Marshal and the Heiress (40 page)

“I'll have the horses in front,” he replied, leaving quickly. For years, he'd thought he had no emotions or that whatever he had
were under control. But they whipped inside him now like a rawhide lash.

He was going to hurt her, and he didn't know how to avoid it. His only consolation was that she would never lose her home, that she would have the funds to live well, here or anyplace, if not to support a large stable of hungry horses.

Ben wanted Lisbeth to be with him. He couldn't imagine life without her now. Sarah Ann had lit one candle in an existence that had nothing but darkness; Lisbeth had lit another. But he could offer so little. At best, he and Sarah Ann would have a small house in Denver and he would engage in a struggling law practice, in what was little more than a boom town. He had a bad leg and would never be rich—for he wouldn't touch anything of Sarah Ann's. Lisbeth's opportunities were here. She was lovely enough to find someone else, someone of her own rank and social class.

But, God, he didn't want her to find anyone but him.

Ben saddled Bailey and Shadow, finishing as Lisbeth appeared in her moss-green riding dress. Her expression was wary, yet there was pride in her bearing, too. Pride despite having already endured so many kicks.

He wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss her.

Instead, he disciplined his expression and helped her into the sidesaddle. As she arranged her skirts, he thought of the first time he'd seen her, flying over a stone wall in boy's clothing. He would probably remember that as long as he lived.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked.

She hesitated. “The ruins.”

It was the last place he wanted to go. But he nodded, and they cantered together down the road.

The morning mist was gone, burned away by the sun, and the distant dark green hills were lovely.

Ordinarily, Lisbeth loved the hills on rare clear days like this one. But today she felt a heaviness and foreboding that created its own mist, one without magic but shrouded, instead, with dread.

Her heart was breaking, and she didn't know how to prevent it. Ben was going away. She knew it deep inside. She had known it for days. She'd seen that faraway look, the firming of resolution. The past few days had only confirmed a decision he'd already made.

She wished with all her soul that he would take her with him, but she hadn't a prayer that the thought had even crossed his mind. He had never said he loved her, not even when they'd made love so frantically just days ago. She'd thought she'd felt love in his touches, but then she'd been wrong about so much.

She wasn't sure what she would do after he left, whether she would stay or go. She felt lost, aimless, all her anchors swept away by Callum's treachery. She wanted nothing to do with the horses. They had cost too much in human terms: Jamie's life, almost Ben's and Sarah Ann's.

They had cost her everything. And for her, Calholm would be ever full of ghosts.

When they arrived at the ruins, Lisbeth allowed Ben to help her down, and they walked in to sit on what remained of the once-fortressed walls. The view was magnificent, the loch and the grassy hills beyond, dotted here and there with the white forms of sheep.

The scene seemed so peaceful, a stark contrast to the wracking pain inside her. Ben was silent beside her—trying to find the words, she guessed, to tell her what she already knew. She wanted to take his hand. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to touch her. But Callum Trapp loomed between them like a wall. And so she sat there, as still as a statue.

“I'll miss this,” he said softly, looking out over the Scottish hills.

She'd sensed his decision in every fiber of her body, and yet the words hurt more than she'd ever expected.

“Then don't leave.” She hoped she didn't sound as desperate as she felt.

He took her hand, and a tingling reached upward through her arm and spread throughout her body.

He finally broke the strained silence, his voice low and hesitant. “I told you I used to be a lawyer … a solicitor. I used to be good at it before the war. I was in practice with my father, who'd pushed me toward it from the time I was very young. I would have done anything to please him. Anything.”

Lisbeth heard the frustration and bitterness of having failed in his voice. “He told me the law was a noble profession, and I believed him,” Ben continued. “Filled with that nobility, I went off to war, only to find there was nothing noble about killing people. And when I got home, my father had died, and I discovered that he'd represented war profiteers. Men who had sold shoddy goods to the army: shoes that fell apart, guns that backfired.

“After I discovered that, I wanted nothing to do with his practice,” he said, “nor did I want to stay in Chicago where my former fiancée lived with her husband. I decided instead to find that Rebel who helped me. A quixotic quest, to be sure, but I needed some kind of … redemption, I suppose. Paying that debt was one way of getting it.”

Lisbeth's hand had tightened around his. “But now you want to go back to the law?”

He nodded. “Diablo became an outlaw because of a corrupt government. And as a marshal I was an instrument of that government,” he said slowly. “After his pardon, I realized I could do more to change the law in a courtroom than on horseback chasing wanted men back and forth across Indian Territory or evicting hardworking farmers from government land. And I was ready. Sarah Ann made it necessary, but I was looking forward to it.”

The rare passion in his voice made Lisbeth realize then how much this trip had cost him. Ben had delayed his own dream for Sarah Ann. So many of his dreams had been smashed. She wouldn't detain him any longer. She would make it easy for him.

“I wanted Sarah Ann to have a family, to know her heritage,” he added slowly. “It was never my intent to take anything away from those who belonged here.” Slowly, he shook his head. “But now I can't turn my back on its future.”

“Sarah Ann has always had the greatest claim,” Lisbeth said. “It was what her grandfather would have wanted. Do whatever you feel you must do.”

“I've got to go back, Lisbeth. I'm not a farmer. I never will be.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I always knew you would leave.”
But the pain of the reality is so much greater than I expected.
She hesitated, then asked, “And Sarah Ann?”

“Sarah Ann belongs with me,” he replied. “She's an American, though Scotland will always be a part of her life. We'll come back from time to time.”

Lisbeth had never felt so empty. She wasn't going to cry, though. She wasn't.

“Lisbeth,” he said, his fingers tightening briefly around hers, “I think Hugh can run Calholm with Alistair's help. I've talked to him, and he wants to do it. But I won't sign a contract with him if you don't agree. He knows that.”

It took her a second or two to gather her composure. Then she said, “Of course I agree.” She wanted to stand and walk away before he saw her grief. He would think it was for Calholm, the loss of the horses. But it wasn't. Her anguish was for the loss of him.

“Shadow is yours, of course,” he was saying, “but—”

“But the other hunters must go,” she finished for him, trying to sound nonchalant. “I know it. Perhaps I always knew it.”

“I'm sorry, Lisbeth,” he said. “I'm so sorry, but none of you will have any income if Calholm is bankrupt. Hugh has some good ideas, and he'll keep the tenants as long as they want to stay. But selling the horses is Calholm's only hope.” He paused a moment, then said, “Alistair will hire an accountant to keep an eye on Hugh's management.”

“And Barbara?”

“I think Barbara will be well taken care of,” he said, with the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Both you and she will get shares of the income from Calholm.”

She swallowed. “That's very generous. It's my fault—”

“Dammit,” he exploded. “Nothing is your fault. And you'll still have your chance to race Shadow. Enter him in the Grand National. Keep your dream.”

Her dream was in ashes, as dead as her heart. What tiny, foolish part of her had hoped he would ask her to go with him?

Lisbeth untangled her hand from Ben's, fighting to keep back tears as she stood. “We'll miss you and Sarah Ann. And Annabelle.” Could he tell how forced the lightness in her voice was?

She started toward Shadow. She wanted only to escape, but she felt Ben's presence next to her, then his hand.

“Dammit, Lisbeth.”

She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't. “Let go of me,” she said, but her voice held no authority.

His fingers were like iron around her arm and his warmth crept into her. She bit down on her lip to keep from burying herself in his embrace.

“Don't go yet,” he whispered in her ear. His arms went around her, his hands pulling her close, so that her back leaned against his chest. She rested there in momentary surrender.

Ben felt Lisbeth relax, sensed the instant that she yielded to the attraction that always radiated between them, that was now greater than ever.

To hell with logic. To hell with reasoning. To hell with obstacles. They belonged together, and he simply couldn't let her go.

“Please, Ben …”

He heard her soft, broken request. And he ignored it.

He turned her so she was facing him. His gaze met hers directly. “What is it between us, Lisbeth?”

She went still, but her eyes were searching his face. They were that lovely hazel with flecks of gold, and they were so irresistible …

He leaned down and kissed her. They were worlds apart, even centuries apart in the way they lived. Yet he loved her.

His lips savored hers, caressed them slowly, then moved to do the same to every inch of her face, lingering around her eyes, then trailing toward the nape of her neck.

He tried to make the kisses undemanding, though he needed so much. He wanted to make her understand that it wasn't merely lust that he was feeling. When had he lost his ability to communicate? To say what was in his heart?

And then she leaned into him, her lips searching out his, and when their lips met this time, the kiss was all warmth and yearning.

His hand went to her hair, pinned up with that little hat perched atop. He managed to pull off the hat, then the pins, then he ran his hands through her hair.

“Lisbeth,” he breathed. “I want you too much.”

“You can never want me too much,” she replied. “Never …”

Her body was intertwined with his now; he couldn't tell where hers began and his ended. He couldn't tell a damn thing except that she had given him back his soul.

Her body trembled against his.

“Lisbeth?”

“Love me, Ben,” she whispered. “Please …”

His lips came down on hers again. The kiss caught fire, and nothing mattered except the present.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Conflagration enveloped both of them.

Lisbeth was consumed by it. Melted in it. She felt like liquid heat. And when her eyes met his, she saw something there she'd never seen before: love. Solid. Real.

He wrapped his arms around her, his face touching hers. Their bodies touched, and she felt as if lightning was ripping through her.

In minutes, they were on the chapel floor, and his body merged with hers, possessing her, claiming her, yet there was a sweetness to the joining, a tender loving that radiated through her. Everything about him was tender, gentle. Yet a barely leashed passion made her own body surge with need, starting tremors that wouldn't stop.

She felt the wetness on her cheeks, and he kissed it away, murmuring to her as he did so. And then their bodies took over, saying what they had not. Loving. Caring. Giving.

They climbed together to a pinnacle, and when they could stand no more, their bodies shared the triumph, sensations flowing from them as the sun bathed them with its brilliance.

Lisbeth snuggled against him, unwilling to move, unwilling to lose something so infinitely precious.

She felt safe now. And cherished in a way she'd never known before.

He leaned on one arm and looked at her through passion-clouded eyes. “Do you believe in magic?” he asked.

“I do now,” she replied shyly, her fingers touching his nose, and then making circles near his eyes. “You're beautiful, you know.”

“Lisbeth,” he whispered. “Do you think you could ever leave Scotland?”

Lisbeth's heart jerked. The question was one she'd longed for, prayed for, hoped for. But was it because of the moment? Was it what he really wanted? He'd never said he loved her.

“You might like Colorado,” he continued softly when she didn't answer. “I think it might be a little like your Highlands.” He was silent for a moment, then added quickly, “Think about it,” he said. He didn't give her a chance to answer, but rose, buttoning his trousers and helping her up.

She started to say something, but he put a finger on her mouth. “Think about it,” he said again, and then he leaned over and kissed her.

He finally wrenched away, but Lisbeth felt warm and wanted and wonderful. He wanted her. He needed her. If only he loved her.

But she knew she would go with him, under any circumstances.

Back at Calholm, Lisbeth went in search of Barbara. She had a question that had to be answered. Someday, perhaps, she could forgive herself for trusting Callum Trapp, for being blind to the truth of his motives. But for her own peace of mind right now, she had to know about Jamie, had to know if she'd truly misjudged everyone she'd ever trusted.

She simply couldn't go through the rest of her life second-guessing everything, doubting her own judgment at every turn. She couldn't live with the uncertainty.

She paused at Barbara's door, heard sobbing inside, and thought about going away. But she couldn't give Ben an answer without knowing about Jamie.