Highland Heat (6 page)

“I need ye back in ten minutes, Mackenzie,” he said roughly.

“Aye, sir.” Duncan's voice was mild, as if he hadn't noticed the major's glare or ominous tone. He must have, though—they were impossible to miss.

Grace followed Duncan out onto the deck. It would have been a warm day on the Channel if not for the biting northeasterly breeze. She wrapped her arms over her chest and shuddered as the wind threatened to tug her hair from its pins. It was good she wasn't wearing a bonnet, because it would have caught the air and blown off straightaway.

Duncan turned back to her, then frowned, seeing her shiver. In a flash, his coat was off and over her shoulders.

“Oh, I don't need—”

“Come,” he said, placing the flat of his hand at the small of her back, “let's get you out o' the cold.”

He turned and entered the forward cabin, where the hold was located. But instead of taking her into the hold, he opened a door and led her into a small room so full of wooden barrels there was hardly enough space to stand.

She opened her mouth to ask what the barrels were for, but before she could speak, his good arm went around her. He hauled her to him.

“Oh,” she gasped, instantly overwhelmed by the feel of a hard male body pressing against her. She stared up at his rough, masculine face.

“You're driving me mad, lass,” he murmured.

Then his lips were on hers, and she was lost. There was nothing but the feel of him surrounding her, the heat of his mouth, the sensuous slide of his lips over hers. He tasted delicious, like heat and pleasure and sensuality, like nothing she'd ever imagined before. She opened her lips to let out a breathy sigh, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth and she groaned instead.

Was this how it was done? She knew a kiss consisted of one person's lips pressed against another's. She'd seen a few kisses in her life. But this…this was…Oh, God. Deep, erotic pleasure. And as he explored her mouth with his tongue, she bunched his shirt in her hands and held on as a heavy pressure built between her legs.

His hand slid down her back, trailing over the dozen cloth-covered buttons that lined her spine. And then he cupped her bottom in his big hand and pressed her tighter against him.

A deep shudder pulsed through her. God…this was…this was…It was nearly too much. Too intense. Every part of her body, inside and out, was alive and tingling with an ache almost too sweet to comprehend.

And then she felt it—the hard ridge of his male flesh pressing against her lower stomach.

She jerked back.

What in heaven's name was she doing? This wasn't her. This wasn't even
possible
.

She gazed at him, breathing hard, her lips parted, her eyes wide. “What are we doing?” she whispered. “What are you doing to me?”

He stared back at her. “I canna resist you, Grace.” He blew out a slow breath. “Worse, I dinna wish to.”

If Duncan were a gentleman and they were caught, they'd be forced to marry immediately. But Duncan wasn't a gentleman, and if they were caught, the repercussions to him might be terrible.

She thought of the major's glare. “If the major saw us now, he'd probably toss us overboard.”

His eyes didn't break from hers. “Nay, he'd toss
me
overboard, not you. And it'd be worth it.”

“Of course it wouldn't be worth it.”

“I canna think of one thing happenin' to me that wouldna be worth a single kiss from you,” he said. The words brushed over her as if they'd risen from somewhere deep inside him, and she had no doubt that he really believed they were true. “I wilna risk your reputation, though. I will protect it, whatever the cost.” His finger, rough with calluses, trailed down her jaw. “I like you, Grace. I'll no' see you hurt because of me.”

She loved how he said her name, with a slightly rolling R.

“I like you, too,” she whispered. “And I don't want either of us hurt. I just…” She loved being with him, but how far could they go before the risks outweighed the rewards?

“There's little risk to my neck or your reputation at this moment,” he pointed out. As if to emphasize that truth, he turned and latched the door. “We're alone.”

She gave a small laugh. “How much time do we have now? Seven minutes?”

“Six, I think.”

“We can't meet forever in…in dark rooms full of barrels.”

He lowered his head and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Dinna think about the future. We're here now, aren't we? You're with me now.”

“But I won't always be. When we get back to London—”

“We'll worry about that later.”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I am always thinking of the future. I forget, sometimes, how to live in the present.”

“I'll teach you, then.”

She wished he had the time. She wished she could spend the next week with him, or longer, learning how to exist in the now. But her life was an endless series of events and plans, and she'd never had the ability to simply enjoy the present.

“I'd love to learn,” she said quietly. “But I don't think there's enough time. After tomorrow I might never see you again.”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “There's that word again.
Tomorrow
. You're seeing me now, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Then be with me. For the next five minutes.” He grinned. “We'll worry about tonight when it comes. Tomorrow when it comes. Next week, next month, next year…”

“Yes,” she murmured against his lips, which had drawn closer to hers with each word he'd just said.

And this time, she was the one to press her lips to his. He kissed her thoroughly, but soon his lips wandered, moving to the corner of her mouth, then down to her jaw and finally to her neck. She gasped when he kissed her there, because the sensation of his lips on the sensitive skin of her throat sent bursts of erotic pleasure through her that seemed to collect in her center.

He moved down to the neckline of her dress, peppering kisses along her collarbone, then lower, his lips skimming her bodice. When his mouth closed over the tip of her breast, she gasped loudly. Even through the layers of her dress, stays, and petticoat, the sensation was so strong it made her knees wobble.

She threaded her hands through the russet-brown strands of his hair, partly to use him to keep herself upright and partly to hold him against her. She wanted more. She wanted these clothes off so he could kiss her skin, the sensitive peak of her nipple.

He groaned. “You're so sweet, Grace. So bonny.”

He wrapped his good arm around her thighs just under her bottom and lifted her up, settling her upon one of the barrels. Now her breasts were even with his mouth, and he lavished attention on them—first one then the other—until Grace was panting with need, her fingers itching to rip her clothes away, give his lips and mouth what they sought.

His hand moved down her skirt. When he reached the hem, he slipped underneath it. He removed her slipper, then pulled back from her breast and raised her foot.

He knelt down, kissing the tips of her toes and the top of her foot. He trailed his lips up over her stocking until he played with the ribbon garter just above her knee. The intimate touches made Grace shudder.

Then he moved even higher—his lips touching where no male had ever touched. Her breaths came in short, hard gasps, and her entire body shook.

His lips moved up her thigh until he reached the very top of her leg. Then he slowly began to move down.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. And she had the strangest impulse to open her legs wide for him, even though she couldn't fathom what might come of that.

She didn't open them wide, but she relaxed, and he paused at the apex of her thighs, breathing in deeply. He looked up at her. “I wish I had time to taste you.”

Oh. She had no idea men did that. She didn't know what to think. Her body did, though. Her body wanted him there.

He kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh—all the way down her leg until he pressed his lips against her ankle. Then he slipped her shoe back onto her foot and rose.

He kissed her on the lips once more, long and languid, the fingers of his good hand playing at the curls that wisped down at the back of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him until she was breathless.

Finally, he pulled away, smoothing her skirt back over her knees. “Our time is up.”

Grace wanted to say,
Who cares
.
Forget the time. Forget the major and society and my father and the
ton
and everything and everyone
. She felt like she could wrap herself in Duncan and nothing else would ever matter.

But as he settled her back onto her feet, her logical mind clicked into place. Those were foolish thoughts.

Duncan was right—they were out of time.

Duncan stood beside Grace at the deck rail as the coast of England grew closer with each wave that rolled under the ship.

She stared at the land ahead of them, and he stared at her. In a matter of an hour or so, they would part. She was right when she'd said they might never cross paths again. At the time, he hadn't wanted to think about that. But now, as they drew close to an inevitable separation, he found himself thinking of ways he might be able to see her.

Her sister was married to his commanding officer. That fact made it possible—even likely—that they'd meet again.

“Meeting” wouldn't be enough, though. He wanted to be
alone
with her. The thought that they might never have that opportunity gutted him.

Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to look at him. “This—” She abruptly stopped talking and looked down, seeming to try to build her strength to say whatever it was she wanted to say. “I've enjoyed this time with you, Duncan.”

“
Enjoy
is an understatement for how I feel about our time together,” he said honestly.

She glanced around to ensure nobody was listening, then nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “For me too.” Her pretty blue eyes shone. “But my life is nothing like these past few days have been. I am an earl's daughter and the lady of my father's house. I entertain guests, I manage the household, I ensure everything is proper and respectable.”

“And you havena been proper and respectable with me, have you?”

She shook her head. “No. But”—she sounded surprised by this revelation—“I've
liked
not being respectable and proper. I've…I didn't know how it would…make me feel.” Her fingers curled around the deck railing. “Still, this is my life. I like being a respectable spinster. I like running my father's household. I like being the Earl of Norsey's elder daughter.”

“Of course you do.”

“My father is a good man. I would do nothing to hurt him or bring scandal upon his house. If he knew what I have done…”

“I understand,” he said.

She blew out a breath. “Thank you for what you've given me. But…I need to walk away now. Even if by chance we see each other again, we mustn't…”

Something twisted in his gut, and he forced himself not to audibly grind his teeth. Every inch of his body told him that he needed to hold on to her, to explore this burgeoning feeling he had for this remarkable, beautiful woman.

But she was right. He was a kilt-wearing son of a Scottish sheep farmer. He was a penniless sergeant in the British Army, not even an officer. She was an earl's daughter, beautiful and aristocratic. She should marry an earl or a duke, or one of Wellington's top advisors. Or maybe even Captain McLeod, one of the officers who was accompanying them back to London, who was himself the son and heir of an earl, albeit a Scottish one.

There was no future for Grace and Duncan. No way on earth could he hope to attain something lasting with a woman like her.

They needed to stop this, to nip it in the bud before real feelings began to grow between them. Before one of them was truly and irrevocably hurt. And before they were caught.

He laid his hand over her small, gloved one. “I'll miss you,” he said quietly. Their eyes met. “I'll miss kissing you,” he said evenly. “Touching you. I wish more than anything that I could kiss you more. Touch you more. All over.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I…I wish for that too. But some wishes are destined to never come true.”

“Aye.” For the first time, the unfairness of it pressed in on his lungs. He'd never met a woman he'd found as intriguing and as appealing as this aristocratic English rose.

They stood in silence for a long while, but he kept his palm where it was, taking as much comfort as he could from the delicate shape of the hand beneath his.

They didn't break apart until Lady Campbell joined them, standing next to her sister. They looked much alike with their blond locks and pretty blue eyes, except Lady Campbell was far more petite than Grace, her face narrower. She looked altogether delicate beside her sister, who looked slender but strong, willowy, and intelligent.

Lady Campbell smiled at him. “I hope you don't mind if I steal Grace away from you for a moment. We have a few things to do before we anchor.”

He inclined his head. “Of course, milady.”

“Thank you.”

Grace suppressed a surge of irritation at Claire for taking her away from what might possibly be her last moments alone with Duncan. But she followed her down to their empty cabin. Their packed valises stood near the door.

“What do we need to do?” she asked Claire.

“I need to talk to you.”

Grace's heart sank. She instantly knew what this was about. She let her face go blank. “No. You don't.”

“I do,” Claire said gently. “Oh, Grace, I don't want to see you hurt.”

Grace closed her eyes. “Really, it's been taken care of. We don't need to discuss—”

“Rob has been watching you and Sergeant Mackenzie. He's very unhappy about how familiar the two of you are. I've convinced him not to intervene for now, but—”

“I know, Claire. And thank you.” She shuddered to think of the scene the major might have caused if not for Claire's intervention.

“And Papa would never approve.”

Grace groaned. “I
know
that.”

“If he found out…” Claire shuddered. “You do remember Lord Grammercy?”

“Of course I do.”

Three years ago, the Viscount Grammercy had wanted to court Claire. Though she hadn't had the faintest bit of interest in him, he was persistent until she'd had to outright reject him. That had angered him enough that he'd started spreading lies about her among the
ton
in hopes that the rumors would make her father force her to marry him. When Claire went to the earl and told him that she'd kissed Grammercy once but the stories of her doing other intimate things with him were utterly false, their father had been outraged.

It wasn't only the lies that had infuriated the earl, it was the fact that Grammercy had dared touch Claire at all, even for just one kiss. He'd dug into Grammercy's affairs, discovered his weaknesses, and he'd ruined the man so thoroughly that no one believed his lies—in fact, everyone condemned him for spreading untruths about an innocent lady. His club rejected him, his business partners fled, and he hadn't dared step foot in London for nearly three years.

Claire was right—their father had the ability to ruin people. And when it came to protecting his daughters' virtue, he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

“And Grammercy is a viscount,” Claire continued. “Duncan Mackenzie is…” She hesitated. “Well, he isn't a viscount. Not even close.”

“I know, Claire. You don't need to tell me all this.” Grace felt like pulling her hair out by the roots. She sank down on the edge of the bed they'd shared last night. “It's over. He and I both understand that.”

Claire sat next to her, her hands folded in her lap. “Yet you're still drawn to him.”

Grace closed her eyes and nodded.

“And he's clearly drawn to you.”

Grace raised her brows and gave her sister a sideways look. “Are you going to accuse him of chasing me for my money or position?”

Claire scoffed. “Of course not. He is an honorable man. Utterly trustworthy, or Rob would not have chosen him for this mission in London. Anyhow,” she continued, “distrust is the response Papa would have, not I.”

“So you think he's drawn to me…for
me
?” Grace asked.

“I know he is. And…I know what it's like. Rob and I were the same way when we first met.”

“I know it was dangerous…but being near him, being with him. It was…so…” Grace shook her head, unable to explain.

“If Rob or Papa were to catch you together— Oh, I don't know what they'd do. But I'd truly worry for Duncan's safety. And if someone in Town was to find out, you'd be the subject of the gossip rags for the next century.”

The knots in Grace's gut tightened. “No one will find out. Because, as I said, it is over. Who knows what assignment he'll be given. I might never see him again.”

“And if you do see him again?”

“We've agreed that it would be foolish to continue our association.”

Claire nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know what, Grace?”

“What?”

“The rest of the world might not understand, but I do. I see that you genuinely like each other, and I approve.”

Grace smiled. It shouldn't surprise her that Claire would accept the idea of her and Duncan. Claire always followed her heart and believed others should do the same. Grace was Claire's elder, but only by just over a year, and the two of them were close. And Claire's great criticism of Grace had always been that she was too reserved.

“And the way he looks at you—”

“How does he look at me?” Grace asked with genuine curiosity.

“Like you're the only female who ever existed for him.”

Grace sighed.

“But I'm so worried for him…and for you.”

Claire was right. She might approve of Grace and Duncan, but no one else would. Not her father. Not the major. Not society as a whole.

“There's no need to worry. Our time together is over.” Grace's voice firmed with resolve. “Nothing can or will happen between us. I'm going to stop thinking about him the moment we set foot on English soil.”

“Oh, sister.” Claire shook her head sadly. “I wish you the best of luck with that.”

At twilight, the carriages rolled to a stop in front of a well-appointed townhouse in Westminster. Claire, Grace, and their maid had ridden with Captain Stirling and the major, and even though the carriage had come to a halt, they all sat quietly, staring out the window in bemusement.

This was where the major and his men would be staying while in London. It was a pretty, fashionable house of the sort that would usually be occupied by a gentleman or a family of high status. They'd all expected a barracks of some sort, so this was unexpected, to say the least.

The first person to move was the major, who silently climbed from the carriage then helped Claire out so they could say their goodbyes. Captain Stirling followed. There was no reason for Grace to quit the carriage, so she sat there with Mary, twisting her hands in her lap and wishing she could jump out and give Duncan a kiss.

Grace gazed at the men gathering outside from the carriage that had stopped behind theirs. Her eyes caught with Duncan's and held for several long moments. Then, just before Claire's form filled the doorway, she saw him mouth the word
goodbye
, and her heart felt as if tiny fissures had spread across it.

“Grace,” Claire said breathlessly, “Rob has given me leave to stay here with him and his men. I hope you don't mind. The driver will take you and Mary straight home.”

At that moment, Grace felt lonelier than she ever had before. She was leaving the most intriguing man she'd ever known, and now, it seemed, her sister and dearest friend as well.

“I don't mind at all,” she said, pushing the feeling aside at once. For the first time in many months, Claire looked happy. Lord, Grace prayed that the major didn't ruin it. From all appearances, he'd been devoted to her for the days since the battle. But Grace knew how easily he'd walked away from Claire before.

She kissed Claire's cheek and clenched her hands in her lap, sitting silently and gazing unseeing out the window on the twenty-minute ride from Westminster to Mayfair.

Walking into this opulent townhouse was more foreign to Duncan than Salamanca had been to him when he'd marched through the gates of that ancient Spanish city three years ago. The place was furnished, in his opinion, for a king. Maybe it was nothing for the five officers with him. But for Duncan? A Highland sheepherder? It felt like walking into a fantastical dream.

Parquet covered the floor and rich red draperies covered the windows. A crystal chandelier, blazing with what appeared to be hundreds of candles, lit the entry hall in a dazzling display. Intricate paintings lined the walls. A paper-thin porcelain vase sat upon a small square table with spindly legs. All Duncan would have to do was touch the thing and it would shatter. He promised himself not to touch
anything
here—certainly they wouldn't be staying for long. This wasn't the right place for seven gruff, war-hardened men.

The man who'd met them at the door—Bailey, he'd called himself—led them down a lavishly wallpapered corridor and opened a door at its far end. There were two beds inside the room, each one with a canopy and thick draperies. Between the two beds sat a heavy mahogany desk, and on the opposite wall a matching armoire.

“The first of the bedrooms, sirs,” Bailey announced. “For two of the gentlemen.”

“Aye. Mackenzie and Fraser. This'll be yours.” The major nodded at them.

Duncan's brows rose, but he immediately schooled them into flatness. His gaze flicked to Fraser's. The other man looked placid, but Duncan knew they were having the same thoughts. Neither of them had ever been referred to as gentlemen before. And wouldn't the more reasonable place for them to camp be in front of the kitchen fire?

“Aye, sir,” Duncan said, wondering how it would be possible for him to actually sleep in the midst of all that opulence.

They followed the other men through the house. There were five bedrooms, one for the two sergeants, one for Lieutenants Ross and Innes, one each for Captain Stirling and Captain McLeod, and the master's bedroom for the major and his wife. The expansive, comfortable drawing room brimmed with clean, gilded blue velvet furniture that appeared to be new. A complete kitchen with two ovens—which Bailey said would be a-bustle the following morning while the cook and her two underlings prepared the morning meal—stood adjacent to a dining room containing a large, oblong mahogany table that could easily seat all of them. The place was luxurious and new—for God's sake, it even smelled of fresh paint.