Twice A Hero Part 29

"You're definitely of the masculine persuasion."

She was teasing him, the minx. He pressed her hand down harder and held it there. "And?"

"You must not find me too unattractive."

This time he had to stifle a laugh. She had turned the tables on him again. "You're right," he admitted. "Even I have to accept the proof of that." He let his free hand slide down from her wrist to settle just below the swell of her bodice. "You might even find more ways to encourage me."

"And what exactlya did you have in mind?"

He nuzzled the side of her neck. She smelled clean and brisk, like sea air. "You have an imagination, Mac." His fingers negotiated the gentle slope of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Use it."

Her back arched beneath him. "You might not like some of the ways I've been using ia""

But she broke off on a gasp as he kissed the place where her b.r.e.a.s.t.s met the edge of her bodice. Her skin was tender and thoroughly feminine here, unmarked by sun or weather. She made a muted little sounda"encouragement or protest, he couldn't tell and didn't carea"as he unfastened the top b.u.t.ton of her bodice, and then the next. She wore no corset, no bust improver, nothing but a chemise underneath. It was a simple matter for him to ease her b.r.e.a.s.t.s from their scanty confinement.

They were sweet and ripe for kissing, lifted and supported by the bodice that no longer protected them. The dark areolas of her nipples tightened as if in antic.i.p.ation.

"You threw down the gauntlet last night," he said, cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He kissed the angle of her jaw. "You've been doing it ever since I brought you back to San Francisco. And now I think I'm going to take it up."

Her nipples puckered under his hands. He kissed her throat, her shoulder, the last level plain of fair skin above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. And then he took what he wanted so badly to taste. He covered one breast with his mouth and suckled, rolling her nipple against his tongue, licking and teasing until Mac's head was tossing against the pillows.

When he'd had his fill of one breast he moved to the other, savored it, made her shudder and squirm and thrust up against him.

He wanted very badly to undress her, to feel her naked body writhing under his, to make her vulnerable, to possess her completely. But this was not the place, or the time. There was no need to go so far. Not to get what he must have.

He continued to kiss and nip her neck, her chin, the corners of her lips while he reached down to gather the bunched hem of her skirt in his free hand.

She didn't protest. Even Mac was helpless at a man's touch. At his touch. He had her skirt up to her knees and his hand underneath before her body recognized his intrusion.

"That'sa not a gauntlet you're taking up," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Mac?" he said, catching her lower lip between his teeth.

He found the ties of her underdrawers, parted the delicate fabric and found moist skin. More than moist; she was wet, hot and wet and ready. He fumbled urgently with the b.u.t.tons of his trousers.

"I warned you, Mac. You started this fire. Now you're going to put it out."

Her eyes closed as he pushed her legs apart and positioned himself between them. Acres of heavy skirt and a lacy froth of muslin were no impediment; he had her where he wanted her. The mere antic.i.p.ation of taking her like this, so unexpectedly, so hard and fast, excited him almost beyond endurance. It could never be like this with Caroline. Would never be.

"Tell me you made a mistake," he taunted. "Admit you're no match for me, and I'll let you go."

He waited, breath suspended, for her answer. But he hadn't read her wrong. Nothing had changed since the jungle. His memory hadn't played tricks on him, hard as he'd tried to forget. She grinned like a she-cat and grabbed a handful of his s.h.i.+rt.

"Forget it, O'Shea. You'll never hear me say uncle."

A wild, triumphant joy seared through him then, almost euphoric, as if he'd discovered some fantastic ruin never seen by civilized man. That elation beat in his blood, drove his body in a primal dance of hunger and victory. Mac arched against him, spurring him on. In. One stroke, one long, deep strokea "Liam?"

Through a fog of l.u.s.t he heard his name. Mac had gone very still, clutching his s.h.i.+rt in both hands, her gaze fixed past his shoulder.

Toward the door.

"Oha" The faint, disembodied voice trailed off into a whimper. Liam almost ignored it, almost flouted the barrier of Mac's suddenly rigid body. He wanted, and he always took what he wanteda"

Mac planted both hands against his chest and shoved. In his startlement he jerked back, watched in blank confusion as she grabbed at her skirts and pulled them down over her legs.

"Oh, my," another, older feminine voice said behind them.

Liam turned his head. The door was open. Two people stood on the threshold. The younger woman's pretty face was pale except for two vivid spots of color in her cheeks. The elder looked like a cat who'd gotten into the cream.

The elder was Mrs. Hunter, Caroline's chaperon.

And the girl who stared at Liam with horror in her eyes was Caroline.

Chapter Eighteen.

Times go by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

a"Robert Southwell ICE DOUSED THE fire in Liam's blood. He turned his back to the couple and b.u.t.toned his trousers with unsteady fingers.

This was a farce, a nightmare, a joke. It must be. Mac scooted off the other side of the settee, ears crimson, trying to smooth her hopelessly creased gown. Liam turned with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Caroline," he began.

Caroline had gone from flushed to white. Her little fists were clenched as she pushed away from her aunt's offered comfort.

"Youa you scoundrel," she said with quiet, astonis.h.i.+ng ferocity. And then she whirled and swept out the door, Mrs. Hunter at her heels.

The resulting quiet lasted all of an instant before it was broken by yet another intruder. The waiter who'd shown Liam to the room poked his head cautiously through the door and walked in, bearing a silver tray with a chilled bottle of wine.

"Your wine, madam," he said.

"Get out," Liam growled.

The man set the tray down on the table and obeyed with alacrity. Liam strode to the table and picked up the bottle. It was already uncorked. He splashed a liberal portion into one of the winegla.s.ses.

He hardly heard Mac come up behind him. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the bottle and a gla.s.s and followed his example.

He lifted his gla.s.s to her. "Congratulations, Mac."

But she gave him no answer. No smile of victory, of triumph complete. He tilted the gla.s.s to his mouth and prepared to drown himself in the contents.

The first taste told him something was wrong. The second a.s.sured him of it. He spat into the gla.s.s and was slamming it down when he saw Mac preparing to drink.

The wine never made it to her lips. Most of it soaked the front of her bodice as he swatted the gla.s.s away, and the rest stained the fine imported carpet at her feet.

She stared at him in shock. Genuine shock, not in the least feigned. She hadn't known the wine was drugged.

With frigid, bitter calm he handed her an embroidered napkin.

"Get yourself cleaned up, Mac," he commanded. "It's over."

Over.

His brain was pounding to that infernal word, just as it had all night. It was limned in blinding light that burned through his lids. He opened his eyes a crack, winced, and tried to roll over. The solid bulk of an Irish wolfhound trapped him in place.

"Norton," he groaned. "Get off the bed."

A tail thumped against his arm with enough impact to encourage a more rapid recovery. His mouth tasted abominable. He couldn't remember a b.l.o.o.d.y thing since last nighta had it been last night? Since Caroline had walked in on him and Mac.

Liam groaned again and cursed into his whiskey-scented pillow.

"Mr. O'Shea?"

Even Chen's soft speech rang like a struck anvil in Liam's ears. He propped himself up on his elbows and glared at his servant. "What time is it?"

Chen bowed and set the tray with tea and morning paper on the table beside the bed. "Three o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. O'Shea."

Liam ma.s.saged the skin between his brows. h.e.l.l, he'd lost most of a day. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on last night at the Poodle Doga"everything but his shoes, which Chen had probably removed.

"When did I come in?" he asked.

"Just before dawn." Chen lifted his sleeve and poured a cup of hot tea. The smell of ita"green tea with herbs, which Chen insisted was good for a hangovera"was already beginning to clear Liam's head.

Before dawn. It was starting to come back. The fiasco at the Poodle Dog, the way he'd numbly flagged down a hack for Mac and watched her drive off, his determination to go in exactly the opposite direction. A night of riotous dissipation along the Barbary Coasta"the details of the latter remained blessedly obscure. It'd been some time since he'd gone down to the dives and h.e.l.ls of the Coast.

Chen cleared his throat discreetly. Mr. O'Shea, you asked me when you first returned to inquire as to Miss Gresham's well being."

Liam didn't remember, but he was glad he'd had that much sense. He paused to fight off a wave of dizziness and threw his legs over the bed. "And?"

"Miss Gresham is receiving no callers. Mrs. Hunter was quite adamant. I told Mr. Biggs to make certain that Mr. Sinclair has no access, should he reappear."

Thank G.o.d for Chen. "You think of everything when I can't think at all. Thank you."

"You honor me, Mr. O'Shea. There is more. Mrs. Hunter gave me this note to deliver to you."

Liam recognized the perfume and the fine paper. Caroline. He shook his head to clear it and tore open the envelope.

The delicate, careful hand was indeed Caroline's, but the note was brief and almost lacking in feminine flourish.

The meaning, however, was manifest. She wanted him to come to her house, tonight. She wanted to resolve matters between them. She was giving him another chance.

A strange, heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. It felt like disappointment, and that was sheer madness. He had to set things right.

But as he rose from the bed he felt as if he were about to march to his death on the gallows, to be hung on a rope made of lace and blond curls and acres of petticoat.

He drove the phaeton to the Gresham's in a state of complete mental blankness.

Mrs. Hunter answered the door. Biggs was nowhere in evidence.

"I've come to see Caroline," Liam said tersely.

"I know." She pursed her lips and let him into the house with obvious reluctance. Her att.i.tude struck Liam as ironic; she'd done a poor enough job of watching over her charge.

If she hadn't been in on last night's fiasco with Perry. She would have to be questioned, but now was not the time.

"Where is she?" he asked.

Mrs. Hunter tilted her chin toward the stairway. Her disapproval burned into his back as he climbed the stairs. The house was eerily hushed. He reached Caroline's sitting room door and knocked, expecting to find her waiting. There was no answer.

"Liam?"

He turned to face the open door of Caroline's bedroom.

She was waiting for him, sure enough. Waiting in a sheer wrap that barely concealed the lacy white chemise she wore beneath. A chemise that revealed the thrust of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the roundness of her thigh sliding under satin. Her feet were bare, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders.

"Good G.o.d," he choked. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

Her voice was lowa"too low, forced into a register that made it sound like a parody of Mac's husky alto. "Waiting for you."

Liam felt his face flame, but his body was chilled through. "Cover yourself," he rasped.

"Why? Don't you think I'm beautiful?"

Oh, yes, she was beautiful. Perfect. Any man would want her.

Any man but the one with her now. In the dim light he thought he saw the shape of a phantom standing behind his ward; taller, red-haired, tragic in spite of her gaiety. Siobhan.

They were not alike. Nothing alike. But Caroline might have been his sister standing there, ready to give herself to a man, with no idea of the consequences, because it seemed daring and grown-up anda no, not a way out of poverty. Not for Caroline. She'd never known want, and never would.

"I know youa"want me," Caroline said, stumbling over the word, as if she only vaguely guessed what it meant. "You were going to ask me to marry you."