Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (8 page)

Her only answer was a painful kick to his shins, followed by a punishing elbow to his ribs.

Morland swung about. Cursing, he hauled her toward the fence.

Her chest drove into his shoulder. Her hips wedged against his thigh.

Soft. Surprisingly soft, even though she fought him.

Frowning, the earl looked down.

They were only inches apart, her wriggling form caught between his thighs. She squirmed.

He inched closer. Her belly drove against his groin.

Morland froze
.

Damnably
supple. What would happen to all that fire and fight if she were in his bed?

Abruptly the blue-eyed earl scowled angrily. He did
not
stoop to seduce servants. The thought was abhorrent.

“Lemme go, damn yer eyes! Lemme go before I—”

His fingers tightened. She had the most curious manner of speech, this servant, using well-modulated tones one moment and gutter slang the next.

Intrigued, he scanned her face, shadowed beneath the floppy straw hat.

Her nose looked fine and straight, even streaked by soot as it was. Abruptly he caught a faint hint of fragrance, something rich and exotic.

It made him feel a sudden urge to see her eyes. He pulled at her hat, yelping when her teeth bit into his wrist.

“Enough, you little savage!” With a dark curse he drove his knee between her legs. Her hat slipped back on her head.

In that second Morland glimpsed her eyes.

They were dark and blazing. Death and dismemberment were the kindest thoughts reflected there.

But what else was it about those eyes? Were they blue? Green, perhaps?

Frowning, he leaned closer. Sweet and delicate, her perfume filled his lungs. Her soft hips shoved at his thigh, her breasts at his shoulder.

His pulse hammered to a gallop.

The chit smelled good. And she
felt
even better. He inhaled slowly, trying to place her scent.

And then somehow his hand was on her hip and she was crushed against his chest, the fence at her back. He yanked off the straw hat and gleaming ebony curls spilled free, falling over her shoulders and down past her waist.

Morland slid his fingers into the thick, blue-black strands. They reminded him of polished mahogany. He felt a dim tugging at the back of his mind, something that urged caution, logic, sense…

But it was far too late for caution. Smiling grimly, he tossed all reason to the wind and dug his fingers deeper.

Beneath the coal dust her face went sheet-white. Her eyes widened.

He still couldn’t quite make out the color…

No matter, for her body was sleek, perfectly made to fill his fingers.

And yet those eyes. There was something most odd about those eyes of hers…

Morland struggled for control. He had to stop. He had to stay aloof.

But his aroused body paid absolutely no attention.

He eased her head back. He slid his mouth hungrily over hers and felt her hat slip free as his lips explored the soft arch of her mouth.

She tasted warm. Rich with strawberries and mint.

He was pondering that alluring blend of tastes when his captive came to furious life against him, her arms flailing, her feet kicking wildly. She tripped on a coal bin and cursed.

“Bloody hell, woman! There’s no need to—” Morland winced as a slender fist smashed into his jaw.
“Stop
! I’m not going to—”

Her open palm cracked against his cheek. Then her half-boot savaged his shin.

He jumped back, growling an oath.

But the little cat was ready for him. Her hair was a wild black mane about her face as she circled slowly. So the wench wanted a fight, did she?

Moorland scowled. He’d learned a few tricks in Spain that she wouldn’t be expecting, in spite of the fact that she was obviously a seasoned fighter herself.

Probably James Cameron’s latest stray cat. The old reprobate had a habit of collecting flotsam of every shape and size. Even the human sort.

Morland’s eyes narrowed on the woman’s slender hips, outlined for a moment as she jerked at her dusty skirts.

But maybe she and the Black Cameron had a more intimate association. Maybe she—

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Still out to suit yourself! The same opportunist you always were! “

Once more her palm cracked down, this time against his shoulder.

Morland scowled down at the tangled curls, the sooty cheeks, the blazing eyes, trying to trace that low, throaty voice. “I beg your pardon.”

“Pardon? You’ll not have
that
from me, either, Tony Morland! There you’ll find yourself sadly out, you bounder, because I know
all
your tricks. And if you have the slightest bit of decency—which I sincerely doubt—you’ll take yourself off before—”

Bounder? Knowing his tricks? What was the little hellion talking about?

Morland feinted swiftly and seized her wrist as it whipped past his cheek. “What are you ranting about, woman?” But he got only a hissed oath for his trouble. Her slender fingers clenched and unclenched as he stared down at her. “Where is James Cameron? Enough arguing!”

A shudder lurched through her, from sooty face to slender, wiggling thighs.

And then, without a breath of warning, she simply crumpled, boneless as a stuffed doll in his arms.

Morland caught her barely a foot from the ground. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he swept her up against his chest.

She was soft.

And warm where her breast nestled against his arm.

All that fight and fury, and the woman was nothing more than thistledown in his hands…

Morland’s jaw clenched as her cheek slid against his neck. Her warm breath teased his bare skin. He felt an odd tightness in his throat.

Her black hair fanned out. One strand slid over her shoulder and coiled against the crisp linen of his shirt.

And at that moment Anthony Richard Langford, the Earl of Morland, knew desire such as he had never known nor even imagined before.

Gut-wrenching, it was. Blinding. Unreasonable and unexplainable.

And yet infinitely tender of its object.

Not that he was in a position to do the slightest thing about assuaging that desire. Honor forbade taking advantage of a woman in such a state, and a servant at that.

But, damn and blast, what was he to do with her until she awoke?

Scowling, Morland studied her pale cheeks and the dark lashes fanning out against her skin.

He saw the small, star-shaped scar atop her right wrist.

Abruptly his breath caught. “Chessy?” he whispered in frozen disbelief.
“Little
Chessy Cameron? Good sweet heaven, when did you grow up on me?”

Chessy came awake slowly.

She was rocking gently. Something hard pressed against her ribs. Her head ached, and there was an odd rasp in her throat.

Warily she opened her eyes, fighting dizziness and exhaustion.

Above her the sky danced a mad waltz. She blinked up at the sooty clouds flying overhead. Abruptly a storm of tiny white flakes rained down around her.

Funny, she hadn’t expected snow. It
never
snowed in Macao. In fact, Chessy had only seen the icy powder once before, while in China.

One of the flakes landed on her mouth. She tasted it with her tongue, frowning when it didn’t melt. They were supposed to
melt
, weren’t they?

Her brow wrinkled. It must be far colder than she thought.

Something brushed the white flakes away. They hung in the air for a moment, then drifted slowly to the ground.

“Sorry about the hawthorn petals.”

Petals?

She tried to sit up, but the movement sent fresh pain hammering into her head. She hadn’t slept and had barely eaten in the last week. Her energy was seriously depleted.

“Stop struggling. I’m carrying you inside. I don’t expect you’d enjoy being dropped on the stairs.”

Only then did Chessy notice the male arm clamped around her waist and the hard chest and stomach that pressed close.

Her head flew back. She stared up into a pair of startling azure eyes. “
You!
”

“I,” Morland said slowly. “Apparently the last person you were hoping to see. Perhaps someday you’ll tell me why, Chessy.”

The woman in his arms squirmed against his chest, color flooding her cheeks. “L-let me go, you cabbagehead! I can walk perfectly well. Now put me d-down, or I’ll—”

But the long legs did not slow their pace. She found herself rocking up the rickety staircase at the rear of the house.

Around her the world lurched back into focus. She heard the cries of street vendors, the shouts and clatter of a passing wagon. She grew aware of the pain at her wrist and ribs, where she had hurt herself in her perilous climb the night before. She was dizzy and tired and nauseated.

But most of all she felt the fascinating warmth of Anthony Morland’s arm at her waist, the pressure of his taut thigh beneath her hip.

Like it or not, there was something damnably
comforting
about all that controlled animal strength.

Abruptly reason and realization returned. Chessy could have cried out with the instant, slashing torment of it.

Not Macao at all. Not even Asia. She was in London, and her father was still a captive. She had yet to find the book that would free him.

Chessy struggled to move, but hard fingers clamped around her waist and held her motionless against taut male muscles that rippled with every step.

“Don’t move, I said. We’re almost there.” Sky-blue eyes probed hers, keen in a darkly tanned face. “And then I believe you owe me some explanations, Miss Cameron.”

The Earl of Morland’s voice was low, but Chessy could hear the anger in it. The sound ignited her own fury. Who was
he
to storm into her house, disrupt her affairs, and interrogate her in this high-handed way?

She owed him neither courtesy nor answers.

Grimly she jerked against his grip, but his hands only tightened.

Chessy fell back, white-faced. She grimaced as pain slammed through her head. First last night’s fiasco, now
this!

Seeing him with his mistress had been bad enough. Hearing what he was doing had been worse. But last night, at least, Chessy had been occupied with her search, and that had kept her from bitter memories.

Not now. Suddenly the past was far too close, and she had no protection from its pain.

She swallowed.

Her voice, when she spoke, was icy. “I owe you nothing, Lord Morland. Why should I? I still remember the way you left us in Macao ten years ago. You didn’t make a formal departure, did you? You didn’t so much as give a word of farewell. All you did was slink off like a dog in the night. Can you deny that?”

“I cannot,” he said quietly.

Her eyes fixed on his, sharp as glass. “Then you’ll pardon me if I don’t stand up and cheer at your arrival.”

“I understand.” Morland’s eyes narrowed. “It was not well done by me.”

Her expression did not soften. “I suggest you put me down and leave, before one of us says—or does—something we shall both always regret.”

“One of us already
has,
my dear. And since it’s too late for caution, perhaps you’ll tell me what you’re doing here in London.”

Chessy caught a steadying breath against the ache in her forehead. Her arm was on fire, and her head was throbbing. The jump last night…

Damn and blast! Why wouldn’t the wretched man take a hint and
leave
?

Too late, Chessy remembered the streak of stubbornness he’d always had. Goading him would only make it worse.

His face grim, the earl carried her into the hall. “Where is the salon?”