Delight and Desire

by Joanna Maitland

  Robert closed the door with slightly shaky hands and leant against it, letting out a long breath. His Isobel. He had saved her. But for how long?

  ‘Grant, go and organise a chaise and four. I shall need it here in two hours. We leave as soon as it is light.’

  ‘Aye, sir. Which road shall you be taking?’

  ‘The road north. As I am sure you already knew.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘We have a battle to win, Grant, and our forces are few. So we shall need to use guile, not a frontal attack. Say as little as possible at the posting house, and return quickly. I shall need you to remain here in London, as rearguard.’

  ‘Aye, sir. You may rely on me to deal with Sir Hugh, and his bruiser.’

  The moment the batman left, Robert rushed across to the secret door. Poor Isobel had been locked inside for what must have seemed like hours. In the dark, with no way of knowing when she would be freed. Robert touched the spring. As the door swung open, he lifted a branch of candles from the side table and held it high. ‘Isobel?’

  She was blinking blindly against the light. She had pushed her arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown and tied the belt at her waist, but otherwise she had not moved. Her clothes lay in a pile on the floor. Her hands were clasped together in her lap. Robert fancied it was to stop them from shaking.

  He put his free arm round her shoulders. Poor girl, her body was cold, shivering. No wonder, in this dark prison. ‘Come.’ He led her out into the light and closed the door. Her clothes could wait. More important now to warm and reassure her that she was safe. With him. He pulled a wing chair closer to the fire and pushed her down into it. Then he fetched the coverlet from the bed and wrapped it round her. ‘Better?’

  Her beautiful eyes had adjusted to the light now. She nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was a thready whisper.

  He poured a small brandy and pressed it into her hand. ‘Drink this. It will warm you and give you strength.’ He expected her to protest, but she did not. She nodded, tossed it down, and then began to cough uncontrollably. He saw that she was beautiful, and fragile, and vulnerable, all at the same time, and yet as brave as any soldier. One in a million. ‘Oh, my darling girl,’ Robert burst out, ‘you must take care!’ Her coughing stopped. For a long moment, he simply held her close. Something had changed between them. But there was no time now to explore the strange new feelings that had engulfed him.

  Being held in his arms was heavenly. Especially after so long in that dark prison. She had heard a commotion, and raised voices, but she had been unable to make out what was going on. She had been so very afraid for Robert.

  ‘Courage, my sweet. It is over. Your uncle has gone.’

  She rested her head against the hard strength of his body and closed her eyes. They were safe. For the moment.

  ‘And now we must organise a wedding.’ He chuckled into her hair. ‘In some haste, I fear.’

  She looked anxiously up into his face. He would marry her for honour’s sake, even though he did not love her. Did he feel trapped, resentful? To her surprise, he was smiling warmly down at her, his gaze as gentle as a caress. A loving caress. ‘Oh,’ she breathed.

  ‘Come, my sweet.’ He crossed to the little desk and pulled out a chair for her. ‘You have to write a letter. We need to gain time. We must give the hounds a false scent.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. I imagine you cannot organise a wedding overnight, even with a special licence.’

  ‘A special—!’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, my darling girl, life with you will certainly be full of surprises. How old are you?’

  She bristled. ‘Twenty, sir.’

  ‘And do you have your guardian’s permission for this marriage you are about to enter into?’

  Oh. She shook her head. She knew what was coming next.

  ‘Precisely so. Sadly this is not Verona with a Friar Lawrence conveniently to hand. This is England, and England’s laws do not permit an under-age girl to consent to marriage. It is a weary road back to Scotland, but at least the days are long at this time of year, and the weather is set fair. I am only sorry that we shall have to use the services at Gretna rather than waiting for a minister of the kirk. But you shall have a proper wedding afterwards, I promise. In the kirk.’

  Isobel straightened her shoulders. The mere thought of spending days with Robert in the confines of a post chaise had her insides heating and melting. She tried not to dwell on that. There would be a time for desire. Later. Especially if what she had seen in his eyes was love.

  She forced herself to sit demurely at the desk. After a moment’s thought, Robert said, ‘We must turn you into a selfish, top-lofty young woman, I fear. It is the only way. Try this.’

  Isobel wrote at his dictation. Annie, Pray tell my dear aunt that I beg her pardon for having left so abruptly, but I could not consent to marry a man so far beneath me, even to spare my papa. I shall stay with my friend Emma until Mr Craigie has withdrawn. Impress upon my dear aunt, pray, that my uncle must not come here after me. My kind hostess moves in the highest circles, but even she could not prevent the scandal that would result.

  ‘That will do, I think,’ he said. ‘And now you must write a covering note to Annie, so that—’

  ‘Wait, Robert. This will not do. My uncle will soon discover that I am not at Lady Manson’s house.’

  Robert shook his head. ‘Oh, ye of little faith.’ He picked up a clean quill pen and the water carafe. ‘Watch.’ He deftly placed a tiny drop of water on the word ‘Emma’. The letters blurred and become quite illegible. To complete the deception, he dripped on other parts of the paper, too. ‘You wrote this in a mood of guilty resolution. Determined, but unable to hold back your tears.’

  He pulled out a fresh sheet. ‘And now the note to Annie.’

  Obediently Isobel wrote at his dictation, instructing the maid to do everything possible to put her uncle off the scent, and then to travel to Scotland, with Grant.

  ‘Two days’ start should be enough,’ Robert said firmly, pulling her to her feet and into his embrace.

  She could trust him. He would save them both. She gazed up into his beloved face, hoping, longing to see some sign that he might one day feel more than mere desire when she was in his arms.

  What she saw there took her breath away.

  He stroked her hair back from her temple with a sure, possessive hand. ‘You will be safe very soon, under the protection of my name. As my most beloved wife.’

  Her long sigh of delight was captured in his kiss, the kiss of a man who loves and is beloved in return.

  Epilogue

  The Times, London, July 1800:

  Lately, Major Robert Anstruther to Miss Isobel Lang Ritchie.

  ‘What did your father mean, Robert? He said you had given him an ultimatum. And then he laughed. Is there some private joke between you?’ She snuggled more closely into the crook of Robert’s arm and slithered a hand over his naked stomach, ignoring his sharply indrawn breath.

  He put his fingers over hers and held them still. ‘I cannot think when you do that, my love. If you want a coherent answer, you must behave.’ She sighed loudly. ‘Not for long, I promise.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her ear. Neither of them spoke. They simply relaxed into each other’s embrace. They were married, and one flesh. Star-crossed no longer. Soon there would be another glorious joining. But that could wait a little while. Even waiting could be pleasurable.

  He stroked her hair. ‘My father is not long for this world. He has had too many seizures. He confidently expects the next one to carry him off.’

  ‘Robert! You must not—’

  ‘No, love. There can be no pretending. He does not wish it. He says he is ready to meet his maker. He means to put an end to the Ritchie-Anstruther feud.’

  She caught her breath. ‘Was it you who—?’

  ‘I urged him to it, I admit. In the face of death, he sees that it is futile, and condemns the grandchildren he will not live to see. He spent his life pursuing that feu
d, and now he is equally determined to see it finished. He is not a man to cross, even now. And his mind is still sharp enough to have found a way.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘He is making a new will. He will leave a large legacy to Archibald Ritchie, with a dying man’s wish that it be used to restore the Ritchies’ standing in the world. In return, my father asks only that yours will bless the union of our two families, and care for his grandchildren.’ He touched a finger to Isobel’s cheek and wiped away a stray tear. ‘I pray that your father will not refuse.’

  ‘He—’ She stopped and thought hard. She should know her father well enough to be sure. ‘My father is stubborn, but he is an honourable man. I hope…I think he will feel bound to accept.’ She gazed up at her beloved husband through her tears. ‘If only your poor papa did not have to die to accomplish this. It seems so very sad…’

  ‘Aye, and so it is. But he would not have you weep, my darling. He would have us celebrate life, and the love we have found together.’ He lifted her fingers and laid them on the very definite evidence of his need.

  Isobel sighed in satisfaction and curled her hand round his flesh, tightening her grasp until he groaned, deep in his chest.

  ‘You truly do know how to torment a man, Mrs Anstruther.’

  ‘Not any man, sir. Only the one man who showed me how very special love can be, when it is given and returned in equal measure.’ She slid her hand up his hard length, until he arched his neck with the exquisite agony of it. She squeezed again.

  ‘That, madam, is quite enough of that.’ His voice was little more than a gasp. With a deft flick, he rolled her on to her back and settled into the cradle of her hips. ‘What I need now is all of you.’ He slid into her body in one long, glorious stroke and then stilled. ‘I have you now, my love. And tomorrow,’ he whispered into her ear, his mouth so close that his breath made her shiver deliciously, ‘I think I shall take you back to Caerlaverock. I shall make love to you there in the twilight, under the stars. My darling nymph shall be earthbound, for ever. We were so nearly star-crossed lovers. Let us show those old stones that twilight lovers can live for each other, too.’

  And then he kissed her, and it was as if the whole canopy of stars was enfolding them, and smiling down on their union.

  Readers can meet the Anstruthers again in Bride of the Solway, published as a Harlequin Historical in September 2010.

  If you liked this story, look for more of Joanna Maitland’s historical romances always available in ebook format!

  His Cavalry Lady

  His Forbidden Liaison

  His Reluctant Mistress

  His Silken Seduction

  A Regency Invitation, “An Uncommon Abigail”

  And don’t forget The Bride of Solway, connected to Delight and Desire, on sale now!

  If Cassandra Elliott does not escape from the Laird of Galloway, she’ll be forced into marriage or confined to Bedlam! Desperate, she turns to Captain Ross Graham, and begs for help in a most unladylike manner.

  Fleeing across the Solway, Cassie and Ross cannot be distracted by a desire as wild as the Scottish hills. When Cassie is kidnapped, Ross realizes exactly what this spirited, seductive woman has come to mean to him…but will he find her in time to tell her?

  Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:

  The Taming of Mei Lin by Jeannie Lin

  A Scandalous Liaison by Elizabeth Rolls

  Pleasured by the Viking by Michelle Willingham

  Arabian Nights with a Rake by Bronwyn Scott

  Bitten by Desire by Marguerite Kaye

  The Virgin’s Pursuit by Joanne Rock

  Innocent in the Harem by Michelle Willingham

  Taming Her Gypsy Lover by Christine Merrill

  The Laird and the Wanton Widow by Ann Lethbridge

  The Highlander and the Sea Siren by Marguerite Kaye

  Convenient Wife, Pleasured Lady by Carole Mortimer

  Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at www.eHarlequin.com or your local bookstore.

  Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to undone@harlequin.ca.

  Joanna Maitland was born and educated in Scotland, though she has spent most of her adult life in England or abroad. She has been a systems analyst, an accountant, a civil servant, and director of a charity. Now that her two children have left home, she and her husband have moved from Hampshire to the Welsh Marches, where she is revelling in the more rugged country and the wealth of medieval locations. When she is not writing, or climbing through ruined castles, she devotes her time to trying to tame her house and garden, both of which are determined to resist any suggestion of order. Readers are invited to visit Joanna’s website at www.joannamaitland.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5293-0

  Delight and Desire

  Copyright © 2010 by Joanna Maitland

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