‘Oh—I forgot you were... I should have used the back door into the scullery... Pray forgive me...’
He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Perhaps I should not have been so hasty in getting out of the tub. You could have washed my back.’
‘I think you are quite capable of washing your own back.’
In painful embarrassment, turning her back on him, she crossed the room to the scullery. When she had tended him in his bed he had been weak and in no condition to render her helpless with his amorous desire, but now he was almost well and able to tend himself he was as dangerous to her sensibilities as ever and she was frightened he intended to continue his pursuit.
When she had yielded to him before, her whole being had burned with the fire that he had torched. His hands on her body, his lips on hers, his forceful persuasiveness had been her downfall. She had not been able to withstand his ardour and her pride had toppled beneath his deliberate attack on her senses. He had brought her to that moment of sweet ecstasy, knowing full well what he was doing to her, and now she would for ever hunger for that same devastating bliss.
Aware of the thoughts passing through her mind Simon went after her, reaching her in a moment. Taking the basket from her, he set it down and clasped her in his arms.
‘Please, Simon, don’t do this. I cannot.’
Pulling back, he looked down at her, letting his eyes sweep the flushed cheeks and the rounded orbs of her breasts beneath the soft fabric of her bodice. ‘Then speak a lie, Henrietta, and say you want no part of me.’
Though her mouth opened, no words formed and she could only stare up at him, helplessly caught in the web of her own desires. She had already sinned both in the flesh and in the mind, and even as she felt guilt seize her, she knew she would go to him again and again, that no irritating voice in the back of her mind could stop her overwhelming need for this man.
Slowly he lowered his head and placed his lips upon hers to possess their softness leisurely and languidly. He met no resistance, and with a sighing moan her mouth opened under his and their breaths mingled.
Henrietta lost track of time in the circle of his arms. It was as if they had never been parted, as if they had always been together. His kisses were strong yet tender, and, conscious of his naked body pressed to hers, she returned them with a fervour she had forgotten she had ever possessed.
Raising his head, Simon smiled down at her and ran a fingertip down her cheek, tracing the line to her jaw. ‘I want you,’ he said huskily. ‘Here. Now. I am impatient, Henrietta.’
For answer she reached up and kissed him on the lips. ‘I want you, too, Simon. But not here, not in the parlour.’
He nodded just once. ‘Upstairs. In your bed.’
Without a word, knowing she was indeed lost, Henrietta took his hand and led him to the stairs and up to her bedroom. Aware of what was about to happen, she was suddenly shy of him.
Simon sensed her nervousness and smiled. ‘Am I the only one permitted to stand here shivering, or do you mean to undress sometime soon?’
She laughed. ‘Help me.’
He stood before her and delicately began removing her clothes, his touch as gentle as any maid’s. His hands lingered as he removed her dress and chemise, brushing her shoulders and hips, and as each layer of clothing was removed, she could feel her skin tingling, her breath catching as her clothes rustled to the floor. At last she was as naked as he.
His gaze swept across her, taking in every detail of her slender, petite body, and he smiled. ‘You’re still as beautiful as ever. More so,’ he said, raising her chin. ‘So beautiful that I ache when I look at you.’
‘Flatterer,’ she murmured.
‘No. I have no need to flatter you.’
Closing her eyes, she lay back on the bed, feeling it creak and dip beneath his weight when he finally covered her.
‘Your uncle?’ he asked as he nuzzled her neck.
‘He won’t be back for ages,’ she murmured. ‘But...’ She turned her head from him, her hair fanning across the pillows.
Gently he took her chin in his strong fingers and turned her face towards him. ‘Look at me, Henrietta,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What is it? Are you afraid I will hurt you?’
Slowly her eyes opened and she stared at him for a long moment.
‘Is that what it is?’
She shook her head.
‘Then what is it?’ he asked as he bent his head and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, following its curve to the hollow in her slender throat.
‘I—I am ashamed of what we did—before. Of what we are about to do again.’ Her eyes closed once more, as if she could not look at him as she uttered these words.
‘I would not force you.’
‘I know.’ She took a deep, ragged breath. ‘But—but I have thought about it, and although I have tried to fight it and failed miserably, that this might be the damning of my soul, I do not care. I want you, Simon—while you are here with me. For as long as it lasts.’
Again their mouths melded in warm communion, turning, twisting, devouring, until their needs became a greedy search for more. Passions flared and their hunger grew, mounting on soaring wings. Simon uttered hoarse, unintelligible words as he pressed fevered kisses along her throat, sending her world toppling into a chaos of sensation. The white-hot heat of his mouth on the pink peak of her breast and the licking flames that consumed her was a sudden shock that made her catch her breath. She writhed under his hands, her own caressing his body, but she was always careful not to touch his back where he’d been wounded.
His fingers, so capable, so sure of their path, traced down her flat stomach to her satiny thighs. Pleasure jabbed through her, and the heat was growing until she was sure she would burst into flames. It was so wonderful to have him here, to be with him, to be loving him, to be loved by him. Without hesitation she brushed her hands across his body, feeling the ridges, the scars obtained in battles fought. But she also felt the hardness of his muscles, the strength of his body, the power of it. She ran her hands through the hair on his chest, let them wander down across his taut belly and then up once more to grip his shoulders.
She opened beneath him, arching her back, and Simon smelled the fragrant, womanhood scent of her. With an intense moan, he thrust deep into her. Wave after wave of emotion and passion battered him and he felt her shudder beneath him. She moaned and cried out, her voice mingling with his, and tears of wonder and awe ran down her cheeks. For a while she lay quietly in his arms, her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which matched her own. After a while he rolled onto his side and, propping himself on his elbow, gazed down at her wonderingly.
‘You are very beautiful, Henrietta,’ he whispered and bent his head to kiss her inflamed lips.
‘You flatter me, Simon.’
‘It is no flattery, my love.’
She sighed and said nothing. He bent his dark head and kissed the soft skin of her shoulder, touching it with his tongue. She shivered and moaned. His hand traced her waist and hip.
Catching his hand in hers and placing it on her stomach, she whispered, ‘Just hold me, Simon.’
Nodding, he let his hands rest. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The warmth of her next to his body comforted him. He breathed deeply, completely at ease for the first time in months.
* * *
Some time later Henrietta stirred, waking him from his light slumber. ‘We must get dressed before Uncle Matthew gets back. Do not forget that this is not my house.’
‘Yes, I know.’ After all Matthew’s kindness and the danger Simon had placed both Matthew and Henrietta in by being there, the thought of him returning and finding them in bed together was like a dash of cold water on him. He seemed to sober instantly. Reluctantly, he released her and left her to dress.
; Henrietta watched him go before resting back on the pillows. With tears blurring her vision, she closed her eyes. She was a fool, she told herself, a fool for having gone to bed with him again. She was no saint, that she well knew. Perhaps she should send him away now, this day, tell him that he could no longer stay at the cottage. But, no, she knew he was not well enough to travel just yet. He would leave her soon, of that she had no doubt. Please, God, do not let him end his life on the gallows. Let him make it to France.
But then she would be left alone, having given him her heart. Fresh tears formed in her eyes as she thought of not ever seeing him again. You cannot have it both ways, she told herself with disgust. You cannot have him, but not want him.
There was no time or place for love in her life, she asserted to herself. No room for it as long as the issue concerning Baron Lucas’s will remained unresolved and Jeremy wanted to kill her.
No room, she thought bitterly. I am a fool. A fool...for having fallen in love with Simon Tremain, a rebel, a fugitive, a man accused of seditious, traitorous acts against King George.
* * *
Letters arrived irregularly in the Highlands. Sometimes, considering the lengths to which messengers had to go to deliver mail in the outer reaches of Scotland, Henrietta thought it incredible that anything arrived at all. Crossing the yard from the stable, Matthew saw the messenger riding along the road to the cottage. Immediately he went to warn Simon, who had left the confines of the cave to enjoy a little time in Henrietta’s company. Unwilling to risk being seen, yet reluctant to leave the cosy fireside chair as he watched Henrietta go about her chores, Simon made a hasty retreat to his lonely dwelling place. Matthew greeted the messenger, who had brought a packet of letters and books. Matthew thumbed through until he came to a letter addressed from London.
‘At last. I was beginning to wonder when we would hear from Baron Lucas’s lawyer. I think this is what we’ve been waiting for.’
He cleared his throat sharply as he settled himself in a nearby chair. Opening the letter, he began to read. After a moment a troubled frown creased his brow.
Henrietta became uneasy. ‘What is it, Uncle Matthew? Is something wrong?’
‘It would appear so. The letter is from Mr Goodwin’s son, Christopher Goodwin. He has written in response to my letter and to inform me that his father is missing. With no leads as to his whereabouts, it is assumed that he may have met with a tragic accident.’
‘But—but that is terrible news. What can have happened to him?’
‘Heaven knows. Christopher Goodwin goes on to say that he has since taken over his father’s law practice and will look into the matter I raised in my letter concerning Baron Lucas’s will. He does stress that there should be a copy of the will, and if this is the case then claiming your inheritance will be a straightforward matter.’
‘I see. Well, one thing is certain. Nothing can be resolved while ever I remain in Scotland. I must go back to London.’
‘I agree—and soon. I said in the beginning that I will not let you deal with this alone. We will make arrangements to leave as soon as Simon leaves.’ Glancing out of the window, he saw Simon crossing the yard to the house. ‘Here he comes now. I’ll leave you to inform him of the contents of the letter. I must feed the horses. Thank goodness he’s a lot stronger and fit enough to travel. I can only pray he will evade the Redcoats.’
* * *
The following day Henrietta returned from a short walk over the moor and let herself into the house. Simon was resting in the cave and Uncle Matthew was visiting a neighbour to inform him of his journey south and to ask him to keep an eye on his property. He was expected back at any time.
He had brought news from Inverness the week before that Prince Charles had abandoned the Jacobite cause and was trying to flee Scotland. So far he had managed to evade capture. It was thought that he was hiding out on the moor, where there would be many still loyal to the cause who would aid him in his escape. There was a price on his head of thirty thousand pounds, but as yet no one had come forward to claim the reward.
He also told them that Cumberland had emptied the prisons in Inverness, people imprisoned by Jacobite supporters, replacing them with Jacobite prisoners themselves. Some prisoners were being taken south to stand trial for treason.
Removing her cloak, Henrietta crossed to the fire to warm herself.
‘So this is where you’re hiding. I knew I’d track you down eventually,’ a voice jeered behind her.
The sound made Henrietta freeze. She knew it too well. Its caustic tone evoked dark memories and suddenly she was afraid, enough that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She swayed in a stunned daze, then, drawing a deep breath to steady herself, she turned slowly and reluctantly responded in like manner.
‘Jeremy. Do forgive my surprise. I’m sure you can believe that your visit here is most unexpected. In fact, you’re the last person I anticipated seeing today.’
Despite the moment she had been allowed to compose herself, Henrietta realised she hadn’t been expecting the sudden surge of abhorrence that had swept through her when she settled her gaze on Jeremy Lucas. She only wished Simon was here with her now, or Uncle Matthew, watching over her with his usual care. Jeremy’s clothes were ill-fitting, rumpled and travel stained—far different from what his dandified appearance had been in London. He was thinner and his face had grown leaner. At least his ordeal had proved exhausting to him, she thought with some pleasure.
With a growl Jeremy stepped from the shadows into the room, outraged at this young woman whose disappearance had left him wallowing in debt and dragged him all this way to seek her out. He raked his gaze scathingly over the object of his hatred and felt a bitter disappointment as he took note of the confident girl. His lips twisted downwards snidely as he made comment. ‘Life on the run certainly seems to agree with you.’
‘I’ve stopped running, Jeremy. How did you find me?’
‘That, my dear, Henrietta, was a relatively easy task. I knew you had an uncle in Scotland. When my enquiries in London failed to locate you, I knew this was where you would come, so I followed you.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘I left my horse by the rocks in the lane.’
‘I see. So you intended taking me by surprise. Well, welcome to Scotland. I trust it is to your liking.’
With a sneer he conveyed his distaste. ‘I’ve seen nothing so far but sheep and marauding Highlanders—nothing that would make me ever want to venture so far north again.’
Henrietta managed her most tolerant smile. ‘But Edinburgh and other Scottish cities are most impressive. As for myself, I treasure the space and freedom of Scotland. The spirit of adventure thrives in this land and appeals to my heart. I found the journey to Inverness a very enlightening experience.’
Jeremy wasn’t very appreciative of the tenets of a born Scot, especially one who was the daughter of a traitor. ‘I’m sure you must feel quite at home in this savage wilderness, but I much prefer the civilised refinement of London. Of course only an Englishman would esteem his cultural heritage.’
‘Arrogant men who think themselves knowledgeable beyond the common man. Granted some are, but many are not, and I think such views they express originate from a narrow-minded prejudice. What do you want, Jeremy? It must be important for you to follow me all this way.’
‘My uncle’s will would be a start—the one you stole—the one he had drafted on the sly behind my back.’
Henrietta shrugged. Her poise amazed her. She had never dreamt that she could remain calm in the face of so much danger. She had always been afraid that she’d panic when she finally came face to face with Jeremy and fall to pieces. Silently she thanked heaven for her aplomb.
‘I do have the copy of the will. Mr Goodwin has the original in his possession—which I am sure you will know all about o
therwise you wouldn’t be here now. Before you threw me onto the street you were too busy blustering to give me a chance to explain that your uncle had acquired the services of a new solicitor while Mr Braithwaite was out of the country, having him draft a new will.’
‘Which excluded me completely.’
‘Not quite. He left you a few artefacts.’
‘Artefacts! What use are artefacts to me?’ he sneered contemptuously. ‘With creditors snapping at my heels day and night I needed that money. I held them off as long as possible, praying for my uncle’s demise so I could inherit. I grew tired of having to grovel and beg for every penny he threw me.’
‘But he didn’t die, did he, Jeremy? And you became desperate, which is why you killed him and your aunt—and their coach driver—to acquire their wealth.’
Jeremy’s face became suffused with rage. ‘I’ve never heard anything so preposterous,’ he flared indignantly. ‘I don’t understand your purpose, Henrietta, but I do know your accusation is a vicious, slanderous lie.’ His eyes flared with unsurpassed fury. ‘I’m surprised at the lengths you will go to see me shamed.’
‘You shame yourself. You abuse others out of malice and then judge them by your own despicable character. I assure you that whatever shame or slander you reap in this world, you will have brought it on yourself.’ Henrietta cast a glance at Jeremy. In all her years she had never seen anyone look so mean or turn such an ugly colour. ‘I overheard you and your wife confess to their murder, Jeremy, so please don’t take me for a fool by denying it.’
‘Aye,’ he roared crazily, uncaring what she thought, since she would soon be out of the way. ‘I admit it. Tired of waiting, I took matters into my own hands. It was easy. All I had to do was think how rich I’d be once they were out of the way. I ran their carriage off the road and finished them off, making it look like an accident. My one regret was that you weren’t in the carriage with them.’
‘I can imagine,’ Henrietta said, her mind reeling. ‘How disappointed you must have felt when Mr Goodwin presented you with the new will. Even then you didn’t give up, did you? What do you hope to achieve by coming after me?’
A Traitor's Touch Page 19
