Samantha James (17 page)

Eyes closed, she flung her head back. Release was close. She could feel it coming, shivering throughout her body. His head dropped low. He kissed the arch of her throat. “Fionna,” he said, his tone almost raw. “Fionna!”

Her nails bit into his shoulders. The walls of her channel contracted around him, again and again and again, sending spasms of release hurtling through them both.

Aidan wasn’t particularly proud of himself. The reasoning part of him called him the biggest fool in all London. He’d taken a lady—one who was a virgin no less—on the sofa in his drawing room.

Christ, he might just as well have hiked her skirts to her waist and taken her up against the wall!

Another voice reminded him that at least the cushions had been soft as down.

At least it hadn’t been the floor.

That had come later.

And at least it was carpeted, a most exquisite carpet—with a far more exquisite partner beneath him.

Ah, yes, but he’d proved himself quite the romantic lover, he reflected wryly. He’d demonstrated the utmost charm and finesse in giving the lady her first taste of a man.

Well, at least his intentions had been, well…of a most romantic flavor. The stage had been set—wine, roses, the fire burning low.

Did you bring me here to seduce me?

He had—yet he had not.

Liar,
mocked a voice in his head.

Yes, there was the fact that he’d wanted it almost since the first time they’d met. But tonight—well, it wasn’t the cool, calculated decision it seemed. He had
hoped
she’d let him make love to her.

The last thing in the world he expected was that she’d let him.

After all, this was Fionna. Tart-tongued, sharp as a tack, never one to do anything she did not want, ever one to go her own way…

He’d just never expected she would melt against him as if he were all she ever wanted.

And that was the catalyst. It wasn’t just the overwhelming need to make her his. It was her willingness, the trust she placed in him.

And once he had her in his arms—
naked
in his arms—well, he’d lost control. There was no other way to put it. He knew he’d never make it to his room. Hell, he wouldn’t have made it up the stairs.

She did that to him. No matter that he’d wished otherwise…a woman’s first time with a man should be slow, sweet, and tender, shouldn’t it?

And yet he’d known it would be like this between them—hungry and stirring and passionate, hot and sizzling. The minute he felt her beneath him, it was like flint to tinder.

He hadn’t meant to be so impatient, so desperate, so wild and rushed. He meant to be slow and careful and easy, but for one blinding moment—that unforgettable instant when his shaft prepared to plunge home—a haze of blood-red desire flooded over him, sweeping him along with it.

His jaw tensed. Thank heaven she’d had the presence of mind to curtail him. Why, he would have surely cut out his heart if he had hurt her, ruined this first time with her.

No, it probably wasn’t particularly gentlemanly to lie sprawled out with a lady in his drawing room on the rug before the fire. Thank heaven he’d given Alfred orders that the servants not be allowed to start their work until well after dawn. At the very least, he supposed, perhaps he should take her to his room after all.

He chuckled softly to himself. That hadn’t
worked the first time. He’d tried it, and look where they had landed!

And after the second time, they were both too spent to move.

Fionna lay curled against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He’d tugged a light coverlet over her. He was feeling just a tad proud of himself, for he knew he’d pleased and pleasured her well. But he had best stop his boastfulness, lest it turn around and bite him right back.

Did he regret it? The answer thundered in his breast, pounding through his veins.

Lord, no.

The better question was whether or not
she
did.

Aidan eased back so he could see her face. He’d thought she was dozing; she was not. Her eyes were half-closed, the shadow of her lashes crescents on her cheeks.

Yet he sensed something that sent a flicker of disquiet through him. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

“Are you sorry?” Aidan had to know. And he would be aware if she lied. He captured her chin, bringing her gaze to his. His hold tightened so she couldn’t turn away.

Her cheeks turned pink, but she made no effort to avoid his regard. “No,” she said, her lips tremulous. “I’m not sorry it happened.”

“Tell me again,” he said softly.

“I’m not sorry it happened, Aidan, I swear!”
Her face was scarlet. “I…it’s what I wanted.”

Still he scoured her face, not releasing her until he was satisfied.

Her head returned to its berth against his shoulder. But the contentment that had marked the quiet aftermath was suddenly marred by something he could neither see nor feel—yet hovered between them like an intangible wall of stone.

His arms tightened possessively. Protectively. “I can hear you breathe,” he said huskily. “I have felt the beat of your heart matched against my own. We have become one in the closest, most intimate way a man and woman can be together. There are times I know you as well as my own heart. Yet there are times it’s as if I know you not at all. And so I find myself forever pondering your thoughts. You reveal so little, Fionna. And so I wonder if there are mysteries, secrets that I cannot see—things that you refuse to let me see.”

She eased away so that she lay on her belly, her chin propped atop the backs of her hands. So very close, yet separate. He should have expected it, he realized. But he curbed his impatience.

Silence prevailed. There was a curious air about her. She wanted to retreat back into herself; yet with every instinct he possessed, it was almost as if he could see her fighting within herself.

Just when he thought she would refuse to answer, she did.

“I rather suspect everyone has mysteries,” she
said after a long silence. There was nothing in her tone that gave any hint to the scope of either her thoughts or feelings. “Some little secret we wish to keep to ourselves, that we prefer no one else know. Is that so wrong? It’s human nature, I think. No one should be able to see everything in someone else. No one should allow everything to be seen. It would leave one too vulnerable, I think.”

She was evading him. Throwing up her defenses, sealing herself in.

Shutting him out.

“I think I would very much dislike regarding everyone as an enemy,” he offered casually.

“I’m surprised you don’t, considering you were a soldier.”

“Perhaps that’s why I don’t, love.”

Her head turned almost sharply. “Is that what you think I do, Aidan?”

Easing to his side, he propped his head on his hand so he could gaze at her. “Sometimes I think you do, sweet. And no, it’s not wrong to keep some things wholly to oneself, though I rather think it would be nice to share one’s thoughts with another—the right person, of course. One’s hopes and fears and just silly little things. I would regard it as a gift, I think. A privilege. To know—at some moment or other—exactly what that other person is thinking…I think it should engender feelings of care and closeness and devotion. My sister shares that with her husband. My parents
had it. I doubt it’s ever easy for anyone. But I should like someday to have that closeness with someone.”
With you,
he almost said. “Wouldn’t you?”

Her gaze skidded away for the merest heartbeat. He saw the way she swallowed, the glaze of tears that rose to her beautiful amber eyes, swiftly blinked away before she thought he could see them.

But he did. He did, and though it was like a blade in his heart, his own frustration nearly consumed his patience. He sensed the contradiction inside her as if it were his own. Something was tearing her apart. What, for God’s sake.
What?
He couldn’t force her to tell him. God, certainly not now, not in this moment of softness. She’d come to him tonight and, by God, he wouldn’t lose her.

His fingers combed through her hair. “Fionna?” he said huskily.

She lowered her lashes so that he could no longer make out her expression. She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her whisper emerged haltingly. “It’s not a question of what I want. It’s not a question of what I don’t want.”

Long, languid fingers smoothed the valley of her spine, clear to the rise of her hips, then back again. “And if I said you can have what you want?”

“I can’t,” she said painfully. “And do not ask me why, Aidan. Please do not.”

He wouldn’t let her go so easily. Snaring her naked waist, he turned her back against him once more. She simply buried her head against his chest.

“We all have demons, you know. And no,” he said dryly, “I do not mean the
Demon of Dartmoor.
”

At least that succeeded in luring a smile from her. Their eyes connected.

Her smile faded, all too swiftly. “Even you?” she said tentatively. “Do you have demons?”

“Yes,” he said, and his attempt at a laugh was an abysmal failure. “Lord, yes.”

All at once the tables had been turned. He was aware of Fionna scanning his features, probing in a way he wasn’t used to. Instinctively he sought to shield himself.

But Fionna was no fool. “Something happened,” she said slowly. “When you were in India? In the Regiment?”

Time ticked away. Aidan had never doubted her powers of perception. He hadn’t realized they were quite so keen, however. Alec knew the truth of all that happened there—no one else. Yet beneath Fionna’s direct query, he knew he wouldn’t lie to her. The possibility never even entered the realm of his mind.

“Yes,” he admitted finally. “Something happened.”

She ran her fingers lightly up and down his arm, a caress? he wondered? Or a gesture of comfort.

“Will you tell me, Aidan?” She turned her liquid gaze up to his.

Christ, who could resist her when she gazed at him so? Aidan released a pent-up breath. “I was twenty when I joined the Highland Regiment,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened. “So young.”

“Not so young,” he corrected. “I warrant most of the Commonwealth’s soldiers are just boys. And a career in the Regiment was what I’d always wanted. I would have joined when I was younger but for my father’s advice. He thought I should complete my education.” He offered a half smile. “Wisdom comes to those who wait, you know.”

“He sounds like he was a very wise man.”

Aidan nodded. “He was. So out of respect for him, I waited. And he was right, for as it turned out, I was the Empire’s prodigy. Its greatest tactician, some said, during the last decade. I was ambitious and made the most of it. My strengths were recognized, and so I rose through the ranks quickly.”

A faint, teasing light appeared in her eyes. “Was your reputation well deserved?”

“It was. That’s the hell of it. I was good, and I knew it.” His eyes darkened. “But that proved my downfall as well.”

“Go on,” she murmured.

“There remains much unrest in India, among so many factions. I expect it will soon explode
again, for the natives hate the British occupation. I can’t say I blame them, but it’s not my place to judge. I was sent there to perform my duties—to the Punjab—and so I did.

“There were small skirmishes almost daily. Then they began to increase, more often and more deadly. The number of British casualties rose dramatically. There was a man named Rajul, you see, a shrewd, rebel leader. He was like a snake, striking suddenly, when and where it would do the most damage, slipping away like—like a ghost before we could catch either him or any of his followers.”

He knew Fionna’s gaze hadn’t left his face. Deliberately he chose not to look at her.

“It became a game of cat and mouse, the two of us pitted against each other, each determined to outwit the other. I was determined to catch him, to cut off the head of the snake. It was more than foe against foe. It was”—he floundered for the right word—“like an obsession.”

Aidan’s voice took on a note of hardness. “My men and I had a small base in the mountains, roughly a hundred men. We were awaiting the arrival of more soldiers. But one of our scouts was told by a native that Rajul was two villages to the north, that he would be spending the next few nights in the tent of the tribal leader.”

He released a breath. “I was—ecstatic. I wanted Rajul badly. So very badly. I ignored the voice in my gut that warned it sounded too easy. The voice
that warned we should wait for the arrival of the rest of the company—they were less than half a day’s march away—and then determine that the information wasn’t just a ruse. But I was afraid Rajul would escape again, as he had so many times before. And knowing he was so close…I decided to move ahead immediately, that very night. I left half the men behind to defend our camp. The rest I took with me to the village where Rajul was reported to be hiding. My intent was to leave most of the men on the perimeter of the village while a small group could sneak in during the dead of night and seize Rajul while he was asleep, when everyone was asleep, and capture him when he least expected it. Before he could slip away again the way he had so many times before. But he was one step ahead of me, Fionna.”

She frowned. “Rajul wasn’t there?”

Bitterness swelled in his chest. “Oh, he was there. Waiting for us, his men flat on their bellies behind every rock, scattered atop the ridge, all around us. The village was deserted. We were surrounded. Outnumbered by at least three to one. It was a bloodbath.”

She made a faint sound. “How many—”

“Forty-seven. Forty-seven of the Regiment’s best men were slaughtered because of me.”

“Oh, no,” she whispered in horror.

“Oh,
yes.
” His self-disgust rang out. “I scarcely even considered the possibility it was a trap—an ambush—before I discarded it. I told myself that
good as he was, I was better. That’s what comes of believing oneself invincible.”

“No!” she cried softly. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known—”

“I
should
have known. It was my life’s work. Planning. Strategizing.
Anticipating.
”

“Oh, God.” Her voice caught as she looked up at him. “Is that when this happened?” She ran the pad of her thumb beneath his left eye.

He nodded. His gaze avoided hers; he feared the condemnation he might find there.

“You still feel guilty, don’t you, Aidan?” Her voice came very softly.