To Seduce a Rogue (40 page)

He waited until her breathing slowed, then walked to the bed and pulled the coverlet over her. It did not cover her completely, but at least she was sleeping. The circles beneath her eyes suggested this had not come freely to her of late. He could sympathize. Some nights, whiskey had been his only companion.

Forcing himself to leave her room, he shut the door behind him, then sighed and leaned against it. He closed his eyes, fighting the sensations running through him. He recognized the taste of fear.

Charlie Whitney
was
frightening when she looked at you dead in the eye, her gaze relentlessly absolute. It unnerved him about as much as a ruler against his knuckles had in school.

They would talk in the morning.

If he only knew what he was going to say.

* * *

Adam flipped the eggs in the iron skillet and reached for the loaf of bread. He had forgotten what good bread Charlie made. He surveyed the kitchen table. Salt. Pepper. Bacon. He had never been able to find the butter. Shrugging, he took the eggs off the heat and slid them onto a plate.

As he lifted the knife to cut a piece of cheese, the sound of a wagon rolling down the drive intruded upon the peace of the morning. After wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he nudged the curtain aside. Miles’ broken-down wagon sat in the drive.

Adam swung the door open just as Kath lifted her hand to knock. Her arm locked in place as panic crossed her face. She tried to compose herself, brushing wrinkles from a dress that looked as if it had jumped off an ironing board minutes before. “Adam, what are you...um, it’s nice to see you,” she said, her gaze skipping to the knife in his hand.

“Thank you for the sincere welcome. Come in, come in.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door with a snap.

“Mercy, I really ought to be going. I was just stopping by to see if Charlie needed a ride into town. The
Sentinel
—”

“She’s
not
going to work today,” he said as he waved the knife in the air. “But, I’m glad you stopped by. Charlie is still sleeping. Since yesterday evening, I might add.”

Kath threw a quick glance at the closed bedroom door. “She hasn’t been getting much sleep lately.”

“Why?”

Kath turned to him with wide eyes. Her gaze once again dropped to the knife in his hand. “The newspaper, why, Benjamin Folkes is an old man.” She smiled uneasily and cleared her throat. “He has a bad back. Charlie is left with the bulk of the work.”

Adam trailed the blade along his palm. Damn Oliver Stokes. Wasn’t it possible to find an editor young enough to stay awake during a press run? However, the idea of Charlie working beside a handsome, talented editor rankled. “What about Gerald?”

“Gerald does what he can, but he’s no spring chicken, either.”

“What about Tom Walker? He can at least help her here.” Until they married, and she moved into the man’s house. He could not force himself to utter that sentence. Charlie and Tom in the same house, the same bed, made him want to put his fist through the wall.

Kath’s neck muscles jumped as her gaze roamed the room. She swallowed and patted her chest with her hand. “Would you look at the time.” She started for the door. “I really must be going.”

“
Katherine Lambert
.” Adam tossed the knife from hand to hand as if it were a rock.

He forced himself to remain silent as she closed her eyes, folding and unfolding her hands in her skirt. “Tom Walker won’t be helping Charlie with this place,” she said with a shaky laugh. “He may be helping Lila, though.”

Adam glanced over her bowed head, lifting his gaze to the patch of sky he could see through the curtain. Gray clouds prevailed, promising rain. Lila? Why would Tom be helping Lila? He would only help the woman he was to marry, right? The picture of what was really happening here began to form in his mind. “Is Tom marrying Lila?”

A blistering flush spread across Kath’s face as she lifted her head and met his gaze. She nodded.

He blinked and fingered the edge of the blade. The rational part of his mind felt swift, certain fury at being played like a pawn on a chess board. But his heart, irrational and weak, thumped against his ribs in what he feared was extreme relief. And fear. Fear that this barrier—one he had been prepared to respect at all costs after an honest discussion with Charlie—had disappeared.

The fury checked back in as he realized he was once again tangled in the Whitney web.

Compliance

The act of conforming, acquiescing, yielding.

“Oh my God!” Charlie dropped her fork into her lap.

Kath coughed and spread her palms along the table, not quite meeting her friend’s gaze. “I know. It was a crazy idea. Mercy. I only wanted to help.”

Charlie snatched the fork from her lap. She swallowed the eggs sitting on her tongue; they tasted like sawdust. “You sent him a letter saying
I
was marrying Tom.” She jabbed the fork into the eggs on her plate. “How could that help?”

Kath sighed. “I want you to be happy. You love him and he loves you. It’s so obvious.”

“I told you before. He is not Miles.”

“I know he isn’t. Believe me, I know.”

“Where did he go?”

Kath traced a scratch on the table without comment.

Charlie clicked the fork tongs against her teeth. “Probably to punch Miles in the face.”

Kath’s face paled. “Do you think so?”

Charlie smiled. “He did write the letter.”

Kath jumped up. “I have to find them.”

“Sit.” Charlie pointed to Kath’s chair. “I’m joking.” That was not altogether true; she didn’t know what Chase was likely to do. He was angry. Justifiably so. What were they thinking, to manipulate him—telling him she was going to marry Tom. Surely, he had known that could not be true.

But he
had
come.

Heat rolled through her. She had been dead inside for months, writing articles and washing clothes, printing newspapers and darning socks, setting type and pulling weeds. While trying to survive, she had pushed all those forbidden memories to the back of her mind. The sensation of a man inside her.
No
...not any man.

Only one man would ever do that to her. Or be that
for
her.

He was all she’d ever want and seeing him again had swept those memories before her eyes, and into her mind and heart. The salty taste of his skin; the sweet smell of him lingering on crisp sheets; the touch of his fingers, caressing, seeking, exploring. Thank you, God, she thought with a nod to the heavens.

Thank you for letting me see him one more time.

* * *

Charlie sat on the porch stairs, a thick sweater draped over her shoulders, a worn-out hat swinging from her fingers. She took a deep breath and watched Chase walk up the drive, her heart thudding in her chest. As he drew close, the setting sun fading behind him, he dissolved into shadow. His eyes, his face, his body, all eluded her. She leaned back on her elbows as he reached the bottom step, waiting for him to tear through the shadows.

“You were waiting for me.”

She nodded. Of course, she was. “Where have you been?” She twisted the brim of the hat into further disarray.

He hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder. Light illuminated his profile, his strong chin and elegantly curved nose. “I was at the newspaper, finishing Benjamin Folkes’ editorials.”

“Oh.”

He turned, his gaze running the length of her, then said with barely concealed anger, “You should have let me know.”

She laid the hat by her side, her gaze leaving his. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I talked with Gerald.”

She shrugged. What did he expect her to say? That she needed him? That she had started a hundred letters telling him how desperately she needed his help with the
Sentinel
, only to remember her promise by the river bank? She refused now, as she had then, to tangle him in a web of her making.

“Goddammit, but you are stubborn.”

She turned then, her anger sparked, her gaze fixing on him. “And you aren’t?”

He sank to his knees on the bottom step, his face level with hers. Their gazes locked in a silent contest of wills. She did not move an inch, refusing to be intimidated.

Sighing, he lifted his hand to her face, touching the bruise on her forehead. He stroked the ridge of her cheek, the skin beneath her jaw. “I came here because I could not stand the thought of another man loving you,” he whispered. Sliding his hand into her hair, he pulled her close as he leaned in.

She moaned before his mouth met hers. The anticipation of touching him again, of having him touch her...

She struggled to catch her breath as his tongue began to trace her lips. Oh God, she thought, her mind remembering and recording all at once, was he this wonderful before?

Trembling, she pressed forward, opening her eyes when she encountered only cool winter air. He had retreated, a pensive expression on his face. Was she imagining the naked fear she saw reflected in his dark gaze?

Didn’t he know by now that she would never hurt him?

Rising, she offered him her hand. He hesitated only a moment before taking it. She opened the door and pulled him inside. The house was dark but for a fire flickering in the hearth. The crackle of burning wood and the acrid aroma of smoke filled the small room.

Charlie closed the door and watched Adam’s gaze circle the modest structure. He glanced toward the fire, the flame’s glow revealing a quilt, pillows, a bottle of wine and two mismatched glasses.

His gaze tilted to her, then back to the makeshift bed, as a lazy smile spread across his face.

“That’s the bottle of wine you gave me last summer.”

“I thought it might be.”

She walked to him, until they stood less than a foot apart. Lifting her hands to the buttons on his shirt, she released one, then the others, until the cloth hung open from neck to waist. He made no move to help her, but if his tight gaze and rapid breaths were any indication, he liked what she was doing.

Encouraged, she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, forgetting it as it slipped to the floor. Her gaze devoured his chest. She wanted to memorize every crest and hollow. Noticing the wide bandage on his left arm, she lifted her gaze to his.

He shook his head as if to say “not now” and stepped forward. Grasping her face with both hands, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. She parted them, not wishing to play the part of a chaste woman when she was not. Nor did she wish to be. To act as if she had forgotten the incredible passion that flowed between them, or to act—even more absurd—as if she didn’t want him, would be impossible. She was sure he could see stark need in her eyes, hear it in the steady beat of her heart.

Laying her hands on his shoulders, she tore her mouth away and bent her knees, planting kisses down his neck and chest. She slanted her head and circled his tight brown nipple with her tongue.

“How...I have missed you, sweetheart,” he said, his chest rising and falling with each quick breath. He let his hands fall to his side as her mouth moved lower. The taut muscles of his stomach clenched in what she hoped was anticipation.