Tarnished Honor Page 9

  Ah God. She might just be the perfect woman. “Pippin—”

  She cut him off, cut all thoughts off, dipping her head and drawing him in again. How she knew to swirl her tongue like that, to ease down on him, to pump with her fist as she took him in, he didn’t know. The pleasure nearly blinded him.

  She was too good. He was too needy. It was moving too fast. His head whirled, his body burned. His pulse pounded in his temples, in his cock. A bubbling, boiling need rose within him. He fisted his hands in the covers and gritted his teeth and tried to hold off a rising disaster.

  “Pippin…”

  He didn’t mean to stop her, but he did, and he was glad for it. She glanced up at him again and he realized… “I want you.” I need you.

  Without pause, he reached down and lifted her up, then turned her onto the soft mattress beneath him. Her body was still wet and warm and ready and he had no patience left.

  It was time, as she had suggested so often today, to do that again.

  She loved the look in his eye, the wild hunger, the tender passion.

  She loved the feel of him, his bare body, hard and rough, as he covered her. The hairs on his chest abraded her nipples, his hands roved, testing her warmth. His knees fit between hers and with one harsh move, separated them.

  It was glorious having him over her, so demanding, so rampant. But she wanted more. She wanted him in.

  “Are you ready?” he asked through clenched teeth and she had to laugh.

  “I’ve been ready for hours.”

  She had no idea why this caused his eyes to narrow, his nostrils to flare, but she hardly cared, because then he lunged. He filled her. Completed her.

  As wonderful as it had been this morning, this was better. There was no small pinch of pain. It was pleasure, all pleasure, delirious rafts of it. She was barely aware of his movements over her and in her, because each thrust sent her higher and higher into some ethereal realm where nothing existed but skittering bliss and shards of glory.

  She luxuriated in the slide of his hard, velvet spear as he filled her again and again. With each surge, he nudged something deep within her, something that made her soul sing and weep at the same time. A tight ball formed at her core and expanded, creating an unbearable tension. He seemed to know. He seemed to understand. With a growl, he increased his pace, his movements becoming wilder, harsher, more desperate, as though he fought the same beast, climbed the same crest.

  He swelled inside her, stretching her even more, sending a riot of euphoria through her. The delight wafted out in wave after wave after wave. Her body closed down, seized, and he groaned. He jerked, several times, and made a noise, something feral and savage and utterly replete. And heat flooded her. Heat and heaven and a breathtaking sense of serenity.

  He collapsed upon her and then rolled to the side, taking her with him, holding her close. His chest heaved. His heart thundered. His fingers toyed with her hair.

  Tiny moans emanated from his throat. Or the moans could have been hers. They were so close at this moment it was difficult to tell them apart. She hardly cared.

  Nestling closer, she kissed him. His neck. His chest. Wherever she was.

  They lay like that for an eternity, just holding each other as the day waned. They might have slept. As the room darkened and the sounds of revelry rose from the tavern below, Fia’s belly growled. She leaned up and gazed down at Daniel’s face. He looked at her through slumberous eyes. His lips quirked. He reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m hungry.”

  He chuckled. “You’re always hungry.”

  “I am.” It was true.

  “Shall we dress and go down below?”

  She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to face the world. Not yet. He seemed to understand.

  “Or have our supper here?”

  “Here, please.”

  “My choice as well. I shall go down and have them send up a tray.” He hefted off the bed and she tracked his progress, enjoying the sight of his perfectly formed buttocks. He picked up his trousers and pulled them on, and then fumbled in the jumble of their clothing for his shirt. As he lifted it up, something fell to the wood floor with a thunk and rolled under the bed.

  Fia was closest, so she leaned down and picked it up.

  Her heart stalled as she stared at it.

  It was a chess piece, a knight, exquisitely carved in a hand she could not mistake for another. She knew it. She knew the lines. She had its mate.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked through the ball clogging her throat.

  He glanced over, in the process of buttoning his shirt. A muscle tightened in his cheek. “A friend made it.”

  Her lungs locked. Her pulse thrummed. A sense of inevitability whipped through her like a cold wind. “A…friend?”

  “Aye.” He glanced away. A surety he didn’t want to discuss it, but she had to press him. This was far too important.

  “And…what happened to this friend?”

  He raked his hair and then sat beside her on the bed. “He died.”

  “In Waterloo?” She knew. She knew.

  “Aye.” He took the piece and stroked it, then folded her into her arms and held her, with his chin on the top of her head as though he couldn’t bear to look at her. “He’s the one I told you about. The one I didn’t save.” A whisper.

  Ah. God.

  Her soul wept. For so many reasons. For Daniel, for Graeme, for herself. But she only said, “You canna save everyone.”

  He grunted, a wordless response. And then, after a while, he said, “I’m supposed to deliver it.”

  She tried to pull back. To look at him. He wouldn’t allow it. “To whom?” she said to his chest.

  “He had a sister. In Sutherland County.” Ah yes. Their home had been there. Until they’d lost it. “I’ve been…putting it off.”

  “Why?” she asked, but she knew.

  His Adam’s apple worked; she felt it against her cheek. “I canna bear to face her.” His tone was far too anguished.

  She should tell him now, tell him who she was, that his friend had been her beloved brother…but she couldn’t. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if she did, this thing—this brilliant and glorious thing between them—would end. It would end the instant she opened her mouth and she wasn’t ready for that. Didn’t think she ever would be ready for that. She didn’t think she could survive it.

  Ah, lord. She should tell him, but she’d never known such fear. Such howling panic. She didn’t care for this evidence of her cowardice, but she couldn’t deny it either.

  Later. She could tell him later. She would.

  Just not now. Not yet.

  Fia wrenched from his hold and pinned him with a savage glare. “It wasna your fault that he died.”

  “Even if it wasna, I have to explain it to her. I doona think I can.”

  She cupped his cheek. “She will understand.”

  “Will she?”

  “Of course she will.” She kissed him then, softly, sweetly. “Of course she will.” She pushed him down on the bed and he allowed it. “She will,” she said. “She will.”

  She soothed him then, loved him then, with her body, heart and soul.

  It was a long time indeed before they had any supper.

  Chapter Nine

  The next few days, as they rode toward Inverness, were delightful. The evenings were even more delightful. They made camp by the side of the road and he and Pippin spent each night locked in each other’s embrace, glorying in the panoply of nature.

  The nature of desire to be precise, but Daniel did make an effort to notice the natural beauty of their surroundings…as much as he could. He was rather obsessed with her.

  And obsession it was.

  Somehow, in that handful of days, she had come to mean so much to him. Not just the woman who had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him from the pit of despair. Not just the woman who had,
in her miraculous and gentle way, healed his desire. Not just a witty and pleasant companion he would want to have at his side for the rest of his days. But more.

  She had become necessary.

  As necessary as water or air.

  He should be terrified by that, but he was not. He reveled in it, the connection, the closeness, even the need. He’d never allowed himself to need anyone before. Not even before Waterloo had broken him. When his father died and his mother became ill, he’d become the provider, the savior, the protector. It was his role. It was his destiny.

  Somehow, with Pippin, he’d become all those things, and more.

  When she looked at him, she saw a hero. It was there, shining in her eyes.

  He couldn’t help but respond to that.

  And in that, she made him a better man.

  He didn’t allow himself to think of the future. It was too painful. For as much as he enjoyed her company, as deeply as he sank into his need for her, this wonderful affair was only that. It couldn’t be anything more.

  No matter how much he wished he could keep her, he couldn’t. His means were limited, his circumstances occasionally desperate. If not for the charity of other men—men like Worth and Sherstone—he would probably have starved. He was lucky to have a job. Lucky to have a place to sleep. And frankly, the small room he inhabited above the stables of the Incomparables Club in London was no place for someone of her sensibilities. Beyond which, there was no doubt the members of the club would object to him bringing a woman home to live with him.

  He resolved himself to the fact that his time with his Pippin was limited. And, as any man would, he made certain to take advantage of the gift that had been given to him.

  Regret was for tomorrow.

  Today was for something far more pleasurable.

  It was almost an annoyance to arrive in Newtonmore and be surrounded by a bustle of people again. Well, hardly a bustle, but certainly more than they had found on the heaths. Aside from which, it had been a long day’s ride and they were both creaky. Daniel was thinking about another bath. He was thinking very seriously about it. He also wanted her again. Needed her beneath him. He had it in his mind to drag her up the stairs to their room as soon as he could arrange one, but he didn’t have the chance.

  He had dismounted from Hunnam and handed the reins to a waiting ostler, when he glanced up at Pippin’s face, preparing to help her down. Something in her expression snagged his attention. She was looking toward the inn, her features locked in a mask of disbelief. He followed her gaze and saw a young man just coming out of the door. He seemed to be a carefree sort with a smile on his lips and a laugh in his throat. He strode with a cocksure gait and had a bag slung casually over his shoulder.

  Pippin’s eyes narrowed.

  “Do you know him?” Daniel asked softly.

  “Aye.” Her tone made a shiver skitter down his spine. “He’s the one who stole my things.”

  The fellow glanced up just then, saw her, and stilled. His face went an odd shade of white. His gaze flicked over the yard and then without warning, he sprinted into the darkening woods.

  To his horror, Pippin slipped of Blaze’s back—without his assistance—landed on her feet and hared off after the lad.

  Daniel stood there in shock for a second and then, almost instinctually, launched into a run in her wake. It was growing dark and the trees were close. He lost sight of her almost immediately. His panic rose as he crashed through the brush. His lungs worked like a bellows, squeezing painfully as he ran.

  She was so small. So helpless. Where had they gone? Where was she? What the hell had she been thinking?

  A cry to his left turned his blood to ice. It was her cry. He skidded to a halt and, changing directions, barreled through the bushes toward the sound.

  What he saw as he burst into the clearing infuriated him, brought down a scorching red tide he hadn’t known since Waterloo.

  Pippin and the thief tussled over the strap of the bag, each tugging it back and forth, each unwilling to let it go. But then the brigand hauled back and slammed his fist into Pippin’s belly, sending her flying.

  Daniel roared.

  The trees shook. The ground rumbled. His cry reverberated on the air. It certainly took the thief aback. He stilled, frozen in place, gaping at Daniel’s oncoming charge.

  The boy should not have hesitated. He should have turned tail and run. Because Daniel was furious. His nostrils flared as he flew toward the bastard; his hands closed into fists. He landed a hard blow on a cocky chin. It was a damn good thing Daniel hadn’t had his saber in his hand, or he would, no doubt, have run the sod through.

  The boy reeled back and collapsed. He didn’t move.

  It was something of an anticlimax, that. Daniel had been prepared to pummel him to mush, but he didn’t move. Daniel nudged him with a toe, hoping the bastard might stir.

  Nothing.

  A shame. One punch had not been nearly enough, but the notion of beating an unconscious man offended Daniel’s sense of honor.

  He was aware, through the bloody haze of his vision, that Pippin had edged close and was studying the insensate pile of flesh and bones.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m fine. Did you kill him?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Pity.” She bent down and collected the bag from his shoulder and riffled through it. Apparently she found what she was looking for; she turned to Daniel with a bright smile. “Are you ready for dinner?”

  “What?”

  “I said, are you ready for dinner?”

  Seriously? “He hit you. How can you think of food at a time like this?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Naturally.

  Daniel glared at the ruffian once more, just for good measure, and then tucked his arm around Pippin—because surely she required the solicitous gesture—and led her back through the trees toward the inn. As they made their way, he attempted to calm himself, but it took some effort. When he was capable of civil speech he asked, because he had to know, “Why did you do that?”

  She glanced at him. Blinked. “Do what?”

  “Chase him, for pity sake.” Honestly, sometimes he feared this woman might drive him to drink.

  “He stole my bag.”

  “It’s only a bag.”

  “Hunnam is only a horse, but you dinna want him stolen.”

  “Hunnam is not only a horse. And that’s beside the point. The man could have hurt you. Really hurt you.” Couldn’t she see that? Couldn’t she understand? Didn’t she know how fragile and precious she was?

  “But he dinna.” She turned to him, her eyes adoring. “You dinna let him.” It was shocking how those words, that expression, hit him so hard in the gut. Because somehow, in her eyes, he saw the man he so desperately wanted to be.

  He saw a hero.

  As they neared the teeming city of Inverness, Daniel’s anxiety rose and he knew damn well why. When they arrived in the city, his time with her would be over. It would end. Pippin would continue north, to meet her “people” in Wick, and he would…well, he didn’t know what he would do. But it wouldn’t be with her.

  The thing he most wanted, craved, couldn’t be. The thought devastated him. It probably accounted for the desperate passion with which he took her each night. His desolation rose the closer they got. In Kingussie, Inverdruie and Tomatin. Each town, each inn, each step tolled a death knell for this delightful interlude.

  Too soon they reached the outskirts of town. The sights and smells of it made something bitter rise in his throat, but he knew it was nothing more than dread.

  He chose an inn he knew well, one he was confident would be comfortable and safe. Safety was a key factor in a city this large, filled to the brim as it was with danger. And since he didn’t know the location of his uncle’s solicitors, it didn’t make sense to search for some place near their offices. Aside from all that, he preferred to stop somewhere familiar. They arriv
ed in the early evening, but thankfully there was a room still available and Daniel quickly made arrangements for their dinner and that bath.

  They spent a lovely, leisurely evening together, in each other’s arms, though they both knew it was probably their last night together. Which most likely accounted for the tears.

  He awoke before her and dressed quietly before slipping out of the room and down to the kitchens, where he asked for a tray. She was still sleeping when he returned with it—poor thing, he had exhausted her—so he set it on the table and sat next to her on the bed. She snuffled a snore and rolled over onto her back.

  He stared at her, at her delicately carved features, her soft curls, the exquisite curves of her bare body. His heart clenched, swelled. Though he didn’t want to wake her—although a part of him did—he set his palm to her cheek and thumbed her sweet lips. They moved beneath his touch.

  Ah, God. She was beautiful.

  She was funny and valiant and brazen and naive.

  She was a perfect soul.

  And he loved her. Loved her.

  He was not a praying man, but in that moment he did. He closed his eyes, ignoring the dampness that squeezed out, and begged God for some miracle. Something to allow him to keep her, even though he couldn’t imagine what such a miracle might look like. He couldn’t envision any possible future where they could be together. Where he could afford a wife.

  Doubtless, she would say she didn’t care if they had a decent home or not, but he did. He’d seen what poverty had done to his mother and he couldn’t bear subjecting Pippin to those horrors.

  But still, he prayed. It was all he had.

  And then he made another plea to the Almighty, one that was more likely to be answered. Please, God. Please let her find fulfillment in her life. Let her find that better man. Let her be safe and happy and loved. Even if Daniel could not be that man, he wanted that for her.

  He bent and kissed her tenderly on the brow, drawing in the musky scent of her sleep, the fragrance of her hair, the essence of her soul, and then he stood in a rush and quit the room. He had to, or he might never leave.

  It only took a few queries for him to find the solicitor’s offices on Young Street near Ness Bridge. It was a gloomy edifice on a gloomy street. Daniel tethered Hunnam and made his way up the steps in a rush. He wanted this over, so he could return to her. So they could spend as much time together as they could. With any luck he could convince her to stay another night with him before she embarked on her northward journey.