Читать книгу Claiming His Defiant Miss - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 13

Chapter Five

She had gone shopping. And she hadn’t told him. Of course she hadn’t. She was mad at him; mad at him for showing up, mad at him because she couldn’t be mad at Preston for getting hurt, for putting her in this situation, mad at having her freedom curtailed, at being told what to do after running wild for months with no one to answer to but herself. He understood this was no more than a knee-jerk reaction to having her freedom limited by him, of all people. But understanding her reasons didn’t make the situation better. Anger was no excuse for irresponsible behaviour. This kind of action put everything in danger!

Liam pounded his fist in frustration against the side of the barn. The stubborn little fool! Didn’t she understand this wasn’t a game? What if Roan was out there right now? That man was a real foe who would do her real harm. Roan would not be intimidated by May’s sharp tongue or her pistol. Liam scanned the horizon. May was out there, somewhere, on foot, exposed to whoever might happen along. He had to think along those dangerous lines even if May wouldn’t. She’d made it clear last night she was willing to believe the remote location would protect her. He could not afford that luxury. He had to see danger everywhere.

He strode into the stable to saddle his black. He had to go after her, there was no choice. He’d promised Preston. Even if he hadn’t, his own conscience demanded it. He’d been here a scant twenty-four hours and he already knew May Worth was going to be the death of him. That hadn’t changed, although much else had. May had grown up from a seventeen-year-old on the verge of wild beauty into her full potential. She’d been stunning in the front parlour yesterday, dark hair down about her shoulders, eyes blazing as she aimed a gun at his chest.

Liam swung up on Charon and set off down the road. Presumably, he’d find her in town. It would be best for her if he did. He couldn’t scold her publicly there. That would have to wait until they were alone and, if she was lucky, his anger would have cooled into something more rational. But heaven help her if he overtook her on the road with his temper still seething.

Liam pushed Charon into a fast canter, hoping his estimates were accurate and there was no way Cabot Roan could be in Scotland yet. By his calculations, he had approximately a two-week margin give or take a few days before the threat became real; five of those days were already spent in travel. He was banking on London. Roan would look for May there first, which would slow him down, but which would also ultimately reveal her location. Someone in London would know where she was. Despite what May believed, Roan was coming, it was just a matter of when. If his calculations were wrong, however, Roan and his men could be here any day.

He wasn’t willing to chance it by letting May roam free and unprotected. It infuriated him she was willing to take that chance. She had blatantly chosen to ignore him just for spite. He knew very well why she’d done it; to prove to him she didn’t need him, had never needed him, that he hadn’t hurt her, that indeed, he had been nothing more than a speck of dust on her noble sleeve, easily brushed off and forgotten. But that wasn’t quite the truth. He had hurt her, just as she had hurt him. They were both realising the past wasn’t buried as deeply as either of them hoped.

To get through the next few weeks or months they would have to confront that past and find a way to truly put it behind them if they had any chance of having an objective association. The task would not be an easy one. Their minds might wish it, but their bodies had other ideas. He’d seen the stunned response in her eyes yesterday when she’d recognised him, the leap of her pulse at her neck even as she demanded he take his hand off her. Not, perhaps, because he repulsed her, but because he didn’t.

Goodness knew his body had reacted, too. His body hadn’t forgotten what it was to touch her, to feel her. Standing behind her in the yard, watching the doctor leave had been enlightening in that regard. He wasn’t immune. He hadn’t thought he was. He had known how difficult this assignment would be. His anger this morning at finding her gone proved it.

Anger. Lust. Want. These emotions couldn’t last. A bodyguard, a man who did dirty things for the Crown, couldn’t afford feelings. Emotions would ruin him. Once he started to care, deeply and personally, it would all be over. He thought about the rules he’d attempted to put in place, definitely fragile and already under attack. He chastised himself for making basic, careless mistakes. He’d charged out of the stables, thinking only to get to May as soon as possible. He’d not taken time to consider the road where the land was hidden from view behind tall bushes or around corners or up an incline.

If anyone had been lying in ambush, he would have been an easy target. The man on the passing wagon could have simply picked him off. If he was going to be successful, he had to treat May as he would any other assignment and that meant with a firm hand and objective detachment. She was a job, nothing more, not his past, not his future. Just his job.

* * *

The village was busy, considering today was not market day. Liam would have preferred it to be less so. People milled in and out of shops, or stopped to stand in front of a window and admire a display. Liam quartered all the busyness with his gaze, taking the street in section by section. He was familiar with it now, having travelled it to retrieve the doctor yesterday. His professional’s eye saw the alleys between buildings where someone might lurk undetected. He saw a heavy dray moving down the street slowly and obtrusively, blocking traffic. On purpose? his expert’s mind wondered and his pulse quickened, alert to trouble. Then he saw her.

To the casual observer, she looked like any other countrywoman, dressed as she was in a forest-green wool, a blue-and-green plaid shawl wrapped about her, a basket on her arm, a bonnet on her head. It was remarkable, really, how well she blended in. Who would guess she was the daughter of Albermarle Worth, granddaughter to an earl on her father’s side? But Liam would never take her for just another pretty country miss. The way she walked was unmistakably May. May moved with purpose, with confidence, a step faster than other women.

With grim determination, he strode stealthily through the crowd. At the corner, he made his move, coming up behind her, a strong hand about her waist, trapping her against him, his grip steering her into the dim privacy of the alley. In two steps, before she could even think to scream, he had her alone up against the alley wall, a hand over her mouth, their bodies pressed together. Closeness was a matter of protection for him. The closer May was, the less she could hurt him. May wanted to fight, he could feel her body primed for it. She was furious, wanting to strike out with her fists against his chest, a kick to his knee, but at this distance there was no chance.

‘What are you doing? You scared me!’ To her credit, May was a pale virago. He had succeeded in frightening her and that had been his intention.

‘I’m showing you how easy it would have been to have stolen you away, with no one on the street any the wiser,’ he growled into her face. ‘Did you see how none of your fine villagers noticed you slipped off the street? How none of them thought to come to your assistance?’ He let her go and stepped back out of range.

May glared. ‘How dare you pull such a stunt after everything that has happened? I have my brother on my mind and Beatrice, too.’

‘All the more reason you need me. You’re distracted.’ He would not let her push the blame in his direction. ‘I’m not the one pulling the stunt, May. I’m not the one who left home without an escort.’ Perhaps his lesson was harsh, but it was needed. Mixed with his anger over her disobedience had been a certain amount of fear. ‘What were you thinking to leave without me?’

She didn’t need to answer. He knew what she’d been thinking. Liam took her arm and pulled her out of the alley. ‘Walk with me. We can finish your errands, together.’

Back on the street, Liam inclined his head discreetly towards a man leaning against the wall of the inn. ‘Do you see that man over there, the one with the hat pulled low over his face?’

He felt May stiffen beside him. ‘Is he...?’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. But she was worried. Good. He needed her scared. He needed this to become real for her.

‘No, he’s not, but how would you know? Did you even notice him?’ Liam went on, ‘Most people don’t notice anyone out of place until it’s too late.’

‘Most people don’t need to notice,’ May retorted.

Liam slid a sharp glance her direction. ‘Do you think you’re most people, May? Because if you do, that is your first mistake. You are the granddaughter of an earl, the daughter of a wealthy and powerful man in Parliament. Your father is deep in the government with opinions that some men find unpopular at best, dangerous to their own livelihoods at worst. You are in constant threat of being made a target for other men’s ambitions. You cannot afford to think of yourself as “most people”.’ Neither could he. That had been his mistake back when he’d been barely out of adolescence. He’d seen plenty of the world in those days, a slum-raised kid couldn’t help but see it in all its roughness, all its darkness. But he’d never seen a world like hers. Despite what reality had taught him about the gulf between people like the Worths and people like him, he’d been ill-equipped for it and for her. He’d been cocky, full of his street smarts and he’d reached so far above himself he hadn’t even understood how far it was.

May gave a toss of her head. ‘I refuse to live life gaoled by my fears. I cannot spend my days second-guessing the motives of everyone I meet, or seeing danger around every corner.’ Like he did, that was quite obviously implied, just as it was implied that such behaviour was a slur on one’s character.

‘Thank goodness you don’t have to, then. That’s what people like you hire people like me to do for them.’ The careless words slipped out.

May stopped, hands on hips and faced him, studying him until he couldn’t take the silence. ‘What?’

‘I’m just wondering how you can walk at all. Must be difficult to move while carrying something so heavy around with you all the time. Big chip on the shoulder and all that. Must weigh you down something fierce.’

He probably deserved that. This had always been the sticking point between them, this issue of birth and class and social status, something she had argued didn’t matter...until the end when it suddenly had. Liam said nothing. He reached for her basket and she raised a brow as if to say ‘now you choose to play the gentleman?’ They finished her errands in terse silence and made their way to where Charon was tethered. He cupped his hands, ready to toss her up. But May hesitated.

‘C’mon, May.’ He gave her a grin, daring her, even though it broke his personal promise to remain objective. She was just a job these days. But if that was true, why did he keep tempting himself with pleasurable reminders that it hadn’t always been this way. ‘Surely you remember how well we rode together?’

‘I remember,’ May said tersely, her chin set stubbornly. He could see she wanted to refuse, but she put her foot in his hands and hauled herself up anyway, refusing to be outdared. Liam wisely made no comment and swung up behind her.

* * *

She hated how he could do that. How did he know? Of all the memories she had of him, how was it he could hone in on one of her favourites? May felt him settle into the saddle, his strong legs encasing her in the vee of his thighs. She should have argued to ride behind him. Then she’d be the one wrapping arms around his waist. Now he was the one doing the wrapping with his one arm about her as he held the reins, his thighs about her, her body drawn against him, back to chest, buttocks to groin. Riding before him was far too intimate, although once she’d revelled in stealing such intimacy. It had been her first taste of a man. She didn’t want to remember. She pulled her shawl more tightly about her. It had been summer then, a day far warmer than this chilly November afternoon...

‘Faster!’ she had cried, throwing her arms wide and lifting her face to the sun as they raced across the meadow, Liam’s arm tight about her as the dark stallion surged beneath them.

‘Hold on, May!’ Liam’s voice warned in her ear, but she didn’t care. She was safe with him. He would never let her fall. She had a fast horse beneath her and Liam Casek mounted behind her, what more did she need? This was heaven.

At the edge of the meadow where the flat run gave out to a copse of tall oaks, Liam swung down and held his arms up for her, his hands strong and steady at her waist. May knew what she wanted. She’d barely touched the ground before she grabbed him by the hand, dragging him into the little woods behind her, but it was he who pressed her against the trunk of a sturdy oak and kissed her, hard and open-mouthed, his body pressed to hers, pulsing with life.

She’d not imagined a kiss could be so full-bodied, that it could make a person feel immortal, as though they could take on the world, do anything. Now that she knew, she wanted to feel that way again and again. Her arms were about his neck, holding him close, her hands in his long dark hair, the hair her father hated and had offered to have his valet cut. She was glad Liam had refused. She loved Liam’s hair, loved dragging her hands through it, anchoring her fingers in it as he took her mouth.

His hips moved against her in honest suggestion, the hardness of him evident through breeches and skirts. There was no reason to hide anything they felt from one another, not their feelings, not their bodies. They were one in this burning, consuming passion that made life so much brighter—that brought the edges of slow, lazy summer days into sharper relief. Her hand dropped between them to the source of his hardness, tracing it through his breeches, cupping it in her hand until he groaned.

‘If you keep that up, May, you’ll bring me off in my trousers.’ His mouth was at her neck, his breath coming hard between his words.

She was powerful and coy in her response. ‘I’d like to do that.’ She laughed. He bit her neck in playful retaliation and she yelped.

‘And I’d like to bite you some more, but we don’t dare leave any marks your father will see,’ Liam cautioned with a wicked smile before stealing a short kiss from her lips. ‘One more kiss, May, and then we have to go. The others will be looking for us.’ Only Preston had seen them slip away from the picnic. Her father had settled into a post-picnic nap and her mother and the neighbour’s wife had wandered down to the lake.

‘Only one more?’ Her arms were back around his neck, her tone teasing and light. ‘Make it a good one, then.’ She cocked her head, her tone slightly more serious. ‘Or maybe I should? This time, let me kiss you.’

Liam gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I thought that’s what you had been doing.’

She dropped half-lidded eyes to his mouth. ‘You know what I mean. Let me start it this time. I want to kiss you.’ She brushed her mouth across his, slowly at first, letting her tongue trace the contours of his lips, coaxing his mouth to open. They’d got much better at this since that first kiss in the stables. She liked this slow, languorous kissing as much as she liked the heated madness of the others, the sensual exploration of being in his mouth, of tasting the sweet remnants of lemonade on his tongue. She let her mouth say all the things she didn’t have words for yet in this new heady world of Liam Casek and stolen kisses. Forbidden kisses.

May was not oblivious. If there was one blight in May’s perfect world it was that this had to be hidden. Her father could never know about this. He tolerated Preston bringing this friend along. He even understood this was an opportunity to do some good for a young man with potential who’d been born into poverty. However, he would never condone that young man kissing his daughter, no matter how much potential he had and heaven forbid he find out his daughter had put her hand on an Irishman. She was meant for far greater men...

In retrospect, the beginning had been quite nearly the end as well. Maybe there had never been any hope, their passion ill fated from the start, only they’d been too naïve to see it. But for a while the illusion had been nice. More than nice. There were still nights when she lay awake, wanting to feel that way again, free and immortal, even knowing those feelings were part of an illusion, part of something unsustainable. In the end, he had left her.

Liam brought the horse to a halt in front of the cottage and leapt off, taking her perfunctorily by the waist to help her down. There was no boyish exuberance on his part and there was no grabbing of his hand and dragging him off for a kiss on hers, further proof the wounds they’d given one another had been deep and lasting.

‘I need to check on Beatrice and get supper started or we won’t eat until nine o’clock,’ May excused herself and hurried inside. Those wounds would never go away. They were scabbed over, a thick outer layer of protection. But scabs could be picked, if they weren’t careful, and those wounds could be exposed. The wisest course of action here would be to tread carefully. The afternoon had shown her that much.

Being close to him had conjured up memories best left undisturbed and, oh, how easily they’d been conjured! It was as if they lay just beneath the surface instead of buried deep down. May tied on her apron and reached determinedly for the round of bread dough. She gave it a thorough punch and began kneading. If she was going to survive the next two months, avoidance would be her best policy.