from his heart—and his loins—when he saw the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke to another. Aye, it was bitter medicine, but he loved her, and he must hide the emotion from her. Anger was easier than betraying his heart. If often seemed that she had none, and therefore a wise man would build a careful shield around his own. He was, perhaps, a man possessed, but proud nevertheless, and he’d not let his heart or his loins rule his mind. He would be master of his own house despite the minx, and if she never learned to
love
him, she would come to
obey
him.

He wondered bleakly if she would ever cast aside the barriers that she had set before him. If she would ever come to him with husky laughter on her lips and the bright fire of passion in her sapphire eyes. That was what she kept from him, he realized. That was what she held away, like some sacred prize.

It was a prize, he thought, for he longed to obtain not her submission but her partnership.

He inhaled and exhaled, and a hot shudder swept his body, piercing his loins. For the time being, he thought, he could live with submission. He had thought of nothing but her soft, creamy, naked flesh during all the nights of his journey. He had thought of her sky-colored eyes, of her hair tumbling about the fragile structure of her face, and he had thought of the evocative swell of her breasts and the darkened shade of her nipples, and he had imagined the curves of her body as she lay awaiting him. He had seen her lips, parted, damp, and he had awakened many times in a cold sweat, wanting her. She would be further along now … but not too far along.

He had to see her.

He pushed open the door impatiently. Amy Lawton, in her nightcap with her long gray braid streaming down her back, hurried out with a candle to meet him.

“My Lord Cameron! Welcome home.” She looked at him a bit askance—he was dressed in soft, warm buckskins given him by the chief, and his head was bare. He might well have resembled a savage himself.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lawton, I am glad to be home.” He
spoke softly, for it seemed that it was still night in the house. He had ridden through the darkness, anxious to be here. The days of Christmas were almost upon them, and he wanted to be among his own people for the Christian celebration. No … he wanted to be back with his wife. He wanted to know if she was still angry for the way they had parted, or if she had forgiven him. He had just wanted to touch her again. If she did not give in to him, he wanted the passionate, frenzied response that he could draw from her, he wanted to see her lips parted and damp, and slightly swollen by his kiss, her eyes open and blue and heavy-lidded with desire.…

And he had wanted to assure himself that their child grew well in her womb. “Is all well?”

Amy Lawton seemed distressed, and so he moved to the fire with a frown, warming his hands. “Is all well?”

“Well enough, milord. But …”

“But? Speak up.”

“Lady Cameron had some horrid dreams, I think, while you were gone. One night I awoke and came to her, but she did not need me, for her brother-in-law was already with her. The poor lady! I was heartily sorry, for she seemed so distressed.”

“Really?” He did not want to feel it, but the dark anger cascaded over him again. Robert! Always she was reaching to Robert!

He gritted his teeth. He reminded himself of the anguish he had endured, wanting her through the long nights. He tried to remind himself that his jealousy was invalid, for though she might still feel some draw to Robert, she would not act upon it. Surely she would not.

But no logic worked upon him. Robert Maxwell had soothed Jassy in the bed she shared with him, and the thought of it infuriated him. What else had happened there?

“Milord, shall I get you something?” Amy said.

“No, I think that I will see to my wife.”

“Oh, she slept peacefully and well last night, milord, I do believe. She bathed late in the outhouse and drank warm milk before bed, and I am certain that she did not
awake distressed. Oh, and, milord, the
Lady Destiny
arrived with your gifts, and your lady was quite pleased.”

“Was she?” Aye, Jassy would be pleased. She was like a child with a present. She had married him for his wealth and position, he reminded himself. The lady could be bought.

“Thank you, Amy,” he told his servant, and headed for the stairs. “See that Sir William is informed that I will speak with him later. And tell Captain Stewart that I will see him too. I am sure that he is anxious to sail southward before winter comes upon us any more viciously.”

“Yes, milord,” Amy told him, but he barely heard her, for his attention was already upon the door at the top of the stairs. Still, when he reached it, he paused again. He stood there, his palms growing damp, his heart beating too quickly and too hard. She was a harlot, he reminded himself. She had sold herself into marriage, but it had been a payment, nonetheless. She was his wife and was honor-bound to obey him. He did not need to tremble like a lad in the schoolroom.

He pushed open the door and stepped into his room.

She slept, and she slept as sweetly and as innocently as a child. He could smell the soft rose scent of French perfumed soap upon her body even as he stood over her. She was clad from head to toe in a soft white gown, laced and beribboned on the bodice, entirely chaste. The covers were swept over her to her waist, but her gown dipped precariously from her shoulder, exposing a fascinating expanse of clear ivory flesh. Her hair was a profusion of sunshine splayed upon the pillow, and her lips were as he had so often dreamed of them, softly parted as she breathed evenly with her sleep. He ached to touch her; he burned to touch her. His loins ached, and only the tightness of his buckskin breeches kept his naked desire from showing as clearly as the king’s flag upon a pinnace.

He reached to touch her naked shoulder, and then he drew away. He ground down hard on his teeth and
walked around to his desk. He sat and plopped his feet upon it. He stared at her, then searched for the jug of rum in the bottom drawer of his desk. It was early morning, and he did not need his mind fogged. He drew deeply on the rum, anyway.

In a matter of moments she began to stir. Like a cherished child, she stretched, and a soft, smug smile touched her lips. And well she should be pleased, Jamie decided sardonically, for she thought him still gone, while his gifts lined her trunks. Robert slept across the hall and could come at her first call of distress. Robert, who she had planned to trap in her matrimonial web.…

Robert would sleep across the hall no longer, Jamie determined. The Maxwell house would be hurried along. He did not wish to fight the urge to smash his friend’s pleasant features every time they chanced to meet.

Her eyes opened suddenly, falling full upon him. Then they widened and she sat up, and to his chagrin he thought that she was about to scream.

“Is my appearance so distressing, then?” he said harshly.

“Jamie!”

“Yes, my love, returned alive and well,” he said.

“Oh!” She placed her hand over her heart. Her gown spilled farther down, and her breasts rose and fell in tempting agitation. Her hair, tousled by sleep, was a wild glory about her. He fought to remain still at his desk. “Who were you expecting?”

She pointed to him, indicating his clothing. She smiled ruefully and beautifully, and it did seem that her face was alive with welcome. “I—I—your outfit. It frightened me.”

“Oh?” He stared down blankly at the buckskins. “Forgive me, love. Were you about to scream for Robert?”

The welcoming smile quickly faded from her features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He wished that he hadn’t spoken, but he couldn’t take the words back now. He leaned deep into his chair, watching her through a bare slit in his eyes. “I have
heard, madame, that your distress in the night is eased by Robert Maxwell.”

She stiffened and did not reply. She sat there like a queen, entirely regal and disdainful in her silence. His throat grew dry, and again he longed to take back his words, but they had already been spoken and could not be taken back. More than ever, he ached to touch her, to slide his trembling fingers over the naked expanse of her shoulder so displayed to him. He wanted to move but could not. At last she did so. With her head proudly carried and her hair tumbling about her, she slipped her legs over the side of the bed, discreetly adjusting her gown to stand. But when she stood, he saw the startling change in her, and a hoarse sound of surprise escaped him. She whirled to him in alarm.

His boots landed on the floor and he was upon his feet. She was back toward the wall, her eyes wide with sudden alarm, her hands splayed protectively over the swell in her abdomen.

“Come here!” he whispered. She ignored him, and he swore vehemently. “Do you think that I would harm you, madame?” Impatiently he strode to her, and she backed away again.

“You
have
threatened grave harm!” she reminded him.

“Only under damning circumstances, madame, and you’ve done nothing damning, have you?” His strides brought him to her. She choked back a gasp and seemed to brace herself, but he offered her no force or violence. He came down upon one knee before her and cast his hands upon the swell of her belly. Fascinated, he felt the hardness of the child growing within her. He swept his palms slowly over the swell again and again. He reached higher and encompassed her breasts with tenderness, then he rose, pulling the gown up and over her head.

“No!” she protested in distress.

“I have ached for the sight of you,” he said.

She tried to elude his arms. “I am large and awkward of a sudden, and not much to see,” she murmured.

He could not see her eyes or her face, for she had lowered her lashes and her head against him, and since
she could not escape his hold, she had pressed against him. He caught her chin, and when he lifted it, there was the slightest glaze of tears touching the exquisite sapphire of her eyes. He felt suddenly as if they had never parted. Tension filled him, and he wondered what was truth about her, and what was pretense and lies.

“Give me the gown!” she implored him.

“No.”

“Please. I am so … fat!”

He had expected anger or denial, and not this. A smile touched his lips, and he whispered, “To me, madame, you are more exquisitely beautiful than ever.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face to his. He kissed her deeply, the fire in his loins exploding again with the searing hot contact of their lips. He lay hold upon the ache that plagued him, for he had determined that he would be gentle now, and so he would. He knelt before her and explored again the hard curve of her belly where his child found life. Her fingers curled into his hair. Distressed, she tugged upon him, but he ignored that pain and pressed his cheek against her flesh.

“Jamie …” she said, tugging upon him. But then she ceased the effort, and her knees began to tremble, and when he looked up at her, she had her head cast back, her lips were slightly parted, and her breath came in ragged pants. He rose and swept her into his arms and then onto the bed. He tugged off his boots and hose and buckskin breeches and jerked his leather doublet over his head. He shook with the fever to have her, but even as hunger swamped him he took a tender care with her, greater than any he had exercised before. And still, when it was over, he knew a satisfaction like nothing he had ever known before. She reached for the sheet, and he stopped her, lethargically propping himself up on an elbow and running his fingers with idle abandon over her belly. He paused, his heart slamming against his chest, for he felt a sudden movement. He looked to her. She was flushed with embarrassment, and he laughed with sudden joy. “The babe?”

She nodded.

Holding his weight upon his knees, he straggled over her. He cupped her abdomen again with his hands and smiled as he felt the sudden power of a kick against his hand. “He is strong.”

“
She
is not so fond of you this morning either.”

“Alas, did you not miss me?” he said tauntingly.

Her lashes fell quickly over her eyss. “Milord, I had Robert Maxwell, don’t you recall?”

His jaw tightened, and the movement of his hands ceased. “This is a wound into which you rub salt, my love. Take care.”

Her lashes flew open, and her eyes met his again. She was so achingly beautiful that he wanted to shake her. He wanted her to swear that she was loyal, that she had been a fool … that she loved him.

She did not do so, but she swallowed and answered softly with an admirable dignity. “I have done nothing but suffer your slings and arrows, milord, for what is a friendship with the man who is my sister’s husband—and your dear companion, or so the past has claimed. If you would taunt me, milord, than you must expect my ridicule on the subject.”

He lowered his face, taut with emotion, until it hovered over hers.
“Did
you miss me, madame?”

She hesitated a long time, then her dignity was lost in an angry cry, and she tried to wrest him from her person. “Aye! My Lord Cameron, I have missed you. I have felt the snow of winter and the chill of frost coming upon us, and I have ached for the searing fire that you can bring against the cold.”

His breath caught; he had not expected such an admission from her. Slowly, slowly, he lowered himself beside her, his eyes locked upon hers. She swallowed again, nervously lowering her lashes. “Have
you
missed
me
, milord?”

“More than I have ever yearned for water to drink, or air to breathe. With every fiber and drop of blood within me, milady, I ached to hold you in my arms again.”

A smile touched her lips. He pulled her close, and he
pulled the covers over them both. It was good to be home.

In seconds he was sleeping.

When he awoke that afternoon, Molly was in the room straightening up, and his wife was nowhere to be seen. He frowned to Molly, who was painfully cheerful. He had a splitting headache from the rum he had drunk with the dawn.