Heather and Velvet (33 page)

“No, it’s Bonnie Prince Charlie come back to take Culloden.” He snatched her hand in his. “Follow me. If what Jordy told me about MacKay is true, we ain’t got much time.”

“Time?” Prudence repeated, clinging stubbornly to the stool. “Sebastian told me to stay here. Did he send you to fetch me?”

“I’ve come to rescue ye.”

“No need for that. Sebastian has already rescued me.”

Jamie rolled his eyes heavenward. “Lord, give me strength. Where’s Tiny when I need him? I came to rescue ye
from
Sebastian, ye daft chit.”

Prudence frowned. The untidy knot Sebastian had fashioned of her hair flopped over her face. “You think he might do me some sort of physical harm?”

Sarcasm ripened Jamie’s brogue. “Perish the thought! He’ll probably order up a wee bit of tea to celebrate yer upcomin’ weddin’ to Killian MacKay. Shall we send fer Old Fish to serve them little pats of butter shaped like tulips?”

“Roses,” she corrected him absently. Sighing, she flipped her hair back and rested her chin on her hand. “It’s his own fault I was forced to accept MacKay’s proposal. I’ve no intention of marrying the man. Once I explain that, I’m certain Sebastian will be reasonable about it.”

Jamie knelt beside her. “What makes ye think he’ll give ye the chance to explain?” She turned her face away from the unflinching honesty in his hazel eyes, but Jamie caught her chin and forced it back. “I’ve never seen him this way, lass. He might not mean to hurt ye, and he might even be sorry after, but by then it’d be too late fer both of ye. Don’t ye understand?”

“She understands very well, if her honorable sheriff has completed her education on bandits, as I suspect he has.”

Too late, the chill night wind ploughed across their skin.

They looked up like guilty children to find Sebastian standing over them, his arms heaped with moth-eaten blankets and a small trunk Prudence recognized as her own. She wondered how long he had been standing there.

“Shall I catalogue my crimes as she once described them to me?” He tossed down the blankets and trunk. “I am the faceless terror of both Scotland and England. A grim reminder of the savagery that lurks in the heart of civilized man. I rob and kidnap”—he cast her a smoky glance—“and ravish.”

Jamie straightened. “May I have a word with ye?”

“Out, Jamie.”

Jamie grinned hopefully. “I thought I’d sit fer a spell while the two of ye get reacquainted.”

Sebastian didn’t even look at him. “Out. Now.”

Jamie tossed Prudence a helpless glance, then ducked out of the cavern, leaving the fur swinging.

Sebastian turned his back on her and shook out the blankets.

“The others?” she asked softly.

“All safe. Tricia, Boris, and Sebastian-cat are under Tiny’s ample wing. Devony has found Big Gus’s charms more potent than his shortcomings, and your coachman and Squire Blake were alive when they were left at the carriage. I sent a man back to check on them.”

“Thank you.”

He grunted in reply.

She toyed with her skirt. “I must confess it was a bit unsettling to discover you’d returned to your life of crime.”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug more Gallic than Scottish. “I developed a certain fondness for eating in my stay at Lindentree. The workhouses were all full, and I’d been a Presbyterian and a rake a bit too long to commit myself to a monastery.”

As he squatted to smooth the blankets, his homespun breeches clung to the arc of his narrow hips. Prudence wondered what had become of his brilliant kilt, but was afraid to ask. This man was a stranger. His icy demeanor held not even a hint of the gentle humor she remembered.
The awkward silence between them deepened. She was desperate to show him her newfound sophistication, to prove she was no longer the clumsy, besotted fool he must remember.

“I received five proposals in Edinburgh,” she blurted out.

He pivoted on his heel, lifting a polite eyebrow. “Any of them decent?”

“Only three,” she confessed, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

He turned back to his task. “I believe that brings your total to five decent and three lewd, my offer to make you my mistress included, of course.”

Her composure faltered at hearing his tender declaration reduced to such crass terms. He unbuckled the leather straps of her trunk. As he held a scrap of paper up to the meager light, his soft laugh chilled her.

“An excellent likeness. Which of your lovers is the artist? Tugbert? The Scot I saw fondling you on the street? Or is this your own work? I don’t remember sketching being among your interests, but you are a woman of many talents.”

“You saw me? On the street?”

“Aye. I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

His gruff tone did not fool her. She remembered the persistent shadow of the lamplighter on the evening she had met MacKay. Her heart skipped a beat. Sebastian hadn’t left her at D’Artan’s mercy. His ruse of apathy on the terrace had been just that. He had followed her. Watched over her. Perhaps even cared for her. But now his flinty gaze belied his affable grin. He looked less guardian angel than mocking Lucifer.

She wished he would take off the mask. The shadows it made of his eyes unnerved her. She watched his deft hands smooth the wanted notice, remembering all the times he had tried to make her afraid of him. They were strong hands, competent and swift enough to muffle a scream before it started. What would he say if she told him she slept with that handbill under her pillow each night? That it was creased and worn to softness by her touch? She opened her
mouth, then closed it again, unable to bear the mockery of his laughter.

“Come now, don’t be modest, dear,” he said. “The phrase, ‘Reward Provided Alive or Upon Staunch Evidence Of Death’ simply rings with your flair for melodrama. ‘Gray Eyed and Well Favored’? Such flattery! How did you know I was well favored? Did Tricia tell you? Or was it Devony?”

Prudence’s lips tightened. When Sebastian saw she wasn’t going to deny or defend, his grin faded. He bent over the lantern, sneering. Her gaze locked on the unforgiving lines of his back as he turned the light higher.

Sophistication was a dismal failure. Perhaps she should attempt honesty.

She smoothed her skirts over her knees and took a deep breath. “I’ve missed you, Sebastian.”

His fingers twitched, touching the hot chimney of the lantern. He bit off a curse and whirled around, jerking off the mask. Prudence gasped. There was little trace of Tricia’s urbane fiancé in him now. Anyone who saw him would swear he was a Highlander, born and bred. His hair was long. The ends of the shaggy cascade curled against his shoulders, sandy bright against skin darkened by wind and weather.

He seemed broader, more muscular, and infinitely more dangerous. His savage demeanor lent a devastating edge to his good looks—an edge honed to lethal sharpness by his expression of pure contempt. She had to struggle not to flinch beneath it. His anger in the jail was mere annoyance compared to this new bitterness.

Too late, Prudence realized she
had
stumbled into the lair of an animal—a predator, cunning and feral and hungry.

“W
hy, I do believe you might ravish me!” Prudence said in both disbelief and wonder.

Sebastian’s lips curved in a roguish smile. The wild tattoo of her heart shifted to a slower, more jolting beat.

“I wouldn’t be much of a bandit if I didn’t, would I?” he said. “I should hate to disappoint you. You’d have nothing to tell Sir Arlo over tea when you get home.”

Her gaze dropped to the cozy nest he had fashioned of the blankets, then wandered to the entrance of the cavern. She knew their privacy was illusory. Big Gus’s men lay just down the slope, their thieves’ ears tuned to every stray crack of a branch.

“A scream would be a nice touch,” Sebastian said in a conspiratory whisper. “It would enhance my reputation immeasurably.”

She blinked up at him. Her natural curiosity won out over her trepidation. “Have you ever ravished anyone before?”

“No.” He touched a finger to his lips. “But pray don’t tell. I should hate for it to get out. I try to think of it as a
timeworn tradition. Pirates, bandits, Americans, all sorts of ill-meaning scoundrels have succumbed to the temptation.”

She pulled off her spectacles and squinted at him. “Have you been drinking?”

“Copiously. But staring down the barrel of that pistol gripped in your delicate little hand did much to sober me.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow when you’re sober,” she said, laying her spectacles on the folded redingote.

“Fine. I wasn’t in the mood for discussion anyway.”

He started toward her. She ducked beneath his arm and grabbed the warm bottle from beside the coals.

“Would you care for another drink?” she asked. With any luck, she thought, she might be able to coax him into drinking himself insensible.

He took a long swig from the bottle, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, sighing with satisfaction. “Whisky always make me feel powerfully lusty.”

She snatched the bottle from him and tipped it to her own lips. There was no logical reason she should start being lucky now. Sebastian plucked the bottle away and tossed it over his shoulder, not caring that it was uncorked.

His warm fingers curled around her own. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a woman?”

She glanced nervously at the blankets. “About fifteen minutes, if my calculations are correct.”

He drew her against the unyielding length of his body. “Wrong again, Miss Isaac Newton.”

Prudence shivered. Sebastian had touched her so many times in tenderness, holding the hard edge of his masculine strength in check. It was a shock to realize how much stronger than she he was. A dangerous thrill of anticipation shot through her.

Her fingers kneaded the nest of curly hairs spilling over his chest. She dared not look at his face, fearful her gaze might wander to his lips. “Villainy suits you poorly, Lord Kerr.”

“Not as poorly as it did before I met you.” He arched a devilish eyebrow. “I’ve been practicing.” He twirled her in a neat circle and backed her toward the blankets.

She closed her eyes, dizzied by their primitive dance and the intoxicating warmth radiating from his bare chest. “I’ve never been ravished before,” she said, her voice shaking. “I shan’t be any good at it.”

“There’s really nothing to it. You just yell and thrash about. I’ll do the rest.”

He hooked his foot around the back of her ankle, tripping her and catching her in the same movement. He eased her to the blankets, following her down with inevitable grace.

Her hands seemed to belong to someone else. How had they gotten so enmeshed in the pale hairs of his chest? She slanted a look at him through her lashes. “Was Jamie right? Will you be sorry afterward?”

His jaw tightened. “Probably.” He reached across her to kill the lantern. “But not during.”

He was little more than a shadow above her, but the darkness only increased his substantial warmth and the husky reverberation of his voice. His fingers worked their way down the tiny pearl buttons of her bodice with ruthless skill.

As Sebastian shoved the gown from her shoulders, his deliberate roughness failed him. He had forgotten how delicate and pronounced her collarbones were, how fragile the hollows beneath. It would take little force from him to bruise her tender skin. His grip softened. His thumbs betrayed him, stroking the silky union of skin and bone, finding the velvety dip at the base of her throat where he longed to press his lips. Dear God, what was he doing? She was so fine, so lovely. He had no right to touch her with his rough scoundrel’s hands. He leaned back, beguiled by the porcelain splendor of her skin against the dark wool blanket.

His harsh breathing filled the silence. Prudence held her own breath as his expression shifted like quicksilver between desire and bewilderment.

She had seen that look before. On the terrace at Lindentree when she had shoved him away. If she pushed him away now, he might walk out of that den and never come back. It stunned her to realize that she didn’t want him
to go. She wanted to search for some lingering hint of tenderness, some tantalizing whisper of
her
Sebastian behind his rough facade.

Mustering her courage, she touched his unshaven cheek as if he were a dangerous animal she hoped to tame. She slid her fingers around his neck, winding them in the shaggy curls at his nape. His lashes swept down. From the corner of her eye, she saw his other hand rising, fingers curling hopefully toward her breast.

“No!” She scooted back until her shoulders touched the wall, catching his wrist with two fingers as if she actually had the strength to hold him if he chose to press on. “Don’t touch me,” she commanded, her boldness surprising her. “I don’t wish to be ravished. I wish to be seduced. You may kiss me if you like,” she added primly.

His scowl melted to a wry grin. “As opinionated as ever, aren’t you, Miss Walker?”

But his hand linked with hers, pressing palm to palm as he lowered his head. His warm, dry lips touched hers. When he would have thrust his tongue deep in her mouth, she closed her teeth against him. He gave a frustrated grunt, but as her own tongue explored the seam of his lips, it turned into a groan. After an endless moment of this exquisite torture, she let him into her, a tiny bit at a time, drawing back when he got too greedy.