by Cara Elliott
“It’s dark,” repeated Caro a little shrilly, shuffling back a step. “As in ‘black as Hades.’ ”
Alec heard voices in the corridor.
“Your name will be even blacker,” he shot back, “if you don’t get inside there now.”
She didn’t move.
Which left him no choice but to seize her shoulders and give her a shake. “Trust me. Please.”
“All right.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Caro allowed him to push and prod her into the small space.
Her reaction seemed strangely at odds with her usual bravado, but Alec didn’t have time to ponder why. Already he could hear a clatter of steps in the corridor. He swung the door shut, scrabbled the trunks back in place, then stripped off his towel and bolted for the bedchamber.
“Here now, you can’t barge into His Lordship’s quarters without permission.” The housekeeper’s aggrieved protest rose above the grumbling of male voices.
“Oh yes, we can,” came a gruff reply. “Stand aside. I’m the head magistrate of Bath and I need to have a word with the baron.”
Alec managed to slide under the bedcovers just as the main door to the suite banged open.
Darkness.
Caro clasped her knees to her chest and choked back a burble of panic. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably, and every inch of her skin was suddenly clammy with sweat.
Steady, steady, she told herself. Surely it was time to put childish terrors behind her.
She had been six years old, a precocious child, stubborn enough to disobey her nanny and sneak away to follow her older sisters into the caves around their campsite in Crete. It had seemed a great lark until a rock had shifted, trapping her in the confines of the cold stone and utter darkness.
Hour upon hour had passed before her father was able to find her, and even though she had been unharmed, the memory of the ordeal still stirred the occasional nightmare.
“Coward,” she whispered. “How can I hope to be a real adventurer if I am afraid of the dark?”
The only sound that rose in answer was the ragged rasp of her own breathing.
“Strathcona must think me an idiot.” Caro said it aloud, thinking perhaps the words would spark a show of spirit. But they seemed to have the opposite effect.
All the fight seemed leak out of her in a stifled sob. No matter how hard she tried, she seemed to make a mull of every attempt to win his regard.
I am too headstrong. Too outspoken. Too passionate.
His last exasperated snaps seemed to take on a louder echo in her ears. Your name will be blacker… Clearly he thought her an impossible hellion—and with good reason.
Ye gods, she had stood staring in shameless interest at his naked muscles, his naked manhood.
Wicked. Of course that had been wicked. So it served her right to be buried in a black hole.
Tears beaded on her lashes as she curled herself like a hedgehog into a tight little ball on the dusty blanket and tried to will herself into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
“Who the devil is making such a racket out there?” bellowed Alec from over the folds of the coverlet. “There had better be a damnably good reason for rousing me from sleep. I have a cursedly sore head from last night and am in no mood for levity.”
“Lord Strathcona?” The magistrate was no longer sounding quite so sure of himself.
“Who else do you expect to find sleeping in my bed—the Marquess of Carabas?”
Silence.
Clearly the man had not read Perrault’s famous fairy tales.
“Er, might I have a word with you, Lord Strathcona?” the magistrate finally asked.
“Come in if you must. I’m in no shape to rise.” Alec raised his head from the pillow and scowled at the magistrate as he entered.
Seeing his expression, the two men accompanying the fellow remained lingering in the doorway.
“I beg your pardon, milord, but a very serious charge has been lodged against you,” intoned the magistrate. “And I have no choice but to investigate the matter.”
Narrowing his eyes, Alec demanded, “What is the accusation?”
“Theft, milord.” The fellow shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Of an exceedingly valuable antiquity.”
He responded with an oath in Gaelic that needed no translation.
“Er, I understand your ire, sir. Nevertheless, I must ask that we be allowed to search your quarters. The information we received included a specific description of where we might find the object.”
Alec made a show of massaging his temples. “And where, pray tell, might that be?”
“Your desk, milord.”
“If I were so idiotic as to put a purloined treasure in my desk, I would deserve to be hung,” he snapped.
The magistrate swallowed hard.
“Well, don’t just stand there.” He shoved the covers down to his waist. “Kindly step into the sitting room while I don my dressing gown—I’ve no intention of flashing the family jewels to strangers, if you don’t mind. Then we shall have a look.”
The man flushed and began to back away.
“And prove you to be the most bumbling magistrate in all of Christendom,” added Alec.
The last words hastened the retreat of all three men.
Smiling grimly, he waited several moments to let them stew in their embarrassment before throwing on his wrapper and joining them in the sitting room.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Perching a hip on the sideboard, he crossed his arms. “Go ahead and perform your duty—and do it quickly, so that I may return to my slumber.”
“Yes, milord!” The magistrate signaled his companions to approach the desk.
“Careful,” snarled Alec, as they gingerly opened the top drawer. “I shall hold all three of you responsible should anything be damaged.” A deliberate pause. “Aside from the valuable antiquity, of course. That I don’t give a fig about.”
Handling all the papers and sundries as if they were made of the most delicate porcelain, the two men slowly worked their way through each of the drawers, searching methodically to ensure no corner or cranny was left unexamined.
“Nothing,” announced the taller of the two, gently sliding the last drawer back in place.
“Hmmph.” Alec let out a low snort.
The magistrate was now looking even more uncomfortable. “Lord Strathcona…”
He had already decided that the best way to quash any ugly rumors was to remain aggressive. “I suppose you are now going to ask to search the rest of my quarters.”
“I had not—”
“Well, I demand that you do so!” he barked. “I’ll not have my name dragged through the mud because of these false accusations and whispered innuendos.”
“That isn’t necessary, sir.”
“Indeed it is!” shot back Alec.
“Very well.” Heaving a reluctant sigh, the magistrate ordered his men to check around the sitting room, and after a moment of indecision he joined in as well.
The task was performed quickly, whereupon Alec marched them into the bedchamber.
From there it was on to the dressing room.
By now, the magistrate was looking thoroughly mortified, and despite the array of boxes and clothing crowding the space, he hurried his men through a cursory search.
Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Alec followed them back into the sitting room.
“My apologies, milord.” Blotting the sheen of sweat from his brow, the man inclined a small bow. “I hope you understand that duty demanded I pursue the accusation. The truth is, the antiquity has been stolen and the town officials are very anxious to recover it.”
“I wish you luck in doing so,” growled Alec. “But I trust you are satisfied that the culprit is not me.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“You are, of course, welcome to search the rest of the house,” he offered. “Though I daresay my aunt would not be pleased to have your men ruffling through her unmentionables.”
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The magistrate’s face turned beet red. “No, no, that really won’t be necessary.” His two assistants started toward the corridor. “I can see that our informant was mistaken.”
“Of course he was,” growled Alec. Raising his voice, he called to the housekeeper, who had remained hovering in the corridor throughout the search, muttering darkly about impudent country officials who dared to disturb their betters.
“Mrs. Battell, please see these men out. And please ensure that I’m not disturbed again. A fellow really ought to be able to sleep in peace in his own quarters.”
“Yes, milord!” Keys jangling, the housekeeper escorted the interlopers toward the stairs.
Alec waited for the sound of the front door slamming shut before moving quickly into the dressing room. Privacy here was now assured—the next challenge was spiriting Caro out of the house.
“But first, I had better make myself decent,” he murmured, turning to fetch a shirt and trousers.
A muffled moan froze him in midstep.
It came again, louder and more agitated.
“The devil take it!” Bolting to the back wall, Alec hurriedly shoved aside the trunks and yanked the storage door open. “Caro?”
No response.
“Caro!” Fear lanced through his chest as he dropped to his knees.
Dear God in heaven, had there not been enough air in the space?
What if she were—
A low cry shattered the silence. “Help, Help!”
Alec ducked through the low opening, arms outstretched, a myriad of horrible possibilities swirling in his head.
He touched her hand—it was trembling and cold to the touch. Twining his fingers with hers, he drew closer.
“Papa, I’m frightened.” Her voice was fuzzed, as if she were tangled in some bad dream. “So frightened.”
“You’re safe, sweeting,” he murmured, drawing her close.
“Mmmm. Warm.” She snuggled closer, her hand sliding beneath the silk of his dressing gown.
The friction of her palm ignited a fiery prickling on his chest, and as she slowly traced a tentative circle over his skin, her touch left a trail of exquisite sparks.
“Caro,” he whispered, trying to hold back the heat plummeting to his groin. Only the worst sort of knave would give way to baser instincts at a time like this. “Come, wake up.”
His voice finally seemed to draw her back from whatever netherworld fears had held her captive. He felt her body jump, then go limp as she slumped against his shoulder.
“Oh.” Her breath, soft and slightly ragged, tickled his ear. “Oh, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” replied Alec, feathering a caress to her hair. The pins had come loose in her tossings and turnings, and a knot of curls had fallen across her cheek. He gently brushed it back, feeling the tension still tremoring beneath his fingertips. “You should have told me you were terrified of the dark.”
“It’s too absurd,” said Caro unsteadily. “I wish to think of myself as brave and adventurous, and I’m…” Her breath caught for a moment in her throat. “And I’m not. I’m a craven coward.”
“You’re incredibly brave,” said Alec. That she was so very vulnerable at this moment clutched at his core. “Incredibly resourceful.”
“N-not really,” she answered. “My sisters are both far more clever and admirable—Olivia is brilliant and wise, Anna is imaginative and steady. While I seem to be ruled by uncontrollable passions.”
“Don’t,” he chided. “Don’t compare yourself to your sisters. You have your own special strengths that make you unique.”
Uniquely wonderful.
“Your passions do you proud.”
His words drew a small sound—something between a laugh and a sob. “But my passions always seem to arouse naught but trouble.”
Trouble.
“Ah, but life would be awfully boring without passions, sweeting,” soothed Alec. “Safe, but sadly flat.”
He smoothed at the tangle of her tresses. The darkness suddenly sharpened all of his senses. Touch—her hair was the texture of finespun silk. Smell—her scent was a beguiling mix of verbena and spice. Taste—her tears were salty as the storm-tossed Scottish seas.
Caro flinched ever so slightly as his lips brushed her cheek. She shifted, releasing a shaky sigh. Her chin lifted, and their mouths met.
Trouble, trouble, trouble.
Alec felt her pull loose the sash of his dressing gown, her hands clutching at silk and skin. A groan mingled with a growl as her fingers grazed over the coarse curls on his chest.
He felt his resolve slipping away.
Her palms were now on his shoulders, tracing the dips and curves of his muscles. “You are so very solid and strong,” she whispered, drawing back from the kiss.
No, I am so very brittle and weak.
In another instant he feared his willpower would crack into a myriad of tiny crystalline shards.
“And so very warm.” She shivered and snuggled closer, teasing her tongue along the line of his jaw.
He wasn’t sure whether he was in agony or ecstasy.
Caro rocked against his body, molding her sweetly yielding shape to his. Entranced by the sensations shooting through his limbs, Alec needed several moments to realize she had untied the tabs of her gown and wriggled the sleeves and bodice down to her waist.
“Please hold me close, Alec.” Need resonated in her plea. She was still achingly vulnerable. And afraid. “The darkness is so very cold—I’m chilled to the bone.”
While Alec felt as if every pore of his flesh was on fire. “I have you, sweeting,” he replied, wanting to protect her from whatever nightmare was clawing at her consciousness. “You’re safe in my arms, and I won’t let go until you tell me to.”
Chapter Fourteen
Still half in a daze, Caro was aware of an encircling warmth, and suddenly her spirits brightened even though the surroundings were still blacker than the Devil’s lair.
Alec.
Through the thin layer of silk, she could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat, a calming counterpoint to her own racing pulse. Without thinking, she pushed the folds away, drawing comfort from the chiseled contours of his unclothed body.
“I like your textures,” she murmured, wishing she could feel him with more than the scant few square inches of her palm.
Flesh to flesh, limb to limb.
Heart to heart.
For one aching moment, she longed to make his pulse race, his blood heat, his steely reserve melt into a need as fierce as her own.
I want, in this instant, to be the only woman who matters.
Something deep within urged that it was now or never.
And maybe it was the muzziness still gripping her mind that allowed her to listen.
Finding her corset strings, Caro hurriedly unlaced them. She heard his harsh intake of breath but kept going, dizzily aware that she was only a hair’s breadth away from losing her nerve.
“Caro…”
Her chemise was next, then her drawers. Garters… stockings… his hand seemed to be fluttering over her flesh, whether trying to help or to hinder she couldn’t quite tell.
His warmth was now meltingly wonderful, like sunlight caressing her skin. With a wriggling stretch, she pressed closer.
A groan, low and deeply masculine, rumbled in his throat as her hips touched his.
“Oh!” Momentary shock gave way to a more complex swirl of emotions. Alec was aroused by her? The thought was both frightening and exciting. Screwing up her courage, Caro pressed her palms to his chest and slowly circled them outward, reveling in the feel of his coarse curls, his flat nipples, his slabbed muscles.
“You are… wonderful,” she whispered, coiling her arms around his neck and breathing in his scent. A wisp of pine, a hint of leather, and some earthier essence that was all his own.
“And you,” he rasped in reply, “are…”
The Devil’s own harlot?
And yet,
against all reason and rules, this felt so desperately right, not wrong. Or perhaps she was still half-trapped in a dark dreamworld of need and longing.
“You are like wild Highland heather,” Alec finished, his voice so soft she almost missed his words. “Beautiful, resilient, strong, and fiercely independent.” His breath blew through the loose strands of her hair. “It will grow even in the most inhospitable ground.”
“Prickly—you forgot prickly.” She sighed. “I know you don’t really want my attentions—”
“Don’t want you?” Alec shifted, and suddenly his big muscled body was atop her. “Ye gods, I have been trying like the devil to hold my wanting in check from the first moment I met you.”
His hands found and framed her face—he was pulsing with heat and some raw emotion that seemed to be shooting sparks out from every pore.
Caro closed her eyes for an instant as his lips touched hers, perfectly willing to burn to a crisp.
“I should be roasted in Hell for this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “Seducing an innocent—”
A tiny laugh cut him off. “Oh, Alec, I think there’s a question of who seduced whom.” She reached up, tangling her hands in his silkspun hair. “So I’ll gladly join you in the flames.”
“Will you, sweeting? For once you make the plunge, there is no going back.”
Caro didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Yes, I am sure.”
Right and wrong. Was it the darkness or his own fierce desire that was blurring the distinction?
Alec knew what reason demanded. But all of a sudden he was tired of listening to reason, tired of keeping an iron-willed rein on his feelings, tired of pretending that his heart had truly turned to stone.
There was still a thudding of flesh-and-blood feeling deep inside, though he did his best to deny it in the harsh light of day.
Here, beneath the black velvet cover of the moment, could he give way to his wildest desires?
Caro feathered a kiss to his cheek, a sweetly tentative touch, and all restraint was lost.
Lost in a swirling vortex of need, want, and a longing so fierce that he thought every bone in his body might crack from the force of it.
