Sea of Fire (17 page)

At last, when she could handle his fast pace no more, she stopped and panted. “I must rest,” she said between breaths.

“The carriage is not far. Hold on,” he continued with her in tow until they reached the vehicle.

She plopped down in the seat rather unladylike. “I ... don’t think ... I’ll ever ... catch my breath.”

“Ready,” he yelled out the window to the driver, and next faced her. “You were good,” he said, and smiled at her before he tugged his robe up over his head and off. “Whew. That’s better,” he said and relaxed in his seat.

He wore a simple lawn shirt opened halfway to the waistband of his breeches. He was damp with perspiration and the shirt clung to his muscled chest. He exuded maleness and a power which consumed the inside of the carriage.

She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help herself. Like a magnet drawn to metal, her eyes stared at his chest, his legs and ...

“Doesn’t your robe itch?”

Thankfully, he interrupted. Her gaze and thoughts were becoming dangerously improper.

“Aye. Some.” She lowered her hood, removed the cap and fluffed her flattened lacks. Certainly, he didn’t expect her to completely disrobe.

“What are you wearing underneath?” He cocked his head curiously.

“ ‘Tis none of your concern and not polite of you to ask.” God in heaven, he could make her uncomfortable.

He gave a broad smile. “Always on your guard—aren’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Relax.”

“I am.”

“Little liar,” he said and blatantly stared at her.

“Stop watching me like that.”

He ignored her. Blast him.

Hunched over, she popped up from her seat, intending to smack him in the nose with her fist. The warning glare he gave her forced her to sit back in place. When she did, he flashed her a lopsided smile before he rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

Now, perhaps she, too, might have some peace until they reached his town house.

* * * *

Exhausted as Elizabeth was when she snuggled under the bed linens, sleep failed to come. She and Christian had wished each other a good night well over two hours ago. She was still wide awake at nearly three in the morn. She kept thinking about Roderick and what he would say the next time she met with him. Would he be angry and blame her because they had missed their meeting? Would he plan something even more horrible for her to do? What if he had seen Christian? Doubts nagged and chipped away at her until she wanted to scream. Lying in bed was like a feeding ground of negative thoughts for her mind. She decided to rise and search for some reading that would promote sleepiness.

She lit the lamp and first searched the bedchamber for an old
Hibernian Magazine
or
Dublin News
left behind by a previous guest, or a stray book that had failed to get reshelved in the Traynor library. Nothing.

Rain gently pattered against the windowpane, instantly giving her second thoughts about prowling around Christian’s home—for that was what she’d be doing. After all, she was a guest, though not because they were friends or even lovers. She laughed out loud at this last notion— Christian her lover. What she knew about Christian suggested that his beloved would not spend the evening alone.

She rested on the edge of the bed and remembered when she had spent the night in his bedchamber. He had forced her down on the bed and pressed himself against her to block her escape. Yet, he hadn’t hurt her nor did she believe he would have. Her instincts told her he would be a gentle, yet demanding lover.

Images of Mary Margaret drifted to mind, and she experienced a pang of envy over the woman’s relationship with Christian. Next instant, she chastised herself for such foolishness. She didn’t even like Christian. It was the sole idea of having someone special care for her that appealed to her. She had hoped that person would be Adam. Silly lady. The last person she needed to replace him with, was his brother. She sighed. She’d risk a trip to the Traynor library to occupy her mind with other thoughts.

She slipped into her wrapper and grabbed the lamp. Tiptoeing, she made her way downstairs to the library and set the lamp down on an oversized, carved mahogany desk. Behind the desk were wall-to-wall shelves with stacks of books. Her intention was to take the first book that sounded dreadful and return to her room.

Instead, through her peripheral vision, she noticed a doll sitting in a child-sized chair. This was strange decor for a gentleman’s library, unless a child spent a great deal of time here. She reached for the doll, which was a miniature version of an adult.

Adam had never mentioned children. Adam never told her anything. Did he have a child, or was his secrecy solely a means to get to her father? Her father had made it clear that Adam had information to share about himself, but he wished to do so in time. Were children part of this information? Somehow, she couldn’t picture Adam as a father. Especially, after he abducted her father.

She placed the doll back in the small chair when a startling revelation presented itself. Christian had never said he wasn’t married. Though Mary Margaret was his mistress, he still could have a wife and children. A mistress was acceptable to some wives, but one would never be to her. If he was married, where was this family? The notion that he might be wedded depressed her.

There was so little she knew about the Traynors. Perhaps that was why she began to study the paintings on the walls and to examine the bric-a-brac on the tables and shelves throughout the room. Something was bound to give her a clue about the kind of family the Traynors were.

Her hopes were dashed, however, for if any painting or object meant anything other than the obvious indication of the family’s decorating taste, only the owners knew. Still, Adam may have been tight-lipped, but Christian had no reason to be. He should fully tell her what she wanted to know.

Without further contemplation, she grabbed the lamp and marched upstairs towards Christian’s bedchamber, plagued with curiosity. If she couldn’t sleep, by all that’s holy, he wasn’t going to sleep either—at least not until he answered every one of her questions.

Chapter Twelve

Sweet mother of God! She was the most beautiful creature Christian had ever seen, standing next to his bed, a goddess begging for his love. He lifted the bed linens so this lovely creature could lie down beside him. Clothed in a sweeping chiffon gown, she seductively came to his side. He reached for her. Just as she was about to cover him with her luscious shape, a loud bang jolted him to semi-consciousness.

The door? Thunder? He forced himself to return to the goddess. She was over him now. Her long golden hair hid her face. He brushed the strands aside. Elizabeth! Instantly, she rolled from him and shoved him with both feet hard enough so that he fell from the bed onto the floor twisted in the bed linens. The hard landing shocked him into full wakefulness. He squinted at the flood of light in the doorway.

“Good. You’re awake,” Elizabeth said and took several steps inside the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He had experienced the best sleep and the best dream he had had in weeks. That was—until Elizabeth had showed up in the dream, and it turned into a nightmare.

“I have many questions that need answering. Since Adam didn’t share his background with me, I thought you might enlighten me.” She set the lamp on a side table near an armchair in the corner before she seated herself. “What are you doing on the floor? Please stand up so I may see you.”

He inwardly smiled. A shadow hid him, so apparently she didn’t realize he slept in the raw. He’d stand up and send the firebrand running. Maybe then, the goddess would appear once more.

“As you wish, miss.” Christian untwisted the bed linens wrapped around him and slowly rose to his feet.

She gulped and shielded her eyes with one hand. “You are not decent.”

“I’m perfectly decent. I’m in my own bedchamber in my own bed, or I was until you came barging through the door—uninvited, I might add.” She was an innocent, as he had thought. Yet, she had not swooned or raced from the room in terror.

“True. I was not thinking. Please cover yourself. I really must speak to you.”

“What’s in it for me?” he asked. She’d not get off easy for interrupting his sleep to ask some silly questions.

“What do you want?” she asked, directing her voice toward the floor. Her hand still shielded him from her view.

“My feet are cold.”

“I can heat some water for you to soak your feet,” she offered.

“Nay. Not good enough. It will take too long.” He stood with his arms crossed and smiled at her. If she was determined to have this question-and-answer game, he’d have some fun while doing so.

“If you get back in bed and cover yourself up real tight, I’ll stack some extra linens near your feet.”

His smile widened. “Nay. Not good enough. We’re going to play a game, Elizabeth. Whenever you give me something, I’ll give you something. I must warn you. There will be more at stake as we go along, but all you have to do is say ‘quits,’ and the game will be over at that time. Are your questions important enough for you to risk playing?” He quietly slipped back into bed and tugged the covers up to his waist, but allowed his feet to stick out from the other end.

The room was silent for a moment. She cleared her throat and squeaked, “Aye. Can you make yourself decent now?”

“I’m way ahead of you,” he answered.

She lowered her hand. Relief washed over her face.

“Come here,” he ordered.

She hesitated, stoically raised her chin, and did so.

He pointed to his feet.

“Aye. Those are your feet,” she confirmed.

“My feet are cold. I want you to rub them.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not so sure. ‘Tis a bit intimate.”

“Not as intimate as it’s going to get. Are you crying ‘quits’ before we’ve even begun?” he challenged her. “ ‘Tis only my feet. ‘Tis not like I asked you to rub my ...”

“I’ll rub your feet,” she interrupted and tugged one foot up within her reach.

“Ouch! My foot happens to be attached to this leg. Sit down near my feet, so I’ll be comfortable.”

Even in the lamplight he saw a rosy red hue to her cheeks, but she sat closer and began to massage his toes, next the arch and ankle.

“Your feet really are cold,” she said.

“Not for long.”

She glanced up at him, and he winked at her. She lowered her gaze to his foot.

“Don’t forget the other one.”

“The other one does not get my ministrations until you answer one of my questions,” she firmly stated.

“Ask.” He propped up the pillows behind him and waited.

She removed his foot from her lap and asked, “Is Adam married and does he have children?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said and waved a finger at her. “Don’t try to sneak in two questions. You only get one.”

She sighed. “Is Adam married?”

“Aye and nay.” Did the lady still care for Adam despite his behavior towards her?

“No fair,” she said with a pout. “It can’t be both, or you’ll have to explain.”

“I make the rules.”

“Do you want this other foot massaged?”

He wanted the other foot massaged and more, whether her thoughts pertained to Adam or not. “I’ll concede this time. Adam was married. His wife died.”

She remained expressionless. If she had any feelings about this, she kept them to herself. She simply sat at his side and started to massage his other foot.

After a few moments, he said, “My feet are warm enough. My leg has a cramp. Will you see to it?” He lifted the bed linens so both legs were exposed some six inches above the knees.

She gave him a doubtful look. “Which leg has the cramp?”

“Both.”

When she didn’t take action, he said, “Are you done with your questions? Quits is it then?”

This prompted her to knead the muscles of one leg. Good God! The woman had the touch. He closed his eyes until she stopped.

“Do you have a wife? Nay, wait. Let me rephrase that. Do you have a wife that is either deceased or alive?”

“Why?”

“I ask the questions, remember?” She folded her hands in her lap.

“Pardon me,” he haughtily said and smiled. “I have no wife either dead or alive.”

She continued to knead his other leg. A few moments later, he said, “My leg cramps are gone, however, from lying in this position so long, my arse has become sore.”

She sprang to her feet. “You go too far. Surely, you’re not going to request I ... I ... you know.”

He gave a hearty laugh. Her expression was priceless. “Certainly not. That would not be very gentlemanly of me, now would it? I was going to suggest that I roll to my stomach so you may use your magical fingers on my shoulders and back.”

She appeared more relaxed after his statement, but he could see she was warm. Strands of her hair clung to her forehead and near her temples. Her nightwear clung to her breasts. His eyes held their gaze there before he perused the rest of her shape, causing a pressure to build in his loins. “Well?” he croaked.

“I still have more questions. Roll over.”

He did so. She sat back down next to him and firmly squeezed and rubbed circles on his neck. A few minutes passed and her fingers and palms moved to his shoulders and eventually trailed down his spine. He sighed with pleasure and said, “Where did you learn to do this? I’ve never experienced such a tantalizing massage.” He raised himself to his elbows and glanced over his right shoulder to see her face.

She smiled. “I’ve never given anyone a massage before. I guess it just comes naturally.”

Good God, she was unique. Adam most certainly was suffering from some mental lapse or illness. Never would his brother have given up such an enchanting woman.

“Continue with my back,” he said.

“Nay. I get to ask another question.”

“Go on then.” He rolled to his side in order to better face her, bent his elbow and propped his head up with his hand. “What would you like to know now?”

“Does Adam have children?”

“He has a wee lass of two years and son of five years.”