"I want to taste you everywhere," she said. "The way you've tasted me. Will you allow it?"
"Anything you want, lass," he said in guttural tones. "As long as you're certain."
"Sit up on the tub's edge, then. I want to see all of you."
He rose, water sluicing from his magnificent form, and arousal buzzed through her. McLeod was a male in his prime, all sculpted edges and hard, bulging lines. Droplets of water clung to the whorls on his chest, dripping in tantalizing rivulets over the lean ridges of his torso and belly. He looked arrogantly assured sitting on the tub's edge, his back propped against the wall of the alcove and his thighs boldly splayed.
A handsome, virile devil of a man.
"Just going to ogle me, lass?" he said with a hint of a smile.
In answer, she rose on her knees so that she was at eye level with his fully erect cock. The potent shaft stood straight up from its brown nest, heavy stones dangling beneath. Breath hissed through his teeth when she wrapped her fingers around the turgid stalk, prying it gently away from his taut belly. He was so big and thick that she had to use both hands. The rosy brown pole throbbed between her palms, jerking when she worked the supple skin over the iron core.
When she kissed the fat, burgeoned tip, he sighed.
When she took his cockhead inside her mouth, a moan scraped from his throat.
Having never done such a thing before, she relied on instinct. As McLeod's cock slid against her tongue, she understood why he enjoyed pleasuring her in this fashion. A charge pulsed through her when he shuddered with bliss, rewarded her with the first salt of his desire. She licked along the length of his member, tracing the ridged vein that snaked up and down its underside. When she reached the head, she mouthed the crimson knob gently again.
"Bella, love." His gravelly tone made her skin tingle. "Do you want to suck my cock?"
Desire made her breath choppy. "Yes. Will you show me how?"
Wildness sang in her blood when his fingers tangled in her hair, directing her movements.
"Take me deeper," he said. "As deep as you can, love."
She opened her lips to accept him. To take as much of him as she could with her lips and hands. He guided her head in a bobbing movement, murmuring hot praise when she caught onto the rhythm. She felt powerful and desired as she sucked and fisted her lover's rod. Warmth gushed between her legs as his hips began to thrust, savage sounds tearing from his chest. The knowledge that she could undo him, could tend to his primal needs, lifted her soul: she wanted to give her lover pleasure that he'd never forget.
With thudding excitement, she discovered that breathing through her nose and relaxing her jaw allowed her to take him deeper. He hissed her name, his hands clenching against her scalp. His next thrust nudged the back of her throat, and she swallowed in reflex. He did it again and again, groaning, cursing, and then he suddenly wrenched from her kiss.
Fisting his cock, he bit out, "Sweetheart, I'm going to come."
She witnessed the onslaught of his climax with awe. The muscles of his torso turned to steel, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief. He yelled out as his seed exploded from him, and she whimpered as the scorching arcs lashed her breasts. As his pleasure shot endlessly against her skin.
Finally, their gazes met and held.
Her breath puffed between her lips. Too stimulated to speak, she cupped her breasts with trembling hands, moaning as his slick essence smeared over her aching nipples.
"By God, woman," he growled.
In the next instant, he swept her up and out of the tub. To her shock and delight, she could feel his stiffening manhood against her thigh.
"Already?" she said breathlessly.
Laughter and desire blazed in his eyes. "Aye, lass. Try to keep up."
FIFTEEN
"McLeod—you're leaving already?"
Will finished buttoning his waistcoat and returned to his lover. Not for the first time, he wished that he had an artist's talent for capturing beauty. For there was nothing as riveting as the sight of Annabel in his bed. Her eyes were a deep, saturated violet, her cheeks flushed from a night of lovemaking interspersed with sleep. Sitting on the mattress, he ran a possessive hand over her gloriously tousled locks.
"Aye, lass," he murmured. "There's much to be done today, and I must get started."
The contented expression fled from her eyes. She sat up. "I don't like this, McLeod. Don't like what you're risking for me. There must be another—"
"We've been through this before, love. This is the only way." He cupped her trembling jaw. "I'll deliver Harding to Todd, and it'll all be over."
Her lashes lowered for an instant. When they lifted, the sheen in her gaze made his breath catch. "Promise you'll come back to me, McLeod."
Other promises flirted at the edge of his mind. The last two weeks had been the happiest, most pleasurable ones he'd ever spent with a woman—and he wanted more time with Annabel. Mayhap even ... forever?
Elation and panic shot simultaneously through him. Even as he reveled in the idea of claiming Annabel as his, he was reminded of what had happened the last time he'd sought permanence. And he'd known Laura for years—Annabel for less than a month. How could he be certain of his feelings … of Annabel's? She might want him now, but would she still desire their arrangement—never mind a more enduring one—after she was free of Todd?
Her words returned to him. 'Tis not commitment I'm after … not after my marriage and mayhap never again. He respected her honesty, her courage to live with passion and no regrets. He admired the lass' fierce independence—and at times it irked him. Her stubborn refusal to let him buy her anything chafed at his pride. And, aye, made him worry. 'Twas as if she didn't want any ties to him—as if she feared committing herself to him even in this small way …
His chest knotted. His first priority was to keep her safe. Once that was accomplished, he could address the future with her.
Capture Harding first—figure out the rest later.
"I'll come back for you, Annabel," he said. "I vow it."
"Thank you." Smiling tremulously, she took his hand, brushed her lips over his knuckles.
Some of his tension eased at the gesture. There was no denying that their initial attraction had only grown more intense, deepening over the past fortnight. He told himself that the hesitancy he sensed from her was mere skittishness: after her disastrous first marriage, he didn't blame her.
"Before you go, I forgot to tell you," she said. "A letter arrived yesterday from Lanarkshire."
He stilled as the past reared its fists, punched him in the gut. Answering anger surged through him. Goddamn Alaric—why can't he let sleeping dogs lie?
"It's your brother, isn't it?" she said hesitantly. "Could it be important?"
"I don't give a damn. His business is none of mine."
She bit her lip. "I know it's not my place to pry. But he is your brother, after all. I know you two aren't close, but perhaps the problem could be overcome—"
"You don't know the half of it," he bit out.
"Then tell me," she said. "What was the cause of your falling out?"
The memory twisted like a knife in his gut. But Annabel looked at him with pleading eyes, and he felt a yearning ... to unburden himself. To lay out his past with someone he could trust.
And he could trust Annabel. She'd proven a worthy confidante, one who listened and didn't judge. He'd found her counsel, when she offered it, to be well-considered. With her, he could talk about most anything—and nearly had. A first for him with any woman … with any person, period.
"After I left the regiment, I returned home to Dumfriesshire," he said. "Leased a farm—I wanted a peaceable living after the war. The owner of the estate, Viscount Kincaid, had a daughter. Lady Laura was known as the fairest lass in the county." With smoldering embarrassment, he recalled how smitten he'd been by her beauty. How easily he'd been taken in by her demure smiles and coy glances. "One day, Lady Laura was riding by the farm on
a new horse that hadn't been properly broken. She got thrown off—I rescued her before she got trampled."
"How fortunate for her," Annabel said faintly.
"We began to meet in secret. She insisted upon this, said her parents would not approve the match given the differences in our stations. For two years, I worked day and night on the farm, trying to make something of myself for her sake. Then a miracle occurred—or so I thought."
Bitterness scalded his insides; he forced himself to go on.
"A series of unexpected deaths left Alaric the heir to Uncle Henry's estate. This meant not only wealth and power, but a title. My half-brother was now the Duke of Strathaven—and I his heir."
He heard Annabel's sharp inhalation. "You're the heir ... of a duke?"
"Was," he corrected. "But I didn't give a damn about any of that. All I wanted was Kincaid's consent to marry his daughter. Given my new circumstances, my suit was accepted. Alaric agreed to come and meet my betrothed's family."
"And did he?"
"Veni, vidi, vici. Alaric came, saw Laura, and seduced her," he said flatly.
"Your brother seduced your fiancée?" Annabel gasped. "Why, the … the bastard!"
Despite the grim topic, Will felt his lips twitch at her indignation. What a fierce, loyal lass she was. "Aye. He managed to get Laura with child, too. He married the woman I loved and seven months later had his heir, too."
Annabel stared at him with wide eyes. "I had no idea ..."
"Now you do," he said. "And I trust you understand why I want nothing to do with Strathaven—or his letters."
She nodded, biting her lip. He wanted to stay and talk further, but the chime of the clock reminded him of his appointment with Todd.
Blowing out a breath, he said, "I have to go now, lass. Lingered too long already."
"For what it's worth," she said tremulously, "I'm sorry, McLeod. That this happened to you. You didn't deserve to be treated this way by the ones you loved."
Her genuine words opened hidden floodgates within him, and the hand he ran over her hair had a slight tremor. "Ach, but you're an ease to me, Annabel. A balm to my soul. We've more to discuss—tonight, after I've finished the business with Harding."
Her eyes glimmered. She flung her arms around his neck. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise," he said huskily. "Now give me a proper send-off, lass."
Her passionate kiss warmed him to the marrow. To the part of him that had lain cold and fallow before she came into his life. He vowed to himself that when he returned they would finish what they'd started.
*****
That evening, Will kept watch on the cottage from his hidden vantage point behind a convenient hedgerow. Dusk had come and gone, and the only light came from the moon and stars, the lamplight flickering behind shaded windows. Like many of the properties in St. John's Wood, the villa Harding leased for his mistress was designed for privacy. It was set off from the main road and surrounded by majestic trees that shivered in the moonlight.
The glow from the cottage windows illuminated the outlines of the two guards who stood at the front entrance. From previous scouting, Will knew another guard was posted at the back. When it came to visits with his mistress, Harding was like clockwork: he arrived at half-past eight and left at ten o'clock sharp.
In and out—no pun intended.
Squinting, Will made out the hands on his pocket watch: quarter to ten, almost time for the coup. Though the darkness cloaked Todd's men, Will knew the team of five was positioned at various points around the villa. He'd spent the day coaching them on the strategy. His goal was to extract Harding with as little fanfare and bloodshed as possible.
First step: immobilize Harding's guards before the cutthroat emerged.
Second: take Harding with minimal struggle and none the wiser.
As Will waited, his thoughts veered to Annabel and their parting conversation. He'd revealed more about his past to her than he had to anyone. Yet it had seemed ... no, it had been right. To open himself up—to trust her. Annabel was nothing like Laura: she was a strong, steadfast woman. He admired her, liked her ... hell. The recognition jolted him.
He loved her.
His breath shortened. Not with panic this time, but wonder. He was a lucky bastard to have such a woman in his life. First thing when this was over, they'd have a talk about the future—
His sensitive ears picked up on a rustling beyond the trees. Five minutes to ten: the plan was in motion. He sensed movement, Todd's men sweeping forward across the lawn. The five of them advanced stealthily, in coordinated fashion: three to the front and two to the back of the villa. A cry went up from one of Harding's men—snuffed out in the next instant. Will heard a faint scuffling as the guards in front were gagged and bound, dragged behind the bushes.
Step one executed. Now for the second.
Pulse hammering, Will watched as the front door opened on cue. Harding emerged—goddamnit, with pistols blazing. Somehow he'd caught wind of the attack.
Todd's men were falling like dominoes. Enraged, Harding emptied one weapon after another, an entire arsenal hanging from his belt. If this kept up, the entire team would perish and the bastard would escape.
With an oath, Will sprang forward, sprinting through the darkness, dodging fire. He tackled Harding, knocking him to the ground. The cutthroat's pistol flew into the darkness. The two of them exchanged blows, rolling and grunting as fists flew. Will managed to leverage himself on top and landed a bone-cracking punch to the other's jaw.
Harding groaned.
Will reached for the rope at his belt. At the same instant, movement caught the periphery of his vision. His head snapped to the right: a woman, ghost-like in a sheer, flowing white gown. A firearm glinted in her hands.
"Get away from him, you bastard!" she yelled.
The blast tore through the night.
Even as Will leaned away on instinct, heat punched through his shoulder. Knocked him off Harding. He lay on the grass, ears roaring, as stars blurred and melted into white light.
SIXTEEN
Where is McLeod? What's taking him so long?
All evening, Annabel had kept vigil by the front parlor window. Mrs. Ramsbottom had sat with her while she'd alternately paced and stared out the glass pane. Finally, she'd caught the good lady's yawn and sent the housekeeper off to bed. That had been three hours ago; now it was past midnight and still no sign of McLeod.
Her hands twisted in her lap, fear gnawing at her insides.
Please, God, protect him. Don't let a good man come to harm.
From what McLeod had shared earlier, he'd been hurt enough already. Her heart wept for the betrayals he'd suffered at the hands of the fickle Laura and the villainous Strathaven. With a brother like that, who needed enemies?
At the same time, a selfish grief settled over her: McLeod was the relation of a duke. True, he was a fiercely independent man and wanted nothing to do with his cad of a brother, but still ... He'd been too good for her before this revelation; now, she had no hopes of a true future with him.
You never had a chance to begin with. Be grateful for the time you have with him. For what you've shared ...
A carriage pulled up in front of the house, and she jumped to her feet. She flew out the door and down the front steps ... drew to a halt as two strangers disembarked. Despite the balmy summer night, they wore greatcoats. They hauled out a familiar brawny figure—
"McLeod!" she cried. "What happened?"
"'E ran into the fray and got shot by Harding's wench," one of the men said. "Fat lot o' good that did—Harding still got away."
Annabel put a trembling hand against McLeod's forehead. His skin was waxen, clammy to the touch. A tear spilled and trickled down her cheek.
"McLeod saved your 'ide, didn't 'e?" the other fellow retorted to his companion. To Annabel, he said gruffly, "Not to worry, ma'am. McLeod lost some blood, but the bullet went clean through. Doctor patched 'im up and gave 'im a good dose of the
poppy so 'e won't be wakin' any time soon. Now where do you want 'im?"
McLeod moaned.
"Upstairs," she said hoarsely. "Please bring him in."
*****
He didn't wake until the morning.
Relief tumbled through her when his eyelids opened to reveal a lucid gaze.
"Annabel?" he said in a gritty voice.
"Yes, my darling." She squeezed his hand. Posted in a chair by the bed, she'd spent the night keeping watch over him. "How do you feel?"
"Like shite." He grimaced. "My shoulder's on bluidy fire."
"That's what happens when you get shot." Her voice broke. "Dash it, McLeod, what were you doing charging into the fight? You promised me you'd be careful."
"Harding tried to escape. I had to try." His eyes closed wearily. "Got away, didn't he?"
"I'm afraid so." Rising, she went to fetch him a glass of water—and to give herself a moment to gather her emotions. To tuck them away and return with a composed demeanor. She held the glass to his lips. "Drink this, darling."
He took a sip and made a face. "That's bluidy awful."
"The doctor gave it to help with the pain," she said. "Finish it."
He did as she asked and grumbled, "What'll really make me feel better is you beside me. Get over here, lass." Taking care not to jar him, she got into the bed next to his uninjured side. He hugged her close with his good arm and grunted with satisfaction. "Much better."
Her cheek pressed against his chest, she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. Alive and well—for now. With no thanks to her.
In a muffled voice, she said, "You scared me, McLeod."
"Scared myself, lass. Couldn't be helped."
"What you risked—no one's ever been so good to me."
"You deserve nothing less." His voice rumbled beneath her ear.
"If the situation were reversed, I would do the same for you. Whatever it takes to protect you,"—her voice hitched—"I'll do it, McLeod."
"Wouldn't let you, sweetheart. Too dangerous." Drowsiness slurred his words. "Can't let anything happen to you. Find Harding again ..."
She swallowed tears, waited until his heartbeat slowed, his large chest rising and falling in even surges. Only then did she raise her head. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed by the dose of laudanum she'd given him.
The Widow Vanishes Page 9
