Far Too Tempted (6 page)

He needed, he thought as he produced the wad of keys from his coat, a whiskey and a bed. He’d been nodding off ever since they’d stopped at an inn for dinner. Years of war had honed him to discomfort, but then again, he was also bone-deep tired.

Finally finding the right key in the dark, he unlocked the front door.

Deep gloom. He stumbled again in the front hall, cursing out loud. He was very familiar with the house—he’d been a guest there countless times—but he’d never trod along the foyer in the pitch darkness.

Odd, to think of this place as his home.

In amazement, he gaped at the changes around him as shapes came to view in the dim, dim light. Or more literally, a lack of shapes. He groped in his pocket, producing a tinderbox. In the brief flare, he saw enough.

The place had been stripped.

He knew Robert had been in dire straits, but it was still appalling to think the once gracious house had been so raped of all the treasures collected by the Roweland family for centuries. Damn you, Rob, he thought with weary condemnation, not caring so much for the loss as the desecration. Robert had always been frivolous and a bit irresponsible. His father would have done better to leave everything to Jessica. At least she had some sense.

Only, it was an insidious thought, she didn’t need anything. She was engaged to be married, or so Marcus had written. To Nathaniel Greene, no less, whose family had both social status and fortune.

He shouldn’t be surprised. A lovely child, she’d no doubt turned into a stunning woman. He had always expected it would happen.

Surely there was at least a lamp left somewhere?

Groping along, he found nothing, solidly stubbing his toe on a doorframe and uttering another loud oath. Robert certainly hadn’t lied when he said he’d done everything possible to rectify his debts.

Alex sure as hell hoped he wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have sent Paul away so quickly. A long walk to Grayston Hall with his aching shoulder didn’t hold much appeal.

Grasping the banister, Alex started up the sweeping grace of the main staircase. His booted feet sounded loud in the echoing emptiness of the great hall. And to think, he mused ruefully as he slowly climbed, he could have had all the whiskey in the world, a soft, comfortable bed, and his family around him if he’d just gone on to Grayston…

The movement caught his eye and instincts honed by years of combat made him turn at just the right second and throw up his right arm to deflect the assault. The blow was solid and hurt, but he twisted away enough to refract most of it, and he used the advantage to grasp the object that had come slamming out of the darkness and jerk hard.

He heard a soft cry and a gasp.

A slim figure in white flew past him, like a specter out of the darkness. A flesh-and-blood person, he realized as he caught the elusive scent of lilacs. In a reflexive action, he grasped at the flailing figure before it tumbled down the steps, hearing the betraying rip of cloth that signaled he caught it. A body crashed into his as he tried to swing it back to the top of the stairs.

He lost his balance and they both fell down. Hard. Right across the top step.

Alex quickly realized one thing, landing on top of his would-be assassin was definitely his pleasure.

The body underneath his was most assuredly, deliciously female. In the inadequate light, flesh gleamed ivory and satin, and his assailant lay very still now that they were sprawled together in a heap on the second story landing just above the steps. He caught the arms of his attacker and pinned them down ruthlessly above her head to prevent another attack.

There were windows at either end of the gallery, giving some faint illumination to the scene.

She wasn’t breathing.

An oval face was framed by waves of dark, lustrous hair. Long, dark lashes touched ashen cheeks, and her soft lips were parted. Levering up on his good arm, Alex frowned in concern and confusion as he stared at the woman beneath him. One of his thighs pressed over her slim hips.

Where the hell had she come from?

A whistling, gasping sound suddenly escaped her lips, and her chest heaved, moving her breasts against his chest. Slowly, her lashes lifted. Eyes of shimmering gray, almost silver, started upward. And widened in either shock or horror.

“Alex.” It was a croak.

Oh my God, he thought dimly,
Jessica
?

It could be no one else. Even in near darkness, that remarkable shade of eye color was hers alone.

“Get off me.” The order was as undoubtedly fierce as she could make it with the breath still knocked out of her, little more than a demanding whisper.

Yes, definitely Jessica. In the flesh.

Literally.

He didn’t move.

Actually, he couldn’t.

During their struggle, the flimsy garment she wore had torn. He remembered the ripping sound as he caught her, but that hardly mattered. The fact was that she lay beneath him half-naked. His gaze went involuntarily to where her breasts were visible between the destroyed halves of her chemise: perfect, full and quivering, with the darkness of her nipples exposed. Her shoulders were white and slim, and her throat worked as she swallowed convulsively. He still had her hands trapped over her head so she was powerless to resist his insistent gaze.

“Let me go,” she cried out. Color crept up to stain her neck and face. “You…you big oaf, let me go!”

She was very lovely. It was impossible not to notice. Every promise of womanhood and beauty fulfilled.

And he’d been at war a long time.

They hung there a long second, staring at each other, before she suddenly started to squirm beneath him. Her knee lifted abruptly, connecting with the part of his anatomy that was becoming so interested. Wrenching her wrists from his slackened grasp, she brought her hand up simultaneously in a jaw-cracking slap to the cheek that made his ears ring.

Damn her.

He caught her flailing hands and shoved them again above her head, clamping down with his thigh to still her. “Stop it, Jess.” It was an order between his clenched teeth. “Relax.”

“Get off.” Her muffled oath was punctuated by the sudden surge of her hips, trying to dislodge him. Her face was bright red even in the dim light.

The motion of her lower body was reminiscent of another, one he was very familiar with but hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Stop it,” he ordered softly. “Hold still right now. Unless, of course, you don’t mind that I’m starting to enjoy this.”

She went very still, eyes wide, her soft lips parting in shock.

“Now,” he said harshly. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Chapter Three

It was too much.

Jessica’s day had gone from bad to worse, and now she was subjected to the indignity of lying half-stripped under a very real, very large and very intimidating Alexander Ramsey.

And he had the nerve to ask what she was doing in her own house.

Yet, as embarrassed as she was by her current circumstances, it could be much worse. At least Alex wouldn’t hurt her.

He stared down at her with those incredible eyes, blue even in the darkness. But at least, at this moment, he wasn’t looking at the rest of her but inquiringly into her eyes.

He’d ripped her chemise half off. Her cheeks were red hot. She was naked to the waist and he was on top of her. Her bare breasts were pressed tightly against his hard chest, the linen material of his shirt soft and warm against her skin. Firm fingers still shackled her wrists above her head.

Where the hell had he come from? She thought he was still marching through Spain, playing the warrior hero.

Grating it out, she said, “Alex, let me go. Now.”

He shook his head, a tiny smile touching his well-shaped mouth. “Given your murderous impulses, I think I’d better consider that course of action. I’d like to keep my head attached to my shoulders, thank you. Now, what are you doing here, Jess?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

His brows shot up at the venom in her voice. “I think I’m the one asking the questions at the moment, angel.”

“I’m not likely to tell you anything and I am not your angel. Save your endearments for your…your harlots.”

His lips twitched in unabashed amusement. “Please excuse me, Jess. It’s true, I suppose, that when a half-naked woman lies in my arms I often find myself whispering endearments into her ears.”

Though she doubted that long-ago evening when she’d stumbled on him and his lover in the garden had meant much to him, it had been a pivotal point in her life.

She itched to slap him again. It had been a satisfying moment to connect her palm with that arrogant handsome face. Taking advantage of the fact that he’d slackened his grip on her wrists again as she stopped struggling, she gave a tremendous jerk to free herself and slammed her fist into his shoulder with all her strength in an effort to dislodge him.

She didn’t expect his reaction.

He stiffened, going white, and released her with a low groan, closing his eyes and rolling to the side to land flat on his back. With a muttered oath, he put his hand to the spot where she’d struck him, as if it really had hurt. They still lay at the top of the landing and she took immediate advantage of her freedom and scrambled to her feet, clutching her torn chemise together over her breasts and peering down at him, more than a little surprised one blow from her could have such a drastic effect.

The first thing that struck her was that he was so much thinner than she remembered. Still imposingly tall, still wide in the shoulders and long in the legs, but there was a lean, honed look to his body that spoke of either deprivation or excessive exercise, or maybe both.

He was in real pain, she realized with a small shock. In the thin starlight, sweat gleamed on his forehead. His mouth was compressed tightly.

She said in alarm, “What’s wrong with you? I didn’t hit you that hard. I…I couldn’t. You’re just acting that way to make me feel sorry.”

Alex’s eyes flew open and she flinched back from the accusation evident there. “I was wounded at Badajoz, Miss Roweland, and given leave to recover. That’s why I’m here. Otherwise I’d be following Wellington toward the French border as we speak.”

“Wounded?” She bit her lip in a surge of regret and denial that was decidedly unwanted.

“In the shoulder.” His reply was heavy with irony. “You have remarkably accurate aim.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, but how was I supposed to know that? You were mauling me.” She felt guilty, true, because it had never occurred to her she would actually hurt him.

One elegant brow arched upward and he sat up, letting go of his wounded shoulder. His long fingers went to his throat and he began to unbutton his shirt, murmuring, “Mauling you? I saved you a nasty tumble down the stairs, my dear. And I believe you were the one who came after me with…what was it? A fireplace poker?”

Jessica took a step backward, tugging the destroyed chemise tighter across her chest and hoping it concealed enough for at least bare modesty. “You can’t blame me. I didn’t know who you were! I heard someone moving around and I was frightened.”

“So you decided to beat their brains out? Very resourceful.” He pulled his shirt open and inspected a swath of bandages that covered his left shoulder. The sight made Jessica a little sick with remorse. He hadn’t been putting on an act. He
had
been wounded.

She asked defensively, “What was I supposed to do? I’m here alone.”

His eyes narrowed. Sitting on the landing, his white shirt hanging open and tucked into dark breeches, Hessians hugging his muscular calves, he stared up at her. “Which brings me to my original question, I believe. Why are you here, Jess? I thought you’d be in London, preparing for your upcoming nuptials.”

There was something suggestive in his tone, something almost mocking that set her teeth on edge. And there was also the way he stared at her, openly ogling her bare legs and the gap of torn material she tried desperately to keep together.

Lord, with his shirt open she could see almost as much of him as he could of her. The flicker of fascination she felt as she glimpsed the muscled hardness of his bare chest was mortifying.

Her cheeks tingled, filled with the fire of pure embarrassment. She whirled away, determined to head back to her bed. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Alex. Just get out of this house. Robert isn’t here. No one is here.”

“This house? My house.” The words were soft, like a threat.

If that was his intention, they certainly flew to the right target.

“What?” She stopped dead, her whole body going cold instantly.

“You said ‘this’ house. It’s my house. I own Braidwood.”

She turned around very slowly. He’d gotten to his feet and rested carelessly against the staircase banister, a lean figure framed by shadows. Behind him the vast hallway was a pool of unfathomable darkness. He looked remarkably tall.

Her voice was a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

His gaze was level, locking with her own. “The house is mine. The entire estate, in fact. Like I said, I own it, all of it.”