Timeless Desire (21 page)

“And I waited,” she said when they parted.

“I see that. I don’t mind that you didn’t bathe.” He began pulling her toward the bed, though he nearly fell with the effort. “I shall enjoy you unbathed, too.”

“Wait.”

“I think not, milady. You have me too much in your thrall.”

The bed was about as far away as one could get from the voices at the hearth, but she was not going to sacrifice her honor for the people of the borderlands, no matter how deserving they might be. Besides, there was more to be learned from the officers.

“I think waiting will be worth your while.”

At this he stopped, cocking an interested brow at her. She could see the effort it took for him to keep her in focus.

“I think you have had too much to drink.”

“I think I have had just enough. I am still waiting to hear how waiting could be worth my while.”

She swallowed hard. “I am planning to take that bath.”

His eyes widened as the possibilities of such a tableau danced through his imagination. “Indeed?”

“Aye.”

His grip relaxed a degree and it was all she could do not to jerk herself free.

“There are few things that would induce me to delay the pleasure of joining with you,” he said, “but I do believe
that
might one of them.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “You have promised to make waiting worth my while. Take care you do it.”

He might barely be able to stand upright, but the threat was apparent enough.

“Lie down,” she directed, managing with effort to keep the quaver from her voice.

He released her arm and made his way to the door unsteadily. For an instant her heart soared. If he were to leave, even for a moment, she would disappear. But instead he closed the door and threw the bolt. The click sent a jolt of terror down her spine.

She willed herself to calmness, giving him a seductive smile. He stumbled toward the bed. Letting out a long breath, she returned to the tub, eyeing him over her shoulder as she moved. The men were still talking downstairs. She drew a hand across the petal-covered water. She could feel his eyes on her.

“. . . you been in touch with our contact in Edinburgh?”
Williston asked. Adderly made no sign of hearing anything.

She reached for the ribbons at her bodice and loosened them. Adderly practically vibrated with anticipation. If she stretched this out long enough, she hoped he would fall asleep. “You must lie down, sir. I can hardly do this with you looking as if you are about to leap upon me like a bear in the woods.”

With a chuckle, he flopped on his back on the mattress and gave her a prurient smile.

The earl’s voice drifted out of the hearth. “Do not refer to him as our contact, you fool.”

She slipped the shoulders of the gown free and let it fall.

Adderly was absolutely rapt now.
As well he should be,
she thought.

She took a deep breath and let the shift fall as well.

He let out a long, slow sigh. She felt like Daniel in the den of lions.

She stepped into the tub and lowered herself into the still-warm water.

“You have a gorgeous cunt.”

Prince Charming
.

She grabbed the ball of soap, dipped it in the water and drew it slowly down the length of her arm and in a slippery trail around each breast.

“Oh,
aye
.”

She tried to listen to the snippets of conversation from the hearth but, unsurprisingly, was having a hard time concentrating. Especially after Adderly jumped suddenly from the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping to the terms of our bet.” He snagged the dress and shift, wove his way to the wardrobe and tossed them inside. Then he pulled a key from his pocket and locked the wardrobe door.

Oh, shit.

But he didn’t stop there. He skinned off his coat and shirt, then with considerable comic effort his boots and socks as he hopped in an exaggerated circle. When he reached for the buttons of his breeks, she said,
“Adderly.”

“Aye?”

“I said to lie down.”

But instead he made his way toward the tub, unbuttoning as he walked.

She kept her eyes on his face, deafened by the roar of blood in her ears. He raked his gaze over her, desire apparent on his face and in the straining of flesh against the front of his breeks.

“I’m bathing,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the tremor in her voice. “Go. Lie. Down.”

He trailed a finger from her collarbone to her nipple, which he twisted roughly. Then he stumbled toward the bed, pausing only to drop his breeks before stretching out unselfconsciously on the bed.

She let out a silent sigh of relief.

The broad chest and tight stomach were clearly a Bridgewater trait, but she hoped the less-than-imperious family standard rising between Adderly’s legs was a legacy of the countess’s side of the family, not the earl’s.

I have no intention of asking him to consider such a thing.

The lapping of the water as she washed made hearing the officers’ conversation tricky, and when she finally finished, the voices had stopped. Adderly’s breathing, however, had grown slow and steady.

Thataboy.

She dared not look, afraid that catching his eye would only rouse him. She sponged her back and sides until the water was so cold that it gave her gooseflesh. At last she heard a gentle snore.

Thank God.

She slipped slowly out of the water and padded to where Adderly had dropped his coat. No key in the pockets there. She tried his breeks next, but those didn’t even have a pocket. Where could he have put the key to the wardrobe? Without her dress, her only choice would be to run to the service stairway naked.

He stirred and she froze. But he only rolled onto his stomach, adjusting his erection, and let out a small fart. Then she saw the key. It was clutched in the hand under his cheek.

There was no way she was going to be able to fish it loose. Instead, she grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, then flew to the door, unbolted it, and ran.

“I
TOLD
YOU
,” P
ANNA SAID
,
TIRED OF ANSWERING
. “T
HERE WAS NO
concrete plan, just Adderly’s suggestion that the army do something the queen wouldn’t approve of to provoke the Scots—and the whole notion was instantly rejected by your father.”

Bridgewater finished buttoning her into the new gown and growled.

They’d been over this half a dozen times. She was glad darkness had fallen. The look that had come over Bridgewater’s face as she’d approached the copse in Adderly’s shirt would be burned into her mind forever. After she’d explained what had happened and why she’d had to do what she’d done, Bridgewater’s demeanor changed from shock to a cool, businesslike formality. He’d handed her his coat stiffly and begun asking questions as if he were cross-examining an uncooperative witness at a bankruptcy hearing.

Even Clare had been embarrassed for her. After the second time Bridgewater had gone through his litany of questions, Clare asked if his own time might not be better spent scavenging new clothes for Panna, and Bridgewater had released him.

In less than an hour, Clare had reappeared, toting not only a clean shift but a gown of crisp rose linen printed with tiny flowers.

And Clare’s powers of conjuring were not limited to clothes. He had also found a wedge of cheese, several slices of roast beef, and a small jug of ale.

So while Panna tried to work her way into the slightly small gown behind her old friend the copper beech, the men ate, though when she emerged, she could see that Bridgewater had taken scarcely more than a few bites.

“We’ll need another horse,” Clare said, “though I suppose she can ride with one of us.”

Panna was surprised he didn’t have an extra horse in his back pocket.

“No, we won’t. She can have mine.” Bridgewater flung the rind of his cheese into the woods. “I have an appointment, and I’ll walk. It’s in Drumburgh,” he added by way of explanation when Clare cocked his head slightly.

Whatever Bridgewater’s appointment in Drumburgh meant, it lit up a lightbulb for Clare. The question evaporated from his face and he busied himself with the cork on the jug.

“Return her to MacIver Castle,” Bridgewater added.

“Return her”? What am I, an overdue library book?

“And tell Reeves to put her someplace where she won’t be disturbed . . . the chapel.”

Though he had his back to her, she knew the pause had been for her benefit. Bridgewater had refused to meet her eyes since she’d appeared in Adderly’s shirt. She wondered if they would part, never to see each other again, with him offering nothing more than an anger-laden grunt. She was deeply disappointed on failing to learn more from the officers—and on realizing that Bridgewater was not going to be sweeping her into his arms and carrying her off to the nearest inn—and she just wished he would do something to show he had the slightest bit of affection for her.

She puffed out her chest against the tightness of the bodice, wondering if she could pop a button into his forehead.

Clare said, “Didn’t you say Adderly’s guard was in front of the chapel? If so, not even Reeves may be allowed to pass.”

Bridgewater let out a quiet oath. “You’re right. I’ll take her. They’ll not deny me. You can take my place at Drumburgh.”

“In case anyone cares, I am not a bag of horse feed. I am perfectly capable of determining where I should go and when.” This despite the fact that she felt like a bag of horse feed that had grown too big for its burlap.

Clare, sensing trouble, jumped to his feet and brushed off his breeks. “Then I’ll head out.” He waved and set off on foot, disappearing quickly into the thick forest.

Bridgewater picked up the loose gear, attached it to one saddle or the other, and began to make the small adjustments necessary to change the tack on Clare’s horse to something more appropriate for a rider with legs a foot shorter.

“How far is Drumburgh?” she asked at last.

“Eight miles.”

“Poor man. He should have a horse.”

He tightened the stirrup with a jerk. “Unfortunately, we cannot spare one.”

“Look, I’m sorry if my presence here has been an inconvenience. Lord knows, it has been no great pleasure for me, either. But I’ll be out of your hair soon. I was only trying to help.”

“‘Help’?”

He turned on her so sharply that she took a step backward.

“That’s what you call help?” A spark of fury flashed in his eyes. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through these last two hours, twiddling my thumbs while I waited to hear if you’d been found out or taken prisoner or attacked?” His voice grew husky. “Do you not understand you are a
weapon
? That he would want what you know? And that if he found you out, you would be at his mercy? Did you not see what he did to me? And I have the protection of a commanding officer. Do you think he would scruple to seize you or move you or hide you in a place I couldn’t find you? He wouldn’t. And I would spend the rest of my days tearing the borderlands apart piece by piece to find you.”

He pressed his palms to his temples, overcome with emotion, then flung his hands away.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said, waves of regret washing over her. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“And then you stumble in, in his shirt, as if you
had
been attacked. Oh, Christ!” He turned back to the horses.

Panna knew what it was to care so much about a person that their safety was as important as your own. With Charlie, that feeling had a come a little piece at a time. They’d dated for many months before she could honestly say she’d fallen in love with him. But with Bridgewater it had happened in a matter of a few hours. She supposed in a world where each day brings life or death to your doorstep, the rules were different.

She took a hesitant step forward. “Bridgewater, I’m sorry—very sorry. You’re right: I
don’t
know what’s dangerous here. I thought I could handle it, but I should have listened. We have a phrase where I come from for what I was feeling: ‘scared shitless.’”

His shoulders relaxed and shook slightly, and she knew she’d made him laugh. He turned, giving her a small smile. “Tis very apt.” But then the smile was replaced with a look of quiet dread. “Tell me,
did
he hurt you? I was afraid Clare’s presence or even mine may have kept you from being honest.”

She wished she didn’t have to tell him what had transpired, but she also knew at this point she owed him the truth. “He didn’t hurt me. He was very drunk, and he believed we were going to make love. He touched my breast in the bath, and it scared me in the way a woman can be scared when a man is drunk and determined, but he had no designs on me other than to get me into bed.”

Bridgewater took a deep breath and released it. “Well, I suppose we can hardly blame him for that,” he said grumpily. She smiled.

“Come.” He bent by Clare’s horse and laced his fingers once more, offering her a foothold. She felt his strength as he lifted her like a ballerina. She wondered what it would be like to feel those hands on her knees or shoulders, or cupping her breasts.