Page 52 of A Touch So Wicked

She looked so defenseless, so guilt stricken, that Damian felt an unaccustomed pang of compassion. What was happening to him? He was far too dedicated a sinner to change in a matter of weeks, but the feelings were there nonetheless.

He felt himself being drawn to her, his body suddenly reacting to her nearness in a way that made it impossible to turn away from her. He wanted her, aye, but he knew that taking her would lead them further down the path to disaster.

Unfortunately his body refused his mind’s edicts as he reached for her and brought her into his embrace. Initially she stiffened, then she swayed against him. It was all the encouragement Damian needed. His arms tightened around her.

“You’re a threat to my position at Misterly, not to mention my sanity,” he whispered against the silken softness of her hair. It smelled like a field of flowers, making him giddy with desire. A desire he knew could lead to unwelcome repercussions in the future.

She murmured something against his shoulder that sounded like a protest.

“I shouldn’t want you like I do,” Damian muttered.

“Nor I you.” As if realizing what she’d just said, she pushed away from him, her face red with embarrassment. “I dinna mean that.”

“Too late, for both of us, I fear.”

“Nay! Your bride is on her way. She will share your bed and bear your children. I am your enemy.”

“I am not yours.” Framing her face in his large hands, he stared at her lips. Then he lowered his head to taste her mouth for what he thought would most likely be the last time. Her tiny gasp fueled his need to intensify the kiss. His tongue delved deep as his hands molded her, caressed her arms, her ribs, her breasts, memorizing every curve and indentation of her responsive body.

He unbuttoned the yoke of her gown; his lips burned a path between her breasts as his fingers bunched up her skirts and his hand cupped between her thighs. She kissed him back, her legs parting in welcome. Then, as if realizing what was happening, she broke free and pushed herself away.

“Nay, Damian, I willna be your mistress. Submitting to you now would but confirm what my people believe of me. I am a Jacobite and you are an Englishman. Nothing will ever change that.”

Damian’s hands dropped away. His voice turned hard, implacable. “You’re right, of course. Thank you for reminding me of our positions, lady. If we can’t be lovers, then enemies it shall be.”

He turned to leave, then spun back around to confront her. “I suggest you get along with my bride when she arrives if the well-being of your mother and sister mean anything to you.”

Elissa stared at the closed door for several long minutes after Damian left. Get along with his intended bride? That hardly seemed likely, given what had happened between her and Damian. She could take care of herself; it was her mother and Lora she worried about. She knew intuitively that Lady Kimbra wouldn’t welcome them in her home. Why was Damian so adamant about keeping her at Misterly? What reason could he have for wanting her underfoot? Nothing made sense where Damian was concerned.

Elissa left the tower a short time later. There was no guard at the door, but she could feel eyes following her as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs to the solar. Damian hadn’t lied. She may have been released from the tower but she was still a prisoner.

Happy to be in her own chamber again, Elissa bathed and changed and went to visit her mother. She was pleased to find Lora with Marianne, snuggled next to her on the bed reading a book.

“Lissa!” Lora greeted as Elissa entered the chamber. “I’m so glad Damian let you out of the tower. I told him he was being mean for keeping you there.”

Elissa gave her sister a quick hug. “I agree with you, sweeting.”

Marianne held out a fragile hand and Elissa grasped it. “How are you, Mama?”

Marianne gave her a reassuring smile. “Much better. I’m up and walking a bit now. Thanks to Lord Damian, I’ve come to realize that life goes on. I have much to live for. My husband and sons are gone, but I still have my precious daughters.”

“I hope you’re not becoming too fond of Damian, Mama,” Elissa chided. “He’s our enemy. He’s taken our home and our lands from us. Mayhap he wielded the weapon that killed our men.”

Marianne sighed. “I know, sweeting, but our men chose to go to war. They fought for Prince Charles and his right to rule, and they lost. I deeply regret the carnage, but ’tis over and done with. We still have our pride and our courage, no one can take that from us. I will miss your father and brothers till the day I die, but I have you and Lora. If living in peace means accepting Lord Damian as Lord of Misterly, then so be it.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, but I canna repress my hatred for the English tyrants.”

“Why donna you like Damian?” Lora asked.

“Lora, love,” Marianne interrupted, “run down to the kitchen and ask Winifred for a treat to tide you over till dinner. Dinna you just say you were hungry?”

“I hope she made fresh gingerbread,” Lora said hopefully.

“Why donna you ask her?”

“Verra well. Will you finish the book later, Mama?”

“Aye, love. Off with you, now.”