Running into Temptation (Bancrofts of Barton Park) Read online

  Especially once they crossed into Scotland. Gretna Green was there, just over the border….

  Suddenly Philip turned to face her, as if he realized she was watching him. He studied her, his eyes narrowed, and she had the terrible, cold feeling that he had forgotten she was there. That he wondered why she was sitting next to him.

  She pushed those misgivings away. It was too late for doubt now. She took another swallow of the whiskey and passed the flask back to him. He took a long drink of it and tucked it away.

  Melanie gave a careless laugh, as if they were merely on a merry little jaunt to a summer picnic. “La, but I can’t believe we have come so far like this! It’s just like a voyage in a book.”

  Finally, he laughed, too. It was a golden, wonderful sound, that warmed her even deeper than the whiskey. His eyes, those beautiful summer-blue eyes, cleared, and she saw the dashing, playful man she had been so irresistibly drawn to.

  He reached for her hand and drew her close to his side. His arms were strong and warm when they slipped around her waist, his closeness reassuring. Surely sometimes her instincts steered her right? Surely she was meant to be here with this man? She looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him.

  “It’s a grand adventure, Mel,” he said, his tone light. But she was afraid she sensed something taut and tense underneath his humor. “The best one I’ve undertaken in a long time.”

  Melanie gently touched the fading bruise on his elegant, cut-glass cheekbone. The bruise that was a reminder of the fight with David Marton. Not a fight over her, alas, but over Emma Carrington. Mrs. Emma Carrington—whose own scandalous behavior had only led her to perfect, respectable happiness. It wasn’t fair. Yet Melanie wouldn’t trade places with her now.

  “Are you sure it’s an adventure?” she murmured.

  Philip caught her hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to her fingertips. “Sometimes adventures go awry, my fair Melanie. I’ve been on one or two before. Nothing to fear.”

  He was right; fear was always the enemy. She had decided long ago not to be afraid, not to look back. And she sensed he felt the same way. “Tell me more about your adventures on the Continent, Philip. All the places you’ve seen, what you did there. My own life has been so dull, and I long to go to all of them! See everything!”

  Philip smiled wryly. “Life can be just as dull in Paris or Rome as in a country village. It depends on the people you’re with, not where you are.”

  She wasn’t sure she believed him. Her uncle’s company could not possibly be as dull if she were with him in Paris! She gave Philip a light, flirtatious smile. “Am I an adventure then?”

  He laughed again, and reached out to lower the window shade, enclosing them in warm, intimate shadows. “You are assuredly an adventure, Melanie Harding. But I’m not quite sure where you will take me in the end.”

  Melanie tangled her fingers in the waves of his hair that fell over his coat collar. It was silken and rough all at the same time, wrapping around her skin to hold her with him. “But that’s the fun of an adventure, isn’t it? The surprise it brings.”

  He bent his head to kiss the side of her neck, above the embroidered edge of her spencer. “You are assuredly full of surprises.”

  Melanie laughed at the delicious sensations of his lips on her skin. Her head fell back as he nudged aside the edge of the jacket and pressed the tip of his tongue to the pulsing hollow of her throat.

  She moaned.

  His mouth met hers, suddenly rough, hungry, as if he had been missing the taste of her as she had missed him. He tasted as she remembered from their last interrupted kiss, of mint and the smoky hint of whiskey, and something that was dark and sweet and only him.

  Her lips parted to let him in, his tongue pressing past her teeth to twine with hers. He was rough and fierce, claiming her with his kiss. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him to her. She had never felt like that before, completely swept away by a kiss as if seized in a flood wave. She was helpless against it.

  Through the hot, blurry haze of his kiss, she felt his hand at the buttons of her spencer. He tugged them free and she helped him push the clothes away from her shoulders. The warm, stuffy air of the carriage swept over her through her thin muslin gown. Then his body was against hers, and she could think of nothing else.

  He carried her down to the velvet-cushioned seat, easing her gown out of his way to press a ribbon of hot, open-mouthed kisses to her bare shoulder, then the soft curve of her breast above the ribbon edge of her chemise.

  Melanie’s heart pounded in her ears, and it was all she could hear with the rough rush of Philip’s breath. The carriage walls pressed in close, making it seem as if they were alone in their own secret world of two. There was only him, only the feelings he woke in her, and she forgot everything else.

  “Philip!” she gasped, her head falling back. He tugged down the edge of her bodice and her chemise, freeing her white, bare breast to his avid gaze. He traced the tip of his tongue around her pink, puckered nipple and lightly blew on it. Melanie shivered at the delicious, forbidden sensations.

  She closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip to keep from crying out in pleasure as Philip drew her aching nipple deep into his mouth, catching it lightly between his teeth. His hand slid over her hip and the curve of her thigh over her gown, and he grasped the hem of her skirt. He crumpled the soft fabric in his fist and dragged it up and up, until her stockings and legs were bare to him.

  He moved to kneel over her, nudging her thighs apart as he kissed her other breast. Melanie moaned as she felt the smooth wool of his breeches rub against the soft silk of her stockings, a delightful friction. He was hard beneath the front placket, and though she had never completed the act with a man before, she knew enough to know what that meant. He wanted her just as she wanted him.

  As their mouths met again in desperate, hungry need, she slid her eager hands down the lean strength of Philip’s back, pushing his coat out of her way. Under his linen shirt, she felt the shift of his strong muscles, the warmth of his smooth skin. She caressed his shoulders, the groove of his spine, and shocked herself when she touched his hard, taut backside through his tight breeches.

  “Melanie,” he groaned as she touched him, and she was glad to hear her name spoken aloud in his rough voice. Glad he knew it was her there with him.

  How very handsome he was, she thought through the haze of her need. How passionate. He made her feel alive again at last. No wonder she had so forgotten herself with him!

  But no matter how much she tried to lose herself in Philip Carrington, the jolt of the carriage coming to a halt brought her back to herself. She opened her eyes as she heard voices and laughter outside the window, and remembered they weren’t alone after all.

  Melanie pushed him away from her, and dizzily sat up against the seat cushions. Her head was spinning from the kisses and the whiskey, the smell of Philip’s cologne. He groaned and threw himself onto the opposite seat, his face turned away from her. His face looked so stark. The heat that had surrounded Melanie vanished, leaving her cold and vaguely scared. She quickly sat up straight and smoothed her skirt and hair. She buttoned her spencer with shaking fingers.

  “Where do you suppose we are?” she asked, trying to sound light and careless. She would never let him see what she was really feeling.

  Without looking at her, Philip eased back the window shade. Melanie caught a glimpse of an inn yard, muddy and rutted around plain plaster walls, where people and chickens and dogs rushed around in a whirling blur.

  “It would appear we have reached our destination,” he said, his voice quiet and toneless. “Welcome to Gretna Green, Miss Harding.”

  * * *

  Philip watched Melanie dash up the stairs of the inn, her slender ankles flashing under the dusty hem of her skirt. He couldn’t help but remember the way her leg had felt under his hand, so slim, warm and soft beneath the sheath of the thin silk stocking. So very alive. He heard the catch of her breath i
n his ear, her quiet moan against his lips as he kissed her, felt again the desire that raged so hot and sharp and urgent, the need to have her, to possess her.

  Was he just like his father, then? The old fear that he was just a replica of the careless rake who had married and left his mother rose up in him again.

  At the staircase landing, Melanie paused and glanced back at him over her shoulder. For just an instant, a shadow seemed to flicker over her glowing eyes, a cloud. Then she laughed again, that merry, bell-like sound that had first drawn him to her, and the instant of sadness was gone. Had it ever been there? Melanie Harding didn’t seem like the sort of woman who lingered in melancholy.

  She gave him a little wave, and spun around to follow the landlady out of sight.

  “Ach, don’t you worry, young sir,” the plump, affable innkeeper’s wife called to him with a hearty laugh. “You’ll have your pretty sweetheart back with you soon enough.”

  Melanie’s footsteps and giggles faded, and Philip ran his hand through his hair. He found it was shaking. His sweetheart? Is that what Melanie Harding was? He could scarcely name it, those scattered feelings that flew through his mind. Back in the village, when he had held her, kissed her, just before they were so rudely interrupted by Sir David Marton, it had seemed like a grand idea for her to come with him to Scotland to find his uncle.

  There was nothing for either of them in that village, after all. And the passion in her kisses was—surprising. Philip sensed a spontaneous spirit in her that matched his as few other women’s ever could. So that spontaneity had taken hold of them and here they were. And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next. He only knew that he had brought Melanie here, and now he had to take care of her. As he had not been able to take care of Emma.

  He laughed ruefully as he remembered David Marton bursting into the room as Philip and Melanie kissed, completely wrapped up in each other—and remembered the terrible things he had said, the fight. Sir David hadn’t deserved that. He seemed a good enough sort, if rather dull. It wasn’t his fault Emma preferred him to Philip’s offer. He shouldn’t have let matters get so out of control.

  His temper had gotten him into trouble far too often. Like his wretched father.

  So now here he was in Scotland, come to make a new life with the help of his uncle Macintosh and his fortune. But what could he do with Melanie?

  He knew what he should do. Send her home before everyone knew she was gone. That was what a true gentleman would do. But Philip had never been a gentleman. And he had the feeling Melanie Harding was not a true lady. Her bright spirit would wither away in a place like that stuffy, airless village.

  He found himself most reluctant to part with her. She seemed like a woman who could understand him, maybe even accept him, his wild spirit and all. So they would have to find some way forward together in this strange world they had made.

  “You look as if you could use a whiskey, lad,” the innkeeper called from the taproom.

  Philip laughed. Whiskey had helped get him here in the first place. Maybe just a little more could help him see a way out again.

  “Indeed I think I could,” he said, and made his way to sit down at the bar.

  Chapter Two

  “I am terribly sorry, Captain Whitney, but I fear I do not know where my friend Miss Harding could have gone. Her uncle the admiral has said she returned to Bath, though I did think it most odd that she would leave without talking to me.”Mrs. Smythe held up her gilded teapot with a simpering smile. “More tea?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Smythe. You are very kind.” Captain Bartholomew Whitney smiled affably at the silly Mrs. Smythe, even though inside he could feel his temper kindling. He had come so far to find Melanie Harding, all the way to this dismal little village, only to find she had already flown away.

  How could she have escaped him already? And just when he discovered she had an uncle who might be a wealthy admiral?

  “I must say I am most disappointed to hear I cannot see dear Miss Harding,” he said. “We were such friends in Bath. Yet it seems even her uncle does not know what has really become of her.”

  He took an obligatory sip of the insipid tea as Mrs. Smythe fluttered her handkerchief at him. Friends—yes, that was one way to put it. When he had kissed Melanie behind a screen at the assembly rooms, he’d only been looking for a diversion during a dull time in the watering place before his regiment was posted elsewhere. She was pretty enough, and her smile flirtatious as they danced.

  But that kiss—ah, it had been most surprising. The young Miss Harding had depths of passion and need in her that were most attractive indeed. Addictive, even. Captain Whitney was a man who liked to control his women, and a woman of spirit was the greatest challenge of all. Surely she was made for him, made to be tamed by him in bed. She seemed quite sure to soon be his mistress, to be his, as she was meant to be. But then the silly girl, or rather her mother, had discovered his betrothal to Miss Banbury, and Melanie had pushed him away, sobbing and shouting. The next thing he knew she was gone from Bath.

  What did she expect? That he would marry her? Miss Banbury had twenty thousand pounds, and Miss Harding not a farthing. At least so he had thought until he discovered her connection to Admiral Harding. But that didn’t mean she could not be Captain Whitney’s mistress, in the bedchamber where she belonged.

  He did not like to be thwarted. At all. Especially not by a chit like Melanie Harding. He was going to find her, and make her his. Make her sorry she’d left him. Then she would know her place.

  He took another sip of tea and smiled at Mrs. Smythe. “I understand you are great friends with Miss Harding. Or so the lady working at the bookshop tells me.”

  “We are such dear friends. It has been a long time since I had someone to talk to like that.” Mrs. Smythe sighed and laid her hand over the swell of her belly. Above their heads there was a crash as her two energetic sons dashed around the upstairs floor. She didn’t seem to notice. “I do hope she will come back one day soon.”

  “She was not here very long.”

  “No. Her uncle the admiral, while certainly a respectable man, was no fit home for a lively young lady, I fear. I knew she would not stay long.” Mrs. Smythe giggled. “I do wonder she didn’t go back to Bath, with such friends as you waiting for her there!”

  Captain Whitney gave a regretful smile. “Alas, I fear I did not fully appreciate such a treasure as her friendship until it was gone. But I hope to remedy that now, if I can only find her. Are you quite certain, Mrs. Smythe, you have no idea at all of her whereabouts?”

  Her smile faded. She put down her teacup and gave him an uncertain glance. He tried to encourage her with a smile tinged with just the right amount of romantic sadness.

  “Well,” Mrs. Smythe said nervously. “She did have a new friend, Mr. Philip Carrington, who is also now gone from the village. He was very charming, a relative of my own sister-in-law. And quite well-off, I believe. He mostly lives on the Continent. He seemed to like Miss Harding a great deal indeed….”

  Captain Whitney felt fury catch at his heart, white-hot, flaming beyond his control. Melanie had already found another admirer? How could she? The little whore.

  But he had much experience hiding his true feelings. He pushed down his anger and smiled at Mrs. Smythe, carefully putting down his cup before it could snap in his hand. “And this Mr. Carrington disappeared at the same time as Miss Harding?”

  Mrs. Smythe’s brow creased. “It was certainly most odd. She had said little to me about him, except that she found him handsome.”

  “Perhaps you could tell me more about Miss Harding’s stay here, Mrs. Smythe. Everything you know.”

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, ye’ll tak’ the high road, and I’ll tak’ the low road, and I’ll get to Scotland afore ye! But me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond…”

  Melanie laughed and took another drink of ale as she listened to the song. It was a rough, stro
ng brew, much like the crowd at the inn’s taproom. As evening gathered over the village, darkness closed in at the windows. The only light now was from smoking, guttering candles set on the rickety tables and the long, sticky stone bar.

  It seemed like the whole neighborhood was gathered there after their work was done for the day, and when Melanie ventured down in search of Philip and some dinner, they’d welcomed her as if she were their long-lost sister.

  At first she felt strangely shy, but the music and fun of the evening quickly overcame that, and she became engrossed in learning their Scottish songs, joining in their laughter.

  The sound grew louder and louder, wrapping around her, rising to the smoke-encrusted beams of the low, whitewashed ceiling. The musicians in the corner, a small collection of drums, fiddles and pipes, played wherever the crowd led. A few couples even danced, twirling between the tables.

  Melanie couldn’t remember when she had last had such fun. Not in her uncle’s house, certainly. Not even in Bath, where there were assemblies and card parties. There was much dancing in Bath, of course, but of the carefully chaperoned, precisely regimented sort.

  This made her want to laugh and twirl, to revel in the feeling of being free at last! When she danced she had no worries that she wasn’t good enough, that she didn’t deserve fine things in life. When she danced, nothing else mattered.

  She only wished Philip would join in the fun with her. Then it would all be perfect.

  She studied him over the edge of her tankard. He stood by the bar, where he had gone to order her some supper and watched the crowded room with lazy, unreadable eyes, lightly tapping his fingertips on the stone.

  He’d been polite when she appeared; he found her a seat, made sure she had ale. Yet he was so…distant. She started to think she had only imagined that fiery kiss in the carriage.

  Then he turned and caught her staring. He smiled, a knowing, sensual grin that told her he knew what she was thinking. That he remembered, too. It made her face turn hot, made her want to grab him and pull him close to her so he could kiss her again.