Highland Awakening (14 page)

He kept his hand there, his fingers tight but not squeezing, as he pushed himself deep inside her, over and over again, subtly shifting position every few minutes to find another angle that inevitably made her shiver in delight at the exquisite feel of him pressing against her inner walls.

Suddenly, he pulled out. Without preamble, he flipped her over so she lay on her back and he moved on top of her. “Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Wrap your legs around me and watch me come.”

She arched up as he pressed into her this time, gasping at the invasion into her sensitive flesh. She watched him, the muscles in his arms working, his jaw tight as he stared down at her. Under her legs, she could feel the muscles in his buttocks contracting with every thrust.

“Put…your hand between your legs,” he said. “Touch yourself. Stroke yourself on the outside while I stroke you inside.”

She did as she was told, venturing two fingers between her legs, touching the area just above where he entered her body. She was well practiced in this, having taught herself how to find her own pleasure years ago, long before she'd started writing about such things. So it didn't take more than a minute or two of her touch combined with Cam's before she was panting, once again close to her own release.

“Tell me when you're going to come,” he ordered.

“Yes.”

In another two minutes, she was ready. “I'm…I'm going…to…to…”

“Aye,” he said, his voice rough as gravel, “come. Come for me now.”

She did, her body arching and undulating as she rubbed herself through the climax. It shuddered through her, streams of glorious pleasure, loosening all her muscles until she felt like her entire body glowed from the inside out.

“Good lass,” he murmured. He'd slowed his thrusts while she'd come but now he pushed hard inside her. “Open your eyes now, and watch me, like I watched you.”

She opened her eyes and watched him. His eyes were mere slits now, the tension radiating off his skin. She rubbed her hands up his arms, glorying in the contours of hard male muscle under her fingertips.

He thrust again and again, harder and harder, his body tightening until he threw his head back, his face tight with pain or pleasure, or perhaps a combination of the two. He burrowed deep and held, his body shuddering as he pulsed inside her, releasing his seed into her body.

When he'd finished, he slumped on top of her, then, seeming to remember himself and realizing that he was crushing her, he slipped out of her and rolled to his side, bringing her along with him and tucking her against his body.

This time, Esme didn't drift off to sleep straightaway. She assessed each sore, sated part of her body, and wondered that he'd come inside her again after all his worry over last time. Perhaps he'd decided it didn't matter now that it had happened once, and either way they'd be taking their chances. Or perhaps it had slipped his mind again.

Either way, she decided, she needed to discuss this with him. He shouldn't come inside her anymore. If she wasn't with child, they needed to prevent it from happening.

She thought of what their child would look like. Dark hair, for certain. But would she have Cam's snapping blue eyes or her sober, dark ones? Would she have pale skin like Cam's or olive skin like her own?

With these thoughts drifting around in her head, she finally fell asleep.

Only to be awakened, what felt like moments later, to a crashing noise. Her eyes popped open as she jerked up into a sitting position, her gaze snapping to her bedroom door.

Trent stood in her doorway, a look of utter fury on his face.

When it registered in her sleep-fogged brain that her brother was glaring—not directly at her but at the space beside her in her bed—Esme scrambled to cover her bare breasts with the blankets before mortification froze her solid.

Sarah, dressed in a white robe, hurried up to stand behind her husband, her face falling when she saw the scene on Esme's bed.

Slowly, Esme turned her head. Oh God.

Cam lay unmoving beside her. He sat up carefully, the blanket falling away to reveal his strong, pale chest. Leaving no doubt as to what, exactly, he was doing in her bed.

Heat like she'd never before experienced burned in her cheeks.

Her brother drew up to his full height in the doorway, imposing even in his slippers and nightshirt. “What the
hell
is going on here?”

“Your Grace,” Cam said. No, he
drawled
the words, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

“Who is that?” Trent demanded, stalking forward.

Spots swam in Esme's vision. She clutched the blanket in her fists, struggling to keep herself covered.

“Trent…I…” What on earth could she say? Nothing. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do. She glanced again at Cam. He was a dead man.

“Camden McLeod, Your Grace,” Cam volunteered.

Trent crossed his arms over his chest, glowering. “Get out of that bed and face me like a man.”

“Could you give us a moment?” Cam asked mildly. “We aren't exactly presentable.”

“Give you—?” Trent's cheeks went pink. It looked like his head was a bomb that was about to explode.

“Yes.” Cam's hand pressed comfortingly against the small of her back, and she couldn't for the life of her comprehend how it actually calmed her enough that her vision cleared. “We'll meet you in the drawing room in a few minutes.”

Trent stared at him, unmoving. Seconds ticked by, each one seeming to last forever. Finally, Sarah stepped forward, her body unwieldy in advanced pregnancy, and put a hand on Trent's shoulder. “Come, dear.”

She tugged him back, then stepped into the doorway to close the door, studiously keeping her eyes off Cam and Esme.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Esme sagged, dropping her head into her hands. “Oh God,” she panted. “Oh God. Oh my God.”

“Shh,” Cam said. “Dinna fash yourself, lass. It's going to be all right.”

“No, it's not,” she said between fast, panicked breaths. “It's not. This is…disastrous.” She yanked her head out of her hands to stare at Cam. “He's going to kill you.”

“Nonsense. Dueling is illegal. And the Duke of Trent is a stickler for the law, I hear.”

“We have to get you out of here,” she said, rising. Quickly, she found her nightgown and threw it on over her head. She went to the window. “Do you think you can climb down the side of the house? The heroine climbs out in
The Devil's Pearl,
but that house had a trellis—”

“I'm not leaving you to this, Esme.”

“But—”

“Shh. Everything will be all right.”

“No, it won't. How could it?” Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she swept them away with the back of her hand, shaking so hard she almost missed her face.

He drew her into his arms, holding her in the tight circle of his embrace.

“We have to go. You have to leave…Cam, please…Oh, I've ruined everything—”

“Esme, stop.”

“You don't understand. He's my brother. What we've done—he'll never forgive me.”

“Of course he will. You're his sister and he loves you. He'll forgive you.”

“No. He won't. He won't…” Her breath caught on a sob.

“He will, lass. He will…” He rubbed her back, speaking in low tones, in Gaelic, she realized belatedly.

She slipped her arms around him and held him tight. “I'm so scared, Cam. I don't want him to hate you. I don't want him to hate me. Trent has always been in control of my life—my happiness.”

“It's going to work out.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “Don't let him kill you.”

“I won't.” His voice held no small measure of amusement.

Of course. Cam was the one with the extensive combat experience. In a fight, he'd surely be the victor. “And don't hurt him, either. Promise me.”

“I've no intention of hurting your brother, lass.”

She nodded against his chest.

“Now, let's go downstairs and talk to him. I'll be by your side. We'll get through this together.”

Of all the things he'd said to this point, those words calmed her the most. “All right,” she whispered. She found her robe and slipped it on while Cam buckled his kilt.

When they'd finished, he took her hand and squeezed, drawing her to him. “We'll be all right. I promise you.”

Looking up at him, at the sincerity in his blue eyes, she nodded. Some of her panic had faded, but it was still there, bubbling under the lid Cam had placed firmly over it.

He kissed her softly on the lips. “Come.”

He held her hand all the way down the corridor, down the stairs, and into the drawing room. Both Trent and Sarah were standing when they entered, both turning to face them as the door opened.

Cam tugged her inside and closed the door. She tried to extricate her hand from his, but he held it tight. Trent looked from their hands to Cam's face, his own face twisted in righteous fury.

“Unhand my sister, McLeod,” he said in a deadly calm voice that sent a shudder through Esme.

Again, Esme tried to let go, but Cam squeezed her hand and held steady.

“Your Grace,” Cam said. “I owe you an apology. I ken the circumstances aren't ideal—”

“Ideal?” Trent sputtered. “I-deal? Are you crazy? You're under my roof—the same roof where my family innocently sleeps, and you're in my innocent sister's bed, both of you naked as the day you were—”

“As I said,” Cam interjected, “not ideal.”

“I'd say not!” Trent's voice had risen in volume to a near yell, and Sarah laid a hand on his arm, attempting to comfort him, Esme could tell, though she looked nearly as upset as her husband was.

“Simon,” Sarah said softly. “We don't want to rouse the house.”

Trent took three heavy breaths, face red and shining with a sheen of sweat, though it wasn't at all hot this evening.

“You have disrespected and offended me, McLeod. You have entered my house uninvited. You have touched my young sister, who is under my care.”

Esme shook her head at that. “I'm not so young,” she reminded him. “I'm three and twenty.”

“But an innocent yet,” he countered.

“Well…” Her blush deepened, and she looked down at her bare toes poking from the hem of her nightgown. “Not anymore.”

Trent groaned. Sarah joined him. “Oh, Esme,” she whispered.

“Don't tell me you didn't bed each other out of wedlock,” Esme snapped, suddenly exhausted by all this posturing. “I do believe Lukas was born rather short of nine months after your wedding date.”

“That's different—” Trent began.

“Why?” Good Lord, she didn't know what had come over her. She never challenged Trent in anything, ever. “Don't argue that Sarah was older and more experienced, because I believe she was my age, or maybe just a year older, and she was a virgin as well, wasn't she?”

Trent flinched at this.

“Yes,” Sarah whispered, her features relaxing a bit. “She's right, Simon. But, Esme, we'd known each other for many years. You and Mr. McLeod are hardly acquainted.”

Esme glanced at Cam, and a tiny smile quirked the edge of her lips. “He knows me better than anyone. And he's…well, he's read my books.” She gazed at her brother and sister-in-law, hoping they'd understand the significance of this. Neither of them responded, so maybe they did understand, at least a little.

“The worst thing,” Esme said, “was that it happened under your roof. I am sorry for that, Trent, sorrier than you'll ever know. I hope that one day you will forgive me. It was thoughtless of me, and a terrible thing to abuse your trust in such a way.”

She glanced at Cam, who was gazing at her, no small amount of surprise—and appreciation—in his expression.

“It
was
thoughtless,” Trent said.

“Aye, it was,” Cam said, “but you canna blame Esme. 'Twas my fault.”

Sarah shook her head. “How many times has this happened?”

Cam and Esme glanced at each other. “Twice,” Esme admitted.

“Lady Esme had no idea I was coming either time,” Cam said.

“Yet she didn't scream the house down when you appeared in her room,” Trent said dryly.

“No, I didn't,” Esme said. “I might not have known he was coming, but once he arrived, I wanted him here.”

Trent pushed a frustrated hand through his hair. “I can't have this, Esme. I can't have men sneaking into my house and into your bed.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I'm so sorry—”

He raised his hand to stop her words. “It cannot happen again.” He turned his gaze to Cam, his expression hardening. “And you…you won't be welcome here in the future. You have ruined my sister.”

Sarah suddenly gasped. “Is this why you didn't seem terribly upset about the end of your engagement? You'd developed a tendre for Mr. McLeod?”

Esme winced. “I don't know, truly. But meeting him did…bring home the fact that I never really loved Henry.”

Trent blew out a breath. He hadn't taken his gaze from Cam. Cam gazed steadily back at him.

“I intend to make this right,” Cam announced, his voice firm.

“What do you mean by that?” Trent asked.

“I will do right by her.”

“Meaning?” Trent pressed.

Cam seemed to straighten, grow taller, beside her. “I will marry her. As soon as possible.”

Finally, Esme managed to tear her hand from his. “What? Cam, we already talked—”

“I had no intention of ruining your sister. I care for her, and I promise I will do my best to make her a good husband. I'm asking you, as her guardian, formally, for her hand.”

Esme gaped at him. Oh God.

“I will be able to provide for her,” Cam continued. “As you know, I am the heir to the Earl of Sutton—not only his title, but his entailed lands. There are two estates in England and one in Scotland, with a combined income of fifteen thousand a year.”

“I know you're wealthy enough for her,” Trent snapped. “That's not my concern.”

“What is your concern?” Cam asked.

“Will you make her happy?”

Esme felt a desperate sort of panic welling within her. They were speaking of her as if she weren't there.

On the other hand, she didn't know what to say. She thought of the way she felt when she was with Cam. How safe she felt in his arms. The way he'd made love to her tonight—how it would feel for him to bring her that kind of pleasure every night.

But…none of that changed the fact that he'd betrayed her by telling Henry about her writing.

Even though she could admit to herself that it had been for the best. Could she really blame him for knowing what was best for her even when she hadn't?

“I will do everything in my power to make her happy,” Cam said.

Watching him, his steady gaze on her brother, standing beside her…She was falling in love with him.

No, not falling. She'd already fallen. She loved this man. This cocksure, overconfident Scottish man with the dark past, whose loyalty to his sister and his brother Knights ranked above everything else. Would he feel that same kind of loyalty to her? She believed he would.

Trent turned to her. “Is this what you want, Esme? Can you be happy with this man?”

“I…I think so.”

“It appears he wants to marry you,” Trent said. “Do you wish to marry him as well?”

She and Cam turned toward each other. She studied his handsome face for a long moment. From his expression, she could see that this was what he really desired. He
wanted
her. He wanted to be hers. For the rest of their lives.

“There's still so much I don't know about you,” she whispered.

“You ken all that matters.” Cam gazed at her, the blue of his eyes so deep she felt like she was drowning in them.

“But there are still things you don't know about me,” she said. “Things that might change your mind.”

“I don't care about any—”

She raised her hand to stop his words. “I'm not the Duke of Trent's daughter,” she blurted out. It wasn't the first time she'd said words to Cam she'd never in her life spoken aloud before.

“Esme!” Trent said sharply, but she turned her hand to him, silently asking him not to interfere. After the debacle with Henry she knew that she'd never agree to a marriage when untruths still lingered. She would never again agree to go into a contract so important as a marriage without her partner knowing every one of her secrets.

Cam blinked in confusion and pulled away a bit, glancing at Trent and Sarah before looking back to her. “What do you mean?”

She took a shaky breath. “The old Duke of Trent wasn't my father. I am…I am illegitimate.” There was another word she'd never spoken in reference to herself. She plunged on. “The duchess had an affair with another man when the duke was on his deathbed. That man is my true father.”

“But you…He…” Cam gestured at Trent.

“Trent is my half-brother,” Esme explained. “We share a mother but not a father. My real father is a gypsy—a traveling circus performer. My mother first met him when she was very young and engaged to the old Duke of Trent. Years later, he came back to her, and I was the product of that reunion. My mother waited many years before she decided she no longer wished to live without him, and they are now finally married. His name is Steven Lowell. I am
his
daughter, not the old duke's.”