Kenleigh-Blakewell Family Saga Boxed Set (Books 1 & 2)

by Pamela Clare

  On the other side of the inlet an enormous heron walked in the shallows on ridiculously long legs, hunting for anything unfortunate enough to move. It eyed her warily but did not hide or fly away. A small blue crab, scared up from the bottom by the motion of her feet, scuttled into deeper waters. Off to her left, a splash and an expanding ring of ripples told her that a fish, perhaps a young spot or a bass, had just leaped up to catch an insect.

  When she was a little girl Takotah had often brought her to this inlet on hot summer afternoons, and let her shed her clothes and swim in the water. The current was not strong except at the mouth of the cove, and the water teemed with life: fish, grass shrimp, crab, oysters, diving ducks, muskrat. For a curious little girl, it had been paradise.

  She sat down on a large rock in the shade at the water’s edge and let her feet dangle. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her back. How she would have liked to be that carefree little girl now, to undress and splash about, to float on her back and watch birds cross the backdrop of blue sky. But she was far too old to get away with swimming naked.

  Wasn’t she?

  Temptation began to prick at her. There was little chance of anyone happening along and seeing her. There were no fields nearby and no workers. No one but Takotah knew she was likely to come here. Because the banks were high and the trees grew thick, the cove was well hidden from passersby, should there be any. No craft was likely to sail close enough to the cove for its passengers to see her. But she hadn’t been naked in the open since before her body had begun to change from a girl’s to that of a woman, and the very idea of romping about unclothed was more than a little frightening. If she wasn’t completely undressed and didn’t linger, perhaps it wouldn’t be too out of order.

  Before she was able to admit to herself what she was about, she had hopped to the sand and was lifting her gown over her head. She tossed it carelessly over a tree branch. Afraid of losing hairpins in the water, she removed them one by one and put them in a pile on a rock. She loosened her underskirts and let them fall to the ground in a heap. Removing her stiff corset proved a bit more complicated, but with a bit of tugging and pulling she at last managed to free herself. How she’d get it on again unassisted was a bit of a mystery, but she’d worry about that later.

  She moaned with pleasure as the cool breeze penetrated the thin cotton of her shift and brought immediate relief from the heat. Unable to get herself to remove the shift, she stepped into the water, first only up to her knees, then to her hips, then at last to her chin. She laughed out loud, exhilarated by the feel of the cool water against her skin, giddy from her own recklessness. The water was so clear she could see her feet treading through the eelgrass and silt on the bottom. She held her breath and dove, propelling herself downward.

  Cool and quiet, the world below the surface was completely different from the world above. It had been so long since she had been underwater that it all seemed new to her again. The light filtering to the bottom made everything appear a dappled shade of green, even her skin. The bigger fish had fled, but smaller fish and tiny grass shrimp darted through the thick, undulating vegetation, seemingly indifferent to her presence. Oysters, some half buried in the silt, littered the riverbed. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two tiny blennies fighting over the shelter provided by a small, empty crab shell. The ferocity with which the little fish battled was almost comical, considering their size. She watched until she thought her lungs would burst, then swam back to the surface.

  She could not dally here. The sun would burn her skin if she remained in the water too long, and there was much to be done today. The kitchen garden needed weeding. Some of the herbs and vegetables were ready to be harvested and replanted. Rebecca was nearing her time and needed help with the more strenuous dairying chores. The tobacco, which now stood knee-high, had to be protected against hornworms and would soon need to be topped. But surely the plantation could survive without her for another ten minutes.

  She had just spotted an eagle soaring high overhead when an enormous splash shattered the silence and made her gasp. She righted herself in the water, only to get a glimpse of a riderless horse on the bank and the form of a man gliding toward her underwater. Driven by raw panic, she turned and swam desperately toward the opposite shore. But before she had gone more than five feet, an arm closed around her waist.

  She screamed and lashed out desperately with fists and feet. He had two hands on her and was pulling her nearly weightless body toward him through the water. “Let me go!”

  She managed one good kick to the groin, then recognized him. “Mr. Braden?”

  He doubled over in pain and sank beneath the surface.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cassie watched Cole’s still form beneath the water and worried for one heart-thudding moment that she had knocked him out and he would drown. But when he rose to the surface a second or two later quite alive, the fury in his eyes sent her scrambling around him to the riverbank.

  “Have you gone completely insane?” He glared at her from where he stood, waist-high in the water, his voice strained.

  “Me? Perhaps you’d like to give me an explanation!” she shouted back, the salty breeze raising goose bumps on her wet skin. “You nearly frightened me out of my wits!”

  “I thought to save your life, though I can see my concern was wasted.” He moved slowly toward the shore in obvious discomfort. He wore no shirt, having discarded it carelessly on the sand. Rivulets of water traced paths down the skin on his chest and abdomen. His dark hair, normally tied back in a leather thong, hung, wet and dripping, just below his shoulders, the thong evidently lost in the water. Breeches clung to his thighs and groin like a second skin, leaving no detail to the imagination.

  She watched him rise from the water, wet skin and muscle, and found it hard to breathe. “Save my life?” She shifted her gaze away from him and ignored the strange fluttering sensation in her abdomen. “My life was not in danger until you jumped into the water and nearly scared me to death!”

  “I saw you floating and thought you drowned.”

  “Drowned?”

  “Obviously I was mistaken.” He came to stand before her. “And for that mistake, I’ve been all but unmanned.”

  “I thought I was fighting for my life.” Why should she feel the need to defend her actions? She’d reacted in the only way she could under the circumstances. How was she to have known it was he?

  “Fighting for your life. Against me? If I had intended to kill you, I would have done so long ago and spared myself endless trouble.”

  “Trouble? Trouble? I’ve treated you with every kindness, only to be rewarded with humiliation and ingratitude. Don’t talk to me about trouble, Mr. Braden!”

  He started to say something, but the words never left his mouth.

  Cassie saw the change in his eyes, felt his gaze slide over her body. To her horror she saw proof of his growing arousal. The large bulge at the apex of his thighs was unmistakable. Following his gaze, she looked down at herself, shrieked, and darted behind the nearest tree. She might as well have been naked. The wet white cotton of her chemise clung to her skin and was so transparent every inch of her body was clearly visible.

  He chuckled and walked toward Boadicea, the mare he’d abandoned on the bank.

  “I don’t know what you find amusing, Mr. Braden.” Her voice was unsteady. “But if you’d kindly mount and leave me to dress, I’d appreciate it.”

  “You must forgive me if I refuse, Mistress.”

  “What? You cannot mean to stand there?”

  “Aye, I do. Boadicea needs to drink and rest in the shade. I’m soaked to the skin, and, even if I wanted to, I doubt I could sit a horse just now, thanks to you. I’ll turn my back, if you like, but I won’t leave.”

  “But... but you’re . . . you’re . . .” She pointed, too abashed to actually finish the sentence aloud.

  Didn’t he understand she could not trust him when he had obviously let
lust get the best of his body already?

  “Aroused? How kind of you to notice.” He gave her a jaunty grin, seemingly unashamed and making no effort to hide the evidence. “It seems you haven’t quite unmanned me after all.”

  She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “You mock me.”

  “Mock you, Mistress? Never.”

  “Then I bid you to leave me in peace.”

  “I already said I’ll leave when I am so inclined.”

  “Oh, you are a horrid man!”

  “Are you going to stand behind that tree all day?”

  “At least have the decency to turn around.”

  With a shake of his head and a smile, he turned and led the mare to water.

  She darted out from the shelter of the pine and hastily donned her underskirts, all the while keeping a wary eye on Cole, who, to his credit, remained standing with his back to her, speaking in hushed tones to the horse. She grabbed her stockings and, ignoring the rough sand that clung to her feet, pulled them over her legs and tied them in place. Next came her shoes. But, as she had expected, the corset presented a problem. While it was laced she could tug it over her head but could not put her arms through and pull it over her shoulders. She tried unlacing it, putting it on backward, then lacing it and turning it around, but it was either too tight and wouldn’t budge or too loose and slid out of place.

  “Let me help.”

  “I don’t need your help, Mr. Braden. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.”

  “As you wish.”

  She could hear the smile that crept into his voice and was sure he was enjoying her frustration. She tried pulling the corset over her head once more, but managed only to pass her head and one arm through. She had almost decided to forgo wearing the hateful undergarment, when he suddenly turned and, with a curse, strode over to her.

  “Turn around,” he ordered gruffly, grabbing the corset from her and beginning to unlace it.

  Biting off a retort, she reluctantly complied, covering her breasts, all too aware of his presence behind her. She heard the snapping sound of the corset strings being pulled impatiently through the eyelets. He’d had lots of practice at this, she realized sourly.

  The corset was thrust abruptly in front of her by a tanned hand. “Put it on.”

  Cassie hastily wrapped the garment around her ribs, tucking it just beneath her breasts. For a moment nothing happened. If she had not been able to hear his breathing, she would have thought he no longer stood behind her. Then, stifling a gasp, she felt his fingers brush the skin of her back and neck as he gathered the wet mass of her hair to move it out of his way. She then felt small tugs as he began to pull the corset strings back through the tiny eyelets. But his fingers, which had so deftly unlaced the undergarment, now seemed awkward and slow. More than once he brushed against the wet fabric of her chemise with a knuckle or the back of his hand, each time flooding her body with heat and making it almost impossible for her to breathe.

  She realized she wanted him to kiss her. An image of him, wet and nearly naked, his lips pressed to her neck, leaped uninvited to her mind. Shivers ran from her buttocks to the nape of her neck.

  “How tiny does my mistress wish her waist to be?” His voice was a caress.

  “Not too tight, please.” She was surprised she could still speak.

  With two quick tugs on the laces, he tied the corset fast.

  “Thank you.” Her words came out in a whisper.

  He did not answer, but neither did he walk away.

  Nor did Cassie turn toward him, sure her face would reveal the nature of her thoughts. She closed her eyes, wanting him to touch her, willing him to touch her, but also wanting him to ride away. She could not stop a quick intake of breath when at last she felt his hands cup her shoulders and slide slowly down her arms. Nor could she keep herself from leaning back to rest against him, her shoulders pressing against the cool, damp skin of his chest. When finally he bent his head and kissed the left side of her neck, she couldn’t help moaning.

  His hands at her waist, he slowly turned her to face him. His blue eyes no longer held the mirth she’d seen just moments ago but revealed a darker, more primal emotion. She should have been afraid, but she was not. How could he mean her harm when his touch brought such blinding pleasure?

  And then he kissed her.

  She closed her eyes at the first brush of his lips and felt him trace a scalding path across her lower lip with his tongue. She heard herself whimper and found herself reaching up to return the kiss. With one hand she delved into the tangle of wet, dark hair that fell over his shoulders and down the back of his neck. With the other she tentatively explored his bare chest, her fingers tracing the crisscross of scars. How soft the dark curls felt against her palm. She felt the muscles of his abdomen tense as she brushed a smooth, flat nipple with her fingertips.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

  She looked into his eyes, eyes that held all the anguish of a man condemned, and felt a momentary thrill of victory. Was it possible that her touch affected him the way his affected her? She smiled and touched a hand to his cheek.

  He growled, pulling her against him in a crushing embrace. When his lips met hers again all gentleness was gone, replaced by something untamed and ferocious that left her breathless. He moved to kiss the rounded tops of her breasts just above the lace of her chemise, and she heard herself cry out, stunned by the heat between her thighs. Arouse him though she might, she was still very much an amateur at this game. And when he moved a hand to cup her breast, his thumb caressing an already taut nipple, she thought she might melt.

  “Cole.” Husky and sensual, the voice that came forth from her throat did not sound like hers.

  His hands stilled. He released her and stepped away. “Is that really who you think I am?” His voice was ice, his eyes slate. “Get dressed.”

  For a moment she could not believe what she’d heard. When he turned his back to her and walked to the water’s edge, she realized he’d meant it. Confused and trembling, she quickly retrieved her gown and pulled it over her head. What had she done to deserve his ire? Torn between anger and wounded pride, she fought the tears that gathered behind her eyes.

  Lifting her chin, she walked over to Andromeda and took the mare’s reins.

  “I don’t know what I’ve done to merit your rage, Mr. Braden, but I am not some alehouse trollop to be used and dismissed at your whim.” The trembling of her voice betrayed the torrent of emotions inside her.

  He turned toward her and fixed her with an unyielding gaze. “What kind of woman would want to make love with a man she thinks is a rapist?”

  Comprehension flooded her, and she felt the color drain from her face. She understood the question and its horrible implications. “You are not a free man yet, Mr. Braden. I pray for your sake you remember that.” She climbed into Andromeda’s saddle. “Your insolence could be your undoing.”

  “How right you are, Mistress.”

  * * *

  Alec gave Cassie a good ten-minute head start before he mounted and began the ride back, sure she wouldn’t want to arrive home in her disheveled state with him at her side. That would undoubtedly spawn awkward questions and unkind rumors.

  When he’d first spied her, she’d seemed a vision of Ophelia, floating lifeless and beautiful on the river. He hadn’t realized until she had begun to thrash and kick at him that she was alive. And that was one moment too late, he thought ruefully, shifting in the saddle.

  Though his dip in the river had cooled his skin, the sight of her clad in that wet chemise, the curves of her body outlined in transparent white, had given rise to heat of a kind that no amount of cold water could douse. If he’d had any sense he would have brought an end to this torment by giving them both what they needed. Had she not spoken his convict name, bringing him to his senses, he would have. If he was going to make love to her, he would make love to her as Alec Kenleigh, not Cole Braden.r />
  Deep down she believed him. He knew she did. But for some reason she would not admit the truth, not even to herself. She would not have allowed him to kiss her and touch her the way he had if she truly believed him a felon. Nor would she have kissed him back with such fervor, touched him so boldly.

  He could still feel her fingertips moving over his chest, taste the sweetness of her lips as she opened her mouth to his. And the way she’d smiled when she’d seen the effect she had on him… it was the smile of Eve, of a woman just discovering her primal power.

  Damn! He shouldn’t be attracted to her. She was not the sort of woman he wanted. She was bossy, too assertive for a female. She had a hellish temper. She kept slaves.

  Slaves carried over in Kenleigh ships.

  The mare began to prance uneasily beneath him, jerking at the reins.

  “It’s all right, girl,” Alec crooned, tightening his grip.

  Boadicea stomped, snorted, and rolled her eyes in fear.

  Alec felt the horse’s muscles bunch as if to rear.

  Timber groaned and cracked. Alec jerked his gaze toward the sound, kicked in his heels, and gave Boadicea her head. The mare sprang forward. With a crash, the tree hit the road behind them, missing them by a yard.

  Alec muttered reassurances and pulled the reins hard, trying to slow the spooked horse. “Whoa, girl. We’re fine. Good you were paying attention.”

  The whites of the horse’s eyes flashed, but she began to settle under Alec’s firm handling. Still, they were a good quarter mile down the road before Alec could safely dismount and retrace his route to check out the accident that could easily have spelled his death. From a distance he could see it was an old tree, enormous, its branches dead, its exposed wood whitened by sun and wind. For a moment he thought it had simply collapsed from age and decay. Then he saw the chop marks of an ax on its stump, fresh wood chips in the grass.