Page 57 of Some Like It Wild
The sweet face of Miss Darby’s maidservant rose up in his vision. He gazed at his mother’s outstretched hand, remembering only too clearly what had happened the last time he had trusted his fate to her hands.
“Nothing. I found nothing.”
His mother’s hand whipped across his face, delivering a vicious slap. “You’re my son,” she hissed. “Do you think I don’t know when you’re lying?”
Something in his eyes made her take a nervous step backward. Her hand darted upward to flutter around her throat like a pale dove. “Forgive me, son. You know I need to keep a better rein on my temper.” She blinked a sheen of tears from her dark blue eyes. “It’s just when I think about all I’ve endured to protect you and ensure your future…all I’ve sacrificed…”
Crispin slowly drew the broadsheet from his waistcoat and handed it to her.
She unfolded it and scanned it quickly, her hands beginning to tremble with excitement. When she lifted her head, her eyes were glowing with pride. “Oh, my darling boy, you’ve done well this time, haven’t you? Archibald won’t be able to ignore this—or you. He’ll have to admit to the world that he’s made a terrible mistake and that you are his only true heir. Everything we’ve ever wanted will finally be within our grasp.”
“Everythingwe’vewanted, Mother? Or everythingyou’vewanted?”
Before she could answer, Crispin sketched her a curt bow and went striding back into the shadows.
Chapter 22
Pamela rested the back of her head against Connor’s shoulder, watching the first lavender rays of dawn streak the eastern sky. Connor was sitting with her nestled between his splayed legs, his back propped against one of the temple’s columns. A damp chill had come creeping across the grass with the morning mist, but it was impossible for her to feel cold with both Connor’s coat and his arms wrapped so tightly around her.
She knew they needed to slip back into the house before some over-industrious servant spotted them. But she didn’t want the night to end. If she ever had to sleep again, she wanted it to be in Connor’s arms.
It took her several drowsy, delicious moments of watching the wispy clouds melt from lavender to peach to realize Connor was whistling ever so softly in her ear.
A smile touched her lips. “I remember that tune. It’s the one you were whistling on the journey to Castle MacFarlane—‘The Maiden and the Highwayman.’ I insisted it must be a tragedy since the Scots were such a dour lot, but you said the highwayman seduced the maiden into his bed only to discover she was a lusty wench who couldn’t get enough of him.”
“Sounds just like someone else I know,” he murmured, slipping his hands beneath his coat to fill them with the plump softness of her breasts. Over her husky hum of pleasure, he said, “If you must know, I left off the last verse. The one where he shoots her through the heart because he believes she’s been unfaithful and then turns himself in and begs to be sent to the gallows after he learns the lad he saw her kissing was her brother.”
“I knew it!” Pamela wiggled around in his arms to give him an accusing glare. “Has there ever been a Scottish ballad that didn’t end in tragedy?”
He gently raked a tousled strand of hair from her cheek, the tender glow in his eyes making her heart clutch. “Perhaps you and I can write one together.”
“You’re just lucky I didn’t shoot you when I saw you ogling your sister.”
The glow faded from Connor’s eyes. “At least you didn’t have to worry about her ogling me back.”
Pamela sighed. “You can’t blame her for not recognizing you. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re no longer a gangly lad of fifteen. And I seriously doubt she expected to find her long lost brother impersonating a marquess at a soiree in London.” She touched a hand to his beard-shadowed jaw. “You saw her last night, Connor. You did the right thing by sending her away. Thanks to you, she’s grown into a lovely young woman who’s wed to a man who plainly adores her.”
Connor snorted. “AnEnglishman. Apparently sleeping with the enemy has its benefits. The two of them were only visiting London. They’re currently living in our ancestral holding of Castle Kincaid, raising a flock of sheep and two wee bairns nearly as bonny as their parents. Most of the clansmen who once rode with me have now turned their hands to honest labor in the service of my sister.” He shook his head ruefully. “I spent nearly a decade trying to wrest those lands back from the English and she conquered them without firing a single shot.”
Pamela’s mouth fell open. “How do you know all that?”
She watched in fascination as the pearly glow of dawn revealed a telltale flush creeping up Connor’s throat. “I said she hadn’t seen me since the night the redcoats came. I didn’t say I hadn’t seen her.”
“Why, Connor Kincaid, you’ve been spying on her, haven’t you?”
“Only once,” he reluctantly confessed. “Two years ago, after I heard she’d married an Englishman, I traveled to Castle Kincaid to kill him.”
“You know,” she said cautiously, “most people are perfectly content to bring gifts to the newly wed.”
He flashed her a sulky look. “I stood outside in the dark and watched them through the dining-room window. I wanted to hate the bastard. But how do you hate a man who looks at your sister as if she was the most priceless treasure in all the world? All I could do was climb back up on my horse and ride away.”
“Did you ever think about knocking on the door? That’s another skill highly prized by civilized folk.”
“What was I supposed to say?—‘Hello, kitten, I’m your big brother. I’ve a price on my head and bloodstains on my hands and if you give me sanctuary, I’ll bring the redcoats right back to your door to destroy everyone and everything you love—just like before.’”
“So you let her go,” Pamela said softly, “again.” She brightened. “But it’s not too late! You could go to her now! Before she and her husband return to the Highlands.”
“And what would I tell her? That I’ve convenientlyborrowedanother man’s life? That I’m just as likely to end up dangling at the end of a noose, if only for a different crime?”
