A Summer Seduction (Legend of St. Dwynwen)

by Candace Camp

  It was good that he had left, she knew. She would have been filled with bitter disappointment if he had taken advantage of the moment and tried to seduce her into his bed. Not only had he refrained, but he had given her privacy to undress and get into bed. The revelation of her parentage had not caused him to react as she had dreaded that he might.

  But still… desire hummed in her veins, so that she was aware of even the sensation of her clothes against her skin. And she could not help but wish that he had not played the gentleman. That he had lowered his head that last little bit. And kissed her.

  Fourteen

  Alec stared out the narrow window at the street below, which slowly brightened with the sun edging over the horizon. He ran his hand back through his hair and released a breath. It had been a very long night with far too little sleep. The narrow chair had not been conducive to rest. He had managed to drift off a few times with his head tilted back against the wall, but had soon jerked awake. And knowing that Damaris lay only a few feet from him, curled up snug and warm beneath the covers, wearing only a shift… when he did manage to drift off, he was plagued by fevered dreams of her naked and pliant beneath his hands.

  He turned and looked over at Damaris. The dawn light revealed her lying on her side, her thick black hair spread out across the pillow and drifting over her creamy shoulder. The cover had worked its way down through the night, so that it now lay tangled around her legs. Her upper body was covered only in the simple white cotton shift. It was scooped low across her breasts, exposing most of her upper chest and shoulders. A ribbon pulled taut beneath her bosom made the material cup her breasts. The soft white tops of her breasts pressed against the upper edge of the undergarment, and he could see the dark circle of her nipples beneath the thin cotton.

  It would be so easy to slide into bed beside her, to stroke and tease her lush body into wakefulness. He could almost feel the velvet softness of her lips under his, the smooth texture of her skin upon his fingertips. Lust gnawed at him. It had become a familiar sensation. He had spent most of the last two days in that state. He remembered coming awake yesterday morning to the feel of her in his hands, warm and soft, her breast heavy in one palm, and his other…

  He swung away, swallowing hard, and considered how foolish it was to torture himself again with that memory. But it was damnably difficult to turn away from that sweet pain, to forget how Damaris had felt beneath his fingers, hot and wet and eager in her sleep, her legs opening unconsciously to his touch.

  And there—his treacherous thoughts had done it again. He was hard as a rock, his skin burning like a fever, and with no relief in sight. He leaned his head against the windowpane, grateful for its coolness. He had done the right thing last night, he was sure of that. It had required every ounce of self-control he possessed not to take her soft, lithe body into his arms and make love to her. But after what she had told him, he would have been a cad to do so. It would have confirmed her worst fears. She would have thought he believed her less than a lady, someone whom he could bed with no compunction, no thought or regret. She would have assumed that she meant nothing to him except a momentary means of easing his hunger.

  And what did she mean to him? His mind skittered away from that thought.

  He had managed to do what he ought: accept her little kiss of gratitude for what it was, not an invitation to something more. He had shown her that he respected her, valued her, that he was not about to seduce her because he had found out that she was some gentleman’s by-blow.

  Of course, that did not change the fact that he wanted very much to seduce her. Indeed, it had been the thought foremost in his mind for the past few days, ever since he had looked across the theater and seen her sitting there. No, if he was honest, it had been lodged in his brain from the moment he met her. Even then, angry and distraught as he was over Jocelyn, he had looked across the room into those amazing eyes and found it hard to look away.

  Damaris was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The kind of woman an artist’s hands would itch to draw. To whom poets wrote sonnets. And over whom less sensitive men, men like himself, might start a war, or at least a blood feud. It was rumored that some long-ago ancestor of the Staffords had been a Viking raiding the British shore. He had no idea if it was really true, or simply part of the lore of blood and violence in which his family took pride. But when he looked at Damaris, he felt that Viking blood singing in his veins, the wolf not far beneath the surface.

  He could understand sweeping up such a woman and carrying her off. Or grabbing your sword to hack to death whoever might try to take her from you. His fists doubled at his sides as he thought of the ruffian who had grabbed her beside the carriage the other day. A red rage had filled Rawdon then, and only a rock to the head had stopped him.

  Gazing down at her now, he was determined to protect her. It galled him that his money and influence were useless here, where he was unknown. He had headed to Gravesend thinking to catch a boat back up the Thames. It had seemed the easiest way to get to London without running across her abductors again. But last night, during his long, restless watch, he had realized where he must go. Not to London, where she would be surrounded by strangers, still vulnerable to attack. No, like any marauding raider of the past, he knew where he must carry her to keep her safe. He would take her home.

  Damaris made a soft noise and stirred in the bed, and Alec swung back to the window. He stared at the street below, not really seeing it, his whole being attuned to the faint noises behind him.

  “Alec?” Damaris said, her voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

  “Just after dawn.” He turned toward her, keeping his face impassive.

  She was sitting up, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Her hair tumbled down around her face in a tangle, and she looked deliciously warm and soft and still hazy with sleep, presenting, in short, a picture that was guaranteed to make a man want to crawl into the bed with her.

  “I shall get us breakfast,” he said quickly. “I was merely waiting for you to wake up.”

  “I can get dressed and go down with you.”

  “No, they have no private rooms to eat in, and it isn’t the sort of place for you.”

  “Is this inn so bad?”

  “No. No, of course not. I would not have brought you here if I thought it was a den of thieves. But still, it is not the sort of place for a lady.” The truth was, he doubted that the public room had many, if any, patrons in it at this hour, and if there had been, he did not truly think they would offend Damaris’s sensibilities. But he wanted to get out of this room for a few moments, away from Damaris and the constant onslaught that her nearness made on his senses. He trusted that she would be dressed by the time he returned and no longer sitting there in bed, all rosy and drowsy and scantily dressed. And that he would have regained a firm grip over his desires.

  He pulled on his jacket and turned back to Damaris. She was so lush and delectable, sitting there with her cloud of sleep-tangled hair spilling over her shoulders, it was all he could do not to pull her up from the bed and kiss her. “Lock the door behind me,” he said hoarsely, then turned and left the room.

  Damaris took advantage of Alec’s absence to get dressed. She tried valiantly to finger-comb her hair into some semblance of order, but that, it seemed, was well-nigh impossible, so she once again tied it back with the bit of ruffle she had pulled from her petticoat. She was, she supposed, simply going to have to ignore vanity. She could twist her hair up and secure it well enough to pull on her bonnet when they went outside. And Alec had already seen her looking like a slattern, so it really should not matter.

  But it did, of course, she thought, wishing for a mirror. It was Alec’s opinion, unfortunately, that mattered the most.

  There was a light knock on the door, followed by his voice, and Damaris hurried to open it. Alec carried in a tray, once again filled with food. Damaris grabbed a piece of bacon from the tray as he went by.

  “’Tis clear your
charm works wonders on the kitchen staff,” Damaris said, taking a bite. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

  They tucked into their breakfast with relish and soon put away most of it. Finally Damaris laid down her fork and leaned back against the headboard, sipping her tea. She cast him a teasing glance. “No doubt you will think I am an absolute pig, the way I have eaten since we got here.”

  “Not at all. I enjoy watching you eat.” He smiled, then glanced away, saying in a more formal tone, “You have every right to be hungry, since we spent all yesterday dodging kidnappers.”

  “How are we going to go about dodging them today?”

  “I had planned to take a boat to London from here.”

  Damaris nodded. “That’s clever. They’ll stick to the London–Dover road, don’t you think? It would offer the best odds of their finding us, and they cannot have that many people to set searching.”

  “True. We might make it back to London without incident. But that would only be tossing you back into the fire, since it is where they first attacked you.”

  “Then, do you think I should go to Dover after all? Sail to the Continent as I had planned?” Perhaps it was the most sensible thing to do, but the thought sent a stab of disappointment through her.

  “No.” His answer was swift and adamant. “I think we should go home.”

  “To Chesley?” The idea of traveling cross-country to Chesley had some appeal.

  “No. My home. Castle Cleyre.”

  Damaris stared at him blankly. “In—Northumberland?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It is some distance, I know, but not that long a trip if we go by sea. If I hire a boat, we could be in Newcastle in a day or two, I’m sure.”

  “But… but why?”

  “I can keep you safe there.” His eyes burned with a fierce light. “In London, even in Chesley, I have no idea where your attackers might come from or when. You could not go out for a walk alone, and I know you do not like being trapped in my home like a prisoner, especially with my grandmother there. She and Genevieve would plague me with questions as well.”

  “I have no desire to stay at your house in London,” Damaris agreed. “But surely it would be easier for me just to leave the country.”

  “You are assuming that if you flee to the Continent, it will settle the matter. The fact is, you have no idea if that is true. We don’t know what they want from you or even who they are, or who hired them. I realize that your grandmother was upset at your presence in London, but forcing you into hiding seems a rather extreme solution, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but who else could it be?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But the Runner I hired is searching for your abductors. I shall write my sister to tell her where we are going and charge her with recovering Erebos. I shall include a letter to my Bow Street Runner, describing the further information we have about our pursuers. I am certain he will be able to find something with this much to go on.”

  He leaned forward earnestly, taking her hand. “Until we know who they are, even if you leave the country or return to Chesley, you will have to be ever on the alert, unable to relax. But at the castle, you will be safe. It was built to withstand border raids. Any stranger would be noticed the instant he sets foot in the village or on my lands. Here, you and I are outnumbered. At Cleyre, the entire countryside will come if I call.”

  Damaris lifted a brow. “Everyone roundabout would jump to defend you?”

  “The lands and the people are mine.” The words would have sounded odd and outdated coming from someone else, but they rang true issuing from Alec’s mouth. He was, in that moment, very much the Earl of Rawdon, the lord of Castle Cleyre. “Just as I am theirs. We are bound to each other and have been throughout history.”

  “My. How very feudal of you.”

  A faint smile lifted one corner of Alec’s mouth. “In my grandfather’s time, Rawdon still mustered his own personal army.”

  “I scarcely know whether to be in awe or simply frightened.”

  “Hadn’t you heard? We are a bloodthirsty lot, us northerners, and clannish, as well.”

  “I see. But, Alec, think, I cannot go haring off to your northern fortress alone with you. Word would be bound to leak out. My reputation would be in tatters.”

  “But it won’t.” His expression lightened. “Aunt Willa is always at the castle; she will suffice for a chaperone.”

  “But what are we to do if your Runner cannot find those men?”

  “Then we shall enjoy a peaceful sojourn in the country. And we’ll make plans to resolve your situation some other way. I may have to have a chat with Lord Sedbury.”

  “Alec, no!” Damaris reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “You must not place yourself at odds with the Sedburys. I would not have you entangled in my affairs, opposing another family of the ton, people with whom you have to live.”

  “I don’t recall that I have ever had to live with a Sedbury, even at school,” Alec replied flippantly.

  “You know what I mean. People of your own class, peers of the realm. People who come to your sister’s parties and are members of your club.”

  “What have I ever done to make you think I care whether other members of the ton approved of me?” Alec asked.

  “But your sister and grandmother…”

  “My sister and grandmother have little use for anyone who goes against me.” His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. He looked into her eyes, his gaze unswerving. “I intend to see that you are safe, Damaris.”

  “I—I see.” His words warmed her—more, she supposed, than they ought. “Then I can only say thank you.”

  He smiled and swung lithely off the bed. “Good. I am going to the docks to find us transport.”

  “But how will you pay?” Damaris went to the dresser and picked up her reticule. “I have a pound note left, but I fear that is all.”

  “It’s bloody inconvenient that I know no one in Gravesend,” Alec grumbled. “I shall just have to go to a moneylender. The publican downstairs gave me a name of one he says is fair and reasonable. I have my tie pin and cuff links to secure the debt.”

  “I have jewelry you can use. Here, take my ring.” She pulled the ring from her finger.

  “Your wedding band?” he exclaimed, widening his eyes in a pretense of shock. “My dear wife, I am desolate to think you would give it up.”

  Damaris made a face. “Don’t play the fool. Take it. And my earrings. They are only pearls, but still, they will fetch something.” She reached up and began to pull out the dangling drops.

  “Damaris, I am not taking your jewelry.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She whisked the drops out of both ears and took his hand, firmly putting the ring and earbobs in his palm. “I am the one for whom you are doing all this. I should be the one bearing the responsibility, not you. At least allow me to contribute.”

  He hesitated, then closed his hand around the jewels. “Very well. I will use them if need be. But I promise you, I shall send someone to redeem your baubles when we reach Cleyre.” Alec started toward the door. “I will return as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll go with you. Then we won’t need to come back here.”

  “Take you to a moneylender?” This time Alec looked genuinely shocked. “Damaris, please. I may not be considered a perfect gentleman, but even I am not so lost to propriety as that.”

  “Honestly, Alec—”

  “No. Absolutely not.” He had that expression on his face again, the one Damaris thought of as his aristocratic face, a sort of blank hauteur that no amount of appeal or force could change. “Besides, the less you are seen about town, the better. For all we know, our ‘friends’ may be in Gravesend looking for you. Or they may appear later and go about asking for a woman fitting your description.”

  “You are far more noticeable than I,” Damaris retorted.

  He grinned. “If you honestly believe that, you are blind, my dear.”

  Damaris could make little argument
against him, for she was well aware that their pursuers would be looking for a couple, not a man by himself. She grimaced at him and sat down with a sigh on the chair.

  “Good. Lock the door behind me.”

  She followed him to the door and locked it, then sat down to wait. Since there was nothing to do, she had ample time to think; but no matter how much she thought about the matter, she could not understand why anyone would try to abduct her. Damaris was not so naïve that she failed to realize men existed who might grab a woman off the street and force themselves upon her. She supposed that could have been why the men had seized her in front of her house. But it strained belief to think that a man with that in mind would go to such lengths as hiring several thugs and tracking her down on the toll road, much less searching the nearby towns for her when she got away.

  Such action showed a personal grudge against her. Her grandmother fit in that category, but, as Alec had pointed out, it seemed a bit extreme for the woman to go to such lengths just to get her out of the city. Most people would try to persuade or intimidate her before they resorted to hiring ruffians to kidnap her. And if she wanted her to leave London, why, then, had the men tried to seize her when she had already done exactly that?

  But if these men had not been sent by her grandmother, who were they? And who had sent them? She was merely a widow of little importance, with no enemies that she knew of beyond a social rival or two, a rejected suitor here and there. Her late, unlamented husband had been the sort of man who had enemies, but he had been dead for ten years now. She could not imagine what any of his enemies might hope to gain by abducting her now.

  Even if she had garnered some unknown enemies along the way, they would live on the Continent, where she had spent most of her adult life. Why would any of them have decided to travel to England to abduct her so long after the fact? Nor could she think of any enemy she had acquired during the year she had lived in England. It was ludicrous to think that someone in the village of Chesley might wish her harm, and if they did, they would have done so at home, surely, instead of waiting until she went to London.