by Cara Elliott
Happy to cede all decisions to him, Sophie floated along in a fog of fatigue, oblivious to the curious stares from townsfolk gathered around the harbor market stalls. Cameron’s negotiations with the innkeeper were naught but a vague buzz…and she wasn’t quite sure how she managed to move her feet on the stairs. All she knew was that somehow her half boots came off with a plop and a soft woolen blanket dropped over her shoulders.
And then sleep—blessed, blessed sleep—wrapped itself around her weary body.
How long she lingered in sweet oblivion was impossible to gauge. All she knew was that the room was dappled in pale morning sunshine when she awoke.
“Ah, back from the world of Morpheus?” murmured Cameron, drawing her into his arms.
“Mmmm.” She gave a little stretch. “Yes, but I was having such delightful dreams.”
“Oh?” He nibbled at the shell of her ear. “Of what?”
“Shirred eggs, a rasher of bacon, hot scones slathered with butter and jam,” she murmured. “And an ocean of steaming hot tea…though to be honest, if I never see an ocean again, I shall not be disappointed.”
“And here I was hoping that your fantasies were straying to other appetites.”
Sophie felt a blush steal over her face, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was in bed with her, and wearing only his drawers. “Now that you mention it…” she began.
“Hush.” He silenced her with a light touch of his lips. “Much as I would like to tempt you into sin, I have an even more sensuous treat in store for you. Wait here.” He rose and moved to the washstand set in the shadow of the painted armoire.
Crockery clinked, releasing a wafting of heavenly aromas. A moment later he returned to the bed bearing a large tray heaped with food and drink.
“Cam!” The word was slightly muffled by a mouthful of muffin. “Your friends are right—you are a creature with unearthly powers. Who else but a magician could conjure a feast from a pitcher of cold water?”
“There’s a far more mundane explanation. The innkeeper’s wife took pity on us poor, lost bairns.” He passed her a plate of eggs and toast. “By the by, I also ordered up a bath. I assume you would like to wash the salt and sea grit from your skin.”
“You are truly a magician.” Sophie blew out a sigh after sipping her tea. “Now, if only you could wave a wand and make a freshly laundered gown appear out of thin air.”
“Sorry. That’s beyond my repertoire of skills,” replied Cameron. “But would you settle for a new garment? The selection was rather limited at the local shops, but I found a shade of dusky blue that will look quite lovely with your eyes.” He pulled a paper-wrapped parcel from beneath the bed. “I’ve also added a few other essentials. I made an educated guess as to size.”
A roguish smile. Which she covered with a cinnamon-dusted kiss. “I’m not sure which is more delicious,” she murmured. “You or this spiced fruit shortbread.”
“I’ll be around long after you’ve swallowed the last sultana.”
Oh, how I wish that you would be by my side…forever.
A lump formed in her throat, turning the taste of sweetness to ashes. Cameron made her laugh. And all too soon he would make her cry. She would return to her family cottage and he would head off to…wherever a Pirate Prince called home.
Forcing herself to swallow her heartache, she looked up. “Thank you for the clothing.”
A questioning pinch pulled his brows together, but before he could respond, a knock thumped on the door.
Donning trousers and shirt—he, too, had acquired new clothing—Cameron went to open the door.
Two young serving maids lugged in buckets of hot water, and after several trips back and forth from the kitchens, the copper tub behind the bathing screen was filled. They flounced away in a flutter of blushes and giggles brought on by Cameron’s dark-lashed wink, leaving a cloud of sweet-scented steam rising up to the ceiling.
“I swear, you could seduce the Devil’s Serpent out of his scaly skin,” said Sophie, watching the swish of skirts disappear and the door fall shut.
“I would much rather convince you to shed that salt-stiff rag you are wearing. It must be dreadfully itchy.”
Her skin began to prickle under his lazy, lidded gaze. She drew in a lungful of the moist air, savoring the subtle perfume of rosemary and heather. “You won’t have to twist my arm.”
“What a pity. I was looking forward to manipulating your lovely limbs.”
“I doubt that it would be very amorous wrestling with a bedraggled sea-witch.” Feeling a little shy, Sophie scooted out of bed, grasping the blanket to her chest. “The odor of brine and fishscales does not strike me as an aphrodisiac.”
“I purchased some soap made with wild Highland heather and honey,” murmured Cameron. “Along with a soft sponge. It’s all there by the tub.”
A gurgle of longing escaped from her lips.
“If it feels too wantonly wild to disrobe in front of me, you may do so behind the screen. I won’t look.” He paused. “Well, maybe just a peek.”
Sophie was already scurrying to the shelter of the screen. “How on earth did you manage such luxuries?” she called as she tugged the remains of her gown over her head and kicked it into the corner. “I left my reticule in Morton’s coach and your purse was lost overboard.” Her shift followed. “Aside from the lone farthing that you found in your pocket, we haven’t any money.”
“I am a very persuasive fellow,” answered Cameron. “And I’ve a good deal of experience in making up stories. There was a time when I was penniless in the port of Genoa and managed to convince one of the wealthy merchants there that I was the son of a Hapsburg prince, kidnapped in childhood by Barbary pirates. Enthralled by the detailed description of my escape from a desert palace and subsequent commandeering of a corsair ship, in which I outfought my pursuers before finally sinking within sight of the Italian coast, he lent me a King’s ransom so that I could continue my journey home to Vienna.”
“It appears that your tongue is as skilled as your fingers at pressing all the right little levers and gears,” she said dryly.
“With all due modesty, I can spin a yarn of dastardly villains, a perilous adventure, and a long-lost heir that rivals those of Mrs. Radcliffe.”
“A pity you did not write it down. Given their current taste in reading, Georgie and Pen would be enthralled by such a story.” Sophie let out a little purr of pleasure as she eased her now-naked body into the steamy water. “Oh, dear. Speaking of my sisters—”
“A message has been dispatched to Terrington.”
“Thank you, Cam.” Picking up the sponge and soap, Sophie lathered up a froth of sweet-smelling bubbles and squeezed, letting a drizzle run down between her breasts. Oh, bliss. “What would I ever do without you?” she murmured, trailing the sponge down the arch of her neck. “This is heavenly—I may be here for hours, for I intend to scrub every last inch of my skin.”
“Hmmm, then I may need to offer my services.” He stepped behind the screen. “You can’t reach that spot on the very center of your back.”
She sank beneath the bubbles. “What a naughty suggestion,” she scolded. “You know, you really ought not come in here. We are back in the real world now and must have a care about shamelessly flouting the rules of Society.”
“I ought not do a lot of things, Sunbeam. But by now you know that I am incorrigible.”
“Wickedly so,” said Sophie. And then, seeing the glint in his eye as he stared at the swirls of water, she suddenly felt a little wicked herself. To the Devil with propriety. The rules could wait until her return home. For the moment, she would pretend they were in an exotic land, where the customs and strictures were different from those in England.
Lifting a leg high in the air, she slowly drew the sponge down its length.
“You,” he said in a softly smoky voice, “are inviting Trouble to take over your toilette.”
Yes, and Trouble had never sounded so alluring. “Well, in tha
t case, can Trouble reach that pesky place on my back?” she asked. “It’s beginning to itch.”
“Hmmm.” Cameron shucked off his new shirt. “That may take a bit of maneuvering.” He moved behind her and Sophie heard the sound of his trousers slithering down over his thighs.
I am bad. Very bad.
“Hand me the sponge, Sunbeam.”
She passed it back, her flesh already tingling in anticipation.
The sudsing of the soap set off a gossamer gurgle.
“You will have to sit up and bend forward,” said Cameron, perching a hip on the edge of the tub.
Feeling deliciously decadent, Sophie did as she was told. She knew—oh, yes, she knew—that it was sinful to savor such intimacies. But…
But I don’t regret it. Not for an instant.
“Is the itch here?” asked Cameron, massaging the sponge along her left shoulderblade. “Or here?” His touch teased down her spine.
“Mmmm.” Her body was humming with pleasure. “I can’t remember.”
“Then I had better be sure to scratch every spot.” His lips, warm and wet with the swirling steam, pressed against the nape of her neck. “You had better shift just a little so I can reach…”
Sophie sucked in her breath as he slid his hands down the soap-slickened slope of her shoulders and drew her closer. They lingered for a moment on her arms before tickling across her ribs to cup her breasts.
“We ought not neglect the front of your person,” he murmured. “And then, ministering to every speck of skin means I might have to suckle your toes.”
The sound in her throat deepened to a moan.
Cameron chuckled. “But the toes can wait.” He released her just long enough to find the bar of herb-flecked soap. Rough and smooth. The texture teased against her nipple, sending shivers of fire coursing to her core. Switching to her other breast, he repeated the slow, circling rub.
“No more seaweed and salt,” he whispered. “You are perfumed with heather and honey.” Inhaling deeply, he added, “It makes me think of sunlight dancing through wild meadow grasses.”
Pale plumes of steam twined with the curling strands of his hair. “And you,” she replied, “are scented with bay rum and…is that brandy on your breath?”
“The local whisky,” corrected Cameron with a husky chuckle. “The innkeeper insisted I join him in a glass of his special malt as he listened to the story of our travails. As for the bay rum cologne—which by the by is from Floris, the famous scentmaker in London—it was forgotten by a previous guest. Mr. McGregor insisted I avail myself of it when he arranged a bath for me earlier in one of the unused inn rooms. I didn’t wish to wake you.”
“Is there anyone you can’t charm with your silver tongue?” asked Sophie, tilting back her head to inhale another whiff of his beguiling fragrance.
Cameron captured her mouth in a long, lush kiss. “My tongue,” he said after a lengthy interlude, “is only interested in charming one person in particular. Is it having any luck?”
Sophie touched her lips to his. “Ask me later.”
After a rather lengthy interlude, the water stirred in a shimmering vortex as she twisted around in the copper tub, drawing her knees beneath her so she could face him. His chest was glistening with moisture, the droplets clinging to the peppering of dark curls looking like tiny pearls in the silvery haze of light. Pressing her palms to the chiseled contours of his ribs, Sophie leaned in and licked a bead of water from his sun-bronzed skin.
A deeply masculine sound rumbled in his chest. “I like your growls,” she said, licking again.
“Sophie.” Cameron caught her face between his lithe hands. “I’ll soon be howling to the heavens if you continue that.”
“I like your howls, too,” she answered. The heat of him felt so good. So good. Trailing a hand down his flat belly, she dipped a finger into his navel. “Even your barks.”
His inhale was more like a groan.
With a throaty laugh, Sophie tickled her touch lower.
“Don’t. Tempt. Me.” He rose, pulling her up with him in a froth of splashing water and rainbow bubbles.
“Why not?” she asked, knowing full well that this enchanted interlude would soon be over and Sophie the Sea Siren would return to being Sophie the Spinster.
“Because,” he rasped. Grabbing up a towel, he began to dry her dripping shoulders. “Because we are scheduled to meet with someone. And if we don’t hurry and dress, we will be late.”
An appointment? That did not bode well. A magistrate, perhaps? Or a mail coach heading home? That thought ought to be a welcome one, but instead it had her insides twisting into a tight knot.
“B-but we don’t know a soul here in…in…” Sophie realized that she still had no idea where they were. “In this unknown place.”
“We are in Scotland, Sophie,” he answered.
Scotland? Of all the ironies! She gave an unsteady laugh, thinking of the history. “Imagine that! I never would have guessed we had traveled as far as the northern border.”
“Yes, the prevailing winds of the storm were quite powerful.” His voice was oddly flat as he set to drying her back. “But the local fishermen said that’s not uncommon at this time of year.”
“Indeed?” Talking about the weather was at least delaying the scheduled meeting. “It must have been one of those North Sea gales that starts off the coast of Denmark. I think there is a name for the phenomenon, but I can’t seem to recall it.” She knew she was babbling but didn’t care. Anything to put off stepping back into the real world. “Whatever the name, it has certainly carried us a great distance out of our way.”
“On the contrary,” said Cameron softly. “I would say that Fate has blown us to exactly where we ought to be.”
Strange sparks of light were dipping and dancing in his gaze. “Have you perchance imbibed one too many drams of the innkeeper’s whisky?” asked Sophie. “You aren’t making any sense.”
His mouth twitched with silent laughter. “I think that I’m making perfect sense, Sophie.” The towel dropped to the floor as he hugged her close. “I asked you to elope with me to Scotland once before—and you were right to refuse. But now, I hope you will reconsider. I am older, and while I can’t claim to be much wiser, I have at least learned from the impetuous mistakes of my youth.”
He is asking me to marry him for a second time?
“I spoke to the local curate first thing this morning. As you know, we don’t need a clergyman to marry in Scotland, or need to post the banns. All we have to do is proclaim our intentions before two witnesses and the act is done. But I assumed that a Church certificate would be more welcome to your family.”
The ground suddenly seemed to be rolling like the deck of their storm-tossed sloop.
“He’s waiting in the little church beyond the village green. Mr. McGregor and his wife have kindly consented to act as our witnesses. Within the half hour we can be man and wife.”
Her heart began to sing. But only for an instant. A deeper, darker sound rose up, clouding her initial joy. “You can’t marry me, Cam. You are a fine lord now and must choose someone of your own station. A lady who knows how to be a marchioness.”
“Ah, but since when I have ever bowed to convention?” replied Cameron with a wry smile. The quip quickly gave way to a more serious expression. “The new life I am facing is frightening enough. I can’t imagine facing it with a pasteboard marchioness—someone who has been carefully groomed for the position and knows how to go through the motions, but who has no real heart or substance.”
He reached up to frame her face between his palms. “We are kindred souls, Sophie, and we’ve dared to take a number of madcap adventures together in the past. I hope you will be by my side for the future ones.”
Oh, how she longed to say yes. And yet…
“I’ve no more experience than you do in being an aristocrat,” he went on. “You have all the perfect qualifications—you are kind, caring, compassionate, Not to speak of sens
ible and practical.”
Sophie’s throat tightened. They were, to be sure, all very nice compliments. But none was the word she longed to hear.
He hesitated, using the sliver of silence to draw in a lungful of air. And through the dark fringe of his lashes, she saw a flicker of vulnerability. “But most of all, I love you, Sophie. I’ve been wandering in a world of shadows since I left you, too foolish, too proud…too frightened of failure to make another try at winning your heart. And then, Chance brought us together.”
“It wasn’t Chance,” she whispered. “It wasn’t Fate, it wasn’t Luck.”
“I know, I know. It’s hard for a jaded cynic to admit it aloud,” he replied. “But you are right—it was Love all the while, guiding me through the labyrinth of darkness.”
A rueful grimace tugged at his lips. “So I shall get used to saying it, Sunbeam, no matter that my fellow Hellhounds will laugh themselves sick when they hear me. Not that I don’t deserve it, for all the needling I’ve given them over the years.”
“Love,” repeated Sophie, savoring the sound of it echoing off the walls.
“Love.” Cameron slowly unfastened the gold and pearl earring dangling from his lobe and held it out on his palm. “I haven’t a proper wedding ring, so we’ll have to use this as a token of my pledge. I hope you don’t mind. We’ll pick something more fitting once we return to London.”
She watched sunlight flicker off the piece of jewelry. Pirate gold. A treasure beyond measure.
“It will be a very simple service.” A pause. “I hope you didn’t have your heart set on a fashionable ceremony at St. George’s in Hanover Square, with all of Society invited.”
“Good heavens, no! Such elaborate extravaganzas are not my style. I’m simply—”
“Simply Sophie,” said Cameron, silencing her with a brush of his lips. “The light of my life. A Sunbeam who is perfect exactly the way she is.”
