Forevermore (5 page)

Half an hour later, Clarice was stepping into a well-used rental rowboat.

Warm sunshine glinted off her plaited brown bun as she seated herself on the wooden bench and settled her pale yellow skirts about her. Cameron took up the oars and paddled them into the center of the River Caine, where the gently flowing water took over the work, drawing them downstream.

"A lovely day, isn't it?" He set down the oars and swept off his hat, tilting his face to the sun with an appreciative sigh. "I'd wager it's raining now in Scotland."

"Do you think so?"

"Aye." He moved to sit beside Clarice, one hand near to hers where it was clenched on the edge of the bench. "A good bet, as it's usually raining. Though it's beautiful for all of that." England was pretty, especially here by the river, but he preferred the more striking, harsh contours of his homeland. Inching his hand closer, he linked his little finger with hers. "Scotland is a bonnie place to live."

Without pulling her hand away, she stared straight ahead, feigning interest in a pair of swans floating on the river. "I'm certain Scotland is lovely. But so very far from here."

"Not so far." He twined another finger with hers. "Caithren has already promised to pay a visit next summer."

"But she's from there, isn't she? She would want to go home."

"Her home is here now, with her husband. As it should be." A quick bit of maneuvering, and three of his fingers were wrapped about a like number of hers. "But aye, she'll want to come see me and keep an eye on what I've wrought with the land of our forebears."

Her hand felt cool, her fingers slightly roughened from her work. More evidence, had he not known it already, that she stood on her own two feet and did what had to be done.

He wanted a woman who would shoulder her fair share of the never-ending tasks around Leslie. His cousin Caithren was like that, and the more time he spent in Clarice's company, the more he found himself thinking she was the same sort of woman. The sort of woman who would be a helpmate and a friend as well as a wife.

He blinked at that thought. "Has the village always been your home?"

"Always. I've never once laid my head anywhere else." She shot a swift glance to their joined hands. "I was born here in Cainewood…more than thirty years ago."

Cameron didn't miss the falter in her voice. "And you're thinking that's a long time, are you?"

She pulled her hand away and folded it with the other one in her lap. "I'm nearly thirty-two. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," he said, shifting on the bench to face her.

Her eyes grew hazy, contemplative…disappointed? "Just as I thought," she said, drawing a deep breath. "I appreciate your attentions, Sir—"

"Cameron. Just call me Cameron."

Clarice hesitated. While she didn't want to anger him by ignoring the request, she didn't want to encourage him, either. A small part of her had hoped he only
looked
youthful, that he was her age or maybe just a year or two younger.

But twenty-four! Lud, she was eight years his senior!

And a widow with a child.

"I appreciate your attentions," she repeated, omitting the
Sir
this time. "It's quite flattering under the circumstances—"

"And what circumstances might those be?"

She averted her gaze, but the yellow buttercups that dotted the riverbank looked entirely too cheerful. "I'm nearly a decade older than you."

"A slight exaggeration," he said. "And you've lived your entire life here in Cainewood. I reckon I've seen more of the world."

"What does that have to do with—"

"I assure you, Clarice, the difference in our ages doesn't matter."

For the first time, she sensed an impatience in him that should have frightened her, given her background. But for some odd reason, it didn't. Or not much.

She drew herself up. "How about my feelings, sir? Do they matter?"

"Of course your feelings matter." Leaning near, he captured her gaze with his. "But maybe you'll find that I can change them."

He was close, so close. Too close. She couldn't breathe. With a straight face, this man—this baronet—was flirting with her.

It was insane.

And even more insane, part of her wished he was serious.

Her heart fluttered as it hadn't since her all-too-short youth. Evidently the fairytale hadn't ended yet. But it would, and then she would fall back to Earth, hurt again by a man.

Because that was what men did to women.

Somehow, she managed to find air. "You cannot just wish my feelings different—"

He silenced her with a kiss that stole her breath again, along with her words. A sweet brush of his mouth that weakened her knees with its tenderness. When he pulled back, she stared at him, silent.

His eyes darkened with concern. "Is something amiss?"

"Your lips are soft," she murmured. She'd never known a man's lips could be soft. Her husband's sure hadn't been.

Cameron's gentle smile warmed her. "So are yours."

"But—"

"Hush." His mouth touched hers again, more insistent this time. His arms slid around to pull her close, and she scooted along the bench until her body was pressed tightly to his. On their own, it seemed, her hands crept up and stole around his neck, meshing themselves in the silky-softness of his shoulder-length hair.

She was lost in a whirl of sensation. As his lips moved over hers, she abandoned herself to the feeling. So strange, so thrilling, so wondrous…

So improper.

She pulled away, glancing about, relieved to find they'd drifted far enough downstream that no one else was in sight. "I—"

"Hush," he said again, grabbing her back to him and pressing his forehead against hers.

She stared into his eyes, so very close to hers, sensing in their depths an earnestness and an honesty she'd never before seen in any man. But it was only because he was so young. He hadn't experienced the way life could bruise and batter, not just the body but also the spirit.

"You liked that," he said, his tone leaving no space for her to argue. "So why are you trying to escape?"

"I'm not." She tried to shake her head, but only succeeded in rubbing noses. Lud, even that felt good. "I just…I only…well, you surprised me, is all."

"I want to take you home with me, Clarice Bradford. I told you so yesterday."

"You were jesting," she breathed, trying not to hope he hadn't been.

His lips grazed hers again, and she closed her eyes, then released a little whimper when he deprived her of their warm caress.

A low laugh escaped his throat. "Aye, you like it. And I'm not so sure I was jesting."

Before she could react to that, his mouth met hers once more, with a fiery possession that sent the blood racing through her veins. When his lips coaxed hers apart, she was helpless to resist. His tongue swept inside, hot and emphatic, yet still gentle in his way. She paused in shock and then tentatively reached her own to touch it, reveling in the new sensations.

It seemed a long time before he pulled back. As she fought to catch her breath and regain her senses, he caressed her cheek with the backs of his long fingers. "You're an innocent," he murmured, his hazel eyes growing murky. "But you cannot be. You have a daughter, a lovely bright daughter such as I've never seen."

"I didn't give birth to Mary," she admitted softly. "She was brought to me an orphan, a year ago, by Lord Cainewood. But I'm not innocent. I was married fourteen years. And…" She looked down, her gaze settling on the bottom of the old boat.

He touched her hand. "And you were nearly raped, is that what you wanted to tell me? You needn't say the words. I've learned from Caithren what happened—your sorry tale that brought her new husband out for justice and into her arms. Lord Cainewood blames himself, as I understand it."

"It wasn't his fault, though I reckon he may feel responsible. The man was out to hurt him and mistakenly thought he could do it through me. He thought"—she pushed at one of the oars with the toe of her shoe, then looked up at him—"he thought I was Lord Cainewood's mistress."

He rubbed a thumb under her chin. "You're certainly pretty enough."

She wasn't used to compliments—not from the men in her life. The truth was, she didn't know how to respond to them. So she didn't. "The man would have finished the job he'd started, except for what happened to Mary."

"Which was?"

"She was in his way. So he slammed her against a wall. When she lay there, still as death, he took off, afraid he'd killed her."

"Which he almost did, from what I've been told."

She nodded gravely. "She didn't awaken for weeks. But she's better now."

"Thank God for that."

"I do," she said in a whisper. "Every day." From the look in her eyes, Cameron didn't doubt it. "But the truth is that now I'm healed I don't think of my own ordeal overmuch…it was nothing that hadn't happened to me before."

He'd known it somehow, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. "Before?"

"Within my marriage."

He was silent for a long moment before he reached two fingers to lift her chin. "It's sorry I am for you, Clarice. I'm sorry you were hurt, this last time and the times before. And I'm sorry because…I don't understand. As a man, I don't think I'll ever understand."

"You understand very well," she said, wonder in her voice.

Cameron moved away, giving her the space he sensed she needed. "Tell me about your marriage."

"I was fifteen." She focused down at her hands clasped in her lap. "My folks had other mouths to feed. Will needed a wife, children. He was getting on in years—forty-five, he was—and he wanted to breed a family to support him in his dotage."

"Your parents married you off to a man thrice your age?"

She looked up, her eyes flashing with challenge. "Is that so different from what you're asking?"

He gazed at her unblinkingly. "Aye. It is."

For a moment, that challenge persisted. He admired her for that spirit. He'd never wanted a pliable woman.

At length a long sigh escaped her lips. "It's the done thing. I was a good daughter. I offered no argument." She shrugged. "I spent my childhood working my hands to the bone in their home. I thought marriage would be easier."

"But it wasn't."

"Not with Will. All I wanted was a family of my own, a family I could do better with, children I could cherish. But…"

"What?" He leaned to touch her clasped hands. "Tell me."

"Will couldn't give me that." Her voice broke, and she paused for a breath. "He betrayed our vows with other women, and he never gave them children, either."

A beat of silence stretched between them. And then, "Marriage doesn't have to be like that, Clarice. Painful and empty and childless." Rushing on, he took her hands in his and squeezed. "It wouldn't be like that with me."

"Marriage! You're jesting again." But he looked uncertain, surprised by his own words, and Clarice was afraid he mightn't be jesting, after all. "Even were I to take you seriously, and our age difference aside, sir, the fact remains that Mary and I are better off alone. In all my life, I've never been happier than I am now…and I don't mean to change my circumstances."

Without a word, he trailed one finger alongside her face, and her cheeks heated even as she tightened her jaw.

And her resolve. "No matter what my body tells me, my head knows what's best."

He held her hands between his. "You speak of your body and your head. But what does your heart tell you, Clarice?"

Birds twittered in the background while she searched his face, a face smooth and unlined, unmarred by the countless frowns and endless anger that had so characterized the only man she had lived with as a wife.

He'd asked what her heart told her, but she didn't trust it now. "My heart is not at issue here. I—I cannot marry you, Cameron. You're…you're a baronet, for God's sake!" She struggled until he let loose her hands. "I cannot marry a baronet."

A new protest. Cameron wondered if it was progress or a step back. "Whyever not? You sound like the little sister."

"Who?"

"The little sister, from the story of Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit. She knew her feet were small enough they might fit the shoe, but she couldn't imagine herself as the wife of a prince. Do you remember? She thought people would make fun of her and say she wasn't fit to be a princess."

Clarice remained mute.

"Don't sell yourself short, love. You're fit to be a queen. It's sorry I am that I can only make you a mere Lady."

The boat rocked violently when she stood. "This is not a fairytale, and I'm not the little sister. These big feet won't fit into any glass shoes. I'm tall, not dainty. Too tall—"

"You're not too tall for
me
." He stood as well, to demonstrate, and the boat swung even more. She swayed wildly. Alarmed, he grabbed for her, but she leapt away.

And flailed backward, headfirst into the river.

Cameron dove in after Clarice, clasping her close when she came up sputtering.

"Lud!" She laughed, a sound of pure delight that shocked him out of his wits. He'd expected her to be furious. "You're turning my life upside down, Cameron Leslie. Literally."

The water was frigid, and her teeth were already chattering, her lips turning a decided shade of blue. There was only one thing to do.

Kiss the warmth right back into them.

He dragged her against himself, treading water while he pressed his mouth to hers. He was shocked a second time when she cooperated fully. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. He was certain he'd never felt anything as glorious as this willowy, wet woman fused to him, her every curve melding against his body as though they'd been made for each other.

They kissed long and deep, until he realized they were slowly drifting downstream—and the boat was drifting faster. "Hell."

"Wh-what?" Her voice sounded drugged and dreamy.

With a heartfelt groan, he kissed her again, thrilling when her tongue entered his mouth of her own volition.