Heather and Velvet (22 page)

She managed a weak nod and an answering smile.

“Very well.” He rose and flung open the door. It crashed into the opposite wall.
“Then get the bloody hell out of my bedchamber!”

Prudence jumped a foot in the air. She stood, painfully aware of his gaze raking over her as she glided toward the door. She wore no wrapper. The soft flax of her night rail brushed like fairy wings against her skin. The modest garment shielded her from throat to wrist to ankle, but was helpless to stem the teasing invasion of candlelight and shadow.

She reached around Sebastian and closed the door.

The top of her head brushed his chin. She heard his quick, indrawn breath.

He strode away from her, loosening his cravat. His laughter was strained. “For a smart girl, you make some very odd choices. You come to an isolated corner of the house. You drug the only person within screaming distance. Did it ever occur to you that even if you choose to go, I might keep you here?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He spun on his heel, jerking off his coat. “Then you’re a fool. I wouldn’t be the first lecherous male relation to take advantage of a female dependent, not even among your high-handed gentry.”

She bent to pick up his cravat, and tenderly folded it. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“I’m not sure. But you’d best leave before I succeed.”

With a show of nonchalance, she resumed her position in the chair. Sebastian tore open the ties of his shirt. Like a lover’s seeking caress, the flickering candlelight found the gold scattered over the smooth muscles of his chest. Her mouth went dry, and she pushed her spectacles up on her nose.

He stared helplessly at her, as if he hoped she might have vanished. Dragging a hand through his hair, he freed the leonine mass from the satin queue. His expression was so wild, she half expected him to lapse into an unintelligible
burr or leap upon her with a Highland battle cry. The latter might be a relief. At least she would know where she stood with him.

“All I’m trying to say, lass,” he said, his soft tone raising gooseflesh on her arms, “is that you don’t really know me.”

She met his gaze evenly. When she spoke, her voice was so dispassionate she might have been cataloguing a chemical formula rather than a life. “You fled the Highlands at the age of thirteen before Killian MacKay could boot you out of your father’s castle. The first thing you stole was a wheel of cheese because you were hungry.”

He sank down on the edge of the bed.

She continued. “You weren’t a much better bandit at that time than you are now. You were caught and thrown into jail to await your hanging. A relation of your mother’s found you, had you released, and took you to France. He picked off the lice and gave you your first real bath and a brief, but thorough, education.” She paused. “How am I doing?”

“Marvelous,” he said flatly. “Do go on.”

“You returned to Scotland a few years later, both older and wiser, and began your remarkable stint as the Dreadful Scot Bandit Kirkpatrick, spreading terror and mayhem along the Scottish border, plotting and dreaming of the day when you could return to the Highlands and avenge yourself on the dastardly MacKay.”

“Careful. You’re lapsing into melodrama.”

“Sorry. It’s a weakness of mine.”

“I’ve noticed. Along with charging rashly into situations you’re unprepared for.”

Prudence felt her composure slipping. “After the ball tonight, I felt I had nothing to lose.”

He slipped off the bed with catlike grace. She resisted the urge to turn as he circled her chair.

His elegant fingers cupped her chin from behind, and he tilted her head back. “You, my dear, have everything to lose.” His lips brushed hers in a brief, dry caress.

She shivered as he released her. Her scalp tingled and she realized with wonder that he was brushing her hair. He
drew the bristles upward, lifting and separating the silky strands into a crackling cloud.

She inclined her head shyly, daring to luxuriate in the delicious sensation as he swept the brush along her hair. A decadent joy coursed through her at the innocent pleasure of being tended to. When she was a child, her papa had spent hours patiently working the tangles from her unruly hair. The same feeling of security touched her now, but it was tempered with the dangerous knowledge that between herself and this man, security was only a fragile illusion. Sebastian caught her hair at its crown and drew the brush back in a long, lingering stroke. A tiny moan of satisfaction escaped her throat, and she closed her eyes.

His silken burr caressed her, tempting her to drop all defenses. “So you know who I am. Shall I tell you who you are?”

She laughed nervously without opening her eyes. “No mystery there. I’ve no bandits or mysterious French relations lurking in the wings. I’m only Prudence Walker, spinster niece and poor relation of Tricia de Peyrelongue.”

He lifted the brush, exposing her delicate ear to the soothing heat of his breath. “You came to live with Tricia after your father died. She clucked sadly over what a plain, little thing you were and said you had too many brains to ever make a decent match.”

Prudence flinched. She would have pulled away, but his hand replaced the brush. She was caught by his possession of her hair.

His voice poured over her, soft but merciless. “In the years that followed, she paraded past you a steady stream of leering younger sons, pompous parsons, and elderly squires. With each dreaded foray into the parlor to meet your
suitors
, you became smarter”—he twisted his hand in her hair, binding it tightly away from her face—“and plainer.”

Tears pricked her eyes. How could he be so cruel? He freed her hair, and it fell around her face and shoulders. She was thankful for its sheltering weight as burning humiliation tinted her cheeks.

But Sebastian was ruthless. He walked around the chair
and squatted in front of her. “What did Tricia tell you? Did she tell you your nose was too thin, your teeth too prominent?”

Prudence bit her lower lip and turned her face away from his avid scrutiny.

He cupped her cheeks in his palms and forced her head back. His thumbs curved around to trace the dark wings of her brows. “Did she murmur her sympathy over your heavy brows, your pale skin?”

“Stop it!” She could not bear for him to see her cry, and lifted her hands to break his grip.

He captured both of her wrists in one of his hands and took off her spectacles. She cringed away from him, blinking back tears.

“Aren’t you weary of hiding, Prudence? Behind these spectacles? Behind books? Behind Tricia? Hasn’t it been lonely all these years?”

She struggled to pull out of his grasp, helpless to stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks. “I wasn’t lonely. I had a happy life before you came along.”

“A happy life? Buried behind books. Living other people’s lives because you had no life of your own. A happy life? Without one breath of excitement to stir it?”

“Is that why you think I came here tonight? For excitement?” She finally broke his grip and bolted from the chair. She stood with her back to him, clinging to the bedpost for support.

He slowly straightened. “Why did you come here, Prudence?”

“Because I thought you cared for me.” She added softly, almost as an afterthought, “I would have left you alone. You didn’t have to remind me I was ugly.”

His laughter rang out, harsh and mocking.

She fled for the door. With one long stride, he reached it before she did and she collided with his unyielding chest. When she would have recoiled, his arms enfolded her, holding her hard against him until her struggles subsided. She buried her mouth in the fur of his chest, refusing to begrudge herself the last taste she would know of his arms.

He rubbed his cheek across her hair. “Tell me, Miss
Walker, if you’re so damnably smart, how could you believe the twisted musings of an envious woman far past the bloom of her own youth?”

His heart thundered against her lips. For a long moment, she did not comprehend his words.

“Can’t you see what Tricia’s jealousy has done to you?” He again caught her face in his hands, smoothing her hair away. “You are the most uncommon and utterly beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. I’ve wanted you from the first moment you trod upon my broken ankle.” Her eyes widened in misty wonder, and he laughed. “And, oh, when you look at me like that, all I want to do is lay you beneath me and taste every inch of your lovely fair skin.”

Prudence’s breath came out in a squeak. “You can’t be serious.”

“Let’s get this off, shall we, and I’ll show you how very serious I am.” He bunched the soft flax of her night rail in his hands and began to draw it upward.

She clung to his shoulders. “But you haven’t even kissed me.”

His tongue traced the outer rim of her ear. “I will,” he whispered. “Everywhere.”

His hands rode up over her hips, drawing the night rail with them. “The candle,” she said frantically.

“I know. One candle is not enough. I’d like to carry you down to the ballroom and make love to you beneath the chandelier.” His knuckles brushed her belly. “I wonder what Old Fish would think about that.”

She squirmed in his arms. “Sebastian! You say the wickedest things! I meant for you to put the candle out.”

He drew back, smiling a tender, lopsided smile. “No more hiding, love. No more masks.” He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Please, my darling, be naked for me.”

Prudence had never imagined herself the recipient of such an odd request. But Sebastian’s loving smile was irresistible, and she lifted her arms in surrender. He gently pulled the night rail over her head. A heated blush crawled up her skin, and she squeezed her eyes shut, believing like a child that if she could not see him, he might not be able to see her. His soft groan proved her wrong.

Her hands flew up instinctively to cover herself, desperate to hide the flaws of legs too long, breasts too heavy for her slender frame. He caught her hands, lacing his fingers around hers and bearing them back against the door on each side of her head. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the heat of his gaze on her.

Sebastian drank in her beauty. Her hair absorbed the candlelight, deepening to rich and magical hues. The sight of it spilling like wine over her alabaster breasts both inflamed his tender lust and tempered it with a curious desire to protect. It was as he suspected. Prudence’s stiff-necked pride hid a blossom as precious and fragile as petals of honeysuckle.

She hid her face in her hair. “Please. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Of what? Perfection?”

She dared to open her eyes.

He brought their linked hands down to brush the creamy skin between her breasts. All traces of humor had vanished from him. “Everything I’ve ever possessed that was worth having, I’ve stolen. You’re the only gift anyone has ever given me.”

He lifted her palm to his lips. Prudence took a step away from the door and melted into his embrace, knowing she would never forget the wanton sensuality of her nude body pressed against the crisp folds of his clothes. His mouth closed on hers in a flood of aching tenderness.

Sebastian hardly dared to believe the miracle of holding her pliant body against him. He had dreamed it too often to accept that it was real. A thread of guilt wound its way through his anticipation, but he hastily shoved it away. Prudence had come to him, on his terms, not her own. She suckled his tongue in an innocent attempt to draw him more deeply into her. Her nipples stiffened against his chest, and he felt a dizzying surge of response in his groin. He could feel himself straining against his breeches, hungering to be freed, hungering, too, to allow his hands and mouth to wander over this beautiful, generous creature. But he could not yet trust himself enough for that.

Her hand twined through his hair as he bent his knees
and gently took her breast into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the dusky peak, and he felt her deep shiver.

“Sebastian, please. I can’t even think!”

He slipped to his knees, filling the delicate cleft of her navel with his tongue. “For once in your life, Prudence, stop thinking.”

Prudence had no choice but to obey as his reverent hands parted the silky pelt between her legs. He muttered an oath that sounded more like a prayer as his fingers slipped beneath to explore the honeyed folds and hollows of her body with tender expertise. She shoved aside his shirt and gripped his shoulders in a desperate attempt to find some substance in a reality melting to shuddering pleasure. The cool wood of the door pressed to her back and hips seemed to be part of another, saner world. Her instinct to shrink away from him was consumed in the flames of a more primitive instinct to arch against him, to open herself to the stroking persuasion of his eloquent touch.

She panted softly as his thumb discovered her heated nectar and teased it forward until he found the taut, aching bud hidden by her velvety folds. Her knees buckled at the pleasure, and he slipped an arm around her, cupping her hips as he buried his mouth against the dark fur at the V of her thighs in the tenderest of kisses.

Her shy gasp was lost in a new sensation as he sheathed his finger inside her, pressing forward with gentle determination until he felt her wince of pain. Her body quivered in disappointment as he withdrew.

“Oh, God, Prudence, you’re so tight.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” Her voice was very small. “I don’t mean to be.”

His groan was one of exultation as he curved his arm around the backs of her thighs and lifted her straight into the air. He pressed his cheek to the delicate skin of her belly. She clung to his shoulders as he spun around and dropped her neatly on the bed.

As he peeled off his shirt, she reached for a corner of the satin counterpane to cover her nakedness.

“My sweet Prudence,” he said, trapping the counterpane under his knee as he joined her on the bed, “I was not
rebuking you. The … um …” He searched for words, curbing with effort his characteristic frankness. “… deliciously untried condition of your body only serves to demonstrate what a fine and precious privilege you are bequeathing to me.” He propped himself up on one elbow and ran a finger down the flat plane of her stomach.