Julia London - [Scandalous 02]

by Highland Scandal

  “Oh,” Lizzie said aloud.

  “Sssh,” he warned her and slid down her body again, going down on his haunches before her.

  Lizzie watched his dark head with disbelief. She knew instinctively what he was about to do, knew that she should stop this now, but when he touched his tongue to her, the heart-stopping burst of sensual pleasure caught her by surprise. She groaned with pleasure; he reached up, put one hand over her mouth, and began to lick her.

  She couldn’t breathe. Lizzie put her head back against the wall, splayed her arms wide, and bit her lip as Jack moved his tongue and lips over her, slipping in deeper yet, sliding over sensitive flesh, moving softly but urgently and sending staggering shocks of pleasure rippling through her, over and over again.

  It felt as if her body somehow coiled around him. With each stroke of his tongue, she simmered, until she was boiling and could not endure even his soft breath on her skin without it reverberating almost painfully through her.

  At last the coil in her sprang, pitching her into ecstasy. She slid off into bliss, her chest heaving with the force of the pleasure, the sensation so powerful that she could not contain the sob of fulfillment that flooded through her.

  She collapsed over his head, her arms sliding down his back, her fingers raking up again.

  Jack shifted and rose up, enfolding her in his arms as he did so, bearing her weight, for she scarcely had the strength to stand.

  Lizzie sagged in his arms and into the incredible, mystical thing he’d just done to her. But as the fog of her physical abandon began to lift, she began to realize what had happened. Uncertainty filled her heart and mind, and she slowly disengaged from his arms and awkwardly returned her breasts to the bodice of her gown.

  His gray eyes were blazing, his hair mussed where she’d clawed at his head. His lips were set and swollen, and he, too, was breathing hard. But it was the intensity of his gaze again, the feeling that he was seeing through her and into the truth of her heart that made her shiver.

  Something was wrong. Something was terribly askew inside her, for Lizzie was feeling ragged, wild feelings of…of affection for this rogue. Pure, undiluted affection.

  “Lizzie,” he whispered.

  “I donna know what to say,” she whispered. “I donna know what is happening to me.”

  “Lizzie—”

  “I am no’ this woman,” she said, more to herself than to him, and looked at his gray eyes, searching them for something—a promise? Hope? “I’ve been brought quite low,” she whispered, confused. She’d felt such grand desire and passion, such incredible things, yet she felt cheapened by them somehow.

  Jack brushed his fingers across her cheek. “Lass, you are…you are a treasure, do you know it?”

  His tone was tender, almost reverent, and it confused Lizzie even further.

  “A beautiful, unique treasure.”

  Was it possible he was feeling the same things for her that she was for him? If he were, what could it ever mean? It didn’t change anything: a man like Jack would never settle for life at Thorntree, and Lizzie could never leave it because of Charlotte. “I donna know who I am any longer,” she said as she slipped away from him.

  “An alluring, sensual woman,” he said earnestly.

  “Am I that, indeed?” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Or did you make me that? I am a woman with far too many responsibilities to risk…this, aye?”

  “Would you deny all pleasure in life?” he asked her.

  “Would you risk all for it?” she returned.

  He did not answer. Lizzie started to move.

  “Donna go, Lizzie,” he said, but she was already walking with Red on her heels, through the open door she had so brazenly disregarded, an open door that had somehow titillated only minutes before.

  Who was she?

  She could feel his gaze on her as she walked away from a most extraordinary experience, from a man who held an extraordinary power over her that Lizzie had no idea how to withstand.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Jack did not need Lizzie or anyone else to tell him that the powerfully stirring encounter in the library was a mistake. He knew it. He knew it the moment he kissed her, the same moment he knew he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—turn back.

  He’d spent the night rebuking himself for it. There was no supportable excuse for it and it had done nothing but rile every fiber of his being.

  She had infected him, she was in his blood now. Lizzie Drummond Beal was flowing through his veins, spreading through him, and circulating back through his heart over and over again.

  Jack could not recall a time in his life a woman had altered his thoughts, his reference, or his ability to breathe properly. He pondered how this provincial Scottish lass had captured his imagination in the way that she had. She was pretty, refreshingly so. She had a zest about her and a fierce streak of independence that Jack understood completely, for it was entrenched in him. And she was not, no matter what he tried, easily seduced. Aye, she was work, this one.

  Perhaps it was the sum of those things that attracted him; the only thing he knew was that he’d never been moved so by a woman and it disturbed him as much as it captivated him.

  But there was nothing to be done for his extraordinary feelings. In spite of Jack’s randy reputation—which, aye, he’d earned fairly enough—he’d never been one to toy with the emotions of a woman. He’d done it once or twice in his youth and despised himself for it. He despised men who made a practice of it. His father had been a bloody master of degradation and manipulation. The bastard would seduce Jack’s mother with gifts and small declarations of love, promise that things would be different between them, but would soon lash out again over some perceived slight, belittling her, humiliating her, striking her.

  In his own young way, Jack had tried to make up for his father’s shortcomings, but he’d never been able to remove the shattered look in his mother’s eyes. Jack realized, sometime after he heard the hall clock chime twice, that as a grown man he’d never been able to see hope in a woman’s eyes and believe it could last. Something would come along to shatter it, even if he did not intend it.

  He didn’t know if he could bear to see that in Lizzie’s eyes. It was best he leave Thorntree before an attachment between him and Lizzie became impossible to quit.

  And if he were going to leave, he had to enlist Gordon’s help to do it.

  That burned him.

  He didn’t know much these days but that this affair with Lizzie was making him unusually irritable and out of sorts.

  The next morning Jack remained in the kitchen after he’d had a bit of food to break his fast, working to repair a window that Mrs. Kincade had pointed out was not closing properly. She had not exaggerated—Jack muttered an expletive beneath his breath and gave the window a yank. It did not budge. Its crank was misaligned, and after studying it for a time, Jack determined he needed a hammer to knock it into alignment.

  As he rummaged through a box of tools Mr. Kincade had given him for the job, Dougal and Gordon appeared, the latter looking pressed and rested in spite of having spent the night in the old nursery with Newton just outside.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gordon!” Mrs. Kincade trilled when she saw him. “I’ll pour you a wee bit of coffee, aye?”

  “That would be most appreciated,” Gordon said. With his legs braced apart, he stood in the middle of the kitchen floor glaring at Jack as Mrs. Kincade bustled about the cups and saucers, and brought him a cup of coffee.

  “Sleep well, did you, Mr. Gordon?” Jack asked snidely as he withdrew a large hammer from the box.

  “Exceedingly,” Gordon said, and glanced darkly at the hammer in Jack’s hand. “You donna need it, milord. I’d no’ harm ye before Mrs. Kincade.”

  Jack forced a smile and lifted the hammer. “And I’d no’ threaten a humorless man. I am repairing a window for Mrs. Kincade.”

  That had Gordon’s attention. He peered at the window in question. “Extraordinary.
If I did no’ know you were an earl, I’d think you a tradesman, repairing roofs and windows and the like.”

  “He’s quite good,” Dougal said, unhelpfully.

  “I am an earl of many talents,” Jack said, a bit tetchily. “I can claim at least as many as you, Gordon.”

  Gordon scowled at that and strolled closer to the window. “What’s gone wrong with it, then?”

  “The crank is broken,” Jack said, and in a bit of pique, hit the crank with the hammer so hard that a pane of glass shattered, startling them both. He growled at the window, but Gordon gave him a superior smile.

  Jack sighed irritably and turned round. Mrs. Kincade had frozen in her task of stirring something, her gray brows almost as high as her gray hairline. “Dougal, we have need of another pane of glass, aye?”

  “Aye, milord,” Dougal said, and went out as Mrs. Kincade tried very hard not to smile.

  Jack brushed away the chunks of leaded glass as Gordon moved closer and peered over his shoulder. After a moment or two, Jack glared at him. “Do you mind, then?”

  Gordon ignored him. “Seems rather odd work for an earl. Are you certain you’re an earl?”

  Jack leveled a withering look on him. “The help is desperately needed, and as I am a virtual prisoner here, I am thankful for the occupation.” He gave Gordon a once-over. “You may prefer to be idle, sir, but I am no’ an idle man.”

  “What would make you less a prisoner,” Gordon said, putting aside his cup, “and perhaps more a traveler, on his way?” He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Kincade, who was busy kneading bread, and moved closer.

  Jack did not like this brash young Highlander. “A clear path, first and foremost.”

  Gordon’s smile faded. “Perhaps I should say it another way. What will make you leave?” he asked flatly.

  Jack stopped his work on the window and assessed Gordon. He seemed serious in wanting to know what he might offer to make Jack take his leave of Lizzie. “I am no’ at liberty to leave, you might recall. And even if I were, I signed an oath.”

  “What if that oath was set aside?” Gordon asked quietly.

  “How?”

  “If you disappear, the oath will be abandoned, aye? And when the magistrate comes in the spring, I will see that it is set to rights.”

  Jack hesitated.

  “I will no’ allow this to continue. Either you go, sir, or I will turn you in to the authorities.”

  “I will leave Thorntree when I know it is safe for the sisters.”

  “And how will you determine it is safe for them?” Gordon persisted.

  Jack picked up a cloth and wiped his hands, then tossed it aside. “An excellent question. Perhaps you might help me with the answer, Mr. Gordon.” He proceeded to tell him again that there was something here Carson wanted. He told him about the trail, and the activity of horses and men around it. He said he needed to discover what it was, for he felt certain once they discovered it, they would know how to keep Carson from it.

  Gordon studied him, clearly mulling over what he’d said. A moment later, he gave Jack a curt nod. “If that’s what it takes to make you abandon the handfasting.”

  “That is what it will take, aye.”

  “What will take?”

  Lizzie’s voice startled them both; the two men turned toward the door where Lizzie had appeared, looking as damnably beautiful as she had last night. She had to be the only woman in all of Scotland who could wear a drab brown gown and make it seem lovely. She walked into the kitchen and paused by the long wooden table.

  “Take what?” she asked again.

  “The window,” Mr. Gordon said calmly, surprising the hell out of Jack. “It will take another pane of glass before it is properly repaired,” he added as he walked to where Lizzie stood. “I am glad to see you, leannan,” he said, and the endearment sliced across Jack like a scythe. “Shall we break our fast together?”

  “Aye. I am famished,” she said, and with a quick glance at Jack, she took the arm Gordon offered her.

  Jack watched the lovebirds walk out of the kitchen.

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Kincade’s bones proved right once again; a heavy snow began to fall that morning and continued throughout much of the day. They all watched from various windows about the house. The higher the snow piled, the more restless and tense everyone grew, particularly the four men. They traded barbs and insults, remarks that left Charlotte cross and Lizzie exhausted.

  It felt as if they were all waiting for something.

  For several days they endured the tensions as snow fell on and off. It seemed to Lizzie that Jack intentionally put himself everywhere Mr. Gordon might be, and vice versa. On the first day the sun shone bright and clear, Lizzie sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

  It did not relieve the tensions, however, and if anything made them worse. The men wanted out of doors, but the snow was too thick to navigate.

  Over the course of the next two days, Lizzie spent as much time as she could in the hothouse, wishing and praying the snow would melt faster. On the third day, a row over a game of cards almost came to blows, and Lizzie retreated once more.

  She was moving pots around when she noticed Jack standing in the door, watching her. Lizzie reacted from frustration of the last several days. “What are you doing, then?” she asked curtly. “Have you nothing better to do than hover about and wreak havoc?”

  “Oh, aye, there are diversions aplenty,” he answered peevishly. “What in the blazes do you suggest I do, then?”

  “You might find a rag and polish candlesticks. I donna care, just as long as you stop arguing with Mr. Gordon at every opportunity!”

  “Ach,” he said, looking heavenward. “He is the most disagreeable man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet!”

  “I think he might say the same about you,” Lizzie said. She saw a movement through the small window. Mr. Kincade was hurrying toward the hothouse.

  Jack frowned at her admonishment and leaned up against the wall. “Lizzie, I—”

  “Miss Lizzie, riders are coming,” Mr. Kincade said as he poked his head into the hothouse. “Five of them.”

  Her first thought was bounty hunters. She quickly removed her apron and hurried past Jack. Jack was right behind her.

  When she reached the house, she heard the banging at the front door and reacted without thinking. She ran to the umbrella stand in the foyer. She kept a shotgun there that she used to ward off debt collectors.

  “Diah, Lizzie!” Jack shouted when she hauled the heavy shotgun from its container.

  But Lizzie ignored him and marched to the front door, throwing it open at the same moment she heaved the shotgun to her shoulder.

  But she lowered it again when she saw who was standing there. “Oh,” she said. “You again, is it?”

  “And a jolly good day to you, Lizzie,” Carson snapped as he pushed past her and walked into the foyer. Behind him trailed four Highland thugs who carried their own guns.

  “That’s one way to gain entrance,” Jack drawled as the men crowded into the small foyer. “You might consider a battering ram next time.”

  “What do you want?” Lizzie demanded.

  Carson nodded at the men, who instantly moved into the house.

  “What are you about? Who are they?” she cried.

  “Men who are loyal to me,” Carson snapped. “I’ve heard a rumor, lass. I’ve heard it mentioned that Gordon is here. Is that true?”

  Lizzie blanched. A gust of cold wind lifted the hem of her skirt.

  Carson’s face mottled with rage. “And put that gun away before you hurt someone!” he snapped.

  Lizzie knew precisely whom she wanted to hurt, but she put the gun into the umbrella stand and shut the front door.

  “It would seem that the news is true, then,” Carson said as his men trooped through the house. “A Gordon is in our midst.”

  “No,” Lizzie said. They were searching each room, she realized. She could hear doors opening and slamming shut.

/>   “Honestly, Beal,” Jack said. “Would a Gordon be at Thorntree knowing that I occupy Lizzie’s bed? If so, he is no’ a man you should fear as much as you seem to do.”

  “I donna fear him, Lambourne,” Carson sneered.

  “He’s no’ about. You may as well call off your men,” Jack said calmly.

  “You speak as if you are lord of this manor, Lambourne,” Carson snapped.

  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am,” Jack said with a grin. He lifted his fist to Carson. “A handfasting gives me certain rights, aye?”

  “Really, Uncle, must you always come to Thorntree threatening and making demands?” Lizzie interrupted. “How could Mr. Gordon be here with three feet of snow on the ground and your men about? We scarcely take a step that is no’ reported to you! If Mr. Gordon were here, you may rest assured I would have escaped with him by now.”

  One of the men appeared from the corridor, looked at Carson, and shook his head. Another one followed, pushing Newton into the foyer ahead of him.

  “Would you have escaped indeed, Lizzie?” Carson snapped. “And what of the oath you made and the vow you signed? You’re so bloody quick to turn back on your word! The Beals have been enemies of the Gordons for nigh on five hundred years, and we’d no’ give them an inch of our land. Thorntree has been Beal property for three centuries. Three centuries,” he repeated, as if she didn’t quite appreciate how long that was.

  “Thorntree is no’ your land, Carson!” she cried angrily. “Thorntree belongs to me and to Charlotte! Papa didna think to leave us any means on which to live, but he left us Thorntree, and it’s all we have to make a betrothal bargain! On my word, I canna think what difference it should make to you! It is a mere one hundred acres and it canna support as much as a pair of ewes! I ask you again, Carson, what honest and true objection can you possibly have to our using the only asset we have to provide for ourselves?”