Page 84 of Never a Bride
He leaned over the shallow stream and dipped his cupped hands. He drank in the cool sweetness, amazed to find how thirsty he actually was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emmeline attempting to imitate him, but her hair and the ruff at her throat kept getting in the way.
“Here, allow me to help,” he said, moving behind her. His spread knees pressed into her lower legs. Carefully he untied the strings and removed her ruff, and she gave a little sigh and rolled her head about. Then he pulled her hair back and held the heavy, silky mass in both hands while she bent over the stream. He closed his eyes, but could not stop his thoughts of pulling her skirts up and thrusting inside her from behind. By the time she had satisfied her thirst, he was feverish with wanting her.
She straightened up and her back bumped into his chest. She would move soon, he knew she would. He remained frozen, enjoying the possibilities, with his hands tangled in her hair. They were alone, where no one would interrupt them.
“You were going to answer my questions,” she said softly.
“Hmmm,” he murmured, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deeply. It was torture—yet he waded in gladly.
“I asked if they could be coming back.”
But she didn’t move. He let her hair cascade down as he settled his hands on her shoulders. He marshaled his thoughts, tried to concentrate on their predicament. But all he could manage was, “I don’t hear anything.”
“Perhaps we should hide?” she whispered.
She seemed to sway beneath his hands and her head tipped to the side. The length of her hair slid back to reveal her delicate neck. The darkness lulled him into oblivion, and he wanted to press his mouth to the sweet curve of her skin.
But she had recently brought his conscience back to life, and it didn’t look to be abandoning him now.
“You’re right,” he said with a sigh, coming to sit beside her. “We’ll need to find a safe place to camp, and try to start a fire.”
She laughed suddenly and he glanced at her in surprise.
“Did you intend all along to steal me away?” she teased.
He saw the shine of her eyes, and his respect for her courage grew.
“Of course, that was my plan. Remember ‘The Seduction of Emmeline’? How perfect that my nemeses did the deed for me.”
“You can’t mean the seduction,” she said, giggling at her own joke.
“No,” he said, lowering his voice. “ ’Tis an honor I claim all my own.”
As silence grew, Emmeline found she could not stop looking at Alex. In the growing darkness he appeared even more dangerous, with the shadow of stubble on his face, and the wicked gleam she so adored in his eyes. But there was a seriousness there as well that was unfamiliar to her.
She frightened herself, because the danger of their situation had retreated, and only the excitement of being alone with him remained. She couldn’t stop the thrill of adventure that made her shiver. She’d never been away from London alone with a man—especially not a man like Alex, with mysterious depths he was only just beginning to reveal.
In the next hour, he surprised her yet again. She watched in amazement as he cleared the brush from the base of tall hedges that blocked them from the road. He cut branches for them to sit on with a knife he kept in his boot. When she returned with kindling, he grinned and produced flint and steel from a pouch at his waist as if by magic. Soon they were sitting side by side just above the bank of the creek, with thick hedges at their backs, and a cheery fire at their feet.
Their silence was rather comforting, and Emmeline thought that Alex was the one person she’d want to be stranded with. Being alone with him had its own danger, but he made her feel safe from everything else.
Then her stomach growled loudly.
She groaned and hugged herself. “Forgive me, Alex; I can wait until tomorrow to eat. But I guess my stomach can’t forget that you were going to offer me a meal worthy of kings.”
From that same pouch, he removed a bulging wallet. “Did you think I meant at the finest inn in London? I am much more original than that—and ’tis a good thing, too, for here is our evening repast.”
Smiling, she watched as he shook out a napkin over the grass. On it he placed lumpy cheese, flattened bread, some rather crushed strawberries, and two apples. Their eyes met over their feast, and Emmeline experienced such a feeling of sweet contentment, of—rightness. She hoped she wasn’t falling in love. But tonight, she would not think about how disastrous such a thing would be with Alex Thornton.
“Ah, sir, how you do woo me,” she said, pulling off a chunk of bread.
“Such high praise.” Grinning, he tossed some berries in his mouth, and licked the juice from his fingers.
Emmeline felt her smile die away, replaced by a deep longing. What was wrong with her? Why was she so foolish as to wish that she could understand Alex? He’d seemed jealous over Maxwell’s friendship to her—he’d said no one could touch her but him. He would have considered it an “honor” to seduce her, as if he hadn’t done such a thing to other women.
She was afraid to hope, but could not help it—could he have feelings for her that he didn’t recognize? Why else would he want to spend time with her? Why else would he show only her the competent man that he truly was?
But he’d tried to be honest when he’d said he wouldn’t marry. She should listen to him.
