Julia London 4 Book Bundle (123 page)

They lay entwined in each other’s arms for what seemed hours, hardly speaking, simply enjoying the feel and scent and look of one another in the flickering light of the lantern. When they drifted to sleep Kerry would never know, but she would carry with her for the rest of her days the memory of their lovemaking that night, when they had become one upon the sea.

The next morning, she was coaxed awake from the first deep sleep she had known in days by Arthur’s hands and mouth. He made slow, deliberate love to her, taking his time to bring her to climax, taking even more to reach his own with a joyous smile on his face. He did not leave the cabin again until they docked in Hoek-van-Holland, except occasionally to find food and to give Kerry some privacy. Except for those rare occasions, they lay together on the tiny shelf of a bed, carefully but thoroughly exploring one another’s bodies, laughing softly at private little jests, and speaking low of their lives, their hopes, their dreams.

Whispering tenderly of the love growing between them.

It was as if the world did not exist for that space of time. By the time the ship sailed for England, the intimate surroundings and prolonged togetherness had brought them impossibly close. On the sea, there were no
differences between them, no ugly realities to disturb them. It seemed to Kerry that she had known Arthur much longer than a handful of weeks—they had so much more in common than she would ever have thought possible. She actually
felt
him—as inexplicable as it was, at times she had the intimate sensation that she was looking at herself.

Even her debilitating guilt was beginning to melt away in the comfort and safety of Arthur’s arms. What had happened seemed a lifetime ago, and in some moments, she dreamed that perhaps it hadn’t happened at all. There was no Scotland, no Moncrieffe, nothing of Fraser’s legacy in that cabin. Nothing but her and Arthur and the love between them.

But on the afternoon the ship docked at Kingston-upon-Hull, the first rays of ugly reality filtered into the little cabin. The sights and sounds of the busy little harbor brought the cold truth crashing into the world they had created and the stark reality of who she was and what she had done.

Arthur left the cabin for a time, and Kerry moved woodenly about, donning the plain skirt and blouse from her satchel, fastening her hair into an austere knot at her neck. When the tears began to slip from her eyes, they were quick and silent, taking the magic of the last few days with them. What they had shared in this cabin was over, forever gone, and Kerry was certain she would never know such peace again.

When Arthur returned, she managed to keep her back to him so that he would not see the redness in her eyes. But in that uncanny way he had, Arthur seemed to sense her distress. He walked up behind her as she packed her few things and slipped a strong arm around her waist, drawing her into his chest.

He brushed his lips against her bare neck, pressed his cheek against hers as he tightened his hold. “It will be quite all right,” he said softly. “I will not allow any harm to come to you, on my life I won’t.”

His solemn pledge warmed her, but she twisted in his embrace and kissed him hungrily, silencing any more vows he might make, because she couldn’t bear to hear them.

She couldn’t bear to face the truth—it wasn’t her crime she feared, it was
him.

Oh, there was no doubt in her mind that he meant every word he said. He had shown her glorious love, completely and unselfishly, and readily vowed with his life to keep her safe. But it was his very life she feared. It was his name, his position in the British aristocracy, and everything else that separated him from her.

A different world, she thought later as Arthur took her hand in his to walk among the fishmongers and sailors and various tradesman in the crowded streets of Kingston, not the realm of make-believe they had created in the last few days. And as she watched him haggle over a carriage—a covered carriage, he insisted loudly to the man, as he would not expose the lady to the elements—she pretended she was watching a man who would love her forever, would cherish her for all of eternity.

And then swallowed down the bitter taste of reality that crept into her throat.

I
F HE HADN’T
known better, Arthur would have sworn they were still in Scotland, for hiring a suitable traveling chaise in Kingston was just barely more tolerable than purchasing a horse in the Highlands. He sincerely hoped his brother Alex hadn’t made some major investment of funds in the last several weeks, for he had certainly spent a bloody fortune since he had wandered off to see after Phillip’s holdings.

And as if he hadn’t had enough bloody vexations for one day, the driver was not terribly keen on the idea of driving to Longbridge. “Roads are rather thick with mud, milord,” he said, clutching his cap anxiously in his hands. “We’ve had an awful lot of rain of late. Would you not rather go south?”

Had the whole of England gone mad in his absence? Since when did a journeyman argue with him? “I am
quite
certain,” he said through clenched teeth. “In fact, I am rather
unyieldingly
certain. Now, sir, if you will do me the great favor of getting
on
with it, I should be eternally grateful!”

The man frowned, shoved his hat on his head. “Mud, I say,” he muttered under his breath as he swung up onto the driver’s seat, and followed that up with something Arthur did not quite catch, but which sounded terribly
snide. “I can hear you very clearly, sir!” he snapped, and shoved through the opening of the chaise, slammed the little door behind him, and landed irritably on the bench across from Kerry.

But with only one look at her, Arthur quickly forgot his annoyance. He smiled. “It would seem our driver has a particular aversion to mud. Rather causes one to wonder why he should aspire to be a driver a’tall.”

Kerry merely smiled and looked out the dingy, gray window.

Arthur frowned, straightening himself against the squabs. Two days ago, Kerry would have laughed. This quiet, contemplative demeanor of hers had come about the moment he told her they were sailing into the harbor at Kingston. Not that he was any sort of expert in the ever-changing dispositions of women—nor did he have any aspiration to be—but he had noticed it then and had guessed that the change had to do with memories of Scotland—and Thomas. In the course of the last several days she had worried aloud more than once about her cousin. Privately, Arthur thought her worries a tragic waste of good humor; Thomas, that horse’s ass, would make his way in this world. Bloody hell, Arthur wouldn’t be surprised to see the obstinate goat rise to great fame and fortune on some lark. That was always the way with men like McKinnon—

“Your friend, the earl? He willna think we are imposing, truly?”

Kerry’s small voice roused Arthur from his ruminations; he saw the worry on her face, and immediately leaned across the coach and put a comforting hand on her knee. “Trust me, Albright shall be delighted to receive us.”

Kerry glanced down at her worn black skirt; a faint grimace creased her brow.

Arthur suddenly understood. For perhaps the first time in his life, he wished for an entire kingdom at his disposal and the instant means to give Kerry her choice
of gowns and jewels and shoes, right there in the bleak country of the north. He would do anything to please her, anything to raise her joyous smile once again.

He had, of course, given trinkets to lovers or little gifts to appease ruffled feathers for one perceived slight or another. But he had never so much
desired
to give a woman something until now, never felt such burning need to make her happy. And never had he felt so hopelessly inept at doing so. In spite of his considerable influence and resources, in the rural north as they were, without any ready funds left to speak of, there was nothing he could do—they would be accepted at the door of Longbridge as they were. Or not … Arthur was not quite certain what he would do if Lilliana objected to their unannounced and untoward arrival. Worse, he realized that uncertainty about every bloody thing was a feeling that was becoming quite familiar to him of late.

Such was life with Kerry McKinnon about.

By the time they reached the mile-long drive leading to the house and grounds of Longbridge, Arthur could not have possibly cared less how they might appear to Albright, or the whole bloody
ton
for that matter. They had been stuck twice, which naturally meant he had to push. A cold rain had started up again, chilling him through to his very marrow. He had never in his life been as tired or cold or ravenous as he was at that moment, and by God, Adrian Spence would receive him.

The driver, naturally, flatly refused to attempt the drive to the house when the deluge of rain began anew. Arthur and Kerry had, therefore, stood under a very slim space of shelter built into the massive brick gate until the rain had abated.
Somewhat
abated. As it appeared to Arthur that the sun would never shine again, he had taken up their bags, forced a smile for Kerry’s benefit, and had started down the muddied road to the house,
pulling one foot after the other from the muck. It was a miserable trek—but not once did Kerry complain or suggest that she could not go on. Hers was a valiant soul, he would certainly give her that, more valiant than he, for he was on the verge of sitting on his arse next to the road and wailing like a baby.

They walked until they were standing side by side on the huge round porch that surrounded the massive oak entry to Longbridge, staring at the gruesome face fashioned on the brass knocker. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. When Arthur finally glanced at Kerry from the corner of his eye, she turned and gazed at him with a look of such dismay that he could not, no matter how hard he tried, summon words of encouragement. He shifted his gaze to the ugly brass knocker, and might have studied the workmanship of the thing all bloody evening had the door not swung open so suddenly that he and Kerry were blinded by the bright light behind it. Arthur blinked until he could clearly focus on the marble tile and gilded fixtures that adorned the foyer.

“Oh my. Oh
my!
”

That voice Arthur instantly recognized as belonging to Max, Adrian’s fastidious butler. “Max,” he drawled, focusing his bleary gaze, “I don’t suppose Albright is about?”

A good six inches shorter than Arthur, Max gaped up at him, his round eyes clearly relaying his shock. “My Lord
Arthur!
” he squealed. “What tragedy has befallen you?”

What tragedy? What
tragedy
? An adventure so bizarre as not to be believed had befallen him, but a tragedy? This was no tragedy; this was a blasted comedy! Arthur could not help himself; the situation suddenly struck him as full of hilarity, and he laughed hard. “A thousand stars have befallen me if you must know,” he said through his laughter, knowing full well he looked quite mad. “A thousand stars, right on top of my noggin,
Max. Now if you would be so kind, let the old boy know that I’ve come to call, will you?”

Max flicked his gaze down the length of Arthur’s body, then looked at Kerry. “He is indeed in residence, my lord. Please forgive me,” he said, and stepped aside, gesturing weakly into the foyer. Still chuckling, Arthur put his hand on the small of Kerry’s back to usher her inside. But she surprised him by pushing back against him and refusing to move forward. “It’s quite all right. Just step inside,” he murmured.

“No,” she muttered, and shoved back against him so hard in her attempt to back away from the door that she unbalanced him.

Max looked mortified; Arthur plastered a smile to his face for the butler’s benefit, and slowly leaned to one side so that his mouth was just above Kerry’s ear. “What would you do, stand out here all night?” he whispered through his smile. “Come on then, just step inside.”

“No!”
she hissed, and elbowed him in the ribs. “I will not go in
there
looking like
this!
”

Oh fine. Just bloody
fine.
He had dragged her all the way from Scotland and she would choose
now
for a tantrum? All right, all right, he could see why she might be a bit reluctant—Albright never did anything halfway, and the elaborate foyer with its painted ceiling moldings, gilded door and window fixtures, marble tile, and great sweeping staircase was merely a sample of what one would find in the rest of the mansion. Nevertheless, it was the only shelter within miles of where they stood, and wet to the bone as they were, Arthur was in no mood to argue the point. “Step inside,” he said, the tone of his voice brooking no debate. “We can argue in warmth just as effectively as we can in the rain.”

“No!”

With a sharp sigh, Arthur turned and grabbed Kerry by the shoulders, not caring what Max heard or saw now. “You have no choice, Kerry! It is either
this
house
or the stable, and trust me, you will not want to share a stall with the likes of Thunder!”

Kerry defiantly tipped her head back. “I prefer the stables!”

“That can definitely be arranged!” he shot back querulously.

“Good! Then please point me in the proper direction as 1 should very much like to be gone before another living soul lays eyes on me!”

“Arthur?”

Startled by the female voice, Arthur and Kerry simultaneously jerked their gazes toward it. Lilliana Spence stood in the foyer, looking very elegant and very bewildered. Her green eyes flicked the full length of his personal disarray, then to Kerry’s. One sculpted blonde brow lifted above the other in silent question.

Bloody hell.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Lilliana. I must apologize for arriving so … ah, so … no doubt you are wondering—”

“Please come in, won’t you? You must be very cold,” she said to Kerry, and extended her hand as she suddenly moved toward them.

“N-no thank you,” Kerry muttered, stepping backward and putting her heel down on Arthur’s toes. “I wouldna think of spoiling your house—I mean, the mud—”

“Nonsense. It’s merely a floor and you could not spoil it if you tried, Miss … ?”