Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

Chapter Twelve


Erotic. It was the only word Rowena could think of to described the chamber as she soaked in the tub, with the scent of roses filling the air and the warm water making her feel sleepy.

She hadn’t been at all surprised when Drew had declined to play lady’s maid. She’d seen his expression of distaste when he undid her gown and stays. She wasn’t the sort of woman a man liked to look at. Too tall. Too angular. Not enough meat on her bones, Samuel had said. It wouldn’t surprise her one little bit if he decided to spend the night with one of the buxom creatures she’d spotted below.

The thought sent a piercing pain through her chest. Tears blurred her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut. Forced the hot moisture back where it belonged. Unacknowledged.

What had happened in that cold little bothy had been the result of the terrible events of that night. They’d sought comfort from each other. It meant nothing. Not to him, certainly, since he’d found no relief in her body. Or to her. Not really. She’d revelled in the shattering bliss he’d given her and the brief sense that she could let him shoulder her worries. But in the cold light of day, she didn’t want a man ruling her life. She certainly wasn’t going to give another one the opportunity to break her heart.

Not that Samuel had, she acknowledged. With him it was more her pride that had been hurt. But with Drew it would be different. If she gave him her heart and he threw it away, she would want to die.

No, what she had was the memory of his touch. The way he made her feel. Dreamily she stroked her feminine flesh, recalling the way his fingers had felt. And his tongue.

Languorous pleasure blossomed low in her belly. Good. But nowhere near as delicious as his touch had been, or as arousing as his harsh commands. A flush travelled over her skin at the memory.

A knock sounded at the door. Hot with arousal and embarrassment, she jerked upright in the tub, water sloshing on to the floor.

‘Who is it?’

‘Eva, madame. Belle sent me up to ask if you are done with the tub and to send up a bit to eat to tide you over until dinner.’

‘Thank you. Wait a moment and I’ll open the door.’

‘No need, ma’am. I’ll leave the tray outside. Bobbie’ll be up in a minute or two to take the tub and bring your clothes down to be washed.’

‘But I have nothing else to wear.’

‘You’ll find a robe in the cupboard,’ the girl said cheerfully. ‘Help yourself.’

Afraid Bobbie might arrive at any moment, Rowena stepped out of the bath and dried herself off. The porter, she suspected, wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at finding her unclothed, given the place he worked, but she wouldn’t feel at all comfortable. The offered robe she discovered was a little diaphanous for her taste, but beggars could not be choosers. She opened the door and carried the tray in and set it on the table.

A bite to eat consisted of a round of cheese and a heel of bread, with a pat of fresh butter, cake and a pot of tea.

Whatever one might think about her profession, Madam Belle was clearly a very kind woman.

A few minutes later, Bobbie and a young lad came for the tub. Rowena wrapped herself in the red quilt before she let them in and watched with interest as, working together, they lifted the tub and tipped the water out of the window after a shout of ‘Gardy loo!’ to anyone unfortunate enough to be walking in the alley below.

‘Will there be anything else, ma’am?’ Bobbie asked, his gaze fixed at a point above her head.

‘No, thank you.’

He and his lad trundled out with the tub and she locked the door behind them. She went to the bed, intending to rest until Drew returned. Her foot hit something beneath the bed. Thinking it might be a book, she bent to take a peek. Beside the chamber pot was a wooden box. Intrigued, she picked it up and set it on the bed.

She opened the lid.

And her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

* * *

Drew nodded to Bobbie when he let him in the back door.

‘The missus is finished with her bath,’ the bruiser said with a wink.

An image of Rowena naked flashed through his mind, doing away with all the good effects of the cold plunge. His shaft gave a happy little twitch. He gave Bobbie a hard-eyed glare and headed upstairs, rubbing his close-shaven chin with his thumb and wondering if she might welcome him in her bed a second time. If he kept things on an even keel.

Behaved like a gentleman.

As if. And nor did he want her to. He still couldn’t believe her courage. She’d actually risked her own safety to rescue him from McKenzie’s men. He owed her more than he could ever repay. He was not going to take advantage of the kind gentle woman who hid behind the facade of stern reserve. Samuel MacDonald had been a fool not to realise the treasure he had in his wife.

He tapped on the door.

‘Who is it?’ Her voice was husky, almost breathless.

Had something happened? ‘Drew. Let me in.’

There was a scuffling sound, then the door opened. Her face was bright pink. He took in the see-through robe she was wearing. It clung to every swell and hollow, revealing more than it hid: the small, high bosom, the curve of her waist and swell of her hips. He jerked his gaze up to her face. Far from trying to avoid his gaze, she seemed to be trying to block his view of the bed.

A sharp blade of something ugly twisted in his chest. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

Guilt filled her voice. He stepped around her. His gaze swept the four-poster bed and... His stomach lurched. Cold as ice, he turned to face her. ‘Where did that come from?’

She gave an awkward laugh and unsuccessfully tried to look severe. ‘I found it under the bed.’

Had Belle brought it up, thinking he would want it? His mouth dried. His heart pounded hard. His shaft hardened to rock.

He brought his gaze up to her face and saw excitement in the flush of her skin and the sparkle in her silvery eyes.

He had to be imagining it. If she had opened it, she would be horrified.

Her gaze slid away. She gestured to the table. ‘Belle sent up tea for me and whisky for you, if you would care for some. Supper will be sent up later, I understand.’

Whisky might dull the terrible ache in his groin. He strode to the table against the wall and with a shaking hand poured some into the glass. He swallowed the liquid in one swallow. Felt it burn all the way to his belly and poured another glass, glad to see his hand had steadied.

He nodded at the bed. ‘It must have been left by the previous occupant.’ He looked into his glass. ‘This whisky is excellent.’ Much better than the gut-rot he’d shared with McKenzie’s men.

‘Eva said it comes from Dunross. The...er...mistress of the house orders it for her special clients, though Eva says she never tells them where it comes from.’

He rolled another sip around in his mouth and she was right—it tasted of home. A wave of longing surged through him. He ruthlessly crushed it. ‘I thought it tasted familiar. Did Eva say why they keep it a secret?’

She gave a little shrug. The filmy fabric skimmed over her nipples, making them pearl. His breath caught in his throat.

‘Something about McKenzie not liking the competition,’ she said. ‘Apparently, it’s all right to tell me because I’m a Gilvry. I didn’t disabuse her of the notion.’

He finished his drink and turned to pour another, then put the glass down. Too much whisky and he’d lose what little control he had.


Again his gaze strayed to the bed. Rowena moved away from it with a look of embarrassment. As she would, given that they were alone in a room in which the bed was the focus. She wasn’t an innocent. She would know what went on in a bawdy house, if not in detail, then in general terms at least.

He just wished she hadn’t found that box. Its contents were all too familiar. Too damned tempting and she was too good for him and his needs.

* * *

How awkward that Eva had not delivered her clothes before Drew arrived. More awkward yet, he had returned before she’d had a chance to put the box and its strange contents back under the bed. Just looking at what it contained had sent her blood pounding through her veins, which in turn had made her feel hot all over. The slide of the silky robe on her sensitised skin had only made the strange feelings grow worse.

Her imagination had run riot as she’d picked each item out of the box. Her body had tingled and burned. She’d wanted to stroke her breasts, touch her— She blocked out the wicked thoughts. Only Drew’s arrival had stopped her from behaving in the most shameful way.

And now he was looking at the box with a dark expression. Not anger. It held too much sensuality for that, but not interest either. A kind of dread.

‘I stubbed my toe on the box,’ she said, her voice sounding a little breathless. As if she’d been running. Was it her imagination or had the chamber become warm and close? She swallowed and looked away from the piercing look he shot her from under his brows. ‘It’s...um...things. For use by the girls who work here, I assume.’

‘Are you saying you looked inside?’ he asked, his voice low and gruff and incredulous.

She gave a small laugh that sounded forced. ‘I was curious.’

He turned away, staring down at the decanter, his face rigid. He must think she was dreadful. Wanton.

But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from asking the question that had been on her mind since she opened the box. ‘Do you think they use all those things?’

‘Things?’

A shiver rolled down her back. ‘Chains. Ropes. Blindfolds. A schoolmaster’s leather strap.’ Her inner muscles tightened with a pleasurable little pulse and she swallowed a gasp.

He made a sound of disgust. ‘I’ll have them come and fetch it away.’

‘Yes.’ She looked down her nose at the polished wood. ‘Of course. But Eva told me she would be busy downstairs for the next little while.’

When she looked back at him, he was watching her with hooded eyes, but even so she could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin.

Oh, how she wished she had never opened that box. She moved to the chair by the fireplace and looked up at him. ‘Were the baths to your satisfaction?’ she asked as a mean of distraction.

‘Aye. Yours?’

‘Oh, yes. Eva took my clothes to be washed. You might want to give her your shirt if we are to visit your brother tomorrow.’

He moved to the window and looked down into the street. ‘I’ll take it down later.’

With the box. Stop thinking about it. She clasped her hands together in her lap. ‘I expect you are looking forward to meeting him.’ Oh, heaven help her, she was babbling.

‘Yes.’

His monosyllabic answers were unravelling her nerves, but she couldn’t seem to stop asking questions. ‘Do you know where to find him?’

He turned back from the window, his face expressionless. ‘The attendant at the bathhouse gave me the address. I went round to take a look at the building. He’s in a wynd just off Princes Street. The office opens at half past nine in the morning.’

‘Oh,’ she said, mollified by the fullness of his answer. ‘So we know where we are to go.’

‘Aye.’

‘He will be surprised to see you after all this time.’

‘Surprised, aye.’

‘And pleased,’ she hazarded.

He shook his head. ‘Doubtful. But he’s not one to turn his back on his own.’ His jaw flickered. ‘Not the Niall I knew anyway. Things may have changed since...’ He let his voice trail away. He seemed to be looking into the past. He shook his head. ‘There’s no sense in guessing.’ His hands opened and closed.

He was worried. And not only his tension gave him away. She could see concern in the shadows darkening his eyes from their usual emerald to the colour of pine forests.

‘I saved you a piece of cake,’ she said, pointing to the tea tray. ‘To tide you over until dinner. Unless you ate while you were out?’

‘No. I didna’ realise dinner would be late, so I didna’ give it a thought.’ He picked up the slice of cake and it disappeared in one bite.

‘I should have saved more of it.’

‘I’ll be fine. I’m more used to an empty belly than you are.’

She wasn’t so sure of that. Governesses did get fed, but they often had to wait until after their charges were looked after.

‘I should write to my employer again,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Tell her where to send my wages.’

She frowned. ‘And if in the end there is no money set aside, I fear it will be difficult to find another position without a letter of reference.’

His face looked grimmer than ever.

‘Please, Drew, don’t blame yourself. I should have known better than to think Samuel would have done anything so sensible as provide for me.’ She tidied up the tray. ‘Eva said to put this outside the door. One of the footman will pass by and pick it up.’ She glanced at the bed. ‘We could leave that outside, too, if you wish.’

He gave the box a look of dislike. ‘Aye. It would be best.’

She hurried to the bed and picked up the chest. For some unaccountable reason her hands were shaking. The heavy weight slipped through fingers that seemed to have lost all of their strength and it crashed to the floor, scattering its contents across the carpet.

Drew let out a curse. In one long stride he had reached the site of the disaster and crouched at her feet.

She dropped to her knees beside him as he righted the box. She picked up a pair of manacles. They were heavy and lined with velvet. She glanced up and found his gaze fixed on her hands. She rubbed at the velvet with her fingers, her breasts tightening. His gaze drifted from her hands up her body to her nipples, which she was sure he must be able to see through the fabric of the robe, and then continued up to her face.

His breathing sounded harsh in the silence as their gazes met.

She licked her lips and swallowed the dryness in her throat. Her heart was rattling in her chest, making it hard to form words. ‘Have you ever...?’ she whispered. ‘I mean, do you know...?’

‘What?’ he said his voice harsh. ‘Do I know what?’

‘How they are used?’

He stilled. Something changed in his expression; it lightened, and though he frowned, the glint in his eyes was curiosity, not anger. And yes—at least, she was almost sure—hope.

‘Do you like the idea of being shackled?’ His voice deepened and became silky and dark and mesmerising as his eyes seemed to look right into her soul. ‘Of being held in chains. Helpless to defend your honour against a man who will do with you just as he will.’

Her insides melted. She gasped, helpless against the deliciously wicked sensations rippling through her body. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to speak. Afraid of what she might reveal. Fearing he would turn away in disgust. Then she nodded and waited for his revulsion.


‘And would you submit to such a man, obey his every dark demand?’

Her eyes fluttered closed on a little moan of helpless pleasure.

‘Rowena,’ he said, his voice a rough whisper. ‘Look at me.’

She opened her eyes. His mouth was so close to hers. His breath warm on her lips.

‘Rowena,’ he murmured, ‘would you submit like that to me? Let me do as I willed? Give way to my every wish?’ He drew in a harsh breath. ‘If I promise I wouldna’ hurt you? Not really?’

All her life she had longed for a man who would want her badly enough to take command of her body and soul. Could she humble herself enough to ask for what she wanted? ‘I have dreamed of a man who...’ He would find her disgusting.

‘Of a man who what?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Who what, Rowena? Answer me.’

‘Who would be my master and I his slave.’ She blushed and bowed her head in shame. ‘It is a foolish fancy.’

She started to rise.

He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not move.’ He picked up the box and set it on the table beside the bed.

She looked up at his face, the face of half devil, half angel. ‘I—’

‘You do not have my permission to speak.’

She shuddered with pleasure.

* * *

Drew stared down at her bowed head. Had he understood? He thought he had. Or had he simply wished to hear what he wanted? Or had she agreed because she was afraid?

‘Look at me, Rowena.’

She raised her gaze to meet his and he saw excitement and breathless anticipation in her expression.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘I do,’ she said. ‘If you think you would like it.’

Like it? He had a feeling it would kill him if she changed her mind. ‘If anything I do, we do, makes you afraid, you can always stop me. Cry “uncle” and I’ll stop at once. I swear it. Do you understand?’

‘Uncle,’ she said, nodding.

‘So you want to stop?’

‘No. Not now. Not yet.’

He looked down at her, saw the courage in her eyes and the melting softness. Had he actually found a woman who liked this game as much as he did? She always seemed so strong, so self-contained. But as she knelt before him, he could see that this was something she wanted and he let the beast inside him out of its cage. Not loose—never did he let it go entirely free—but he would let it play a while. Just for a moment or two.

‘Stand up, girl, and face me.’

She did as he bid. He could see she was trembling, the sheer fabric of her robe shivering at the hem.

‘Do you know who I am?’

She shook her head.

‘I have captured the ship on which you travelled and will sell you in the slave markets of Algeria if you do not please me.’

Her soft mouth parted on a gasp and her breathing quickened. His blood pounded in answer to that betraying little sign of pleasure.

‘Let your hair down. I want to see it free around your shoulders.’

She pulled the pins free and it tumbled down. It reminded him of the way he’d seen it at McRae’s. It was long and straight and a pretty shade of chestnut brown.

‘Untie your belt, girl. Quickly now.’

Her lovely long fingers hastened to do as he bid and the robe fell open.

Just as he recalled from the night in the bothy, her breasts were small and high and beautifully firm. The curls at the juncture of her thighs were a lovely dark chestnut, darker than the hair on her head.

A desperate urge to touch her with hands and mouth almost overwhelmed him, but she was not yet ready. ‘Let the robe fall.’

‘Must I?’ she asked, raising her gaze to his.

Ah, a little bit of defiance. He let his mouth curl in a mocking smile. ‘You must if you don’t want me to hand you over to my men.’

A shiver racked her body. She let the robe fall from her shoulders and slide to pool at her feet.

‘Up on the bed with you.’

She glanced over her shoulder and then shook her head. ‘Sir, would you steal my innocence?’

His shaft hardened inside his trousers at the words and the sound of her breathy voice. ‘Everything belongs to me now.’ He selected the whip from the box, a light riding crop, and ran it through his palm suggestively.

She licked her lips, staring at the whip, then looked into his face.

She would tell him no. He knew she would. Rowena wasn’t that kind of woman. His kind of woman.

She turned, walked to the bed and climbed up.

He let a breath go and stalked after her, standing at the side of the bed as she watched him approach, her arms and hands covering her body.

‘None of that now,’ he said with a scowl, tapping her fingers with the tip of the whip. ‘I want to see my prize. Lie back and put your hands at your sides.’

After a moment’s hesitation she lay back on the pillows and placed her hands flat on the bed, her grey eyes fixed on his face, her breasts rising and falling with little breaths. Slowly her milk-white skin flushed and the air filled with the scent of arousal. Hers. And his.

Damn, she was lovely. And she wanted him. Like this.

Slowly, lightly he ran the whip down her body, over her breasts, watched the peaks tighten to hard rosy little nubs and heard a little whimper from deep in her throat.

Not fear.

She was too brave to be afraid. Too courageous.

He couldn’t believe how aroused he was. It was a long time since he had played his little games with a woman. And he didn’t remember one who had entered into it with such abandon. He stroked the leather across the flat plane of her belly. Lord, but she was slender. Almost thin, as if she’d not been well fed.

A surge of anger at her husband rippled through him. And guilt that he hadn’t noticed. He circled her navel with the tip of the crop and her flesh quivered beneath the touch. He traced the jut of her hip bones and the sensitive hollow.

She flinched. Just as he knew she would.

He shook his head. ‘Lie still, I said. Now you must be punished. Roll over.’

She hesitated.

‘Now,’ he said harshly, giving her the tiniest flick with the crop. Not enough to leave a mark. Not enough to cause anything but a lick of pleasure-pain. And she moaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillows, her hands on each side of her head.

Her back was long and lovely, every bone of her spine visible through the skin. Her bottom was beautiful. Womanly. Round, high and firm, with its dark shadow below her tail bone. It really was the most delectable sight he had viewed in a long time.

He hardened to rock and revelled in the agony of denial. For only when he was sure she was satisfied could he take what he wanted.

He stripped out of his breeches and shirt, knowing she could hear what he was doing, and, seeing her hands curl into the sheet, he knew she wanted to look at him the way he was looking at her. Somehow she knew better than to take a peek.

‘It’s too late to be good,’ he said. ‘You deserve all you get.’

Her buttocks tightened in anticipation. He bit back a groan at the sight of that little twitch. He wanted to bite each cheek until she cried for mercy.

He knelt on the bed beside her and raised his hand. He slapped that lovely, sumptuous flesh, not hard enough to hurt—to hurt her would kill him—just enough to cause it to tingle and warm.

She gave a little squeak of surprise.

‘That earns you five more,’ he said. And waited.

She tensed.

So he waited.

Slowly she relaxed and he slapped her again, carefully, just enough to feel the weight of his hand, his strength. And he counted out loud until he reached five.


Her bottom was a delicious pink, and warm beneath his hand.

He swept her pretty brown hair aside and leaned over to breath in her ear, to flick his tongue around the tender little curls, then kissed the leaping pulse below her ear. ‘Will you disobey again?’

She made no sound and his heart tumbled over. ‘You may answer.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll not disobey again.’ The laugher in her voice said she probably would. And something warm and very tender filled his chest, soothing the ugliness inside him.

‘Turn over and face me.’

She flipped on to her back. Her gaze raked his body, her eyelids drooped sensually, a smile curved her wide mouth, making her look beautiful and lascivious as she took in his rampant arousal.

‘So,’ he said, jerking his chin, ‘you like what you see.’

She raised her gaze to his face. ‘I like it very much.’

‘Speaking again, unbidden?’

She bit her lip.

‘Another punishment is in order.’

She eyed the whip warily.

He set it down alongside her and rummaged in the box. ‘Ah,’ he said, like a gloating pirate who had just found buried treasure. ‘Close your eyes.’

When he turned back to her, her eyes were squeezed shut. He quickly tied the blindfold around her head. Now the real fun would begin.

* * *

Darkness. Not a scrap of light penetrated the silk binding her eyes. All she could hear was the thunder of her heart and her rapid breathing. And all she seemed to feel was the slight sting of her buttocks. It seemed so much more intense now she couldn’t see.

Panic surged. The word uncle forced its way up into her throat.

A firm warm hand gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Give me your hands, little one,’ his dark voice murmured.

Little one? She choked back a laugh, more hysterical than amused. No one had ever called her little. Not since she was a child. But this was Drew. Humouring her with the game she’d wanted to play. Not some terrible stranger wanting to do her harm.

Her fears dissipated. Her body relaxed and she lifted her hands.

He caught them in his and she heard the clink of metal and felt the grip of something solid around her wrists. Solid, but soft. The manacles lined with velvet. She remembered how she’d held them in her hands. They snicked closed.

Slowly, infinitely carefully, her hands were drawn upwards and another click above her head made her test the bonds that held her fast.

‘You’ll not be escaping from there,’ he said gruffly.

But she could. She just had to say the word and he would let her go. But she didn’t want him to, not yet. The shivers of fear had turned to trembling excitement. What would he do next?

Something stroked across her breasts. She gasped at the way her skin tightened at the unexpected touch.

What was it? Not the riding crop. It had been nowhere near as light a sensation. It swirled around first one nipple, then the other. Her breasts seemed to become heavy and full. Her nipples hardened. She could feel them puckering and pulling tight. It felt wickedly delicious. Unbearable.

She almost cried out when it stopped. Almost begged for more. And then it touched her lips, a delicate whisper of touch. The feather. It had to be the feather. Who would ever have thought such a soft delicate thing could create such torment?

She moaned.

‘Ah, my little beauty,’ he said. ‘If you think this is bad, just wait.’

The feather, for she was certain that was what it was, trailed a path across her cheek and swirled in her ear. She shivered and twitched.

‘Be still,’ he ordered, without a smidgeon of mercy for her predicament.

She was trying, but it was hard in the face of such delicate torture. She gulped in a breath of air and tried to control her body’s reactions.

He chuckled softly as she lay still.

‘Oh, my brave beauty,’ he said softly.

The touch of the feather left her. Silence surrounded her. Every nerve in her body awaited what he would do next.

The feather ticked her inner thigh.

She gasped. Shocked. Surprised.

‘Open,’ he said in a rough command.

A shudder of pleasure hit her hard. She complied instantly.

He continued his torment, stroking each inner thigh in turn, then gently brushing her woman’s flesh, which sprang to life, hot and wanting.

Did he want her, too?

She didn’t know, couldn’t tell in her dark world, though she could hear his harsh breathing somewhere beside her. Above her. All around her. Her fingers twitched in their bindings with the longing to touch him, to feel the hard mass of his arms and the deep chest she had glimpsed so briefly.

But she couldn’t. He had her held fast. His captive.

Her insides seemed to melt. Her body flushed with the heat of desire.

The feather returned to her breasts, stroking all the places that loved to be touched: behind her knee, the rise of her breasts and the hollow of her throat.

And tormenting all the places that jumped and flickered: the hollow of her hip, the soles of her feet, the place below her ear.

And never did she know where he would touch her next. She was panting and breathless and almost out of her mind with longing and pleasure and exquisite pain from her sensitised skin. Almost ready to cry uncle.

The bed dipped. Him, shifting his weight. Then the warmth of him beside her hip. A knee pressed between her legs. ‘Wider,’ he said.

And then he was between her thighs, the rough hair on his legs just as tormenting as the feather.

Then she felt his fingers at her entrance, parting her folds, and the blunt tip of his shaft pressing against her.

‘You will take me,’ he said. ‘All of me.’

And he drove home to the hilt and she dissolved into bliss.

And he continued to drive into her, bringing her to the peak and beyond twice more, before he withdrew and spilled his seed on her belly.

He collapsed beside her, his hands reaching up to untie the blindfold.

She blinked at the sudden light as she regained her vision. He was up on one elbow, working the lock of the manacles. She was rewarded by seeing a look of sensual bliss and contentment on his face. He looked younger. Less careworn.

He freed her wrists and looked down at her face. She couldn’t stop herself. She stretched up and kissed his mouth.

He gazed at her with what was clearly astonishment. ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured softly.

‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered, smiling. ‘Thank you.’

If anything his expression of astonishment grew more intense. He shook his head. ‘Rowena, rest now.’

He must think her exceedingly strange, but there was a slight smile on his lips as he lay down beside her and pulled her into the crook of his arm, positioning her so her head rested against his shoulder. Gently, he stroked her hair where it fell over her breast.

‘Little one,’ he said. His eyelids drooped and his breathing deepened.

* * *

‘Mr Gilvry.’

Rapping. On a door. And a weight on his shoulder. Drew jerked awake. The warmth at his side was a woman. Rowena. The knocking on the door?

Careful not to wake his sleeping companion, he slid out of bed to another round of knocks.

‘Who is it?’

‘Eva, with your supper.’

Right. No food since earlier in the day. No wonder his belly felt empty. He glanced over at Rowena. She pulled the sheet up over her head with a mutter about the racket.

He scooped his shirt from the floor, pulled it over his head and unlocked the door.

Eva trotted in. She glanced at the tangled sheets on the bed with a knowing grin. ‘Madam Belle thought as how you might be in need of a bit of sustenance.’ She set a tray on the table.


‘Thank her for me.’

The girl gave him a saucy smile. ‘She’s lucky, your lady is, having such a well set-up fellow as you, even with that face. You should see some of the flawns and dodderers the girls have to put up with.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Drew fished sixpence from his coat pocket and slipped it into the girl’s palm. ‘I’ll leave the tray outside when we’re done. No need to come back until morning.’

‘Thank you kindly, sir.’ She dipped a little bob and scuttled out.

Drew locked the door behind her.

Rowena threw back the sheet and gazed at him, her expression puzzled and her eyes misty with sleep. ‘What is happening?’

‘Eva with supper.’

‘Oh.’ She sat up, careful to keep herself wrapped in the sheet. As if he hadn’t seen her a few minutes before in nothing but her skin. And a beautiful skin it was. Very responsive. And silky soft.

His blood thickened and his thoughts must have shown on his face, because hers turned red.

Dammit. He hadn’t wanted to make her embarrassed. Not after she’d given him the most pleasurable interlude in his life.

He still couldn’t quite believe that he had found a woman who had participated in his deepest, darkest fantasies. Had her enjoyment been real or out of gratitude?

Even as the thought flittered through his mind, he knew it wasn’t true. The blush on her face was not embarrassment. It was desire. For some unfathomable reason, the fates had sent him a woman who liked the opposite of what he liked.

He hardened. And inwardly cursed the thrum of hot blood in his veins. Even if it had been a long time since he’d been able to indulge in his particular vices and even if she was willing, he’d tormented her enough for one night.

They had important matters to see to tomorrow and they would both need their wits about them. ‘Come, sweetling. You need to eat.’

She blinked and then smiled. ‘I can’t believe how hungry I feel.’

‘It’s not surprising,’ he said, raising a brow. He picked up her robe from the floor and handed it to her, turning his back so she could slip out of bed and put it on.

He didn’t do it because he didn’t want to see her. He did it because he knew if he caught so much as a glimpse, she would never get as far as the table.

He pulled out a chair and she gave him a smile and sat down. ‘What have they sent up?’

It was a cold supper of the sort of plain fare Belle would have available to her customers downstairs. He’d partaken of it often enough in the past. Cold meats and haggis, fruit tart, bread and cheese and a flagon of small beer. They tucked in. He was glad to see that she ate heartily, though nowhere near as much as he, and when she was done she watched him finish his meal.

‘Do you really think your brother will help us?’ she asked when he, too, sat back with a sigh.

Of all of his brothers, Niall was the most likely not to toss him out on his ear. But if he did? What then? ‘Dinna worry. We’ll find someone else, if he cannot.’ There was something else troubling him. ‘I still do not see why Lady Cragg was so set against me.’

Rowena frowned. ‘I never heard her say any such thing.’

‘Did you no’ say that she told Mr Jones she would be glad to see me deported? That was why she had McKenzie’s men lying in wait for me when I left.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened. ‘It wasn’t Lady Cragg talking to Mr Jones. It was a gentleman.’

‘The duke?’

She frowned, as if trying to recall something. ‘It could not have been the duke. Mr Jones called him my lord. Not your Grace.’

‘It might have been a slip of the tongue.’

‘Mr Jones does not seem the sort of man who would make such a mistake.’

‘Aye, but if it was no’ Lady Cragg or the duke, who the devil was it? What did he look like?’

‘I couldn’t see him very well, he was the other side of a very thick hedge. I had the sense he was an older gentleman, by his voice.’

‘If you heard that voice again, would you ken it?’

‘I believe so. The air was clear and their voices carried, farther than they might have guessed, I think.’

‘It is too bad I didn’t know this when I was a guest of McKenzie’s men,’ he mused. ‘Morris liked to talk. He might have told me.’ He frowned. ‘He did say something about me giving them the slip once before. I assumed he was talking about Logan.’

It couldn’t be Ian. Not if it was an older man. But someone working with Ian? Someone like...Carrick?

Not possible, surely?

But the men who had delivered Ian’s message had been Carrick’s men. And it was Carrick who had offered him a place in his American business.

‘What is it?’ Rowena asked. ‘You look worried.’

It surprised him that she could make out any expression at all on his face. It was as if she saw right past the ruined flesh and only saw the man behind it.

His heart gave an odd little lurch.

Now she was looking worried and he did not want her bothered by his musings, which had nothing to do with her problems. ‘No, not worried. Just thinking. Don’t be concerned about Niall. We’ll know very quickly if he will help us or no’. We have a great deal to do in the morning, I think it is time you went to bed.’

She looked down her nose at him. ‘I’ll decide for myself when I’m ready for bed.’

He let his glance slide to the chest standing on the table.

Her breath gave a little hitch. ‘Oh.’

He shook his head. ‘Much as I’d like to play some more, I need my sleep, even if you don’t.’

She went bright pink. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to be disobliging, I just didn’t want you to think you could order me around.’ Her colour went brighter. ‘As a general rule, I mean. In the daytime.’

Heavens, she really was an absolute treasure. It was a shame he didn’t deserve her. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You take the bed. I’ll take the floor.’

‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t hear of it. We will share.’

‘So you intend to boss me around, do you?’ he said with a teasing note in his voice.

‘Certainly not. I am just being sensible.’

‘Sensible. Aye. Then I’ll accept your kind offer.’

* * *

His hands were unsteady as he laced her stays. Eva had returned her clothes along with the water for washing. He was glad Rowena had her back to him right at that moment and could not see his reaction to touching her.

He wanted her again. And she had given him so much already. In his heart he knew he would never get enough of her, and it wasn’t right. Not when his future was so unsure.

‘Your brother is going to be very surprised to meet us, I think.’

Us.

His fingers stilled. He’d been alone for so long, fighting for his own survival, it came as a shock to think of himself as something more. He pulled at the laces and tied off the bow. ‘Aye. He’ll be surprised.’

She seemed satisfied with his answer.

He went to the mirror and tied his cravat while she put on her stockings. Such lovely long legs she had. He glanced at the tumbled bedclothes and then at the clock and wondered if there might be time...

A knock sounded at the door. ‘Who is it?’

‘Eva with your breakfast.’

‘I’m ravenous,’ Rowena said.

So was he. And not only for food. With a regretful sigh he went to the door and opened it. The young maid bustled in with a tray.


‘Madam Belle wants to know if you’ll be wanting this room tonight, as well?’

He glanced at Rowena and discovered she was looking towards the bed with what he could only describe as a hopeful expression. His groin tightened at the thought that she was actually looking forward to another night with him. It seemed so improbable that he would meet a woman, who on the outside seemed so self-assured, and yet who craved what gave him pleasure.

How wrong her husband had been to call her cold and reserved. She was a passionate delight who had somehow filled a very empty place in the deepest reaches of his soul.

‘Tell Belle, yes, if she can spare us the room.’

The maid whisked off. He seated Rowena and as she lowered herself on to the chair she looked up at him with a pink wash of colour. How could he ever have thought she was plain, seeing that blush over her pale-as-milk skin that covered every inch of her body?

She spread butter and jam on her toast. ‘We will go together to your brother’s office,’ she said in the decided way that she had. She used it to hide her uncertainty, he realised. Her fear of rejection.

Such a small insight into her vulnerability, but it made him feel suddenly protective.

‘We will,’ he agreed, selecting bread and slicing off a lump of cheese. ‘After all, this is your business. Not mine.’ His business was with Ian. The urgency to face his brother seemed to have faded. Because it would mean leaving Rowena and likely never seeing her again? He pushed the thought aside, unready to deal with that part of his future.

He had sworn to give her his aid and he would see it through to the end.

* * *

Breakfast over, they dressed for the chill of a winter morning in Edinburgh. He wrapped his muffler around his face. ‘No sense in setting the dogs to barking,’ he joked when he saw her watching him.

She shook her head. ‘I hardly notice the scar any longer. It’s your expressions I see. Your kindness.’

As he had suspected the previous evening, but to hear her say it made something hard and uncomfortable rise in his throat. He swallowed it down without examining the emotion at its source, though he had a feeling it was gratitude. He was grateful to her for so many things, it seemed. Would it give her some sort of power over him? Make him weak? He pushed the thought aside. ‘Let us go.’

They hurried down the back stairs and out the side door. He gestured for her to stay in the shadows while he took a quick look to see who was about on the street. There were the usual hawkers—the baker, the milkmaid, a girl with a basket of turnips—crying their wares. A dustcart rumbled by. No sign of the smugglers. ‘Gardy loo!’ He dodged back into the alley to avoid a stream of night soil from a front room of the brothel.

‘All seems well,’ he said, holding out his arm.

She took it. They walked briskly. Rapidly enough to show they had purpose, without looking hurried or anxious. At the corner of the street where Niall’s office was located, Drew stopped. ‘Let me make sure it is safe.’ He’d been both hunter and prey. He knew better than to be caught out in the open.

She nodded. He peered around the corner.

Drew had no trouble identifying the man standing on the opposite side of the street against the apothecary’s window. His friend from two nights ago. Morris. Cursing, Drew came back to Rowena.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘The smugglers are watching Niall’s office.’ And they could be watching the nearby streets, too.

He grabbed her hand and they ran, ducking into alleyways and doubling back. He didn’t stop moving until he was sure they weren’t being pursued.

Out of breath and panting, Rowena leaned against the wall. ‘Did they see you?’ she gasped.

He shook his head. ‘No.’ He was almost sure they had not.

‘What now?’

‘We could try his house...’

‘But they might be waiting there, too,’ she finished.

‘Aye. Likely. If they know of his office, they would easily discover where he is living.’

‘And we wouldn’t want to put his family in danger.’

How did she know what he was thinking at the same moment he thought it? He grinned at her, then realised that beneath his muffler she wouldn’t be able to see his expression. Probably just as well. Right now he was feeling a little too besotted for comfort.

‘Do you think we could ask him to visit us at the brothel?’ she said. ‘Send a note.’

‘We will send a note, but we’ll not meet him at Belle’s. We need to find somewhere we can be sure he isna’ followed.’

‘What about Waterloo Place at Regent Bridge?’

‘They finished it, then?’ It reminded him just how long he had been away. A painful reminder full of resentment that made his fists clench as he thought about Ian and his treachery.

‘There is a clear view in both directions,’ she said.

‘It sounds ideal.’

‘Is something wrong?’

Clearly the bitterness in his heart showed in his voice. ‘No. Nothing wrong. Let us go back to Belle’s and write the note.’

* * *

Despite Drew’s assurance that nothing was wrong, he’d left her at Madam Belle’s the moment his note to his brother had been dispatched. He had wanted to look at the place they had set for the meeting. And he’d wanted to go alone, leaving Rowena sitting on tenterhooks fearing he’d be caught.

The lad they had sent to his brother’s office was to wait for a reply. Given their fear of interception, Drew had kept the note very brief. It had talked about there being no need to climb the bridge to collect the eggs. It would, he had said, let his brother know who was seeking the meeting, but would mean nothing to anyone else.

A rap sounded on the door. ‘Who is it?’ she asked, having been warned by Drew not to open it to anyone unless she recognised the voice.

‘Me, ma’am. Nat.’ The errand boy.

She opened the door. The boy grinned and waved a piece of paper.

‘You saw him? Lord Aleyne?’

‘Not me. His clerk. He’d not be letting the likes of me near his lordship. But he did send a reply.’

Too bad Drew wasn’t here to receive it. Heavy footsteps on the stairs made her look up. It was Drew. ‘We have a reply,’ she said.

He took the note from the boy, gave him a coin and came inside and closed the door, tapping the note against his gloved palm.

‘Open it,’ she said. ‘If he says no, then we will find someone else to help us. My father had a lawyer. Mr Murchison. He might be willing to talk to us.’

Drew set the note on the table, removed his gloves, coat, hat and scarf. She wanted to shout at him, he was so deliberately slow. But she did not blame him. This was his brother from whom he was estranged. She sensed that if the note was a rejection he would take it hard.

He sat down on the bed and patted the place beside him. She joined him on the bed. Breath held, she watched him open the note. He handed it over without a glance at the contents.

‘Read it.’

So commanding. Pleasure unfurled low in her belly. She took it from him.

The hand was bold and black and the words brief.

‘“Logan, what game are you playing? If you are in trouble with the law or with McKenzie, I will have your head on a plate. Niall.”’

She wrinkled her nose and looked at Drew. ‘He didn’t know it was you.’

The muscles in his jaw flickered. ‘Perhaps it is just as well. If he had guessed it was me, he might not have replied.’


‘Oh, Drew,’ she said, feeling the hurt in his voice as a pang in her chest.

He squared his shoulders. ‘But he will come for Logan. So perhaps it is just as well he did not recognise my writing.’

‘He mentions McKenzie, too.’

‘Aye. God knows what Logan is about. He always was a wild scamp.’ He looked at the small clock on the mantel. ‘It is but a half hour to the time I set for the meeting. We had best get going.’

* * *

The clouds had rolled in over the city, grey and heavy with the threat of snow. People in the streets scurried head down about their business. To Rowena, everyone looked suspicious, but after a circuitous route, Drew stopped for a second.

‘No one is following. Unless they are very, very clever.’

She breathed a sigh of relief, trusting him to know and happy to leave such matters in his hands.

Finally, they were in sight of the bridge. Standing right at the centre was a young man in a dark coat and hat, pacing up and down and slapping his arms across his chest.

‘That’s him,’ Drew said, at the place where the bridge began to cross the old Calton Road. ‘Niall.’

She took his hand, as much for his comfort as for hers. He tucked it into the crook of his arm and patted it lightly.

Niall stopped his pacing and looked towards them. He was dark, not blonde like Drew. He took a step in their direction and then stopped, frowning, but he wasn’t looking at Drew, he was looking at her, and as they came closer his frown deepened.

‘What the devil is going on?’ he said as they came within earshot. His gaze dropped to where their arms linked. ‘Who is this?’

‘Is that a proper greeting for a brother you haven’t seen in six years?’

There was a careless drawl in his voice. A devil-may-care note she hadn’t heard before. His arm beneath her fingers had tensed. It was as rigid as a board. He was ready for his brother to turn away. Steeled against it.

Rowena could only watch as the other man peered into Drew’s eyes uncertainly.

Drew pulled down the muffler.

Niall reared back. ‘What? Who? My God, Drew!’ he whispered. ‘Can it really be you?’

Drew nodded stiffly. ‘It is.’

Niall lunged forward, clutching his brother to his chest, then leaning back to look at his face. ‘We heard you were dead.’

‘Not yet,’ Drew said drily.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ he said, his eyes taking in the scar. ‘What happened? Why didn’t you come to the house? Why the strange message? I have been standing here for the past half hour, thinking Logan was in some sort of trouble. Just wait until Ian knows you have returned. And Mother.’

‘Mother is... She’s well?’ His voice sounded strained.

‘She’ll be all the better for seeing you.’

If Drew noticed the evasion, he didn’t mention it. He glanced around. ‘To tell you the truth, Niall, I am in a wee spot of trouble. Is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere we won’t be seen?’

Niall stared at him, smiling, seemingly lost in some sort of reverie. ‘You have to meet my wife. And Ian’s Selina. And—’

‘Niall, we don’t have time. There are dangerous men—’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Damnation.’

Rowena followed the direction of his stare. Her heart sunk. Walking towards them was the man whose narrowed gaze focused only on them.

‘You were followed,’ Drew said. ‘My note said to take care no one followed you.’

‘Damn it, Drew. I bloody well did.’

‘There’s no time for this,’ Rowena said. ‘We can’t risk—’

The smuggler must have realised he had been spotted because he started to run, one hand tucked under his coat. Probably holding a pistol. Drew looked the other way and groaned. Another one was coming from the other direction.

‘There’s only one thing to do,’ Niall said. ‘Rush the man coming from the far side of the bridge.’

‘Come on, then,’ Drew said grimly. He took Rowena’s hand and she hoiked up her skirts in the other and they ran straight at the smuggler.

He must have thought they hadn’t seen him because he started to grin and unbuttoned his coat. Rowena could see the grip of a pistol sticking up from his waistband.

‘He’s got a gun,’ she gasped.

‘I see it,’ Drew said.

‘He’s not the only one,’ Niall said. He reached under his coat and pulled out an ornate duelling pistol. He cocked and fired. The smuggler hit the ground with a howl.

And then they were over the bridge and running alongside a building.

Rowena glanced over her shoulder. The man they’d seen first was catching them up and he had drawn his pistol. She tried to run faster.

‘Stop them,’ the smuggler behind them yelled at passers-by. ‘Stop, thief.’

A burly man on the pavement in front of them put his arms out to block them.