Susan Johnson (17 page)

But reason and rationalization aside, she found herself drawing in a deep, steadying breath as she placed her hand on the door handle.

The instant the carriage door opened, regardless of a score of muskets pointed at him, Johnnie dismounted, swiftly sliding off his horse before Elizabeth had fully gained the ground. And ignoring the mounted troopers eyeing him suspiciously, he strode toward her.

“You left early, my Lady,” he said as he reached her side, his bow polite, his gaze appreciatively taking in her slender dimity-clad form, her short cashmere cape tied under her chin with a symmetrical primness. “Did you tire of the Graham festivities?”

He could have been greeting her outside church, she thought, from his well-bred manner and tone, not standing sweaty, windswept, and casually dressed on a country road miles from home.

Less capable of the politesse that passed for feeling in the aristocratic world, she said, “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“You shouldn’t have left without saying good-bye.” His pale blue eyes were angelic.

“I didn’t realize a farewell to you was required,” she stiffly replied, her voice as studiously cool as her flower-sprigged frock and leaf-green capelet. But the damp linen shirt clinging to Johnnie’s muscled frame, the scent of sandalwood from his heated body, his wild dark hair curling on the muted red-and-green plaid draped over one shoulder, disastrously affected her pretense at self-possession.

“I missed you,” he plainly said, as if she hadn’t offered him a standoffish reply, as if she weren’t surrounded by a troop of armed men, as if he rode after ladies every day of his life, when in fact he never had.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but her voice was a small, hushed sound. Her eyes lifted to his; she’d never learned the duplicity of flirtation, the mummery of fashionable deceit.

And undisguised desire met his gaze.

“Come talk to me,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate, “away from all these people.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t be here, but I am,” he countered, insistent, almost a touch of resentment in his tone. “So call off your guards. Come walk with me.…” He glanced quickly to where his cousin sat his horse. “Munro will stay as hostage.”

Reason no longer held sway; she couldn’t help herself. After the minutest pause, she gave orders to her troopers to put away their weapons, dismount, and take their ease. “And I’m not in danger,” she finished, thinking even as she spoke how inaccurate her words, for she was in the ultimate peril—in danger of surrendering her heart.

They walked together down the road a short distance until they were out of sight of the carriage, speaking of the wedding, the weather, neutral topics that could be discussed in bland conversation, avoiding the urgent reasons they were alone on an isolated country road miles from their homes. Until a few moments later Johnnie indicated a trodden grassy path with a slight gesture of his hand. “There’s a small glade down this deer trail. Munro and I rode from this direction,” he continued, as though an explanation were required, as though any words mattered. “We won’t be disturbed.”

An audacious small phrase, pregnant with suggestion.

He was offering her a choice.

“How far is it?” she asked, avoiding the more pressing questions crowding her brain.

“Not far.” He smiled faintly. “Your guards can hear you if you call.”

“Do you intend to be unmanageable?” she inquired with an answering smile.

“Never.”

“In that case,” she replied, moving past him down the grassy way, “I’m quite safe.”

A relative expression, Johnnie thought, considering his intentions, but he doubted she was in the mood for such a discussion. Nor was he, with more vital issues on his mind.

They reached the silent green glade rimmed with lacy fern, the soft grass flattened in places where the deer had slept, the tall pines towering dark above them, the sun warm. And they stood facing each other across a small distance, neither finding the facile words to ease the momentary silence.

Until Johnnie spoke at last, his voice low-pitched and quiet in the sheltered glade.

“This is very awkward.”

“You mean women don’t usually resist you?”

She could see his grin begin and then as suddenly disappear.

“I don’t think so.”

His manners were impeccable, she thought, his smile now fully under control. “You don’t
think
so?” The uncomfortable realization that she might be simply another of that vast horde of women impelled her resentment.

He heard the anger in her voice and debated for a moment the merits of honesty. But after playing the courtier for days at Hawick, he was beyond the falsehood and pretense of fashionable flirtation, and he answered, “Actually, no … they don’t.”

“Ah …” she softly exclaimed, the way a cat might pounce on a hapless mouse, “they all fall into your lap then. Is that it?”

He didn’t answer that time because the very last thing he wanted to do was fight. He said instead, very slowly, as though the words expressed were not only difficult to say but difficult to understand, “I’ve thought of you often—when I should have been thinking of other things.” He shifted his stance slightly, restive at revealing his feelings. “The business of Parliament is moving Scotland critically toward war or independence,” he went on
in a carefully modulated tone, “and I’m spending an unconscionable amount of time thinking of you. I shouldn’t have come to Hawick. Tweedale is diligently wooing those of the Country party who need money, while I’m here playing the gallant to you.”

Elizabeth moved away from him, and he watched her but didn’t follow. Mildly resentful of her overpowering allure and the need for such personal disclosures, he kept his distance as she sat down on a fallen tree trunk, although he felt his heartbeat quicken at her action; she wasn’t going to run, he realized, or cry for help or resist him. He should have felt more elation.

Looking up at him, Elizabeth spoke so quietly, he had to strain to hear her. “You’ve disrupted my thoughts, my dreams, my life,” she whispered, “since Goldiehouse.…” Her hands clasped in her lap were clenched tightly together. “I didn’t want to start all over again.”

“So you ran away.”

“Yes.”

“I came to Hawick only for you,” he said.

“And not for the young bride and groom?” she queried with a smile, warmed by his simple admission.

He shrugged and shook his head. “I avoid weddings as a rule.”

“I see.”

And the silence surrounded them.

He had come to see her, Elizabeth happily thought, the proud and arrogant Ravensby had come to Hawick despite the pressing needs of his party and his country. Despite his better judgment apparently, if his moodiness and aloof stance were any indication.
And
with some constraining agreement with his cousin Munro, she suspected.

“Is Munro still a restraint?” she quietly said, enormously gratified to know a mutual desire overwhelmed them both, no longer guarded with her feelings. “Is it some wager?” she added with a smile when he still hadn’t answered or moved.

“No.” Uneasy at being so drawn to a woman, at having exposed his feelings, he resisted as if in some paradoxical way self-denial would preserve his freedom.

“Come sit by me then.” Elizabeth gently patted the rough bark beside her, as if coaxing a small child to an unpleasant task.

He should leave, he thought. He shouldn’t have ridden after her, he shouldn’t be panting like a dog in heat for any woman … particularly for this woman, the daughter of Harold Godfrey, his lifelong enemy.

“Are you afraid of me?” She’d stopped running now from her desire. There was quixotic pleasure, too, in the new awareness of her power over Johnnie Carre. But perhaps paramount of the essential reasons impelling her, she was blissfully happy … without thought or reason. It was an enormous leap of faith, a rash and venturesome sensation for a woman who’d always viewed the world with caution.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Johnnie answered, unhesitating confidence in his deep voice.

“I didn’t think so,” she replied. Dressed like a reiver in leather breeches, high boots, a shirt open at the throat, his hunting plaid the muted color of autumn foliage, he looked not only unafraid but menacing. The danger and attraction of scandalous sin, she thought—all dark, arrogant masculinity. “My guardsmen will wait indefinitely,” she said very, very quietly, thinking with an arrogance of her own, There. That should move him.

And when he took that first step, she smiled a tantalizing female smile, artless and instinctive.

“You please me,” she said, gazing up at him as he slowly drew near.

“
You
drive me mad,” Johnnie said, sitting down on the fallen tree, resting his arms on his knees and contemplating the dusty toes of his boots.

“And you don’t like the feeling.”

“I dislike it intensely,” he retorted, chafing resentment plain in his voice.

He wouldn’t look at her. “Would you rather I leave?”

His head swiveled toward her then, a cynical gleam in his blue eyes. “Of course not.”

An answer of sorts, she decided, but not one twined with daisy chains. “Why was it different at
Hawick?” she asked. His mood was so different now, his familiar charm suppressed.

“Because it was a fashionable game with acceptable rules at Hawick,” he said, surprised at his honesty. He was rarely frank with women. But Elizabeth Graham was different from the other women. That was why he was here, discontent and thoroughly aroused, wondering how to deal with his feelings.

“And now it isn’t?”

He gazed at her from under the dark fringe of his lashes, not certain himself. And after a lengthy pause he said, “I don’t think so.”

“And you prefer games,” she said, understanding a portion of his dilemma.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm,” Elizabeth murmured, pursing her lips, clasping her hands together and studying her yellow kidskin slippers. “This
is
awkward,” she said after a moment, amusement in her voice. Sitting up straighter, she half turned to gaze at him. “I’ve never seduced a man before.” A smile of unalloyed innocence curved her mouth. “Could you help me? If you don’t mind, my Lord,” she demurely added.

A grin slowly creased his tanned cheek. “You play the ingenue well, Lady Graham,” he said, sitting upright to better meet her frankly sensual gaze. His pale blue eyes had warmed, restoring a goodly measure of his charm. “Upon reflection, Bitsy, my dear,” he decided, “I suddenly find I don’t mind at all.…” It was a revelation of some consequence, considering his previous ill temper. “Actually, I’d be a damned fool to mind,” he said, his grin in sharp contrast to the curious affection in his eyes.

Exhaling theatrically, Elizabeth said, “Thank you, my Lord,” in a blatant parody of gratitude. “Without your assistance I despaired of properly arousing you.”

He laughed, a warmhearted sound of natural pleasure. “On that count you needn’t have worried. I’ve been in rut since I left Edinburgh to see you.”

“How charming,” Elizabeth said, mischievous, teasing.

“Only from your point of view, pet, I assure you,” he drawled.

“Could I be of some help?” she murmured, her voice husky, enticing.

His erection grew sizably at her invitation, and he found himself attentively searching the ground for a suitable place to lie with her. “I warn you,” he said very low, his mouth in a lazy grin, “I’m days past the need for seduction. I hope you don’t mind the grass. My bed at Hawick would have been softer.”

“But then all of Hawick would have known.”

“That matters?” Genuine surprise registered in his voice.

“We can’t all live undisturbed by scandal.” But in contrast to her conventional words, she was feeling as though she’d be willing to endure anything for Johnnie Carre’s body next to hers.

All Johnnie could think of was feeling her close around him. Society’s censure was so far down his list of concerns, it didn’t bear comment. Rising abruptly, he held out his hand and said, “Hawick be damned. All I can offer is this country setting. Do you mind?”

She smiled up at him as she put her hand in his. “As long as you hold me, my Lord, and as long as the grass stains don’t show.”

He paused for a moment with her small hand light on his palm. “You’re very remarkable,” he softly said. The women in his life had been careful to avoid sincerity.

“Too candid for you, my Lord?” she playfully inquired.

His long fingers closed around her hand in an act of possession, pure and simple, as if he would keep this spirited, plain-speaking woman who startled him. “Your candor excites me,” he said. “Be warned,” he murmured, drawing her to her feet, “I’ve been wanting you for three days past; I won’t guarantee finesse.” Releasing her hand, he held his own hands up so she could see them tremble. “Look.”

“I’m shaking
inside
so violently, I may savage you first, my Lord,” Elizabeth softly breathed, swaying toward him, her fragrance sweet in his nostrils, her face
lifted for a kiss. “I’ve been waiting four months since I left Goldiehouse.”

A spiking surge of lust ripped through his senses, gut-deep, searing, her celibacy a singular flamboyant ornament offered to him as if it were his duty, his obligation, to bring her pleasure. In a flashing moment his hands closed on her shoulders. Pulling her sharply close, he slid his palms down her back—then lower, swiftly cupping her bottom, dragging her into the rigid length of his erection. He moaned deep in his throat as she touched him there. His mouth dipped to hers, and he forced her mouth open, plunging his tongue deep inside.