Rexanne Becnel (18 page)

She searched for a flaw—any flaw—and decided in desperation that he was a little too finely honed for a proper gentleman. He carried about him an aura that did not quite fit with a gentleman of leisure, for he was too watchful, too intense. Too dangerous.

It took Mrs. Hamilton’s hand on her arm to alert Sarah that one of them had addressed her.

“Excuse me?” She turned to face Mrs. Hamilton.

“Mr. MacDougal has kindly offered to accompany us to church.”

A light sparkled in the older woman’s faded eyes. Knowing Mrs. Hamilton’s fierce loyalty to Augusta and Olivia, Sarah suspected it was probably the light of battle. Taking advantage of the fact that her own face was turned away from Mr. MacDougal, she silently mouthed the reminder, “Remember, say nothing. Nothing.”

Only when Mrs. Hamilton gave a faint nod did Sarah turn to face him. “If you like. I’m sure we can all benefit from some time spent in prayer.”

An hour later she was not so certain. Any number of heads had turned when the three of them entered the small church together. The baker’s outspoken mother nodded and clucked. Mrs. Liston’s brows raised almost to her hairline and she pursed her lips in a knowing smile. In an aisle seat Estelle Kendrick stared, then turned her face pointedly away. But the man sitting beside her watched them with a grin, and Mr. MacDougal nodded to him as they passed.

Sarah wanted to turn right around and leave. Of course, she did no such thing. She slid into the family pew with Mrs. Hamilton on one side and Marshall MacDougal on the other and tried very hard to concentrate on Mr. Liston’s sermon. But it was nearly impossible.

It had been five days since their fateful confrontation in the rough public house in Dumfries. Yet her awareness of him here in the silence of these hallowed halls was even more acute than there. His leg lay but inches from hers, the fine dark fabric of his breeches in marked contrast to the sprigged muslin that covered her own limbs. His hands rested on his knees and she stared at first one, then the other. They were tan and strong. Square palms, shapely fingers, and neat nails. Sprinkles of dark hair gave them a strange, masculine appeal, an appeal she did not want to notice.

But as Mr. Liston droned on, as feet shuffled restlessly, and coughs were discreetly muffled by raised palms, Sarah stared at his hands, remembering how they’d felt running up and down her thighs.

She nearly choked, then started coughing, and only stopped when Mrs. Hamilton pounded her on the back.

“Sorry,” she muttered, keeping her eyes downcast onto her own knotted hands. “Sorry.” Fortunately, the service ended, Mrs. Liston struck up “Holy, Holy, Holy” on the organ, and everyone stood to sing.

The first people they encountered afterward were Estelle and her escort, a man Sarah realized was Mr. MacDougal’s manservant.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the hot-tempered Mr. MacDougal,” Estelle said. She smiled archly at Sarah, all the while pressing her breast against her escort’s arm. “Has he pummeled anyone else on your behalf?”

Sarah gave her a tight smile. “I certainly hope not. Is Adrian here?” she added, changing the subject.

Estelle smirked. “I don’t see him.”

How Sarah wanted to slap the woman. But she couldn’t, especially here in a church. So she gave the couple a curt nod, then pushed past them out into the open square.

“I haven’t pummeled anyone on your behalf lately,” Mr. MacDougal’s quiet voice came from right beside her. He matched her stride for stride. “But I would.”

“So,” Mrs. Hamilton called, hurrying up behind them and preventing any further private conversation. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Mr. MacDougal, for the fine trout you provided us. Have you done any further fishing since then?”

Sarah was relieved when he focused his attention back on Mrs. Hamilton. “Sadly, I have not had the time.”

“Then you must make the time. Mr. Hamilton took a monstrous fish out of the river just two days past. Quite a spirited battle the creature provided him.”

Sarah wanted to groan. Though she’d instructed Mrs. Hamilton to act friendly toward him, she didn’t mean for her to act
that
friendly.

“Actually, that sounds a very pleasant way to pass the afternoon,” he said when they reached the carriage. “Might I presume on your generosity once more?”

“By all means,” Mrs. Hamilton agreed, ignoring Sarah’s pointed stare. “I’m certain Sarah’s sister Olivia would not mind,” she added. “’Tis her estate, you know.”

Despite her own frustration, Sarah could have kissed Mrs. Hamilton for that last loyal remark, and for the subtle jab it carried.

“So I’ve been told,” Mr. MacDougal responded. He helped Mrs. Hamilton into the carriage. When he came around to assist Sarah up, he whispered, “At least she thinks it’s hers.” Before she could respond, he raised his voice to a more carrying tone. “Would you care to join me in a fishing expedition, Miss Palmer?”

A
DRIAN
watched from a stand of elms just upriver as Sarah and that blasted American approached the bank. The man carried two poles and a basket of gear. Sarah carried a smaller basket and a blanket.

A twig of newly budded leaves snapped off in his clenched fingers, silencing the squirrels scolding him from above. His eyes darted to Mr. MacDougal. Bloody ballocks, they would see him!

But the tripping water and the rustling leaves must have muffled the sound. Unfortunately, they also made it hard for him to make out all their words.

He watched as the man knelt and began to assemble his fishing gear. Sarah stood back, the blanket still clutched in her arms. She had changed into a peach-colored dress, and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet sheltered her face from the sun. Had he not known better, Adrian could have believed her a simple country lass, not much older than himself.

How he wished she were! His only consolation was that she didn’t look very pleased to be alone with Mr. MacDougal.

So why had she accompanied him?

The man looked up and said something to her, and even from his hidden bower Adrian could see her face pinken.

Another twig snapped in his hands. The cheeky bastard! What had he said to her? Something lewd, he’d wager.

Sarah threw the blanket down, then dropped her basket beside it. She waggled one of her fingers at the man. “…hateful proposal…” Adrian heard that much of her response and he blinked in astonishment. Had the man gone so far as to propose marriage to her?

Surely not, he decided. Sarah was too well bred to term a marriage proposal as hateful. Could the American have proposed something else?

Adrian sucked in a harsh breath. Bloody right he could!

He glared at the lowly bastard, watching while the man cast his line upon the river, as if Sarah’s vehemently expressed words were of no account.

It made no sense. Why would Sarah willingly suffer this bounder’s presence and whatever unsavory proposal the man had made to her? If she wanted to freeze him out, she could easily do so. So why didn’t she? Could it be that she feared the man? Had he bullied her in some way?

Adrian’s thoughts tumbled around and around. Could the lowdown cad be blackmailing her over something she’d done? After all, her arrival in Kelso was unexpected and Mr. MacDougal had shown up at the very same time.

Had he followed her here?

Adrian leaned back against the elm trunk behind him and considered that possibility. He understood about blackmail. Even though his mother hadn’t sunk quite that low, she still subsidized the already generous allowance his Uncle Neville gave her with gifts from the men who sometimes came around to their cottage late at night—gifts meant to keep her quiet about their secret visits. Just last month the mayor had paid off her milliner’s bill, and the butcher kept them well supplied with pork, beef, and mutton.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. It was only one short step from his mother expecting gifts for her silence, to this American demanding it for his. Yes, all the signs pointed to the man blackmailing Sarah, Otherwise she would not suffer his presence. But what hold could the man have over a well-bred young woman like Sarah Palmer?

Adrian grimaced, for the answer was as bitter as it was obvious. Most likely the American had the same hold over Sarah that his mother held over the mayor and the butcher.

He closed his eyes at the thought. Not sweet, beautiful Sarah. Yet what else could it be? They must have become lovers, perhaps back in London. That’s why the man had pounded poor Guinea to a pulp the night of the dance. Jealousy.

Now the cad meant to capitalize on their affair, to hold her reputation hostage to her misguided behavior. Was it money the villain wanted from her? Or maybe he was going to force her to marry him and thereby gain access to her entire fortune.

Stubble it all! Could the lout really be that low?

Of course he could.

A vein throbbed in Adrian’s temple. Love of money was the root of all evil. In the past he’d scoffed when Mr. Liston had preached that particular sermon. But not now. Now he understood exactly what the vicar meant.

But that scurvy American had underestimated the situation if he thought he could bully a sweet woman like Sarah Palmer and get away with it. For she had friends and admirers who would go to great lengths on her behalf.

Adrian glared at the American as the man fought a fish that had been hooked, and his hands tightened into fists. Yes, Sarah had friends who would go to
any
lengths on her behalf.

Sarah stared at the poor fish, thrashing back and forth as Mr. MacDougal removed the hook from its mouth. When he placed it in the submerged willow basket to keep it alive while he cast his line to hook another, she felt the strongest urge to release the hapless creature from its unfortunate dilemma.

She enjoyed dining on trout and salmon and every other sort of fish. Today, however, she did not see the trout as a fine meal but rather as a fellow hostage, caught in a trap with only one way out: to be consumed. Mr. MacDougal had thrown out lures to each of them and despite their caution and their certainty that he posed a terrible danger to them, they’d each of them taken their respective lures. And now they must pay the price.

That’s why she’d come with him to the river on the pretext of a friendly fishing expedition: to agree once and for all to his price.

“This is a fine piece of river,” he remarked as he played his line across a still part of the water. “Are both banks a part of Byrde Manor?”

Sarah glared at him through slitted eyes. “I’m sure you already know that they are.”

He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “’Tis truly a paradise,” he said, rolling his
r
’s in an exaggerated parody of a Scottish accent. “A man could happily live out his days fishing this river, riding these hills, and counting up his rents.”

“Some men,” she bit out. “But not you.”

Holding her gaze captive with just the force of his eyes, he turned and lay down his fishing pole. “Maybe me. It all depends on you. So.” He took several steps toward her, then halted, his arms spread wide. He looked so perfectly at his ease, while she was agitated enough to jump right out of her skin. “Have you an answer for me, Sarah?”

Yes
.

“No.” Sarah choked out the word. She’d come here to agree. But shame at how easy it would be to say yes forced her now to deny the inevitable. Oh, but she was a pitiful creature, more pitiful than the poor, hapless fish. All she could do was stare at the man who’d caught her so neatly in his trap. Stare at him with fear and awe and the most frightening sort of anticipation.

He looked more handsome today than any time she’d ever seen him. It was utterly absurd for her even to notice such a thing. But notice it she did. Casually dressed, with his hair windblown, his coat tossed aside, and his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, he somehow seemed a more accurate image of himself. Though he wore the trappings of the gentleman well enough, this picture of an outdoorsman, smiling and content, rang so much truer. And much more appealing.

But he’s still dangerous. He’s still the same man—Cameron Byrde’s son, who is just as heartless and merciless as was his sire
.

“You have two days left, Sarah. But I warn you, if you’ve come fishing with me today hoping to change my mind, you have wasted your time.”

He moved up the bank, his boots crunching on the gravel beach, and stopped an arm’s length from her. “Or have you come here to be convinced? Do you need to be seduced so that you can console yourself later that you had no choice but to give in to my dastardly demands?”

Was that the reason she was unable to make the answer she knew she must? Did she want him to seduce her again?

Sarah recoiled at the idea, yet it was disturbingly close to the truth. “You delude yourself if you believe I wish you to seduce me,” she said with what she hoped was a credible amount of disdain.

“I’m glad to hear it, for I will not be the one doing the seducing this time, Sarah. If you wish to strike this deal with me—a deal
you
initiated—then you must come to me of your own free will.”

“My own free will?” She laughed at the very notion. “You hold my family’s fate in your hands. You make this shameful offer to me. Then you say I must come to you of my own free will? Ha!”

His face darkened a little. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid I do. Like your father before you, you take pleasure in ruining innocent women, in corrupting everything you touch.” Fear lent her voice an even harsher tone than she’d intended. But despite that, her words bounced off him like grapeshot off a granite boulder.

“This is hardly the same thing,” he countered. “You offered me a deal—money in exchange for my departure. I merely countered with terms of my own. The ball is in your court, Sarah. If you do not like my terms, then decline them.”

“And then what? Stand by and watch you destroy Livvie and Mother?”

“Destroy them? Don’t be so dramatic. What will happen to them? Will they be put out on the street, destitute and starving? Forced to work as servants in the homes of their former friends?” His jaw clenched and his eyes glittered with rising anger. “They both have husbands and other family to assist them. If you’re rich enough to buy me off, then surely you’re rich enough to help them out should their husbands elect to abandon them.” Angrily he cut the air with his fist. “But there was no one to help my mother. No one! She was destroyed by her husband’s perfidy. By contrast, your mother and sister will merely be inconvenienced.”

He stood there, shaking with rage. From easy confidence to uncontrolled fury, he’d made the transition so fast Sarah took a step back from him. She wanted to be glad that she could affect his composure so easily. Unfortunately, his words seemed to have affected her composure just as much, for everything he said was true. No matter what happened, Livvie and Augusta would never want for physical comforts. They would keep their homes, their children, and their husbands. They were both married to men who adored them. Cameron Byrde’s behavior thirty years ago did not have the power to affect that.

But others would not be so kind. And putting aside their reputations, there was still the matter of the personal hurt they would feel. Despite his faults, Augusta had dearly loved Cameron Byrde, and he had doted on his little daughter.

So she faced Mr. MacDougal, determined not to give ground, no matter how persuasive his argument.

“I am not going to enter into a debate with you about whom Cameron Byrde has harmed more. The question now is, who you are harming? And why?”

“No one—if you will simply accept my terms.”

“Oh!” She stamped her foot. “You do your father very proud with those terms. I’m sure he would applaud you, were he here. But I wonder,” she added in biting tones, “whether your mother would admire this behavior in her beloved son.”

He stiffened, almost as if she’d struck him full in the face. “Leave her out of this.”

But Sarah was not about to abandon the one weapon that seemed to pierce the armor of his righteous anger, and so she pressed on. “Was she that embittered by the life forced on her that she would have you punish other women for it? Women like her, susceptible to a ruthless man’s whims—”

“You’re nothing like her!” He caught Sarah by both arms and gave her a hard shake. “Don’t
you
talk to
me
about her. She has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with it—”

He cut her off with a violent kiss, as brutal as it was anguished. He silenced her in a fierce embrace that crushed her against his powerful, masculine form. The breath rushed out of Sarah’s lungs, and in its wake her opposition disappeared as well.

She should fight him. She should hate him. She should fear him. Instead she clung to him, drenched in a flood of desire, letting him vent thirty years of fury upon her.

She swayed in that storm of emotions; she would have fallen had he not gripped her so tightly. But as the seconds passed in the thunder of their heartbeats, she did not fall.

There was something so intense about the way he took absolute possession of her mouth, the way he wrapped his steely arm around her waist. Somehow he turned every emotion she felt for him into desire.

Anger. Fear. Even sympathy for the pain he felt became desire. It became lust. He pushed her to extremes no man ever had and no man ever should.

His other hand cupped her head, tangling in her hair. His lips moved, slanting and fitting their mouths even closer. His tongue probed, demanded, tempted. And she was tempted. She kissed him back with a shamelessness she did not want to acknowledge. Something in him made her feel so wild, so reckless.

So reckless
.

She turned her head to the side, gasping for breath. But she did not pull away from him. She knew she should, but she did not want to. Oh, but she was doomed. For she seemed completely unable to resist the physical urges he roused in her. Even recognizing how reckless her behavior was, she could not resist him.

It was he who shoved out of their embrace. He who glared at her as if she’d done something unforgivable.

“You know my terms,” he bit out in a hoarse voice. “You have two days left to make your answer, Sarah. Two days.” Then he turned around, snatched up the fishing pole and stalked toward the river.

Once more Sarah swayed, one hand pressed to her chest, the other to her lips. She knew her answer now, but she could not manage the words, not when he had again become so angry with her. As ludicrous as it was, the two of them seemed to find common ground only when they gave in to the intense physical attraction that flared so out of control between them.

They could not talk without fighting for their respective positions, but locked in an embrace…

Sarah stared at his back, at the rigid set of his shoulders as he tried to cast the fly across the river. She needed to compose herself, to catch her breath.

So she turned away from him and on awkward legs clambered up the sloping bank, heading for the shade of an ancient willow tree. She did not see Marsh close his eyes and shake his head at the perversity of his behavior. Nor did she see dislike harden to hatred in the young man who shrank back among the elm saplings not a stone’s throw from where she passed.