He lifted a brow at her chemise. "Do you need help with that as well?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. "You've helped enough already! Now will you please leave me to bathe in peace?"
"And have you run on me again? Not a chance, beauty." A faint curve softened the stern line of his lips. "Now take off that rag and get in the tub. Water's getting cold."
"Do not tell me what to do," she said through her teeth.
"Then don't be daft. Get in the tub, or I'll put you there."
"You wouldn't dare—"
Before she could finish, McLeod swooped in, capturing her in his arms. She struggled against his hold, but to no avail. Her chemise went the way of her gown, and with a small splash, she was deposited into the tub. Sputtering, she wavered between irritation at his high-handedness—and pleasure at the silky embrace of hot water. Heaven.
"Feels good, eh lass?"
She hunched forward, wrapping her arms around her knees so that her essential parts were hidden from view. She glowered at him.
For some reason, this made the oaf chuckle. "Now there's a killing look if I ever saw one. Relax, Bella." He dragged a chair over to the tub. "Though it's not gentlemanly to mention it, I had the privilege of a preview last night."
"You're right—it's not gentlemanly. The minute I—what are you doing?" She twisted her neck to look at him.
"Washing your hair."
To her stupefaction, he continued to drizzle sweet-smelling soap onto her hair. He massaged it in, his strong fingers working against her scalp, sparking pleasure at her nerve endings. She bit back a whimper of bliss. With a firm yet gentle touch, he guided her head to rest on the tub's edge as he worked his magic, washing and rinsing her tresses.
"Ease up, lass. Not going to hurt you."
"What do you intend to do?" Her voice trembled as she eyed his upside-down visage.
"It depends."
"On?"
"The truth." His palms cradled the sides of her head, his gaze intent upon her face. "Why'd you run from me, Bella? Take my coin?"
She bit her lip. Looked away as shame flooded her. What difference would it make if he knew the truth? At this point, how much worse could he think of her? In all likelihood, he probably wouldn't even believe her: from his point of view, she was nothing more than a strumpet and a thief.
"I'm not a whore, McLeod. I know that's hard to believe after what we ... after last night." Though her cheeks flamed, she went on resolutely, "I've never done such a thing before, and I'm never doing it again. I—I would rather die."
He grew still. "Was it ... bad, then? I swear I didn't know. I thought ..."
At that, she sat up. Turned to look at him properly. His features were set in stark lines, his eyes dark with ... self-recrimination?
For an instant, her survival instinct kicked in, told her to let him believe that he'd hurt her. Mayhap then he'd leave her alone. But her blasted sense of honor wouldn't allow it. As much as she hated to admit the truth—to herself and to him—she found she couldn't lie. Couldn't allow him to take blame when there was none to take.
"It wasn't bad," she mumbled.
"Never in my life have I forced my attentions upon a woman." He wiped his hands on a towel, his eyes not meeting hers. "It pains me greatly that I might have done so with you."
"You didn't force me, alright? That's the problem," she said, flushing.
"I don't follow, lass."
McLeod was looking at her, his brows drawn. Was the lummox going to make her spell it out?
Aiming her gaze at the water, she said in a small voice, "I've never experienced anything like last night. Anything that ... good."
He crooked a finger under her chin, searched her eyes. "Truly?"
She hesitated. Gave a tight nod.
"Not even ... with your husband?"
She jerked away, cursing herself a fool. "How do you know about Randall? Did Todd send you after me to collect the debt? I'm not going back—"
"Be calm, lass. I won't be doing anything to harm you. Wouldn't have taken advantage of you last night had I known," he said gruffly. "Let's finish your bath and then you'll tell me everything. Know that I'll do what I can to help you."
"Why?"
He frowned. "Why ... what?"
"Why would you help me?" When no one ever has before?
He smoothed a damp curl from her cheek. "Because you're a wee bit and could use some looking after."
His dark gaze warmed her insides like a cup of morning chocolate. If only she could believe such kindness existed in the world ... but experience had taught her otherwise. Randall had seemed caring, too—and look how that had turned out.
No, she had to remain on guard, to not let her impulsive nature lead her astray again. If McLeod truly meant to give her assistance, she couldn't afford to turn it down. But she was no longer a naive fool who gave a man her trust willy-nilly.
"I'm not a wee anything," she said, flustered.
He said nothing, but his smile made her heart flip in her chest. Before she could protest, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. His gentleness besieged her senses, a wave of safety and calm washing over her as he finished her bath.
NINE
Once they were both bathed and fed, Will sat next to Annabel on the couch by the fire. With her feet tucked beneath her, she haltingly told her tale. He listened and inwardly cursed himself for ignoring all the signs. His training in the army allowed him to read most men easily, yet with Bella he hadn't listened to instinct—had rationalized his behavior instead of heeding his gut reaction to protect her.
Bundled in a flannel nightgown borrowed from the innkeeper's wife, Bella's age and innocence were all too apparent. Free of paint, her skin had a dewy glow, and he'd been right about the freckles—like a kiss of golden faerie dust, they sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her manner was without guile ... almost painfully honest.
Shadows darkened her amethyst eyes as she presented the facts that had led to her present situation. She didn't attempt to mitigate her actions—merely hung them up the way a laundrywoman might the linens. With weary pragmatism.
Her parents' deaths. The living situation with her uncle and his family. Her elopement with Randall Foster a year and a half ago.
"Within a month, I knew that marrying Randall had been a mistake," she said.
God help him, if that bastard had hurt her—Will told himself to put a rein on it. Losing his temper was not going to help Bella. In fact, it might stop her from talking, and he didn't want her to stop. He wanted to learn as much as he could about her.
In neutral tones, he said, "How did you know?"
"He went through the small dowry I had, drinking and wagering. Wenching. My inheritance was the reason he married me, though I was too stupid to realize it at the time. I was blinded by his flattery, his promises and words of love." Her shoulders hitched in a self-deprecating gesture. "I'd never heard such things before."
His brows came together. Were the men in her village blind? "I find it hard to believe that a lass such as you would go overlooked."
"Not overlooked exactly." Color stained her cheeks. "More like looked at ... in the wrong way. My Uncle Pritchard used to say my appearance was a sin."
"Your uncle is an arse." Will's jaw clenched.
It was the truth. Especially now that he saw her undisguised. Free of gaudy trappings, she was a sensual, fiery angel—one that could set a man afire. Right now, he was burning for her, and it wasn't even for her physical charms, abundant as those were. The desire to protect her blazed through him. God help him, he'd felt this pull toward her from the start, drawn to the turmoil he'd sensed like a moth to a flame ...
A warning shot went off in his head. There was no doubting that Annabel was in need of assistance. Yet hadn't he sworn to stay away from ladies in distress?
Annabel was different from Laura, he told himself. Laura had only seemed fragile and ladylike whilst in reality she
'd been hard and manipulative. She'd strung him along with coy glances, the rare kiss, all the while setting the bait for a better catch. She'd kept him dangling for two years—and then bedded his brother within a fortnight of making Alaric's acquaintance.
Annabel was the opposite, Will told himself. She put on a fierce exterior, but he now saw through to her underlying vulnerability. Saw that she was a brave and loyal lass, too.
He thought of the way she had charged into the battle in the alleyway. She could have taken the opportunity to run. But she'd stayed and fought—though he wished to God she'd taken cover instead.
Laura would have fallen into a graceful faint.
"Tell me about your debt," he said.
Annabel's fingers trembled as they fiddled with the loose folds of her gown. "Before he died, Randall spent most of his time at Todd's club. Ran up a tab of five hundred pounds. When Todd's men came to our home to collect, Randall promised that he would pay. Instead, he did the flit that night. I didn't even know he planned to leave London—he certainly didn't invite me." Her throat rippling, she said, "The next day, Randall was found strung from a tree. Parts of him had been ... removed."
'Twas the calling card of London's underworld: an eye for an eye. A grisly warning to all and a way to ensure that debtors stepped up to their responsibilities. Will felt no sympathy for Randall Foster. In fact, he wished the bastard was there at that very moment—so he could kill him again.
He covered Annabel's hand with his own, warmed the cold from her fingers.
"Though I wish he hadn't suffered at the end, I'm not sorry he's dead," she said.
"That's good because Foster got what he deserved," Will said flatly. "Todd came to you?"
She nodded. "I tried to pay off the debt. With whatever honest work I could find."
Will flashed to the Johnsons' sweaty garret room, and his hand squeezed hers a little tighter.
"But I was only deluding myself. How could I ever hope to pay off such a sum—and with interest? I had no references, and what work I did manage to find … didn't last," she said bleakly. "In the end, my only option was,"—a ripple passed over her smooth throat—"to sell my body. Last night was my first night."
His gut twisted with self-loathing. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have—"
"You didn't know." She hesitated before saying softly, "If it had to be anyone, I'm glad it was you."
"So glad that you bolted afterward," he muttered, rubbing his neck.
He didn't blame her. Hell, in her situation he might have done something worse than take his wallet. He deserved to be horsewhipped for taking advantage of her.
"I told you earlier—that part was fine." She turned the shade of a ripe peach. "In truth, I ran because it was too fine."
His brow furrowed. "You've lost me, pet."
"Beforehand, I told myself I would lie there and bear the experience. That lying with another man wouldn't be that different from doing so with Randall." She bit her lip and didn't quite meet his eyes. "But being with you was different."
Despite the situation—and his seething rage at her dead husband, who'd apparently been not just an arse but ham-handed as well—Will felt his chest swell. He couldn't help it.
"It was different for me as well, lass," he said gruffly.
Her lashes flickered upward, her gaze uncertain. "Truly? You're not just saying that?"
"I'm not just saying that." Looking down, he saw their fingers were still linked. It felt oddly natural. "But I still don't understand why a night of satisfaction would cause you to run."
"Because after you, I ... I didn't want to do that with anyone else."
Hell. Her candid words struck him like an arrow. The very core of him quivered in eager response. 'Twas as if she somehow knew his heart's desires and spoke to them with sweet, unaffected sincerity. To have such a beauty want him and only him ...
Seemed so with Laura too, didn't it? Look how that turned out. Don't be so easily manipulated—you hardly know Annabel ... and she's desperate. She'd say anything to gain protection.
He looked at Annabel's downcast head, her tumbling red-gold curls ... and he couldn't tell if he was being played for a fool. Everything about her seemed designed to overwhelm his good judgment. Their night of passion had floored him.
But afterward, a cynical voice inside him said, she stole from you, ran. She wouldn't be here now if you hadn't caught her and saved her from those blackguards in the alley.
He understood now the reason for Bella's actions. Certainly, he didn't blame her. But how could he trust that she had experienced what he had during their night of lovemaking—that she truly desired him ... and not just what he could do for her?
The wise and honorable thing to do would be to first help her with her debt. He would make it clear that he expected nothing in return. Then she wouldn't have to lie to him. When the business with Todd was over, she would be free to decide if she wanted to continue their association. In the meantime, he resolved to keep his hands off her. To not let lust—and other dangerous emotions—cloud his decisions.
He tipped her chin up. "You shan't be forced to do anything against your will again," he said. "I'll take care of the matter with Todd."
"Why are you helping me? You hardly know me."
She studied him, her plump bottom lip caught beneath her pearly teeth. God in heaven, he wished she wouldn't do that. It made his resolution not to touch her all the more challenging.
"I took advantage of you," he said. "I owe it to you to make things right."
"But I already said you didn't. As wrong as it was, I enjoyed what we did." Clearing her throat, she said, "What would you expect in return for your assistance?"
"Nothing," he replied firmly.
"If I've learned anything, McLeod, it's that one doesn't get something for nothing."
"In this instance, your well-being will be ample reward. If I can keep you out of trouble for more than a few hours, I'll count myself a lucky man."
"But how do you intend to deal with Todd? He won't accept anything less than—"
"I'll take care of it." Somehow, Will would find a way. Would do whatever was necessary to free her from Todd's devious clutches.
"I can't allow you to do that for me. I'll never be able to repay you," she protested.
"You won't have to. My honor tells me I owe you, Annabel, and I'm going to make things right, whether you like it or not."
"And you expect nothing in return?"
He heard the doubt in her voice, saw it in her eyes. He wondered how that gaze would look illuminated with joy instead of fear. Cupping her chin with one hand, he made a vow.
"From here on in, nothing happens between us," he said gravely. "Not unless you wish it to. Would you give me the honor, Bella, of starting over with you?"
His breath suspended as he awaited her answer. Would she trust him enough to begin anew?
"Alright," she whispered. "If that's what you want."
Relief and satisfaction filled him. "Aye, lass," he said.
'Twas a place to start.
TEN
William McLeod was proving that rarity of rarities: a man of his word.
Last night, after their talk, he'd treated her with the utmost courtesy, insisting that she take the bed whilst he slept on the couch. Snug beneath the coverlet, she hadn't been able to resist peeping in his direction. The Scot had looked like a cat stuffed in a birdcage with his brawny form spilling over the edges of the worn sofa, his large bare feet dangling off the end. She didn't know how he could possibly sleep in that position.
Given that she was almost a foot shorter than he, it'd seemed only fair that they switch places.
When she'd suggested this, he'd rumbled from the couch, "Being in the regiment trained me to sleep anywhere. Better me than you on this knobby monstrosity, lass."
She had been comfy in the bed. Yet she could see him tossing about, and it didn't seem right.
Tentatively, she'd said, "We could both sleep here. Keep
to our own sides."
"Don't tempt the devil, Bella. Now close those bonny eyes and go to sleep."
Surprisingly, she'd fallen asleep within minutes. She'd woken feeling more refreshed than she had in weeks. Months, mayhap. The hearty breakfast brought up by one of the maids perked her up further. She tucked into the poached eggs and rashers of bacon, slices of bread toasted to buttery perfection. She washed it all down with cups of tea laced with sugar and cream.
Catching McLeod's amused glance, she flushed. "I missed a meal yesterday—"
"No need to explain. I like a woman with an appetite." He replenished her plate with heaping seconds. "Never did understand why ladies eat like birds."
"I suppose that's because it's fashionable to be as slender as a swan."
Annabel recalled her aunt and uncle's unceasing lectures on the evils of gluttony. To them, anything more than porridge for breakfast and meat once a week had been grounds for excess. Her love of food had appalled them. Defiantly, she munched on another piece of bacon.
"Well, I like a lass with meat on her bones. Especially in the right places," McLeod said.
He seemed genuinely admiring—not leering or lascivious. Just ... honest?
Annabel's insides turned as gooey as a treacle tart fresh from the oven. Flustered, she finished her tea and told herself not to read too much into his compliments. McLeod was a good man—too good for the likes of her. While he was being courteous and generous, she reminded herself that he merely felt honor bound to help her. To assist the whore he'd slept with.
His request to start anew had given birth to bittersweet longing. As her trust of him slowly grew, so did her futile wishes. If only they had met under different circumstances. If only she were still an innocent, the unsullied daughter of a country physician. If only she wasn't indentured to a sadistic cutthroat who disemboweled those who crossed him.
If only, if only.
The Widow Vanishes Page 5
