Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel

by Lynna Banning

  Elyse closed her eyes. His kiss was infinitely gentle but it held her motionless while her senses reeled. He shifted his position, put his good arm around her and deepened the kiss. Elyse could not prevent the little moan of pleasure deep in her throat. Her arms crept around his neck and suddenly she was kissing him back. When his tongue tangled with hers a hot excitement exploded inside. She pressed her body against him and did not resist when he pushed her down on to the bench. She could feel his hard, masculine, body lying heavily against her. He continued to kiss her while his hand slipped beneath the lace fichu to caress her throat and the soft swell of her breasts. They strained against his fingers as if begging for more and he obliged, gently easing them out from the loosely tied stays and circling first one hard nipple then the other until she was almost swooning with the pleasure of it. When at last he released her from his scorching kiss she threw back her head, arching her body, offering it up to him. His mouth moved down over her throat and on to cover the hard nub of one aching breast while his fingers circled the other, drawing up the most delightful sensations from deep within her. She gasped and gave a little cry, but the pleasure had only just begun. His lips found hers again and he eased his body to one side, measuring his length beside her while his hand gathered up her skirts. She felt his fingers on the bare skin of her leg, circling, caressing, moving upwards, slowly, gently, until he reached the apex of her thighs. The blood was pounding through her body, she felt as if her bones were melting beneath his touch. She was like a flower, unfurling for him. A hot aching desire uncurled from her core, tugging at her thighs so that they opened for him, her hips tilting as she offered up her very soul.

  She gasped aloud as his fingers slipped inside, startled by the shock of pleasure that rippled outwards at his touch. His hand was gripping her and she pushed against it, felt herself pulsing as her body was racked by spasms that robbed her of all control. She clung to Drew, eyes tightly closed as his fingers continued their magic, stroking and caressing, taking her higher, as if she was being carried on some giant wave. She knew it must soon crest and just when she thought she might faint from the sheer delight he was inflicting upon her, the wave finally broke.

  * * *

  Drew held her tightly, his elation soaring as he brought her pleasure to its height. Her head went back and she cried his name, clinging to him for a moment of shuddering ecstasy before the rigidity left her and she collapsed beneath him. A slight pain in his left arm reminded him of the bullet wound and he laughed to himself. He had been so intent upon pleasuring Elyse that he had quite forgotten about that. Had forgotten everything when she turned those dark, soulful eyes to him, inviting him to show her just what it felt like to be loved. He was hard as a rock and had been from the start, but he was a master of his art and she was a virgin, he wanted to make sure she was relaxed and ready for him. Her passion fired his own, but he would not rush her.

  ‘Oh, Drew, I did not know, I never dreamed—’

  He laughed softly and kissed her again. He could not remember the last time a woman had affected him like this. His arms tightened as he was suddenly overwhelmed by his emotions, not only desire but a fierce instinct to love and protect Elyse for the rest of his days. He held her close, knowing that in a few moments he would be able to rouse her again and this time he would take her. He would make her his own. By heaven he would make her his wife.

  She is not yours and never can be!

  The voice in his head was loud and full of reproof, bringing him back to reality with a jolt. What right had he to entice her away from her fiancé when he had nothing to offer her? If he made her his wife she would be condemned to wander through Europe with him. Or he might set her up in a house here in England, as Harry had done with her mother, but then their children—a surge of longing ripped through him at the thought of Elyse having his child!—their children would have no more memories of their father than she had of Harry. But that was not the worst of it. Harry had been an adventurer: Drew was charged with a much more despicable offence. He was branded a traitor and any woman who allied herself to him would be reviled, an outcast.

  Only for an instant had he considered moving to some quiet corner of the country and setting up home under an assumed name. Bad enough for him to be constantly looking over his shoulder. He could not inflict that upon Elyse, too. And in the fleeting time it took for these thoughts to flash through his mind, Drew knew he could not condemn Elyse to such a life. He must stop. Now.

  Summoning every ounce of will-power he forced himself to roll away from her, forced his hard, aroused body back under control.

  ‘Drew?’

  He heard the uncertainty in her voice and almost flinched when she touched his shoulder. His arm had begun to ache. He would be well served if it started to bleed again. A demon whispered to him to take her and to hell with the consequences. After all, she was willing.

  Willing, yes, but innocent. It was up to him to protect her from a lifetime of regret.

  Keeping his back to her he said politely, ‘I am glad I pleased you, ma’am. You have some notion now of the happiness to be found in your husband’s arms.’

  ‘I—I do not understand you.’

  ‘You were concerned Reverson would be disappointed in you.’ He closed his eyes, he must speak coolly, rationally. ‘We have just shown that your nature is passionate enough for any man.’

  Her sigh nearly broke his resolve.

  ‘I do not want any other man, not now. Drew—’

  He jumped up and went to stand between the columns, leaning against one in what he hoped looked like a nonchalant fashion. He dare not turn and face her. Not yet.

  ‘Do not be tiresome, Elyse. You know there can never be anything between us. You are going to marry William Reverson and I shall return to the Continent.’

  ‘But I am not sure I want to marry William.’

  ‘You think there may be some reluctance upon his family’s part to accept you?’ he said, wilfully misunderstanding her. ‘As your guardian I shall discuss the matter thoroughly with Lord Whittlewood and do everything in my power to ensure your happiness before I consign you to his care.’

  ‘Is that what it is?’ He heard the hopeful note in her voice. ‘You think that as my guardian you should not be here with me? Tomorrow is Michaelmas. After that your guardianship is over.’

  ‘Yes, thank heaven, and I can resume my life.’ He gazed out over the wild and neglected garden, thinking it looked as bleak and unwelcoming as the existence he envisaged for himself. For an instant he weakened, needing to explain. ‘I am not free to settle down. I must travel constantly. It is not a life that would suit you, my dear.’

  ‘What you mean is that it would not suit you to make me a part of it.’

  ‘If you prefer to phrase it in that way.’ He infused a note of boredom into his voice.

  ‘I am not asking you to l-love me in return—’

  Dear heaven, he could not bear much more of this. He turned, bracing himself to face her.

  ‘Of course not. Absurd.’ He kept on, inexorably cutting a chasm between them, too deep to cross. ‘There is no knowing how soon I should be bored with you. There have been many women in my life, Elyse. As Harry’s daughter you are very special, of course, but...’

  ‘But not special enough.’

  Dear heaven, if only she knew!

  ‘I told you once before, my dear, you should never trust a rake.’

  She was staring at him, tears coursing down her cheeks and Drew looked away, unable to bear the sadness in her eyes. It reproached him, but not as much as he reproached himself for letting it go this far. He concentrated on brushing the dust from his breeches as he said with studied indifference,

  ‘Be thankful I left you a virgin. The delight of changing that state is something you can share with your husband.’

  Almost before he had f
inished Elyse gave a low, shuddering sob and fled.

  Chapter Eight

  Drew did not move until the sound of her footsteps on the gravel had died away and stillness had fallen over the garden again. He swayed a little and put his good hand against the nearest column to steady himself. His arm was hurting like the devil but it was nothing to the pain he felt inside. With a growl he turned and banged his fist against the column.

  ‘Oh, Harry why did I let you talk me into this?’

  Only silence answered him. He waited a few more minutes and then made his way slowly back to the house. Tomorrow his guardianship would come to an end. He would escort Elyse to Bath and if he judged the viscount to be an honourable man he would put her into his care, if not he would hire a post-chaise and pack her off back to her aunt in Scarborough. Either way he would not see Elyse Salforde again.

  * * *

  After striding around the gardens while he cleared his head and regained some measure of control, Drew made his way back to the house. As he reached the terrace he heard someone call his name and turned to see Jed hurrying around the side of the house towards him

  ‘Master Drew, Sir Edward was looking for you, sir. He is in his study and said to send you to him as soon as you could be found.’

  ‘Very well, Jed. I will go to him directly.’

  Drew’s spirits sank even lower as he made his way through the house. What was it now? Did his father want to ring another peal over him? Possibly for disturbing his peace last night. Squaring his shoulders he knocked on the study door and went in. Sir Edward was working at his desk but he rose as Drew entered. His brows were knitted and the frowning look in his eyes did not augur well. Drew’s nerves, already raw, stretched to breaking point. He said tersely,

  ‘If you sent for me to enquire how much longer you must endure my company, I told you last night. We leave here in the morning. It was Miss Salforde who insisted we must wait for one more day. If it had been left to me I would have quit Hartcombe by now.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with my memory, damn you. I am well aware of your plans. I wanted to see you.’ Sir Edward broke off as if startled by his choice of words. He went to the fire and added another log to the flames. ‘There is something I need to tell you.’ He straightened and turned back, saying testily, ‘Don’t stand there glowering at me, boy, sit down. But before you do you may pour us both a glass of claret. We may need it before this is finished.’

  Drew wondered if he had heard these last, mumbled words correctly but he said nothing, merely walked to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses stood in readiness. He filled two glasses and carried them back across the room.

  ‘Well?’

  Drew handed one glass to his father and lowered himself into a chair. For a moment Sir Edward hesitated and half-turned, as if considering returning to his desk. Then with a sigh he sat down opposite Drew, sipping his wine and watching him over the rim of his glass.

  ‘You have grown a great deal since I last saw you.’

  This was so unexpected Drew almost laughed.

  ‘I was fifteen when I left Hartcombe. A boy. Now I am six-and-twenty.’

  ‘And just as hot-headed.’

  Drew shook off the sudden spurt of irritation.

  ‘Believe me, sir, I am not the reckless, impetuous youth who left here over ten years ago. That is something else I told you last night. I very much regret what I did.’

  ‘And I regret that I did not come to fetch you home as soon as I heard the Pretender was in Scotland.’

  This admission surprised Drew and he could not think of a suitable reply. Silence fell over the room.

  ‘It was madness,’ said Sir Edward at last, ‘to throw your lot in with the Stuart.’

  ‘I did not follow him to Paris. I wrote to tell you—’

  ‘I burned your letters.’ Sir Edward interrupted him. ‘Never read them. I gave orders that your name was never to be mentioned again in this house. You were no longer a son of mine. I cut you out of my will.’

  ‘I was amply punished, then, for my folly.’

  Sir Edward continued as if he had not spoken.

  ‘But I could not remove you from the entail. Now Simon is dead you will inherit Hartcombe when I die.’

  ‘Ha, much good it will do me, since I cannot return to England under my own name.’

  ‘That is not true.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Drew retorted bitterly. ‘Have you forgotten that I am traitor with a price on my head?’

  ‘I have forgotten nothing!’ Sir Edward pushed himself out of his chair and stalked over to the sideboard. He carried the decanter to Drew and refilled his glass before charging his own.

  ‘She never gave up.’ He resumed his seat and wrapped his fingers round his glass, holding it up so that he could stare into the blood-red depths. ‘Your mother. It was the only time she ever disobeyed me. She sold her jewels to hire lawyers to plead for you. Up until her death she wrote to everyone of influence, bought favours, petitioned anyone who might be able to help.’

  ‘I thought she was seriously ill.’

  ‘Not then. You were her son and she would not abandon you.’ The faded blue eyes flickered over Drew and away again. ‘We never told you or Simon, but your mother had a weak heart. The news from Scotland distressed her, of course, but not as badly as I told you at the time. I wrote to you in anger. I wanted you to suffer, to believe she had collapsed because of your actions, but that was not the case. She was too intent upon obtaining a pardon for you to give in, at least for a long time. She fought hard for you, but it took its toll. By the time the letter arrived, the notice that you had been pardoned, she was dying. I read it out to her and by the end of the day she was dead.’

  Drew sat very still.

  ‘Why did I not hear of this pardon?’

  ‘I loved her, yet it was only you she cared for.’

  ‘So you did not tell me.’

  The old man bowed his head. Drew watched him, so many emotions rioting inside that it was impossible to make sense of them.

  ‘You did not tell me,’ he said again, his voice deadly quiet. ‘I was pardoned four years ago and you did not tell me. I might have returned to England, taken up my life again. And you let me think her death was my fault.’

  ‘It was your doing. She fought for years, only waiting to know that you were safe, then she released her hold on life.’

  Drew frowned. ‘But Mrs Parfitt—Jed—they still think I am in danger.’

  ‘I told no one. The letter came, I told your mother but no one else. It made her so happy.’ His face contorted with pain. ‘How I envied you.’

  Drew stared at him

  ‘You were jealous? Of me?’

  The old man dropped his head in his hands.

  ‘Yes! Oh, she loved me, too, and Simon, of course, but she showed such devotion to your cause.’ Sir Edward slumped a little lower in his chair. He gave a long sigh. ‘Perhaps I should not blame you for that. It might well have been fighting for you that kept her with me for as long as it did.’

  ‘I am sure she would have done the same for any one of us,’ said Drew slowly, his mind going over all he had learned. ‘But why did I not hear of it? There must have been some announcement.’

  ‘Possibly in London, but I made no effort to publicise your pardon, I put nothing in the local newspaper, hired no crier, posted no bills in the village square. All that mattered to me was the fact that my wife was dead.’

  ‘But Jenkins, our lawyer, surely he—’

  ‘Yes, he knew, but I forbade him to write to you. He has instructions not to contact you until I am dead.’

  Drew was silent for a long moment. He said at last, ‘You must hate me very much.’

  Sir Edward raised his head and for the first time Drew saw the h
aunting sadness in his eyes.

  ‘I did at that time. I blamed you for taking her away from me.’

  ‘I know. You wrote to tell me as much.’ Drew held his breath. ‘And now?’

  ‘Now? I do not know. You are heir to Hartcombe, or what is left of it.’

  Silence filled the study. Sir Edward sat up straight in his chair and pushed one hand through the white mane of hair. Slowly he rose and turned to face Drew.

  ‘If it is not too late,’ he said, ‘I want to tell you I regret keeping the truth from you and—to ask if you can forgive me.’

  Drew stood up. When he had left Hartcombe ten years ago he had been a head shorter than his father. Now they were of a height and he looked straight into his father’s eyes, blue, like his own, but faded by age. He saw no anger in them, only pain, sorrow and anguish. And, underlying all the rest, loneliness.

  His own bitterness melted away.

  ‘Can you forgive me, Father, for bringing such hardship to the family? If so, I would like to come home. I would like to help you rebuild Hartcombe.’

  Sir Edward’s eyes misted. He put out his hand.

  ‘Come home, and welcome, my boy.’

  They gripped hands and moved closer to embrace each other briefly. Drew found his throat constricting. Home. He could return to Hartcombe as its heir, invest the fortune he had made in the estate, perhaps buy back some of the land they had lost.

  ‘You will need to see the accounts,’ said Sir Edward, as if reading his mind. ‘We must sit down together and discuss what needs to be done.’

  ‘Of course. We will do so as soon as I return from Bath.’

  ‘Ah yes. Miss Salforde must be delivered to her fiancé.’

  Must she? Drew remembered how passionately she had succumbed to his kiss, how right she had felt in his arms. He had hurt her, pushed her away but if he explained that he had been trying to protect her...

  ‘Delightful lady, Miss Salforde.’ Sir Edward was refilling their glasses. ‘She upbraided me for cutting you out, showed me what I was giving up for the sake of stubborn pride.’