Passionately Yours

by Cara Elliott

  But at heart, he was a coward.

  Hiding deep within himself was far easier than facing the chance of being hurt again.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be,” murmured Isobel. “I have no right to intrude, but I only do so because I wish to see you happy, Alec.”

  “That may be beyond the power of any mortal man to make happen.” Or woman.

  “You don’t know that until you try.”

  He didn’t argue. Youth was a time for fairy-tale dreams. The odds were that she would be disillusioned soon enough.

  “Only look at Caro. She has the courage to pursue what she wants.”

  Alec jerked his head around, hoping his cheeks weren’t as scarlet as they felt.

  “She wishes to write poetry,” went on Isobel, “and she isn’t daunted by the challenges.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “I wish her well in achieving her goals. But it won’t be easy.”

  “Things that are worth having rarely are.”

  A reluctant smile softened his scowl. “How did my baby sister become so sage?”

  She answered with a smug grin. “By listening to my oh-so-wise older brother.”

  “It seems I am skewered with my own petard,” quipped Alec. Spotting Caro and Andover waiting with the hampers, he added, “Thank God our friends are up ahead. Let us cry pax, if you don’t mind. I’ve been cut up enough for one afternoon.”

  “Very well. But please think on what I said.”

  Too restless to sleep, Caro threw back the bedcovers and, after tugging on her wrapper, went to stand by the window. Mist floated over the garden, ghostly swirls of vapor silvered by the pale moonlight. Somewhere in the bushes a lone nightingale sang a plaintive song. There was, perhaps, a poem hidden somewhere within the magic of the midnight hour.

  But her musings—those maddeningly rebellious little meanderings of the mind—weren’t focused on the beauties of Nature. Instead they insisted on wrapping themselves around a tall, broad-shouldered Scot with a scowl that would put Satan to the blush.

  The thought of “Satan” naturally stirred the thought of “sin.”

  Ye gods, had she really thrown herself at Alec and done everything in her power to kiss him—and herself—witless?

  A sigh fogged the windowpane, which was just as well, for surely if the glass were clear she would see the word “Jezebel” lettered in scarlet script across her forehead.

  In indelible ink.

  Though to be fair, Alec had actively participated in the embrace. Quite enthusiastically.

  Caro blushed on recalling where his mouth and his hands had wandered. She had been just as wicked, intimately exploring every bulge of masculine muscle and…

  That she could arouse primal passions in Alec was heartening to know. She sometimes feared that he was made of inanimate rock and stonedust rather than flesh and blood. But no, liquid fire could pump through his veins when he let his emotions do more than just simmer inside him.

  Moving from the window to the escritoire in the corner of the bedchamber, Caro struck a flame to the candle and picked up the latest letter from her sister Anna.

  Poor lamb—I know that things must be awfully boring in Bath. There are likely no men under the age of eighty, so I feel a little guilty regaling you with descriptions of the handsome Russian princes (sorry for the smudge—I had to slap Davenport’s hand away. He wanted to add a very rude word) and the sumptuous palaces here in St. Petersburg where we dance until dawn…

  Taking out a fresh sheet of paper, Caro dipped her pen in the inkwell to write a reply.

  How to start?

  Things are not quite so boring—I’ve experienced my first real kiss, and while your descriptions in your novels are good, they don’t quite capture the experience.

  Drumming her fingers on the blotter, she thought about how to go on.

  That first touch is not exactly like lightning striking, true there is an electric current but it’s more of a…

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Crumpling the paper, she tossed it in the fire and took out a fresh sheet.

  After several more tries were consigned to the coals, Caro leaned back in consternation. Staring down at the blank page, she exhaled a frustrated sigh. Drat, she couldn’t seem to quite capture in words what she wanted to say. But as it was Anna who was the master of prose, why should it be any great surprise that she couldn’t wax as eloquent as sister on the subject?

  “Oh, bosh. Perhaps I should just try writing a poem instead,” she muttered under her breath.

  The words were said half in jest. And yet, as she tapped the tip of the feathered quill against her chin, the first line of an ode seemed to compose itself in her head.

  Ha! The Muse must be feeling a little guilty for her recent quixotic moods.

  Whatever the reason, an aspiring poet could never afford to ignore inspiration, no matter when it chose to strike.

  Putting pen to ink yet again, Caro began to write…

  Lips, their flesh afire with longing that chased doubt from the sliver of space between them…

  For the next little while the only sound in the room was the scratch-scratch of the nib and the whispered hiss of the candleflame as it danced in the draft curling in through the cracks in the casement.

  When the last stanza was done, Caro pinched at the bridge of her nose, wondering if she dared to read what she had just written. She had just allowed the words to flow.

  So perhaps it was drivel.

  “A poet cannot be a coward,” she scolded. “If it’s bloody awful, I can toss it away with the rest of the failures.”

  She took a reluctant peek.

  Not bad.

  Emboldened, she continued on. When she came to the end, she quickly reread it again and then blew out her cheeks with a mingled sense of surprise and a touch of pride.

  Now that was a poem.

  There was a passion that crackled through the paper, leaving her fingertips feeling a little singed. An inner fire of sinuous, swaying flames. Indeed, Anna might fear that her impetuous younger sister had sacrificed her virtue on the altar of… artistic inspiration.

  Would I? wondered Caro.

  Would I?

  Her father’s eccentric views on what women should know about sex meant that the three Sloane sisters had some ideas on the rules of maidenly behavior that were shockingly different from those of most young ladies of the ton. Caro suspected her two older sisters hadn’t been virgins at the time of their marriage, but though the three of them shared most confidences, on this particular subject they deemed her still an innocent schoolgirl and hadn’t included her in their whispered exchanges on men.

  And listening at the keyhole had proved fruitless. Olivia and Anna had very soft whispers.

  “Drat,” she muttered. There was much she would have liked to ask them, especially after The Kiss.

  Perhaps it was wicked and wanton to have so thoroughly enjoyed everything about Alec’s body—the muscled contours, the masculine textures, the taste of his mouth, the fiery surge of desire its touch sent spiraling straight to her very core.

  “I would probably surrender my virginity to Strathcona in a heartbeat,” she murmured. “Which no doubt makes me the Devil’s own harlot.”

  But as there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell that Alec would ever ask her to, she seemed safe enough from eternal damnation.

  The Kiss was… just a kiss.

  She had taken him by surprise, that was all. He hadn’t had time to think. He had reacted purely on instinct. How was it that men seemed to know those things by second nature? It was as if they came into the world with a manual on seduction tattooed on their primitive little brains.

  So, what about women?

  It was all a bit confusing to know what women were and were not supposed to feel. Society’s rules said one thing, and yet the heart seemed to say something quite different. Somehow it didn’t seem fair.

  Shouldn’t great artists, be they men or w
omen, be they painters or poets, understand the fine points of human emotion?

  Questions, questions.

  Which tangled into conundrums.

  Quickly folding the poem before she could change her mind, Caro sealed it with a wafer of scarlet wax.

  Chapter Nine

  “Ugh,” said Isobel over the rim of her glass. “I shall be heartily glad when this regime of drinking the Bath mineral waters is at an end.” Crinkling her nose, she let out a gusty sigh. “The taste is quite vile.”

  “The physician does say it is healthful,” replied Caro helpfully. The odor wasn’t very pleasant either, but as her friend’s frail looks and stamina appeared much improved over the last ten days, it was hard to argue with the water’s medicinal qualities.

  Heaving another sigh, Isobel forced herself to swallow the remaining liquid. “Arrrgh.”

  Caro had offered to accompany her friend to her daily cure, though after her first few sips, she had abandoned the idea of her own daily dose. The onerous task done, they completed their circuit of the Pump House promenade and paused by the main doors to hand the glass back to the elderly attendant who dispensed the daily doses.

  “Have you visited the Hedge Maze yet?” asked Caro. She had been perusing the guidebook on Bath over breakfast, seeking some amusement with which to brighten Isobel’s spirits. Her friend’s mood had seemed downcast during the boat ride back from Spring Gardens yesterday, and she couldn’t help wonder whether it had to do with Andover.

  Andy was a very charming, good-hearted fellow, but in London the mamas with daughters of a marriageable age despaired of him settling down anytime soon.

  Would a discreet word of caution help head off any heartbreak? She hadn’t yet decided whether it was wise to interfere. A walk together, just the two of them, might help her make up her mind.

  “No,” answered Isobel, her voice perking up. “But I have heard it is quite a diverting challenge.”

  “Shall we try it?” suggested Caro. “It’s still early in the afternoon, so we should have plenty of time to finish before suppertime. I believe there is a spotter stationed on a platform high above the greenery to help those who become impossibly lost.”

  “Oh, yes, let us test our skills! I daresay you are too clever to lose your way.”

  Caro wished she were half so certain of that. Of late, the needle of her inner compass had been spinning in all directions.

  If only I had a lodestone, an inner North Star to help me navigate my way through my emotions.

  But she quickly put aside such musings on mental journeys, and turned her attention to enjoying the upcoming stroll.

  It was just a short walk to the entrance of the maze, which was located in a stretch of parkland off one of the hilly side streets. Caro paid the fee for both of them and returned with the tickets and a brochure listing some of the basic facts about the design.

  “It says here that the layout is copied from the famous maze at Hampton Court, which was built in the late 1600s for William III,” she read. “The original has a half mile of pathways, while this one is considerably longer, as it has nearly three quarters.”

  Isobel looked suitably impressed as she eyed the towering hedges. “It sounds a bit daunting.”

  “We’ll be fine.” For a moment, the memory of their assailants bursting out of the bushes made her pause, but she quickly shook off any trepidation. It was midday, and they were in a civilized town, not wandering down a dark, deserted country lane.

  “Ready?” Leading the way, Caro stepped into the leafy puzzle.

  Thayer seemed in no particular hurry, noted Alec. His former friend was sauntering slowly up the street, pausing here and there to peruse the shop windows. Swearing under his breath, he ducked into a shadowed recess so as not to be spotted.

  Following the man was likely a fool’s errand, conceded Alec, but he was curious as to what he was doing here in town, and whether he was meeting anyone.

  Thayer took another turn, this one into a side street.

  Alec waited a few moments and then stealthily followed. As the way rounded a bend, he saw it led up to the hedge maze, a popular attraction with the visitors in Bath. There were several people buying tickets to enter through the arched opening…

  A flutter of sprigged muslin caught his eye.

  Including his sister and Caro.

  Damnation. His heart suddenly jumped and thumped against his ribs as he saw Thayer purchase a ticket and disappear through the opening in the high yew hedges.

  There was no danger, he told himself. The maze was a popular public spot. What trouble could possibly happen within its playful paths? But even as he said it, he was already imagining the diabolically twisting turns, designed to trap the unwary.

  Alec hesitated. He wasn’t anxious to encounter Caro again, not with the memory of their recent kiss still burning on his lips. She had ignited all sorts of wild desires that he had meant to keep locked safely away.

  Danger, danger, danger.

  The warning echoed against his skull. But alas, at the present moment, danger took many guises, and he couldn’t afford to guess at which one was most threatening.

  Quickening his steps, he paid his fee and hurried through the needle-wreathed opening.

  Once inside, Alec forced himself to slow down and allow reason to reassert control over impulse. He seemed to recall reading that the key to moving correctly within a maze was to always keep touching the right-hand wall of the hedge.

  But that, he realized wryly, was of little import. His sister and Caro might already be lost within the wrong turns.

  With Thayer close on their heels.

  He drew several deep breaths to quash the twinge of fear twisting in his gut. No harm was going to come to Isobel. She wasn’t alone…

  But the memory of Caro knocked unconscious by the blow of a brute caused another sharp clench.

  Resisting the urge to shout out their names, Alec plunged ahead, determined to find the two young ladies if he had to strip off every cursed needle from the devil-damned bushes.

  Faster, faster. It felt like an eternity before he spotted a flicker of feminine skirts just before it was swallowed in the shadows of a turn. Breaking into a half-run, Alec skidded around the sharply angled corner.

  Caro whirled around, a look of alarm spasming across her face.

  Damnation—she was alone.

  “Where is Isobel?” he demanded in a near-breathless voice.

  “She is with Andover and Lord Tilden. We encountered them just as we entered, and as they have been here before, they offered to show us the secrets of navigating the pathways.”

  Relief flooded through him, but quickly gave way to another fear. Given her fiercely adventurous spirit and utter disregard for danger, Caro Sloane was all too likely to stray into trouble. “Then what the devil are you doing, wandering around all on your own?”

  Caro’s brows pinched together in a frown. “I wished to explore how the dead ends are designed.” Her mouth thinned as well. “Not, I might add, that it should be any concern of yours.”

  She turned away, making a show of studying the tightly twined yew branches. “Really sir, I don’t understand why you always feel compelled to snap and snarl at me. Granted, I have many faults, but taking a simple stroll in a maze ought not elicit your ire.”

  He shuffled his feet, shifting his position just a fraction. Dear God—was that a glint of tears flickering through her downcast lashes?

  “My apologies,” he said gruffly. “I did not mean to snap. Or snarl. I saw the two of you enter alone and I was… concerned.”

  She lifted her head, and the shadow of her bonnet brim made it impossible to see her eyes. “To my knowledge, there are no lurking dragons hidden in the shrubbery, waiting to devour unwary patrons.” A dappling of sunlight caught the curl of a wry smile. “The management would likely charge extra for experiencing the thrill of such a danger.”

  The sight of her lovely mouth caused a clench of longing in his b
elly… well, to be honest, it was a little lower than his belly, but Alec tried to ignore his baser instincts.

  “Let us not jest about dangers,” he replied. “I am sorry if I am, as Isobel terms it, acting like a mother hen. But I suppose recent events have made me feel overprotective.”

  “Such sentiment does you credit, sir,” said Caro softly. “She may tease you, but be assured that any sister would be happy to have such a thoughtful brother take on the role of her knight in shining armor.”

  Alec moved a step closer. “I, um…” How ridiculous to be standing there stammering like a puling schoolboy. He pulled himself together. “That is, I am of course concerned for your safety as well.”

  “That is very kind of you.” Caro withdrew a little farther into the shadows. “However, that’s really not necessary.” She exaggerated a flex of her fists. “I can take care of myself.”

  Without thinking, he covered the distance between them. “You shouldn’t have to.”

  “I’m not your responsibility, Lord Strathcona.”

  “No, but you are my friend.”

  At that her head jerked up, a look of surprise deepened by an undertone of something else.

  Blast—he wished he could fathom what it was.

  “Are we friends?” she asked tentatively. “At times, it certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

  Alec reached out to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

  Don’t. The warning voice in his head was in fine fettle this afternoon—clear, loud, insistent. He ought to listen.

  But he didn’t.

  His fingers grazed the delicate shell-pink curve, the merest gossamer touch of flesh against flesh. Yet it sent a jolt of awareness thrumming through his entire body.

  She must have sensed it too, for her muscles tensed and the tiny pulsepoint just above the ruffle of her neckline began to quicken.