Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (7 page)

“I don’t think I can sleep now.” She was pink and bright-eyed with excitement. “Besides, the ground is hard.”

Not as hard as he would be in about a minute. “Use my bedroll.”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, fickle woman.

Roane sighed. “Sleep, Helen. The cave is dry and safe. These are elegant accommodations for the mountains.”

She made a sound almost like a snort. “Stop trying to be rid of me. I am not intimidated.”

“You should be.” He lay down on top of the bedroll she continued to refuse. “What
luck
brought us to the gold on the same day, one has to wonder.”

She didn’t answer, though he suspected she withheld some pertinent facts. It was too much of a coincidence that they should be in the same meadow at the same time.

“Do you think anything will crawl out and eat me while I am sleeping?” she asked.

Roane crossed his hands behind his head and smiled. “I will protect you.”

She looked down at him and loose strands of her hair fell across her forehead. “You would be as likely to feed me to the horrible creatures as fight them off.”

“I fought for your safety earlier.”

“You fought for the map earlier.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and her breasts swayed with the motion. God, those breasts. “Thank you,” she said, drawing his gaze back up to hers.

“You are welcome. You were fortunate I was there, Helen. The woods are no place for a lady.” He resisted the urge to say “I told you so.” “I will take you to the nearest coaching inn and see you are safely returned to London tomorrow.”

He needed to be rid of her before he did something they would both regret. Like peel off her clothing.

She was quiet for a moment. “No. I cannot go home without the gold.”

He sighed. Not this again. “The journey north will be rough and dangerous. There is no need for you to suffer needlessly when you have my word I will deliver your half directly.”

“I am going.”

Irritating woman. “Haven’t you learned your lesson? For the final time, no, you are
not
going.”

“For the final time, yes, I
am
going. You just said you would protect me from danger.”

“But who will protect you from me?”

“What nonsense. You would hardly—”

Before she could finish her ridiculous statement, he sat up, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her mouth to his. Her lips parted with surprise and, giving no quarter, he boldly swept his tongue within. God, she was delicious, soft and warm and
woman
. She tasted of the wild mint he’d put in his canteen and smelled of roses and rain. He told himself he just wanted to scare her. Make his point. But, like a gunshot, the kiss cracked through him. Shot through his skull and down the length of his bones. He was hard in an instant.

He licked her lower lip, then tugged it into his mouth. She shivered and dug a hand into his hair. Emboldened, he ran his hands up her sides and gathered handfuls of her unbound breasts. Her nipples were pebbled and she arched her back and he came undone. He needed to touch her everywhere. To bite and lave and taste her pale, smooth flesh. He grabbed her arse and pulled her onto him. Lowered his mouth to her collarbone and bent her backward and nuzzled her breasts through the fabric of her dress.

He did not realize he was crushing her ribs until she squirmed for breath.

Reluctantly, he let her go. It was that or take her right there.

She fell back onto his bedroll, and he followed so that their mouths were

separated by a mere whisper of breath. “You are not safe with me, buttercup. Not from this.”

Her breath fluttered across his lips. Like a storm gathering in the valley, caught between the high peaks, energy shifted and took shape in the hot space between their bodies.

She didn’t move.

He could have her, if he pressed. He could break apart her defenses one by one. “Do you know what I want to do to you? The places I want to touch and lick—”

She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “Enough.”

He was many things, but he was not a bully. He pressed up on shaking arms and disentangled himself from her, all the while calling himself a thousand times a fool. Whom had he taught this lesson to, exactly? For it sure seemed he was the one suffering.

He swept a sharp hand across his eyes and pressed to his feet. “Take the blanket. I will keep watch.”

Somewhere in the darkest hours of night, Roane returned to the cave, silent as a shadow. He could survive on little sleep, but he did need some rest. Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a ride to Mam Tor.

He glanced over to where Helen lay sleeping. She was not in the bedroll, silly woman, but lay huddled in her cloak. Roane climbed inside the soft wool that apparently smelled of horses and settled into the warmth. He would pretend Helen was not there, and he would sleep.

But then she pressed up against him. “I am so cold.” She sounded miserable. Roane hauled her against his side, where she curled up like a kitten. He pulled the wool blanket over both of them and she was asleep in an instant.

It was going to be a long night.

E
VERY INCH OF HER BODY HURT.

Helen groaned as consciousness fully returned. She opened her eyes to find nothing but rock. Rock ceiling, rock walls, rock floor. Cold stone seeped the heat from her flesh and left her bones aching.

The thin wool blanket was a paltry defense and, gracious, it smelled like horse. She threw the offending blanket aside and was hit with even more dank, cool air.

Everything fell back into place.

The night. Roane’s arms. The warmth of his body. The way she had kissed him. Grabbed onto the hard muscles of his arms and opened her mouth to him. And she had liked it. Had shivered for more.

Heat stung her cheeks, and she wiped her forearm across her traitorous mouth. She should not know the feel of his lips, should not even now be remembering the sweet thrill of his kiss.

Rogues were rather like insects—they lured one in with promises of sweetness before the lethal sting. She
knew
this, as the fly must know the fatal web glimmered in the dewy morning. But the shine of the dewdrops! The scent of the blossom! One could easily throw aside her life for such riches as these.

The mistake would not be repeated.

Stone bit into her blistered palm as she pushed up to sitting. Every bone and muscle hurt worse as she tried to move. “Roane?”

He did not answer.

He was gone.

Panic slammed through her like the rush of cold snowmelt in a mountain stream, jolting her fully awake. But his saddlebag was nearby, and, when she flipped open the top, she found the map. He couldn’t have left.

Her silk reticule was also in his bag—she must have forgotten it at the clearing. She snapped open her mirror and—horrors!—wished she had never looked. The lines beneath her eyes she could do nothing about. But the disaster of her hair could be fixed. She quickly pulled out the pins and dragged a comb through the tangles.

“Buttercup?”

Helen’s fingers faltered as Roane’s voice echoed from the cave entrance. She was not ready to see him yet, not after their kiss, and certainly not with her hair in tangles and her face creased from sleep.

He entered the dim room where they’d slept, a tin cup in his hands. He stopped as soon as he saw her, a lazy smile drawing across his lips. He had not shaved this morning, and his golden scruff stood out against his tanned skin and framed his gorgeous mouth. The man was too beautiful by half.

“Good morning, my lady.” His tone was soft as his eyes roamed over her. She
knew
he was thinking of last night.

“I thought you had left,” she snapped. She did not like to be flustered, and this man rattled her to no end.

“Alas, the traps are still empty. We will have to find our breakfast elsewhere.” He tilted his head to the side and watched her braid her hair. “I was wondering what your hair would look like down. It is beautiful.”

She tried to brush off his compliment, but her fingers fumbled with the blue ribbon. “You should not comment on such things. Neither should you take such…undo liberties with my person as you did last night. I am not affected in the least. Besides, it’s not proper.”

Hopefully, she sounded more convincing than she felt. He didn’t appear chastened. Indeed, his naughty smile was pure devilment. Helen scowled. She had managed plenty of fast men over the years, especially in the last few months since word of her financial situation became known, as if she’d no choice but to fall into the arms of any man who would have her. But somehow this felt different.
He
felt different.

As soon as she’d secured the ribbon on her braid, he thrust the tin cup in her direction. “Drink this. It will wake you up and get you through to our next meal.”

She wrapped her hands around the warm cup and sniffed the bitter liquid. “What is it?”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee is a vulgar beverage. I don’t drink it.” She tried to hand him back the cup, but he wouldn’t take it.

“My apologies, but I don’t have any fine tea to serve you this morning, my lady.”

She narrowed her eyes at his tone, then took a small sip of the bitter beverage and nearly spit it out. “Ugh. It’s terrible.”

Another easy smile flashed across his face. “Coffee is an acquired taste, but I wager it will grow on you.”

Doubtful, she tried another sip. At least it was warm. “You made a fire. Are there no signs of the men from last night?”

Roane lowered himself to the cave floor beside her and leaned back against the cold wall. He crossed his long legs at the ankle and looked relaxed and comfortable, like he was picnicking in Hyde Park. “Three men followed our trail as long as they could—we lost them at the river crossing. They are about a mile to the east, headed north.”

“Which way are we heading?” Actually, the coffee was not that bad.

“North.”

“That is rather unfortunate.” Her body was warming up and pulsing with energy. There might be something to this drink after all. “What shall we do?”

“
We
shall get you on a coach to London. Then
I
shall outride them. It will be easy to lose the men in the hills.”

He brushed a spot of mud from his wool cloak. She was fascinated by him. By his innate elegance and relaxed strength. “You have done this before. You’ve slept in this cave.”

He met her gaze. “Yes.”

“And you’ve ridden hard to lose men in the hills.”

His gaze wandered over her, over her bodice and ruined gown and bare feet, then returned to her face. “Something like it, yes.”

She blushed with the heat of his perusal. But he remained entirely blasé, so frustratingly nonchalant. Just who was this Roane Grantham? “And you are not afraid of these…thieves… chasing us?”

“Afraid, no. Concerned, yes. I would be a fool not to take them seriously.”

“And you are not a fool?” She let sarcasm tinge her tone.

“No.” He was serious. “Not any longer.”

She couldn’t say why, but she trusted him. Obviously James trusted him as well. “I must go with you.”

“Absolutely not. This is none of your concern.”

She drew back. “None of my concern? Half the gold is mine.”

“And you shall have it. But, at this moment, I need to put you on a coach to London. You have no place in this danger.”

Oh, it was just like a man to assume unconditional authority. She’d begun this quest of her own accord, and she’d continue on as long as she wanted. No longer did she allow men to control her life. They just made a muck of things. Too agitated to remain seated, she pushed up to standing.

“Do not tell me where my place is. I still have choices and I am going to use them.” She planted her hand on her hip. “My options are limited, but they are
mine
. And if I choose danger, then so be it. I am not some wilting violet; I can handle three men riding north. It’s not like I’ve never faced dangerous men before. My brothers were excellent at getting into trouble, but absolutely terrible at getting out of it. I—”

“What dangerous men?” he challenged. “And did you face them with nothing but a shovel? Or did you have a wall of armed footmen to protect you?”

She scowled at him, unwilling to cede the point.

“Listen, Helen, you don’t
want
to come.” Roane ran a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving the curls in wild disarray. “You don’t need to do this.”

“What I want and what I need are vastly different things. Stop telling me I don’t know my own mind.” She thrust her feet into her boots, as if he’d run off without her and she’d need to chase him.

“Careful.” He nodded toward her muddy shoes. “There might be spiders in there, or worse. You’ll want to turn them over before you put them on.”

“Stop trying to scare me. It won’t work.” But it
was
working. She froze in place, only daring to wiggle her toes. Her boots were empty. She hoped.

Roane raised a golden brow, fairly mocking her for her reaction. As if he liked insects in his boots.