Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (17 page)

His head exploded into sharp, blinding pain.

Blackness.

“What do you suppose his intentions are?” Eleanor asked as she and Emma closed and secured an outside shutter on the house. They’d begun the task after James had ground out, “I need to see to my horse” and had led the large beast toward the small barn. For the briefest of moments, when he took her in his arms and slashed his mouth over hers, Emma had dared believe he was here for another reason. But his kiss had been punishing, his arms like iron bands around her. He was furious. Not that she blamed him. But she also knew he possessed a kindness, a gentleness. But more, he understood justice. She’d seen, touched, the scars on his back. If anyone knew the unfairness of the criminal justice system, it would be him.

“I suspect he intends to return us to London where we can pay for our sins.”

“If that’s the case, then he only needs to take me,” Eleanor said stubbornly. “After all, I’m the one who actually did the deed.”

She loved her sister dearly for striving to spare her. “We’re in this together.”

With a sigh, Eleanor marched around the corner to close up the next window. Emma began to follow, then changed her mind. She needed to speak with James—alone. She was halfway to the barn when she saw his horse grazing nearby. She wondered if James had no luck finding grain for beast. Quickening her pace, she entered the barn. Her heart pounded in her chest at the sight of him sprawled near a straw-filled stall. “Oh, my God.”

Rushing over, she knelt beside him. She could see blood matting his hair. Very gently, she moved the strands aside. He had a nasty gash on the side of his head. The horse must have—

James’s eyes flew open. She released a startled gasp. The walls spun dizzily around as he grabbed her and flipped her onto her back on the straw before pouncing on her like some wild beast. She started to pound her fists into him, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head. His face was pained, but she thought it was more an emotional pain than a physical one. His harsh breathing echoed around her.

Then his face gentled, almost as though against his will. He held her wrists with one meaty paw while he used his other hand to stroke her cheek. “Eleanor,” he rasped, a wealth of emotion wrapped in the single word. She could hardly stand to hear her sister’s name uttered between his lips.

“Emma,” she corrected softly.

“Emma.” He lowered his head until his breath was wafting over her cheek like the first breeze of spring, gentle but determined to herald in the change of seasons. “Emma.”

She didn’t protest when his mouth covered hers, but the kiss was very much like the one he’d delivered at the door, harder, almost desperate, as though he wanted to recapture what they’d had in London but knew as well as she did that it was lost to them. He was correct. Whatever they’d been building was erected on the faulty foundation of lies and deception. It couldn’t withstand the storm of betrayal. It would crumble, and if he possessed even a shred of mercy, he’d allow it to be swept out to sea.

But at that moment she sensed there was no mercy in him. His hand tightened around her wrists until her fingers began to numb. Yet she didn’t tell him to stop, because to do so would mean moving her mouth away from his, and she wasn’t yet ready to give that up. How was she to know which stroke of his tongue would be the last? When would his lips stop molding themselves against hers?

His large hand cradled her side, slid down it, and tucked her up more firmly beneath him. The weight of him felt so very good. He was sturdy like a rock along the shoreline, which the wave—no matter how mighty it might be—could not move. He smelled slightly different than he had in London. Now she inhaled the scent of horse, leather, and salt from the sea air that had blown through his hair as he’d traveled to find her. Yet beneath it all, she detected the essence that was him. Everything about him was wonderful. Everything about him would soon be stripped away from her and reduced to memories that would haunt the remainder of her life.

“Well, what have we here?”

Emma startled at Eleanor’s voice echoing through the barn. James lifted his head, then went very still. She could see the confusion in the green eyes she adored, and she was left to wonder if the blow to the head had disoriented him. Anger and disappointment clouded his gaze just before he rolled off her. With a low groan, he sat back against the side of the stall and put his hand to the back of his head.

“I think his horse must have kicked him,” Emma said, her face growing warm with embarrassment. Scrambling to her feet, she nearly lost her balance. She’d forgotten how weak her legs became whenever he kissed her. They were like jam trying to support her. “He has a nasty gash.”

“Yes, I saw his horse out there,” Eleanor said. “That’s the reason I thought I should investigate.”

“You should come to the house so I can stitch you up,” Emma offered him quietly.

“I’ll finish seeing to your horse,” Eleanor said.

“Don’t even think about running,” James commanded in a stern voice. “There is nowhere on this earth that you can go that I will not find you.”

Eleanor threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “In case it’s failed your notice, Mr. Swindler, there’s a storm coming. Only a fool would run in the storm.”

Judging by the harsh, uncompromising look James gave Eleanor, Emma was of a mind that only a fool
wouldn’t
run when the predator was near.

Chapter 14

S
windler sat in a chair near a window in an upstairs bedchamber so Eleanor—no, Emma—

would have better light by which to work, because they’d closed up the windows downstairs. He couldn’t deny that her sister had the right of it. He could see heavy dark clouds rolling forward in the distance, dimming the sunlight. He tried to focus on the weather but seemed unable to concentrate on anything other than Emma’s slender fingers gently parting his hair. He felt the fool for allowing her to entice him into wanting her. The hell of it was that she didn’t even need to try.

“This is likely to hurt,” she said softly.

“As you’re well aware, I’ve suffered worse. Just get on with it.”

As she worked the needle through his flesh, he clenched his jaw, but everything else remained as still as stone. Well, not quite everything. His heart pounded erratically with her nearness. Emma. Strange, but the name suited.

“Tell me about your sister,” he commanded.

“Eleanor can be quite stubborn when—”

“Not Eleanor. Elisabeth. Three of you were born on the same day.”

“Yes. I told you the truth there. Elisabeth was the first, I was the last, and Eleanor came between us. Our mother did die in childbirth. We were too much for her. Her death nearly broke my father’s heart, I think. He hired a lady from the village to watch over us, but he gave us little time. It’s the way of it, I suppose. What do men know of children? Did your father ignore you?”

He didn’t want to think of his father, didn’t want to talk about his past, but still he answered. “No. He and I were very close. We had only each other to get us through. Oh, sometimes he would spend the night in a woman’s bed, and I would sleep nearby, wondering if she was how my mother smelled, hoping he might stay with this one—a night, maybe two, and then he moved on. I take after him in that regard. I never stay long with a woman I’ve bedded.
Damnation!
”

“My apologies. The needle slipped.”

No, it hadn’t. He was fairly certain that she’d lost her concentration with his words and dug it in farther than she’d intended. He didn’t know why he’d said what he did. He only knew that he didn’t want her to realize how very important she had become to him, how devastated he’d been by her betrayal, her leaving. Because he had been interested in staying with her for more than a few nights. He’d stupidly begun planning to stay with her forever. The thought of always having her in his arms at night and waking up to find her in his bed had brought him almost as much pleasure as the act of making love to her. Now he realized that all he’d known of her was what she’d wished him to know. Without moving his head, he glanced around the bedchamber as much as he was able.

Pale green wallpaper dotted with tiny pink roses decorated the walls. A pink counterpane draped the bed. Pink curtains adorned the windows that looked out on the cliffs. “Are those the cliffs—”

“Yes,” she answered before he could finish the question. Although he couldn’t see her face, he could feel the tension radiating from her.

“Is this your bedchamber?” he asked.

“Yes.” He felt the tension drain from her.

“You like pink.”

“I adore pink.”

The room was a study in femininity. Even the white furniture had a delicate air about it. Everything in his rooms was dark, like his soul. But she was light and airy. She was joy and dreams.

“It was Eleanor that night at Cremorne Gardens, the one I rescued.”

“Yes, but I was there in the shadows. We never went out alone, always stayed within sight of each other. I saw how you protected her.”

“Which is how you recognized me the following afternoon at Hyde Park.”

“Yes.” He heard the snip of scissors, felt the tug as she tied off her handwork. She began wrapping a bandage around his head. “How do you know for certain that it was me at Hyde Park?”

“Something about you was different. I thought it was a reflection of the sunlight.” He felt like a romantic fool telling her. He should have simply kept his thoughts to himself.

“The only time both of us didn’t go out was when you began taking me around London. Eleanor was afraid you might catch us and the jig would be up.”

Unlikely that he’d have noticed her, he hated to admit to himself. All of his attention, all of his focus, had been on the lovely lady in his company.

“There, all done,” she said with a featherlike touch to his head. “You should probably try to sleep until the headache goes away.”

Because his head was pounding unmercifully and he was feeling disoriented, he brought himself to his feet, walked over to the bed and leaned against the post at its foot. “She killed Rockberry.”

Emma gave one quick nod, averting her eyes as she did so.

“You stayed with me that night deliberately to provide her with an alibi. You knew what she was about.”

She stared at the floor as though she hoped it might open up and provide her with the means for an escape. “Yes,” she whispered before lifting her gaze to his and saying more forcefully, “and no. Eleanor had gone downstairs to greet the duchess when she came to issue her invitation. I was abed with a headache. When Eleanor realized I had the opportunity to attend a ball, she decided it was the perfect night to finish what we’d begun. She assumed sooner or later Rockberry would return home, and when he did…she would see to him. My part was to stay with you until dawn. But I wanted to be with you. I came—” She licked her lips. “—to care for you.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe that part, since you ran away.”

“I didn’t see that I had a choice. You’re very clever. Sooner or later I might have said something to give us away.”

“You thought I would simply let everything go if you left?”

“I hoped…you would. I wasn’t as confident as Eleanor that you would simply shrug off my leaving.”

“Why me?”

With a sigh, she moved nearer to the window and looked out.

He could hear the wind picking up. A storm was indeed brewing, but it could never compete with the one stirring inside him. “Why me?” he repeated more harshly.

“Eleanor and I kept a constant watch on Rockberry, always taking care that he only saw one of us at a time. We nearly expired on the spot when he went to Scotland Yard. Shortly thereafter, we became aware of you following us, and we assumed you were the result of his visit with the police. Eleanor thought we could take advantage of the situation.”

“And take advantage of me.” He couldn’t contain the seething anger that escaped. She spun around. “You don’t know what he did to our sister. We were determined to avenge her. You can’t possibly imagine what it is to lose someone unjustly.”

Oh, he could. He thought of his father.

“That day in Hyde Park, when I first approached you, why had you decided it would be you who sought to…entice me into your web?”

He heard her swallow. “That was simply coincidence. Had you arrived twenty minutes later, it would have been Eleanor whom you followed. But after you made my acquaintance, we took care to make certain that it was always me who was with you. You and I talked about so much…Eleanor was afraid she might inadvertently say something to cause you to question who you were with.”

They
had
talked, about so many things. The ease with which he spoke to her had surprised him. He’d never been verbose around the ladies. He communicated in other ways. But everything with her had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced with anyone else. That she could betray him so easily—

“I’ve brought you some of my father’s whiskey,” Eleanor announced as she glided into the room. Her dress was a pale blue adorned in darker blue. It didn’t seem to suit her, but he supposed he was viewing her through a kaleidoscope of murder. Strange how he saw her as the more cunning of the two sisters, how she stirred nothing within him except disgust. If his head weren’t threatening to explode, if he were better able to think, he might not have taken the glass, but as it was, he thought whiskey could dull the pain, sharpen his thinking. He downed it, relishing the bite and the warmth that burst through his chest.

“Shall I bring you some more?” Eleanor asked.

“No, that’ll do for now.”

Eleanor watched him with obvious avid curiosity. He wondered how much Emma had shared with her. He remembered that when he first began to follow her, he’d thought her nothing special. Even the first night at Cremorne, he’d come to her defense because it was in his nature to protect the innocent. But the following afternoon, everything changed, something had been different about her. He hadn’t been able to determine exactly what it was. He’d only known that when her fingers touched his when he handed her the map, he wanted her to touch all of him. From a great distance he heard himself say, “Explain the circumstances that led to Elisabeth’s death.”