Anne Stuart (17 page)

Suddenly she felt cold, lonely, she who usually reveled in her solitude. She’d felt miserably out of place in the drawing room. To be sure, she’d manage to disguise it well enough so that not even her sister realized her discomfort. She’d smiled sweetly and made all the requisite replies to the incessantly inane conversations that abounded. She would spend her life making just such idle chatter. And she would always feel a stranger.

She didn’t belong in the servants’ hall either. If she went there, seeking companionship and warmth, the cheerful mood would vanish, and they would stare at her, silent and uneasy, unwelcoming.

But she knew who was back there among those friendly faces. Robert Brennan, Yorkshireman and thief-taker. Someone as foreign to a lady of her position as a Chinese. It didn’t matter. She wanted him to smile at her, she wanted his warmth, when her future was doomed to cold politeness. She wanted his strength, his simplicity, his...

“
You shouldn’t be out here alone, lass.”

She turned in shock, for a moment convinced she’d conjured him up out of her own longing. He towered over her, and the wind whipped his light, shaggy hair against his high forehead. His jacket was buttoned up tight against the chill night air, and the shadows obscured his expression, but she wasn’t afraid.

“
It’s the countryside, Mr. Brennan,” she said, taking another deep, appreciative breath. “Not London. There are no evil creatures ready to leap out of the shadows and do evil.”

“
That’s where you’re wrong, miss,” he said sternly. “There’s evil everywhere, country and city alike. Evil comes from people, not places.”

She glanced around her. “Surely there’s no evil out on such a beautiful night?”

Brennan glanced back at the house, but it was too dark to read his expression. “Evil’s where you least expect it at times, miss. Come back to the house. You shouldn’t be out here, and you shouldn’t be alone with the likes of me.”

“
You’re not going to tell me you’re evil, are you, Mr. Brennan?” she asked in a breathless voice, half shocked at herself. She was almost flirting, and Robert Brennan didn’t seem the type to take flirtation lightly. “If you do, I won’t believe you.”

“
No, miss,” he said slowly. “I’m not evil. But that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you without wanting to. Without meaning to.”

“
How could you hurt me?” Her question was pitched low, and she could almost feel the longing that spread between them like a fierce, strong length of silk. She didn’t know how she recognized it—she’d never felt longing before. But she did, for this man. And she had the melancholy suspicion that it wasn’t a changeable thing with her, or the slightest bit fleeting.

He didn’t answer her question. “Back to the house with you, miss. My job is to keep the guests safe, and you’re not allowing me to see to it. I’d take it as a favor if you were to return to your room. Now.”

There was a faint note of strain in his usually cool voice, and Fleur felt suddenly ashamed. She was such a child, imagining things, feelings, where none existed. He was simply doing his job, and she was making it more difficult for him.

“
Of course,” she said, taking an obedient step back toward the house, only to tread directly on a solid cabbage, twisting her ankle, sending her tumbling toward the ground...

Directly into his arms. He’d moved so quickly, she wouldn’t have imagined it possible, and she’d already put out her arms to catch her fall. Instead, she caught him, he caught her, pulling
her into his arms against the dark worsted of his jacket.

He was hard, solid as a rock beneath the material, and his arms were impossibly strong as they held her. He was warm as well, heat beneath her chilled hands. For a moment neither of them moved—he simply held her body against him, her breasts pressed against the bright buttons of his coat, her hips against his, and she stared into his eyes breathlessly, waiting, she wasn’t sure for what.

She’d never been held by a man, never wanted to be. She wanted this. She wanted him to put his firm, wide mouth against hers and kiss her. Kiss her to distraction.

“
Lass,” he whispered in despair, still holding her. “You’ll be the ruin of me.” And before his words had a chance to sink in, his mouth covered hers, his head blotting out the light.

His mouth was wet, hard, open over hers, pushing her lips apart as he used his tongue. He tasted of dark beer and white-hot longing, and Fleur was too shocked to do more than stand there, pressed tight against his body, as he used his mouth on hers.

In the first moment she wasn’t sure if she liked it. This was no shy gentleman courting her. This was a man, a real man, kissing her as if she belonged to him. Within the second moment she banished her doubts and slid her arms around his waist, her hands tight on the thick wool of his jacket, holding on for fear she might tumble into the cabbages if he kept kissing her like that.

Her knees were weak, her heart was pounding, her... her breasts were tight and hot, and she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care. She wanted to die then and there from the sheer raw pleasure of his mouth on hers, his tongue touching hers. She heard a noise, a faint, hungry noise, and knew with a shock that it came from her.

He moved his mouth from hers, dragging in a deep breath of air, and she felt the scrape of his new beard against the
softness of her cheek as he moved his lips against her jaw, down the side of her throat. She was trembling, her hands clinging so tightly to his coat, odd, silly tears of need filling her eyes as she swayed toward him, needing more, needing his strength, needing his power, needing his mouth and heaven only knew what else...

And just as suddenly as he’d kissed her, he released her. She didn’t fall back among the cabbages, though it was only by the grace of God her legs continued to hold her upright. He’d moved away from her, out of reach, and she could see the way his chest rose and fell in the frosty night as he struggled to control himself.

“
Get back to the house, Miss Maitland,” he said in a harsh voice.

“
But...”

“
You’ve no business interfering with the help. If you’re looking for a quick tumble, I’m certain you’ll find one with the gentry. You’re a tasty morsel, and I don’t deny I’m tempted, but it would be worth my job if anyone were to find I’d bedded one of the guests.”

Fleur could feel the color rush into her face. She didn’t move, absorbing the words like the cruel blows that they were, staring at the stranger. “Go back to the house, miss,” he said again, cool and harsh. “If you’re wanting some rough sport, why don’t you ask her ladyship who she could suggest? I’m afraid I won’t be available.”

She didn’t say a word. She could feel the icy wind ripping at her hair, stinging her eyes, burning them. Reddening her cheeks. It was the weather, not shame and despair.

“
I’m sorry I disturbed you, Mr. Brennan,” she said in a quiet, dignified voice. And then the effect was ruined by a choked sob, and she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could, away from him.

He watched her go down the rows of cabbages, veering away from the kitchens and heading toward the main section of the house, where she belonged. Brennan stood still in the moonlight, staring after her. He could still taste her sweetness on his mouth. He could hear the soft sound of longing she’d made in the back of her throat, he could still feel the warm pillow of her breasts as they pressed against his chest, her nipples hard from the cold. A moment later and he would have had his hand down her bodice, or up under her skirts, and there would have been no stopping him. For some mad, wild reason she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and she wouldn’t have stopped him, despite the cold, despite the place and time. He would have taken her maidenhead in a bed of cabbage, and neither of them would have noticed.

“
She’s a randy bitch, isn’t she?” Clegg strolled into sight, puffing on one of their host’s cigarillos. “Why didn’t you take her? She was begging for it.”

Brennan stared at his enemy out of hooded eyes. “I like a challenge.”

“
Hell, we could have shared her. She wouldn’t have said anything even if she didn’t like it. Sometimes I think you’re too picky, m’lad.”

“
I keep my distance from the quality,” Brennan said, controlling his fury with well-practiced effort. “They’re not worth the trouble they bring.”

“
The virgins aren’t,” Clegg agreed thoughtfully. “Stiff as a board usually, and then they cry until you give them something to cry for. Ah, but the high-class whores—they’re something else.”

“
Out of my league,” Brennan murmured.

“
Well, if you’re not interested in the little slut, mebbe I’ll try my luck. If she’s got a taste for the rough and ready, I’ll be
more than happy to oblige her. Always fancied her when I saw her around Spitalfields.”

Brennan’s hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t so much as blink. Clegg was wanting a reaction from him, and anything he said would only make things worse. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “You might think of waiting till she’s back in London. No one gives a damn what happens to a girl in Spitalfields. Around here there are all sorts of gentlemen who might feel called upon to look out for her.” He said it casually, in an offhand manner. He never made the mistake of underestimating Clegg’s intelligence.

Clegg grinned at him, that friendly man-to-man smile that always made Brennan’s skin crawl. “Sure and you’ve got a point there, me lad. You certain you’re not interested in crawling between her legs yourself?”

I
won’t kill him,
Brennan swore to himself.
Not yet.

“
I told you, she’s too much of a lady. Kisses like a cold fish. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

“
So you keep telling me,” Clegg said. “I just wonder why I’m having such a difficult time believing you.”

“
Probably because you wouldn’t believe your own mother if she told you the gospel truth,” Brennan drawled lazily. “You believe what you want to, Josiah. I’m going back to my pint.”

“
And what was it that brought you out here on such a cold night? You sure you didn’t set up a meeting with the girl during your drive to Kent?”

“
With that dragon of a sister watching? Don’t be daft, man. I looked outside and saw someone skulking about among the cabbages. We’re here to find the Cat, remember. I figured I’d better check on it. What brought you out here?”

“
Why, you, Robert. I’m not about to let you or Samuel get the drop on me. That moiety’s mine, and I don’t intend to share.”

“
Speaking of which, where is Welch?”

“
Passed out. He won’t be getting in my way. What about you, Robert? Will you be getting in my way?”

“
I’ll do my best, Josiah.” And neither of them had any doubts as to Brennan’s meaning.

Jessamine awoke with a start. She had no idea how long she’d dozed, and she cursed herself as she scrambled to her feet. The house was silent, and she could only presume that the other guests had eventually found their beds. All but Fleur.

The noises were faint as she made her way down the dimly lit hall. A muffled laugh from behind one door, a snore from another. And from still another, an odd, rhythmic creaking accompanied by a strange, gasping sound, as if someone were quite ill. For a moment she paused, concerned, wondering if she should ascertain whether someone was in trouble.

But her sister came first. If someone in that bedroom were having a fit, it would doubtless pass sooner or later. They could always ring for a servant. Besides, Jessamine realized belatedly, it was Ermintrude’s bedroom. If she were to intrude, she would scarce be thanked for it.

Most of the candles were doused, but enough were left burning that Jessamine could find her way down the winding stairs. She wasn’t quite certain where she was going—she had no idea where Fleur could have run off to.

She would check the obvious places first. The library. The music room, though Fleur’s talents lay more in appreciating music than in creating it. If all else failed, she would make her way to the kitchen, where if she didn’t find her sister, she still might very well find Robert Brennan, the one person who could help her.

That is, if he hadn’t arranged an assignation with Fleur.

No, he wouldn’t do such a thing, and neither would Fleur.

She trusted her sister, and she trusted her judgment. Robert Brennan was a good man, not the sort to debauch innocent young ladies.

The library was empty, the candles guttered. The music room was harder to find, and she almost discarded the notion. She came across it almost by accident—it was tucked into a corner near the stairs, as if no one in the house had much interest in the arts. The glass doors at the far end looked out over a broad expanse of lawn, and Jessamine crossed the moonlit room, drawn by the cool silver light.

The door closed behind her with a quiet, definite thunk that echoed icily in Jessamine’s heart. She could feel him move toward her silently, and she forced herself to stay still, to wait until the last minute to break for it. She wouldn’t let Clegg put his hands on her again, she wouldn’t...

“
Found your sister?” Alistair murmured in a soft voice.

Twelve

For a moment Jessamine thought she might have preferred Clegg. After all, she had already encountered him once that night, and managed her escape. But the Earl of Glenshiel was a different matter entirely.