Swept Away By a Kiss (38 page)

Valerie’s whole body went cold. She had dreadfully misjudged this man. But he was Lady March’s nephew and Steven’s childhood friend. She hadn’t imagined he could betray them both so fully. She prayed Steven had not underestimated him too, that she was the only fool.

“I don’t see how my private affairs are any concern of yours, sir,” she said as firmly as she could. “Now unhand me this instant.”

The wind whirled the icy snow around them. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes. Then his lips twisted in distress.

“You have played your last game, my lady. If you will not tell me what you know, you will not tell him either.”

He pushed her hard. Valerie stumbled back and her foot stepped into emptiness. Flailing, she grabbed his coat. He pried her hands loose, and she tripped again, tumbling down the icy embankment. Her head slammed against the ice, and pain sliced through her before blackness descended.

Most of the guests were already abed when Steven finally arrived at the castle. Thrusting Tristan’s reins into a groom’s hands, he barely paused to throw off his hat and greatcoat before bolting up the stairs to the east wing. No answer met his knock upon Valerie’s bedchamber door. He tried the handle. Unlocked. The rooms were empty, neither lady nor maid preparing for sleep. Panic gripped him.

He searched the castle and found Michaels and Fenton in the billiards room finishing a bottle. They greeted him and asked laughingly if he passed Hannsley on the road to London. The fellow had left Castlemarch that afternoon as though Napoleon’s entire army chased him. Fear clutched tighter at Steven’s gut.

Casually, he inspected their game, twirling a cue in his hands as though he meant to play, and asked what entertainments he had missed. Fenton scowled as Michaels mentioned charades, and then a stroll to the Greek folly after dinner.

“Flemming stole your march on the lovely Lady Valerie at the lake, didn’t he, Michaels?” Fenton taunted as he took his shot. “Didn’t see either of them in the drawing room later either. Guess she prefers the quiet type.” He snickered.

Michaels cast Steven a careful look and said something noncommittal, but Steven had heard enough. Extricating himself, he vaulted up the stairs to Alistair’s bedchamber.

His childhood friend slouched before a dead fire, an empty bottle of brandy in his hand. As Steven walked toward him, Alistair lifted his drink-fogged gaze, blinked several times, and seemed to recognize him. His eyes pooled with fear.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to do it,” he slurred, clutching his fingers around the bottle. “She knows, and I had to. I—I—”

Steven grabbed his neck cloth and dragged him up.

“Where is she?”

Alistair continued wagging his head. Spittle ran down his chin.

“I will see you hanged, Alistair. Don’t doubt me,” Steven ground out, twisting his grip. “Where is she?”

“The lake. The f-far side.”

Steven released him, swinging back toward the door.

“I didn’t mean to— Didn’t want—” Alistair’s protests faded behind him as he ran down the corridor.

Chapter 34

V
alerie swam into consciousness, waking into icy cold penetrating her senses. She floated, a sea of soft, stinging snow enveloping her, urging her to return to slumber. Dull pain echoed through her head and she could not feel her hands or feet. Distantly a muffled voice whispered that this was dangerous, but she greeted the idea with apathy, slipping again toward soothing oblivion.

Out of the blackness a shadow rose above her, reaching for her, taking her up. Her eyelids fluttered and soft fabric cradled her face. As her eyes drifted shut, she smelled the sea.

She was light in his arms despite the ice coating her cloak. The snowfall slowed, and Steven could see the gamekeeper’s cottage ahead, tucked into the trees where the forest came near the lake’s edge. For now, the modest shelter was the closest place of safety.

He whistled for Tristan, pulled the saddle off, and settled Valerie atop the exhausted horse’s warm back. With a knife from his saddle pack, he pried the cottage door’s lock open. The dwelling was small and rustic but clean-swept, a pile of wood stacked against one wall.

Steven drew horse and woman into the cottage and set to starting a fire. Heat soon snaked into the frigid air. Lifting Valerie from Tristan’s back, he carried her to a straw pallet before the fire. With quick fingers he unclasped the fasteners upon her cloak and removed her sodden muffler, gloves, and boots. Her damp gown and stockings followed, as well as the snug corset he sliced open with his knife. Wrapping her in a blanket, he tucked the edges of it around the mattress.

Staring down at her pale cheeks and lips, Steven willed his heartbeat to slow and his hands to cease trembling. Dragging his gaze away, he turned to his horse. Swiftly, mechanically he rubbed down the animal with a rag and draped a blanket over its back. Then he filled a bucket with snow and set it by the hearth to melt.

When no more tasks remained, he crouched beside Valerie and placed his palm upon her brow. She was far too cold. The fire burned steadily, but its warmth was insufficient, and he could not move her closer to the blaze without danger of igniting the straw ticking.

Without further thought, he stripped off his boots, coat, cravat, and waistcoat. Then, answering a months’ old wish, he slipped onto the pallet behind her and drew her inert body against his.

Half an hour later he added wood to the fire, offered water to his horse, and returned to Valerie. Tucking her again into his embrace, he breathed deeply. She was warm, at least for the time being. Steven closed his eyes, praying that her temperature would not now climb, and finally allowing himself to sleep.

* * *

The snap of a burning log woke Valerie. Then she heard a different sound beneath her ear, low and regular. A heartbeat.

Feeling and awareness returned slowly. She did not stir. Her head throbbed, but she was warm, blessedly, deliciously warm. Without opening her eyes, she knew that a fire blazed nearby and that she was in Steven’s arms.

Breathing in the scents of burning wood and horse and the unmistakable remnants of limewater, she cracked open her eyelids. Firelight danced across her sight, slicing pain through her head. She clamped her eyes shut.

They were not in the castle. But it didn’t matter where he had brought her. He had come for her and remained with her, holding her in his arms as she had yearned for him to hold her.

Sleep ran through her head and behind her eyes and she struggled to hold it at bay. She might want the delicious fantasy of Steven’s embrace to last forever, but it would end. Until it did, she must stay awake for as many stolen moments as possible.

She opened her eyes again and focused upon her hand resting atop his chest. Not far from her fingertips his shirt buckled enough for her to see a glimpse of skin beneath. Stretching her sore lungs in another deep breath, she let her fingers stray to the closest tiny button. It came open easily. Another, and a few more, and she pushed the linen aside and laid his chest bare.

Heartbeat pounding in her aching head, she slipped her palm over him, trailing her fingers across his hard belly and passing with a feather’s touch over the line of hair that ran beneath his breeches. She stalled as her fingertips discovered the uneven, silky smoothness of his scar. Holding her breath, she traced the length of the old wound across his waist and ribs.

His iron grip seized her hand.

“Stop.” His voice was incongruously soft.

Valerie let out her breath slowly. “Why?” Her throat scratched. “Aren’t all pirates made of salt and leather so they can withstand the rigors of life at sea?” She tugged. He released her and she moved a fingertip lightly alongside the scar. He flinched.

“I told you once before, I am not a pirate.” His conversational voice rumbled beneath her cheek. “This sailor, however, is made of flesh and blood, and that flesh is rather prone to ticklishness in some spots.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. She flattened her palm over his ribs. Gooseflesh spread across his warm skin in the wake of her touch.

Relief bubbled up in her and she raised her head. Her smile faltered. His gaze was dark, firelight flickering in his lion eyes as though to warn her off. Valerie swallowed hard, her throat raw and pulse racing.

“Is that why you wouldn’t allow me to touch you the other night? Because you are ticklish?” She tried to make her voice light, but it sounded hoarse.

Steven took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, setting his lips to each fingertip, one after the other. Warmth tangled with sweet tension inside her.

“No.” His voice was low. “I did not allow you to touch me, Valerie, because if you had I could not have stopped myself from making love to you.” He leaned up on his elbow and his hand curved around her cheek. “What did Alistair do to you?”

Valerie shook her head. Her mind and heart spun. She didn’t want to think of Alistair Flemming’s desperate glare as he pushed her onto the ice. She wanted to gaze into Steven’s golden eyes and lose herself forever.

She spread her palm upon his chest. His rapid heartbeat sent delicious pressure gathering in her belly. She smoothed her hand across his lean muscles, and the eager ache spread.

“Where are we?”

“The gamekeeper’s cottage at the far end of the lake.”

“And the hour?”

“Past midnight, only.”

She stroked a finger across his flat, brown nipple and watched it harden. Leaning forward, she surrounded it with her lips. His fingers gripped hers again. He felt wonderful, so firm and male and him, the man she had loved forever, it seemed. She flicked her tongue against his skin, tasting salt and heaven.

“I am touching you now,” she murmured.

His chest rose upon a tight breath. “So you are.”

She kissed his body, lingering with her lips open. “Well, Father La Marque?”

“Well what, wanton?”

Valerie tilted her face up and her breath caught. Steven’s eyes sparkled with heat and, amazingly, laughter. She went perfectly still, only her heart galloping wildly. She loved him, so painfully and so completely.

“Steven, I have longed for this for months,” she whispered. “Beneath my skin—” She broke off, not knowing how to finish.

“You have not been alone in that longing, dear lady.” His lips brushed hers in the gentlest caress. She leaned into him. He took her completely, first her lower lip, then both, flooding her with heat as he opened his mouth over hers and pressed into her.

Valerie melted against him. No one had ever kissed her the way he did, claiming her as he caressed, demanding until she gave him everything. Shivers of satisfaction washed through her as he nipped at her lower lip, then slipped his tongue along it ever so lightly. But she wanted so much more. She sank into his mouth, moving along with him as he pulled away.

“No. Don’t stop.” She gripped his neck to draw him close. “There is no one near.”

“No pirates, priests, or polite society?” He chuckled, a rich sound of pleasure. But his gaze seemed hesitant. Valerie pressed her lips to his again, wanting to feel his mouth on her entire body.

“Or fear,” she said.

Steven’s arms encircled her, turning her onto her back as he moved atop her. A whimper of pleasure escaped Valerie’s throat and she welcomed his hard body between her legs, against her aching. His firelit gaze searched her features as his hand cradled her battered head.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice beautifully husky, golden eyes questioning.

Gulping back the thickness in her throat, Valerie touched his face, caressing the sculpted planes of his brow and jaw.

“Then don’t,” she said. “Don’t.”

Steven’s mouth came down on hers hungrily, instantly seeking. His hand moved along the curve of her waist and he pressed his hips into hers. Pleasure rushed through her, and Valerie moaned, opening her mouth to his tongue. A growl of satisfaction rose from his chest, and his kiss changed, deepened. She wrapped her arms around his neck, responding with her mouth and hands, telling him silently what she couldn’t dare say to him with words. Not yet.

She trembled as he pushed aside her shift and curved his hand around the underside of her breast. Lightly he caressed the arc of her waist, then up again. Valerie shivered, her breaths shortening as he traced a circle around her tight nipple, then played it lightly. Her lips parted on a silent sigh of need. He cupped her and passed over the tender peak again, his touch dipping deep inside her, his hands adoring her. She sucked in air and he caught her gasp, drawing her tongue to his with wickedly teasing caresses until she shifted in want.