Dangerous As Sin

by Alix Rickloff

  With ruthless precision, he turned the tables. Dropped back out of sight, his steps going silent, his movements invisible until he chose to be seen.

  How many times had he done this? A hundred? A thousand? And every time, it grew easier. Less thought. More instinct. He almost wished he had to fight for the ability. It would ease the part of him that shrank from this talent.

  Sliding behind his pursuer, Cam remained hidden, knowing he’d confused him. The man faltered, his gaze traveling the length of the lane. Up and down before moving on. More slowly now. More cautious.

  Cam held to this course, feeling the man’s growing uncertainty, his mounting fear. Finally as the lane converged to barely more than a neck of brick between two buildings, Cam sprang his trap. His shadow stretched between them, and his would-be tail knew he’d been snared.

  The man whipped around, shock and panic whiting his eyes for a split second before narrowing, his scarred mouth twisting into a grim mask of hate. He bore the wild look of a street fighter. The stance of an ex-soldier. Both making him dangerous and unpredictable.

  He lunged, hoping to lock his arms around Cam in a bear hug. Bring him down in a crushing wrestler’s drop.

  Cam stepped aside, tripping his attacker on his way by. Following it up with a quick twisting move that should end the fight before it started.

  Scar-Face, more agile than he looked, dodged the blow. Dragged a knife from his coat.

  Dangerous had become deadly.

  Circling at a safe distance, the man searched for an opening in Cam’s defense.

  Cam held back. Allowed the man time to get comfortable. Then in the space between one heartbeat and the next, he closed. No time for finesse, he seized the wrist with the knife, dragged his attacker back against him, his arm around his neck in an unbreakable stranglehold.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Don’t. Know.” The man’s words came out strained and broken as he gasped for air.

  Cam squeezed. “Not the right answer.”

  Scar-Face’s body flailed in a worthless attempt to throw Cam off. But he was ready for it. His grip firm. “A few seconds and you’ll black out. Suffocation comes next.” He jerked the man hard against him. Let the horrible panic of no breath sink in.

  Just as the man started to go limp, Cam eased up. “I’ll ask you once more—who sent you?”

  Scar-Face coughed and heaved, sucking in precious air. “Don’t know. He didn’t give me a name. Just pointed you out. Told me to keep an eye on you. Tell him where you went. Who you talked to.”

  Doran? Rastus? The possibilities raced through Cam’s mind. After all, Wapping lay only a little way to the west. Had they been discovered so quickly? Had Rastus given them up? Had he been too confident in his own abilities to keep them safe? “Describe him.”

  “Here, now! What’s this?”

  A voice from the far end of the lane broke Cam’s concentration. Distracted him for the moment it took for Scar-Face to wrench himself from the choke hold. Tear his knife hand free. Slash Cam across the chest. Not a killing stroke, but enough to make Cam stagger back.

  Like a shot, the man pounded back up the alley, shoving the intruder aside in a bid to escape.

  Clutching his hand to the wound, Cam gritted his teeth. Forced himself to ignore the throbbing sting. He’d no time to waste. Any second and Scar-Face would have lost himself in the surrounding slums. Any chance of discovering where he’d gone and who had hired him, lost.

  “Y’ all right, guv?”

  Cam’s distraction still stood rooted to a spot at the top of the lane.

  “Perfect,” he snarled through pinched lips as he shouldered his way past the man. Followed in Scar-Face’s wake.

  Chapter 16

  The front door slammed. Slow, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Down the hall. Cam’s bedchamber door opened and banged shut.

  Morgan rose from her seat, relief and rage washing through her in equal measure. Cam had been gone since midmorning. Half the day ago. Dusk had fallen. Susan had lit fires. Candles. Made noises about preparing dinner. And still no Cam.

  Now he’d come. But had he sought her out? Informed her about where he’d been and what had kept him all day? No. Just walled himself away. Still holding a grudge.

  Well, to hell with him. She was tired of wearing a hair shirt for her supposed crimes. Crimes that in her eyes were completely justified.

  She stormed down the hall, anger lending Dutch courage to her steps. No lock barred her entrance. She flung the door back. Stood, hands on hips, her demand for explanations dying on her lips.

  Cam sat hunched on the bed, bloody shirt tossed on the floor, a rag pressed to his chest.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  She crossed to the bed. Knelt beside him on the floor. “Let me be the judge of that.” He leaned back, let her take over. Dried blood caked a shallow gash. Ugly. Almost certainly painful. But not serious. She started to move aside his necklace to get a closer look, but he grabbed it from her. Fisted his hand over the cross.

  “I’m not going to steal it,” she complained.

  He offered a sheepish look of apology. “Sorry. It’s been a part of me for a long time. I get jumpy without it. A good-luck charm, I guess.”

  “And last winter? I don’t remember you wearing it then.”

  His gaze went hot and angry. “No…and look how that turned out.”

  She didn’t want to think about how that had turned out. Or how things were turning now.

  She focused back on the present. Changed the subject. “How did you get hurt?”

  His muscles jumped under her touch, his flesh pebbling. “I was followed. He got in a lucky hit.”

  “But this cut is hours old. Where’ve you been since?”

  “I followed him. Wanted to see where he went. Who sent him.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. I tailed him as far as the London Docks—Ow!” He flinched as she dabbed at the wound with a damp towel. “Damn it, Morgan. That hurts.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Hold still, you big baby. You know, this is getting to be a bad habit with you.”

  He clenched his teeth. “Goes with the territory.”

  “So you made it as far as the docks…”

  “A set of shipping offices connected to a warehouse. He went in. Never came out. But when I risked a look, the place was empty. There must be another exit. I’m going back there tomorrow.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet his, the reason she’d barged in here snapping back into her mind. “You’re not leaving me alone again. I’m going with you.”

  A smile tipped the corners of his mouth, softened the taut edges of his face. “Did the hours drag by without me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you were hoping for secrecy, you failed miserably. I’ve been swarmed on by half of London.”

  He stiffened, his eyes going hard. “Who was here?”

  “Who wasn’t? First I had the dubious charms of a Captain MacKay.”

  “Brodie was here?”

  “That was him. Then I was set on by the entire Sinclair clan. Or at least it felt like it.”

  Cam’s expression went from merely annoyed to thunderous. “How the hell did they find out we were in town?”

  “Your friend and mine—Major Eddis.”

  Cam let loose with a string of curses even Morgan found impressive.

  “What’s his game, Cam? Why would he sabotage the mission like that?”

  Calmer after his explosion, he shrugged. “Eddis wouldn’t be the first to hold me in contempt. Or want to twist the knife when opportunity arose. To most who heed the rumors, I’m no better than a government-sponsored assassin.” He offered her a grim smile. “And my reputation wasn’t sterling to begin with. So…” He spread his hands in surrender. “Eddis probably thought spilling our presence to my uncle would make me squirm.”

  Morgan’s lips thinned in anger. “I wish you had
landed a punch or two. He deserves them.”

  “You heard about that too, did you?” He sucked in his breath, flinching. “Careful. Don’t take your temper out on me.”

  Sheepishly, she bit her lip. Gentled her touch.

  “So what were my aunt and uncle doing here?” he asked.

  “Looking for you. And demanding explanations I wasn’t prepared to give. I’m afraid they went away with a very low opinion of both of us.”

  “No doubt they wondered what new folly I’d committed that would blacken the Sinclair name. Make them the subject of another round of gossip among those who’ve nothing better to do than shred their friends and destroy their enemies.”

  “The folly was marrying me. I don’t think they’ve decided whether I wed you for your money or your winning personality.”

  That made him laugh. Amazing what a smile could do. Accentuating the golden perfection of every feature. Turning extremely handsome into wickedly gorgeous. Her whole body lit up, every nerve tingling. When had the space between them vanished to inches?

  “And why did you marry me?” The evocative tone, like the whispered words of the other night, washed through her body in an almost painful wave.

  She daubed at his gash long after the last blood had been wiped away. It gave her time to rein in her runaway emotions. Slow her galloping heart. “I’ll get my bag. I can take care of the wound. Like last time.”

  He pulled the towel from her trembling fingers. “I’ve embarrassed you.”

  She lifted her face to him. Read the naked desire in his eyes. Clear as the heart of a flame. He didn’t even bother to shield it. “Why do you have to be this way?” She hated the shake in her voice. “Why can’t you stay horrible? Make keeping my distance easy?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  She swallowed, grabbed firm hold of herself. If she took Cam to her bed, it wouldn’t be when her rioting senses teased her with the what-ifs of old dreams. She threw up walls, using any defense—any weapon to hold him at bay. “I didn’t. I screwed you. Charlotte married you.”

  It worked just as she thought it would. A chasm opened between them, immediate and unbridgeable. And Morgan regretted it as soon as the tired accusation left her lips.

  Morgan opened her eyes, unsure of what woke her, but unable to drift back to sleep.

  She lay quiet, listening to the deep growl of the city. Not the dull roar of the surf. That sound soothed her. Helped her sleep. This reminded her more of a snarling animal. A threat waiting for her just beyond the edges of her awareness. Beneath the city’s noise, the buzz and hum of Other held to its dissonant chord. Muted, but constant as if carried on a current of air.

  “No!”

  The shout came from Cam’s room. Sharp. Loud. Somewhere between a cry and a curse.

  Morgan was up and moving before the sound died away. A robe across her shoulders. Every sense alive. She reached out, searching for echoes of Doran’s magic. Nothing. Any intruder was of the mortal variety. The danger lessened, but not absent.

  Shadows wrapped the corridor in darkness, a filmy light coming from a high round window at the end of the hall.

  The shout came again. But with the angry call came understanding. The attack on Cam came from within where no amount of magic or swordplay could help.

  She entered his room, the shuttered windows making the gloom here thick as the heavy carpet on the floor. Cam wrestled with his sheets, the carved muscles of his chest hard with tension as he fought his private ghosts, a grimace of anguish marring his face.

  The pale slash of his latest injury was already fading into the grim web of older scars. Ancient hurts. She’d done more healing since joining Cam than she’d done her whole life. As prone to getting into scrapes as he seemed to be, it was a wonder he’d survived without her for so long.

  He groaned, thrashing against the restraints of the knotted sheets.

  Unable to watch the battle continue, she ran to him, her only thought to pull him out of his nightmare. “Cam. Wake up.”

  Barely had her fingers touched him when he caught her wrist. Dragged her down onto the bed. Flipping her over. Straddling her hips. His forearm across her throat, his expression cruel and unfeeling.

  “Drop it,” he snarled, hate and agony equal in his broken voice. The promise of deadly violence ready to erupt. “Drop it, Charlotte, or I’ll kill you.”

  He meant it. She felt the first squirm of panic as her lungs burned from lack of air. Throwing herself forward, she broke Cam’s grip. Shocking him awake with a blow to the midsection.

  Awareness flashed into his eyes, and then horror. He flung himself off her, his breath coming in sucking gasps as if he’d been running. “Damn it, Morgan. Damn it. I’m sorry.”

  “No permanent harm done.” Morgan sat up, rubbing her neck. “I don’t think.”

  Dragging the sheet across his lap, he sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging, one hand clutching the cross at his throat as if for comfort. “You shouldn’t be here. Not unless…” He paused. Took a long, unsteady breath. “Don’t do this to me, Morgan. I can’t take it. Not tonight.”

  She ignored his plea, too close to finding the truth about Cam’s marriage. This house. “What did you want Charlotte to drop? What happened between you two? Really?”

  She didn’t think he’d answer. He sat, stiff and silent, for what seemed like hours while she watched him. Studied him, really. The curve of his ribs. The sculpted line of each perfect muscle. The arrogant line of his jaw. What he lacked in bulk and breadth, he made up for in lean, corded strength. Gods. He was beautiful. A quicksilver slash of form and grace.

  “Cam,” she said slowly, “dreams lose their power if they’re spoken aloud. As do memories.”

  He ran a shaky hand down his face. Remained head-down, not meeting her gaze. “She hated me.” His voice flat. Emotionless. “Not at first. But soon enough. She didn’t understand. And I couldn’t make her enjoy it. After a while, she shut me out, and I simply stopped trying.”

  Morgan closed her eyes. Wished she could close her ears. Now that she’d begun it, she couldn’t tell him to stop. Secrets of the marriage bed were best left there. She didn’t even want to imagine Cam with Charlotte. An emotion far too much like jealousy knotted her insides.

  Cam kept on. “Countless marriages have weathered worse. But I was hurt. Angry. I fled to war.” His words drawn out. Long pauses between. “I don’t think she expected me to return. Perhaps in small part, hoped I wouldn’t. But when I did, and she saw how I’d changed, she grew truly terrified. Got a notion I planned on putting her aside. Or worse. I don’t know, mayhap she’d grown a little mad. Mayhap she’d heard rumors of the brigade and felt threatened by me, though God knows by that time, I wanted nothing to do with her.” He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll never truly know. But in the end, she decided to attack was her best defense.”

  The pieces fell into place. Hideous, twisted pieces. “The scar on your back…your leg…you said you got them in the war…. Your own wife did that to you?”

  He turned to face her, his eyes diamond-hard yet containing a vulnerability that set her pulse racing. “She was never a wife to me. It was a sham of a marriage from start to finish.” He dropped his head. “Do we have to talk about it? About her?”

  “No, I didn’t…”

  “I’ll ask you once more, Morgan. Leave, or I won’t be able to let you go.”

  An unwelcome excitement surged through her. “You don’t mean it. Not really. It’s only because I’m here and you’ve been dreaming and…”

  Her voice faltered and fell away. If she wanted, she could have him. Now. Tonight. Her body thrummed with anticipation. She knew what would happen if she stayed. And all of a sudden, she didn’t care. She ached with unfulfilled need.

  Torn between what she should do and what she wanted to do, she waited a moment too long. His hand came up, pushed the loose braid of hair off her shoulders. Caressed the long column of her throat. She shivered
under his touch, her breath caught in her lungs. Her body flushed at the swift flash of desire in his gaze.

  “I understand if you don’t trust me.” His thumb brushed away a tear she never felt fall. “I don’t trust myself right now.”

  The strength of his touch. The savage vitality chained beneath an elegant facade. Held in check by only the thinnest of restraints. She struggled against the heady combination. Told herself to turn and flee. Escape before it was too late. But the blood roaring in her ears, the prickly tingle of her skin where he touched her drowned everything else out.

  “We shouldn’t,” was all she could manage, and that came as a breathy whisper.

  “You’re right,” he murmured. His hands were in her hair. His lips upon her throat.

  Each second set her more firmly on the wrong path. Straight toward a cliff edge. Gods help her, but this was what she’d wanted for weeks. Now that she had it, she couldn’t bear to let it go.

  He pulled at the ribbons of her dressing gown, but she covered his hand with her own. “Wait…Susan…”

  Laughter gleamed in his eyes. “We’re married. Remember?”

  Words failed her as did every good intention. Here it was, she and Cam. The solid feel of his chest. His heart beating strong and steady beneath her hand. She skimmed the sculpted strength of his body. Traced the hard-packed ridges of his abdomen. The brush of golden hair at his groin. Loving the way he jumped at her touch. The power that came with every slide of her fingers across his skin.

  He covered her breasts with his hands. Caressed her through the thin fabric of her shift. Hot. Delicious. A leaping of senses. She arched into him. Greedy for more. “This doesn’t mean anything.” Her words came rushed. “It’s not a declaration. Not a promise. It’s a night. Just a night.”

  “Anything,” he repeated, brushing his lips lightly across her mouth, down her cheek, into the hollow of her neck. “Doesn’t mean anything.” He pushed her back onto the bed. Came over her, the leaping pulse in his throat matching her own heart beat for beat.