Highland Awakening (12 page)

“Look at me, lass,” he told her. He wanted to see those bonny brown eyes on him as he moved inside her.

Her eyes fluttered open, at first unfocused, then finding his.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered.

“A bit. Less now.”

Their gazes locked, he pulled out slowly, feeling the squeeze of her from his base to his tip. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced.

Why?
A voice inside him asked. He'd been with many women. Why was this different? Why was this
more
?

As soon as those thoughts came, they disappeared, pushed away by the intense pleasure coursing through his body. Everything disappeared but Esme. Cam didn't care where he was—even who he was. All that existed was this bonny woman and the pleasure she was bringing him. The pleasure reflected in her expression. She gasped, arched into him, ran her hands over his skin, encouraged him with whispers. She was loving this as much as he was.

He wanted to do it all day. All night. The rest of his life. What pleasure they could bring each other, if only…

“Cam,” Esme whispered. “Oh…Cam.”

She slid her hands up his neck, circling it for a moment, adding the slightest pressure, then sliding behind his head and digging the tips of her fingers into his hair.

His arse flexed then relaxed each time he sank into her then pulled out, feeling the slide of the pressure all around his cock from top to bottom.

“Kiss me, Cam.” Esme's body trembled beneath him as she pulled him downward. “Please. Kiss me.”

He bent lower and kissed her, drinking deep of her, tangling tongues with her, sinking inside her and becoming one with her in every way he possibly could.

Damn it. He wanted this to go on forever. But it couldn't. He couldn't last. He was going to come, soon. Tension coiled at the base of his spine, and then…it simply detonated. He thrust into her, hard, and froze, pleasure so fierce exploding through him, spots burst in his eyes. His whole body undulated, like a leaf caught in the grip of a fierce gale. He'd never come so hard.

It seemed to go on and on, seed gushing from him in near painful bursts, until all the strength seeped from him at once, and he sagged onto the mattress.

No, not onto the mattress. Onto the woman beneath him. He was probably crushing her. With a final burst of effort, he managed to roll off her to the side and drag her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head as they wrapped their limbs around each other.

He might have fallen asleep. He had a vague awareness of the world falling into darkness, of Esme's chest moving against his body, of how her breaths and his came in a soothing sort of unison.

He thought of happy things. Childhood moments. His mother's gentle voice. Anna's laugh. Tossing a ball with Alastair. Esme's sweet smile. Her lovely body. Her intriguing mix of vulnerability and strength. How good she made him feel. Not only physically good, but gratified, content,
happy.

If only he could feel this way forever.

When Cam came fully awake, it was as dark as pitch in his bedchamber. Esme was curled into him, her breaths slow and steady in sleep. It took several minutes to extricate himself from their tangle of limbs without waking her.

He'd wake her soon, but not yet. He needed a moment alone to think this through.

He slipped out of bed, found his kilt on the floor and felt around until he found the single straight chair. He sat in front of the desk and placed his elbows on its surface, his head in his hands.

What had he been thinking?

He hadn't. He'd been so seduced by her, so overcome by being inside her that he hadn't thought.

He'd come inside her. His whole life, he'd been careful to never come inside a woman, to never risk a pregnancy. He didn't want children, and he definitely had no intention of fathering bastards. His father had two bastards that Cam knew of—the first by a maid and the second by Anna's governess, and Cam's gut had twisted every time he'd seen his mother lay eyes on one of those boys. Those lads' existence had torn his mother to shreds inside.

And now…he'd been stupid. He could have given Esme a child.

Stupid…just like his father was stupid. Crass and thoughtless and uncaring, like his father had been.

Having a child out of wedlock would ruin Esme. He wouldn't be able to protect her from the names that would be slung in her direction.

Unless…
He looked back at the bed, hardly making out the shape of it and the figure of the woman lying upon it.

Unless you marry her.

He closed his eyes.

He couldn't marry her. She deserved far better than him. But could he let her suffer the stigma of having a bastard? Could he allow the child to suffer that stigma?

He turned back to the desk, pushing his fingers into his hair.

Fear welled up and twisted in his gut. He was suddenly more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. More afraid than he'd felt facing the entire French Army on the field at Waterloo.

He'd been so thoughtless, only caring about his own pleasure, not thinking of the repercussions to Esme. He'd ruined her. What had he been thinking when he'd thought Whitworth would make her unhappy? That was pure arrogance. The truth was, Whitworth would probably do a far better job of being a husband to her than he could.

He curled his hands into fists, pulling his hair taut between his fingers.

Bloody hell.

He knew what he had to do. There was no question of it, not now. He wouldn't let Whitworth be the cause of her unhappiness. He wouldn't let the vultures rip her apart.

He'd do it himself. Make her unhappy. Rip her apart. His sister's words resonated through him yet again:
“This sounds like something our da would do—”

Yes, this was exactly what his father would have done.
Had
done, more than once.

God, he hated himself.

The last thing he wanted was to make Esme miserable. He wanted her to be happy, as content as he'd felt when she'd lain in his arms moments ago. But how? He hadn't the faintest idea how to make a woman happy. He'd never known a happy woman.

He stood and lit a lamp and set it upon the bedside table, watching as her eyes flickered, responding to the introduction of the light, then opened in a squint.

Esme blinked, and her eyes widened in panic as she realized she wasn't in her own bed. She surged to a seated position, pulling up the covers to cover her naked breasts and saw Cam standing beside the bed, looking down at her, the lighted lamp on the side table casting a flickering golden light over his body, which was clad in his kilt and nothing else. “What…what time is it?” she asked.

“Still early,” he reassured her. He climbed into bed and drew her back into his arms. “I'll take you home in a while.”

He kissed her head, and she sighed and relaxed in his arms.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She flexed her limbs experimentally. “A bit sore,” she admitted. “But in a good way.”

“Did it hurt very much?”

“Not as much as I expected. And it faded quickly, and then all I felt was…”

“Pleasure?”

“Yes.” She snuggled deeper into his embrace.

He took a deep breath. “I didn't leave your body in time, Esme. I came inside you. You ken what that means, right?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I do.”

“I might have got you with child.”

“Yes. But the chances of that are low, aren't they?” She didn't want to think about that possibility right now. She just wanted to be with Cam before it was time to go home.

“I'm not sure,” Cam said. “But we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” A heavy lump formed in her gut. She didn't want to make plans. She was finally free of them. She just wanted to enjoy the moment with Cam.

“We should marry,” Cam said flatly.

She froze.

“I'll go to your brother tomorrow. We could have the ceremony as early as next week,” he continued, his voice toneless.

“Wait.” She pulled back from him. “Cam, what are you doing?”

“Planning,” he said. His eyes were a dark, fathomless blue in the dim light.

“But we don't even know if I'm with child. We should at least be sure before taking drastic measures.”

“I need to ensure you're taken care of.”

“Cam…” She shook her head. “I don't think you want to marry me. You don't strike me as the marrying kind of man. And I…” Her voice dwindled. In truth, she wasn't sure if she could marry a man like Cam, a man who'd sabotage her engagement without giving thought to how she'd feel about it. “I'm not sure I want to marry you,” she admitted.

He stared at her for a moment, then his lips went tight. “I dinna wish to father a bastard.”

“I don't want that, either,” she said softly. “But let's just…let's wait. There's no point in planning for something that might never happen.”

She saw a muscle work in his jaw. “Aye,” he said gruffly. He sat up. “We should go.”

They dressed in silence. He helped her with her laces and tapes, and she tried to redo her hair into something that looked presentable.

They went downstairs. There was a light under the door to one of the rooms, and she heard voices from within, but Cam didn't volunteer any information about who might be in the room. And he didn't pause there, either—he just walked past. She was grateful for that, because what would she say to another one of the Highland Knights if they were to meet now? She'd be embarrassed and tongue-tied beyond measure.

Once they were outside, Cam hailed a hackney. He helped her into the carriage then sat beside her silently as they rattled along.

When they were a few minutes away from Trent House, Esme turned to him. “Will I see you again?”

“Aye, of course.”

“Soon?”

He nodded, then leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but he seemed preoccupied with something. Had she hurt him with her honest words about her hesitance to marry him? Surely not. Perhaps she had just damaged his tender male ego. She hadn't agreed immediately and thanked him for making such a selfless, noble offer.

That seemed the more likely scenario.

The carriage drew up to the gate, and Cam helped her out. Then he paid the driver and sent him on his way, telling Esme that he preferred to walk home. He stood before Esme and bowed, saying, “I'd kiss you right now, if I could. But who kens who might be lurking about, awaiting something gossip-worthy to spread on the House of Trent.”

She nodded in understanding. “Goodbye, Cam.”

“Goodbye, bonny Lady Esme.”

She slipped through the gate and down the drive. At the turn, she glanced back to see him watching her, a tall, dark figure in a kilt, the expression on his face unreadable in the dark.

She hoped she'd see him soon.

A week passed. Esme didn't hear from Cam, but she knew he was busy with his duties for the Highland Knights. And she was busy, too, helping Sarah as she prepared for the new baby, setting up another bed in the nursery and sewing winter clothes for the infant.

Toward the end of the week, Sam and his wife, Élise, along with their two-year-old daughter, Marie, came to spend the afternoon. As Sarah and Élise played with the children, Esme asked Sam to go for a walk with her.

Sam was the oldest of the Hawkins children and Esme was the youngest. There was a twelve-year age difference between the two of them, but even so, they'd always shared a special bond. That bond had been strengthened three years ago when they'd discovered that they shared both a mother and a father after having spent their whole lives thinking they were half-siblings.

Sam was Steven Lowell's natural son. After the gypsy's brief affair with their mother, the duchess, already pregnant with Sam, had married the Duke of Trent. Everyone knew that Sam was the bastard son of the House of Trent, and he'd been raised as such by all except his mother, who had treated him as she did all her children—as if he were the most important person in the world.

Years after her separation from Steven Lowell, the duchess had found her circus-performing gypsy again, and they'd had another tryst. Esme was the result of that encounter. She had been raised to believe she was a true lady, the legitimate daughter of the Duke of Trent, and the reality that she wasn't had come as no small shock—to her as well as to all her siblings.

Nevertheless, her brothers had been there for her from the start, their support unwavering, rigid in their conviction that she still belonged to the House of Trent and that she was their full sister. They'd protected the true knowledge of her parentage, none of them wanting her to endure the brutality of the gossip that would ensue if the truth came out, all of them wanting to shelter her from the vultures of the
ton.

As they walked through the small garden, arm in arm, Sam asked after her writing, and she told him about her current book. Then she spoke tentatively. “One of the Highland Knights came to our dinner party last month.”

Sam nodded. “I know.”

“Are you acquainted with him?”

“It was Camden McLeod, right? Son of the Earl of Sutton? I know him.”

It was so easy to forget that Cam was the son of an earl. He never reminded anyone of his position. He was an arrogant man, for certain, but his arrogance was definitely born of something other than his parentage.

“Do you like him?” she asked her brother.

Sam slanted a glance in her direction. “He is competent at what he does. And loyal to the Knights.”

“But what is he like as a person?”

Sam's lips twisted. “He is generally overconfident, and a troublemaker.”

“Is he?”

“He is. He likes to test, to put others on the defensive.”

She nodded. Yes, that was exactly how he'd been on that first night in Mrs. Trickelbank's establishment. Challenging her. Teasing.

“Why do you ask?” Sam said.

She shrugged.

“You have seen him since the party?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Be careful with him, Esme. The Knights lead dangerous lives. And McLeod brims with insouciance. I don't think he'll ever settle down.”

She wondered what Sam would say if she told him that a few days ago, Cam had been planning their wedding. But though it had been strangely emotionless, it had still been a private moment between her and Cam. She didn't want to share it with anyone, perhaps ever.

And what would Sam say if he knew Cam had been the catalyst to end her engagement?

That
would make him angry. She wouldn't share that, either.

It felt strange, keeping secrets from her brother. Since he'd found out about her writing three years ago, he'd been her one confidant.

Lately, it seemed that position had been taken by Cam. How odd that was. She'd only known him for a few weeks, and yet he had become so much to her.

“I understand,” she told her brother. “I'll be careful. I promise.”