Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (25 page)

More than the truth, his honesty affected her.

Oh, certainly she would think more about his revelation on the morrow, when her wits returned. But now, all she wanted was to touch him. Reassure him.

She swallowed. “Yes. I want to kiss you.”

His expression changed. Softened and hardened at once. She leaned back, but he was already reaching for her. He pulled her to him and crushed his mouth to hers, devoured her with his lips. There was a fever and a passion in his kiss, as if he could no longer restrain himself. As if he
needed
her.

Helen opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue inside. She matched his force with her own, straddling his lap, grabbing his shirt and pressing her breasts against his chest. His heart beat frantically, his hands grasped and roamed and could not settle. She’d never seen him like this before, so undone, not even last night when he’d shown her how to pleasure him.

He pulled her against him so tightly they could not kiss and simply lowered his head into her neck. His hot, panting breaths stirred her skin. She reached down and pulled up the hem of his shirt, forcing him to lean back so she could draw the garment over his head. Then she rained kisses over him, over his face and chest, nipping his shoulders as she lowered her palms onto the smooth skin of his abdomen.

He threaded a hand into her hair. It was shaking. The other stole up her thigh and tangled with the curls between her legs. Without warning, he slipped a finger between her damp folds. She cried out, and his hand tightened against her scalp and brought her mouth back to his.

She cradled his erection in both her hands, trying to focus as he drove her wild. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the motion with his fingers as he rubbed her and drove her higher and higher. Beyond thought, she caressed him back, hardly knowing if she was doing it the way he’d taught her. But then she was winding impossibly higher, impossibly tighter, and he was holding her close, holding her open. And still the pleasure built, stealing her breath, tightening every muscle, drawing her to a precipice between pleasure and need. And she was crying out against his mouth, shuddering and throbbing as he was kissing her, devouring her.

Then he lifted his hips and thrust into her hand and cried out into the night.

***

T
HEY DID NOT SLEEP
, but watched the single candle dance and sputter in the darkness. Beneath the hayloft, the horses shuffled softly on the earthen floor, and Mittens scampered here and there, hunting his dinner.

Roane leaned back against the stone wall and held Helen in his lap. She sat sideways, resting her head against his bare chest. He could hold her like this forever. He nuzzled his head into her hair, drinking in the moment. Content for now.

His body wanted more.

His
heart
wanted more.

But he would not press her. He was lucky she’d not run screaming into the hills after the truths he’d just shared. She’d stayed. She’d given herself to him. He couldn’t ask for more.

“News of the Midnight Rider reached London,” she murmured into the quiet.

“Mmm.” So, they were back to this. Of course they were.

“I saw the caricatures in the paper.” She looked up at him. “Did you see them?”

“I did, yes.” He smoothed a hand down her hair. “It was years ago, Helen. I am surprised you remember.”

She nestled into him. “It was all anyone talked about. How could I forget?”

Indeed, he was afraid of this. That no one would forget. At least Helen did not seem upset. She was surprisingly calm, truth be told. But his heart still listed sideways, waiting for her to yell or cry or simply pull away. He tightened his arms around her, as if he wouldn’t let her go.

“Zeus, is he the same horse?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. He is very large.” She traced his collarbone. “Will the Midnight Rider ride once more? There are many who hope—”

“No.”

“Because you do not wish to face the law?”

“Yes. And because that part of my life is over. I don’t wish to go back.”

“Why not?”

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to convince him to take up his illegal activities once again. “I was a thief, Helen. A highwayman.”

She pushed away from his chest and looked up at him. “Many considered you a hero. People still tell tales of your deeds. Fighting the landlords who abused their tenants—”

“I’d wager half those stories are not true.” He dropped his arms to his knees. “I’m no hero.”

She took her time, considering this. Her gaze wandered over his face, and he wondered what she saw there. “Then what parts are true?” she asked quietly.

“The part where I stole things.”

She stiffened. “This stolen money… is any of it in the gold we are seeking?”

“No. None of it. All the money I stole, I gave away.”

“Like Robin Hood.”

He took a deep breath, let it out. He wanted her to know the truth, all of it. Not some romantic story that was passed through the drawing rooms of London. “Some liken me to the man, but I don’t deserve the comparison. My motives were not pure; I was not fighting for truth or fairness. Those things were there, conveniently enough, and I may have
thought
I was a force of good. But, in the end, that was not my motivation. I was…I was muddled, and drunk off the adventure. It is only by luck no one got shot.”

“Did you…” Her voice quieted. “Did you take anyone’s life?”

“No. Never that. Just their money and their pride. I targeted a group of noblemen who had swindled my father. I was after revenge and I made them pay.”

“But underneath it all, you did care about the people you helped.” She stroked his chest like he was a big cat. Like she could make him purr. “You didn’t keep the money; you gave it away.”

He caught her hand, trapped it in his own. He wasn’t a big cat; he didn’t need placating, not right now. “The noblemen had hurt more than just my father, and I sought to help those who could not help themselves. But don’t try to make me into something I am not, Helen. In the end, I will choose myself.”

“I don’t believe you. You have not tried to take undo advantage of me. You have helped me when it was at cost to you. And you would not let me give away Mittens. You are my hero, Roane.”

He eyed her, exquisitely uncomfortable with the praise. “I should have tried harder to seduce you early on. Now you have this overinflated opinion of me.”

“It’s hardly that inflated.” She smiled up at him and, he couldn’t help it, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And, no matter what you say, I still think you are a good man.”

“No one is good for a simple reason.”

“I never said your reasons were simple.” She was quiet a long moment. “I thought you were not close with your father. Why did you seek revenge for him?”

Roane took a deep breath. This was a question he’d asked himself many times. “He was my father, whatever else was between us. I thought perhaps this would make amends in my heart. I didn’t know what else to do. He was dead, and I still…wanted something.”

“Did it help?”

“No. Death is death. It has no place for anger.” He watched the candle for a long moment, the old feelings burning inside him. “I can’t explain the burden of being rejected by your own father, as if your life means nothing. As if you have less worth than his hounds. It takes a toll on a man. I think—and I’ve had much time to think on this, crossing the world and back—I think I just wanted to be a better man than him. To prove to myself I had worth, even if he never acknowledged it. You know, when I wanted to join the cavalry, he said I ‘lacked fortitude.’ Those were his very words, ‘lacked fortitude.’ ” Roane was quiet a moment, hearing the echo of his father’s voice, an echo he’d never been able to silence. “As if he knew me. The man knew nothing about me.
Nothing
.”

He glanced down at Helen in his lap. She was still, barely breathing, as if she feared he’d stop talking if she so much as exhaled. Little did she know he needed to tell her this. He needed her to see him for the man that he was.

“In the end, my father was the weak one. No,” Roane interrupted himself, “I don’t need to judge him. He was simply human, and he was fooled by a group of men selling falsified investments in a land scheme. He was ruined. Absolutely ruined, and died soon after. Somehow, I had the idea if I exacted revenge for him, if I righted the wrongs done by these men, I would be absolved of my worthlessness. I’d take my place as his real son. I had a grand adventure as the Midnight Rider at first. The power and danger were intoxicating. But, in the end, my plan didn’t work. I will always be a bastard, unwanted and unclaimed. I cannot change the truth, I can simply learn to accept it.”

“Roane.” Helen placed her hand on his heart. He could hear the sadness in her voice, the same sadness that plagued him still, would always plague him. But he no longer fought it.

He pressed her hand against his chest. “My sister, Mazie, was being held as an accomplice to the Midnight Rider, and I was captured trying to free her. I was given a lenient sentence, being I offered insurmountable evidence against the men I robbed, and she was released.”

“A lenient sentence?”

“Three years in Australia. I served them. Now, I am free.”

And he felt free, having told Helen the truth. Free and sad at once. He didn’t like to think of this part of his past, but sharing it with her helped. More than he’d anticipated.

“The drawings in your journal, they are of Australia.”

“Yes, mostly.” He kissed the top of her head. “Some are of you.”

“And the scars on your back.”

He let out a deep breath. “My first months there, I was ill from the ocean crossing and very weak. I couldn’t make sense of my loss of freedom—it was like there were chains inside my chest, keeping me from breathing. An older gentleman befriended me and taught me the way of things, like how to wrap my head so I could sleep with the constant commotion of fifty men, and how to sneak extra food and water. One night, the guards found gin in our barracks. I knew it was his, but I claimed it was mine, feeling I owed him a debt. I was strapped to a board and given a brutal lashing, more brutal than I’d thought possible. I wasn’t certain I’d survive it.”

“The older man never spoke up?”

“Why would he, when I was foolish enough to take his place?”

“My God.” She hugged him close. “Did he even thank you?”

“He avoided me after that, most likely out of guilt. And I learned to keep my mouth closed. I just wanted to endure and get home. Eventually, I was moved to a private estate and lived in the stables. That situation was much more comfortable.”

She pushed away from him so she could study his face. He didn’t try to hide whatever was written there. With a soft hand, she traced his jaw. “I am so sorry, Roane. It all sounds just awful.”

“I did learn
some
valuable lessons, like patience, and how to control my anger. In the end, I cannot change my past. If I always fight against my father’s rejeciton, I am still a prisoner. I try to focus on my future. I don’t think I ever really cared about it before. Now, its all I have.”
My future and you.
He pulled her back against him. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“I want you closer.”

“Are you trying to change the topic?”

“Perhaps.” He ran his finger down her side. “Is it working?”

“Perhaps.”

He buried his head in her hair. She was everything bright and shining and promising. Everything lovely and soft and strong. Everything he longed for. He wanted to hold her forever. But, as different as their lives were, he knew that was not possible. She was waiting for an extraordinary man, and he was just an outlaw. He was simply lucky she’d not run away yet.

“Promise me one thing, Helen.” He traced the shell of her ear. “Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

She curled into him, rested her head against his heart. “I promise.”

H
ELEN FOLLOWED
R
OANE
out of the field barn early in the morning as mist was still rising over the sea of grass. She drank in the earthy scene, a strong feeling in her heart that all was right with the world.

Roane trusted her. Had confided his deepest secrets to her.

They were close to the gold.

And she was alive. Gloriously, wonderfully
alive
.

Leaning forward in her saddle, she breathed in the smell of living things. Is this what had drawn Roane to the mountains, those years ago? This feeling of being part of something larger, something beyond the scope of mere man? He’d been a boy without a father, a youth without a home…she could see where the hills welcomed him, judged him only for the truth of his actions and the courage in his heart, not his last name.

The sunrise crested the trees and hit the mist, casting a hazy light in every direction. If she stilled herself enough, she was certain she could hear the grass breathe. The sky sing. The pulse of the world was in the meadow.

It was all so achingly beautiful, but
why
? For what purpose was the world made so lovely? Why was the lilting birdsong so elegant, the sunlight on the mist so peaceful? What if no one had happened upon this valley to appreciate it?