A Scoundrel by Moonlight (15 page)

Greengrass had waited to pluck this particular bird because it would only come to his hand once. Now the prospect of this final haul off the diary, and a rich one at that, made his fleshy lips spread in a gloating smile.

L
eath rode toward the river with Miss Trim trailing behind on her chestnut. They were on their way to one of the most isolated farms on his domain. The afternoon was gray and stormy, befitting his cantankerous humor. It was sheer hell wanting a woman who didn’t want you.

Except he’d lay money that Eleanor did want him. He’d glimpsed enough longing looks when she thought he didn’t notice to realize that he wasn’t the only one suffering a bad case of frustration.

He understood why she’d said no. She wasn’t a woman to give herself lightly. He’d been a cad to ask her. Her refusal, while a blow, had been expected. Eleanor Trim deserved better than to become some rich man’s toy. Even if this particular rich man felt like his yen for his mother’s companion was the most serious issue in a life dedicated to serious issues.

Long hours near Miss Trim without touching her counted as torture. But despite the excruciating deprivation, he wasn’t looking forward to Crane’s return.

Poor Crane. At this rate, Leath would push him off another horse just to enjoy Miss Trim’s company for an extra month or two.

So low had the Marquess of Leath fallen.

He hadn’t fallen quite as low as he might. Every night, he lay restless in his huge bed and imagined slamming into the library the next morning and sweeping Eleanor into his arms and kissing her until she couldn’t spell the word “no.”

Then the sun would rise and he’d remember that while he wanted Miss Trim, he also liked and respected her. Once, the threat of scandal would have deterred him. Now inconvenient fondness held him back from testing his rusty seductive wiles. So instead of snatching what he wanted, he would set out on another headlong gallop across the moors, hoping against hope that fresh air and speed would make him feel better.

An utterly futile endeavor.

The depth of empathy he felt for Miss Trim was more terrifying than his rapacious desire. After all, he was a man and she was a beautiful girl. He’d be unnatural not to want her. But he only had to recall his reaction when she’d sobbed over her father’s war records to know that more happened here than a physical itch. That day, he’d wanted to hold her forever and give her everything she wanted. The overwhelming drive to protect her had left him reeling.

That overwhelming drive was more dangerous than desire. Even when desire flung him to the brink of madness.

At the riverbank, he reined in his horse and turned back to Miss Trim. She looked tired and downcast. The troublesome sexual awareness between them played on her nerves too.

“Be careful. The bank is chancy and the river is swollen after the rain.”

“Yes, sir,” she responded in a subdued voice.

She’d been quiet since she’d cried in his arms. Perhaps his
confession that he wanted more than gratitude had frightened her. He really should send her away. Neither of them could find peace while they were together.

But the thought of losing Nell made him want to howl denial. Seeing her was agonizing. Not seeing her would be worse. His London cronies always said Lord Leath reserved his passion for politics. How they’d laugh to see him now.

A shout from beyond the river bend pierced his brooding. This part of the moors was miles from the nearest habitation, usually home to only birds and the wind.

Despite the mucky ground, he spurred his horse into a gallop. Behind him, he heard Nell urge her mare to follow.

Two boys stood on the bank calling to another boy who was flailing in the river. Leath immediately recognized them. The Murray children, at that troublesome age where they were convinced of their immortality. The lad in the water was Will Murray, ten years old and as full of mischief as a monkey.

“Hold my horse.” Leath leaped from the saddle and rushed forward, flinging away his constricting coat. He didn’t bother to check whether Miss Trim obeyed. He trusted that she would.

Will went under as he was swept downstream. “Help!” he shouted, surfacing. “Help me!”

“Don’t you dare set foot in this river,” Leath snapped to Will’s brothers.

When he dived into the flood, the cold turned every muscle rigid. Leath was a strong swimmer, but the water’s power appalled him. Ahead, Will sank again. It felt like hours before the boy bobbed up.

Leath fought the current to stay in place. He couldn’t make headway against it, but as luck had it, the flow pushed the boy toward him.

He grabbed for the lad, but missed. Next time, he caught the young ruffian. His hand curled hard around the linen collar and he wrenched the boy into his body. Will was so terrified that he fought Leath’s hold.

“Stop it.” Leath struggled for a tone of effortless command. Icy water splashed his face and he found himself propelled along, helpless as a twig.

Will’s glazed eyes met his and Leath saw that the boy was so panicked, he didn’t realize that help had arrived. Leath’s grip tightened as he struggled to stay afloat. “Listen to me, Will Murray. Neither of us is going to drown today so you’d better damn well do what I say.”

This time, despite the roar of the water, Leath’s authority registered. Reason seeped into the boy’s gaze. “My lord!”

“Lie still and let me take you in to shore.”

“Yes, my lord,” he gasped.

Leath caught Will under the chin and swam crosswise toward the bank. When in London, he regularly rode out to Hampstead Heath to swim and now he was grateful that he had. Even with Will’s cooperation, progress was tough. The river’s force was lethal. Using the current to power his sidestroke, he struggled to keep their heads above water.

Eventually the flood washed them into a quieter loop. Leath stumbled to his feet to receive a joyful welcome from Will’s brothers and Miss Trim, who waded in and slid her shoulder under his arm. With her support, he staggered toward the bank. Behind him, the boys lugged Will to dry land.

The whole incident was over in minutes, but Leath felt as if he’d gone ten rounds in the boxing ring. The water was littered with debris and he could swear that a forest of logs had slammed him. He sucked in painful gusts of air and tightened his hold around Nell’s shoulders.

“I’m too heavy,” he grunted. Talking tested his strength.

“Nonsense. Can you get up the bank?”

“Yes,” he said, not sure he could. But with her help, he managed to crawl onto the grass. Gasping, he collapsed.

“Are you all right?” She rested her hand on his heaving shoulder as he battled to fill his lungs. Even in his extremity, that touch seared through the wet shirt.

“Yes,” he said, wanting to say more but unable to summon breath.

“Stay there.”

“You’re so… high-handed,” he managed to force out.

Her grip on his shoulder firmed in encouragement. “If you can be rude, you’ll live, my lord.”

Choking on a broken laugh, he lay like a stranded fish while she approached the boys. Will seemed in better case than his rescuer. At least he had the strength to sit up, although he was pale and shivering.

Miss Trim spoke to the brothers before she helped Will toward Adela. She’d had the sense to lead the horses to where he and Will had washed ashore.

Leath struggled to his knees. He wasn’t sure if he could stand, confound it. He was bruised from the pummeling, but at least breathing no longer hurt. The problem was that as pain faded, chill struck deeper. On dry land, it might be late autumn. In the Alloway River, it was Arctic winter.

“Give him my coat.” He was appalled at how hoarse he sounded.

“You’ll be cold,” she said.

Every second, strength returned. “I’ll get by.”

She looked dubious, then when she saw how Will shivered, she nodded. Most people jumped at Leath’s slightest word, but not Eleanor Trim. “Once Will’s safely home, my lord, I’ll return for you.”

He’d recovered enough to notice the way she regarded him. His hard-won breath jammed in his lungs. He’d never seen that expression before. Her large eyes glowed and a flush brightened her cheeks. Perhaps the biting wind whipped up her color. But the smile flirting with her lips made his heart, only just settling, kick up and race as it had raced when he’d fought the river.

Eleanor turned away before he identified what lay in her eyes. She helped Will into Leath’s coat which she’d tied to his saddle. The boy looked so woebegone in the voluminous black folds that Leath hid a smile. Hopefully today’s fright taught young Master Will a lesson about recklessness, although given what he knew of the lad, he had his doubts.

Using a fallen branch as a mounting block, Nell scrambled into her saddle. She reached down to help Will up behind her.

Battling to hide how much effort it took to move, Leath crossed to the heavily laden mount and caught the bridle. “I’ll meet you at the Murray farm.”

“Shouldn’t you go home and find some dry clothes?”

Presumptuous wench. His lips twitched. “I want to make sure Will suffers no ill effects from his dip.”

He passed the reins to her and inadvertently or deliberately her hand brushed his as she took them. Bizarre that he was freezing, yet that subtle touch blasted him with heat.

She stared hard at him, her eyes conveying some message that he couldn’t read. “My lord?”

“What is it?”

The smile flirting with her lips broadened into something glorious. “The answer is yes.”

S
urely Will, plastered to her back as she galloped toward the Murray farm, must hear her heart pounding. Despite the marquess’s coat, the boy was wet and cold, yet Nell felt like a huge fire burned inside her. A fire bright enough to light her whole life.

Watching Leath unhesitatingly risk his life in a raging river to save a lad with more spirit than sense, she’d recognized all her havering as the victory of fear over desire.

Nobody would ever compare to James Fairbrother. Despite Dorothy’s example, despite her stepfather’s moral strictures, despite her own sense of self-preservation, she couldn’t relinquish the chance to know this extraordinary man in every way possible. Eleanor Trim was about to become a marquess’s mistress. And she couldn’t summon a shred of regret. Instead, that fluttery, new sensation under her ribs felt like happiness.

She’d meant to wait, to tell Leath her decision when they were alone, but she’d looked into his exhausted, austere, beautiful face and found herself unable to hold back.
As she’d expected from a man so perceptive, one word was enough. She’d seen the flare of joy in his eyes and her heart had leaped like a salmon up a river.

Somewhere she’d fallen in love with his lordship. Perhaps when he’d been so kind to his mother. Perhaps with his kisses. Even if Nell hadn’t already loved him, she’d be halfway there after he found her father’s effects.

So much had made no sense, until she’d watched Leath dive into the flood and realized that if he died, she didn’t want to live.

If Leath were a simple, ordinary man, she’d marry him, bear his children, build a long and fulfilled life together. But he was no simple, ordinary man. If she surrendered to this complex, gifted creature, she couldn’t expect a conventional happy ending.

Even if Leath loved her—and while she knew he liked her and wanted her, she had no idea if he felt more—the world would frown upon any marriage between a marquess and a sergeant major’s daughter. A mésalliance would destroy Leath’s lifelong political ambitions. Even if he was willing to make such a sacrifice, now that she’d seen his flashing brilliance in full flight when Sir Garth visited, she couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t make him less than he was. That would degrade her love to mere selfishness. If lowly Eleanor Trim wanted the Marquess of Leath in her bed, it must be without the church’s blessing.

A thunder of hooves signaled Leath’s approach. In his soggy clothes, he must be turning to ice, but the fiery look he sent her blazed right through her.

Mrs. Murray reacted to her son’s ordeal with the calm common sense that Nell expected, although her thanks to Leath were sincere and extensive. While Nell appreciated that the woman needed to express her gratitude, staying for
tea was almost unbearable. Nell had spent weeks hankering to kiss his lordship. Now, any postponement irked. Leath appeared his usual unflappable self, until Nell caught a sizzling glance aimed in her direction and realized that he too chafed at the delay.

Still, Nell couldn’t gripe at Leath drying out before the roaring fire in the Murrays’ front room. She didn’t want him perishing of pneumonia before she’d had her wicked way.

It felt like hours before she and Leath galloped across the moors again. Mrs. Murray’s feather-light scones congealed into hard stones in Nell’s stomach now that finally she was alone with the marquess. When she’d given him her consent, she’d brimmed with courage. Now she was as nervous as a cat on a stove.

They careered into the grove where he’d asked her to be his mistress. He hauled his horse to a rearing stop and vaulted to the leaf-covered ground. In two long strides, he crossed the space between them. Before Nell could snatch a breath, he caught her around the waist and swung her down.

She glimpsed glittering need in his eyes before his mouth took hers in a kiss of such urgency that her knees folded beneath her and she collapsed against Adela. The mare snorted and backed away.

Heat flooded Nell, tightened her nipples, puddled between her legs, trapped the breath in her lungs. On a muffled gasp, she grabbed Leath’s powerful shoulders to stay upright. And to touch him. How she’d longed to touch him.

Ruthlessly, his tongue parted her lips and slid inside to stroke hers. If he’d kissed her like this in his bedroom, she’d have fled in terror. Now she arched closer. He was hard against her belly. Once that too would have terrified her, but not now that she’d surrendered to desire.

Ravenously he claimed her mouth, setting her aflame. She moved her tongue against his, relishing the hot rasp.

Too soon he raised his head and stared down at her as if he saw nothing else in the world. “You meant it?”

She licked swollen lips. He was more delicious than wine. She nodded and struggled for words. That kiss had smashed every thought but the need to be close to him. “Of course.”

His laugh was close to a groan and he leaned in until his forehead bumped hers and they shared each breath. The intimacy was as powerful as his rapacious kiss. “I couldn’t trust myself to look at you and still keep my hands off. Do you have any idea what torture you’ve put me through?”

A wry smile tilted her lips. “I might have an inkling.”

Her hands curled into his shoulders, then drifted down his powerful chest, feeling the heat beneath the wrinkled shirt. It gradually dawned on her that she could touch him when she liked. The thought was arousing.

He kissed her again. This time, she did more than cling in bewildered delight. Feverishly she explored him, feeling the hard muscles, the thunderous beat of his heart. Such a valiant heart. She wrenched her lips from his and pressed a kiss to his chest.

He angled her face up until their eyes met. “I want you so much, Eleanor.”

How she loved the way he said Eleanor.

His gaze sharpened. “What is it?”

“You’re the only one who calls me Eleanor.” She couldn’t help smiling. She should lament her ruin, but she’d never felt so free.

“You’ll always be Eleanor to me.” He looked younger, happier, than she’d ever seen him. “Although calling you Miss Trim always gives me a delicious frisson. I’ve dreamed of debauching the prim Miss Trim.”

“Oh,” she said, and he laughed.

“Well may you look smug.”

“Of course I’m smug. I’ve caught myself a wonderful man.” She cradled his face between her hands, reveling in the fact that she could, and pressed her lips to his beak of a nose. “Rather terrifying, I’ll admit, but definitely a handsome fellow. And the only man I’ve ever kissed.”

He drew her closer for a thorough kiss that had her knees imitating string again. “When you say things like that, I feel like a beast for everything I want to do to you.”

“Now?”

She saw him consider having her, here in this lovely, lonely clearing. She also saw the moment good sense won. “You deserve better.”

“I want you so much, I hardly care,” she confessed, knowing she made herself dangerously defenseless, but unable to stop. Every time he kissed her, love melted her very bones.

“Eleanor, you humble me.”

She blushed. “Would you rather I played games? I’m not experienced enough to know what I should do. Should I pretend reluctance?”

Another cracked laugh. “Dear God, you’ll drive me mad. No, don’t play games. You’re all that’s fine and true. I feel like I see into your soul.”

When she recalled her lies, she suffered a momentary twinge. But none of that mattered now. What mattered was that the man she loved wanted her and she wanted him.

He kissed her again. “I thought I had no chance. You sounded so certain when you refused.”

“If you’d kissed me like that, I wouldn’t have had a hope.”

A shadow crossed his features. “You should marry a good, respectable man and look forward to a gaggle of children and a home of your own.”

As she stared into eyes the color of pewter, the high tide of her euphoria ebbed. “If this is the only way I can have you, I can bear it.”

Regret darkened his expression before he pressed his lips to hers. The wildness retreated, but his tenderness turned her heart to syrup. With no reluctance, she abandoned that mythical good man and accepted that her fate was forever entwined with the Marquess of Leath’s.

When he withdrew, they were both shaking. She found it immensely moving that she, unimportant Nell Trim, made this superb man tremble. A muffled sound of disappointment escaped her as he stepped back. “Why did you stop?”

This time his groan held no amusement at all. “You take me to the edge, my darling. And this isn’t the place. Or the time.” He glanced up at the turbulent sky.

She hadn’t noticed that the weather closed in. “When?”

He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Would you come to me tonight?”

Consent rose to her lips, but wouldn’t emerge. She’d been a housemaid mere weeks, but it had shocked her how intimately the staff observed the family’s habits. “If I come to your bed at Alloway Chase, everyone will know.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want the other servants to call me a slut.”

The word hung between them, harsh, ugly, and sadly true. “I’ll never think of you like that.”

She searched his face, wanting reassurance. “Your mother deserves my respect. I can’t do it.”

“I want you so much.”

Something in his tone made her frown. “You’re testing me.”

Self-derision edged his smile. “I suppose I am. This morning, I struggled to resign myself to never having you.
Now all my dreams come true. You can’t blame a man for questioning such a miracle.”

She smiled back. Something about his vulnerability made her heart squeeze in a painful ecstasy of love. She swallowed and struggled to make sensible decisions. “You don’t want a scandal.”

How odd to think that before she came to Alloway Chase, deceit had been completely foreign to her. Since then, every day she’d told lie after lie, and now she signed up for a lifetime of subterfuge.

“Right now, I don’t care.”

“But you will,” she said flatly. She stiffened her spine and told herself to be brave. If she wanted the marquess, she must pay the price.

“So I must resign myself to more lonely nights?” The question was wry, but she heard his frustration.

“Oh, Leath…”

He hauled her up for another ardent kiss. But she’d reached a point where kisses no longer satisfied. Even in her inexperience, she knew that for both of them, only consummation could allay their raging desire. Still, she gave herself up to him with a fierceness that left them both panting.

One powerful hand curled around her buttock. The other cupped her face. The mixture of overt demand and sweet care threatened her resolve and she muffled a sob. “I thought once I said yes, this would be easy.”

The strengthening wind whipped her damp skirts around her legs. The storm around her paled in comparison to the storm in her soul.

“Nothing worthwhile is easy,” he said with a hint of grimness.

“I won’t change my mind,” she said firmly.

Such relief flooded his face that for the first time, she
realized quite how much he wanted her. Her gloominess about the future retreated.

“Thank God,” he breathed and kissed her quickly, withdrawing before passion ignited. His features were tight with control, hinting at the restraint he exercised here where he could lift her skirts in seconds.

She moved closer and rested against him. His arms encircled her, surrounding her with his familiar scent, tinged with lingering traces of river water. “I have to trust you not to expose us to the world’s censure.”

His embrace tightened. “I’ll do my best, Eleanor. With sleepless nights ahead, I’ll have plenty of thinking time.”

“I’d rather be lying beside you.”

“Believe me, I’ll do my best to find a quick solution.”

A fat drop of rain hit her head. She looked up and another landed on her cheek. The wind tore the last leaves from the trees around them.

“It’s been a watery day.” She struggled to make their separation bearable. After this, seeing him without touching him would be torture.

He laughed softly. “It’s been a marvelous day. I look forward to an even more marvelous day.”

“Don’t make me wait long,” she said softly, as freezing rain swirled around them.

“I curse that we must wait at all,” he said with a hint of savagery that carried into his kiss.