The Illegitimate Montague
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Sarah Mallory
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14
Chapter One
‘Whoa, Bosun.’ Adam ran his hand over the horse’s lathered neck. It was still early spring, but the day had been a warm one. On the evening air he could smell the hedge blossom and wild garlic as he descended to the valley. It was ten years since he had travelled this road and nothing looked different—the high peaks behind him, the stone-walled fields and the uplands were just as he remembered them—but Adam knew that he had changed. He was no longer the angry young man who had ridden away from Castonbury full of rage and hurt pride. He could smile now at the arrogant boy he had once been—if only it was not too late to make amends.
He gazed at the westering sun, gauging how many more hours of daylight were left. ‘We could make Castonbury Park by nightfall,’ he mused, rubbing his chin. ‘But we’ve no guarantee of a warm reception, Bosun, and in truth I don’t deserve one. Safer then to drop anchor in the village, and go on to the Park in the morning.’ He gathered up the reins again. ‘And if my memory serves, there is a ford around the next bend, old fellow. You can cool your heels in the river.’
At that moment the peaceful calm was shattered by a pistol shot. This was followed by shouts and a woman’s voice raised in alarm. He urged Bosun into a canter and rounded the bend to a scene of confusion and mayhem.
A wagon stood this side of the shallow ford and a young woman in an olive-green redingote was trying to prevent two men from throwing the contents into the river, while on the far bank a third man was sitting on the ground, nursing his bloody arm.
With a shout Adam jumped down to join the fray, heading for the man who was grappling with the young woman. Adam grabbed his collar and delivered a well-aimed punch as the fellow turned to face him. He dropped like a stone. A second man was hurling bolts of cloth from the wagon into the water and the woman was already running towards him. With a shriek of fury she hurled herself at his back and he dropped the roll of fabric he was carrying onto the path as he tried to shake her off. Adam shouted.
‘Stand aside!’
The woman jumped clear and Adam launched himself at the man, doubling him with a heavy blow to the body. His assailant grunted, weaved and ducked to avoid the next punch and threw himself at Adam. They wrestled fiercely, toppling into the water. It was only knee-deep and Adam was the first to recover, which gave him the advantage. As his opponent rose up, coughing and spluttering, an uppercut sent him sprawling back into the river, from where he scrabbled away to join his injured companion on the far bank.
Breathing heavily, Adam looked around. His first victim was struggling to get to his feet, hands over his head to protect himself from the woman, who was raining blows upon him with the handle of her horsewhip.
‘Aye, go on, run away!’ she cried, cracking her whip with an expert flick of the wrist as the ruffian splashed across the river to safety. ‘And tell your master that I am not to be frightened away by the likes of you!’
She stood, hands on hips, her chest rising and falling, watching the men until they disappeared from sight.
Adam raked his wet hair back from his face.
‘I had not expected to refresh myself quite so thoroughly,’ he began, a laugh in his voice. ‘I trust you are not hurt?’
‘Not at all.’ She scooped his hat from the ground and held it out to him. ‘You are lucky this was knocked off before you took a ducking. My bonnet was not so fortunate—it is probably at Castonbury bridge by this time.’
Her words were accompanied by a dazzling smile and Adam’s mind went blank as he took his first good look at the young woman he had just rescued. The sudden jolt of attraction threatened to tumble him back into the river. He forgot about his soaking clothes and bruised knuckles as he gazed at the vision before him. Her deep brown eyes positively gleamed with excitement.
‘I only wish I had been able to shoot more than one of the villains!’
Adam scarcely heard her. Quite what it was about her that stirred him he did not know. There was nothing exceptional about her plain olive-green riding habit, although the tight-fitting jacket showed off her generous figure. His preference had always been for fair, blue-eyed beauties, but the woman before him had deeply golden skin and an abundance of thick, dark brown hair. It had come loose from its pins and hung in a dusky, rippling cloud around her shoulders.
Her triumphant look softened into amusement as she said in her laughing, musical voice, ‘I am greatly indebted to you for your help, sir, and would be even more grateful if you could help me to recover my cloth?’
He did not reply and with a tiny shrug and no less good humour she turned away. Completely unaware of the effect she was having upon him, she hitched her skirts high, revealing not only a pair of exceedingly pretty ankles, but also affording Adam a glimpse of the ribbon garters at her knees.
Amber tucked up her skirts. She had seen the washerwomen do it dozens of times and never thought that she, too, would need to wade into the river. But this was an emergency. She had invested a great deal of money in those rolls of cloth and she was not prepared to lose them. She was a little disappointed that the man should not help her now, but perhaps pulling sodden bolts of material from the water was too mundane for so chivalrous a knight.
And that was how she saw him, for he had ridden so gallantly to her rescue. She had not looked at him properly until her attackers had taken flight, but then, when she had turned to him, exultant at their success in driving them away, she had found herself looking at the embodiment of a dream. A tall, broad-shouldered, handsome crusader gazing at her with blue, blue eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. The water had turned his hair to near black, but the glints of red-gold told her it would be a dark, golden blond when dry. He was everything she had ever envisaged a hero to be. Far too good to be true. So let him go on his way now, she thought, for she was afraid if he did not he would trouble her dreams for a long, long time. Swallowing a sigh she turned towards the ford.
As she stepped into the water Adam came to his senses.
‘No, let me, I am already wet through.’
He strode onto the ford and began to pull the bolts of cloth from the water. The exercise helped him to regain control of himself. He was shocked to realise that for a few moments he had been speechless, more like a callow schoolboy than a thirty-two-year-old man with more than a little experience of the fair sex. She was standing at the edge of the river, waiting to help him, and he kept his mind firmly fixed upon the rolls of cloth as they lifted them out of the water.
‘Damned villains,’ she muttered as they struggled with the last roll, a dripping bundle of blue linen. ‘Thank heaven they didn’t get the superfine though. That is worth five-and-twenty shillings a yard!’
She shook out her skirts and dropped to the ground, putting her hand to her hair.
‘Good heavens, I must look like a virago, with my hair about my shoulders! What must you think of me?’
Adam dared not tell her and merely shrugged, with what he hoped she would interpret as unconcern. It seemed to work, because she gave him another of her blinding smiles.
‘Again I have to thank you, sir. I could not have recovered my cloth without your help.’
Adam stripped off his sodden coat and sat down beside her.
‘But the rolls are as wet as my jacket—will they be ruined?’
She shrugged. ‘Once they are dried out I have no doubt there will be some value in them. The problem is, I can’t put them on top of the dry ones, and the oilcloth that I use for protection from the weather is already lost downstream. Besides, the wet cloth is so much heavier that I doubt my poor horse would be able to cope with the extra weight.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘And it is growing late. I should go now if I am to reach Castonbury before dark.’ Her buoyant mood dipped. ‘I suppose I will have to come back in the morning with an empty wagon and pray that no one comes along in the meantime.’
‘There is another solution.’ She turned to look at him, disconcerting him again. He gestured to the trees. ‘Where I come from in Lancashire the cloth is stretched and pegged out to dry in the tenterfields. We can’t do that here, but it is a warm night, we could hang the wet cloth over the branches.’
She was silent for a few minutes, then the smile returned.
‘That might work. I can spend the night here and gather everything up in the morning. Only...’ She looked up at him under her lashes. ‘I might need a little help to reach the branches....’
Adam laughed.
‘I will put myself at your disposal, madam.’ He jumped to his feet and held out his hand.
Her fingers wrapped themselves around his and as he pulled her to her feet he felt again that spark of attraction. Despite his wet clothes his body was on fire and they stood for a moment, hand-in-hand, regarding each other.
She was a tall woman. Adam stood six-foot-two in his stockinged feet and it was rare for any woman to approach that, but the one now standing before him was tall and shapely, her eyes level with his mouth so that she only had to look up a little to meet his glance. She did so now, candid, unafraid, her brown eyes fringed with long black lashes. With her dark hair and tanned skin she looked faintly exotic, reminding him of the luscious foreign beauties he had seen during his years at sea.
Even as he gazed at her, the candid look disappeared and she seemed a little troubled.
‘Perhaps, sir, I should know to whom I am so indebted?’ Her voice was low, husky, as if she, too, was having difficulty breathing.
He cleared his throat and gave a little bow.
‘Adam Stratton, ma’am. At your service.’
She inclined her head.
‘Amber Hall.’ He was still holding her hand, the left one. Instinctively his fingers shifted to the plain gold band on her finger. She said quietly, ‘I am a widow.’
The devil she was! Adam was surprised at his feeling of relief. Why did she feel it necessary to explain? Was she warning him off, or appealing to his chivalrous nature to respect her predicament? The defensive look in her eyes suggested the latter.
With an effort he released her. Dear heaven, it would be so easy to forget his manners. He hoped his nod was sufficiently sympathetic, then he turned his attention to their present situation.
He said lightly, ‘Well, Mrs Hall, shall we unroll your cloth?’
‘What about you? Your shirt and breeches are wet through.’
‘Would you like me to remove them and hang them up to dry?’ Immediately his mind rioted at the thought of undressing before her. He continued hastily, ‘I beg your pardon, a tasteless jest. Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing, the exertion will keep me warm.’
‘We must at least hang up your coat.’ She picked it up and shook it out. ‘Oh, dear, how sad it looks now—I think I owe you a new one, sir. And you are missing a couple of buttons. I fear they have gone the same way as my bonnet, and are lost in the water.’
‘No matter, they are a small loss. Throw the coat over a bush for now.’ He picked up the smallest roll of linen and looked around him. ‘Now, where to begin...’
They worked together, unrolling the bolts of wet cloth and draping them over the tree branches around a small clearing at the edge of the road. He left Amber straightening out the hanging cloth while he gathered dry sticks and bracken to light a fire.
‘Leave that,’ she ordered him. ‘You have done more than enough for me already. If you go now you can still reach the village while there is light enough to see your way.’
‘I am staying here.’
‘Thank you, Mr Stratton, but that is not necessary. I do not think those villains will be back tonight, and besides, I have my pistol. I shall reload it and be ready for them if they return. You need not stay on my account.’
‘If you think I intend to ride to the Rothermere Arms in wet clothes, then you are mistaken, madam. Nothing could be more uncomfortable. I shall dry them in front of the fire.’ He smiled at the look of alarm that flashed across her face. It was a relief to know that he was not the only one aware of their situation. ‘I do not intend to undress, they will dry just as well if I wear them.’ He added mischievously, ‘In fact, it is a common practice for gentlemen of fashion to damp their buckskins and let them shrink to fit.’
She laughed, blushed and shook her head.
‘Never let it be said that I stood in the way of fashion. But, seriously, sir, if you are determined to stay I cannot stop you.’ She paused, taking her full bottom lip between her white, even teeth. ‘I admit I shall be glad of your company.’
It was another hour before they could enjoy the fire, by which time the darkness was almost complete. The wagon had been moved off the road and the two horses tethered to the wheels, where they could be heard quietly snuffling and cropping at the short, sweet grass. Amber pulled a pair of shears from the cart and a roll of heavy woollen cloth, which she spread on the ground and proceeded to cut into lengths.
‘We can use this for bedding,’ she explained. ‘I have plenty more frieze at the warehouse so this can be easily replaced. It is such a balmy night that if we didn’t have wet cloth to dry I would not bother with a fire at all.’
Adam eased off his boots and stockings, placing them close to the fire to dry. Amber did the same, again displaying her shapely ankles. Adam did his best not to ogle. She touched his sleeve.
‘Your shirt is still damp, sir. Should you not remove that too?’ He hesitated and she said with a hint of impatience, ‘I have seen a man’s body, before, and I would rather you took it off than died of an inflammation of the lungs.’
He laughed.
‘Very well, madam, but you will not object if I spare my own blushes and keep my breeches!’
The shirt soon joined his jacket on a convenient bush. Adam threw a length of the frieze cloth around his shoulders and sat down by the fire. After a moment’s hesitation Amber came to sit beside him. She held up a leather bag.
‘I have wine, sir, and bread and cheese, if you would like some?’
‘Gladly, Mrs Hall, if you can spare a little.’
‘Of course. I packed it for my journey but have used none of it.’
She pulled packets, napkins and a flask from the bag and spread it all before them. She offered him the wine but he shook his head.
‘After you, madam.’
She uncorked the flask and lifted it to her lips. The firelight was playing on her face, accentuating the fine cheekbones, the short, straight little nose and those beautiful almond-shaped eyes. The smooth skin of her neck gleamed golden as she tilted back her head and drank. Adam watched, fascinated. He wanted to reach out to her, to place his lips on the elegant line of her throat and trail kisses down to the dip where the breastbone started, and then onwards—
‘Your turn.’
She was holding the flask out to him and he was staring at her like some besotted mooncalf. Adam cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the flask, trying to ignore his mounting desire and the way it spiked through his blood as their fingers touched. He picked up a piece of bread. Perhaps he should eat something. Beside him, Amber seemed completely at ease. They shared the bread and cheese, washing it down with draughts of wine.
‘So who are you, Mrs Amber Hall?’ he asked her, breaking a chunk of bread into two and handing her a piece.
‘I am a clothier, a seller of cloth.’
‘An unusual trade for a woman.’
‘I inherited the business from my father, John Ripley.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember he owned a warehouse in Castonbury.’
‘Yes.’ She added, a touch of pride in her voice, ‘We have been selling cloth in Castonbury for twenty-seven years.’
‘That is very precise.’
‘It is easy to remember, my father established the business in the same year as I was born.’
Adam handed her the wine again.
‘And your husband?’
‘Bernard Hall, his business partner. He joined my father twelve years ago, and married me three years later. We had been married barely eighteen months when he died.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said softly. ‘You must have been distraught.’
He could not interpret the look she gave him. She took another sip of wine and after a brief pause she continued her story.
‘I convinced Papa not to look for another partner but to let me help him. I found I had a talent for the business. When my father died three years ago he left everything to me.’ He watched her, trying to understand her pensive look, the slight downward turn to her mouth that gave her a rather kittenish look. At last she gave herself a mental shake and turned to him again. ‘Enough of me. Tell me about you, now.’ She shot him another of those sideways glances. ‘You said your name was Stratton. Are you the housekeeper’s son, from Castonbury Park?’
‘I am.’
‘Then I know you, Adam Stratton.’ Her dark eyes gleamed. ‘We played together before you went off to become a hero at Trafalgar.’
‘Surely not, I would remember.’
‘My father used to take me to the house, sometimes, when he was delivering cloth. I remember Mrs Stratton asked you to take me away and amuse me.’ He shook his head and she laughed. ‘Do not look so uncomfortable, I would not expect you to remember. You were, what...ten, eleven years old? You probably found a seven-year-old girl a blasted nuisance.’
‘I do remember now. You were a scrawny little thing, but useful for fetching and carrying. As I recall I treated you as my very own servant! Outrageous. Did you not mind?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all, I enjoyed fetching and carrying for you. Besides, you looked after me. One occasion in particular I remember, when the Montague children came out and began to tease me. You drove them away.’
He grinned. ‘Well, it is all very well for me to mistreat you, but I was not going to let anyone else do so!’
A slight frown creased her brow, as if she was looking into the past. ‘Did they ever tease you, the Montagues? Because your mama...’
She broke off and he took pity on her confusion, saying quickly, ‘Because I had no father? No. Lord James was a year or two younger than I. I suppose I should be thankful that both he and Lord Giles saw me as a playmate rather than the housekeeper’s son, but perhaps that was because...well, never mind that. Suffice to say we thought well enough of one another.’
‘I am glad,’ she said warmly. ‘And I thought you were quite...wonderful.’ A faint colour tinged her cheek and for a moment she looked a little self-conscious. ‘You were very kind to me, you see. And now you have saved me once more.’
Her very own hero.
Amber drew up her knees and clasped her arms around them, as if hugging her memories. That explained the attraction she had felt for him as soon as he had appeared. It was not merely that he had come to her aid, but a half-acknowledged memory. He was the hero she had dreamed of since she was seven years old. Looking back, she supposed that the children at Castonbury Park had not intended to be cruel, but their teasing had frightened her, until Adam had arrived and sent them away. He had seemed to her the embodiment of those princes she read about in fairy tales, tall, strong and oh-so-handsome, protecting the maiden in distress. She had carried that early memory of him with her throughout her childhood and hoped, prayed, he would return one day.
He never had, of course. Once he went to naval college she never saw him again and when she was eighteen she put aside her childish dreams and gave in to her father’s demands that she should marry his partner, Bernard Hall. It was a business decision. It did not matter to her father that Bernard was twenty years older, that she found his bad breath and wandering hands repulsive, a marriage would secure the future of Ripley and Hall.
Bernard Hall had never awoken in her any spark. Unlike the man sitting beside her now. When she had looked into Adam’s eyes for the first time that day it was as if someone had applied bellows to a smouldering fire. She had burned, really burned, with a desire so strong she had almost thrown herself upon him.
Thankfully he had not noticed, merely staring at her, clearly shocked at her dishevelled appearance. She had brazened it out, of course, and she was thankful that he had stayed to help her. She was grateful, too, that he showed no sign of wanting to ravish her. Wasn’t she? Amber had to admit that his patent lack of interest piqued her. He was once again her hero, her knight in shining armour, but he clearly did not see her as his princess.
They sat in silence, consuming their simple meal. The cloth hanging around them was billowing gently in the breeze, washed in the golden glow of the fire.
‘What will you do with the damaged cloth?’ he asked.
‘I will rescue what I can. The linens and cottons can be laundered and should be almost as good as new. The rest I hope to sell off cheaply to the villagers. What is left I will take to the vicarage to give to the poor. I am sure Reverend Seagrove will find a good home for any cloth I cannot sell. I will have to order replacements for some things. I have to fulfil an order for Castonbury Park, you see. New curtains and bed-hangings, as well as livery for the servants. They will need the fabrics as soon as may be for the wedding—but you will know that, of course.’
‘Er, no.’
‘Surely your mother will have told you in her letters that Lord Giles is to be married?’
‘We have not been in touch.’ He could not meet her eyes and it was a struggle to explain. ‘When I was last here we argued. No.’ He had to be honest with her. ‘My mother never said a harsh word to me. It was all my doing.’
She touched his arm.
‘Will you tell me?’ she asked gently.
Adam hesitated. There was nothing but kindness in her manner, and suddenly he wanted to talk about it.
‘It was ten years ago. I came to tell her that I had quit the navy, that I was going to try my hand at business. She was shocked. Disappointed, I suppose, that I was giving up a promising career and uncertain that I would make a go of it.’ He sighed. ‘I was young, impatient. I had been given my own ship to command at twenty and that went to my head, I thought I could do anything. My mother was less certain.’
‘I am sure she only wanted what was best for you.’
‘I know you are right, but at the time I saw it as a slur, a lack of confidence in my abilities.’
He looked up at the sky, his jaw tightening. It had also brought back his own lack of confidence in his birth. Away from Castonbury Park he was Captain Adam Stratton, hero of Trafalgar, a clever and courageous sailor. Here, he would always be known as the duke’s bastard. Oh, no one said as much to his face, but he had heard the whispers, the gossip. His mother never spoke of her husband, there were no portraits of “Mr Stratton” in the housekeeper’s quarters at Castonbury Park. As a very young boy his questions had been met with evasion, and when he grew older Adam stopped asking about his father, afraid of what the answer might be. Then, when he had quit the navy and come back to Castonbury Park, full of plans for the future, he had asked the question one more time. He gave himself a mental shake. No need to go into that now. Taking a breath he continued.
‘I stormed out, vowing that I would not return, would not contact her, until I had made my way in the world.’
‘And is that why you are back, because you have now...“made your way in the world”? You are perhaps a wealthy man,’ she added after a slight hesitation, ‘with a wife and family...?’
He shook his head. ‘No, no wife. No family.’
He thought of the fair-haired beauties he had met on his travels. Many of them were ladies of noble birth, eager to know more of him. After all, a captain in the king’s navy was a romantic, heroic figure. Several of them had thrown out lures, making it quite plain that they would welcome his addresses, but he had resisted them all. He might tell himself that he was his own man, but at that stage the question of his birth still rankled, and he was determined to make a name for himself before taking a wife. And he had done so. He was now a mill owner, a captain of industry, but he had soon discovered that those well-bred families wanted nothing to do with trade. Only his fortune made him acceptable to them, and perversely, he did not want anyone to marry him for his fortune. He wanted to find a woman who would marry him for himself alone.
Amber’s thoughtful brown eyes were fixed on him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his tone matter-of-fact.
‘I promised I would not return until I could provide her with a house of her own. Looking back, it seems so petty, so very arrogant and foolish, but I held to my vow while I toiled to achieve my goals. I was determined to be successful, no debts and money in the bank, before I contacted my mother again. It was hard work, but I achieved it. I owe no man anything. But at what cost?’ He sighed. ‘I am ashamed to say I have not written, have had no news of my mother, for ten years. It is no fault of hers,’ he added quickly. ‘I left no forwarding address. I severed all links with her. In fact, until you told me last night, I did not even know if she was still at Castonbury Park.’
‘And, is that why you are back now? Do you have a house for her?’
‘Yes, I have a house now. In Lancashire.’
‘And what is this...business that you are engaged in, Mr Adam Stratton?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ He waved one dismissive hand. ‘I have several ventures ongoing, they are all of them more or less successful.’
‘Then your mother will be very proud of you.’
‘That is not what I deserve. She should berate me for the fool that I have been. A damned stubborn-headed fool! I only hope that she will receive me.’
Adam tried to keep the uncertainty from his voice but he was sure she heard it, for she hastened to reassure him.
‘From what I know of Mrs Stratton I am sure she will be overjoyed to see you. Any mother would be.’ A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘But perhaps you should tidy yourself up a little before you see her.’
Adam glanced across at his damaged coat.
‘I fear you are right. I shall be turned away as a common beggar if I arrive on the doorstep like this!’ He ran his hand over his chin. ‘And without a looking glass I dare not shave in the morning.’
She laughed.
‘Come to my shop with me and we will see what we can do for you!’
Amber gave her attention to her food again, surprised by how readily she had issued the invitation. He was little more than a stranger, after all, even if he had come to her rescue in the most dramatic way. Perhaps it was the knowledge that they had known each other as children. She felt at ease, comfortable to be sitting beside him. If she were fanciful, she could believe they were in some different world, one where the constraints and dangers of real life did not exist.
‘You are very pensive,’ he said at last. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I feel like I am in a fairy tale,’ she said, smiling. ‘We might be in an Oriental pavilion with sumptuous fabrics decorating its walls.’ She chuckled. ‘Not that there is anything very sumptuous about block-printed cotton!’
‘This is no fairy tale, madam.’ His voice was stern. ‘Far from it. I cannot think what possessed you to be moving such a valuable cargo on your own.’
‘Normally I would not do so, but I had no driver and I needed to fetch in these supplies urgently.’
‘You could have hired a carrier.’
She shook her head.
‘Not in time. There is no one in Castonbury who would take the risk.’
‘Risk?’
She crumbled a piece of cheese between her fingers, searching for words.
‘Things have been...happening recently. The carrier was attacked on his last run and decided he dare not take out another wagon for me. He has a family, you see—’
‘Wait.’ Adam stopped her. ‘Do you mean to say someone threatened him?’
She nodded.
‘It cannot be proved, of course, but...’ She hesitated, wondering if she dare tell him her suspicions. She said in a rush, ‘I think it is Matthew Parwich. He is a rival cloth merchant from Hatherton and he would be glad to take over my business. I am sure it was Parwich who sent those ruffians to waylay me. They did not want to harm me, only to ruin my stock.’
‘You knew this might happen and still you set out alone?’
His angry tone flayed her. She had been afraid he would laugh at her suspicions, think her fanciful. Instead he thought her foolish. She spread her hands.
‘Frederick had to stay at the warehouse. And I didn’t really think I would be attacked.’ The excitement was still bubbling through her veins, making her reckless. She put up her chin, giving him a challenging look. ‘Besides, I had my pistol and I did wing one of them.’
Adam’s blood chilled at the thought of what might have happened. He rammed the stopper back into the wine flask with unwonted force.
‘That’s as may be, but if I hadn’t come along—’
‘I know, I am so very glad that you did.’ Her glowing look acted like a fever, turning his blood from ice to molten lava in an instant. ‘Together we sent them to the right-about, did we not?’ She leaned closer until he thought he might drown in her dark eyes. ‘I am so grateful to you. How can I ever thank you?’
He held her look, knowing what he would like from her, knowing equally well it was impossible, yet there was something in her eyes, some spark of recognition, as if she could read his thoughts. She put her hand on his shoulder and raised herself until she could touch his mouth with her lips. They were soft and warm and it took all his willpower not to respond.
‘Not in that way.’ His voice was gruff, barely audible even to himself, but perhaps that was because she was so close, her face only inches away, and his breathing was so constricted. ‘Madam—Amber, I...do not want...to...dishonour you, but...I am no...saint.’
Amber’s pulse was racing. She still felt exultant, powerful, after successfully repelling the attack and saving her precious cargo. She remembered something Bernard used to say about his friends, when they were hunting—‘there was no stopping them when their blood is up.’ That was how she felt now, unable to stop. And she did not care.
‘I would not have you be one.’
The low words were no more than a whisper against Adam’s skin. She put her hand to his cheek and he responded to the pressure of her fingers to close the small distance between them. He slid his mouth across hers and as his kiss deepened she responded. His tongue touched her lips and they parted eagerly. She pushed the blanket from his shoulders and ran her hands over his bare back. Gently he eased her down to the ground, the blood pounding through him as her hands snaked around his neck and pulled him down with her. The buttons of her mannish jacket gave way easily to his fingers and soon he had pulled away the neck cloth and opened her shirt. When he placed his mouth on her throat it was every bit as soft and smooth as he had imagined. She trembled beneath him, sending his passion soaring out of control. His hand moved over the swell of her breast and she moaned softly, pushing against his fingers. She struggled to sit up and he released her immediately, trying to quell his disappointment, but she was not repulsing him. She dragged off her linen shirt and twisted round.
‘Unlace me.’
His fingers trembled on the laces. He bent to kiss her bare shoulder and her head fell back. She sighed, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned against her golden cheek. Hastily he dragged the laces free and the restricting corset fell away. He pulled her against him, cupping her breasts. They tensed beneath the thin cotton of her chemise. The next moment she was throwing off this last hindrance and turning back to face him.
A sudden stillness enveloped the little clearing, only the faint crackling of the fire disturbed the silence. Amber knelt before him, head bowed and that glorious hair cascading down over her shoulders. In the golden firelight she took his breath away. Gently, slowly, he reached out and pushed the hair back, his fingers caressing her neck, cupping her face, pulling her closer. Their kiss began tenderly enough, but he felt its latent power, like the rolling breakers he had seen on so many beautiful, dangerous shores, from Cornwall to Corunna. An inexorable force that carried all before it.
Amber gave him back kiss for kiss, dragging him down again onto their makeshift bed, her hands scrabbling to unfasten and remove his breeches. His skin was chill and slightly damp from the buckskin and she pressed herself against him. His reaction to her warm, shapely body was immediate, as was his gasp when her fingers closed about his erection. He had to force himself to ignore the havoc she was creating within him. The blood was pounding in his ears; he fought down the urge to satisfy his own need and concentrated on pleasuring her. He placed his mouth over one taut breast, his tongue circling, teasing, while she groaned beneath him. His hand swept over her hip, caressed the hinge of her thigh and moved on to where she was opening for him, inviting his touch. She writhed beneath his fingers. She was nearing the crest of her passion. He shifted his body and eased himself into her, stroking, caressing, containing his own excitement while she began to move wildly against him, her nails digging into his back.
‘Adam!’
The anguished cry broke from her. She quivered; he could feel her tensing around him, possessing him. There was nothing he wanted more than to remain inside her and complete their union, but that would be reckless, irresponsible. It took all his iron will to withdraw and make his own shattering ending against the soft skin of her belly.
A languid peace settled over them and they lay, sated and content, until the dying fire could no longer keep them warm. Amber wiped a napkin across her stomach, then tossed it aside and pulled the frieze blanket over them.
‘My dear—’
‘Shh.’ She pulled him into her arms. ‘Enough. Sleep now.’
