Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  * * *

  ‘Ye should hae seen his face,’ Tammy chortled to Logan as the carriage whipped around the corner.

  Logan got up from his crouch to sit beside him and glance back at the two men hanging on behind. Everyone safely aboard. ‘Watch the road. We have only a minute or two. He would ha’ seen the carriage leaving.’

  His men had got between her and her ever-present watchdog and given him the time he needed to get her into the carriage and away. Now they needed to take advantage of every second of their lead.

  Tammy grinned at him. ‘The things a man will do to win the love of a woman.’

  Tonight wasn’t going to win him much in the way of love. Not that his original plans would have served him any better. He’d planned to abduct her from her hotel room. Fortunately the boot boy he had set to keep an eye on her movements had a brain in his head and had let him know she’d gone out. And then followed her. His back teeth ground together hard enough to crack them. He had not expected to find her with Rawley.

  Not after her reaction to meeting him at the Assembly Rooms. He was looking forward to her explanation. If she’d deign to give him one, that was.

  Women were tricky wee things, and he doubted she’d tell him the truth. He’d just have to be very careful she didn’t shove a knife in his ribs when he was sleeping. An image of sleeping next to Charity sent his blood heading south. He shook his head at himself. He doubted she’d ever let him get near her again, after tonight. But at least she would be safe from Jack.

  The carriage stopped beside the tenements on Niddery Street that ran along the back of the South Bridge. Logan and two of his men jumped down and kept watch while he hauled her out of the carriage and slung her over his shoulder. ‘Put me down,’ she yelled, struggling like a trout in a net.

  Tammy whipped up the horses and took off down the street.

  ‘You know what to do,’ he said to his men who were grinning at him like a couple of idiots. One of them unlocked the battered old wooden door and let him in, locking it behind them.

  ‘Logan?’ The surprise in her voice was priceless.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered and started down the rickety stairs.

  ‘Put me down,’ she yelled from inside her sack. ‘You have no right—’

  He did put her down and nudged her inside the brick-vaulted chamber. He untied the sack and pulled it off, revealing a deliciously flushed and tousled furious woman.

  Lord, but she was lovely when she was roused. He slammed the door shut behind him.

  He’d been angry himself, watching her fawn all over that...that Sassenach. He wanted to know what she was about, but that wasn’t where he intended to start. ‘My home is your home,’ he said, gesturing to the damp and grimy chamber.

  She glared at him, her bosom rising and falling in that revealing dress. It was all he could do not to stare.

  ‘How dare you,’ she finally managed to say.

  ‘I’m sorry, mo chridhe. This was the only way I could think of to get you away from O’Banyon.’

  Her mouth gaped. ‘What? Are you mad? Growler was right there. Do you think he won’t come after you?’

  He had never thought this would be easy, but he had a feeling explaining this to Charity was going to be like sticking a hand in a lion’s mouth to see if it had teeth. Might as well get to the point of it. ‘Gilvry men do not abandon gently bred females to a life of crime.’

  Fists clenched, she spun away from him, took a few steps to the back of the dusty room, looking around her at the ratty old chairs and the bed in the corner. It was his usual bolt-hole when he came to Edinburgh. Staying with Sanford had been a treat. He watched the way her body moved inside that revealing dress, the rounded shape of that lovely bottom, and waited for the next salvo.

  When she turned to face him, a beguiling smile curved her lips, but her eyes were as hard as granite. He braced for the storm. In time, she would come to see it was the right thing. If she didn’t cut his throat first.

  ‘What you mean is, you haven’t had enough of me yet,’ she said musingly.

  The woman he’d first met was back. The female who hid behind a wall of sensuality. But she could not fool him any longer. He’d seen behind those walls. ‘I will never have enough of you, leannan.’

  The sensual sway of her body as she prowled towards him had his mouth drying and his breath catching in his throat. He could walk away. Of course he could. But he didn’t want to. Had no reason to. She was his, whether she realised it or not yet.

  And he was definitely hers.

  With a graceful movement, her hands lay flat on his chest. She must be able to feel the thunder of his heart under his coat. Had to. He could barely hear his own thoughts for the noise of it.

  ‘I suppose there is no reason not to take advantage of being alone together on my last evening in Scotland,’ she murmured in a low purr, her now-smokey gaze fixed on his mouth.

  He’d done nothing but think about kissing her again since the last time. And other things. ‘None at all,’ he rasped and took her lips in a savagely hungry kiss.

  He walked her backwards, her body melting against him, her heat driving him wild, until she was stopped by the cot. She sank on to it, taking him down into the cradle of her body, one thigh between hers, his hand on her breast, hers winding through his hair.

  Rock hard, his shaft begged him to take her. To claim her once and for all. The foolish thing. She was a prize, to be sure, but she’d no’ be taken. Not by him. She would have to give.

  He broke their kiss, looking down into her lovely face. Not a pretty face. It was too angular, too blade-sharp to be merely pretty. She had the beauty of granite mountains with ice on their peaks. Hard enough to kill a man, should he try to scale them without permission.

  ‘Charity,’ he murmured shaking his head. ‘I’ll no’ be doing this unless you tell me you want it too. Want me.’

  Her eyes widened. Her expression changed, slowly, almost unwillingly, softening, becoming almost tender and more beautiful. She sighed, a smile touching her lips, without artifice, if somewhat rueful. ‘Oh, Logan, this is madness.’ She shook her head as if defeated, not by him, but by something inside her. ‘I do. God help me, I do want you. Just once more.’

  It wasna’ exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was a start. It was up to him to make her want more.

  He applied himself to her lips once more, exploring the deep dark depths of her mouth. Inhaling the dark scent of her perfume, tasting the dry fruitiness of wine. Overriding all of that was the essence of what he had come to think of as Charity. A scent and taste that belonged uniquely to her. Strange as it seemed, he had no doubt he would know it anywhere.

  No hesitant maiden, she kissed him back with fervent hunger. With almost desperate haste, as if she could not get enough of his taste. Her hips ground into his groin, making him impossibly harder. The little moans in the back of her throat goaded him on. Fed his male urge to pin her beneath him. To dominate.

  His hand tugged her skirts upward. He stroked the satiny skin above her stockings, felt the heated dampness of her desire among the soft tight curls between her legs. He wanted to bury himself inside her.

  He broke their kiss, took a breath, sought control.

  Her eyes flickered open. She reached for him. ‘Don’t stop now.’

  ‘I’m no’ an animal, Charity. I mean to love ye as ye deserve.’ He struggled out of his coats, pulled his shirt off over his head and sat down to work at his boots. It would have been far easier if he had been wearing a plaid.

  He stripped off his buckskins and felt the hairs on his body stand up against the cold air.

  The chill lasted no more than a second as he caught her sensual expression as her gaze ran over him. Her skin flushed to a warm rosy glow.

  He leaned over her. ‘Now you, sweet Char
ity.’

  Languidly, she sat up and helped him free the gown from beneath her hips. Given the dip at the back of the gown, there were few laces to untie this time, for which he was fervently grateful as he lifted the gown over her head and tossed the stays aside.

  His breath caught in her throat at the perfection of her body. ‘So beautiful,’ he breathed.

  She gave him a smile that seemed almost shy.

  He stretched out beside her on the bed and kissed her lips briefly before looking down the swells and hollows of her delectable body barely veiled by her transparent shift.

  He traced beneath the edge of the little scrap of lace with a fingertip, watching her face. A flicker of something sensual passed across her face. He dipped his head and let his tongue follow in the path of his fingers. Her low moan was music to his ears. Her hand moved to her breast, lifting it, offering it to his mouth with a soft groan of longing.

  A gentleman never turned down a lady’s request. He nuzzled beneath the delicate fabric, searching for the peak of her breast with his tongue, licking and stroking at the satiny skin, until he held it between his lips, beaded and hard.

  With a long slow suck he drew it into his mouth. Her hips rose with a jerk against his thigh.

  Delectable didn’t begin to describe the full softness in his hands, or the taste and feel on his tongue. He didn’t have the words. The sensations they sent firing in every direction in his body were awe-inspiring.

  And it wasn’t as if he could focus his whole attention there. Charity’s fingers danced through his hair and fluttered over his shoulders. Hot tingles sparked across his skin. His flesh jumped and shivered like a nervous stallion unused to touch.

  Touch. It had never occurred to him how much pleasure he would feel from such a feathery stroke. Instinct told him only Charity’s touch would hold such power.

  Ceasing to suckle, he helped her remove her shift, her limbs languid, her slumberous eyes hazy. Her thighs opened, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. He smiled down at her and turned his attention to her other equally delectable breast. He sucked and licked and teased with his tongue, learning what made her cry out and what made her pant and shift restlessly.

  From there he moved to the valley between, licking her sweat-dampened skin, tasting salt and inhaling her scent. He was so very hard. So very much wanting to be inside the heat of her body. But this time he was in control. Slowly he moved his mouth down her body. Covering every inch of her skin with small kisses as he traversed the flat plain of her belly, swirled his tongue within her navel and located several places at the rise of her hip bones that had her gasping and twitching, while the crisp curls on her mound teased at his chin.

  Her fingers in his hair raked and tugged, as her hips pressed into him, urging him where she wanted his touch.

  Sitting back on his heels, he gazed at the heart of her sex. He knew all the Latin names, but none of them did justice to the hot pouting lips he parted with his thumbs, or the delicate petal-like rosy flesh he devoured with his gaze. His own hard flesh seemed clumsy and ill-formed by comparison.

  Wonder filled him as he swept his tongue along her cleft. The unique flavour on his tongue, the quick gasp, and the lift of her hips, while he sought the tiny bud that would keep her at his mercy, until he had what he wanted.

  Her moans were a deep purr in her throat, her hips bucking and flexing. Once more he sat back on his heels, massaging that tiny place with his thumb, watching her head roll on the pillow, her eyes closed. Judging. Waiting. And nearly insane with the need to drive into her body and lose himself. But a man who had remained celibate for years had a certain advantage. Control.

  He put his hand on his thighs.

  Panting, she opened her eyes and held out her arms. ‘Come to me,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Please, Logan. Now.’

  ‘Not until you say you will wed me.’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him, consciousness slowly returning to her eyes. ‘No.’

  He shook his head. ‘Then I canna give you what you want.’

  Her glance dropped to his erection. ‘You can’t leave me...’ She stopped. She must have realised he could. And he would. She licked her lips. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

  He drew back.

  ‘Logan...’ Her voice was a plea.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ He didn’t like what he was doing—well, the coercion part of what he was doing. Not at all. But Charity was stubborn as well as tricky and he had to have this settled. Now. Tonight. If he died tomorrow, his family would make sure she was looked after. He’d written a letter that Sanford would make sure was delivered.

  Her eyelids slid closed. ‘All right,’ she said sadly, shaking her head.

  It wasn’t exactly the enthusiasm he’d hoped for, but it would have to do for the moment. Grimly he nodded and took her mouth in a hard kiss he intended more as punishment than reward. Because he did not believe her.

  Her legs came up around his hips. ‘Now,’ she said, her voice satisfied.

  He entered her slowly, feeling her searing heat on his member, feeling his stones pull up tight. He filled her deep, and held still. ‘Say it, Charity.’

  ‘Say what?’ she gasped.

  She still didn’t understand. He withdrew again and slid forwards, pressing into her, feeling her hips rising to meet his stroke, sensing her urgency, her closeness to oblivion, and held still.

  ‘Logan,’ she groaned, scratching at his back with her nails.

  He wanted the legends. He would keep his woman at the edge until he was ready to let her fall. He fought his body’s urges and instincts and moved within her slowly, bringing her to the brink three times, then slowing things down until she lost the edge.

  She bit his ear, tweaked at his nipples, trying to force him to take her over with him. It took all of his will not to give in. ‘What, Charity,’ he growled in her ear over and over again. ‘What do you want?’

  Finally she broke. ‘I want you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Are you mine?’ he gritted out through his tight jaw.

  ‘I am.’

  He didn’t trust it wasn’t a lie. The realisation was a bitter taste on his tongue, but it was the best he could hope for. ‘Then you will be my wife.’

  He took her with him over the edge and they shattered together.

  Rising from the depths of bliss to the sound of someone banging on the door had him groaning and reaching for his clothes.

  Charity leaned up on one elbow, looking worried. ‘What is it?’

  He grinned. ‘I have an early appointment.’

  ‘The duel.’ Her voice was hard. ‘Don’t go. For my sake.’

  ‘It is for your sake that I have to go.’

  She glared at him. ‘How can it be for my sake, when I don’t want it?’

  His hand stilled on the buttons of his shirt, anger flooding his veins. And jealousy. And he could not stem the tide of his words. ‘Was your meeting with him at the Reiver by chance, or did he send for you?’

  Her face took on an impenetrable stillness. A little shrug lifted her shoulders. ‘You saw us?’ She took a deep breath, no doubt trying to decide whether to tell the truth or to lie. ‘I asked him to meet me. For old times’ sake.’ She gestured to the bed. ‘A bit like this, I suppose, only he wasn’t interested.’

  Like this? The claws were out again. ‘Not thinking of bribing him not to meet me, I suppose?’ he said, his gaze back on his buttons. His fingers were behaving strangely, as if they were frozen stiff as he waited for her answer. If she cared enough to try to keep him safe, it would be something to give him hope.

  ‘He said he might be willing to accept an apology,’ she said warily.

  She wanted him to back down. His stomach twisted. He stamped into one boot and picked up the other. ‘He insulted you.’

 
A haughty expression passed over her face. ‘Promise you won’t kill him.’

  Standing on one foot, the other boot hanging in mid air, he felt his chest empty. ‘What is he to you?’ Damn it all, why did he have to ask? She was his now and that was final.

  A sad smile touched her lips. ‘You know very well what he was,’ she said, slashing at him calmly enough to kill. ‘If things had been different, we would have married.’

  He had a special place in her heart, then. ‘You still care for him.’

  She swung around to face him with a bright smile. It seemed almost too bright. ‘Yes, I do. Very much.’

  He felt as if he’d been struck in the gut with a hammer. ‘What do you mean, if things had been different?’

  Frost could not have been colder than the look she gave him. ‘Another man came between us.’ She turned her back. ‘Will you please see to my laces?’

  Another man. Furious, filled with jealousy, he tugged at the strings. He must have been mad to think last night meant anything. But it didn’t make a difference now, they were going to be married. Unless Rawley had offered. He might have offered something. The thought was a dark pain in his chest. He tied off the ribbons and went for his coat.

  ‘Where are you meeting?’ she asked, staring into the cracked mirror and repinning her hair.

  Such beautiful hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it, but from the stiffness in her shoulders he did not think his touch would be welcome. He kept his hands firmly by his sides, though his fingers did twitch. ‘It is not something you need to know. The carriage will take you to Dunross. I will catch up to you on the road.’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  He almost groaned out loud ‘You will not.’

  ‘You take me with you, or I leave for London.’

  Some battles just weren’t worth fighting. Not when you couldn’t win. Nor did he have time. ‘Then you will remain with the carriage. No arguments.’

  She nodded.

  * * *

  The sky was just beginning to lighten overhead as they stepped outside. The carriage was waiting at the kerb. He helped her inside and closed the door. Lord Sanford rode up with a saddled horse in tow. There were shadows beneath his eyes, but he was dressed immaculately and freshly shaven. By comparison Logan looked positively disreputable. And so very handsome.