Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy (36 page)

He ignored her and gazed at a spot over her shoulder.

"What possessed you to travel so far?" he snapped.

"You left me at John's."

"Of course I did."

"It was weeks ago."

"Yes, it was."

"You never came back for me."

"Why would I have?"

"You know, Ian, that is the oddest question." "Why?"

"You saw no reason to return, while I was in London, impatiently waiting for you to arrive. Don't you find it a tad strange that we have such divergent views on the same point?"

He shifted nervously. He couldn't bear to discuss the jeopardy into which their affair had thrust her. Nor could he bear to remember the frenzied trip to England, through snow and icy rain, to stop her wedding. He and John walked in with only seconds to spare, and if they'd been delayed by even a few minutes, she'd have been Shelton's bride, and her mother's bizarre scheme would have been realized.

Every time he thought of the near result his negligence had caused, he felt ill. He'd always cared too much about her, and the notion that his folly had driven her to such a hideous situation was shameful and mortifying.

"I hastened to England as John requested," he said. "I interrupted the wedding as was proper and fitting. What more was it you wanted from me?"

"Are you really that thick?"

"I guess I am."

She stood, her nude body on full display, and she advanced until they were toe-to-toe. She snuggled herself to him so that her torso was pressed to his all the way down.

It took every ounce of strength he had not to hug her back. She felt so beloved and so familiar, and idiot that he was, he still physically desired her with every fiber of his being. Previously, he'd have done anything for her, but that moment had passed when he'd dawdled in the Earl's library and she had disavowed him to her parents.

Though he was over it now, when it was occurring he'd been crushed. He'd endured a life of insults because of his lineage, and he'd assumed he could handle any rejection, but hers had been more than he could abide.

He'd been happy to assist her in evading her mother, had been happy to see her safely under John's protection, but what more did she expect? They were never meant to be together. Their fates were never in accord.

She kissed him on the mouth, but he declined to participate. He was immobile as a statue.

"Kiss me back, Ian."

"No."

"I can sense how much you want to." "I don't."

His phallus was hard as stone, and she stroked across the placard of his trousers. The feel of her hand, positioned precisely where he craved it to be, was like a jolt of lightning.

He whipped away from her, his eyes shut, his breathing labored, as he tried to calm himself and determine how best to deal with her.

"What is it, Ian? What's wrong."

"You can't stay here."

"But I journeyed all this way. Don't pretend that you're not glad to see me."

"Why wouldn't I be glad
?"
he lied. "We're old friends. I'm always charmed by your company. I'm merely thinking that perhaps I'll... I'll... proceed to a hotel or rent bachelor's quarters till we can get you home."

"Home?"

"Yes."

She chuckled, but in a forlorn fashion. "I have no home, so I have nowhere to go. Your carnal antics saw to that. You ruined me, and I demand that you give me shelter."

"For how long?"

"Forever. How long would you suppose?"

Forever? Was she insane? This was stuffy, conservative Edinburgh, not some squalid London neighborhood where sordid characters abounded and any low behavior was allowed. He couldn't house an unwed female. He'd be tarred and feathered and run out of town by an angry mob.

He spun to face her, ready to talk logically, but he'd forgotten she was naked, and he couldn't remember what it was he was going to say. It had been something about sending her away, about shielding her from ridicule and scorn, but she was unbuttoning his trousers, and he was too confounded to stop her. Shortly, her fingers had slipped under the waistband of Ins pants, and she was caressing him in every way he enjoyed.

She dropped to her knees and pushed the fabric aside, and he was paralyzed with indecision, unable to desist or progress. She pulled his cock free, and she licked him over and over, then sucked him into her mouth. He stared down at her, prostrate before him and pleasuring him as the most experienced harlot might have.

The sight was decadent and mind-boggling. He loved her; he hated her, and he rippled with every emotion between the two extremes.

His temper flared. Why had she come to Scotland? Why was she bent on tormenting him? Didn't she understand that her very presence was torture?

He fisted his hand in her hair, guiding her to take him deeper, and he considered spilling himself in her throat. If she wanted to act like a whore, why not let her? It would be so easy to use her badly.

As fast as the despicable notion spiraled through his head, he tamped it down and drew away. She frowned at him, hurt, confused, and so incredibly lovely.

"What's the matter?" she inquired.

"I don't want this from you."

"Liar."

"Go back to bed, Caro." He straightened his clothes and adjusted his rampaging male anatomy. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

"We'll figure it out now." She glared at him, suddenly ablaze with her own burst of temper.

He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, covering her as he sighed with dismay. He refused to fight with her. He simply wanted her to leave, but apparently, she wouldn't be satisfied till they'd hashed out every contemptible detail of whatever absurd idea had spurred her to race north.

"Fine. Tell me whatever it is that's brought you here. Blame me for the whole bloody mess, then give me some peace."

"Give you some peace?"

"Yes."

"Have you the slightest clue as to what the past few months have been like for me?"

"I realize that they've been horrid." He sounded condescending and smug.

"Horrid doesn't begin to describe it! My mother is a deranged murderess who tried to force me into an incestuous marriage. My philandering, aloof father who I've known all my life isn't my father, at all. I have no parents. My family is destroyed." She punctuated each syllable with a jab of her finger at the middle of his chest. "I'm dying from the desolation for all that is lost me, and I've reached out to you for solace and friendship."

"I can't fathom why you would," he cruelly said.

"You are the only person who ever cared about me," she replied in a shout. "You are the only one who was ever genuinely kind to me, yet I come here, brokenhearted and needing you, and you can't so much as pretend to be glad that I've arrived."

"That's because I'm not glad."

"And why is that?"

"What do you want me to say, Caro?"

"I want you to declare that you love me. I want you to ask me to marry you so I can always be with you."

It would be so easy to spew a proposal, for she was correct: He loved her and always had. But so what? His heightened sentiment had no relevance to their situation. Throughout all the years of their acquaintance, she'd been very clear that ancestry was the most important factor. She'd endured a dreadful month or two, but a brief tribulation could never alter who she was deep down.

She'd had a crisis in her relationship with her parents, but it would pass. The Fosters would regroup and continue on as they had been. It was British tradition, the stiff upper lip for which they were all so renowned.

"I love you," he admitted, hurling the words like an accusation.

"Yes, you do," she agreed, not appearing any happier about the pronouncement than he was, himself. "But you're forgetting something." "What is that?"

"You're the child of an earl, and I am not," he tersely reminded her. "You are the prized daughter of one of England's premier families, while I am merely the illegitimate bastard of a dead Scottish commoner. Since the day we met, it's all I've ever heard from you. Don't prance about now as if it doesn't matter. I know you better than that."

Stunned by his remarks, she paused, then went over and flopped down on the bed, burrowing under the quilts. She studied the ceiling, fuming, ruminating, but not looking at him.

He wanted to rush over, to take her in his arms and offer comfort, but he didn't dare. He desired her so much, and the least bit of physical contact would make him behave like a moron, so they tarried, unable to move or speak, a void as wide as an ocean separating them.

"Ian Clayton," she finally grumbled, "you are an idiot."

"I won't argue the point."

"You said I'm forgetting something, but aren't you forgetting something, too?" "What?"

"I'm not an earl's daughter. I'm not anyone, at all." "You're Lady Caroline Foster, only daughter of the Earl of Derby. You'll never be anyone else." "Weren't you listening at the church?" "Well... yes."

"My father is not the Earl of Derby."

"It was a small group at the wedding. There was no one present who would repeat the truth."

She scoffed. "Someone told, and the gossip has spread. It's all over London."

"I didn't know. How awful for you."

"All these years, I've strutted around with my nose up in the air, certain I was better than you, being so horrid to you because of it. But the joke was on me. It was all a lie."

What a dolt he was! In the weeks he'd been sequestered in Scotland, he'd rarely thought of her. He hadn't wanted to feel sorry for her, so he hadn't let himself recognize that the pedestal upon which she'd been balanced had been shattered into a thousand pieces.

What did the change portend? Where did it leave them?

A spark of hope flared in his chest. She turned toward him, her blue eyes poignant. "Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?" "I already have."

"Thank you. It is more than I deserve."

He was inching to the bed, his feet carrying him directly where he should not go. He kept on until his thighs were pressed against the edge of the mattress, and he gazed down at her, so filled with affection that he worried he might burst.

She reached out her hand, and it hovered there, a lifeline, a tether, to the only thing he'd ever truly wanted. Dare he grab it? Dare he hold on?

He reached out, too, and he linked their fingers, the gent
l
e touch connecting them, locking them together, sealing their fate.

"I have nowhere to go," she murmured. "Please don't send me away."

"I won't. I can't."

"I want to marry you," she proclaimed again. "I want to be your wife and have your children. Won't you let me?"

Two visions flashed—of the lonely, detached man he'd always been, and of the complete and contented man he could be with her by his side. He sank down next to her.

She was offering him a family to cherish, a home where he would always belong. He would be part of the whole, one of many. He'd have children to care for and a wife to love. In the past, he'd maintained that he didn't want any of it, that he didn't need any of it, but he'd been fooling himself.

He bent down and kissed her.

"I love you," he said, meaning it.

"I love you, too."

"I don't know how to be a husband."

"Nor do I know how to be a wife, but I suspect we'll figure it out."

"I suspect we will, too. Will you have me, Caro? I'm not much of a catch—"

"You're right about that!"

"—but I will protect you and watch over you, and I swear that I will love you till my dying day and beyond."

"Yes, I'll have you, Ian. Till my dying day and beyond."

The vow reverberated around the room, joining them more fully than any wedding ceremony ever could. "So it's settled?" she asked. "Yes, it's set
tl
ed."

She blew out a heavy breath. "For a minute there, I was nervous."

"I can't deny it: I'm the thickheaded oaf you always accuse me of being."

"Yes, you are, but I'll make it my lifelong goal to save you from yourself."

"I can't wait."

How lucky he was! He smiled, and she smiled, too, and she tugged on his hand, drawing him closer.

"Now that the formalities are over," she said, "I was wondering...."

"About what?"

"It's frightfully cold in here."

"Yes, it is."

"I would pay a fortune to anyone who agreed to climb under the covers and help to warm me." "I know just the man you need." He chuckled and started unbuttoning his shirt.