Lorraine Heath - Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

“I’ve seen it work,” was all he said now.

“I shall try it in the morning and leave you to your bath now.” She turned to go, then looked back. “She wanted to stay in London, to be with you. I convinced her we were only safe if we stayed together. It should be enough that only one of us hangs. See to it that she doesn’t. I shan’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”

He watched her walk away. He still didn’t trust her, but he was fairly certain she loved her sister-both of them. It didn’t excuse what she’d done, but it made it a bit more understandable.

With a shake of his head, and no resolution to his dilemma, he turned his attention back to his bath. His water was too tepid now, so he set about heating another pot. Once he had the water again to his liking, he removed the remainder of his clothes and climbed into the tub. The hot water swirled around him as he sat in the cramped confines. He missed the large copper tub he’d had specially made to accommodate the length of his body. But at least the hot water in which he soaked eased away some of his tension.

He wasn’t certain what he’d expected to find when he began his journey here. The woman he’d known in London, to be sure. But he hadn’t known if he wanted her to be the same or different from the lady he’d taken to his bed. If she were different, he could rely on his anger to get him through bringing her to justice. If she were the same, each step of the journey would be hell.

He dropped his head back. It was hell.

He wanted to saddle up the horse he’d hired and leave her here. Return to London. Explain to Sir David that he, the best at solving crimes, was flummoxed and that the murder of Lord Rockberry would remain unsolved. Swindler’s perfect record would no longer be perfect.

But leaving her here meant never having her in his life again, because it would be so much harder to lie about the crime with her at his side. It was even possible that the guilt would slowly nibble away at her, destroy what he had come to love. He could see it already having its way with her in such a short time. She was thinner than she’d been in London, her step heavier, as though she carried a great weight on her shoulders now. Her eyes were hollow, ringed in dark circles, dull. She was the woman he’d known in London and yet she wasn’t.

He knew guilt’s power. It had been his companion all these years. If only he hadn’t lifted the damned watch. If only he’d tossed it aside instead of slipping it into his father’s pocket. His father had always seemed larger than life, able to handle any situation. He found work when others couldn’t, kept a roof over their head and food in their bellies. But there had never been money for extra items, only the essentials. The gold watch had looked so pretty.

Swindler shoved the dark thoughts back to the shadowy corner where they belonged. Thinking about them only served to distract him from his purpose. Besides, the water had cooled. It was time to concentrate on other things. He scrubbed off quickly. Leaving the tub, he toweled off before drawing on his trousers. He saw no need to put on anything more. Eleanor had surely returned to bed by now.

After tidying up the room, he took a lamp and walked through the house, making certain that no lamps had been left burning. Then he went up the stairs to his bedchamber.

The bed was turned down. He set the lamp on the bedside table. Stripping off his clothes, he crawled into bed, put out the flame in the lamp, and settled back. Emma’s rose fragrance surrounded him. He tried not to think of her nestled in this bed.

He focused on the window, the draperies drawn back. Lightning flashed and he thought of the fireworks they’d watched, the kiss-

Every damned thing reminded him of Emma, of how much he’d enjoyed having her in his life. Every damned thing reminded him that she was no longer a part of the joy in his life-she was now a suspect. More than that, she was the one he had to arrest.

Eleanor may have done the deed, but Emma had played a part in Rockberry’s demise. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t overlook it. And in not overlooking it, he couldn’t ignore that she hadn’t trusted him, had used him, had betrayed him.

It was so easy to forget all the wrongs when he was looking at her, studying her-when she was near enough to touch. It was also impossible to know how much of her true self she’d revealed to him in London. She’d duped him once. He didn’t intend to fall into her trap again.

James awoke to dreary skies. The rain had stopped. The sun was striving to shine through the gray clouds that remained. The house was incredibly silent. Emma had been right. It was never this quiet in London.

Abruptly he sat up. It could also be so quiet because they’d left. Getting out of bed, he quickly dressed and hurried downstairs. He heard activity in the kitchen. When he got there, he saw only Eleanor kneading the bread dough. “Where is she?”

Eleanor peered over at him. “Good morning to you, too, sir.”

“Where in the bloody hell is Emma?”

Wiping her hands on her apron, Eleanor edged past him. “Come with me.”

She led him to a back door, opened it, and stepped outside. “Follow that well-worn path. It leads-”

“To the cove.”

“Yes.”

He strode along the edge of the dirt trail where the grass made the journey less muddy. Puddles abounded. At one point he considered removing his boots, then decided that giving them a good polish would at least occupy his hands later in the day.

The path eventually led downward and into an area where the waters created a still pool. A small fire was burning nearby. But what caught his attention were the slender bare arms slicing through the water.

Emma was beauty and grace. She rolled onto her back, kicking her feet. He didn’t know how she managed to stay afloat. She wore little more than a chemise that clung to her body. He could see the outline of her taut nipples and the shadow between her thighs. He was well acquainted with the heaven her body offered. Although he knew he should look away, he couldn’t. He remembered the taste, the texture, the sight of what was now barely hidden.

But what most astounded him was her face in repose. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her with absolutely no worries.

With a splash, she suddenly went upright and began paddling toward the shore. When near enough, she stood up. Holding his gaze demurely, she waded toward him until she eventually left the water. Snatching up a blanket that he’d not even noticed, she wrapped it around herself and sat beside the fire.

Only then did he realize that her lips had gone blue and that she was shivering uncontrollably.

“Good Lord, what have you done?” he demanded as he came around behind her and drew her up against his chest, rubbing her arms. “Are you trying to catch your death?”

“I’ve swum in the pool for years. Makes me hearty.”

He continued to hold her until her teeth stopped chattering, then he simply folded her into his embrace. She leaned back into him.

“I didn’t want to betray you,” she whispered hoarsely.

Against his will, his arms tightened around her.

“A thousand times I wished that Father had sent me first and that I’d met you last summer when I was still filled with innocence and knew only happiness. There were times when I was with you that I could forget why Eleanor and I had come to London. Afterward I’d feel guilty for not focusing on retribution for Elisabeth. Ever since that afternoon when you approached me at Hyde Park, everything became so much more complicated. I didn’t want to come to care for you, but you made that wish an impossibility.”

He was acutely aware of her trembling, but knew it had little to do with the cold. She was weeping. He heard it in the rough edge of her voice.