Scandalous

by Candace Camp

  He was the man she loved.

  The thought startled her, and she drew back mentally to examine it. She loved him? It seemed wrong—absurd, even. She hadn’t known him long, and it seemed as if they had spent most of their time bickering. Surely people did not fall in love that quickly; surely what she felt was merely an unseemly lust for him.

  Yet even as she marshaled her arguments against the idea, she knew deep down that none of them mattered. She had been trying to hide it from John and from her family, and most of all from herself, but the truth would not stay submerged. She loved John Wolfe, and it did not matter that most people would say he was a virtual stranger to her. Her heart had given itself to him.

  She knew it in the way her heart leaped whenever he came into the room, in the way she trusted him to rescue her, in the way she feared for his safety or waited for his smile or melted in his arms. There was no way she could reason herself out of that surety. She found that she did not even want to.

  Not, of course, that she would tell him so. It was far too soon, and their relationship was far too unsteady. A declaration of love would be more likely to make him turn and run than to induce him to offer his love in return.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “What?” Startled from her thoughts, Priscilla looked up at John. “Why?”

  “You were smiling,” he explained. “This little secretive smile. It made me wonder what mischief you were brewing.”

  Her smiled broadened. “No mischief. But it is a secret. I shall tell you someday.”

  “That’s guaranteed to arouse my curiosity.”

  “When do you think he will come?” Priscilla asked, changing the subject.

  John raised an eyebrow, just to let her know that he was aware of her maneuver, but followed her lead. “Our friend Will said in the middle of the night. Exactly what that means, I’m not sure. Nor am I sure that Mr. Mapes will, either.”

  Priscilla stiffened, and she gripped John’s arm hard. “Look!” she whispered urgently, pointing a finger.

  He looked in the direction she indicated, at first seeing nothing. Then he realized that there was a flash of light somewhere in the trees, then another. It grew gradually steadier and brighter until it resolved itself into a bobbing glow. John took his arm from around Priscilla and moved into a low crouch, leaning forward a little and staring, poised for action.

  Finally the edges of the moving light reached the small clearing, and a moment later Will’s squat companion came into view, carrying a lantern. He moved without caution, striding forward quickly and even whistling a bright little tune.

  “Whistling in the dark,” John murmured beneath his breath. “I wonder—is he confident, or trying to frighten away the shadows?”

  Given Will’s citified account of camping in the woods, Priscilla was willing to bet that his friend was more scared of the woods and what was in them than he would like to admit.

  “Will?” Mapes called as he headed toward the front door of the shack. He lifted his lantern higher and peered at the door, which the glow revealed to be empty of any sort of guard. “Will? Where are ye?”

  He walked closer to the door, his back square to John and Priscilla now. Like a flash, John was on his feet and around the bush where they had been hiding, racing toward the man. Mapes heard his approach and swung around. His eyes widened with astonishment, and he froze for an instant, barely getting his fists up before John was upon him.

  The fight was brief. Mapes was a bullish sort, accustomed to head-butting and plowing his opponent down to the ground, where his lack of stature was little detriment and his heaviness and muscle were an advantage. Unfortunately for him, however, John was a precise, almost professional, fighter. He stopped just before the man, his long arm flashing out and jabbing the shorter man in the eye. Mapes’s head snapped back, and he staggered. John came in with a blow to his midsection, followed by a solid right fist to Mapes’s chin. The man’s eyes rolled up, and his body went limp. He weaved and crashed to the ground.

  “Good,” John said to Priscilla, who had followed on his heels. “The extra lantern will come in handy.”

  He picked it up and handed it to Priscilla, then pulled up the wooden bar across the door. He opened the door cautiously, just in case Will had managed to get free of his bonds. He relaxed when he saw the man still lying bound and gagged.

  He turned back and grabbed the limp Mapes under his shoulders and began to drag him into the shed. Priscilla hurriedly set down the lantern and moved to pick up the man’s heels. They pulled the heavy weight into the shed and left him on the earthen floor beside his friend. Quickly they went back out and pulled the door to, dropping the heavy wooden bar across it to secure it.

  “There. I think that takes care of those two until we get back.” John turned and held out his hand toward Priscilla. “Shall we go?”

  Priscilla glanced at the shack. “I— Do you think we should leave him bound like that? Mightn’t it cut off his blood?”

  “Now you’re worried about your kidnapper’s health?” John shook his head, amused. “My dear girl, you are going to have to become more callous if you keep hanging about these types.”

  Priscilla made a face at him. “May I remind you that it was not I who brought those two here?”

  “Mm… Fair hit. Well, do not worry. Mapes is unbound. Presently he will come to, and can untie his friend’s bonds. Then they can wait and think about how much they have lost through associating with a ‘gentleman’ like Benjamin Oliver. By the time the constable comes to get them, I warrant they will have remembered every possible sin they know about him.”

  He picked up the lantern that Priscilla had set aside and relit the one he had brought. They started back the way he had come. As they walked, their steps grew slower. John slipped his arm around Priscilla to help her, and she leaned into him, sighing.

  “Tired?”

  “Mm-hmm… Are you sure this is the way back?”

  “Yes. There’s that little glade ahead of us. See?” He held the lantern higher, partially illuminating the small clearing cut off on one side by a large fallen tree overgrown with moss.

  “Oh, yes. We came through here that first day, when we found the hut.”

  He nodded and guided her over to the large log. “Here. Sit down and rest a little.”

  Gratefully Priscilla sank to the ground and leaned back against the tree. She sighed. It had been a long and tiring day.

  “I should not have gone to call on Anne,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think about Will and Mapes being about. I was simply so irritated with you…”

  He looked down at her. “I know. When I got home, I wasn’t sure whether to strangle you or run out looking for you. Then, when you didn’t return…” He pulled his features into a frown. “Don’t do that to me again. Do you hear?”

  “I won’t—as long as you don’t cut me out of all the fun.”

  “Fun? It was anything but. It was boring and tiresome and utterly useless. Besides,” he admitted, “it was no fun without you.”

  “There. You see?”

  “I was trying to protect you. To keep you safe. I didn’t want you there if I ran into Will and Mapes again. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “You see how well going without me ensured that,” Priscilla pointed out sarcastically.

  “Only because you were so damnably stubborn that you went sailing off somewhere by yourself, just to spite me.”

  “I wanted to visit Anne.”

  “Why? What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until I could escort you?”

  “Escort me? You think I cannot go anywhere without your escorting me? I should sit in the drawing room twiddling my thumbs until you are available to take me where I want to go?”

  “Only until those men were put away. Now they will be, so it will be perfectly all right.”

  Priscilla gave him a long, cool look. “Men!” she commented, but her pose of regal indignation was spoiled by the long, jaw-
popping yawn that seized her.

  John chuckled. “Here,” he said, leaning forward and taking off his jacket. He folded it up and put it down on the ground for a pillow. “Lie down and rest. You are exhausted.”

  “But it is so late. Papa will be frightfully worried.”

  “I don’t think it will harm your father to spend a few hours inhabiting the world the rest of us do. You are so tired you will never make it all the way back to your house if you don’t rest. A little nap will refresh you.” He patted the ground beside him. “I shall wake you before long.”

  “All right.” Priscilla could see the force of his argument. She felt as if she could not take another step. Even the invigorating little discourse with John had not revived her enough to set out walking again. She slid down until she was lying on the ground and turned onto her side. Then she closed her eyes and fell immediately asleep.

  John sat gazing down at her. He brushed his hand across her cheek, easing a strand of hair away from her face. She stirred in her sleep and squirmed backward, until her back was flush against his legs. She snuggled into him. Heat flooded him at the feel of her, warm and pliant, against him.

  He told himself that he was a cad for thinking the things he was thinking, especially after the ordeal Priscilla had been through. But then he remembered the way she had kissed him in the shed, when their passion had overflowed its bounds and swept them away. He found that once he started thinking about that moment, it was difficult to think about anything else.

  John stirred restlessly, shifting his position. He wondered what it would be like to have Priscilla lying beside him every night, to wake up to her each morning. It sounded like heaven to him. He wanted her, and he was beginning to realize that he wanted her always and forever, not just for the moment, not just to satisfy the lust that gnawed at him whenever he was around her. The more he thought about it, the less sure he was that his lust for her could be satisfied so quickly and easily. He suspected that it might plague him for the rest of his life, that as soon as his thirst for her was slaked, it would spring up again.

  It struck him that what he was thinking about was marriage. What else lasted for a lifetime? The thought was amazing. He had known Priscilla for such a short time. Yet he could not deny that the thought of being married to her was quite pleasant. They must give it a little time, he supposed, must make sure of their feelings. He might know what he wanted, but he knew he could not assume that Priscilla felt the same way about him. After all, she was a gently reared girl, not used to… He frowned. Not used to what?

  He did not even know what sort of life he could offer her. He did not know whether he was a pauper or a robber baron. He did not know if he had a home or, if he did, where it was. He had no family, no ties, no past. Hell! He did not even have a name to give her! John was damned if he would marry her as Mrs. John Wolfe. Worse than that, for all he knew, he already had a wife or fiancée waiting for him somewhere, worrying about him and wondering where he was.

  No. He could do nothing. He should not even think of Priscilla or a future together until he had solved the mystery of who he was. He had to have a life to give her. Until he did, no gentleman would even speak to her about the possibility.

  He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the log, thinking about Priscilla. Thinking about the future—or his lack of it. Probing the black recesses of his memory, hoping for something that would make sense, that would spark some bit of understanding in him. Slowly his eyes drifted closed. His breath shifted into a deep, slow rhythm. He was asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  PRISCILLA OPENED HER EYES AND BLINKED. It was dark all around, with only a faint light far above her. She was on her side, something heavy lying over her arm and chest, and there was a soft warmth all up and down her back. She felt deliciously enveloped by heat. A long, mournful noise sounded, and she knew that it was what had awakened her. Just an owl, she thought, and closed her eyes, snuggling back into the warmth behind her.

  An owl? Her eyes opened again, her foggy mind stirring. Where was she? She was lying on something very hard. Hazily she tried to turn over, but she could not; the weight was heavy.

  As she moved, a voice mumbled in her ear, and the warmth behind her shifted. She remembered then that she was lying out in the woods with John. She turned her head, and as she did, her hair brushed against his face. She found herself looking straight into his eyes as they opened. His gaze was as vague as hers had been, but he smiled at her, and his arm moved, his hand sliding possessively over her breasts and down to her waist. Priscilla could feel the sudden heat that emanated from his flesh. The combination of heat and the touch of his fingers made her own body come immediately alive, aching with desire. Sensations and emotions overwhelmed her mind, which was not yet functioning fully.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured huskily, continuing to explore her body, and he began to nuzzle the side of her neck, his lips gently nibbling and kissing the sensitive flesh into arousal. “Priscilla…”

  His fingers fumbled at the buttons of her dress. Priscilla hastened to help him, unbuttoning from the bottom until their hands met in the middle. Then he slid his hand beneath the cloth, onto the soft cotton chemise, caressing her stomach and breasts. One tug at the ribbon across the top of the undergarment and it came undone, loosening the chemise all the way down. His sensitive fingertips slipped beneath the loose cloth and onto the orb of her breast, stroking the supremely soft skin. Priscilla moaned, thinking vaguely that she should not be doing this, but she found it far too difficult to think why she should not.

  Had it been another time, had John not awakened to find Priscilla warm and willing in his arms, he would have tried to stop the course they were taking. He had decided, just hours ago, before he slid into sleep, that he should not even think about making love to Priscilla, knowing that he could offer her nothing until he regained his memory. But hazy with sleep, coming awake with her mouth only inches from his, his hand on her body, John did not even think. He only acted on the hot, hard desire that was coursing through him.

  He dragged down the top of her chemise, revealing her soft white breasts. The globes quivered faintly, the pink-brown nipples tightening in the cool air. Passion slammed like a fist down through him at the sight of them, budding eagerly. He let out a groan as he cupped one breast in his hand. It filled his palm, heavy and soft. He stroked his thumb across her nipple, as he had done last night through her dress, and watched the swift response. His hand roamed her breasts, taking each nipple and rolling it gently, caressing and teasing them so that they pebbled, loving the feel of them growing harder in his hands.

  He glanced up at Priscilla’s face. She was flushed, even in the dim light, and her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in heavily. She was the very picture of a woman in the grip of desire, and the sight stirred John even more. He bent and kissed her nipple. She jerked, moaning, in response. Smiling faintly, he kissed the other one and looked back up at her. Her tongue crept out, wetting her lips, and her breath came faster.

  Cupping her breast, he took the nipple between his lips, rubbing and pressing it with velvet pressure, then lazily wetting it with his tongue. He heard Priscilla’s quickly indrawn breath and felt her arch beneath him, startled and aroused. He traced the nipple with his tongue, licked and circled it.

  Priscilla was flooded with wild, delightful sensations as his mouth worked its magic on her breasts. Her hands clenched into fists, and her heels dug into the ground, tension building in her with each movement of his hot, wet tongue. She let out a choked moan as he pulled the nipple into the damp heat of his mouth and began to suckle it. It seemed as if a cord ran directly from her nipple, so amazingly alive and sensitive, straight down through her into the core of her being. With every pull of his mouth, every stroke of his tongue, the cord tugged and pulled, sending bursts of flame into her loins.

  She reached out, her hands digging into his hair and clenching frantically with eac
h new wave of delight. By the time he moved to her other breast, she was almost sobbing with passion. Her legs moved restlessly, the ache between them growing and throbbing. She squeezed her legs together, moaning, and her hands moved down his neck and onto his shoulders, caressing and exploring, seeking something she was not even aware of. Her hand slipped inside the collar of his shirt, touching his hot, damp skin, and she knew that that was what she wanted. She yearned to have his firm flesh beneath her fingers, to explore and arouse.

  She made a wordless noise of frustration, and he sat up. His face was stark with desire, and his eyes were dark, molten pools. He ripped off his shirt, heedless of the buttons, and threw it aside. He sat like that for a moment, looking down at Priscilla, eating her up with his eyes, studying the soft curve of her breasts, the nipples proudly pointing and damp from the ministrations of his tongue, darkened with desire.

  Priscilla felt the stir of the cool night air on her damp nipples, felt them tightening even more. She was also aware of the damp heat pooling between her legs, of the empty ache there that desperately sought fulfillment. She wanted to wantonly spread her legs, wanted to pull up her skirts and feel his hands, his eyes, on her there. She blushed even at the thought. But even her embarrassment and her unsureness could not keep her from reaching out and putting her hands upon John’s chest. His skin seared her hands. She moved them over his chest, exploring the layering of bone and muscle, the hard, masculine nipples, the crisp, curling hairs that grew there. His flesh grew even hotter, and sweat popped out on his upper lip. He closed his eyes, a groan escaping his lips.

  Panting, John reached down and took her by the shoulders, lifting her up and pushing the sleeves of her dress down her arms with fingers made clumsy by desire. When Priscilla realized what he was doing, she moved quickly to help him, twisting out of the bodice of her dress and leaving it on the ground behind her. Her fingers trembled as she reached around to her side and began to undo the hooks of her skirt. She glanced up at John once and saw him watching her, his glazed eyes fixed on the movements of her breasts as she twisted and pulled. Then she lay back down atop the bodice and began to push the skirt and petticoats down onto her hips.