Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

He slumped down on one elbow, then gave up and fell onto his back, studying the swirled ceiling. Run and hide all you wish, lady heart, for I've discovered your weakness. Ram snatched a pillow hovering on the edge of the mattress and stuffed it beneath his head, extraordinarily pleased that weak­ness was him.

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  Chapter 15

  An hour later at the far end of the hall across from his chamber, Ramsey grasped the painted crystal knob and tugged. The door, cleverly disguised by wallpaper, gave a little, the top sticking. He thumped it with his fist and pulled, opening it quietly and discovering what he assumed; a servant's staircase, narrow, steep, and rarely used, if the musty odor was any indication.

  Ramsey slowly descended, having given up tempting sleep this night. His mind refused to rest, except on Penelope and her wild run from his arms. Mayhaps she wasn't as discomforted as he suspected, and she'd simply cast the entire moment to the unpredictability of fate, dismissing the whole affair. That did not sit well in his belly and he paused on the staircase, recognizing that in his thirty-three years, he'd likely put a few women on the receiving end of these uncomfortable feelings.

  Tess had teased him mercifully that he always thought first with the contents of his breeches, and mayhaps this uneasiness was well-deserved, for although he was learned in loving a body, what knew he of gently couching a lady's heart? And one too terrified to accept aught beyond passion?

  Penelope did more than excite him or send up a challenge

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  with her independence; she made him dream and ache for things he'd no right to lay claim. He may lay possession to her body up there in his chamber, but in no way did he possess more.

  His bare foot met the last step and his attention caught on a polished wood and brass sconce, much like the one on his frigate, its candle untouched. 'Twas for decoration, he decided, for he'd already taken apart the switch in his chamber to dis­cover the source of instant light, unsuccessfully, only to find it naught but a confusing mess of wires. Dismissing it, he shouldered open the lower door. It gave without a sound and after sealing away a bit of his century, he headed left, toward the pale light spilling softly into the hall, radiating like a beacon. He hoped 'twas the galley.

  Not knowing if he would be intruding on someone's privacy he peered around the door jam. He smiled. Beneath the dim light, Penelope sat afore the dining table, her knees drawn up to her chin, a plush black velvet robe scarcely catching at her shoulders. She held a container in one hand and a spoon in the other, steadily shoving a soft confection into her lovely little mouth. She flicked damp hair out of her way, to more important matters it appeared—to dip the spoon into another bucket, then a plate, pausing only to sample, savor, then on to the next platter or bowl. She was like a child foraging the cupboards.

  "Ah—ha, nourishment."

  She jolted at the sound of his voice, staring up at him with wide eyes, the spoon protruding freely from her mouth. Ramsey tried not to laugh.

  Penny grasped the spoon and turned away, leaning over the table to scoop up a dollop of soft cheesecake, taste, then switch to a fork and spear a chunk of smoked salmon.

  "May I join you?"

  Penny shrugged, not trusting herself to answer. She ought to be embarrassed, or at least, feeling a little guilty after sponta­neously-combusting all over the man, then running like a scared virgin. God, he must think she was nothing but a tease. And his formidable presence was enough to make her want to climb into a hole and yank it in after her. Yet another part of her wanted to drag him inside with her. The part she left upstairs,

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  in his arms, yet she couldn't, for to give up any more of herself to a man she scarcely knew, especially this man, left her weak. And weakness left her open for hurt. He was a temptation she couldn't afford. And it scared her. No, he scared her; his natural sensuality, his archaic mannerisms, his sudden odd appearance into her life. And worse, this uncontrollable power they shared. Did it bulldoze him as hard as it did her, she wondered, stealing a look as he sauntered closer. Why did he have to look so unaffected, the swine? And out of the corner of her eye she saw him briefly hesitate, and Ramsey let his senses take his fill of her.

  God almighty, just to look at this woman drove a bone-quaking desire through his bloodstream. Ahh lass, have you a notion of what you've done to me, Ram wondered, grasping the back of a chair and positioning it right beside her, close enough to catch the scent of her freshly-washed skin as he slid into the tuffed seat. 'Twas his first occasion look upon her face unfettered by powders and paints and he adored the stark contrast of auburn brows and lashes against the pale creamy gold of her skin. He wanted to kiss every inch of it and as if by command, the black velvet robe slipped off her shoulders, exposing the gentle swells above her breasts. She was too busy eating to notice, but a voice in his head cautioned him to tred carefully with this woman.

  He leaned closer. "What has captured your interest, love?"

  A tremor shot through her at the endearment, and Penny looked to see what he meant.

  "Ice cream." She held out the little pink bucket.

  He peered skeptically atween her and the brownish swirled concoction.

  Her brows rose. "Never had any?"

  Ramsey picked up a spoon and scooped out a healthy portion. "There are a great many things I've yet to experience, lass," he said, wiggling his brows and looking her over afore he shoved the spoon into his mouth. His eyes instantly rounded, and he held the ice cream in his mouth afore deciding to swallow. "Delicious. Chocolate." He dipped again,

  "Not just chocolate, Ramsey. Rockv Road." She handed

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  over the tub, then picked up the cheesecake. She ate, covertly scrutinizing the man beside her. God, he was sexy. Long chest­nut-brown hair draped his shoulders. A little trim and he'd be even more devastating. God, like you need to add to your distractions, she thought, her gaze skimming the dark gray silk hugging his broad shoulders, the crimson trimmed robe gaping open to the loosely-sashed waist, giving her a view of the skimpy drawstring holding up matching silk trousers. Great chest, tanned, defined, the center sprinkled with bronze curls and inviting her touch. She licked the back of the spoon, silent as he finished off the ice cream, then studied the treats. His gaze turned to the remnants of the cheesecake.

  "No. It's mine." She held it out of his reach. "You try something else." She waved at the table.

  "I want that."

  Penny could help but smile as he rose up slowly, his spoon poised for attack and she twisted away, protecting her treasure. Ramsey nuzzled the skin of her bare shoulder, his lips marking a moist path toward her breast. The plate clunked to the table, and she turned into his touch.

  Suddenly he dropped into his chair and dug his spoon into the cake, shoving the sweet morsel into his grinning mouth.

  "That's unfair tactics." Embarrassment flamed her cheeks.

  "Defenses are stormed—" he leaned closer, his gaze sliding luxuriously over her skin—"through the most vulnerable spot, Penelope."

  He made her sound like a castle. And when he tried to kiss her shoulder, she yanked up the robe, pinning him with a challenging glance.

  Ramsey sank back into the chair, smothering a chuckle. Patience man, he warned himself, taking another bite of cake.

  "Such an odd combination, your dining habits." He waved at the assortment of plates and bowls, then sampled a bit of warm cream covered noodles.

  "I know." She yawned hugely. "I always midnight graze when I'm ups—" She clamped her lips shut as his gaze sharp­ened on her.

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  "Why are you upset?" he said after he'd swallowed.

  "I'm not."

  He scowled, dark eyes intense. "Do not attempt to deceive to me, madame." He speared some salmon. "I'll not stand for it."

  "Is that so?"

  He chewed slowly, his gaze searching her features, recogniz­ing her cool cloak and aching to strip her of i
t.

  "Never consider that I am a fellow easily pitched a keg of fob and gamon, Penelope."

  "Pitched a keg of what?"

  He hesitated, redefining the phrase. "Lies," he said crisply.

  "Neither am I. So why won't you tell me where you came from?''

  "Lexington." His fork came back to the cheesecake.

  "A far cry from the Bahamas, Ramsey," it was her turn to warn. "How did you get into the ocean?"

  "I swam," he said, then shoved a large hunk into his mouth.

  "Now you're lying."

  Ramsey didn't want to hide the truth from her, but she would not accept it. Good God, he scarcely did, a cold shiver running over his back every time he realized exactly where he was. But Penelope was unprepared for him in her life, and to spout of his leap through time would surely have her calling upon the constabulary to cart him away. And he was not prepared to leave her company just yet. Mayhaps never.

  "Does it matter from whence I've come?" came softly as he swiped a napkin across his lips and met her gaze. "If I'd said I'd fallen from the sky and into your world, would it matter?" He leaned closer. "If I say aye, I was shipwrecked or abandoned, or a victim of a mutinous crew," he waved as if 'twefe the most outlandish scenario, "would it change the moments spent in each other's arms?"

  He had the most sincere gentle eyes, she thought. She didn't want anyone to know where she'd come from, so why was she badgering him? And the notions he recited were too ridiculous to consider.

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  "No," she finally said.

  'Are you certain?" He jammed the spoon into some uniden­tifiable mass. "You took a bit of time." Ram tasted. His chew­ing stopped before it really started and he mumbled around the food, "What in God's creation was that?"

  Penny's gaze shifted briefly to the plate. "What?" She smiled devilishly. "Need more salt?" His eyes pleaded for mercy. "It's pickled pig brains." He moaned helplessly, glanc­ing frantically for a place to spit and she held up a paper napkin.

  Ramsey spat the gray matter into the paper, glaring at her, his chair scraping back as he stood, then sprinted to the sink. Her giggle filled the kitchen and his hands hovered in frustration afore he recalled how to release the water and drank straight from the faucet. "Bah!" He rinsed his mouth. "You enjoy consuming animal organs?"

  "It's an acquired taste."

  ' 'If I must acquire the palate, I shall forego the challenge, I'm thinking."

  "More for me, then." She spooned the slimy stuff, holding it up to her lips. Ramsey waited, shutting off the flow of water. She smiled, dropping the silverware into the bowl and pushing it aside. "Just kidding. Hank's the one who loves it."

  Ramsey shuddered and began cleaning up the mess. He paused in covering a dish of fudge. "Are you finished, ah ... grazing?" he said after some thought.

  "Yes." Penny yawned again, propping her head in her palm. "You don't have to do that. It's my mess."

  Ramsey didn't tell her he needed something to occupy him­self afore he carried her off to his bed. He searched the galley cupboards, opening a pair of tall silver doors, amazed to dis­cover the box quite cool and filled with food and drink. Like the conditioned air, he deduced, touching the smooth chilled walls. He deposited the plates and bowls on the shelves, grilling his teeth against the urge to investigate the room full of machines. He'd have to examine them whilst none could come upon him, he thought, stealing a peek inside a box full of racked and soiled dishes. When he turned back for the last of it, she

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  was slumped forward, her fingertips stuck in the blueberry cheesecake.

  Ramsey smiled, coming over to her and wiping off her hand, then gathering her in his arms. She snuggled into his embrace, looping her arms round his neck, the motion so natural Ram-sey's heart split a little. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then carried her upstairs, pausing on the landing, confused. He'd never seen her enter or leave any one of the doors lining the balcony railing to his right and his chambers were at the far end, the servants case across. His gaze moved left and he immediately headed straight for the door left ajar, shouldering his way inside. Instantly he knew this chamber was hers. Though the decor was surprisingly vivid; deep blue-green, accented with pale dove gray, 'twas the epitome of femininity; plush with downy spreads and ruffled pillows, softly draped windows, velvet settees and chairs. And an absolute disaster.

  Ramsey negotiated his way around piles of clothes, shoes, reticuies, and soiled towels, gendy depositing her in the center of her bed. His gaze scanned the drape of teal mesh netting hanging from the ceiling in tiers like a sultan's harem to the woman lying abed. She is not as she seems, he thought, tucking her bare legs beneath the striped coverlet. She murmured inco­herently, curling on her side and cramming a pillow beneath her cheek. He brushed her hair from her face, then looked around the room.

  On the far side of the room was a large black box with a dark glass front, beneath it another, much smaller yet thinner box and on a shelf below were what appeared to be books, but from the distance Ram couldn't be certain. Afore the whole box-housing were empty bowls and glasses, stacks of papers and writing instruments. The entire area confused him and he dismissed it, his gaze skimming over the jumble of pots and jars on her vanity, a scarf and something he couldn't identify twisted around the chair legs. Garments were strewn over the back of the gray settee and across the top of her dressing room door. Another hurricane in there, he decided, scanning her chaos of her bathing chamber. Ramsey shook his head, returning his gaze to her.

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  'Twas a unexpected contrast to the controlled woman he met three days ago.

  Aye, love, and what else will I unravel about you afore you show me your heart again? He bent and kissed her lips, a soft press meant to send her into gentle dreams.

  It didn't.

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  Chapter 16

  The coffeemaker sputtered, sending the aroma of a rich Colombian blend throughout the spacious kitchen as Margaret O'Hallaran pulled out more appliances, pans, and food to pre­pare breakfast. A man's breakfast, she thought with satisfaction, her sneakers squeaking as she stepped. While bacon sizzled, she popped a dozen muffins into the oven, then cracked two eggs into the hot skillet, smiled, added a third, then sent the bread down into the toaster as she reached to pull the butter close.

  "Good morning, Margaret." Penny tied her hair back, then stepped fully into the kitchen. "Aren't you the happy little chef." She pecked a kiss to Margaret's cheek.

  "Ain't it grand, Miss H.," Margaret beamed as she moved around the cooking island to set the table. She worked like a precision time piece, laying out the service perfectly from her position. "He's out on the sundeck, if you were wondering." Margaret looked up to catch her reaction. Yup, just as I thought. That look was enough to fry his eggs.

  Penny gazed out the wide glass doors, focusing on the far end of the screen covered deck, beyond the pool, to where Ramsey sat in the heat of the early morning sun, beside the

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  umbrella covered table. He was shirtless, a stack of books beside him on the surface and one on his lap, sipping water while he read. He seemed to marvel more at the paper and book, she thought, than what was printed in them.

  "He was up before me and Hank," Margaret said, sliding the eggs onto a plate, then setting the dish on the back of the range to keep warm. She checked her muffins. "And I saw the sunrise."

  Did he ever go back to sleep, Penny wondered, moving to the counter and pouring herself a cup of coffee. She sipped, strolling to the glass doors again.

  "Tell him chow's almost ready, will you, honey?"

  Penny nodded, slid back the glass and stepped out. Heat and humidity buffeted her coo! skin and she smoothed the folds of her yellow sundress, then closed the door, walking slowly toward him, negotiating around potted plants and a wicker sofa. His large muscled frame was partially shrouded by a group of
potted fig and palm trees and she stopped just short of his line of vision, studying him. His hair wasn't tied back and she decided she liked it, amongst other things. Like the droplets of sweat trickling down the center of his broad chest and the way he sat negligently in the chair, his jean covered legs stretched out before him.

  She'd never met a man who was quite so—masculine, even though she knew several men who made Ramsey O'Keefe look like chopped liver. So what was so appealing about this particular man?

  Last night flashed in her mind with amazing clarity; the terror in his eyes when he thought he might have hurt her, his kiss, his cherishing words and sensual touch. Her spine tingled with the blazing memory, and though it had been a while since she'd made love—You never experienced anything so unselfishly giving as that, her conscious interrupted and her skin flushed. No, she admitted. Never.

  Yet even when she found herself tucked in bed, still wearing her robe, she tried to marshal her familiar remoteness, the detachment that came so easily in the past, demanding she

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  sever herself from him and this unusual situation. Now, before it was too late.

  She tried. God, how she tried. But even as she remembered her reasons for keeping distance, his blinding smiles and teasing crept into her mind. His kid in the candy shop attitude destroyed any notion that he'd think of her as less than his equal and his tender concern for a stranded child, and even her own safety, touched her in spots she didn't want anyone to reach. But he had. Suddenly she felt as if she were intruding on his privacy when he closed the book, setting it aside as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and digging at his eyes with the heels of his palms, a slip of paper caught lightly between two fingers. Something wasn't right.

  "Ramsey?" He sat upright, yet refused to met her gaze. "Are you okay?'