Samantha James (19 page)

“If you feel it, if you are so certain, then why haven’t you found it before now? Why are we still searching for it?”

“You don’t believe me, do you? You don’t believe it’s here. You don’t even believe the Circle exists.”

“Forgive me for not being blessed with the superstitions of the Irish,” he snapped.

Angry hurt flooded her. Her eyes spitting fire, she started to charge past him.

Alec caught her elbow. “For heaven’s sake, Maura, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put it like that.”

Her chin climbed high. “Why not?” she said stiffly. “You are free to speak your mind, and I am entitled to my own beliefs, am I not? Pray forgive me for turning your household upside down, your grace. And do excuse me. I believe I should like to be alone for a while.”

“Maura,” he said softly. “Maura…”

She refused to look at him. Chafing, impatient, he sensed her composure unraveling and let her go.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she needed a little time for herself.

Early in the afternoon, Alec decided to look in on his wife…blood and thunder, he’d yet to stop thinking of her as his wife!

She hadn’t appeared for luncheon, and…well, he was worried about her. Oh, who did he fool? Yes, he was worried. But a little needle of guilt had plagued him ever since she left the library. Indeed, he admitted, from the moment they’d met at the masquerade, thoughts of her never strayed far from his mind.

He rapped lightly on the door between their chambers. There was no answer, nor did he hear any movement. Opening the door, he glanced inside.

He strode back into his room. An hour. If he
didn’t see her within the hour, he’d check with the servants.

The thought had no sooner flitted through his mind than he did see her, alone in the courtyard. From the corner window of his room, he watched her. She wore no bonnet; indeed, she rarely did, whereas most women would dare not venture a single step outdoors without one. And most women probably wouldn’t be out walking in the sunlight without a parasol.

A faint smile creased his lips. Maura was like his sister Anne in that regard. Vanity was not in Anne’s nature. There was not a shred of vanity in Maura’s either. Faith, but she was so achingly beautiful it nearly stole his breath.

His smile died. Maura’s head was low, her gaze directed downward, her hands linked behind her back. He couldn’t discern her expression, but it took no stretch of imagination to see that her mood was pensive at best. Perhaps a little dejected…

Some strange, twisting emotion unfolded in his chest. There was something achingly poignant about her pose. Was she so unhappy, then? Was it because of him? Because they had made love?

A knifelike stab pierced his gut. It almost seemed she was following some aimless path, occasionally kicking at the pebbled pathway that
wove through the flowers. His mind swerved back. He would never forget how he’d dumped out her precious treasure of pebbles and dirt from her home…the way it hurt her. The way he had hurt her.

Guilt seared him. If time could stretch back, if he could reclaim that moment—he would give everything he owned, all that he possessed.

But time was unforgiving.

Time was everlasting.

He could never take back what he’d done.

Just then, out the window, a child ran up to Maura and seized her hand. A second little boy ran out and latched onto the other hand. Then another and another, until they were like a flock surrounding her. A girl no higher than Maura’s hip clutched a tiny fistful of her gown. And all at once they were tugging her away, out of the courtyard and down the slope of lawn.

Alec was reminded of the other time he’d watched as Maura held court with the children. Scant wonder they adored her, warming to her from the first. There was a magic, a charm, a beauty in her that could not be captured in words. He delighted in her freshness, their bantering, particularly when pitting anything Irish against the Scots. She was witty and quick, ever ready with a comeback.

She was unlike any other woman. He wanted her as he’d wanted no other woman.

Drawn by a force he felt powerless to resist, Alec left the house and followed, but he kept his distance. He couldn’t have stopped himself from following even if he’d wanted to.

Gathering flowers from nearby, she guided little fingers in making daisy chains as they sat on the ground. The girls beamed as she placed a coronet of flowers on their heads. Little Greta dropped one onto Maura’s head.

Maura began to sing—off-key, which made it all the more disarming. On her feet now, she danced an Irish jig. Like leapfrogs, the children jumped up and joined in. Their laughter shrilled into squeals. Maura kicked off her shoes. Her hair had slipped from its knot on her nape. Raven locks streamed wildly behind her as she danced. Then she and the children joined hands and skipped in a wild circle. Shrieks of glee filled the air.

Alec moved closer. Shielded by the trunk of a giant oak, he watched them romp, conscious of an odd sensation growing deep in his chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off Maura.

A smile tugged at his lips when her garland of daisies slipped off. She snatched it up and plopped it crookedly atop her head.

Then one of the children spotted him. “Can his grace dance?”

He’d been discovered.

“Come, your grace!” shouted Andrew, Mrs. Yates’s youngest grandson. “Come dance with us!”

Alec arched a brow, then held out his hand as Maura twirled close. Her fingers caught his and she pulled him in. Then somehow she and Alec were in the middle, while the little ones danced all around. Alec spun her around and around until Maura was gasping and laughing and dizzy, her face turned up to the sky.

He caught her up against him. Locked fast in his arms, Maura gazed down into eyes of deep blue fire. And in those fiery depths glimmered a fierce yearning.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her.

What happened next was a blur. Maura was hazily aware of Alec tugging her by the hand. Blindly, she followed until he pulled her around and into his arms, back against the trunk of a tree.

“Alec,” she cried. “Alec, what are you doing?”

“What I wanted to do in front of the children.”

His eyes were burning. His words thrilled her as nothing else could have. The raw hunger on his face made her mouth go dry.

Her pulse clamored madly. She inhaled sharply. A battle raged inside her. She couldn’t—shouldn’t!—be with him like this. “Alec,” she said weakly, “we can’t. We mustn’t.”

“I know.”

The words were a hoarse, ragged mutter.

He didn’t stop kissing her. Nor did she want him to. She saw on his face the same desperate desire that she felt.

With stormy heart and quavering limbs, her arms crept around his neck. Everything inside her went weak as he brought her against him. She felt the shape of him through his trousers, quickening in one breath, pulsing and erect against her belly even before the next.

His kiss sapped her strength and left her utterly boneless.

Maura had little recollection of entering the hall by the back entrance. Caught up in his arms, they kissed wildly as he closed the door of his room with the heel of his boot.

Their clothing left a trail to the bed. He deposited her on the bed and followed her down.

“Maura,” he whispered. “I want you, sweet.”

His tongue sparred with hers. Her breasts swelled. He caught one ripe, swollen nipple in his mouth. One hand caught her buttocks. The
other caught his shaft. He rubbed it between her thighs, parting her damp, dewy pocket to find the nub within. He was fever hot, and hard as stone.

His fingers spread her wide. They were both half mad when he thrust inside. Neither could look away. She moaned. He groaned. It was wild. Tempestuous. He pumped frantically and Maura clung to him blindly, arching her neck as she shuddered her release.

Then Alec collapsed beside her, wrapped an arm around her and pulled her tight against his side. Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckles and drew her hand to the center of his chest, covering it with his own.

Maura laid her head against his shoulder, nestling against his warmth, welcoming the peace that settled over them.

They must have dozed for a time. The next thing she knew, a kiss as light as a feather brushed across her lips.

She pursed her lips and kept her eyes screwed shut.

“Maura”—laughter laced that low male voice—“you’re quite enchanting when you pout, sweet. But if it isn’t too much bother, might I have a moment of your time?”

By then it was all Maura could do to smother a
laugh. But she managed to keep her eyes tightly closed.

“Why is it that I am always rousing you from sleep? Let me ponder a moment.” He released a mock sigh. “Hmmm. I believe I may have the answer. I think perhaps the only way to stop rousing you from sleep is to never let you sleep.” The next thing she knew, her hand was lifted from its perch on his chest and placed on a muscled, hairy thigh.

Maura’s eyes popped open. There was no question that this was a part of him that no longer slept.

Alec gave a husky laugh at her expression of shock.

“What?” she said faintly. “Again?”

“I see that I have your full attention now,” he teased.

He propped himself on an elbow and gazed the length of her. Maura blushed to the very roots of her hair, prompting another husky laugh.

Alec’s eyes, so warm and tender and so very, very blue, made her breath catch and her heart turn over.

Leaning over, he kissed her. There was no hungry demand, just an achingly sweet kiss she felt in every corner of her being.

He drew back. “Raise your hand, love.”

An expression of soft confusion on her face, she looked to him.

He lifted her right hand. “Pick a finger,” he whispered.

Maura was still confused.

“Let me choose, then.” He carried her finger to his mouth. Washed it with the warm, wet heat of his tongue…

…and dragged it slowly down the length of her belly.

But he didn’t stop there. No, he pushed her warm, wet finger through the dark fleece that surrounded her womanhood—sliding between soft, plump folds to find that pearl of sensation crowned within.

Maura’s entire body jerked. Her breath tumbled to a standstill.

No, she thought, stunned beyond reason. Oh, no.

Instinct governed. She tried to drag her hand away. But Alec’s hand still trapped hers.

“Alec!” she cried softly. “I—I—”

“Shhh.” His whisper was dark and intense. “It’s all right. Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her fingers guided by his, she pressed. Plumbed. Circled. Caught the rhythm and the pressure—

“That’s it, sweet. Oh, yes, just like that.”

It was shockingly erotic.

Unbearably rousing.

And when another finger joined the play, her mind hazed with a dark, forbidden pleasure.

She began to pant. “Alec—”

“No shame,” he whispered. “Only pleasure.”

It was true. Alec stared down at her, deriving pleasure from her pleasure.

She moaned. “Alec…I want—”

“This?” He slipped his finger inside her.

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her hips were twisting. Writhing. Churning around his finger…around her own.

She cried out her protest when he left her. She opened her eyes just as Alec levered himself over her. His arms were bulging, his eyes glittering blue fire.

Drenched in arousal, drenched with heat, she moaned when he plunged hard and deep. This was desire unleashed. Desire unchecked.

One single thrust and she spasmed around his rod.

And then it began anew. With every searing plunge, every heartbeat, shivers raced inside her. Her whimper of need kindled the rise of his. His kiss was greedy, his body hungry. Sensing the rise of his climax, she clutched at his shoulders as he erupted inside her again and again.

Spent, he slid to his back and gathered her against him.

Maura buried her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder. She couldn’t look at him. Right now she wasn’t sure she could ever look anyone in the eye again. “Alec,” she moaned, “I cannot believe that I—”

He gave a soft laugh and wrapped her closer still.

Maura woke, stretching slowly. In the haze of her mind she was aware that she’d spent the night in Alec’s bed. A vague memory lingered. A memory of a kiss light as air pressed upon her lips, along with throaty, male laughter. She remembered screwing her mouth tightly closed, for she was in the midst of a wonderful, lovely dream from which she protested awakening.

Alec was there, in her dream.
Why, where else would he be?
chided a most preemptory voice in the dream. They were on the beach in Ireland; Castle McDonough crowned the cliff top above. Alec was laughing. Laughing at a small, wiry figure she tried to see but could not. In some wispy corner of her dreamworld, she wondered why Alec would be carrying a stick, wielding it as if it were a mighty sword. But she was happy. Oh, happy as never before.

That same husky male laughter echoed through her dream state. She felt herself rising through it, yet she hated to leave it, for it was so very, very perfect and she knew she would never tire of that husky male laugh. And when it was gone, with a wispy breath she lapsed back into her dream with a sigh of wonder anew.

When she appeared in the dining room where breakfast was laid out on the sideboard, Mrs. Yates informed her that Alec had gone out with his estate manager. She was both grateful and disappointed. In the wake of the eroticism they had shared, a part of her wondered how she might face him. Yet another part of her longed for him, to throw herself into his arms as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Which was rather silly, really. So it was that frustration gnawed at her. Her presence was not needed anywhere. Not knowing what else to do—she was at a loss as to where she might search for the Circle next—she pored over the family annals once more. Alas, a futile effort that only brought more frustration.

Closing the leather-bound book that contained the family records, she left the library. Her path through the house carried Maura past the family portraits. She paused, turned back. Her gaze immediately swung to the portrait of James, seventh
Duke of Gleneden. Even as she smothered an oath, she prayed that his portrait might provoke some great revelation.

As always before, shivers plied along her nerves. That strange sense that the Circle was here at Gleneden returned in full measure. Here was the Black Scotsman, the Black Scotsman that no one else knew, jeering at her.

Turning her back to him, she wandered outside. The day was warm. There was no need to tug a shawl about her shoulders. Almost without conscious awareness, her steps guided her to the loch.

She sat down and slid her arms around her upraised knees.

In the morning sun, the loch was a brilliant blue, with pale patterns that trembled on it in silvery paths. Across the shore were densely wooded hills.

With a sigh, she lay back on the grass. Palms up, her hands rested beside her head as she stared at a few cloudy wisps high above.

All around lay peace. Serenity.