Running into Temptation (Bancrofts of Barton Park)

by MCCABE, AMANDA

  She quickly turned away and took a deep gulp of ale. It was not at all like the watered wine she was used to; it made her head swim.

  “Having a good time, Mel?” Philip said, sliding onto the bench next to her. She could feel the warmth of his body reaching out as if to caress her, and she had to force herself not to move away.

  “I like it here very much. It’s so—so full of life,” she said, trying to get back the feeling of being swept away on the tide of music and laughter. But now all she could see, all she knew, was him. “It’s been too long since I heard such music.”

  Philip reached over and took her hand. He turned it over on his palm, studying the curve of her wrist, her fingers. She stared, fascinated and speechless, as he raised it to his lips for a warm, soft kiss. It was a swift, fleeting caress, but it suddenly made the evening even lighter. Even more exciting.

  “An adventure, eh?” he said. He gave her another lazy smile, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at her.

  “Perhaps not much of one to you, but I have been trapped in respectable quiet for much too long,” she said. She ran her fingertips lightly over his wrist, feeling the heat of his skin under her touch. “I do like it here. I’m glad you brought me on this adventure, Philip.”

  She only hoped he was not sorry.

  “Will you think that later, pretty Melanie?” he said, a stark hint of bitterness in his voice.

  Before Melanie could answer, he suddenly wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck, dislodging some of the pins in her hair. He drew her closer to him and kissed her. Despite the quickness of his movement, the sudden hunger of it, his lips were gentle on hers, as if he gave her time to push him away.

  But she couldn’t leave. She only wanted him to be closer, to forget everything in the delight that overcame her with his touch.

  She leaned toward him, opening her mouth under his.

  He groaned. His fingers tightened in her hair, and his kiss turned hotter, hungrier. He tipped her head back, and she reached up to hold his face between her hands, half-afraid he would slip away from her and she would lose the way he made her feel.

  Suddenly, there was the clattering noise of a plate landing on the table, and Melanie sprang back from Philip. Her face flamed even hotter as she remembered where they were, the crowded room, the music. Philip Carrington truly did make her forget everything else.

  She peeked up to find the innkeeper’s wife smiling at her.

  “Ah, young love,” she said, reaching out to give Melanie’s cheek an understanding pat. “We see it all the time here, don’t we lads?”

  Philip sat back on the bench, but he didn’t leave her entirely. His arm lay lightly around her shoulders. “Forgive us for forgetting ourselves.”

  “Never you mind that,” the landlady said. “We know why you’re here, to be sure.”

  Melanie’s thoughts raced. Why was she there? She could hardly remember. Maybe she had never known, but now that kiss had driven all other thoughts out of her head. “Why is that?”

  The woman laughed, her plump cheeks glowing pink. “Why else does anyone come over the border so quick-like? To marry, of course! Maybe you have a disapproving guardian chasing you?”

  “The blacksmith’s shop is open all night,” the innkeeper called from behind the bar. “Why don’t we take you there after you have your supper? ’Tis been too long since I got to give away a bride!”

  A bride? Her? Melanie’s heart pounded like a drumbeat in her ears. But wasn’t that what she wanted? What she had secretly wished for, deep down inside, when they came to Scotland together?

  She was so confused. Yes, she did want Philip. But only if he wanted her, too. She had made so many mistakes in the past, and this was surely her greatest one. But would marrying make it better—or worse?

  She glanced toward Philip, hoping to see some magical answer in his eyes. Some clue as to what she should do next. But his glorious blue eyes were just as unreadable as ever. He gave her one of his lazy smiles, his chin propped on his palm as he studied her.

  “Why not?” he said. “We’ve come this far, after all. What do you think, Mel? Care to get married over the anvil?”

  It was hardly the most romantic proposal a girl could ever dream of, with moonlight and flowers and jeweled rings. But to her, those words sounded so sweet. Especially after Captain Whitney’s contemptuous laughter, his derisive words about how she wasn’t a worthy wife…

  Melanie pushed away the old hurt of disillusionment, and drank down the last of her ale. Captain Whitney was in the past. Philip Carrington, a better man in every way, was here now. Perhaps he was not the ideal husband, but he was handsome, fun and willing to wed her right now. She knew she had to take what she could get. Philip was right—they had come too far to turn back.

  “I say I am assuredly in the mood for a wedding,” she said, and the room around her erupted in cheers.

  Philip’s smile widened, and he leaned over to kiss her again. The touch of his warm lips reassured her. Surely this was fate, this whole strange scene. Surely this was meant to be….

  “…and do you take this man as your wedded husband? Will you….”

  Philip studied the woman who stood beside him at the makeshift altar. Melanie’s golden head was bent, and he had only a glimpse of her expression. Usually, he only saw her laughing, her passionate curiosity for life lighting up her delicate features, making her eyes glow. Now she looked most solemn as she listened to the Gretna officiant. Solemn, and—startled?

  Surely she was just as amazed as he was to find themselves there. Her hand shook in his. Would she flee and break this strange dream-trance?

  Philip closed his eyes for a second to see a vision of Melanie doing just that. Melanie running out the door into the night, the pale skirts of her gown vanishing into the darkness.

  Surely he should feel relieved if she did flee. He’d always been so sure he would never find himself in the parson’s mousetrap. Instead, he found his hand tightening on hers, as if he would hold her with him.

  Very strange indeed.

  Melanie glanced up at him, and at last she smiled. “I will,” she said, softly but firmly.

  Philip remembered why he had brought her here, so impulsively. Why he had decided to marry her.

  When they kissed over the supper table at the inn, their need for each other so strong they didn’t care where they were or who might see, he’d realized that here at last was someone who could understand him.

  After his father’s death, his mother’s sending him away and then his cousin Henry’s false friendship, after all the glittering falseness he’d found on his travels, Melanie seemed real. She shared his impulsive nature, his wanderlust, his carelessness. Perhaps they could explore life together.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, neither of them had to be alone now. Philip dared to do something he had never done before. Hope.

  “Ach, lad, do ye or do ye not?” someone cried.

  Melanie’s smile dimmed a bit, and Philip realized he had just been asked a very important question.

  He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I will.”

  Melanie laughed, making him laugh, too. He only ever wanted her to laugh from now on. The crowd around them cheered.

  Philip slipped a newly purchased gold band on Melanie’s finger, and it was done. She was his wife—for better or worse.

  Chapter Four

  “Welcome back, Mrs. Carrington,” Philip said, laughing as he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the small room at the inn. “It may not be much, but for now it’s home.”

  Melanie laughed, too, feeling giddy as he spun her around and around. As he slowly lowered her to her feet, she slid her palms down his chest until she reached the buttons of his waistcoat. She slid one free as she kissed his throat.

  Melanie Carrington. How very unreal that sounded. The whole night seemed most unreal, from the noisy procession through the streets to Philip taking her hand an
d repeating their vows. Had it all truly happened? Melanie wasn’t sure at all. But if it were a dream, it seemed very fun and she didn’t want it to end.

  The candlelight glinted on the new ring on her finger as she slipped another button free. Philip smiled down at her lazily, letting her play.

  Another button was free, the fine silk of the waistcoat falling away to reveal his linen shirt, and Melanie suddenly felt rather shy. Did he feel as she did, excited and scared, thrilled? Did he still want her at all, now that she was his?

  She pressed her palm flat against him, feeling the beat of his heart. “Kiss me, Philip. Please,” she whispered.

  And then she had her answer. His cool distance melted away, and he groaned as his arms came around her, dragging her up against him to cover her lips with his. His tongue slid deep, twining with hers, and she greeted him eagerly.

  Her shyness fled. They were married now, for better or worse; she was his. She unfastened the last button of his waistcoat and slid her fingers over his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin linen.

  His kiss deepened, grew hungrier, and she wanted to know what he felt like. She tugged the shirt free of his breeches and finally touched his bare skin. Her fingers skimmed up under the hem of his shirt and teased over his hard abdomen, his ribs, his shoulders. She scraped her nails over his smooth chest, and he groaned again.

  “Melanie,” he whispered against her lips. “What you do to me…”

  What she did to him? But she was the one driven mad! All the time she had been so restless, always searching, always seeking something that inevitably eluded her. Surely this was exactly what she had sought.

  He kissed her again, roughly, holding nothing back, and she could think of nothing at all but the way she felt with him. He forced her head back as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth, and she met him with equal fire.

  She felt his arms lift her higher, and they moved across the small room until they tumbled back onto the bed. She pushed his coat and waistcoat away, and he tore his shirt off over his head. His clothes landed in a careless heap on the floor, and he pressed her back to the tumbled blankets, his body coming over hers.

  His kissed her arched throat, her shoulder, licking a soft, delicate ribbon of fire over her skin.

  “I can’t—bear it,” Melanie gasped, wrapping her arms around him.

  He laughed roughly against her shoulder. “I’m sure you can bear it just a little longer….”

  She felt him reach between their bodies to unfasten his breeches. His manhood sprang free from the fabric confines, hard and hot as iron under velvet. Curious, Melanie ran her fingertips over him. She gasped at the feeling of it.

  “Melanie…” he moaned, and jerked against her touch. Emboldened, she caressed him again, but he pushed her hand away. “If you don’t stop now, I fear our wedding night will be over before it begins.”

  Melanie laughed, and laid back to watch as he quickly stripped away his boots and breeches. She had never seen a naked man before, only drawings of ancient statues. Philip was more beautiful than any of them, powerful, gilded gold in the candlelight.

  “I fear I feel rather overdressed now,” she said, tugging at the skirt of her best pink muslin gown. Her wedding dress.

  “I can help you with that,” he said.

  Melanie laughed again as he seized her in his arms. He quickly unfastened her gown and slid it away from her body to reveal her bare shoulders, her thin chemise. She shivered as he eased away even that meager cover and pressed his lips to her bare back. He touched her skin with the tip of his tongue, as if to taste her.

  He tossed her gown to the nearest chair, and as she waited, breathless, to see what would happen next, he slid the pins from her hair and ran his fingers through the tumble of curls. He raised one lock to his nose and inhaled deeply, and that one tiny, tender gesture made her want him even more.

  She lay back down on the bed, staring up at him in fascination. He was so very beautiful. She could hardly believe he was her husband now, that he was about to make love to her.

  He watched her, too, and his blue eyes narrowed, darkened. She could only hope he liked what he saw in her, that he wanted her as she wanted him. She held her arms up to him in silent entreaty.

  He knelt back over her, sliding his hands slowly up her stockinged legs as he parted them and drew her to the edge of the bed. As she stared at him, her breath catching, he knelt between her trembling thighs and softly, softly kissed the bare skin just above her ribbon garter.

  “Philip!” she cried, as he traced her most intimate spot with the tip of his tongue before plunging shockingly deep to taste her very essence.

  She let him kiss her there until she could bear it no more. She tugged at his rumpled hair, drawing him up until he braced himself over her. She could tell he held himself carefully so he wouldn’t crush her, but she wanted him so much closer.

  She wasn’t afraid at all now.

  She wrapped her legs around his lean hips and arched up into him. His skin was so warm, damp and smooth over his strong muscles. She traced a caress over his back, his taut buttocks, reveling in the way he felt against her.

  She kissed his shoulder, tasting the salt-sweetness of him. How she craved him, needed him! It was like coming alive again at last after a long, dark night.

  “Melanie,” he said hoarsely. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, and she felt him breathe her in deeply. “I can’t fight this any longer…”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Neither can I.”

  He kissed her neck, his mouth open and hot as it slid over her shoulder, the soft curve of her breast. “Melanie, you aren’t like anyone else I’ve ever met.”

  “Neither are you.” So surely, she thought, that must mean they were meant for each other.

  She slid her hand over his chest, the sharp angle of his hip. She felt his back stiffen and his breath catch as she dared to touch him again. She was fascinated as he grew even harder under her caress.

  “You’ll kill me yet,” he said, half laughing, half pained by his restraint.

  “I—I want you, Philip. Now,” she whispered.

  She felt his hand between her legs, his thumb sliding into the wet core of her. “I want you, too, Melanie. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t. I trust you,” Melanie said, surprised to find that those words were true. Despite everything, she did trust in him. Trust in what they had together. She closed her eyes and eased her legs wider to welcome him. “Please.”

  She heard him draw in a ragged breath as he reached between their bodies again and gently parted her damp folds as he sought entry. Then she felt a stretching, a burning, as he slowly slid inside of her.

  Melanie gasped at the warm, unfamiliar friction, the sensation of sudden fullness and pressure. Of being joined with him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His whole body went still, his arms rigid as he held himself balanced above her.

  Melanie was afraid he meant to leave her. “No!” she cried in protest, holding him with her. “It feels better now.”

  And it did. The shocking ache was fading as her body grew accustomed to him, leaving only that delicious new fullness, and a glimmer of something wonderful she couldn’t quite grasp.

  Philip nodded. He drew back from her one slow, enticing inch at a time, then plunged deep again.

  “Oh…” Melanie sighed, closing her eyes tighter to feel him moving within her, faster, deeper. That tiny seed of pleasure grew deep inside of her, flowering, expanding. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to come to fiery life, awakened only by him.

  She learned his rhythm and moved with him, a strange, exotic dance where they were perfectly partnered.

  The night outside the window, the small, warm room—the whole world narrowed to just the two of them. Behind her closed eyes, Melanie saw gold and silver sparks, shimmering, sparkling. It seemed this was what she had been waiting for forever.

  Then all her thoughts
flew apart in an explosion of fiery stars and she felt as if she was soaring into the sky, the past burning away, leaving her free.

  Above her, Philip called out her name, his back arching. He pulled out of her, and she felt the damp heat of his seed on her skin. He collapsed beside her on the bed, their arms and legs entangled.

  Melanie slowly sank back down to earth, as light as if she drifted on a feather. She had never felt so tired, so light, so—confused. Yet somehow she knew that, whatever happened tomorrow, right now she was where she should be.

  Beside her, she heard the soft rush of Philip’s breath. She opened her eyes and rolled onto her side, gazing at him in the hazy moonlight. His eyes were hooded, and he gave her his lazy smile, the one that always made her heart pound.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

  “Oh, yes.” Far better than all right. She kissed his cheek softly, and he smiled. His arms came around her and drew her down against his shoulder. Wrapped up in each other, they fell into sleep.

  * * *

  “Tell me more about your travels, what you did before,” Melanie said lazily, as they drowsed in the shadows of deepest night. She felt his fingers trail through her hair, and she curled closer to his side. She wished the night would never end, that they would never have to leave the warm little cocoon they had created in their little inn room. “It must have been so exciting.”

  Philip gave a rueful laugh. “It was exciting sometimes—but also most uncertain. Sometimes I would never know where I would be the next day, who I would meet, if there would be any friends. If I would have to drag my cousin Henry out of trouble yet again. If the turn of the cards would favor me. Perhaps that was what made it exciting. But I am growing too old for it all.”

  “Ah, yes. You are so old. Just look at all this gray hair!” Melanie teased. She tousled his tumbled, shimmering golden hair until he laughed. It was a beautiful sound, one she wanted to hear more. “I think it sounds wonderful, to go wherever you like, wherever the whim takes you.”