Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (52 page)

Henrietta stared at him, her mind in a complete turmoil. ‘Release my wrist,' she begged, feeling the little strength she had draining out of her. ‘You're hurting me.'

‘Be still then,' he commanded.

Towering over her, his lean, hard face bore no hint of humour. Something had shattered inside him, splintering his emotions from all rational control. Slowly she quieted and Simon loosened his hold, but his eyes were relentless. This boy—girl—deserved to be taught a lesson. Frustrated that he'd been duped by a mere lass, the rage enveloping him knew no bounds.

‘That's better. Now, I think we should talk. What the hell do you think you're playing at? What do you have to say to this deception?'

Biting despair seized Henrietta and she slumped against the pillows. ‘I—I can explain,' she said, trying to draw her sodden shirt together, but failing to do so. ‘But I'm really a fairly honest person. It—it's just that—there are times when it becomes expedient to hold back the truth.'

‘What you're trying to say is that you're a liar when it meets your mood.'

‘That's not what I'm saying at all,' she murmured dismally and heaved a sigh. She was thoroughly exhausted and her head was hurting where the falling branch had glanced off her flesh. She couldn't even manage a discomfited blush as Simon considered her taut breasts outlined beneath her shirt.

‘Then kindly explain what you mean, Miss Whoever-you-are,' he urged, eyeing her coldly. ‘I am all ears. I thought you trusted me. Why did you not tell me you were in disguise?'

‘My name is Henrietta. I knew you would have no tolerance for a girl in boy's clothing. It would simply amuse you to discover this and to set it against me.'

His anger beginning to abate, Simon, much against his will, felt his heart warm to the words of the plaintive girl. She was right. Had he known the truth of the matter, he would not have tolerated the situation and ordered her to return home. He stared at her, suddenly on his guard. ‘How old are you?'

‘Eighteen.'

He heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I feared you were much younger. Well, young lady, I don't know who you are, but you're no common sort. I'm not so much of an idiot to know a respectable young woman doesn't set foot outside her home without the protection of servants.' Henrietta glanced away awkwardly. ‘I can only conclude that either you are not respectable—which I doubt—your manner is too fine, your speech refined—or you have fallen on hard times. I do not know the particulars that made you leave home and adopt such a mode of attire. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me
exactly
what you were doing on the heath that night?'

‘For your information, I was turned out of my home. My guardians were dead and I had nowhere else to go. I've already told you that my only living relative that I know of is my paternal uncle, who lives near Inverness.' Granted, she was thoroughly exhausted and greatly in need of sleep, all of which hindered her ability to think straight, but even if she had been fully alert, she preferred not to tell him what had driven her from her home.

Wanting to know who it was that had forced her to flee her home and masquerade as a lad, yet sensing her reluctance to explain, Simon made every effort to smother the gallantry that seemed eager to escape when he considered her thoroughly exhausted condition. She was vulnerable, traumatised. He knew from experience that what she needed right now was someone she could trust, not someone who was bent on interrogating her. The thought that this naive young woman might have been alone on the journey to Scotland filled him with genuine alarm. She'd had no idea what she was getting into.

Shedding his wet cloak, he slung it over the back of a chair, from where Annie, tutting disapproval, retrieved it. By the time he faced Henrietta again without responding to her plight, she had risen from the bed and was swaying on her feet in a dazed stupor. He cursed softly under his breath, knowing the battle lost. At the moment she seemed ready to collapse in a crumpled heap.

Going to her, he shoved her back on to the bed and was immediately struck by how slender and delicate she seemed. Her features were drawn and, beneath her eyes, there were dark lavender shadows that made her cheeks appear sunken. In all, she was a rather pathetic sight, too pitiful for him to hold on to his anger.

‘Now you know I am no youth, I beg you not to cast me out. I cannot go back.' Her voice was low, but Simon could hear it tremble with fear.

He knew she feared he would turn her out. Her hands were clasped in her lap and he could see her slight form shaking. How could he turn his back on her?

‘Fear not,' he said at last and her head jerked as though he had somehow branded her.

‘Fear?' She laughed now, an uneasy sound. ‘You do not know fear, sir.'

‘There you are wrong, lad...Miss Whoever-you-are. I know fear. I have ridden with it day after day and its shadow has leaned over my shoulder for too long. No. I do know fear. And I know that you fear.' He paused. ‘I know not the reason why you do, but you have no reason to fear me.'

She met his gaze direct and Simon thought he saw a softening in her eyes.

‘Thank you. Now please, Simon, I just want to go to sleep,' she pleaded.

‘You'll feel better after a bath and something to eat. Hurry it up, will you, Annie—and a hot toddy would not go amiss.' Taking her chin, he looked closely at the slight wound on the side of her forehead, rubbing at the caked blood with his thumb. ‘Nothing to worry about there. It's only a scratch and will soon heal, but you'll be left with a bruise. I have to get out of my sodden clothes and then I'll be back. Until then, don't move. Do you understand?'

Her smooth forehead creased slightly as if he had asked a difficult task of her. She nodded, taking the quilt and drawing it round her shaking shoulders.

* * *

Simon's pledge was confirmed by his swift return to the room. When he entered with a mug of brandy laced with lemon and hot water, a wave of perfumed air hit him in the face. A roaring fire had been built up in the hearth and she was already ensconced in the bath behind a screen, having managed to remove her clothes with the help of Annie and climb in without falling over. Stepping round the obstruction that hid her view from prying eyes, he stopped short, unable to believe the sight of the naked young woman that met his eyes.

Her eyes were closed and at first he was sorely tempted to wake her, but it would have deprived him of the pleasure of watching her from his vantage point by the screen. He was transfixed—not merely by the sight of so much loveliness, but the lack of inhibition that was only possible in one who was bathing unobserved—and watching her thrilled and moved him to the core of his being. Until that moment he had never thought so much pleasure could be derived in simply watching a woman who was oblivious to being watched. Such a sensation was so rare. It was like an electric current passing through him. The mere sight of her, with the soapy water lapping those small twin orbs of femininity with infuriating, tantalising familiarity, was, for Simon, such a pleasurable experience that it made him ache.

Earlier, with a deep sigh of appreciation Henrietta had lowered herself into the bath and relaxed into the absolute luxury of the hot water enveloping her body before scrubbing her flesh hard with the scented soap and working it into the snarled thatch on her head. She felt as though she was washing away the hardships of the journey. Washed clean, she slid beneath the foam and rested her head against the high end of the bath. The tub was long enough to let her straighten her legs. Exhausted, she lay still and watched the snapping, crackling fire until her eyelids fluttered closed and her resistance gave way to sleep.

The sound of the door opening and closing caught her attention, but thinking it was Annie returning to assist her out of the bath, she sighed, too tired to respond. She was jolted awake by the intruding suspicion that she was being watched and a mild panic grew when she failed to recognise her surroundings. Candles bathed the area around her in a soft, golden light and she felt the warmth of the fire on her face.

Everything came back to her in a rush. With a gasp her head whipped round and like a flame the powerful awareness of Simon's physical presence scorched through her. His unheralded appearance startled her to a sitting position and Simon watched the soapy water sluicing off her satiny skin. The heat of his appreciative gaze ranged with deliberate slowness over her hair and face and down to her slender shoulders, pausing at length on the exposed swell of her breasts, leaving the frothy water to provide modest cover for the rest of her.

He was far too close for Henrietta's peace of mind, for in relaxed mode he stood with his shoulder braced against the screen, his arms folded across his broad chest, looking for all the world as if he had been watching her for some time. Having changed out of his wet clothes, he looked dapper in a dark green coat and grey breeches and waistcoat. He was close and Henrietta had no difficulty discerning his face's every detail. The soft, lazy smile it bore stirred feelings that, while thrilling, were also most disturbing. The shivery warmth that ran through her completely disrupted her composure.

Henrietta stared at him as if stunned, distressed that he should be a witness to her undignified position. As if through a haze it came to her that she should be angry at his intrusion, but before that urging took some direction, he casually relinquished his stance and, undeterred by her discomfiture, sauntered to the foot of the bath. Watching him, uncertain and silent, it was this action that caused panic and fear to course through Henrietta. Suddenly she felt intimidated and vulnerable. Her eyes opened wide in alarm. Had it been anyone else she would have screamed, but this was Simon and she knew she was not about to be cruelly ravished.

His gaze never wavered from her, but when it dipped downwards, she saw the light that flared in his eyes, making her conscious of her lack of modesty. Immediately the alarm she had felt vanished and she slid further beneath the suds and glowered up at him.

‘How long have you been standing there watching me?' she demanded.

A slow smile touched his lips. ‘Long enough to come to the conclusion that you were worth bringing all this way.'

‘You should have made your presence known to me.'

‘What! And deprive myself of the pleasure of watching you?' he murmured softly.

The warmth of his tone brought the heat creeping into her cheeks. Disturbed by his perusal and quite put out that he had been silently watching her and had made no effort to alert her to his presence, as if instructing an errant student slow to learn, she pronounced her words carefully. ‘Simon, I would appreciate it immensely if you would leave me to wash away the grime of the journey. I feel as though I've been dragged through a swamp. Going without a bath on the journey was extremely tortuous for me, to say the least. I appreciate being clean more than I ever gave heed to before, which is why I shall enjoy a lengthy soak.'

‘You were asleep. You looked so content, how could I disturb such a blissful state?'

Henrietta was in no mood for games. ‘Well, you did. It is highly improper for you to intrude on my privacy. Do you make a habit of entering a lady's bathing chamber?' she asked in shocked tones, although she was so exhausted she didn't really care what he did. She stared at him, unconscious of the vision she presented as her short hair was beginning to dry and curl in soft, feathery wisps.

‘That depends on the lady.' As he remembered the discomfort she had experienced on the journey, his expression became one of concern. ‘I imagine the warm water comes as a welcome relief after the hard ride. Let me remind you again of the salve I mentioned.' The barest hint of a grin defied that predominantly sombre visage. ‘I'd be happy to apply it to your...sore bits myself if you wish. It will soothe the redness.'

‘I think your housekeeper is already frowning on my being here with you alone, it not being proper, you understand, so I doubt you offering to apply salve to my...sore bits, would go down at all well.'

‘And why not?' Simon questioned curtly. When he had no other purpose in mind but to help her, he could find little sympathy for her views on propriety. ‘You need somewhere to stay and be looked after. Being here with a houseful of servants isn't going to jeopardise your virtue and I'm not about to throw your skirts up and have my way with you. Believe me, Henrietta, you'll know it if I ever set my mind to compromising your modesty, because I won't start with your sore bits.' His eyes drifted to her bosom, as if pointedly denoting the place he'd begin and then just as quickly rose to meet her astonished stare.

Henrietta's jaw dropped open and then she closed it quickly. It certainly didn't help her composure to feel scalding heat creeping into her cheeks. Self-consciously she crossed her arms over her breasts. ‘I assure you, Simon, that concern for my virtue was the furthest thing from my mind—and I'll keep my
sore bits
to myself, if you don't mind.'

A brief twitch served as a substitute for a smile. ‘If you decide otherwise, Henrietta, I'll be happy to accommodate you—without compromising your virtue.'

‘No, thank you. Now go away. I am sure you have seen enough to appease your ardour.'

Simon's teeth flashed like a pirate's in his swarthy face. Settling his hands on his hips, he slowly advanced towards her, the torment of wanting to see more of her almost unbearable. ‘Indeed, you are extremely fair to look upon. My eyes have not seen nearly enough and ache to see more.'

Something in his expression made Henrietta shrink back. She was conscious of his height and how his mere presence seemed to fill the confined space. Because he was fully dressed, she was extremely conscious of her own nakedness and was also conscious and alarmed that she was stirred by his masculinity. But she refused to surrender to the call of her blood and crushed these treacherous feelings that threatened to weaken her. Glaring at him, her eyes were vibrant and burning with ire and indignation.