Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (58 page)

* * *

Drew's bedroom candle guttered and he threw aside his book. He should be asleep, but he was too restless. He eased himself off the bed and fetched a fresh candle, lighting it from the stub of the old one before pushing it into the candlestick. His thoughts turned constantly to Elyse Salforde. He wanted her, he could not deny it. She bewitched him and not just with her beauty. She had the power to soothe away his anger. Walking with her in the gardens, having her beside him, had eased the pain of the memories he had recounted, memories he had shared with no one, not even Harry. And she was not indifferent to him, he would swear it, but that made it even more important that he did nothing to hurt her.

He could offer her nothing save a tainted name and a life of constant wanderings. He could not even claim any burning zeal to return the Stuarts to the throne. He had followed his uncle into battle in a spirit of youthful adventure but he had never been truly wedded to the Stuart cause, which made his actions all the more disreputable. He had dragged his family through so much for nothing more than a youthful indiscretion. He turned restlessly in his bed. He could do nothing about the past, but he could discharge his promise to Harry honourably. He would make sure Elyse reached her future husband safely.

The thought of the marriage contract made him frown. It was watertight, he knew that, and biased heavily in Elyse's favour. He would ensure the terms had not been changed before he relinquished his guardianship. Harry had done his best to ensure his only daughter's happiness, but even with a measure of independence she would still be wed to William Reverson and would that really make her happy? Drew pondered the question and was surprised to realise just how much Elyse's happiness meant to him.

A gentle scratching at the door caught his attention.

‘Stinchcombe! What are you doing here?'

His father's valet stood in the doorway, a pile of white linen in his hands.

‘Sir Edward thought you might need your dressing changed, sir.'

‘But it's near midnight.' Drew swung himself off the bed. ‘Well, now you are here you had best come in. It will save you doing it in the morning.'

The valet waited patiently while Drew stripped off his shirt then got to work removing the old dressing.

‘Sir Edward is not sleeping well, Master Andrew.'

‘Well, what of it?'

Drew tensed as the bandage came away, but there was very little pain. The wound was clean and healing well.

‘If you wrap it lightly I will be able to wear my coat tomorrow,' he told the valet.

‘Yes sir.' A fresh dressing was wound around the arm. ‘But if I might suggest, Master Andrew...'

‘Well?'

‘Sir Edward is not abed yet. When I left him he was pacing up and down his room.'

Drew gave a bark of hollow laughter. ‘He would hardly thank me for disturbing him then.'

Stinchcombe stood back, surveying his handiwork.

‘That's the point, sir. I think he
would
like to see you.'

Drew frowned.

‘He would?'

Stinchcombe reached out and tidied away a loose end, never meeting Drew's eyes.

‘I think he would, Master Andrew. I think something's troubling him.'

Drew put his shirt back on and allowed the servant to re-tie his sling before he dismissed him. He scowled. He was damned if he'd go to the old man. It could only result in another roasting. There was too much bad blood between them. Too much that could not be forgiven. He prowled about the room, picked up his book and climbed back on to the bed, but the words swam before his eyes and made no sense.

‘Hell and confound it.'

Stinchcombe would not have come to him if he had not been seriously worried about his master. Drew swung himself off the bed again, pushed his feet into his boots and went out.

A thin line of light shone beneath Sir Edward's door. Drew knocked and received a curt invitation to enter. His father was sitting by the fire, a single candle burning on the mantelshelf.

‘What in hell's name brings you here?'

The greeting was every bit as unwelcoming as Drew had expected. He bit back an equally curt retort.

‘I saw your light under the door.'

‘What of it? Can't a man sit in his own room now without being disturbed?'

‘Is anything amiss, sir? Can I help?'

With a curse the old man pushed himself up out of his chair.

‘Of course there is something amiss and no, you cannot help, since you are the cause of it.' Drew waited silently while Sir Edward strode over to the window. ‘I was thinking of your mother,' he said at last, gazing out into the darkness. ‘And Simon. Both gone.'

‘I am very sorry, Fa—sir.'

‘And so you should be.'

Drew's jaw clenched hard. He should not have come, but now he was here he would have his say.

‘I do not see any reason why you should believe me, but I deeply regret what I did in 'forty-five. If I had not been so young, so foolish, I would have come back to England, discussed it with you before I took such a reckless step.'

‘You know I would have forbidden you to join the rebels and you, like as not, would have run counter to my commands, as always.'

‘There is always the possibility that I might have heeded you.'

The old man gave a scornful laugh.

‘It would have been the first time.'

A long silence followed. Drew heard the crackle of the fire as a burning log collapsed into the embers. The timbers of the old house creaked, settling for the night. He should not have come. He was about to bid his father goodnight when the old man spoke again.

‘You are hot-headed, like me. Your mother always said so. Stubborn, too.'

‘Another trait I inherited from my sire.'

Sir Edward turned with a snarl. ‘Do not blame me for your misfortunes.'

‘I do not,' Drew flashed back. ‘I blame no one but myself.' He turned away with an exasperated sigh. ‘I was a fool to come here tonight. What is broken cannot be mended.' He strode to the door. ‘One more day, sir, then you will be bothered with my presence no more.'

He left the room and closed the door behind him, hoping but not expecting his father to call him back.

There was only silence.

Chapter Seven

D
rew was relieved when the first grey fingers of dawn crept into the room and he could get up. He had not slept well; his rest had been disturbed by dreams. After making a few tentative moves with his arm he decided to leave off the sling. The new dressing Stinchcombe had put on was much less bulky, and his frock-coat slid easily over his shirtsleeve. The dark stain was still visible on the sleeve of his coat. It would have to do until he reached Bath. He would buy himself some new clothes there before he returned to France.

And what then? He stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. He had been a fool to come to England, it had set him yearning for a life he could not have.

‘Why not?' he asked himself aloud. ‘I could live in England as Andrew Bastion. Buy a little property away from here. In the north, perhaps, where no one knows me.'

The thought was pleasing, but it did not last long. Such a life would give him no rest. He would always be wary of being recognised, nervous of every knock at the door. No, he would return to the Continent. Perhaps not Paris, but there were other cities, fortunes to be won, ladies to be wooed.

Suddenly the life he had known with Harry did not appeal to him any longer.

‘Well, that is unfortunate, sir,' he told himself savagely. He shook out his ruffles and made a final adjustment to the lace at his neck and stared hard into the glass. ‘Because it is the only life you have now.'

With that he turned and strode to the door, determined to walk off his restless energy.

* * *

The sun peeping over the window ledge woke Elyse. She stretched and lay still for a few moments, wondering why her spirits should feel so depressed. Something weighed on her heart, a heavy problem that she had pondered long into the night. The morning light brought no relief. She slipped out of bed and dressed herself in the yellow morning gown that had belonged to Drew's mama.

Drew. He was part of her problem. William was the other part.

Elyse began to pace up and down the floor but it did not help. Her head felt it might burst with the thoughts that crowded in on her. In Scarborough she would have taken a walk along the cliff to clear her head but there was no convenient coastline here. She glanced out of the window. The neglected garden was the next best thing. Picking up her shawl she made her way outside.

Hartcombe's grounds were extensive. She saw Jed working in the kitchen garden and quickly turned the other way, going past the overgrown shrubbery and into what had once been a rose garden. The plants had not been tended for years, they rioted over the walls and were thickly entwined in the hedges. Only the very widest path was still passable and she picked her way along it, holding her skirts close to avoid the snatching thorns. Squeezing between two overgrown bushes she found herself at the western end of the garden. The high outer wall was ahead of her and beyond that the trees of the neighbouring woodland grew thick and tall. However, standing against the wall a short distance away was a small pavilion built in the style of a Palladian temple with a series of fluted columns supporting a pedimented roof.

The morning sun was already high enough to shine on to the building. It showed that the stucco was cracked and peeling in places, but it had a sad sort of elegance that appealed to Elyse in her present mood. She moved closer to investigate. It was quite a shallow structure, enclosed on three sides and it was bare of ornament save a wide marble bench placed against the back wall. Elyse sank down on the seat and gazed out. In more affluent times she thought the prospect must have been quite beautiful, but the box hedges had grown quite out of control and the shrubs and plants that had once flourished between the hedges had been ousted by weeds.

It looked very sad, but incredibly peaceful and she gave herself up to the thoughts that had been troubling her throughout the night. She closed her eyes and tried once again to summon up William's face, but it would not come. She remembered she had thought him extremely handsome, with his classical features, gently curving brows and soft brown eyes that she thought were quite the most beautiful she had ever seen. But now the only image that she could conjure was Drew's lean face with its straight dark brows and piercing eyes, the deep blue of a summer sky.

She knew she loved William but he had become a distant, shadowy figure, whereas Drew was such a vital, masculine presence that even now her body almost trembled at the thought of him. When he was near she wanted to reach out and touch him, to have him kiss her again and relive those exhilarating sensations that had made her feel so alive. She crossed her arms and hugged herself.

Would William affect me in the same way if he was here? In the years we have been apart I have become a woman.

Her arms tightened as she remembered Drew's cutting words the night she had attended the masquerade. Perhaps she was too innocent for him, but he was a rake and accustomed to amusing himself with women of experience. William would not see her thus. A tremor of doubt shook her. Perhaps he would. After all he, too, would have changed in the past three years.

She heard a sound, a rustle of leaves, a faint step, and opened her eyes. Her heart gave a little leap when she saw Drew standing before her.

‘Oh—I,' she stumbled over the words. ‘I came out for a little air. I hope you do not mind...'

‘No, why should I? I myself have been walking in the woods.' He gave her a searching look. ‘Is anything wrong?'

‘N-No, not exactly.'

He sat down on the bench and her eyes were drawn to the muscular thigh encased in buckskin that was so close to her own. Only inches separated them and she felt her mouth go dry.

‘Tell me,' he said gently.

When she did not reply he reached out and took her hand.

‘You were kind enough to listen to me yesterday. The least I can do is the same for you, when you look so troubled.' Her hand fluttered in his grasp and he continued, ‘Tell me what is wrong, Elyse. I am not only your guardian, but your friend, too, you know.'

A friend? Yes, she did believe that, and he understood her, more so than anyone else she had ever met.

‘I am afraid,' she said at last. ‘William and I have not seen each other for so many years. What if he does not like me?'

‘He cannot fail to like you.'

‘You said I was a child, playing a woman's games. What if,' she felt the colour mounting in her cheeks. ‘What if William expects—wants—a woman? What if I disappoint him?' She lifted her eyes to his face. ‘This must seem very foolish to you—'

He put his fingers on her lips.

‘Not foolish at all,' he said gravely.

His eyes had darkened to azure, drawing her in. With a sigh she leaned against him.

‘Oh, Drew, how should I behave towards him?'

‘You must be yourself, Elyse. He will be captivated, believe me.'

His words were so soft that she tilted her head up, leaning even closer to catch them. A delicious languor was spreading through her body. It was so comfortable sitting here with Drew, yet his words did not totally reassure her.

‘But you are not,' she whispered unable to look away from his dark entrancing gaze. ‘I have not captivated you.'

‘Have you not?'

She could not move. She was staring up at him, her lips slightly parted and all she could do was to run her tongue around them. She saw his eyes widen and something flared in their depths, a look that sent a sudden shock of anticipation slamming through her even as he put his hand on her cheek and captured her mouth with his own.

Elyse closed her eyes. His kiss was infinitely gentle but it held her motionless while her senses reeled. He shifted his position, put his good arm around her and deepened the kiss. Elyse could not prevent the little moan of pleasure deep in her throat. Her arms crept around his neck and suddenly she was kissing him back. When his tongue tangled with hers a hot excitement exploded inside. She pressed her body against him and did not resist when he pushed her down on to the bench. She could feel his hard, masculine, body lying heavily against her. He continued to kiss her while his hand slipped beneath the lace fichu to caress her throat and the soft swell of her breasts. They strained against his fingers as if begging for more and he obliged, gently easing them out from the loosely tied stays and circling first one hard nipple then the other until she was almost swooning with the pleasure of it. When at last he released her from his scorching kiss she threw back her head, arching her body, offering it up to him. His mouth moved down over her throat and on to cover the hard nub of one aching breast while his fingers circled the other, drawing up the most delightful sensations from deep within her. She gasped and gave a little cry, but the pleasure had only just begun. His lips found hers again and he eased his body to one side, measuring his length beside her while his hand gathered up her skirts. She felt his fingers on the bare skin of her leg, circling, caressing, moving upwards, slowly, gently, until he reached the apex of her thighs. The blood was pounding through her body, she felt as if her bones were melting beneath his touch. She was like a flower, unfurling for him. A hot aching desire uncurled from her core, tugging at her thighs so that they opened for him, her hips tilting as she offered up her very soul.

She gasped aloud as his fingers slipped inside, startled by the shock of pleasure that rippled outwards at his touch. His hand was gripping her and she pushed against it, felt herself pulsing as her body was racked by spasms that robbed her of all control. She clung to Drew, eyes tightly closed as his fingers continued their magic, stroking and caressing, taking her higher, as if she was being carried on some giant wave. She knew it must soon crest and just when she thought she might faint from the sheer delight he was inflicting upon her, the wave finally broke.

* * *

Drew held her tightly, his elation soaring as he brought her pleasure to its height. Her head went back and she cried his name, clinging to him for a moment of shuddering ecstasy before the rigidity left her and she collapsed beneath him. A slight pain in his left arm reminded him of the bullet wound and he laughed to himself. He had been so intent upon pleasuring Elyse that he had quite forgotten about that. Had forgotten everything when she turned those dark, soulful eyes to him, inviting him to show her just what it felt like to be loved. He was hard as a rock and had been from the start, but he was a master of his art and she was a virgin, he wanted to make sure she was relaxed and ready for him. Her passion fired his own, but he would not rush her.

‘Oh, Drew, I did not know, I never dreamed—'

He laughed softly and kissed her again. He could not remember the last time a woman had affected him like this. His arms tightened as he was suddenly overwhelmed by his emotions, not only desire but a fierce instinct to love and protect Elyse for the rest of his days. He held her close, knowing that in a few moments he would be able to rouse her again and this time he would take her. He would make her his own. By heaven he would make her his wife.

She is not yours and never can be!

The voice in his head was loud and full of reproof, bringing him back to reality with a jolt. What right had he to entice her away from her fiancé when he had nothing to offer her? If he made her his wife she would be condemned to wander through Europe with him. Or he might set her up in a house here in England, as Harry had done with her mother, but then their children—a surge of longing ripped through him at the thought of Elyse having his child!—their children would have no more memories of their father than she had of Harry. But that was not the worst of it. Harry had been an adventurer: Drew was charged with a much more despicable offence. He was branded a traitor and any woman who allied herself to him would be reviled, an outcast.

Only for an instant had he considered moving to some quiet corner of the country and setting up home under an assumed name. Bad enough for him to be constantly looking over his shoulder. He could not inflict that upon Elyse, too. And in the fleeting time it took for these thoughts to flash through his mind, Drew knew he could not condemn Elyse to such a life. He must stop. Now.

Summoning every ounce of will-power he forced himself to roll away from her, forced his hard, aroused body back under control.

‘Drew?'

He heard the uncertainty in her voice and almost flinched when she touched his shoulder. His arm had begun to ache. He would be well served if it started to bleed again. A demon whispered to him to take her and to hell with the consequences. After all, she was willing.

Willing, yes, but innocent. It was up to him to protect her from a lifetime of regret.

Keeping his back to her he said politely, ‘I am glad I pleased you, ma'am. You have some notion now of the happiness to be found in your husband's arms.'

‘I—I do not understand you.'

‘You were concerned Reverson would be disappointed in you.' He closed his eyes, he must speak coolly, rationally. ‘We have just shown that your nature is passionate enough for any man.'

Her sigh nearly broke his resolve.

‘I do not want any other man, not now. Drew—'

He jumped up and went to stand between the columns, leaning against one in what he hoped looked like a nonchalant fashion. He dare not turn and face her. Not yet.

‘Do not be tiresome, Elyse. You know there can never be anything between us. You are going to marry William Reverson and I shall return to the Continent.'

‘But I am not sure I want to marry William.'

‘You think there may be some reluctance upon his family's part to accept you?' he said, wilfully misunderstanding her. ‘As your guardian I shall discuss the matter thoroughly with Lord Whittlewood and do everything in my power to ensure your happiness before I consign you to his care.'

‘Is that what it is?' He heard the hopeful note in her voice. ‘You think that as my guardian you should not be here with me? Tomorrow is Michaelmas. After that your guardianship is over.'