A Dangerous Seduction

by Jillian Eaton

  Oh, he wanted her all right. Every bit as much as she wanted him.

  He just did not want to want her.

  “We need to talk about what happened seven years ago. If you would just let me explain–”

  “I know what happened. I was there.” Even from a distance she felt the coldness of his gaze. It raked across her skin like ice, leaving her chilled to the bone. “You made your choice, Scarlett.”

  “But I made the wrong one!” Her frustrated shout startled a cluster of sparrows that had been pecking at seeds on the side of the road. In unison they flew up in a whirlwind of feathers and Fancy, having always been predisposed to a flighty nature, leaped forward and then spooked to the side. Had Scarlett been focused she would have been able to keep her seat, but her attention was not where it should have been. When Fancy went right she went left, spilling headlong over the mare’s shoulder.

  The fall wouldn’t have been horrible – a bruised ego, nothing more – if her foot had not gotten caught in the stirrup. But it did, and instead of tumbling clear of Fancy’s hooves she slid directly beneath them, releasing a sharp cry when her head struck the ground.

  Dimly she heard Owen shout her name. He was yelling something else, but she couldn’t hear what it was above the roaring in her ears. Her hands and elbows scraped painfully against the road as she twisted this way and that, struggling in vain to both evade Fancy’s iron shoes and free her foot from the stirrup.

  The mare was prancing in place, caught somewhere between her training and her flight instinct. All it would take was one solid blow to the head for Scarlett to be seriously injured or worse. She did not even want to think about what would happen if her frightened horse took off down the road.

  “Steady girl,” she gasped, struggling to keep her voice as calm and soothing as possible despite her precarious predicament and the dull throbbing inside her skull. “Just – just stand still. That’s a girl. Just stand still and – bollocks,” she cursed, tears of frustration and pain flooding her eyes when she tried to twist up and grab the stirrup iron only to fall back beneath Fancy’s hooves.

  Black spots danced in front of her eyes as her vision blurred and panic began to set in, making mere seconds feel like hours. Just as she began to fear the worst Scarlett suddenly found herself swept to safety as a pair of strong, muscular arms yanked her out from beneath Fancy’s legs and cradled her in a protective embrace.

  As her head rolled back she caught a glimpse of Owen’s clenched jaw… and then her eyes closed and she saw nothing at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  I could have lost her.

  The thought reverberated through Owen’s head again and again, like a loop without end as he carried Scarlett to a large tree beside the stream and sank down onto his haunches in the shade.

  Her limp body felt impossibly fragile in his arms, her bones as delicate as that of a tiny songbird’s as he held her nestled against his chest. He would like to have taken her to a doctor, but he feared the jostling ride would do more harm than good. While she was not bleeding, there was a small bump on the side of her skull from when her head had struck the ground. Aside from the scrapes on her hands it was the only sign of physical injury. And so he waited for her to wake, knowing from his experience on the battlefield it could take anywhere from a few minutes to several hours.

  In sleep she looked like the girl he remembered. The girl he had fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with. Her expression was content. There was only the slightest curve to her mouth as though she were dreaming of something that pleased her. Her cheeks were the warmest shade of pink. Her lashes fanning down like the wings of a butterfly. During the fall her hat had been lost and her curls were tangled around her face in a golden halo of silk. Unable to help himself Owen gently smoothed her hair back, not wanting for her to wake with tendrils in her eyes.

  He fancied her short hair. It was bold and brazen and a bit on the cusp which suited her. Even when they were young adults – no more than children, really – she had been a little wild. A little different. A little unique. It was that uniqueness that had drawn him to her. That had helped him look beyond the sheen of a pretty face and fancy clothes to the girl she had been beneath. A girl with a heart as big as the sun and dreams that rivaled his own.

  Or so he had thought.

  Conflicting feelings warred inside of Owen’s chest as he began to gently stroke Scarlett’s arm, hoping the light pressure would be enough to rouse her.

  I could have lost her.

  When her lashes began to flutter and a line appeared across the middle of her brow he tensed, unconsciously holding his breath until those smoky gray eyes opened and she looked up at him.

  “What… where am I?” Her voice was raspy. Her eyes filled with confusion. But she did not struggle. If anything being held in his arms seemed to soothe her, and with a quiet sigh she turned her head inwards until the side of her face was pressed against his heart. “I thought I was going to die,” she murmured, her words muffled against his shirt. “You saved me.”

  Owen’s arms tightened around her slender frame as the instinctive urge to protect what was his surged through him. Except she is not yours, he reminded himself harshly.

  She never had been.

  “You’re awake. How do you feel?” There was nothing in his brusque tone that implied he had been afraid for her. Nothing to signal he’d held her with tenderness. Nothing to show the hard wall of ice around his heart had just suffered its first tiny crack.

  I could have lost her.

  Belatedly Owen realized he was still stroking Scarlett’s arm even though she had woken. Annoyed by the unconscious gesture of affection he stopped at once, fingers curling inwards to form a fist.

  “Well enough, I suppose.” A grimace contorted her features. “Although my head hurts like the devil.”

  “That is to be expected after the fall you took.” Owen wondered if he would ever get the image of her dangling helplessly from the saddle out of his mind. The fear he had felt in that moment… It had been suffocating. Were it not for his military training he doubted he would have been able to remain calm enough to approach Scarlett’s mare without spooking her.

  He’d always regretted fighting in France. Taking another human’s life, even in battle, left a black stain on the soul that no amount of time could remove. But he would have gladly fought again on a thousand different battlefields if it meant saving Scarlett’s life.

  I could have lost her.

  “You were almost killed,” he said, more harshly than he had intended.

  She frowned up at him. “You say that as if it were my fault Fancy spooked.”

  “If you hadn’t screeched like a banshee she wouldn’t have.”

  “I did not screech.” She tried to sit up, but with another pained grimace she collapsed back into his arms and pressed a hand to her temple. “Bloody hell that hurts.”

  “Be still,” he growled.

  “Maybe I would if you weren’t insulting me!”

  “The truth is not an insult.”

  “Oh.” She actually bared her teeth at him like a little blonde-haired fox. “You are impossible. Then again you always were. I don’t know why I thought seven years would make a difference.”

  Owen barely managed to contain his snort. The truth was that even when he and Scarlett been consumed by the throes of young love they had always fought like cats and dogs. There had been no cruel edge to the banter like there was now, but they’d rarely stumbled across a topic they both agreed upon. It was one of the reasons he’d been so taken with Scarlett. She hadn’t been afraid to speak her mind, or follow her heart. Even when her heart had led her to the poor son of a baker…

  “Romanticizing the past is best left to poets and playwrights, Lady Sherwood.”

  “And we’re back to Lady Sherwood,” she muttered under her breath. “I do not know why I even bothered. There is no point, is there?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No point to what?” He was try
ing to listen to what she was saying, but it was rather distracting having her more or less sitting in his lap. It had been manageable when she’d been unconscious, but now that she was awake and squirming…

  Owen knew he could have stood up and set her down on her own two feet, but he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not because he enjoyed holding her. No. Of course not. What was the saying? Hold thy friends close and thy enemies closer. Yes. That was it.

  His grip tightened, settling Scarlett more snugly into the crook of his arm. There was a smear of dirt above her right brow and another beneath her chin. Her hair was snarled and a button was missing from her jacket. She was a mess, in every sense of the word. And he wanted to kiss her so badly he ached.

  “No point to us.” Without any warning her gray eyes flooded with tears.

  “Stop that,” Owen demanded gruffly. He knew it was most likely an act, but seeing her misery so blatantly displayed made him feel as though he’d been punched in the gut.

  “Stop what? Showing emotion?” Her laugh was bitter, and just a bit sad. “Not all of us hide behind stone walls, Captain Steel. Some of us actually feel things.”

  His jaw clenched. Is that what she truly thought? That he was cowering behind a wall made out of stone? If only she knew how much he felt.

  Anger. Pain. Resentment.

  Yearning. Desire. Lust.

  From the second he’d seen her again he had been fighting a war inside of himself. A war he did not know if he wanted to win… or lose.

  “I feel more things than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Oh really?” Her eyes sparked with challenge even as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Each one that fell cut Owen anew, slicing through his armor as though they were made of daggers instead of salt and water.

  “What do you feel,” she asked, “besides loathing?”

  “This.” Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The moment Owen’s lips touched hers all of Scarlett’s pain, from her pounding head to her throbbing hands, faded away into blissful oblivion. Desire unfurled inside of her belly like a wild rose. Dormant and withdrawn during a long, cold winter its petals bloomed bright and bold at the first true hint of warmth.

  He kissed her softly, almost hesitantly, his mouth a mere whisper as he nibbled teasingly at her lips. But having waited so long to feel the sun on her face again Scarlett wanted more than a whisper.

  Reaching up with both hands she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and gave a good, solid yank, demanding he come closer. A low throaty growl rumbled in his throat as he obliged her, sinking down as she arched up.

  She ran her fingers through his dark silky hair. The kiss deepened, their tongues meeting as their mouths slid open. And it was the same and it was different and it was everything she could have dreamed and nothing like she could have ever imagined.

  He cupped her breast, his thumb flicking across her nipple. She moaned from the pleasure of it, and the wonder. To be touched again by someone she loved… there were no words to describe the feelings that were pulsing through her body.

  It was more than lust. More than desire. More than passion.

  It was hope in its truest form, and she wanted more.

  Grass tickled her cheek as Owen gently lowered her to the ground, cushioning her head and neck in the crook of his arm. They stretched out side by side, their gazes not quite meeting even as their hands explored each other’s bodies, skimming across hard edges and soft curves before their mouths met in another kiss that left Scarlett reeling.

  She pressed herself against him, felt the hard bulge of his arousal against her thigh. Then tasted his moan as she stroked him through his breeches.

  Owen’s blue eyes were wild as he rolled her onto her back. His breathing harsh and uneven as he held himself above her with his arms locked and his jaw clenched. Courtesy of her fingers his hair was disheveled and there were four red scratches on the side of his neck where her nails had bitten him.

  “We need to stop,” he gritted out, his gaze darting in the direction of the road.

  Scarlett started to protest until she followed the direction of his stare and saw the gleaming black top of a carriage slowly making its way towards them. As reality set in her entire face suffused with color. She had allowed herself to be so swept up in their kiss that she’d completely forgotten where they were! Not in a bedroom, or a library, or even a house for that matter, but within sight of a main road where anyone who happened by could see them rutting about on the ground like animals. And she was a widow in mourning!

  Well, a widow who was supposed to be in mourning. She certainly had not been thinking about Rodger while Owen was nibbling on her bottom lip, or cupping her breasts, or tracing the curve of her ear with his tongue…

  The carriage was getting closer. With a gasp of alarm she rolled out from underneath Owen and sat up, her hands instinctively going to her hair. What had once been a neat coiffure was now a mess of tangled curls. While Owen tucked his shirt back into his breeches, she scoured the ground for the pins he’d pulled loose and managed to find four of them hidden amidst the long blades of grass. Not enough to replicate the sleek up do Ruth had styled for her before she’d left the house this morning, but at least she was able to quickly fashion her hair into something that did not scream, ‘I have just been kissed senseless’.

  Wordlessly Owen extended his arm and she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, wincing as the fog of their passion rolled out and the pain from her fall rolled in.

  Heavens, but she was going to be sore tomorrow.

  “Where are the horses?” she asked.

  “Over there.” He pointed to a tree several yards away and Scarlett saw both her mare and his gelding grazing quietly beneath it, their reins tied to a low-hanging branch. “Remain here. I’ll go get them.”

  She would have offered to accompany him but he was already striding away. Left alone beneath the tree that had witnessed the reawakening of their passion, Scarlett leaned against its broad trunk and worried her swollen bottom lip between her teeth as she wondered what they would do next. More specifically, what Owen would do next. She knew what she wanted. It was the same thing she’d wanted since their eyes had met in the village square all those years ago. She may have taken the long way around, but she’d eventually ended up where she was always meant to be. The only question that remained was if Owen had done the same.

  If she were to make a decision based on the passionate kiss they’d just shared, her answer would be a resounding yes. Yes, Owen wanted her and yes, he wanted to be with her. As her friend. As her lover. As – she barely dared to think it – her husband. But if there was one thing she knew to be true it was that the heart did not see life in black and white, but rather in every shade of gray imaginable.

  Owen desired her… that much was clear. But he didn’t yet trust her, and then there was the little matter of Rodger’s death to contend with. Although after what they’d just shared she was confident Owen no longer considered her a suspect. If he ever had to begin with. Maybe it had just been a clever ruse to get close to her again. If so, it had worked marvelously.

  “Do you think you can ride?” he asked when he returned with the horses and handed her Fancy’s reins. “Your estate is not far. Only another half mile or so down the road.”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I don’t doubt that I will be sore for several days, but it is nothing that a hot bath and a glass of wine cannot fix.”

  “In that case I will return to the village.” To her frustration his expression was once again shuttered, his eyes revealing nothing as he met her gaze. If not for the grass stain on his shoulder and the scratches on his neck she might have thought she’d dreamt the entire thing! “Unless you would like me to escort you home.”

  Of course she wanted him to escort her home. Then she wanted him to escort her right up the stairs and into her bed. But she wanted him to want to do it or else what
was the bloody point?

  It struck Scarlett then. What she needed to do. It was so blatantly obvious that she laughed.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” Owen asked, frowning at her with suspicion as if the fall had somehow addled her brain.

  “I am wonderful,” she grinned. “I am positively wonderful. Thank you very much for your offer, but it will not be necessary. As you said my estate is less than a mile.”

  “Very well.” Yet he continued to stand there and frown until she waved off his concern with an airy flick of her wrist.

  “I am fine. I promise. If you will help me mount I will be on my way. No doubt Felicity will be wondering where I have been.”

  Owen stilled. “Felicity Ashburn?”

  “Yes. Although I suppose she will start going by her maiden name again. Wouldn’t want to have two Lady Ashburn’s once her bastard of a husband remarries.” Just thinking about it was enough to heat Scarlett’s blood. “Felicity and her children are staying with me until they get back on their feet.” Or until we’re all thrown out on our ear, she added silently.

  There was no telling how long it would take before Rodger’s closest male heir would lay claim to the estate, but until he did Scarlett intended to remain. She had done her time, hadn’t she? She had been a good wife. Perhaps not a dutiful or particularly obedient one, but she’d played the part in public. She had ignored Rodger’s affairs – for the most part – while not indulging in any of her own. And she hadn’t killed him even though he deserved it for what he’d done to Felicity.

  “Is something the matter?” Her head tilted to the side when she noted Owen’s odd expression. He suddenly seemed unsettled, though she could not imagine why. “I was under the impression you and Felicity were friends. She mentioned you met for tea a few years ago.”