A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Sons of Sin 4)

She looked dubious, then when she saw how Will shivered, she nodded. Most people jumped at Leath’s slightest word, but not Eleanor Trim. “Once Will’s safely home, my lord, I’ll return for you.”

He’d recovered enough to notice the way she regarded him. His hard-won breath jammed in his lungs. He’d never seen that expression before. Her large eyes glowed and a flush brightened her cheeks. Perhaps the biting wind whipped up her color. But the smile flirting with her lips made his heart, only just settling, kick up and race as it had raced when he’d fought the river.

Eleanor turned away before he identified what lay in her eyes. She helped Will into Leath’s coat which she’d tied to his saddle. The boy looked so woebegone in the voluminous black folds that Leath hid a smile. Hopefully today’s fright taught young Master Will a lesson about recklessness, although given what he knew of the lad, he had his doubts.

Using a fallen branch as a mounting block, Nell scrambled into her saddle. She reached down to help Will up behind her.

Battling to hide how much effort it took to move, Leath crossed to the heavily laden mount and caught the bridle. “I’ll meet you at the Murray farm.”

“Shouldn’t you go home and find some dry clothes?”

Presumptuous wench. His lips twitched. “I want to make sure Will suffers no ill effects from his dip.”

He passed the reins to her and inadvertently or deliberately her hand brushed his as she took them. Bizarre that he was freezing, yet that subtle touch blasted him with heat.

She stared hard at him, her eyes conveying some message that he couldn’t read. “My lord?”

“What is it?”

The smile flirting with her lips broadened into something glorious. “The answer is yes.”

Chapter Sixteen

Surely Will, plastered to her back as she galloped toward the Murray farm, must hear her heart pounding. Despite the marquess’s coat, the boy was wet and cold, yet Nell felt like a huge fire burned inside her. A fire bright enough to light her whole life.

Watching Leath unhesitatingly risk his life in a raging river to save a lad with more spirit than sense, she’d recognized all her havering as the victory of fear over desire.

Nobody would ever compare to James Fairbrother. Despite Dorothy’s example, despite her stepfather’s moral strictures, despite her own sense of self-preservation, she couldn’t relinquish the chance to know this extraordinary man in every way possible. Eleanor Trim was about to become a marquess’s mistress. And she couldn’t summon a shred of regret. Instead, that fluttery, new sensation under her ribs felt like happiness.

She’d meant to wait, to tell Leath her decision when they were alone, but she’d looked into his exhausted, austere, beautiful face and found herself unable to hold back. As she’d expected from a man so perceptive, one word was enough. She’d seen the flare of joy in his eyes and her heart had leaped like a salmon up a river.

Somewhere she’d fallen in love with his lordship. Perhaps when he’d bee

n so kind to his mother. Perhaps with his kisses. Even if Nell hadn’t already loved him, she’d be halfway there after he found her father’s effects.

So much had made no sense, until she’d watched Leath dive into the flood and realized that if he died, she didn’t want to live.

If Leath were a simple, ordinary man, she’d marry him, bear his children, build a long and fulfilled life together. But he was no simple, ordinary man. If she surrendered to this complex, gifted creature, she couldn’t expect a conventional happy ending.

Even if Leath loved her—and while she knew he liked her and wanted her, she had no idea if he felt more—the world would frown upon any marriage between a marquess and a sergeant major’s daughter. A mésalliance would destroy Leath’s lifelong political ambitions. Even if he was willing to make such a sacrifice, now that she’d seen his flashing brilliance in full flight when Sir Garth visited, she couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t make him less than he was. That would degrade her love to mere selfishness. If lowly Eleanor Trim wanted the Marquess of Leath in her bed, it must be without the church’s blessing.

A thunder of hooves signaled Leath’s approach. In his soggy clothes, he must be turning to ice, but the fiery look he sent her blazed right through her.

Mrs. Murray reacted to her son’s ordeal with the calm common sense that Nell expected, although her thanks to Leath were sincere and extensive. While Nell appreciated that the woman needed to express her gratitude, staying for tea was almost unbearable. Nell had spent weeks hankering to kiss his lordship. Now, any postponement irked. Leath appeared his usual unflappable self, until Nell caught a sizzling glance aimed in her direction and realized that he too chafed at the delay.

Still, Nell couldn’t gripe at Leath drying out before the roaring fire in the Murrays’ front room. She didn’t want him perishing of pneumonia before she’d had her wicked way.

It felt like hours before she and Leath galloped across the moors again. Mrs. Murray’s feather-light scones congealed into hard stones in Nell’s stomach now that finally she was alone with the marquess. When she’d given him her consent, she’d brimmed with courage. Now she was as nervous as a cat on a stove.

They careered into the grove where he’d asked her to be his mistress. He hauled his horse to a rearing stop and vaulted to the leaf-covered ground. In two long strides, he crossed the space between them. Before Nell could snatch a breath, he caught her around the waist and swung her down.

She glimpsed glittering need in his eyes before his mouth took hers in a kiss of such urgency that her knees folded beneath her and she collapsed against Adela. The mare snorted and backed away.

Heat flooded Nell, tightened her nipples, puddled between her legs, trapped the breath in her lungs. On a muffled gasp, she grabbed Leath’s powerful shoulders to stay upright. And to touch him. How she’d longed to touch him.

Ruthlessly, his tongue parted her lips and slid inside to stroke hers. If he’d kissed her like this in his bedroom, she’d have fled in terror. Now she arched closer. He was hard against her belly. Once that too would have terrified her, but not now that she’d surrendered to desire.

Ravenously he claimed her mouth, setting her aflame. She moved her tongue against his, relishing the hot rasp.