To Tempt A Rogue (12 page)

Until now. And it was impossible to resist the raw longing and emotions this magical kiss brought forth. She responded in a wholly inappropriate manner by clutching his lapels and pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth open. His tongue thrust at hers and she answered with her own, amazed at the depths of feeling and passion he could arouse.

Her blood pulsed rapidly through her veins. Her breasts tingled and she pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the sudden ache. As she allowed herself to be cradled in his strong arms, Harriet gave herself over completely to the experience of giving and receiving pleasure.

She could feel his muscled hardness and body heat, could smell his musky cologne, could hear his harsh breathing, could taste his passion.
It felt so good,
she admitted with a sigh.
In an uncontrolled, unfamiliar way.

Their hips rocked together. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her jaw. He bit her earlobe, then sucked it gently between his teeth. Harriet tipped her head, allowing him easier access and he kissed her neck, nuzzling it softly.

Then he went very still. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. His chest heaved against her breasts, rubbing them, creating an unbearable, restless friction.

“Where is your famous female common sense now, Miss Sainthill?” he whispered raggedly.

His words brought her sharply back to her senses. There was certainly madness connected to this wild reckless behavior, but she could no longer allow herself to indulge. Reluctantly, Harriet pulled herself out of his arms. “ 'Twas gone for a fleeting instant, but thankfully it has returned.”

“Thankfully?” His voice turned husky. “Shall I chase it away and rekindle our passion? I promise the bliss we will achieve, the delights we will share, the fulfillment we will reach shall make it well worthwhile.”

He reached for her again, but she stepped away. Though this attraction held her in its dizzying power, Harriet knew her head must rule her actions. “Good bye, Mr. Wainwright.” She let out an audible sigh. “I suspect it will come as no surprise to you that I have decided to terminate my very brief employment. My servants and I will be leaving in the morning.”

“Then stay with me tonight.”

He ran his fingertips along the line of her jaw, adjusting her head so she was forced to look into his eyes. His stare was hot, filled with hunger and raw need, yet oddly earnest. Humbling amazement unfurled within her as she realized he was the first man to be so open and honest about his passion.
For her.

This was not an act or a ploy. He truly did find her desirable, for the smile that crept across his handsome face was pure sin.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears. For an instant Harriet feared she did not have the strength to resist. Slowly, she lifted her hand and caressed his clean-shaven cheek. She stared intensely at him for a long moment, desperately struggling to keep the temptation she felt from her face.

And oh, how she was tempted.

With the two most important male relationships of her life, Harriet always felt she had been striving to reach for something beyond her grasp. Her father's love and attention. Her fiancé's love and attention.

Mr. Wainwright's proposition should have left her bristling with embarrassment and outrage. Instead it made her feel beautiful. Womanly. For once she was not reaching towards a man who was turning away. For once someone she found desirable was reaching for
her.

'Tis long past the time that you did something daring in your life,
Harriet thought. Yet while the yearning hit her hard and deep, she could not lose sight of the fact that there were limits that all women had to place on their actions. And consequences.

“Good-bye, Mr. Wainwright.” Her voice was breathy, but determined.

He suddenly jerked his head and kissed the hand she still held against his cheek. “You have broken my heart, Miss Sainthill.”

His attempt at humor eased some of the tension. As she turned away, Harriet could feel his burning gaze on her body. She knew it would only take one slight gesture of encouragement to bring him near. It was a heady, womanly power she never believed she would have the privilege of possessing.

Pity, this was not the right time to use it.

She fumbled slightly with the door handle before slipping inside. She shut the door quickly, practically in Mr. Wainwright's face, then turned and pressed her back to the solid wood.

Nervously smoothing her hair and righting her gown, Harriet waited to hear his footsteps fade away. The sound was a long time in coming and when she did hear it, a deep sigh of pure loneliness escaped. For the first time in her life, Harriet loudly cursed her rigid, moral conscience and innate common sense.

Though it was not late, the snores from the corner of the room told Harriet that Kate was already fast asleep. Harriet did not bother lighting any candles, fearing it might awaken Kate. Given the unsettled nature of her emotional state, she was in no mood to answer any of the maid's questions about the evening.

It was a struggle to remove the green silk gown without aid, and difficult to negotiate the dark room, but Harriet managed. She folded each of her garments carefully as she undressed, then carried the pile to her open portmanteau. Kate had already packed most of Harriet's garments, so it was a tight fit, but Harriet managed to get the rest of her clothes inside.

Before fastening the portmanteau closed, Harriet's fingers brushed against the soft silk gown that rested on top. She sighed, knowing any time she wore this garment she would remember this night. And this man.

Kate had laid out her nightgown on the bed, so there was no need to go searching through the luggage. Harriet pulled it over her head, taking note of its shapeless, unflattering design. Made of simple white cotton, it had long sleeves, a high neckline that brushed against the bottom of her chin, and a hem that swirled about her ankles.

The only touch of color on the entire garment was a small design of pink and blue embroidered flowers along the cuff of each sleeve. It was hardly the garment a seductress would wear to entice a man, yet she wondered how Mr. Wainwright would react if he saw her in it.

Stop it!
Harriet nearly screamed the words out loud. This carnal speculation was pure folly. She had made her decision regarding Mr. Wainwright and there was no going back.

Rushing to finish her preparations for bed, Harriet stalked to the washstand and poured cold water from the chipped pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face liberally, then patted it dry. Next she removed the pins from her hair, wincing as a few caught in the long curls and pulled at her scalp.

She brushed her hair slowly, but found no comfort in this normally soothing ritual. Disgusted, she plaited her hair into two neat braids and secured the ends with plain ribbons. Feeling more like herself, Harriet at last climbed under the covers and pulled the heavy blanket to her chin.

As the minutes slowly ticked by she listened to the steady rain and waited with open eyes for the morning to arrive.

 

 

There was no change in the weather at daybreak. Steady rain continued to pelt the windows and the gloomy sky darkened the room. For a fleeting instant Harriet wished she had the choice of turning over and snuggling under the covers, but she knew that was not to be. They needed to get on the road as soon as possible, for it was no doubt full of puddles and mud already and travel today would be slow.

The meager fire had long since gone cold in the hearth and Harriet dreaded leaving the warmth of her bed. She sat up, drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, all the while keeping the blankets tucked snugly around her.

Her final morning at Hillsdale Castle. The pang of regret she felt at leaving was a confusing emotion. It was the only course of action she could take and yet the thought of leaving this mysterious place with so many unanswered questions crowding her mind left her feeling unsettled.

Harriet stole a glance around the room, surprised to spy Kate still abed, apparently sleeping soundly. The maid was usually up long before Harriet awoke. The older woman had done nothing but complain since setting foot inside this household, so Harriet assumed when she woke this morning she would find Kate sitting on the luggage, fully dressed, with her bonnet tied and her gloves on, eager for the journey back to England to begin.

Knowing the roads would be treacherous and uncomfortable, Harriet decided to let the maid enjoy a little more rest. Harriet stretched out her legs, moving them restlessly beneath the covers as she debated where to eat her morning meal. When Kate awoke, should she tell the maid to fetch a tray from the kitchen? Or would it be better to brave the dining room for a last shared meal with her former employer?

What would Mr. Wainwright do if she did not appear for breakfast? Would he seek her out one final time? Would there be an opportunity for a lingering,
improper
good-bye? Would that be wise?

Angered at her indecisive vacillations, Harriet threw back the covers and jumped from the bed. Her bare feet on the frigid stone floor jolted her awake. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself to ward off the cold, then set about laying a fire. Pleased with the flickering flames, she made a brief inspection of the luggage, conceding that Kate might be a meddlesome pest, but she was an excellent maid.

“Kate, 'tis time to rise,” Harriet called out. “There is still much to be done before we can depart.”

Harriet poured the last remaining drops of cold water from the pitcher and tried to wash her face. Realizing she would need more water, preferably hot, to complete her toilette, Harriet turned toward her maid.

“Kate, please, we have much to accomplish. You must get out of bed.”

Harriet waited impatiently, the empty pitcher dangling from her hand, but the elderly maid never lifted her head off the pillow.

Concerned, Harriet moved closer. Kate shifted restlessly on the mattress, making odd, guttural sounds. Her face seemed unnaturally pale and her teeth chattered even while she slept. Harriet reached out and placed a hand upon the maid's forehead. It felt hot and feverish.

Kate reacted to the contact by moaning loudly and kicking the bedcovers off her body. Good Lord! The maid was gravely ill. Fearing the worst, Harriet rushed from the room to find aid.

Harriet arrived at the dining room panting and out of breath. To her utter dismay, she discovered the room was empty, with no sign of Mr. Wainwright or his breakfast. He had either eaten already and was gone or had yet to begin his day. She was too early or too late.

Chest heaving with frustration, Harriet scurried toward the back of the room, looking for a second exit and finding none. Whirling around, she hurried out the same door she had entered, then paused. She lifted her chin, drew in a deep breath and then another.

Where to now?
Forcing her mind to concentrate, Harriet was barely aware of the odors wafting through the air until she took another deep breath.
Food!
If she could smell it, then someone must be cooking it. Without hesitation Harriet let her nose lead her down a long hallway, hoping she would discover the source, and the cook, quickly.

She did. It was a cavernous room, both wide and long with high arched stone ceilings, several fireplaces, cooking pots, two stoves and four long trestle tables. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, baskets of vegetables sat in the corner, freshly killed game covered a small bench. As she crossed the kitchen threshold, all her questions about seeing barely any servants in the castle were immediately answered.

The room was fairly crawling with people, whose station as servants was easily ascertained by their dress, if not their manner. They were sitting about in cozy repast, eating and drinking heartily, talking and joking amongst themselves. There was a festive, almost party atmosphere in the room. A startling contrast to the gloomy, lifeless feeling that permeated the rest of the dwelling.

Harriet's sudden, unannounced appearance caused little reaction in the kitchen, as everyone was too engrossed in their own conversations to take much notice of her. Fortunately, there was one face in the group that she recognized.

“Mrs. Mullins. Oh, thank goodness. You must send for the physician immediately.” Harriet took several long strides across the stone floor, moving closer to the housekeeper. “My maid is ill and needs care.”

Mrs. Mullins turned slowly. Her gaze moved from Harriet's face to her feet and back again before delivering a cut worthy of the most aristocratic dowager. “Are yer daft, lass? Runnin' aboot the castle in yer nightclothes as if the dev'l hisself wer on yer heels? What's wrong with ye?”

“I need help!” Harriet's agitated state only enhanced the difficulty of understanding the housekeeper's thick brogue. Harriet shifted restlessly, returning tenfold the look of pinched disapproval she was receiving.

As the standoff continued, the conversation around them buzzed for a few minutes, then grew softer and softer until it finally fell silent. Harriet knew without looking around that every eye in the room was now trained upon her. She felt a prickle of unease rush up her spine at nearly the same instant she noticed an icy draft swirling around her ankles.

Harriet glanced down. Good Lord! It was no wonder that everyone was staring at her as if she were some sort of lunatic. Her feet were bare, her braided hair was rumpled and unkempt and she was standing in the middle of a crowded kitchen dressed only in her nightgown, without even a wrapper to cover and preserve an ounce of her dignity.

In her haste to summon help for her maid, Harriet had run from the room wearing her nightgown! Her embarrassment frizzled under her skin, but she could not afford the luxury of indulging it. Kate was ill and needed help. Harriet tugged at her sleeves, knowing that while her attire was outrageously inappropriate, it also covered her completely, certainly far better than the daring gown she had worn to dinner last night.

Head high, she turned again to Mrs. Mullins. “A physician must be summoned at once.”

The housekeeper's lip curled, but the servant was interrupted before she could make any further remarks. By the arrival of Mr. Wainwright. Apparently one of the other servants had the presence of mind to fetch his master.

“What is the matter?”

Both women turned at the same time. Harriet felt Mr. Wainwright's gaze upon her, but he made no comment about her attire, and she was grateful for his restraint. She put a hand to her whirling head, blinked, refocused. “Please, you must come at once. 'Tis Kate.”

He met her eyes. “Kate?”

“My maid. She's burning up with fever. I fear she is dangerously ill and in need of immediate medical attention.”

Mr. Wainwright reached for her, closing his fingers firmly about her wrist. “I appreciate your concern, but more often than not what appears to be a serious illness is nothing more than a mild cold. There is no need to start a panic.”

Harriet opened her mouth to haughtily declare that she well knew the difference between a serious fever and a simple cold, but the gentle pressure of his fingers on her arm stopped her. She paused, read the caution in his eyes, then took a moment to glance around the room. When she saw the crowd of anxious faces staring intently at her, Harriet understood Mr. Wainwright's silent warning.

“My apologies for the overset,” she said in a deliberately loud voice, seeking to be heard. Then she dropped her chin, leaned closer and whispered, “Kate is gravely ill. Please, you must find help at once.”

“I'll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Harriet turned on her heel and strode away quickly, praying that the firelight was too dim to illuminate her limbs through the cotton of her nightgown.

Once back in her bedchamber, she checked on Kate, who was still in a feverish, delirious state. Then Harriet quickly dressed, putting on her traveling clothes since they were the most easily accessible garments. Though she knew she would not be starting her journey home today.

Needing to keep herself occupied, Harriet set about organizing the clutter in the room. She briefly considered unpacking, but felt guilty at undoing all of Kate's hard work. After all, who knew when the maid would be up to tackling such a big job again.

A knock at the door interrupted Harriet's disturbed thoughts. Though she would have preferred to see the doctor, she was not displeased to find Mr. Wainwright.

“I've sent Douglas for the physician, but it will probably take several hours for him to arrive,” Mr. Wainwright said. “He lives a fair distance away and this storm will hamper his progress.”

“I had not really expected him to be here quickly. Though I did hope.” A worried frown creased her brow. “I think Kate will be more comfortable in the bed, but I cannot move her on my own.”

“I'll do it.” He crossed the room and knelt by the thick pallet where the maid tossed restlessly. As he glanced down, an expression of alarm crossed his handsome features.

Harriet rushed forward. “Is it Kate? Has she worsened?”

Mr. Wainwright shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Since this is the first that I have seen of her, I can make no comparison. But she is very pale and burning with fever.”

Harriet lay her palm on Kate's forehead. “Her skin is warmer to the touch, but I cannot tell if it is the fever or the warmth of the fire.”

“Your idea to move her is a good one. Let's put her on the bed,” Mr. Wainwright said.

Harriet pulled back the bed curtains, ignoring the cloud of dust, knowing the heavy cloth would serve to keep out the draft. She drew down the covers, angry that she had not thought to set a warming pan in the bed to chase away the chill.

With a single grunt, Mr. Wainwright lifted the maid up in his arms. He hesitated for a moment, balancing his burden, then carefully carried her across the room. The minute she was in position, Harriet covered her with several blankets.

The maid looked pale and lifeless stretched out in the large bed. Harriet's heart constricted in panic. “ 'Tis very serious, isn't it?” she whispered.

“It could be,” Mr. Wainwright admitted. “I've only seen fever this extreme one other time.”

“What happened?”

“The patient died.”

Harriet held back her gasp. She was stricken by the torment that laced through his voice, and she could not help but wonder who this mysterious person was that could cause Mr. Wainwright such emotional agony.

“Miss Sainthill, forgive me.” He rested one hand on her shoulder. “I did not mean to suggest that Kate will meet a similar fate.”

“I know. I appreciate your honesty. I feel so helpless.” Tight-lipped, Harriet gulped back a tide of emotion.

“All we can do now is wait for the doctor and pray that he has the skills to cure her,” Mr. Wainwright said. “Is there anything we should do in the meantime?”

“I don't know. Give her some tea, perhaps? It seems to me that anytime anyone is feeling poorly, tea is prescribed.”

“I'll have some sent up immediately.” He walked to the door. Harriet remained at Kate's bedside. “I'll bring the physician here the moment he arrives. If you have need of me, I'll be in the library.”

Harriet nodded her thanks. The remainder of the morning passed in a blur. She waited, paced and waited. The servants, fearful of the dreadful disease the Sassenach woman carried, refused to enter the bedchamber. They left trays with the supplies she requested outside the bedchamber door, scurrying away before Harriet even caught a glimpse of them.

When she wasn't pacing, she sat at Kate's bedside, bathing the older woman's face with cold cloths. It seemed to calm her, but only for a short time. All too soon she would again thrash and moan in delirium.

At last the physician arrived. As promised, Mr. Wainwright escorted him into the bedchamber and introduced him as Mr. MacLeod. He was a portly fellow with gray whiskers and kind eyes. He had not even bothered to shed his mud-spattered hat or travel-stained cloak. Harriet felt bolstered by this show of medical dedication.

“Mr. Wainwright explained that one of yer servants has taken ill,” the doctor said. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Fever, chills, delirium. One moment she is shivering and begging for more blankets and the next she is kicking about and throwing them off, complaining of the heat.” Harriet sighed and rubbed a finger between her brows. “It seems to have gotten worse over the morning hours.”

“Hmmm.” The doctor nodded gravely and removed his hat and cloak.

Mr. Wainwright appeared at Harriet's side. “Are you all right?”

“It is just my head. It hurts dreadfully.”

He wrinkled his brow and gave her a peculiar look. “Do you think you might have caught Kate's fever?”

“Me? I'm never sick.” Harriet rubbed her temples vigorously, attempting to soothe the persistent aching, but ceased when she noticed Mr. Wainwright staring at her. “I'm fine. Just very tired. I barely slept last night. I'm certain that is the source of my headache.”

“Nevertheless, it might be best if Mr. MacLeod examines you when he is finished tending to your maid.”

Harriet waved her hand, dismissing the notion as frivolous, yet she could not as easily dismiss the warm feeling of delightful astonishment that engulfed her over his concern. No man had ever shown her such caring.

“Well, now, let's set about makin' ye better, my good woman.” Mr. MacLeod took a few steps towards the bed, stumbled and nearly fell on top of his patient.

“He's drunk!” Harriet exclaimed with indignity, as the strong odor of spirits made her move away.

Mr. MacLeod turned his head and gave her a sheepish shrug. “I was hopin' ye wouldn't notice.”

“Not notice!”

“No need to fear, lass. I'm a trained physician, a graduate of Edinburgh College of Surgeons. Well, a near graduate.” With concentrated effort, the doctor regained his feet. His mustache quivered as his lips curved into a friendly smile. “I know plenty about treatin' the sick. Been doin' it for nigh on twenty years. And I am rather proud to report that many of my patients have recovered most splendidly.”

“Mr. Wainwright, may I have a word with you? Please!” Harriet moved to the shadows, though she doubted it mattered if the doctor overheard the conversation. “I asked you for help, and this is what you deliver?”

A frown formed on Mr. Wainwright's face. “He is hardly my first choice, but unfortunately he is the only person with any medical training in the area. I'm afraid it is Mr. MacLeod or no one.”

“He looks perfectly capable of killing her,” Harriet retorted.

Mr. Wainwright sighed and ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “We both know she is very ill and in urgent need of medical assistance. Do you want him to take a look at her or not? Or would you prefer to try and nurse her on your own? Kate is your servant, this must be your decision.”

Harriet thought a moment. “He may examine her, under my supervision. But I will not allow him to administer any sort of treatment until he explains, to my satisfaction, what he intends to do.”

Mr. Wainwright nodded, then turned to the doctor. “You may proceed, Mr. MacLeod, but I caution you to exercise great care.”

Head down, the doctor retrieved his satchel from the floor and set it on the edge of the bed. Harriet watched as he withdrew bottles from his bag. He uncorked them, sniffed, then set several of them in a cluster on the bedside table. “I shall need a bowl, water, clean cloths and a bottle of yer best Scotch whiskey.”

“I could barely get Kate to take a few sips of weak tea earlier this morning,” Harriet said. “I'm sure she cannot tolerate strong spirits.”

The doctor turned and smiled pleasantly. “Quite right. A patient in her frail condition should only be given small amounts of plain liquids, along with the proper medicines.” He broadened his smile, then winked. “The whiskey is fer me. To steady my nerves.”

If the situation were not so grave, Harriet might have burst out laughing. “Let me assure you, Mr. MacLeod, that not a drop of spirits will cross your lips until my maid is hale and hearty.”

The physician seemed hurt by her remarks. He shuffled closer to the bed like a sulky child and proceeded to lean over the mattress and examine his patient. When he finished, he mixed together a vile-smelling concoction of herbs in the bowl that Mr. Wainwright provided, then added a dash of water.