Highland Awakening (17 page)

Cam tugged her into the mews behind the house, then into the stables. A horse whickered in surprise at their entrance, but Cam pulled her up a narrow flight of stairs at one end of the half-dozen or so stalls.

“Where are we…? Oh.”

Cam had led her inside a small but tidy room that contained a narrow bed, a row of cabinets, and a stove. “The stable master once lived here. But we dinna require a stable master, so the place is empty now.” He gave her one of his wickedest grins. “We wilna be interrupted here.”

She returned his grin with a wicked one of her own and threw her arms around him. It had only been a couple of days, but she'd missed him so much.

He deftly untied her bonnet then tossed it onto the tiny round table. Then he kissed her. Without breaking their lip-lock, they managed to undress each other, laughing and fumbling with ties and tapes and buttons and buckles. When Esme was down to her chemise and stays, Cam growled and turned her around so that her back was to his front, and pushed her between the shoulder blades until she was bent over the edge of the bed. He flipped up her skirts, rubbing her thighs above her garters, then yanked down her drawers, smacking her bottom lightly as he drew them off her. She gasped and wiggled, her sex contracting at the imprint of heat his hand left behind.

“You've such a bonny arse,” he gritted out, kissing her rounded cheek as he rose up behind her.

She braced herself as he moved into position and guided himself to her opening. Without hesitating, he thrust in hard, burying himself deep. Then he stopped, holding still as she adjusted to his girth. “Oh, Cam,” she whispered. “Oh…”

Her body fluttered around him, so aroused it almost hurt her when he held himself still.

“Your cunt feels so good wrapped tight around me, lass.”

She whimpered in response. Even during her research, she'd only ever read that word, had never in her life heard it spoken aloud. It was deliciously dirty and wicked. She wiggled, trying to get him to move.

He obliged, starting a hard, firm rhythm that made Esme see stars. As he thrust he bent over her and pressed his hand to her cheek, forcing her to turn her head. He kissed her, wet and hot and thorough, as he moved within her. She arched her back, her body wanting more, harder. He seemed to read her desire, and he gave it to her, going deeper, kissing her fiercely, until she was moving with him, her pants quickly escalating to low moans as he brought her ever higher.

He reached beneath her, pinching her nipple between two fingers before gliding his hand lower to rub his fingers over the sensitive spot between her legs. She cried out, because the sensation was so strong she wasn't sure she could endure it. But she had no choice. He held her trapped under his body, ramming himself into her so that she was pushed hard against the bed with every thrust.

He gave no quarter and, deep inside, she didn't want it. He was ruling her, body and soul, and she wanted nothing else but to be ruled by this man.

In the most intrinsic sense of the word, it was freeing to be dominated like this. Giving up control of her body and mind was absolutely liberating. She could just
be.
She could just
feel.

Pleasure surged through her body, and she released that last bit of control, letting it go free. The orgasm raced through her, pinpricks of ecstasy in every bit of her, deep in her core to the surface of her skin, making her gasp and shudder uncontrollably.

When it ran its course, she melted into a pool of pleasure, his movements inside her now causing frissons and sparks to detonate. She shivered, simply being here, with him, simply enjoying what Cam had done to her, what he still continued to do to her.

And then there was a noise downstairs. A slam of a door, then shuffling as a horse and man entered the stables.

Cam went still, covering her mouth with his hand. “Shh,” he whispered. “It's just Innes returned from Pinfield duty. Be quiet.”

She was quiet, and he began to move again, slowly, as she heard the man below shuffling around, mumbling to the horse, probably brushing the animal down. It seemed to take forever before he finally took his leave. When the door clicked behind him, Cam's hand instantly fisted in her hair, pulling near but not quite to the point of pain. And his thrusts turned hard again, forceful. She felt him growing inside her, impossibly hard, his body tensing as he let go of his restraint and pummeled her against the bed.

It didn't take long. Soon, he was spitting out words in Gaelic, cursing, perhaps, and suddenly all went silent as he trembled over her, releasing his seed deep into her womb.

She gasped and breathed through it—he was so deep and she was so full, it was just on the edge of being painful.

“God help me,” he muttered when he'd finished. “Get on the bed, Esme.”

She scrambled up on the blanket and he climbed on after her, drawing her into his arms. She loved how he held her after they'd come together like this. His hold was possessive, but also loving. He nuzzled his lips into her hair, and she sighed in contentment.

They were silent for a long while. Then he pulled the blanket up over them. “What's this about being held hostage?”

“It happened three years ago. Sam was after a very bad man, who kidnapped me in order to get to him.”

“Good God.” He tugged her closer.

“He had me trussed and frightened out of my mind for four days before Sam and my other brothers—and Élise—found me.”

Cam shuddered.

“Why are you shaking?”

“The thought of you…frightened. Trapped.” He pulled back slightly, looking down at her. “I canna imagine it. Just the thought of you suffering…it
hurts.
”

He sounded surprised by that revelation and she leaned forward to press her lips against his chest. “I'm all right. The men were arrested, and none of my brothers or my sister-in-law were injured.”

“But the major was right. It could happen again. The men we encounter in our job…they wilna hesitate to use our loved ones against us.”

She smiled. “Am I a loved one, then?”

“Of course you are. You'll be my wife.”

That wasn't exactly the declaration that she'd yearned for, but it was enough. “As I told the major, I'm aware of the risk. It didn't stop me. Evidently, it didn't stop Lady Grace or Lady Claire, either.”

He shuddered again. “Lady Grace…” He shook his head and closed his eyes, and alarm flared briefly in her chest.

“Whatever happened to her, Lady Grace is all right now, isn't she? She seemed perfectly fine today.”

“She is. She's a strong woman.”

“And so am I, Cam.”

“Aye. You are. But I've seen what can…happen to a woman.” He thrust his hand through his hair.

“Grace?”

“My sister.”

Something clenched in Esme's chest. “I know,” she whispered. “I'll be as careful as I possibly can.”

That would have to be enough.

On the night before her wedding, Esme couldn't sit down, much less sleep. She was a bundle of anxiety and nerves.

She wanted to see Cam.

She fought that desire. Successfully, for most of the night.

The wedding was only a few hours away, and she'd see him then. She glanced over at the door to her closet, where her wedding dress hung.

She was getting married soon. She couldn't quite believe it. And it wasn't to Henry Whitworth…it was to Lord Camden McLeod. The heir to the Scottish Earl of Sutton.

She'd fallen in love with him. He accepted her as she truly was—her embarrassing flaws, her common parentage, and her writing. She could never have imagined a potential spouse—especially one of her class—would approve of her engaging in such an activity as writing novels. But Cam was special. He did.

She had to see him. Had to cast eyes on him one last time before she faced him in the church.

She glanced at the clock, knowing there was no chance she'd be getting another wink of sleep. It was four o'clock—early, but the household would awaken early this morning to prepare for the wedding breakfast. They would begin to stir soon.

If she was going to slip out, this was her chance.

She managed to leave the still-quiet house without anyone seeing her, and she walked all the way to Westminster. Keeping a fast pace, it took her under twenty minutes. She picked the lock to the back door of the Knights' house—she knew how thanks to growing up in a household with five brothers, and it didn't take long before she slipped inside.

There were no lights on downstairs, and she walked down the corridor, running her hand along the wall and using her memory as a guide. She found the stairs and mounted them, then located the door to Cam's room.

A line of light glowed under his door—and low-pitched voices came from within.

Esme hesitated. This wasn't what she'd planned. She'd thought he'd be asleep, that she'd sneak into his bed and lie beside him. Now what?

“You didn't,” said a voice from inside. She thought the voice might belong to Sir Colin Stirling.

“I did. I shouldn't've. But I did.” That was Cam's voice.

What had he done that he shouldn't? Esme leaned toward the door, knowing she was eavesdropping, but not feeling as sorry as she probably should about it.

“Hell,” Cam gritted out. “I had to do it. I
had
to.”

“Why, man?” Disappointment rang in Sir Colin's tone. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“She wouldna make up her mind. She said she needed time—”

Oh, God. Was Cam talking about her?

“Time for what?” Sir Colin asked.

“Time to recover from her failed engagement to Whitworth. But she didna need to recover. There was naught to recover from. They didna love each other.”

“Aye, but maybe it wasna right to do that.”

What wasn't right?
What?
Esme pressed her ear against the door.

“I canna feel guilty about it. It gave me what I wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Esme.”

“And what about her?” Sir Colin asked softly.

“It gave her what she wanted, too.” Cam's voice was hard and determined. “Me.”

“Aye…but…”

“But what?” Cam sounded annoyed.

“Wasn't it uncomfortable to have her brother discover you in her bed?”

“I was prepared for it.”

Esme went still, holding her breath.

“Aye, but was she?”

“Nay. Not exactly.”

“I imagine she was appalled,” Sir Colin said. “Embarrassed. Mortified.”

“Aye.” Now a bit of guilt crept into Cam's voice. Esme's mind was roiling. What had he done? How had he been prepared to see Trent catch them in bed? “But it all turned out for the best, and that's what matters, isn't it?” Cam asked his friend.

“If you want my absolution, man, you'll not be getting it. You bribed a maid to inform the duke there was someone in his sister's room. You kept the truth of it from your intended. Your conscience, and your conscience alone, will be needing to decide if that was the right thing to do.”

Wait…

Esme's throat went so tight she couldn't breathe.

Cam had essentially
told
Trent he was in her bed?

He'd
meant
for her brother to catch them there?

He'd planned the whole thing?

Yes. It seemed he'd planned the whole thing. He'd wanted Trent to find them in bed. Because she'd been wavering on committing herself to him, he'd forced the issue.

A sheet of ice sliced into her, the coldness spreading through her until her heart froze to a heavy lump. But her thoughts were clear and cold, her mind as frigid as a lake in midwinter.

No. Sir Colin was wrong. Cam's conscience wouldn't decide whether he'd done the right thing.
She
would. And she already had.

He'd manipulated her. Lied to her. Forced her into a decision she hadn't believed she was ready for.

She was finished.

She hadn't heard what the men had said for the last several seconds, but it didn't matter.

She was done being controlled. Done being manipulated. Done having her life decided for her.

“My da would've…” Cam said, but she turned away, refusing to listen to any more.

She slipped out of the house and hurried back to Trent House as dawn began to lighten the sky to a deep gray. When she opened the door to the kitchen she saw movement in the pantry.

It was a servant she didn't think she knew, but she could only see him from the back. He was walking toward the cabinets with a slight limp, and his hair looked light brown or perhaps blond—it was hard to see in the dim light. When she saw what he was carrying—a case of champagne—his presence here made sense. He was delivering the champagne for the wedding breakfast.

Champagne she certainly wouldn't be drinking.

She walked past him without making eye contact. With her head down and her cloak pulled low over her forehead, he probably wouldn't recognize her. “Pardon me,” she murmured as she brushed by. He didn't say a word.

Esme rushed upstairs after that, thankfully making it to her bedchamber without anyone seeing her. She packed a valise, then paced her room for a good hour. At eight o'clock, when she was fairly certain Trent and Sarah would be awake, she knocked on her brother's door.

“Come in!” Sarah's voice was gay, which was a small miracle, considering the fact that she was so advanced in pregnancy that every move she made looked completely miserable.

Esme opened the door. When Sarah saw her face, her bright expression faded, turning to concern. She took two lumbering steps toward Esme. “Oh no, Esme. What's wrong? What happened?”

Esme swallowed hard. “I'm leaving London, Sarah. Will you help me?”

Esme stepped out into the perfectly manicured grounds of Ironwood Park, her brother's ducal seat in the Cotswolds. The grounds were lovely this time of year, bright and fragrant with blooms.

She'd been here for a week. It had been quiet, with all the family in residence in London and just a skeleton staff remaining in the country. The silence had given Esme plenty of time to think, but her thinking hadn't resolved anything.

She missed Cam. She loved him so much. But the way he'd manipulated her life—more than once—was inexcusable. If there was one thing she'd learned since meeting the man, it was that she wanted to live her life on her terms. She'd thought, with his acceptance of her writing, that Cam might be a good partner for that. But she'd been wrong. He'd manipulated her as thoroughly as everyone else, if not more. She'd simply been so besotted with him she hadn't been able to see through his pretense.

She stopped at a bench on the banks of the river that wound through the back acres of the property. Sarah had told her that she and Trent had first found each other on that bench, which made it a special place to Esme. A place where magic had happened for Trent and Sarah. Esme had returned several times, but so far no magic had happened for her here.

She pulled out the letter from Sarah she'd received the day after she'd arrived at Ironwood Park.

Dearest Esme,

Mr. M_____ has been coming by every day requesting to see you, but since you asked us not to speak to him, we have refrained from telling him where you are. I know you might not want to hear this, but I fear you will eventually have to face him, if for nothing else than to explain yourself. I believe he suspects that you're aware of his secret, but he isn't sure, and I can tell he is struggling greatly with not knowing for certain what caused your disappearance.

Perhaps it would be best to simply write him a letter. But of course I understand if you're not ready to do so.

All is well here at Trent House. No sign of the babe yet, but we are all growing anxious to meet Lukas and Theo's little brother or sister.

We love you dearly. Take as much time as you need, dear. We'll be here for you when you return.

All my love,

Sarah

Simply write him a letter.

Esme sighed. What would she say in a letter? Her words would sound angry and vindictive. She didn't know how she could possibly sound otherwise. How would anger and vindictiveness help the situation? It wouldn't.

Cam had twice proven himself to be manipulative and conniving. She wasn't sure how she could change her mind about him now. It was too late for him.

Yes, she'd eventually have to tell him why she'd left London. But not yet. The pain was too raw, too overwhelming. She needed time.

She continued her circuit of the grounds and wandered back toward the house, where she found Ironwood Park's housekeeper, Mrs. Hope, waiting for her on the back-door landing. “Ah, there you are, my lady. You've a visitor.”

Esme stopped short with a gasp. No. She couldn't face him now. She wasn't ready. She hadn't gathered her strength.

“It is a lady,” Mrs. Hope continued, and much of Esme's tension melted away, but that was just a breath of relief before the housekeeper added, “She says her name is Miss Anna McLeod.”

Cam's sister. What on earth was she doing here? Had he sent her?

“I…” She looked down at her simple day dress, smudged by loose dirt near the hem. She wasn't ready for visitors. Especially strangers. And yet…if her appearance was too shocking to Anna McLeod, what did it matter?

Straightening her spine, she nodded. “All right. Take me to her.”

They walked in silence through the vast, tiled Stone Room at the back of the house, past the immense Greek statue of the Laocoön, and down a long corridor to the parlor.

A young woman, dark-haired and tall like her brother, rose as Esme opened the door. Esme stepped forward cautiously, unsure as usual in the presence of a stranger, her palms going clammy and her heart pumping anxiety through her veins. She realized her hands were clenched at her sides and forcibly unclenched them.

Breathe. Breathe.

“Thank you so much for seeing me, milady.” Anna's voice was lightly accented with a Scottish lilt, less pronounced than Cam's. Esme remembered Cam saying that she had spent very little time in Scotland.

“Of course, Miss McLeod,” she said. Then she recalled what she should say now. “Please do sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you, no. I just…er…” Anna seemed to fumble about for a moment. The action reminded Esme of herself, casting about for something to say in the presence of a stranger. “Please, call me Anna.”

Esme nodded, and Anna sank into a chair. Esme sat stiffly in the chair across from her, squeezing her hands in her lap. The two women sized each other up. Anna was very pretty—slender and tall and graceful. She had light blue eyes—the same shade as Cam's—and wore a simple yellow muslin that suited her coloring. But she had shadows behind her eyes and the slightest slump to her shoulders. She was a woman who might have been a great beauty had she been given the opportunity—and the confidence.

Finally, Anna swallowed. “I'm so sorry to bother you—”

Esme couldn't bear the suspense any longer. “Did Cam send you?”

Anna jerked back as if Esme's words were a slap to her chest. “Er…nay.”

Esme hadn't expected that answer. “Oh. Does he know you're here?”

“Nay.”

“Then why have you come?”

She was being impolite, she realized vaguely, but that didn't seem to matter so much in this circumstance, with this woman.

Anna took a deep breath. “Last week, my brother came to my house as I was preparing to attend your nuptials. He said that you called off the wedding.”

Esme straightened, gazing evenly at Cam's sister. Her nerves had dissipated, for some reason. It didn't matter if this woman didn't like her, or felt she was awkward or impolite. None of it mattered. Esme could be herself, and it wouldn't make one whit of difference.

It was a freeing thought—one she'd never had before in the presence of a stranger of her class.

“That's right,” she said.

“I know why you did that. And…” Anna glanced down at her lap then up to Esme again. “I understand it. My brother is a fool.” She rose abruptly, wringing her hands. “I'm so sorry, I cannot sit. Not when Cam has botched up his life so terribly, and when I'm facing the only woman who has the power to bring him happiness or ruin. Yet, I don't know you, milady, and I don't know the depths of your anger and scorn for my brother. But I need to do something—I need to try, because Cam is so wretched, and he loves you so. He just doesn't know how to love—”

“Wait!” Esme held up her hand. “Stop. I'm confused.”

Anna, who'd been facing away from her, spun around and frowned at her. “What? Why?” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh, I'm bungling this, aren't I? I'm just so nervous, and I ramble incessantly when I'm nervous. Please forgive me, milady, I—”

“Please,” Esme said, “just wait a moment.”

Anna stopped, her chest heaving, and waited.

“Did you say he loves me?”

Anna tilted her head, her brows drawing together in confusion. “Aye.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Aye, of course I am. I have never seen him like this. I have never seen any man so besotted, so heartsick—”

“Are you
absolutely
certain?”

Anna's face crumpled into lines of compassion. “Oh. Oh, milady. Please, don't believe for a moment that he is anything but madly, irrevocably in love with you.”

“Why would a man lie to and manipulate someone he loves?” Esme said. She should be melting at Anna's words, and yet they twisted inside her, inciting not only confusion, but anger as well. “It makes no sense. He can't love me.”

“That's just it. Cam loves you, but he's never experienced love before. He doesn't have the faintest idea of how it works. He doesn't know what it looks like, how it feels. He's never been in love before now. He's terribly frightened by these powerful feelings he has.”

“How can you know this?” Esme asked.

“He's my brother,” Anna said. “We've always been close. We had to be, in our house. My brothers and I shared almost everything. Now Cam tells me most everything, and what he doesn't tell me, I can deduce. For example, he wouldn't tell me what he'd done to upset you so. I had to pull it from him, bit by bit, and work out the rest for myself.”

“So he's aware I know the truth about his deception?”

“Aye, he knows it. Or, he realizes that's what it must be.” Anna practically threw herself into the chair opposite Esme again. “Please, milady. Give my brother another chance.”

“Oh. Lord.” Esme lowered her head into her hands.

“He didn't mean to hurt you. He doesn't
think,
the addle-brained fool!”

“He didn't mean to hurt me?” Aghast, Esme looked up. “How can that be? Surely he knew his actions would hurt me terribly.”

“He understands that now. At the time, he only had one goal in mind, and it was this: ‘Marry Esme.' And the question for him was how expediently he could make that happen. Cam is impulsive. He doesn't think things through. He manages to find ways to get what he wants, but his methods aren't always the wisest, or the easiest on those close to him.”

“His methods didn't take my feelings into account,” Esme said softly. “How can I be married to someone who disregards my feelings?”

“You can be married to someone like that because you know he can be thoughtless, but he doesn't mean to be. That he'll move heaven and earth to make you happy.”

Esme looked at the woman cynically. “Will he?”

“I promise you, he will.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because…he did it for me. And he doesn't love me nearly as much as he loves you.”

“Nonsense,” Esme mumbled. “That cannot be true.”

“But it is.” Anna sighed heavily. “Trust me when I say I have never seen him so distraught.”

“Then why hasn't he come to me? Told me all this?”

“He wants to. But he wants to respect you as well. You told the duke and duchess to turn him away, and they have. He could ignore their wishes, but in doing so, he feels he'll be disrespecting you yet again. He's in a quandary. If he comes to you, he loses you. If he stays away, he loses you.”

“So he sent you.”

“Nay. I told you, he didn't. He's no idea I'm here.”

“Anna,” Esme said the word on a groan, forgetting her discomfiture, forgetting everything but Cam and what had brought them to this point. “What am I to do? I love him so much, but every time I let him in, he betrayed me. I am frightened to do it again.”

Anna's declarations had thawed Esme's heart toward Cam, but that frightened her. Letting Cam into her heart made her so vulnerable. It gave him free rein to rip her to shreds. How many times could a woman survive that kind of pain?

Esme could see the understanding in Anna's eyes, and in her expression. “I know, milady. And I cannot promise he won't make more terrible mistakes with you. But maybe…” She shook her head sadly. “Maybe I am a naïve fool, but I believe that a powerful love will conquer most any obstacle in its path.”

Esme loved Cam, and if she were to believe Anna, he loved her, too. But how powerful was that love? Was it enough?

“He loves you so much,” Anna whispered. “Please,” she said again. “Give him another chance. He'll prove his love to you, I know he will.”

Esme squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of him going to Henry and telling him about her writing. She thought of him bribing one of the maids to wake her brother, then deliberately being in bed with Esme when Trent threw open the door.

He'd put her in a terrible position—twice. He'd torn apart her engagement. He'd forced knowledge of their affair on her brother. Both of those things had had to happen, but they could have been handled in a way that would have built her up, not cut her down. She'd been embarrassed, shamed, humiliated…and Cam had made it so.

He'd done it twice, and he would probably do it again.

She shook her head. “I don't know.”

“He's an intelligent man, milady. He sees that what he's done to you is wrong, and my brother is better at learning from his mistakes than most men are.”

“I need…time. I need to think about this.”

Anna nodded, but her brow creased in worry. “Will you see him?”

“No.” Esme flinched at the harsh sound of the word. “Not yet.”

Anna leaned forward in her chair. “What can I do?”

“I…I'm not sure. Thank you for coming, though. You've given me much to think about.”

“I fear I haven't done enough.”

Esme gazed at the other woman. She was right. It might not have been enough. But her chest felt heavy with emotion and her head was muzzy.

“You are hurting,” Anna said softly. “I am so sorry.”

“You said Cam moved heaven and earth for you.” Esme paused. She had a feeling she knew what that was about, but she'd only heard Cam's side of the story—his anger and frustration with his father for not supporting Anna. She wanted to hear what Anna had to say about it.

“Yes. He did,” Anna said. “And he would for you, too.”

“Will you tell me about it? About what he did?”

Anna swallowed hard, and her face grew a shade paler. “Aye,” she whispered. “I'll tell you everything.”