by Laura Landon
She looked to the door. “What are you doing out of bed? Dr. Bronnely said you weren’t to get up until tomorrow.”
She scrambled to her feet and rushed to where he leaned against the door frame. It had been three days since he’d been injured and he’d healed remarkably fast, but he still wasn’t completely recovered. He shouldn’t be out of bed, nor should he have come down the stairs. He could have fallen. He could have injured himself even more than before.
He wore nothing but a pair of dark pants and a full-sleeved, white lawn shirt he hadn’t bothered to tuck in. His feet were bare, and Claire couldn’t ignore how drawn she was to his casual attire. Hunt wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving his room without being fully dressed. The major didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
His hair was disheveled, and several strands hung down over his forehead, giving him a dangerous look. His high cheekbones seemed more pronounced, the sharp angle to his jaw more defined, and Claire’s breath caught in her throat.
She went to his right side to help him stay steady on his feet. She avoided touching his wound and wrapped her hand around his waist. He put his arm across her shoulder and walked with her into the room.
“Sit here,” she said when they reached the oversized maroon sofa sitting at an angle in front of the fireplace. The fire had gone out long ago, but the room wasn’t chilled yet. In fact, it seemed noticeably warmer than it had been only moments earlier.
He cautiously sat, then leaned back as if testing his shoulder. With a sigh, he relaxed against the cushions, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“Sit here beside me.”
She shook her head, but he refused to release her. When he pulled her toward him, she had no choice but to sit next to him.
“You look tired,” he said, touching his finger across her cheek where dark circles probably rimmed her eyes. She could never hide the telltale sign that she’d been out too late or gotten too little sleep. Her eyes always gave her away.
“I’m fine.” She looked at the wall of countless books. “It isn’t here.”
She heard him take a big breath, heard the air fill his lungs, saw the lift of his chest. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, and he brought her close to him.
“Then we’ll keep looking. We’ll take his desk apart drawer by drawer. Maybe there’s a hidden compartment somewhere.”
Claire made a move to get up, but he wouldn’t let her. “You’re not doing any more tonight. You’ve been up long enough. You’re dead on your feet.”
“But if there’s a chance it’s here—”
“Then we’ll find it tomorrow.”
Claire leaned back against him. Every instinct told her to separate herself from him, but it was as if she didn’t possess the will to do it.
She couldn’t explain the strange sensation of sitting beside him, of having his arm around her, his body pressed against her. She’d never felt this with Hunt, not even in the beginning. And that scared her. A shiver ran down her spine.
“Are you cold?”
She felt her cheeks warm. “No. I’m fine.”
He reached for a cover that was draped over the back of the sofa and placed it over her lap. Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulder again and pressed her head against his chest. She went willingly.
She nestled her head in the hollow just below his chin and breathed a heavy sigh. She molded perfectly into the dips and valleys of muscles that banded across his chest and down his torso. And she ached to be even closer to him.
She curled into him and reached her arm around his middle. With her cheek pressed against him so securely that she could hear every solid beat of his heart, she closed her eyes and gave in to the riotous emotions she’d refused to let herself feel for the last seven years. She belonged here. Some buried part of her knew she did. And yet . . .
Barnaby’s words came back to haunt her. The major was a threat to her. Bigger than even Hunt had been. Her relationship to Hunt had been nothing short of disastrous. How could she think it would be any different with the major? How could she take such a risk again? The fear she felt was too real.
“It’s time I went to bed,” she whispered, her breath ragged and forced. “I’m very tired.”
He didn’t apply pressure to keep her from escaping, nor did he lift his arm to let her go. And yet, she couldn’t find the strength to leave him.
“What’s wrong, Claire?”
“We shouldn’t be sitting here like this.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid. I’m just wiser than I was before and—”
Claire clamped her lips together and held her tongue. If only she weren’t so desperate to have him hold her. If only she didn’t want to stay in his arms forever.
“I’m not ready for this,” she said as if she owed him an explanation.
“For what? To sit here like this? For us to hold each other? Comfort each other?” He sat forward on the sofa and turned until she had no choice but to look at him. “Hunt’s dead, Claire. He’s been dead for months.”
She shook her head. How could she explain that Hunt had been dead to her for seven years? It wasn’t Hunt or his memory she was afraid of. It was Major Samuel Bennett. It was every warning Barnaby had issued. It was her.
She knew it wasn’t possible to give him just a small piece of her heart and keep back the rest so it would be safe. He would demand it all. She knew he would. He was that type of man. Even though she wasn’t sure he would give her his heart in return. Just as Hunt hadn’t been able to give her his. And in the end she would be left with nothing but an empty existence that robbed her of any chance for happiness, and the renewed vow to never trust a man again.
She shook her head, her whole body trembling in a mass of regret and confusion. And he calmed her with a touch.
He placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her head upward. With the side of her face cradled in the strong, steady palm of his hand, he stroked her cheek.
His eyes didn’t leave hers, their gazes locked until she could do nothing but match her breaths with his. And at that moment, she forgot every warning Barnaby had given her. She wanted the major more than she’d ever wanted anyone before. Enough that she could fool herself into believing that the look in his eyes said he wanted her equally as much.
He was going to kiss her. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the sky at dawn. As surely as she knew the moon would be there at night. And she was just as confident that when he kissed her, every star in the sky would explode into a thousand fireballs.
She should run. She should turn her face away from his while there was still time. But she didn’t. She could do nothing except watch his head move closer to hers.
Then it was too late.
His mouth covered hers, his lips firm and gentle, warm and devouring. And she was lost to him. She could do nothing but take what he offered and pray it didn’t destroy her. Pray she was strong enough to risk this much, without any expectations for the future.
His lips gently moved atop hers, touching briefly before lifting, then touching again. Fiery swirls spiraled through every part of her, the heat of desire converging low in her belly. A wet heaviness seemed to settle there, pulsing, throbbing, until she thought she might go insane. And he deepened his kiss.
His lips moved with greater intensity, as if asking for some favor, seeking some treasure, demanding some great secret. And Claire kissed him back.
It was a natural thing they did, this mating of two people, their hands twined about each other, their lips pressed together. And Claire gave in to the pleasure she received. She drank from him, then threaded her fingers through his hair while holding him close to her. She moaned her delight.
It was a mystery. The emotions raging through her were a myriad of confusion she’d never experienced before. And she was ready to risk it all and take the gift he offered.
Obviously he didn’t know what Hunt had discovered so soon after their wedding.
She’d evidently satisfied the major’s passion enough that he didn’t find her as lacking as Hunt had. And when he kissed her again, she prayed he would never discover her secret. Because she didn’t want him to stop. She was on fire, and it was impossible to tear herself away from him.
His chest was heavy against her and pressed her back against the cushioned sofa, trapping her in the warmth of his embrace. They were still sitting, but a part of her knew if he pushed against her, she would lie down on the settee and welcome his weight on top of her.
He didn’t. Instead, he braced his weight on one forearm on the cushion beside her and kissed her again. And again, until she was certain flames consumed her.
“Open for me,” he said, his ragged voice a whisper against her lips. And with gentle urgency, he pressed his thumb downward against her chin, and she opened for him.
The feeling was amazing. He drank from her with greater immediacy—taking, demanding, and giving. Her chest heaved as harshly and erratically as his, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t have stopped him if she tried.
His tongue delved into her mouth as if searching the unknown, seeking in desperation, and finding. He pressed harder against her and moaned his pleasure. Their tongues touched, battled, then mated in a ritual previously unknown to her.
She didn’t understand this new game he was teaching her; a game that left her wild and in a heated frenzy. She was left with no choice but to hold on and let him be her guide.
She wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled him closer. Her rapid breathing meshed with his while the need building inside her grew to a fevered pitch. She’d never experienced such passion, such a giving and taking and sharing of primal desires. She was hot with need, and she reached for him as if by pulling him closer against her she could take him into herself.
She lowered her hand and touched him beneath his shirt, skimming her fingers over his chest, caressing his bare skin; then she moved upward to the part of him covered with bandages. His flesh was hot, his sinewy muscles hard. They rippled beneath her fingers when she touched him, and he ground out an earthy moan before kissing her again.
She needed him like she’d never needed anything before. Wanted him more than she knew it was possible to want anyone. And she wasn’t sure what she should do.
His hand held her by the waist, his fingers branding her flesh with his touch. The fire burning inside her was all-consuming, each touch adding fuel to the raging inferno. His fingers moved upward until they touched the underside of her breast. Then he moved further upward until her heavy weight was nestled in the palm of his hand.
An array of fireworks soared through the air, exploding in the darkness, their bright rays bursting into blinding flashes of light before her eyes. She knew where this was leading. Knew what would happen next. He would reach for her, then pull back as if his disappointment was more than he could overcome.
It was how it had always been. She’d look into the major’s eyes, expecting to see the same passion as was raging through her, but it wouldn’t be there. All she would see was the regret he couldn’t mask before he turned away from her.
For seven years she’d battled the same blinding humiliation, and she wouldn’t endure it again. Hunt had conditioned her well, and a part of her had died each time she’d been rejected. The pain she’d suffered was a torture she’d never endure again.
A cry came from deep within her, a heartrending sound that released years of anguish and bitterness. She couldn’t survive one more humiliation. Not when her body was on fire and in a few short minutes the major would look at her as if his lack of desire was her fault.
She stiffened beneath him and held herself still, refusing to participate in the blazing kiss that a moment ago had set her on fire.
It took a few seconds for him to notice she was no longer kissing him back. When he did, he pulled away from her and moaned as if the separation was painful.
“Claire?”
She turned her head and pushed away from him. She needed to separate herself from him. She couldn’t look into his eyes—didn’t want to see all the questions he’d expect her to answer. She couldn’t shoulder the blame another time.
Guilt for what she’d done raged inside her. She’d known not to kiss him. Known the risk she was taking. But she was like the moth drawn to the proverbial flame. What was there about him that pulled her like it did? Why did she ache to be near him? To hold him? To have him hold her? Hadn’t she learned from the past? Hadn’t her marriage to Hunt been enough of a lesson?
With the same regal detachment she’d developed throughout her marriage, she braced her shoulders and turned to face him with her chin held high. Her breathing was still more labored than she wished and her cheeks hot to the touch. But the damage was not irreparable. She hadn’t let it go that far. She was still safe. As long as she didn’t let this ever happen again.
She faced him squarely. “You need to get back to bed. There’s always a chance fever will set in if you don’t take care of yourself.”
He leaned back against the cushion, his breathing heavier than hers, his discomfort more obvious. She could tell his fury hovered just beneath the surface, near enough it was almost plain to see. His words brought it closer.
“I’m fine. The only fever I’m suffering from has nothing to do with my back.”
“Don’t!”
“There nothing wrong with what is happening between us.”
“Nothing is happening between us.”
“That sure as hell wasn’t the impression I was getting.”
“Then you made a mistake.”
“How long did it take you to learn to turn off your emotions like that? Like blowing out a candle? Is this a game you played with Hunt? Hot as fire one minute, cold as ice the next. No wonder—”
She braced herself for what he implied, then rose from the settee and walked away from him. “No wonder what, Major? No wonder my husband chose to spend months at a time away from home? Away from me? No wonder a life with me wasn’t enough for him to give up his life with the government? No wonder I wasn’t important enough for him to stop taking risks that might get him killed?”
Claire turned to bravely face him. “Or, do you now think you have the answer to why I failed to provide Lord Huntingdon with an heir? I’m sure you and the rest of Society are wondering why after seven years there wasn’t a child.”
She hid her hands in the folds of her skirt and clenched them until her nails bit into her flesh. Then she smiled the smile she’d perfected over the last seven years. “It would be well of you not to dwell too much on any of these questions. Or on me. If you have need of female companionship, Major, I’m sure there are many other women you’ll find more to your satisfaction. You are free to leave my house at any time and seek them out. Barnaby is here to protect me, as well as help me look for the necklace. It’s not likely I’ll have any further need of you. Now, I think I’ll go to bed. Do you need assistance up the stairs, or can you manage yourself?”
He rose from the settee, the grimace on his face a sign that he was in pain. “I’m not going to allow you to do this. That isn’t what I meant and you know it. You’re as tightly strung as an overly wound clock.”
She felt her temper rise. “You have no authority to allow or disallow anything I do. If I am tightly strung, it is only because of you. You have made my life miserable from the day you walked into my home, interrogating me like I was a common criminal. Accusing me of crimes against humanity as well as against my country.”
He reached out to touch her. Whether to hold her or just as a manner of apology, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. She stepped out of his reach and shoved his hand away from her.
“Claire, talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Then explain what just happened here.”
“I made a mistake, Major. A terrible mistake. And it won’t happen again.”
“You can’t mean that. I—”
“That’s enough, Major!”
Claire and the major both turned to the open doorway. Barnaby stood there with his hands clenched at his sides and a lethal look on his face. “Are you all right, Claire?”
“Yes, fine,” Claire stammered, as if she’d been caught kissing the major instead of arguing with him. “I was just on my way to bed. Would you please help the major to his room?”
“Of course.”
Claire nodded, then escaped the room without a look at either the major or her brother.
She forced her feet to carry her up the stairs and away from him. Even though there was nothing more she wanted right now than to rush back into his arms and give herself to him the same as she had earlier. To prove to herself that with him, everything would be different.
Chapter 21
Sam leaned his head back against the carriage squabs and absently rubbed his aching shoulder. He hadn’t slept, had barely rested since the angry words Claire had spoken last night. He still didn’t understand what the hell had happened. One minute she was kissing him with a desperation that stunned him, and the next she was a cold, unfeeling statue beneath him.
He released a frustrated sigh and asked himself for the hundredth time what happened to cause such a change. And for the hundredth time, he was unable to come up with an answer.
The carriage slowed, and he sat forward. Before he reached for the door, he wiped at the fine sheen of perspiration from his forehead that hinted that he hadn’t allowed himself to heal enough before going out. The ache in his shoulder confirmed it. But what choice did he have? Time was running out, and he had to do everything he could think of that might answer the many questions nagging at him.
