Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (22 page)

“A penny for your thoughts?” Roane asked. “You look very serious.”

Helen gazed down at the path, considering her answer. This section of meadow was rife with bluebells. The flowers, a deep shade of indigo that bordered on purple, bent over and curled in toward themselves as if the weight of their wild beauty was too much to bear.

They inspired her.

“I was, well, I was thinking about what you said earlier, about knowing what I want.”

His hand tightened around hers. “And what do you want from your life, Helen?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced at him, then up at the darkening sky. “I mean, I want what everyone wants. Comfort. Safety. Happiness for myself and my family.”

“And what does that look like? What would a perfect day be for Lady Helen Gladstone?”

“Harry would be sober and the house would be calm, I suppose.”

“But that is about Harry, and you cannot control him. What about
you
?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Very well, I will give you an example.” Roane swung her arm companionably as they walked. “A perfect day for me would be waking up and making love to my wife, eating a hearty breakfast, and going for a long ride on a young horse I am training. I would tour the edge of my property, enjoy being the king of my own domain, and then return home. I’d scoop up my children and give them kisses, and one more for my wife, then enter the bustling world of my famous and lucrative horse stables.”

She glanced over at him. He was looking off in the distance, as if he could see his future. “That is very descriptive. You have it all figured out.”

“I’ve had time to think on it.”

“Truthfully, I’ve been so busy worrying about my brothers, and cleaning up their various messes, I’ve not thought what I wanted. Other than my freedom from more men. I shudder to think what would happen if I married a man who was careless. It would be my nightmare.”

“What about a man who was kind?”

“Are there such men?” she teased. “And who would watch out for Harry? I cannot leave until he is settled.”

“You are not your brother’s keeper.”

“James died, Roane. Harry is all I have left. Someone has to watch over him.”

“Watch over him? How old is he, five? He is a grown man, he must learn his own lessons. Besides, you have more than just Harry, you have yourself, and your friends, and perhaps a man who loves you. What of children?” She opened her mouth but he interrupted her “and do not tell me Harry is like your child.” She closed her mouth.

He stopped walking and turned to face her. He tucked the pistol into its holster and took both her hands in his. “Let’s start with something easy. What do you want from me? Right now. And not for any other reason than you want it for yourself, everything else be damned.”

She bit her lip, doubting she had the courage to say it. But he didn’t push or prompt, simply waited. Crickets sang in the grasses and the first star of the evening twinkled overhead.

And he just watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. He was golden and gorgeous and so surprisingly
gentle
.

“I want to touch you.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Go on,” he rasped when she said nothing more.

“I want… I want you to teach me the ways between a man and a woman. I want…nobody talks about it, especially with an unmarried miss. But I am two-and-twenty and I want to understand.”

“Is that all?” His voice was close to a growl, and she realized his hands gripped hers.

Her heart was slamming in her chest, now, her pulse pounding in her ears. “I want to give you pleasure,” she whispered.

Roane tugged her into him as if he would kiss her, but he stopped himself and let go of her hands. He ran his fingers though his hair, leaving it on end. “Your husband should teach you these things.”

“
If
I marry, he will be an extraordinary man, and he will understand. Besides, I don’t want to wait.”

He was breathing fast, now. So was she.

“I am not going to seduce you, or tempt you, or make this easier for you. Understand, Helen? You are in charge. You start when you want. You stop when you want.”

She nodded, her voice lodged in her throat.

Hand in hand, they stumbled back to their campsite. Roane let go of her hand, put the pistol away, then lounged back against a rock by the low fire. He didn’t reach for her, just watched her with his half-lidded eyes. “I won’t move.”

But he was moving. His chest was rising and falling with his rapid breath. Just watching him made her feel breathless.

“I won’t move,” he repeated. “You come to me.”

She felt pulled toward him as surely as if there were a rope around her waist. Every part of her, every shadow, every corner, wanted him. Wanted to know him. His taste. His smell.

She inched closer.

His throat bobbed with a swallow.

She inched closer still.

His hands were fists on his legs, as if it were all he could do not to reach out for her.

One last scoot toward him and she could feel the warmth rolling off him into the wild night.

Everything about this moment was dangerous and unwise. She did not care.

She placed both her palms on his chest. His muscles bunched and jumped under her touch. Leaning into him, she dared to kiss the corner of his mouth. He tasted like wild herbs.

She pulled back and looked up at him. He said nothing, but his eyes, his brown eyes burned into her.

Pressing into him once more, she placed her mouth against his and kissed him. Really kissed him. Wrapped her hands around his shoulders, opened her mouth, and claimed his tongue.

“Amft.” She did not know what he said. It did not matter. He was sliding his arms around her. Pulling her tight against him.

And it was heaven, sheer heaven.

His scruff was rough against her lips. The calluses of his fingers scraped against the soft skin of her upper arms.

She shivered, licked his lower lip. “Kiss me.”

And he did. He slanted his head and pressed his lips to hers. His hand slid into her hair, anchoring her head as his mouth swept across hers again and again, little licks and bites making her moan.

His tasted like man. Like sin.

It was better than she could have imagined. All of it. Him. His taste. His smell. The thrill of his touch on her.

She was sinking. Drowning. And she did not care.

She slid her palms down his torso and cupped his hardness.

He caught her hand. “You don’t have to do this. You can focus on your own pleasure.”

“I want to touch you.”

“Be certain, Helen. Pleasure comes from honesty.”

“In all honesty, I know what I want. Take your shirt off.”

“As the lady wishes.” His voice was a low growl. He pulled his shirt over his head and stood before her bare to the waist.

She greedily explored his warm skin and taut muscle.

Her hands shook, but not from fear or apprehension. She was in control and she was honest. And she wanted him.

He was glorious. She caressed his bare chest, the smooth skin and wiry hair. Her fingers passed over his nipple, and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth as if she’d hurt him. She ran her hands up the sides of his ribs and felt the edge of a scar. The lash marks. “What happened?”

She thought he might stiffen or pull away. Instead, he kissed her jaw. “I found myself at the wrong end of a whip. You would probably say I was being a hero, or some such nonsense. I say I was a bloody fool, putting my nose where it didn’t belong.”

Helen bit the inside of her lip, wanting to ask more and fearing the answers. Everything in her wanted to know more about Roane, was hungry for the truth of him. He was the most interesting man she had ever met, and she would trade anything for his stories, for his pain, for his happiness. He made her feel like living, really living, and she wondered at the secret of him.

Later, she would ask again later.

Tonight was for pleasure. She lowered her hand to his falls and brushed his hardness. His hips jerked.

She unbuttoned the side buttons, opened the flap, and freed his erection. “Show me.”

Roane took her hand and slid it over his skin. He was surprisingly soft atop all that hardness. Then he taught her just how to hold him. How to stroke. He murmured encouragement until she was moving on her own, and his head was thrown back, and he’d given himself over to her. And she was giddy with it. And his pleasure was her pleasure. And he showed her just how to hold nothing back.

At some point, they fell to the bedroll, a tangle of tongues and lips and hands and honest, heartfelt words. Until all that was left was truth. Wild truth. And bluebells, shining under the bright, bright moon.

R
OANE WOKE UP HARD.
A
GAIN.

Blast it all, last night he’d finally gotten the release he needed. But his cock just stood up this morning and shouted “More, more! Teach her to use her mouth!”

His cock was a nuisance, sometimes.

Beside him, Helen rolled over and kicked her feet. “Stop that, Mittens.”

And so was their pattern established. The kitten and his cock were both annoyingly frisky in the morning.

Roane swatted Helen’s backside just to hear her squeal, then hauled himself out of bed. They needed to be on the trail first thing, else he’d stay in bed all day. It was imperative they keep their lead on the three men following them.

But, the damned thing was, he still didn’t know which direction to ride for the gold. He readied the horses and focused his thoughts. North, south, east or west… if they made a wrong move, the robbers could find the treasure first. Or worse.

He just wouldn’t make a wrong move.

“I need your opinion,” he said to Helen as he walked back into the campsite. She

crouched by the fire, carefully placing the pot on the hot coals for coffee. “You’ve figured out a number of the clues. Which way should we go?”

She looked up at him and, for a moment, all he could see was the expression on her face when she peaked. Head thrown back, muscles drawn…

He was never going to forget her. He’d think of her when he was old and crotchety, and he’d smile. He’d tell his nurse
I touched the sun, once.

“Might I see the map?” she asked, too innocent to read his thoughts.

“There’s nothing on it,” he grumbled, handing her the parchment.

Helen stood and scanned the paper. “I still don’t understand this part about
lips divine
and
on you was she
.”

Roane tried to dismiss her question with a wave of his hand. This was
not
the conversation he wanted to have this morning. “It has nothing to do with today.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But what does it mean?”

“We, ah.” Roane looked away. He supposed he owed her the truth. “We quarreled over a woman.”

“Over a
woman
?” She didn’t sound happy, not that he’d expected her to. “You stole James’ lover?”

“No,” Roane barked. God, this was all wrong. “We can discuss this later. Right now we need to—”

“I’m riding across half of England because you and James fought over
a woman
?” Her voice was louder now. Between them, the pot of water was boiling, spitting into the fire.

Roane lifted the lid from the kettle and poured coffee grounds into the water. Then he moved the pot off the hot coals, letting it cool down a touch. “To be fair, James had no claim upon Jeanette. She was my interest as much as she was his. I just happened to win.”

“You
won
her? Like at cards?”

“No.” He straightened and shook his head hard. “That was a poor choice of words. She
chose
me.”

Helen huffed at the map. “And where did you meet this Jeanette?”

“Southampton.”

“What were you doing—” She held up her hand. “Actually, I don’t want to know. You are correct: it has no bearing on today. I vote north. It seems James has laid out a direct path so far. Why change it now?”

“I was thinking the same.” Roane sighed, relieved they were back to safer topics. “North it is, then.”

Two hours later, after they’d downed their scalding coffee and ridden hard for a handful of miles, Roane stopped to look around.

North didn’t seem to be working.

Beside him, Helen smacked her arm, presumably to swat a fly away. “We were in this valley earlier, were we not?”

“No.”

“Are we riding in circles?”

“Of a sort.”

“Are we lost?” she prodded.

“No.”

“Well, it seems we are rather wandering about. And all these valleys do look the same, though they are quite lovely.”

They were deep into the Yorkshire Dales, now. Once again, Roane felt like they were on a ship—up one hill then down another. Up again, then down. He scrubbed his face. “We are riding in this pattern on purpose, to confuse the men following us.”

“So you know where we are?”

He scowled, frustrated. “There
is
a rather annoying lack of landmarks amongst all the monotony.”