Too Dangerous to Desire (14 page)

Love.
Through half-opened eyes, she watched winks of sunlight steal through the weathered thatching. Birdsong—a linnet?—rose above the murmur of the long grasses swaying in the breeze.
Love.
She had loved Cameron for as long as she could remember.

A smile played on her lips.
I suppose I am now a strumpet, a shameless wagtail, for surrendering my virtue.
There were strict rules about that—unyielding, unbending rules—and she had broken them all to flinders.

“To the Devil with rules,” she whispered.
Right and wrong.
They were not simply black-and-white concepts but possessed a far more subtle range of shades. In her heart she knew she would have no regrets, whatever the future might bring.

Closing her eyes, Sophie let her thoughts drift. Cameron’s beautiful face, his jade-green eyes, his gold hoop earring…strangely blurring with images of locks and keys and needle-thin shafts of glittering steel.

Locks
. A hazy picture flitted up from out of nowhere and floated around the edges of her consciousness.
A cabinet with an ornate wrought iron keyhole?
Something about it seemed oddly familiar, but try as she might, she couldn’t bring it into focus…

Cameron stirred again and lifted a lid. “You’ve a pensive look on your face. What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she replied truthfully.

“Good.” A lazy smile stretched his sensuous mouth.

Vague thoughts of a musty old cabinet gave way to a more enticing subject. On impulse, she leaned over and flicked her tongue along its sinuous curl. “You taste better than champagne.”

“And you—you are learning far too many dangerous skills this morning.” Cameron rolled over onto his back. “I can think of a number of delicious ways to keep your mind filled with naught but thoughts of me. But however much I would love to lie here and spend the day and night teaching you more about pleasure, it’s too dangerous for us to linger here any longer.”

Sitting up, he angled a glance through the window. “Secluded as this spot is, there is a chance that a shepherd or hunter might pass this way.”

His words reminded her that the interlude, however idyllic, could not last forever.

“Yes, of course.” Suddenly a little shy about her nakedness, Sophie scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed up his shirt from the floor. Clutching it to her breasts, she went on, “I’ve an excuse for the hours of my absence, but I dare not stretch it too far.”

With lordly grace, Cameron rose and flexed his muscles, clearly comfortable in his own skin.

She couldn’t help but stare at the dark hair dancing along the sloping ridge of his shoulders. Half wild, half civilized—wholly male. How else to describe the aura of raw vitality radiating from every pore? Her gaze slid down through the coarse curls peppering his sculpted chest to the lean, tapered waist…and then lower still.

Her scrutiny stirred a lift of his brow. “Shocked?”

No, intrigued.

She matched his teasing smile. “Hardly. If you recall, I saw you bare-arsed when you were twelve.”

He gave a mock grimace. “How very lowering. Has the view not changed?”

“Hmmm. Hard to tell. My memory has grown a little fuzzy.”

“Minx.”

As he began to gather up their clothing, Sophie suddenly caught sight of a scar on his left thigh. Eyes widening, she asked, “Is that a…”

“Bullet wound?” he finished for her. “Yes.”

“So your nocturnal forays are, in fact, not quite so safe as you led me to believe.”

“As it so happens, it was acquired in a more noble pursuit than my usual endeavors. Connor’s new bride had been abducted, and I was helping him rescue her.”

“Abducted!”

“It is a long story,” replied Cameron. “Suffice it to say that Lady K possesses the same stalwart courage as you do. When an unknown enemy tried to kill Connor, she insisted on doing some sleuthing…” A pause. “Actually, never mind about the details.” Placing her garments down beside her, he quickly changed the subject. “Come, we ought not tarry any longer. I’ll step outside so that you may have a bit of privacy.”

As his shadow slipped away, Sophie began to dress, a little surprised that the familiar items still fit. Her body felt completely altered.

“I am a different person,” she mused, tightening the laces of her corset. “But at least I haven’t sprouted horns or cloven hoofs.” She studied her hands, which still tingled with the memory of Cameron’s body. There might be no outward signs of her surrender to sin, but the feel of him would be forever imprinted on her palms.

A few quick twists of her hairpins secured the worst of the errant curls. Thank God that the wind and prickly gorse would serve as a plausible excuse for her disheveled appearance.

As for her kiss-swollen lips…

She tied her bonnet strings and ducked through the narrow doorway.
One challenge at a time
. Her own tumble down the Path to Perdition was of less concern at the moment than Cameron’s scrapes with deadly peril. Her troubles had drawn Cameron back into conflict with the Marquess of Wolcott—and back into mortal danger.

So regardless of how dexterous his cunning hands were, she was not going to let him pick her up and shift her to some out-of-the-way shelf, far from the action, while he took all the risks.

T
hank you,” said Cameron, as she crossed the clearing and handed over his shirt. “My sartorial eccentricities are well known in London, but I have yet to ride down Piccadilly Street bare-chested.”

The thought of all the sophisticated Town beauties ogling his body momentarily diverted her attention. Her stomach clenched, but she made herself laugh. “No doubt the ladies wouldn’t mind.”

Turning away with a wordless shrug, he tucked the shirttails into his breeches and pulled on his coat.

All at once, the magic of just moments ago gave way to embarrassment. Awkward and unsure of how to go on, she looked down at her rumpled skirts, suddenly feeling like a naïve country chit.
Was there a protocol for taking leave of an illicit lover?

“Sophie?”

She looked up to find that he had moved close—close enough for her to see that his eyes had clouded.

“I regret—”

“Oh, please, Cam,” she interrupted. “If you start to apologize, I swear I shall stick your steel lock probe right through your liver.”

“My liver?” He waggled a brow. “How kind of you to spare a more vital organ.”

“Don’t press your luck,” muttered Sophie.

Despite the quip of humor, his expression remained guarded. “What I was going to say was that I regret having to take my leave so quickly. A real gentleman would not…ah, well, never mind. A real gentleman would not be in this position.” He touched a fingertip to her face and slowly traced the line of her jaw. “I’ve taken shameless advantage of your trust—and I’m enough of a cad that I won’t say that I’m sorry about it. Be that as it may, there are pressing reasons for me to return to London. The information I saw in Wolcott’s study may give me a weapon to wield against Dudley and Morton. But it’s imperative that I move quickly, for as we both know, the clock is ticking and until I make some inquiries, I won’t know for sure.”

“You need not worry that I expect you to be tied to my skirts on account of what happened. Nothing has changed between us.” Sophie gave a rueful smile. “Save for the fact that I’m no longer a virgin.”

A shiver of silence stirred the air. And then…

“Virginity is vastly overrated,” replied Cameron lightly. “I am glad to hear that you hold no girlish illusions over our interlude.”

A little nettled by his casual tone, Sophie quickly replied, “At my advanced age,
girlish
illusions have long since been buried in the attic, along with my old jam-streaked pinafores.”

“It was meant as a jest, Sunbeam,” he murmured. “I…” There was a hitch of hesitation. “I did warn you that I don’t take anything seriously, a fact that annoys even my closest friends.” With a careless flourish, he pulled on a pair of York tan gloves. “So once again, don’t take it amiss, but I really must be off. As I said, there may be a key clue in Town, and if I am to help you, I need to uncover it without delay.”

“You’ll hear no argument from me. There is just one thing before you ride off.” Sophie moved to stand between Cameron and his horse. “I’ve been thinking it over, and seeing as we are, for better or for worse, partners in this affair, I’ve decided it’s only fair that we pool all our information. So I really must insist that you tell me what clue you are seeking.”

The demand provoked a frown. “There are certain things you do not need to know.”

“That,” she said slowly, “is perhaps the most odious, insufferable, condescending remark you have ever made to me.”

“I’m simply trying to protect you from the sordid details—”

“
Protect
me from the sordid details?” Her voice rose of its own accord. “That’s a little like trying to close the barn door after the horses have galloped away. Have you forgotten that I’m already so deeply submerged in this muck that it’s nearly clogging my nostrils?”

The furrow between his brows deepened.

Sensing his indecision, Sophie went on, “I want to be more than…a pleasure partner in your bed, Cam. A fleeting dalliance to be tucked away on a shelf whenever it suits your purposes.”

He shifted his stance, his boots scraping against the rocks.

“I don’t expect you to recite sentimental poetry or declare your undying love,” she said. “But I do expect you to treat me as an equal.” Her gaze locked with his. “And a comrade-in-adventure. After all, we’ve been through some horrible scrapes together, and I think I deserve that respect. Haven’t I proved my mettle?”

His lashes lowered, hiding his eyes from scrutiny. Evasive and elusive, Cameron was like a spectral Underworld wraith, a quicksilver shadow, always twisting and turning away from the light.

For a long, long moment, the morning sounds of the breeze and the birdsong fluttered in cheerful oblivion to the tension between them. Sophie held her breath, waiting, waiting. A look, a gesture might break the one bond between them that truly mattered.

Yes or no.
She was either a true friend or passing fancy.

A grunt—or perhaps it was a growl—finally rose in his throat. “Here I thought myself the master of manipulation. And yet, your tongue is far more clever than my fingers.” Cameron didn’t appear happy about having to make the admission. “I fear I am making a mistake. But then, my life has been ruled by so many lapses in judgment that I suppose it’s only fitting.”

“Hardly a vote of confidence, but thank you nonetheless,” murmured Sophie. “Now, seeing as time is of the essence, go ahead and tell me about the clue without further ado.”

He blew out a harsh breath. “I wish to find out more about the line of succession regarding Wolcott’s title. The present marquess has no brothers—no legitimate brothers—and his only son is but a lad of seven.”

“How does that relate to Dudley’s blackmail?” she asked.

“I don’t know that it does,” Cameron admitted. “But there were several letters on Wolcott’s desk from Frederick Morton, which raised some interesting questions. The connection between them appears to be closer than I thought.”

Wolcott and Morton.

Was it merely the rustling of the leaves that gave the words a sinister sound?

Sophie was quick to understand the implications of his words. “If Morton were next in line for the title after Lord Wolcott and any male offspring he might have,” she asked, “then you think that they might conspire to ensure that the boy they know as Cameron Fanning can never step in with proof that he supersedes Morton’s claim.”

“Wolcott considers me a pollution of his precious lordly blood, and Morton is not the sort of man who would yield the chance of inheriting a title and a fortune with good grace.” The serpent earring in Cameron’s ear seemed to spark as it twisted in the breeze. “They are, by your account, on cordial enough terms that Morton is invited to visit the manor. Just how deep the friendship goes is worth investigating.”

“Do be careful, Cam.” A platitude, she knew, yet it slipped out before she could think better of it.

The cynical curl of his mouth grew more pronounced. “I’m always careful, Sunbeam. That does not mean I don’t take risks—rewards are rarely won without them. However, the Hellhounds are known for having a knack of turning the odds in their favor.”

“Would that you didn’t have to take such a terrible gamble,” Sophie whispered.

“In a few short weeks, your father will be accused of embezzling from the Church,” he replied bluntly. “A charge that will ruin your family’s reputation and destroy any chance of your sisters making a good marriage. So erring on the side of prudence is not a choice.”

“I know.” Her throat was dry as the dead leaves underfoot. “I know.”

Moving around her, Cameron untied his horse’s reins from a low-hanging tree branch. “All of life is a gamble, Sophie. The game calls for sharp wits and canny wiles.” The leather suddenly looped around her waist and drew her close. “And a sweet embrace from Lady Luck.”

“I hope you don’t kiss
Her
with such ardor,” she said, a little breathless when finally he released her lips.

“You need not fear that another might steal my heart. If I had one, it would be yours.” The slivered shadows of the leaves made his expression even more inscrutable than ever.

Yet another warning, an oblique reminder that danger was not just physical.

“In other words, a pirate cannot afford to be weighed down with tender sentiment,” she said evenly.

“Precisely,” said Cameron softly. “You’ve always understood me, Sophie.”

Better than you think.

He hooked his boot in the stirrup, and then paused with his hand on the saddle’s pommel. “You’ll see me again soon. But if for some pressing reason you need to contact me, send a letter addressed to Lady Haddan on Grosvenor Square. Writing to another woman will draw no undue attention, and Gryff will make sure I receive any missive.”

“A prudent suggestion,” she responded. “I won’t pester you unless it’s truly important.”

He looked about to speak, but then merely touched a hand to his hat brim in silent salute.

Sophie watched him ride away, waiting until his dark shape was naught but a distant speck among the stones before turning away. She, too, should be hurrying away, but rather than return to the footpath, she slipped back inside the hut and took a seat on the bed.

Cameron had left his roughspun country clothing folded neatly on shelf above the pillows. Reaching up, Sophie took down the shirt and clasped it to her chest. The linen still held a trace of his cologne, and the rumpling of the fabric released a faint swirl of scent. She drew in a deep, deep breath and held in it her lungs, hoping to quiet her topsy-turvy emotions.

A big mistake.

The perfume of their passion lingered in the air, its musk teasing her insides into a slow, spiraling somersault.

Blinking back tears, Sophie stared down at the faint scuffs left by his boots on the earthen floor. Had she made a big mistake? She had grown accustomed to life without Cameron. It was steady. Solid.

And now?

Love was so confusing and conflicting. Sophie touched her fingertips to her lips. It was maddening and mystifying. Shifting slightly, she felt a tiny pinch between her legs. It could hurt.
And perhaps it could heal.

At that, she couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh. “Oh, fie, Cameron Fanning-Daggett-Hellhound. I swear, I should feed your mangy hide to the ravenous little imps of Satan. You make me so angry—but you also make me feel so alive.”

In the shaded quiet of the hut, the surrounding stone seemed to amplify the tiny
thump
within her ribcage. Like a bird beating its wings to break free.

Another sniff of the shirt and Sophie sighed. How was she going to untangle all the conundrums?
Villains. Lovers. Duty. Family.
She wasn’t sure she could trust her judgment anymore.

A linnet’s song drifted in through a crack in the windowglass, its trilling notes sweet and clear as opposed to her own muddled murmurs.

“So perhaps I should just trust my heart.”

Guiding his mount down through the spiky green gorse to the winding country lane, Cameron spurred the big stallion to a canter. “Come, Lucifer,” he murmured after tightening his grip on the reins. “Let us outride any demons who seek to follow.”

The horse gave a foam-flecked snort and lengthened its stride, hooves kicking up clouds of pale dust. Cameron leaned low in the saddle, urging him to greater speed, hoping the drumming would drown out the voices of his inner devils.

Cad! Coward!
The jeers were too loud to ignore.

I was selfish
, he confessed to himself, squinting against the slap of the wind.
Weak. Foolish
. Discipline and detachment were the keys to survival. And yet he let every god-benighted lesson he had learned over the past ten years fall to the wayside every time Sophie was near him.

Damn, damn, damn.

The drumming hoofbeats seemed to echo his inward oaths.

The Inner Voices refused to be silenced.
Admit it! You are bedeviled—besotted—by love!

“Bloody hell.” Slowing his lathered stallion to a sedate trot, Cameron straightened in the saddle. “Laugh all you want,” he called out loudly, startling two grouse from a nearby thicket. “Yes, I am in love with Sophie Lawrance! I shouldn’t be, but I am.” Oh, how his fellow Hellhounds would laugh themselves sick to hear him howling at the heavens. “I daresay I shall have to crawl into the Lair with my tail between my legs,” he added in a lower voice. “And Cupid’s arrow protruding from my bum.”

Cameron winced, thinking of all the barbed teasing he would take. But fair was fair, he conceded. He had taken ruthless delight in nipping at their flanks. He could hardly complain if the teeth were now turned on him.

Lapsing into a pensive silence, he rode on, his thoughts turning from his friends to Sophie—a much more complex and confusing topic. There was no denying the physical chemistry between them. Like oil ignited by sparks, flames licked up at the first touch. As for her deeper emotions…

Expelling a harried sigh, he looked up at the scudding clouds playing hide and seek with the sun. Sophie did not wear her heart on her sleeve. Like him, she had taught herself to keep her true feelings well hidden. And yet, and yet—beneath the careful show of logic, a glimmer of her innermost thoughts had shone through.

A glorious, gleaming flicker of sunshine, which had warmed him to the very core.

Love.
It should be simple. But what kind of life could he offer her? He was a bastard who made a living in the netherworld of clandestine crime, slithering through shadows and secrets.
How can I ask her to dwell in such darkness?
Sophie was a creature of light and sun. She would deny it, but after a time—a month? a year?—she would start to wither away.

As if influenced by his own stormy mood, the skies chose to unleash a sudden rainsquall. Throwing up the collar of his coat, Cameron forged on through the lashing drops and whipping winds. It soon stilled to a sullen gray fog and intermittent showers. By the time he reached London, he was wet, cold, and bone tired.

Mist swirled over the cobblestones, a silvery sea of moon-dappled haze lapping against his mud-spattered boots. He paused on the corner, about to hail a passing hackney to take him across the river, when a sudden change of heart turned his steps southward.