Samantha James (5 page)

Gasping, she dragged her mouth free, literally coming up for air. She aimed for a seductive, inviting laugh, and feared that she’d succeeded only in revealing her anxious panic. She needed to get hold of herself.

“Faith, but I find myself suddenly thirsty,” she said. “Where is the wine?”

She tried to slide away. He caught at her elbow. “Ah, Irish, not yet. Just one more kiss.”

She tried to pull away, but he held firm. She
couldn’t yank herself free without arousing suspicion.

“I shall make it up to you, Scotsman. I am parched, sir. Truly I am!” She touched her throat, shocked at how hot her skin was. Why, as hot as his! And her voice was indeed hoarse, drier than bone. “Besides, why waste what I’m sure is an excellent bottle of wine?”

There was the faintest amusement in his tone. “The flavor of you is all I desire, Irish. However, I surrender to your wish. But I will hold you to that promise.” His head bowed low. He brushed his lips against the bare flesh of her upper arm.

“And I will make certain that you are not disappointed.” The touch of his lips made her insides tighten. It was difficult to think clearly, let alone speak. “As pirates,” she heard herself say in what she prayed was a provocative tone, “we seek treasure, do we not?”

“And the pursuit of pleasure when and where we chance to find it, eh, Irish?”

“I do believe we shall find both, Scotsman. Now, allow me to pour a glass for you.”

Maura slid from his lap, hoping she didn’t appear eager to be away from him. Slowly she walked to the bureau where he’d placed the bottle of wine and the two goblets.

It was then she spied a letter opener. Shaped
like a dagger, it looked lethal and sharp; much sharper than the tiny little knife sewn into the pocket of her skirt. She could have trilled her luck. Could she have asked for anything more? Throughout the evening, fortune had been her foremost ally.

Thankfully, the bottle was already open. The servant had been on his way to the ballroom, and Maura made certain it was uncorked when she took it from the tray.

The wide neckline of her blouse slid down over one bare shoulder. She resisted the urge to drag it up. Such modesty would surely give her away. Casually, hoping he would think nothing of it, she slid the pouch that hung from her neck up and over her head, laying it atop the surface.

There was a rustle of movement behind her. “Do you need assistance, Irish? I’m happy to—”

“No, no.” Every nerve inside her clamored. Hurriedly, she poured wine into one of the goblets. In her nervousness, she nearly overfilled it. She glanced back over her shoulder, slanting him what she hoped was a seductive smile. “But I do believe it might be wise to close the curtains. We wouldn’t want to shock any of the baron’s guests, would we?”

She heard him rise. While his back was to
her—and hers to his—she grabbed the pouch and opened it, emptying a tiny stream of silvery-white powder into the wine. She hastily stirred it with a fingertip and sucked the liquid from her skin, then filled the other goblet.

When she turned, the duke had just swiveled away from the window. Maura retraced her steps and handed him a glass. “Pirates we may be, but the fact that we have no rum will not stop us from enjoying a bit of beverage.” She raised her glass high.

He quirked a brow. “To you, Irish.”

“To a night you shall never forget, Scotsman.” Ha! She was already assured of that!

Their glasses clinked. “Bottoms up,” he declared.

Bottoms up? Maura sipped, her eyes on his goblet. She watched him, momentarily fascinated by the strong tendons in his throat as he swallowed.

His glass was nearly drained. Yes, she thought, scarcely daring to breathe. Toothless Nan was right. He would never taste her concoction, Nan had assured her. And it appeared he didn’t. Bottoms up it was!

He was smiling, a half smile that flirted at the corners of his lips, when she finally drained her goblet. It was a smile she had already begun to
grow familiar with, one that both challenged and invited.

Her own tantalized. At least she hoped it did. This time when he kissed her, she vowed, she mustn’t react like a ninny. She must be bold, she told herself, as bold as he. As brazen and daring as he. To that end, she placed a hand on the center of his chest and pushed him toward the bed. He tumbled back with a husky laugh, reaching out to catch her as he fell.

She had no choice but to follow him down. Sweet heaven, she was lying atop him. On
top
of him.

The realization had scarcely registered than he moved, a subtle but deliberate movement. Strong fingers caught behind her knee, hiking it up to one side so her hips pressed hard against his. Her heart lurched, for what she felt was hard. Well, she decided, half amused, half frenzied, it seemed she’d managed to succeed in her quest. There was no question she had aroused him. The proof of it jutted against her. Why, the cad had managed to lock her into a shockingly intimate position—parting her legs so she was astride him, the valley between her thighs riding against the ridge of his—

His hips thrust up.

Maura gasped.

The Scotsman laughed, a low throaty sound. “That pleases you, eh, Irish?”

The boastful boor! So he thought she was pleased, did he? Shocked, was how she would have described it. Shocked speechless, in fact. Shaking, every nerve inside quivering. Did he feel it? Yet what did it matter if he did? No doubt he’d mistake it for pleasure again!

A low rumble of laughter rushed past her ear. An arm about her back, he tugged her fully onto the bed so they lay face-to-face. His fingers encroached beneath the loose neckline of her blouse, catching it and dragging the cloth down, fully baring one breast.

That same, shameless hand now shaped itself around one buttock. Maura squirmed. Oh, but she knew it! He mistook her movements for reciprocation of his ardor. He kissed the arch of her shoulder, brushing his lips across her collarbone clear to the hollow where it met her neck. His fingertips grazed a blazing trail to the crown of her breast. Once. Then again. A touch that stunned her beyond measure. Her eyes widened in shock as his dark head bent low.

His tongue touched her nipple. Maura watched in shock as the pale peak disappeared into the wet cave of his mouth. He sucked hard, alternately swirling his tongue around the peak. Fiery sensation exploded all through her.

Her throat arched. A low moan escaped.

He raised his head. A husky, indolent whisper slid past her ear. “Patience, Irish. We have all night.”

No, Maura countered silently. Desperately. They did not have all night. Toothless Nan, whose knowledge of herbs and the like had been passed down for generations, told her it wouldn’t take long before her concoction took hold. Silently, Maura railed. She’d waited too long. She should have poured the wine earlier—

The thought was obliterated.

She hadn’t noticed the Scotsman unlace his breeches. His hand engulfed hers. As if from a distance, she saw him tuck her fingers within his and bring them down. Down below his waist. Down until her knuckles brushed dark, wiry hair. Down until he guided her palm—finger by finger—around a column of thick, rigid flesh.

Maura felt the pleasure that vibrated in his chest. She was stunned to the core. It should never have progressed this far. A few kisses. A brief, forbidden caress at most. She had prepared herself to endure his touch, no matter how much she might dread it. Little had she realized there was pleasure to be found in it!

But the one thing she hadn’t prepared herself for was a touch of such blatant explicitness.

Her heart raced. Had Nan been wrong? she wondered frantically.

She found herself praying. Oh, lord, oh, lord, oh, lord.

She sensed something was different, even before she felt it. The Scotsman eased to his back, throwing an elbow over his eyes.

Maura froze. The clock on the night table ticked away the seconds. Still afraid to move—to hope!—she swallowed.

“Scotsman?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. His eyes were closed.

“Scotsman?” she whispered again.

Still no reply.

Relief seeped in. Awareness crept in. Something else, Maura realized, was different as well.

Her gaze skidded down his body. Only now did she realize her hand was still in his—

With a cry she wrenched it free.

Triumph vied with disbelief. She had attained the night’s goal. But she felt as if the world had gone a little mad.

Climbing over the Scotsman’s limp form, she set to work removing his boots. Mercy, but he was heavy! It took at least three deep breaths before she gathered the courage to peel away his pirate’s breeches. His legs were iron-hard with muscle. Coated with the same black hair
that covered his chest. As for that other part of him…

She tried. Truly she did. But she couldn’t make herself not look.

Even soft, that oh so male part of him was impressive enough to make her eyes widen.

When she was done disrobing him, she staggered back, falling into the chair. It was as if she were looking through a haze. She blinked. It took a moment for her to focus. She realized then it was the wine—so much, in so little time. She wasn’t used to it.

She divested herself of her skirt, drawers, and boots, tossing them aside. It didn’t matter where they landed. Indeed, she decided vaguely, it would be all the more convincing.

But she wasn’t yet finished. There was one more thing to be done.

She stumbled to the bureau and picked up the letter opener. Returning to the bedside, she leaned over the Scotsman and pricked her finger soundly. A thick drop of blood appeared, and she quickly smeared her bloody fingertip across the sheets.

Maura returned the letter opener to the bureau, then staggered back to the bed. Crawling over the Scotsman, she dragged the coverlet over them both, insinuated herself beneath a heavy arm, then fell back upon the pillow.

Her eyelids had closed but she couldn’t let go of the thought. She was halfway to victory. She had accomplished what she sought. She was here. With the Black Scotsman. In his arms. In his chamber.

And in his bed.

Alec woke the next morning with a hammer pounding dully in his head. Strange, he thought vaguely. Wine—no matter how much—rarely had that effect on him.

And then, good God, he felt soft, immensely pleasurable warmth nestled against his side.

His head still spinning, he opened his eyes.

Soft, silky skeins of black hair tumbled across his bare chest. Shocked, he took a strand between his fingers, following its length up, over the curve of her back. What the devil? Who the devil…

Remembrance swelled over him.

It was her. His lady pirate, who had bewitched him so the night before.

She was rousing. Stirring, snuggling deeper
into the warm depths of the bed. She turned on her side, fitting herself against him.

And opened her eyes.

Slender, beautifully arched black brows drew together over her nose. In sheer, utter bewilderment, she beheld him. She stared at him as if…as if…

“You!” she gasped. She scrambled back against the wall, as far away from him as she could get.

Alec sat up and stretched out a hand. It was odd. His throat was cotton dry, his mind a fog. He remembered his midnight guest—how could he not? The previous night returned in jagged pieces that floated in and out of his brain. His mind groped. It was almost as if he didn’t know what was real and what was not.

He sought to make sense of it. He remembered bringing her to his room, their teasing play. The last thing he recalled was a kiss, a hot, hazy, mesmerizing kiss that promised everything.

Yet now the chit regarded him as if he were an asp.

Something weaved in and out of his consciousness, a warning. A sense that something was wrong. He’d been drinking, yes, but he wouldn’t have considered himself drunk. For pity’s sake, what the bloody hell—

Someone was knocking at the door. He ignored it.

“Come now.” He slanted a smile toward the girl, to soothe her. “There’s no reason to—” He stopped cold. Blast! He didn’t even know her name!

It didn’t help that she remained wide-eyed and full of shocked wariness. She clutched fistfuls of sheet and coverlet and wrenched them all the way to her chin so that only her nose and eyes were revealed.

The knocking continued, sharply insistent.

Alec lost his temper. “Stop knocking and bloody well come back later!”

He turned back to the girl. Before he could say a word, he heard a key inserted into the lock. The door was flung wide. Alec was still considering why someone dared violate his privacy when a distinguished-looking, bearded man surged inside.

Alec leaped from the bed. “Who the hell are you?”

The stranger ignored him. “Maura?” The man’s gaze circled the chamber, at last settling on the chit cowering in his bed. “Maura!”

The girl’s beautiful eyes filled with tears. She scooted even farther back against the wall. “Uncle!” she cried.

The baron was suddenly there as well. He pushed a key into his breast pocket. “Your grace,
forgive the intrusion. But please, let us not share this unpleasantness with the other guests.”

Alec shoved his legs into his breeches. He swung around to face the baron, his rank no less impressive for the fact that he was bare-footed and bare-chested. “What the blazes goes on here? Who is this man?”

The baron had rather wisely insinuated himself between Alec and the bearded man. “His Grace, Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden,” the baron began, but the other man gave Lord Preston no chance to continue.

“I am Murdoch Maxwell,” he said coldly. “You will forgive me if I do not shake your hand. I’m far more interested in knowing why the bloody hell you took my niece to your bedroom last night. I’ve searched for her all morning, until a servant told me she saw you leading her up the stairs last night.”

Alec’s head was spinning. Images flashed in his brain. Of his lady pirate’s touch. Running her fingers through her hair. The certainty that she had lain atop him as they kissed. It was as if he could almost feel her slight weight once more, the precise angle of her knee between his.

He’d felt so strange. As if his blood were afire.

Aye,
chided a voice in his mind,
the fire of desire.

After that…God, but it was as if his mind had been wiped clean.

He raised his head. His jaw clamped together. His gaze slid from the she-pirate in his bed to Murdoch Maxwell. “This woman—”

“Lady Maura,” Murdoch snapped. “Lady Maura O’Donnell, daughter of the late earl of McDonough. Please have the courtesy to use her name.”

“I bloody well didn’t know her name!” Alec ran a hand through his hair. Lord, but he sounded like a fool! This was unlike any other situation he’d found himself in. He wasn’t a silly young pup who settled himself between any pair of willing white thighs that parted for him. He stayed away from trouble—he didn’t make trouble for himself.

“Is this your usual manner of taking women to your bed, your grace?” The bearded man called Murdoch had turned toward the bed. “Did he hurt you, lass? Force you to come with him?”

Alec couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Nor could he believe what he was seeing, for the chit—Lady Maura—had lowered her head, a pose of innocence. Her mouth opened, then closed. “I…” she stammered. “Uncle, truly, I cannot say how I came to be here—”

“The devil you can’t!” Alec exploded. “I assure you, Lady Maura came to my room knowing full well what she was about!”

“Did she now?” Murdoch stepped forward. “I know my niece, your grace.” His voice vibrated with feeling. “I know very well what she is, and what she is not. I also know full well the intent and desires of men who see a beautiful young woman like my niece—men who take what they want and care nothing about those beneath them. And I daresay the proof is in the pudding, is it not?” With one arm he swept aside the coverlet.

Blood smeared the sheet.

Maura yanked her eyes from it.

Alec was too stunned to speak.

Murdoch balled his hands into fists. He turned furiously on the duke. “I knew it. I knew it! You ravished her. By heaven, you’ve ruined her. I—”

The baron spread his hands wide. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! I beg of you, allow me to bid the remainder of my guests farewell. Let us meet in my study at noon. Then I’m certain this matter can all be sorted out.”

Murdoch looked at Maura. “Maura, gather your things and go to your room.”

She appeared stricken. “Uncle—”

“Maura!” he roared.

Her eyes downcast, the chit scooted from his bed, the sheet trailing behind her like a train. She looked around, searching for her clothes. He snatched her costume up from the chair and shoved it into her hand.

Alec opened the door wide. He spoke not a word while the others filed out.

Once they were gone, his jaw clenched.

He was not a man to cast aside his sense of honor. He was not cavalier when it came to the female sex. He set limits for himself and he adhered to them. Married women were off-limits. Virgins were off-limits. A woman’s virginity was a gift to her husband—to be taken only by her husband.

So what the hell happened? Had he been so drunk he’d broken his own rule?

His gaze slid back to the stain on the sheets and remained there for a long, long time. The proof of the pudding indeed, he thought with a taste of bitter humor. He would never have made love to a virgin. Indeed, he couldn’t remember making love to the enchanting Lady Maura at all.

But by God, it seemed he had.

He gave a black laugh. Oh, the irony—to have taken a maid—initiated her into the world of lovemaking…

So why the devil couldn’t he remember it?

Downstairs, Maura paused as she stood outside the baron’s study. Murdoch had given her a long glance as they walked back to her room. She’d had no choice but to don her pirate’s costume in an empty room across the hall from the duke’s. The duke had hiked a brow, an unnerving half smile on his lips as she passed. He couldn’t know that he had been drugged. Or could he?

Nothing had gone wrong thus far. Nothing.

Was it too good to be true?

He was a shrewd man. She sensed it keenly, as did Murdoch when they discussed the next step in their plan. Maura shivered a little. No doubt very little escaped the duke’s notice. She could not stop her mind from running riot. She prayed he thought last night a tryst and not a trap. Or perhaps he knew it was a trap and not a tryst.

She must stop this, she told herself. Now. She pressed her fingers against her cheeks. Her fingers were cold, her skin burning hot.

As hot as his body had been.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Murdoch was playing his part to the hilt. When she was a child and had done something naughty, a wordless glower from him had sent her scampering away. And when he scolded her
soundly—for, oh, but she’d been a very mischievous child—she ran to her room as fast as she could.

Not that the Duke of Gleneden was intimidated.

She suspected there wasn’t much that would rattle him.

Damn the man. She couldn’t stay out here forever. They were all inside. Waiting.

Raising her chin, striving for regal demeanor, she walked into the library. Her gown was of crimson taffeta, to lend her courage.

She blinked hard, staving off tears, as she thought of all that happened last night. The wanton way she had acted. The way she had encouraged the duke. All that had brought her to this point.

All three men rose when she entered. Behind his desk, the baron executed a small bow. Murdoch extended a hand to Maura, indicating the chair beside him.

As for the duke, well, she’d never seen a man who stood so straight. Everything about him was impeccable. He wore a black coat over a shirt so white even Jen might have laughed and said it blinded her. Gold cuff links glimmered as he straightened his jacket.

This, she realized with a twist of her stom
ach, was her first true glimpse of Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden. Haughty and tight-lipped, his manner one of cool disdain.

She stole a look at him. She couldn’t help it—and oh, but she shouldn’t have! For that glimpse of his expression sent a shiver all through her. His regard was scarcely that of delight, as it had been last night.

A part of her trembled inside. Another part of her was fighting mad. Still another warned her to be on guard. His eyes were like chips of pale blue. She felt them like the prick of ice.

And all at once she wished she dared to punch him in the jaw—to see it climb higher yet!

The Baron of Killane waved a hand that they should sit. He coughed, cleared his throat and coughed again. It was apparent he wasn’t sure how to broach the events of last night.

“Well, then,” he said finally, “while I dislike involving myself in the affairs of others, something happened in my home that must be addressed and set to rights. I do not wish for my home to be known as a place for raucous indulgence. I hope that this is an isolated incident.”

Alec leaned an elbow on the armrest of his chair, completely at ease. “My lord,” he said with a faint smile, “I can assure you, no one will assume that you host orgies in your home.”

Murdoch glared at him. “Let us establish the events of last evening, then. Maura, I doubt that you wandered into His Grace’s room on your own. Therefore, your grace, I am obliged to ask. Did you take my niece—Lady Maura—to your room last night?”

“I did,” the duke said evenly.

“With the intention of—”

“Most certainly.” Alec shifted his head to glance at the baron, then Maura. “Let us be frank. We are all aware there are times when a man and woman become…amorous. Such was the case between myself and Lady Maura last night. She is not a child”—he mocked her, and he knew it—“and I cannot imagine that she did not know the consequences of accompanying a man to his room. Alone, as it were.”

Maura’s gaze skidded to the duke’s, then quickly away. She clasped her fingers together in her lap. Her deceit sat on her shoulder, a weight she could not discard. But she could not let it sway her.

She bit back a half sob. “I…Uncle…” She faltered. “It was the wine, I think. Too much…Otherwise, I would never have…I should not have—”

“Do not offer excuses, Maura. What you have done has gone far beyond the pale!”

Tears welled in her eyes at her uncle’s rebuke.

Alec eyed Maura coolly. Tears? he scoffed to himself. A quivering lip? She floundered so convincingly. And now she was wringing her hands. Oh, she played the shrinking violet so well! She knew just when to rail, just when to sob, just how to play the game. Why, she should have been on the stage!

He rose to his feet. “Blind yourself to the truth, sir, but your niece made herself an easy mark. She was quite amenable to my advances. I did not force her. Ask her yourself.”

Maura gasped. How dare he sound so lofty! She was inclined to believe he was goading her. The beast! She knew full well he did when he continued, addressing himself to Murdoch.

“Perhaps,” said the duke, “you simply do not know your niece as well as you think.”

Murdoch pushed his chair back. “Your grace, I warn you—”

“Were you unwilling, Lady Maura?” Alec interrupted. He turned to Maura. His tone was as icy as his gaze. “Did I force you to do anything you did not want? I recall no protests. Or perhaps you wish to provide your account? In the heat of the moment, I find my mind a bit fuzzy as to all of the details. Perhaps you are better equipped to supply them.”

Again he heard her give a half sob, and watched
her shake her head. Tears of supposed shame welled in her eyes. Oh, she portrayed the picture of artless innocence so well! Too much bloody wine, hell! Where was the brazen pirate from last night? He was being played like a pawn, he decided furiously.

“Do not look at her like that,” growled her uncle. “Do not dare to blame her! The fact remains, you have disgraced her! You took advantage of an innocent woman. And I defy you to tell me she was not pure.”

Alec’s eyes flickered. “Nonetheless, it occurs to me that your niece was—”

“Hold!” Murdoch roared, on his feet now and squared away toward the duke. “Be very careful what you say, your grace! Your rank will not countenance the ruination of my niece, and that is exactly what you have done!”