Gone With the Rogue Read online

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” he offered, with a tone of regret in his voice. “It was careless of me to mention a ship and remind you of the tragedy and your loss.”

  So he had recognized her name. He knew her story. “Please don’t worry yourself,” she said, lifting her gaze to his face. “No words are necessary.” She didn’t mind talking about the disaster that befell the Salty Dove, its passengers, and the crew four years ago. Lost friends and family should be remembered.

  When it happened, Julia had found herself in the unenviable position of being eight months with child. Perhaps some ladies would have taken to their beds in sorrow and grief, facing the overwhelming burden of suddenly being a widow. Julia had never been one to allow situations to get the best of her. She accepted the blow fate issued and carried on. Besides, she had to be strong for the babe waiting to be born.

  Julia hadn’t been in love with her husband when she married him or when he died, but she had always been grateful to him and respectful in all ways. Now that he was gone, she honored his memory and felt sadness that he hadn’t lived to see his delightful son.

  “My mourning is long past,” Julia said quietly. “Life goes on, Captain Stockton.”

  His eyes seemed to take in every detail of her face as if he were delicately searching for something before he nodded once in acknowledgment.

  “Not everyone who owns a ship is a captain, Lady Kitson.”

  “I hear you own many ships.”

  He ignored her statement, but not her. His gaze swept down her widow’s dress. Dark plum color, long sleeves, high neckline with the proper amount of cream-colored lace trimming it. She didn’t mind the sensual way his glance brushed over her. It was purposeful and filled with interest, causing tingles of awareness to tighten her chest and stomach.

  “How did you manage to get up here?” he asked, testing the strength of the limb beneath his foot.

  “The same way you did, though I am willing to admit it wasn’t as easy or as quick for me as it was for you.”

  “And I will admit you are quite accomplished to have done so.”

  His compliment was like a gift of fresh air. Unexpected, but heartily welcomed, since she was feeling weak from the heat and exertion of holding herself on the limb. She was certain his praise was sincere and not just flattery. She couldn’t let his words pass without giving him a brief smile before saying, “Miss Periwinkle hasn’t returned as swiftly as I’d expected. I hope you can save me before I lose my balance and hurt myself with this wretched collar.”

  “We can’t have that.”

  “Then tell me, sir, how do you propose to get me out of this untenable situation?”

  “A man should never offer to rescue a lady if he doesn’t have the means to do so.” He slowly bent his knees, slid his hand down to the top of his boot, and pulled out a leather-handled knife. Flickering shadows and dancing sunlight glinted off the short blade.

  Relief came sweet and cooling as an October breeze. “Yes, Mr. Stockton,” she said softly. “That should do it, but will the thinner part of the limb hold the weight of us both?”

  His gaze fell to the branch. He was silent for a moment. That worried her.

  She held out her free hand toward him. “Why not give me the knife and let me do it?”

  “No, Lady Kitson,” he answered, taking off the glove on one hand and stuffing it into the pocket of his coat. “You must trust me to do this.”

  She looked at his mouth, wide with well-defined lips, and thought about his words. If the wood splintered and broke, she would be—well—the possibility was suddenly too real and too horrible to think about. She stared into his warm, golden-colored eyes again. Because he seemed so sure of himself, she said, “Very well. Since I have little choice in the matter and even less patience or strength left to argue, let’s get this done.”

  He reached up and grabbed hold of a different limb than the one she held, then steadied himself, too. “Turn as far away from me as you can and then place both your hands on the branch above you. Rise to your toes and lift as much of your weight as possible with your arms, and hold yourself up for as long as you can.”

  It wouldn’t be as simple as he made it sound. Already her arms trembled from the strain of the last half hour. Yet she must do as he instructed. She couldn’t twist very far without tightening the collar across her neck, but she took in a deep breath and pulled up and onto her toes.

  The branch swayed down and creaked under his weight. She heard the quick intake of his breath and gripped the limb tighter and gasped, shutting her eyes tightly. Thoughts of dangling from the tree only by her collar, her feet kicking, and never seeing Chatwyn again flashed through her mind. For a moment, she thought she might scream, but then she heard a soft, masculine whisper near her ear: “We’re fine.”

  His soothing words penetrated her fears. Julia’s lashes fluttered up.

  “It’s going to be all right. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

  Mr. Stockton was looking at her calmly. His faith that everything was going to be all right flooded her. She sensed a bond developing between them and knew she could trust him to get her down safely. He was going to save her. She gave him a hint of a nod. Cautiously, he took another step, and another, and then he was right beside her.

  It had been a long time since she’d been so close to a man. The way his physical presence filled the crowded space between the branches was calming but also wonderfully stimulating. She couldn’t help but notice how broad and strong-looking his shoulders were and had to suppress her innate desire to grab on to him for safety and to feel his masculine strength beneath her hand.

  “I’m going to reach around you, so don’t try to look at me or worry about what I’m doing,” he said, in a low voice.

  She was attuned to his every breath as he gently placed the back of his ungloved hand on her chin and urged her to turn her head to one side. A faint, pleasant scent of a spice she couldn’t identify clung to his skin. She found the unfamiliar fragrance titillating. His touch was tender, sure, and undemanding, so she complied without complaint.

  When he slipped his arm behind her, Julia’s heartbeat seemed to thrum in her ears. A tantalizing shiver washed over her. She was attracted to this man and had to resist the temptation to lean in closer and take comfort from his nearness.

  She felt his fingers lightly touching her nape. A shiver of pleasure washed through her again. Whirls of wondrous feelings spun inside her. She could tell he was assessing the tangle of twigs, leaves, and lace, deciding what needed to be cut and where best to do it, and not meaning to cause such womanly feelings to awaken inside her. They did just the same. It was maddening, really. Bound as she was, completely without defense, she should be frightened out of her wits, but no, she was enthralled by the rogue’s touch.

  “Tell me about your son,” he said, his machinations squeezing the collar tighter around her neck for a few seconds.

  Determined to stay steady, she fortified the strength in her arms and toes and rolled her eyes toward her rescuer. There was an easy-going charm about him that was irresistible. “Are you trying to distract me from what you’re doing?”

  Mr. Stockton ignored her question and asked his own. “What’s his name? His age?”

  “Chatwyn. He’s just turned four, with hair as dark as mine. His eyes are a bright blue. He’s quite inquisitive about all things but especially butterflies. He loves to be outside and running free, as I do, and—”

  “Shh,” he said, interrupting her as she felt the first thread break, giving her a little more moving room.

  “What is this? You just asked about him and already you’re tired of hearing—”

  “Someone’s coming,” he whispered as the last thread broke, freeing her so she could move her head at will. She lowered her feet and rested one arm by her side. “Shh.” With the tip of the knife, he pointed toward the ground.

  Suddenly Julia heard the voices, too. Ladies’ voices. Neither of them Miss P
eriwinkle’s. They were coming closer. Apprehension gripped her with its cold, icy fingers of dread. She was no longer trapped but might still be caught.

  “Look over here,” one of the ladies said excitedly. “Don’t you think this is the horse we saw Mr. Dryden riding?”

  Julia cringed. She recognized the voice as Miss Lavinia Etchingham. Of all the people in London who could have stopped to check out Mr. Stockton’s horse, why did it have to be her? She was thought to be the person who fed gossip to the scandal sheets.

  “I have no knowledge of horses,” a softer voice answered.

  “You know some are brown, gray, or black, and some are this reddish-brown color which happens to be the color Mr. Dryden was riding when we saw him.”

  It sounded as if the ladies had stopped right under them, still Julia didn’t dare look down. She was hardly breathing for fear they’d be noticed. “I don’t know why anyone would want to ride such a big beast, though most gentlemen seem to enjoy the opportunity.”

  “Of course they do,” Miss Etchingham remarked. “It makes them feel more powerful to have such a magnificent animal beneath them and to be in total command of it.”

  “How like you to be so truly improper.”

  “Whenever I look at Mr. Dryden I feel rather naughty.”

  A loud giggle from one of the ladies startled the horse. The mare snorted and nickered restlessly. Dizzying fear ripped through Julia again. She felt her heart might beat out of her chest. Her gaze locked with Mr. Stockton’s. His brow furrowed with concern.

  “Oh, never mind about this horse. We’re wasting time and it’s probably not Mr. Dryden’s animal anyway. And do walk faster, or we’ll never find him before dusk overtakes us and we must return home.”

  After more than a few seconds ticked past, Mr. Stockton lowered his head and looked down at his chest.

  So did Julia.

  His shirt front and the ends of his neckcloth were rumpled into her tightly curled fist.

  Chapter 2

  A tremor of arousal slammed through Garrett Stockton and his pulse soared as he stared at the feminine hand fiercely clutching his chest. Lady Kitson’s touch was as explosive as lighted gunpowder to a man who had been at sea a very long time and had only this day put his feet on English soil. The pull of pent-up desire made his body throb, and no amount of deep breathing was helping to curb the ache or the force of it. It didn’t matter that she was a lady and should be treated like one. Like the legends of the sea sirens, she silently called out to him, and his body reacted. It made no distinction between lady and mistress. It only felt need.

  That Lady Kitson hadn’t jerked her hand away from him the instant she realized she was holding on to him was testament to her inner strength and keen sense of control. For now, they would both have to endure their vulnerability and not move until the ladies below them were far away. Not that he was in a hurry to shift away from her touch.

  His gaze eased up from her soft hand to her beautiful lips, and then to her intriguing eyes. They were a rare and vivid shade of dark blue-violet, and staring straight into his. Her complexion was flawless and the color of pale parchment, except for the bright flush of heat in her cheeks. Bits of leaves and tiny pieces of twigs were scattered throughout her lush, chestnut-colored hair. Long damp strands had escaped from her chignon and framed her face.

  Oh, yes, she was a beauty.

  Lady Kitson’s fingers slowly relaxed. She gently slid her palm down the buttons on Garrett’s waistcoat until she dropped her arm to her side. His skin pebbled deliciously as he felt every inch of her light caress. It sent a hard throb of pulsating heat directly to his lower body. The madness of what it did to him threatened to overwhelm his control. His hand tightened around the limb above his head. She was making it too easy for him to imagine the hunger of his lips crushing against hers, and the thrill of his hands skimming her bare skin in passion and pleasure, the need to—Garrett swallowed down the primal desires warring inside him, fighting to take control of his common sense.

  There were usually two things Garrett wanted to do after his boots touched London soil. His first stop was to visit a mistress and his second was to ride in the park. Today, he’d reversed that order. At the time, he didn’t know why getting on a horse seemed more important. Now he knew. She was standing right beside him.

  Seconds continued to pass. The voices faded away. Garrett gave Lady Kitson a nod and slid his knife back into the sheath sewn inside his boot.

  “That was close,” she whispered, her breaths sounding as labored as his.

  He hoped she didn’t know how close. It wasn’t only the appealing way she looked to him right now that enticed him. He was drawn to the fearless spirit that must have sent her into the tree in the first place, and the inner strength that kept her from panicking while she was there. Whether or not she’d ever admit it, that made her an adventurer, too. And she was obviously as impetuous as the day was long. How else could she have managed to get herself tangled in a tree?

  “You were upset I discovered you up here.”

  “Yes,” she whispered under her breath as she lightly rubbed the whiplashed skin on the back of her neck. “But in doing so, you saved me. Your skills with a knife are exceptional and appreciated. You knew exactly where to put the blade.”

  Garrett shrugged casually. He’d already received gratitude enough from the trace of her hand and the ensuing thoughts it encouraged. He cautiously moved some leaves and took a sweeping glance around the other trees and slopes near them. There were still several people enjoying the late afternoon but none venturing nearby.

  “Let’s get you down.” He held out his hand to her.

  Without further ado, she took a firm hold of his hand and quickly stepped toward him, but in her haste, one of her boots slipped off the edge of the limb. Her weight yanked her hand off the branch above her head. Garrett instinctively tightened his grip on her hand and caught her around the waist with his other arm, while quickly falling back against the trunk to keep them from tumbling out of the tree. His breath stalled, his heart thumped, and his lower body took a heady jolt of desire as Lady Kitson fell against him.

  Garrett’s heart was beating fast against his chest. They had come very close to hitting the ground, but she was safe, in his arms, her lips inches from his. Her breaths were as deep and rapid as his. Neither of them moved.

  From beneath long, full lashes, her gaze searched his. Attraction and wanting were pulsating between them. He had no doubt she could feel the distinctive proof of his desire for her. The necessity to act on the tension and danger the moment had created was evident as they gave each other second and third looks. There was an exotic, sensuous atmosphere settling around them. The inviting scent of crushed leaves mixed with the smell of her freshly washed hair. A sheen of moisture glistened lightly across the bridge of her nose. His gaze swept down her face to linger on her lips.

  Garrett felt as if all the sounds around them suddenly went silent. There were only the two of them in this space, this park, and this world. His hand pressed firmer against her back, compelling her forward. Her body was solid, but soft against him. Thin but muscled, and warm as the sunshine that flickered through the leaves. His lower stomach and body tightened with need. With his ungloved hand he gently cupped her soft cheek and cautiously let his forearm rest between her breasts. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she relaxed and leaned toward him, her lips moving seductively closer to his.

  He could see her features softening. Her dark lashes lowered and her mouth formed a beautiful enticing bow. Garrett bent his head ready to claim her for his own, but just before his lips touched hers, a masculine shout and the harsh snap of leather rang through the air as a carriage rolled by.

  Letting out a sighing breath, Lady Kitson moistened her lips. “We almost fell.” She pushed away as she reached up and grabbed an overhead limb to steady herself. Her gaze stayed steady on his. “Thank you for saving me once again.”

  Garrett had had a few excitin
g dreams in his lifetime. A few wild moments, too, but it had never entered his mind that he could one day be in a tree on a sultry afternoon with a lady who would tempt him to forgo civility and kiss her until they were both dizzy. He’d wanted to ravish her. He still wanted to.

  He was sure her contemplations had been going in the same direction as his, that she’d felt the same rush of intense desire, but she was being levelheaded. They were in no position for a kiss. But to feel her lips on his, somehow he would have managed.

  Garrett strengthened his stance with his feet and legs. “Take hold of my wrist with both hands and don’t let go until you feel comfortable doing so.”

  “Stop worrying, Mr. Stockton,” she said softly, grasping his forearm. “I know exactly what to do.”

  Garrett wasn’t easily impressed anymore, but the confident lady standing beside him was making a sizable dent in his cynical perspective. Taking him to task was a refreshing change from women who usually wanted to please his every desire.

  He bent his knees and lowered her as close to the ground as possible without endangering his position. As soon as she let go of him and her feet touched soil, he grabbed hold of the limb they’d been standing on and swung himself down—too close to the horse. The mare yanked her head a couple of times, nickered, and sidestepped restlessly.

  “Easy, girl,” he said calmly, rubbing the animal’s neck with one hand and controlling the bridle with the other. “Nothing’s wrong. Settle down, now.”

  “Is she all right?” Lady Kitson asked as she cautiously scanned the park from east to west and then looked around to the other side of the tree.

  Garrett continued to pat the mare, but his attention was on Lady Kitson. “She’s fine,” he answered. “Just startled. How about you? Any twisted ankles or wrenched knees?”

  Lady Kitson touched the damp tresses at the back of her neck and then brushed the skirt of her dress. “Nothing is hurt other than my pride.” She scoffed out a soft laugh. “In her haste, Miss Periwinkle left with my bonnet, so I am in the park without a headpiece or a companion. Other than those two forbidden things, I am in perfect order.”