Come Midnight (16 page)

Chapter 11

Caitlin worried her lower lip with her teeth as she left Andrew's chamber. Not because his lordship had slipped out when the lad said his prayers; 'twas his habit, and she'd grown used to it. But on leaving, he had asked her to meet him in the library before she retired. And at the Hall that was not his habit. He's after learning the truth behind Megan's words this afternoon, and no mistake! Bracing herself for trouble, she stopped at the library's double doors, which stood ajar. "Ye wished t' see me, milord?"

"Yes ... come in, Caitlin." He'd been standing near the doors. Now he closed them behind her and gestured toward a pair of armchairs by the fire. "Have a seat, please."

She'd not been inside Ravenskeep's library before, perhaps because it was oddly located. According to Townsend, an earlier marquis was an insomniac who'd converted rooms adjoining his bedchamber into a library, that he might easily find reading material in the middle of the night. Larger than the library in London, it was as richly appointed, but with furnishings of an earlier age. A masculine room, she thought, noting the time-mellowed oak paneling, the fine Flemish tapestries, the thick, jewel-toned Turkey carpets underfoot. Yet another handsome chessboard sat on a Jacobean oak table near the fireplace. But she knew this was not to be about chess.

Stifling a sigh, Caitlin took her seat. She'd tried to make light of her sister's—dear God, it seemed strange even to think of it—her sister's words about her having the Sight. Pegeen's fear, Caitlin had hastened to tell them, was mere superstitious nonsense. May the Lord and my dead mother both forgive me for the lie. And Crionna! Yet better the lie, surely, than the Pandora's box the truth would unlock.

She'd no idea if anyone believed the lie; Megan had sent her an odd look and immediately clammed up . .. out of politeness? Family loyalty? The duke and duchess had simply changed the subject, calling for a magnum of champagne from the cellars to celebrate the sisters' reunion. Which was all very well; indeed, she was grateful for it. Unfortunately, the pensive looks his lordship sent her through the remainder of the visit had intimated he was having none of it.

Adam, too, was feeling ill at ease. He was painfully aware of the long overdue apology he owed Caitlin. And just as painfully aware of the difficulty in another matter he couldn't ignore: her denial of her sister's words that afternoon. He didn't believe her. One look at Caitlin's transparent face had convinced him; her denial was what Andrew would call a danker. Yet to question it was to impugn her honesty. And he'd already offended her past all civility in London. She can't think worse of you than she does now, so just get on with it!

"I won't beat about the bush, Caitlin," he said, deciding directness was the best approach. "I behaved abominably toward you in London—no, let me finish ... please. I owe you the deepest apology for my behavior that night. And another for taking so long to address it—for you will agree it has been far too long in coming."

She simply stared at him, as if taken aback, and Adam frowned. Was it so impossible for her to believe a lord would apologize to someone of her station? All the more reason to let her know he meant it, he decided, and plunged ahead. "I humbly beg you will accept my abject apologies, Caitlin, even if you cannot forgive me." He shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. "What I did was unforgivable."

Ach, not about the Sight, then!
Greatly relieved, Caitlin smiled at him. "But, milord, it is. Ye weren't in yer right, er, senses. Indeed, if ye'll forgive me savin' so, 'twas the brandy talkin'."

It was Adam's turn to stare. "The brandy talking ..." he repeated grimly. "And what of the doing Caitlin? It wasn't just my words offended you that night, and we both know it. If you hadn't stopped me with that, that gibberish—"

She suddenly went pale and looked away, avoiding his eyes.

He felt a jolt of recognition.
That's just how she reacted to her sister's words this afternoon!
"Caitlin," he said, leaning forward in his Chair, "what the devil was that gibberish you spoke that night?"

Reluctantly, Caitlin raised her head, swallowing hard as she met the blue intensity of his gaze. " 'Twasn't ... 'twasn't gibberish, milord. 'Twas merely the Gaelic tongue I spoke."

"Merely? It stopped me in my tracks!"

"A-aye, milord," she murmured, dropping her gaze.

He stared at her bowed head with incredulity. "What the devil was it?"

"An auld Irish . .. charm, milord."

"A charm—a charm for what, in the name of all sanity! Caitlin, look at me," he pleaded. Cupping her chin, he raised it and met her anguished gaze. "A charm to do what?"

" 'T protect me," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes.

"From me," he said with self-disgust as she began to sob softly. "From the unconscionable rape I'd have perpetrated in my drunken stupidity! And you deem that forgivable?

"Ah, sweetheart, I beg of you, don't cry." It was unbearable that he should cause her pain—yet again. Without thinking, he rose, pulled her gently to her feet, and wrapped his arms about her. "I'm not worth it," he murmured against her hair. "Not a single one of your tears, darling Caitlin, not one."

Caitlin was too distraught and miserable to absorb the tender fervency of his words. It was all unraveling, and she was helpless as ever to stop it. He'd know her for the dangerous creature she was now, and a liar to boot. Cursed with powers she'd neither asked for nor wanted. He'd send her away for sure. When all she'd ever wanted was to help him! " 'Twas m-merely an Irish ch-chant Crionna t-taught me," she stammered between hiccuping sobs. "I niver m-meant t' use it, milord!"

"Adam," he found himself saying. Without knowing why, but feeling the Tightness of it with an intensity he couldn't explain. There could be no more class barriers here. Not with defenses tumbling down... and perhaps, if they were lucky, only the naked truth between them. "I beg you will call me Adam ... no, I insist on it."

There was a pause as she sniffled. All at once, she drew back to gape at him. "Milord, I couldn't poss—"

"Adam," he repeated, stilling her lips with his thumb. "If what I suspect is true, I am about to intrude upon some deeply guarded ... secrets. Secrets I wouldn't dream of demanding you reveal to me ... as one of your so-called betters. But as an equal—and dare I hope, a friend?—perhaps you'll grant me the right to ask. And I swear to you, what you say will never go beyond this room."

Caitlin's head swam. Call me Adam . . . as an equal. . . a friend. Words so far beyond what she had ever dared hope, she feared she was dreaming. Any moment now, she'd awaken and find her arms wrapped about her pillow. Aye, her sterile pillow, and not his lean, hard waist; for he'd yet to release her. Not that she was about to protest—no, never. The dream might end and plunge her into the loneliness of her solitary bed; till then, for this brief moment in time, he was hers. With a soft sigh, she leaned her head against his chest. "Ask, then . .. Adam."

The sound of his name on her lips nearly undid him. A shudder passed through him, and with it, a stab of longing so great, he shook with it. A hopeless longing, for a love denied and steeped in futile, gut-wrenching desire. With a strength he wasn't aware he possessed, Adam willed it away.

"Caitlin, the thing your sister mentioned ..." He stroked her hair, intent on assuring her this wasn't meant to be threatening. "The Sight. I collect it's tied up somehow with—with that protective chant. And none of it is superstitious nonsense, is it?"

With a sniffle, she shook her head no.

The feel of her hair gliding under his palm like living silk brought another surge of longing. Gritting his teeth, Adam again thrust it away. "Your foster mother," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "She gave you these, uh, supernatural powers?" It struck him how absurd he'd once have deemed such a question. A night in early April had made him damned careful, however, what he called absurd.

Still unwilling to lose the comfort of his arms, Caitlin raised her head just enough to look at him. "I had the chant from Crionna, aye, but not the Sight. 'Twas merely that she, bein' what we call a wisewoman, recognized it for what it was. And she niver referred to it as a ... a power. A gift, she called it. Ye may be interested t' know I called it a curse."

Smiling down at her earnest face, Adam was greatly tempted to kiss away the tiny frown between her brows. "Would you care to explain why?" he asked gently.

With a sigh, Caitlin nodded. She gave him a brief history of her troubles with the gift. Including her difficulties with Father O'Malley. Including her fear of it. She went on to describe the nature of Crionna's charm, how she'd memorized it to grant the wish of a dying woman, never dreaming she would use it. She was careful to explain the part of Crionna's legacy she valued, however: the healing skills she had taken with her when her fear of the dreams and visions drove her out of Ireland. She held back one thing only, because she was afraid to speak of it: She couldn't bring herself to mention the terrible vision with him in it.

"A thing like the Sight is frightenin'," she finished at length, "unless ye're Irish and at home with the auld ways. I'm not proud of it, but 'tis why I didn't tell the truth this afternoon. Yet I regret ... Adam, ye don't think too ill o' me ... for lyin'?" she asked, looking worriedly up at him.

"Think ill of you?"
I couldn't love you more than I do right now.
The temptation was too great. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed the tiny frown. "My silly darling, I think you're the bravest, finest, most splendid woman alive!"

"But I'm not ..." She almost said "your darling," then decided she couldn't have heard him right. Or else this was a dream, and it was about to explode in her face: the rude awakening she'd feared all along. "A-Adam, would ye repeat what y-ye just said?"

He stood there transfixed, caught by the wonder of her gaze as she searched his face. She was everything to him in that moment, everything he'd ever longed for and thought couldn't possibly exist. "What? Oh .. . I said I think you're—"

"N-no, before that."

"I...."He groaned, at last realizing what he'd blurted out in his zeal to reassure her:
My silly darling? You damned fool! Why not blow it all to perdition and confess you love her in the bargain?
"Forgive me." His eyes shuttered, and he dropped his hands from her face as if they burned him. "I'd no right to—I ... I must have been delusional or—I beg you will forget what you heard."

The rejection hurt, and she swallowed a sob. And her pride. She'd gone too far now and had to know, even if she was cruelly mistaken. "Yet ye did say it, didn't ye, milord? I didn't just imagine—"

"Never call me that again!" With an anguished cry, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. "It's Adam, do you hear? Blood and ashes, Caitlin, can't you at least give me that?"

Caitlin felt his arms close about her like a benediction. "Adam," she murmured through her tears. "Adam, Adam and again, Adam! Aye, Adam—who is my silly darlin', even if he won't allow me t' be h-his."

Adam raised his head. Stared at her honest, tear-streaked face as if she were his last hope. And yet, of course, he had no right to hope ... no right at all. "Caitlin, you don't understand. I cannot—"

"Then, I must brave it alone," she whispered, tracing his anguished face with trembling fingers. "I've foolishly lost me heart t' ye, Adam Lightfoot. I love ye."

"Caitlin," he groaned, "you mustn't—"

Her fingers covered his lips. "Mind, I say foolishly not because I'm ashamed of it. But naught that's good can come of a poor colleen lovin' a lord with a grand title. I mean, 'tis all very well t' say I mustn't 'milord' ye, but—"

"Don't!"He caught the fingers at his lips and pressed a fervent kiss into her palm. "Don't ever think this is about class," he said fiercely. "That you're somehow not good enough for me. It's I who am not good enough for you, Caitlin. Not good enough—not worthy."

"Ach, now ye truly are bein' foolish! Not worthy? What, because of a single instance when ye let the drink steal yer wits and forgot yerself?"

"No, Caitlin! It's far worse than that. It's about..." He shook his head in defeat. "It's about things I cannot—things I dare not explain to you."

"Dare not explain t' me? Secrets, Adam? After I've just confessed t' havin' the Sight itself?"

"Trust me," he said with a weary sigh, "this makes the Sight seem like child's play."

"I do trust ye. Yet it appears ye don't trust me," she said sadly. Ye think I'm not t' be trusted with yer great secret, is that it?"

"You still don't understand! Caitlin, this secret could harm you. Making you privy to it could put you in danger you cannot begin to imagine."

Caitlin's breath stilled, for she finally understood. 'Twas the thing of darkness in him. He feared it, and rightly so: 'Twas at the root of the pain and torment she'd sensed in him from the start. The pain she believed with all her heart she was here to heal. But how to do that when he meant to protect her from it? From all knowledge of it, even. Indeed, till now, he hadn't even alluded to it. It came out only because other barriers had been breached, because of the intimacy they'd—

The intimacy they'd begun to share!

The solution struck with such clarity, she was amazed she hadn't seen it sooner. The dreams and visions had been pointing to it all along. Crionna had told her to trust them, but she hadn't listened. Because they were so daunting. They were still daunting. Did she have the strength to heed them? Aye, she did. Yet 'twould be far easier if she knew but one thing. Pausing to gather her courage, she met Adam's tormented eyes. "Do ye love me, Adam?"

Absorbed in constructing arguments to dissuade her, Adam was caught off guard; the simple directness of her question disarmed him. Even as he grasped for an evasion she might accept, the truth blazed in his eyes. Releasing his breath on a long, shuddering sigh, he nodded helplessly. "I love you. Beyond hope, beyond life itself, my foolish, foolish darling."

A sob caught in her throat, on a surge of incredulous joy. With a small cry, she launched herself at him. Flung her arms about his neck, and covered his face with kisses: eyes, nose, temples, chin, lips. He loved her, loved her! Her giddy heart grew wings and soared on the heady currents of hope: They loved, and because they loved, all things were possible.

Every instinct told Adam to resist. He was a lost soul, his doom sealed by his own blood. He had nothing to offer her, less than nothing. He could only save her from himself, send her away, far away, before it was too late. All this he knew, and even at the moment he confessed his love, he reached for the strength to see it through. What he hadn't counted on, however, was the strength of Caitlin's will. Of her determination to pull him from the dark and into the light. Of her love.

The moment she flung herself into his arms, his resistance crumbled. A groan broke from his throat, and his arms closed about her. Catching her to him like a precious gift, he closed his eyes and savored the sweetness of her innocent, untutored kisses. When her mouth found his, when she kissed him fully on it, he tasted the salt of her tears with the honey of her lips. At once the blood beat heavy in his veins. A roaring in his ears eclipsed the last vestiges of impending doom, and he was lost, lost to her honest passion.

He claimed her with a kiss like no other he'd ever given a woman. For he'd not loved before, and now, impossible as it seemed, love was here. Caitlin, his first love and his last. His forever love, whose memory he'd take with him into the fires of hell itself, and none would say him nay!

It was a savagely tender kiss, fierce in its communication of all that lay in his heart and mind, in his bartered soul. Caitlin kissed him back in kind, and it was all he could do not to take her there, on the jewel-toned rug before the fire. "Caitlin," he groaned against her mouth, "I want you desperately, love, and you're making me lose control. I—"

"Control, is it?" she asked on a gust of breathless laughter. "Sure and ye're not serious. Control, Adam, when I want ye so much I could die of it?"

For a heartbeat, Adam went utterly still. Holding his raging passions carefully in check, he released her and set her down before him. "You're sure?" he asked in a ragged whisper.

"I've niver been as sure of somethin' in me life," she replied solemnly. "I-I had a vision, d'ye see, while we were still in London—aye, 'twas the Sight. I saw the two of us, upon a great bed. We ... we—ach, we lay there in naked abandon! I-I think we'd just made love—or were about t' begin, perhaps. 'Tis still a mystery t' me how ... how 'tis done, ye understand. But there's no mystery in what the vision portended."

And when he simply stared, as if he didn't dare believe her: "Tell, me, Adam, does yon chamber"—she pointed across the room to a door she was suddenly certain connected to the master bedchamber Townsend had mentioned—"boast a grand bed with a lovely sky blue canopy? And silken sheets embroidered with the letter U"

Adam's head reeled as the full import of her words settled in his brain. Without preamble, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed; the bed with a canopy his father had ordered to match Catherine Lightfoot's sky blue eyes; the bed with the sheets she'd lovingly embroidered with the letter L while he and his father played chess; the bed where he'd been conceived in love.

He stopped before it and set Caitlin gently on her feet. Gazing into her eyes, he began to remove the pins from her hair, one by one. He did this without haste, and with a sensual, slowly curving smile that made her breath hitch. He was making love to her with that smile, Caitlin realized with a delicate shiver as each pin dropped to the carpet. And with his heavy-lidded, knowing eyes that promised delicious secrets. A knot of anticipation unfurled in the pit of her belly as she felt the weight of her coppery curls slowly unwinding. Sliding like silk along her neck and onto her shoulders.

"Your hair,'' Adam murmured, pausing to lift a heavy skein of burnished silk and finger it with awe, "is glorious." Another pin fell, and his eyes continued to caress her with lazy, loving intent. "I can tell you now, my love," he said, "that I've lain sleepless and endlessly tossing in that bed." An indolent grin emerged, wickedly teasing, as he freed another coppery curl. "Because I kept imagining how it would look . .. how you would look ... and feel"—the last pin dropped soundlessly to the carpet—"while I made love to you ...

"Like this ...," he breathed. Lifting the heavy, yard-long curls away from her nape, he slowly released them, letting them sift through his hands to tumble down her back. Lacing his fingers through the hair at the sides of her head, he captured her wondering face and tilted it up for his kiss. A slow, drugging kiss that was entirely new, entirely different from what had gone before. A kiss that made Caitlin wonder if she had truly been kissed at all till now. And she hadn't... not like this.

Adam's mouth moved over hers without haste, yet with a thoroughness as delicious in what it promised as in what it gave. He was determined to take his time with her, to make it perfect for her. Despite the white-hot talons of desire clawing at his loins. Slowly, slowly, he savored the pliant sweetness of her lips, molding and shaping them with consummate skill. They were warm and trusting. Innocent and waiting, unaware, for delights he knew she scarcely imagined.

The first overt hint of pleasure came with the sensual glide of his tongue along her lower lip. Then, ever so gently, he sank his teeth into the sensitized flesh, and Caitlin moaned, deep in her throat. When he traced the shape of her upper lip, pausing midway to suck gently at the bow-shaped arch of bee-stung flesh, he felt her shiver. Sliding his tongue leisurely along the sensitive seam between, then back again, he paused to delve into a corner with the very tip. And smiled against her mouth when her lips parted for the sweet, sensual invasion to come.

His hands slid along her neck, doing devastating things to her nerve endings as they stroked the sensitive skin. Pausing to caress her shoulders, then her arms, he eased his hands about her waist and drew her near. While his tongue slipped inside the warm cave of her mouth.

Caitlin made an inarticulate sound, and her own tongue shyly ventured forth to meet his. When Adam grazed it lightly with his teeth, she shuddered. Rising urgently on tiptoe, she wound her arms about his neck and pressed herself closer.

Again, Adam found himself tested to the limits of his control. Her mouth was succulent and sweet beyond telling, her small body trembling with eagerness. Summoning the strength to resist the insistent need throbbing inside his loins, he held them to the same unhurried pace. Now came the lazy exploration, the slow, sensual exchange of taste and texture. Her curious probing delighted him. He felt her surprise, her own delight in discovery upon discovery, for she was an apt pupil. Soon her tentative advances grew bolder, and the exchange became a heady tangling of tongues.

When at last they broke for air, both were breathless and trembling. "Softly, love," Adam murmured unsteadily against her hair as he held her close. "We've a world of time this night, and no need for haste."

"But—"

"Shh." He stroked the lustrous hair cascading down her back, soothing her. At length, taking her gently by the shoulders, he set her slightly apart from him, knowing she needed to cool down as much as he. "We've only just begun," he said, smiling into her eyes. "And I would know a word from you."

"A word?" Her bemused voice was still husky with desire.

"In your lovely Gaelic, darling." He traced the line of her brow and then her jaw, lightly with his finger. "I would know how to say just that .. . how to call you 'darling.' "

She smiled, adoring him with her eyes. "Ye ... we say
a stor
, Adam ... or perhaps
macushla
."

"
A stor
, "he whispered, gazing deeply into those wide green eyes. His hands went to the simple sash beneath her breasts. "Black is the color of mourning," he murmured, loosing her high-waisted black cotton gown. "And I respect and honor your wearing of it. But tonight is for love,
macushla
, and mourning must be set aside."

"Cri-Crionna," she stammered as his knuckles grazed the undersides of her breasts, "w-would scarce object, I-I'm thinkin'. She—she loved the bright colors o' flowers a-and was niver fond o' black,"

"Then, she was truly a wise woman." His smile went wry. "In my dreams, I confess, I've clothed you only in sunny silks and softly hued velvets." With a few deft motions of his hands, the gown fell noiselessly to the floor. "And decked you in emeralds green as your eyes ..."

Caitlin's breath went shallow as his gaze traveled the length of her. She stood before him clad only in her shift, and she wanted to cover herself. Modesty lay behind this, but so did shame: The homely garment was clean, but greatly darned and worn. Then Adam's gaze returned to hers, and she blushed, yet the shame was gone. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. Caitlin knew, with an instinct as old as womankind, he found her pleasing.

Curling his forefinger beneath her chin, Adam tilted her face toward his. He brushed his lips over her brows, then her eyelids when they fluttered closed. Claiming her mouth with another tender kiss, he lingered a moment to savor its sweetness. Now he felt her hands move uncertainly to his chest; the flexing of her fingers as they made contact conveyed a tension he understood. "Curious,
macushla
?" he whispered against her lips, his breath mingling with hers. "Go ahead, then ... find out... learn ... whatever you wish to know."

He felt her hesitate, then begin to move her hands experimentally over his torso. Shyly at first, then with growing ardor. With a chuckle, he paused to shed his coat and neckcloth. Then his waistcoat, giving her the access she craved.

Caught up in the fascinating exploration of his body, Caitlin forgot her own state of undress. She'd never touched a man before, not like this. He was beautifully made. Wide-shouldered, with a broad, muscular chest tapering to a lean waist and a hard, flat abdomen. His biceps were corded with muscle and sinew, their firm contours the epitome of male strength. And yet she knew how gentle they could be, how safe and protected she felt when she stood in the shelter of his arms.

Adam stood before her unmoving, letting her small hands roam over him at will. But the cost to his control was enormous. All too soon it became impossible to remain passive. Every stroke, every glide of her soft palms over his already heated flesh, set him on fire. Her name broke from his lips in a ragged whisper. He began to move his own hands over her. In a slow, thorough exploration of her semi-clad body.

She was exquisitely proportioned, her graceful limbs suggesting the long-boned elegance of a taller woman; yet they were perfectly attuned to her diminutive size. High, upthrust breasts, lush and full for all her slender stature, gave way to a waist so slight he could span it with his hands. While below, the graceful flare of hip and sweep of thigh robbed him of words to describe what he beheld. The term "Pocket Venus" came briefly to mind before he thrust it aside. Coined by the glib wordsmiths of the day, it didn't begin to describe Caitlin's delicate grace and beauty. She was exquisite ... perfection itself in the shape of woman. She made his throat go dry with longing.

"Caitlin ... so lovely," he murmured, stroking her silken shoulders. He kissed the baby-soft skin where a pulse fluttered at her throat, nuzzled the sensitive place where neck and shoulder joined. His hand swept down her back and came to rest just above the curve of her buttocks. The other found her breast. He cupped it gently so not to alarm her.

"Ohh," Caitlin breathed, ceasing her own exploration as she felt his intimate touch. Then, as his thumb lightly abraded the peak: "Oh!" Pleasure, sudden as it was surprising, shot through her like heat lightning. It leapt from where his thumb teased to the woman's place at her core.

Adam felt her nipple spring to life and furl into a telltale bud. Her reaction threatened to drive him over the edge. Sweet, sweet Caitlin—so responsive, so sensually alive! It was all he could do to remember she was still an untutored innocent. She deserved to be initiated slowly and patiently. He had to disregard the firestorm erupting in his loins. Ah, but it was deuced difficult!

The erection straining his breeches knew nothing of patience.

Biting down on his raging passions, he momentarily sailed his thumb and nuzzled her ear, whispering words of praise and encouragement. At length, he felt her lean into him, her nipple contracting even more. When his fingers gently plucked it, she gasped.

"Easy, my love," he murmured. "It's all right. You're just so very new at this. Listen to your body, sweetheart. Let it teach you. Learn from it while I love you . .. while I give you pleasure."