Kidnapped...
From Chapter 3
There was the scrape of
a step in the inn doorway beneath my window. The lantern swung in the
rising wind. A movement caught my eye and I looked down. Neil Sinclair
himself was in the street directly below my window. He was looking up at
me. And in that moment I realised what I must look like with the
candlelight from my chamber window no doubt turning the thin linen of my
shift quite transparent, and my unruly red hair loose about my face.
Neil did not look away. He
held my gaze for what seemed forever, as the hot colour flamed to my face
and my traitorous limbs turned to water and I could not move. Then he
smiled, his teeth showing very white in his dark face, and raised a hand in
deliberate greeting.
Suddenly freed from the
captivity of his gaze, I stumbled back from the window and closed the
shutters with such a sharp snap that I almost pulled them from their
hinges. I realised I was shaking. Of all the foolish, immodest and
downright dangerous things to do, leaning from my window like a wanton
Juliet! I should have realised that someone might see me. I should have
thought how abandoned I would look. But the trouble with me, as I already
knew, was that I almost always acted first and thought later.
There was a knock at the
door. Assuming that it was Mrs Campbell, come to help me with my laces, I
went across and opened it.
Neil Sinclair stood there. I
realised that he had come directly up to my chamber. Though I had been
thinking of him only a moment before, I could not have been more shocked had
it been Mrs Campbell herself running down the inn corridor in her shift.
Before I could prevent it,
he stepped inside the room and closed the door.
I found my voice – and
grabbed my gown to my chest to cover my near-nakedness.
“What do you think you are
doing, sir? Leave this room at once!”
He smiled again, that lazy
intimate smile that had such a distressing effect on my equilibrium. I felt
my legs tremble a little.
“Do not be afraid, Miss
Balfour,” he said. “I merely wish to speak to you.”
“This,” I said, “is not the
time nor the place to talk, sir. You are no gentleman to stand there staring
at a lady in a state of undress!”
He gave me a comprehensively
assessing glance that started on my heated face and ended with my bare feet
and he made no attempt whatsoever to disguise the fact that he was enjoying
looking.
“No gentleman perhaps,” he
murmured, “but a man nonetheless.”
My hands clenched on my
gown. I would have slapped his face to emphasise my point except that that
would have necessitated dropping the garment and revealing even more of
myself to his gaze. I was not exactly over-endowed with a bosom but there
was enough of it that I did not wish to expose it to him. And whilst I
hesitated with this ridiculous dilemma of to slap or not to slap, he spoke
again.
“And I am beginning to think
that you are no true lady, Miss Balfour.”
I froze, astounded. “I
beg your pardon, Sir?”
“No lady would see fit to
undress and then lean from the window of a tavern in her shift like the
veriest wanton.”
I blushed hotly, the pink
colour flooding not only my face but prickling the skin of my chest and
shoulders as well. Having so pale a complexion can be such a curse.
“That was a mistake!” I said
furiously. “I did not realise-”
His dark brows rose in
quizzical amusement. “Indeed. You are wild, Miss Balfour, whether you
realise it or not.”
We stared at one another
whilst the air between us seemed to sing and hum with something I did not
understand. I was woefully inexperienced in the ways of men but I could see
the desire darkening his eyes and I could feel an answering warmth in the
pit of my stomach. I was shivering as though I had an ague, the goose
pimples rising on my bare skin, but at the same time I felt hotter that I
had ever felt before in my life. The fire hissed in the grate and the wind
battered at the window and I seemed sensitive to every sound and every
sensation and most particularly to the turbulent heat in Neil Sinclair’s
eyes.
“You need not travel on to
Glen Clair tomorrow,” Neil said softly. “There is nothing for you there.
Come with me to Edinburgh instead. You will have a house, with servants to
attend you and fine clothes and jewellery. I would come to you often.”
I drew a deep breath. My
heart was hammering. “Are you, by any chance, asking me to be your
mistress, Mr Sinclair?”
No doubt the Miss Bennies
would have collapsed with the vapours by now to be so treated, but even
though I had no practical experience I was not a sheltered lady who did not
know what went on between a man and a woman. Living in a small village one
became aware of such matters. Besides, I was as blunt spoken as any man.
A disturbingly sensuous
smile curled Neil Sinclair’s lips. “Would that be so very bad, Miss Balfour?
I am offering you a comfortable home instead of a ruin in the back of beyond
with relatives who do not want you.”
“You are not offering it for
nothing!” I snapped.
His smile deepened. He put
out a hand and touched my cheek gently. I was so shocked at the physical
contact that I jumped.
“All I ask in return,” he
said, “is something that should be intensely pleasurable for both of us.”
Once again I felt that jolt
deep inside me, the tug of desire that had me thinking all kinds of wanton
thoughts. I swallowed hard and pushed away the heated images of lust and
loving.
“I thought,” I said, “that
you did not even like me very much.”
I saw something primitive
and strong flare in his eyes, scorching me.
“Then you know little of
men, Miss Balfour,” he said. His tone had roughened. “I wanted you from the
first moment I saw you.”
“Which was only yesterday,”
I said.
“Sometimes it does not take
very long to know.”
I spoke slowly. “You think
me wild?”
His eyes were very dark. His
hand fell to my bare shoulder, his touch light as feathers brushing the
skin, and I shivered all the harder. He traced a line down my arm from the
hollow of my collarbone to the sensitive skin of my wrist where the pulse
hammered hard.
“You are as fierce as a
highland cat and with me you could always be as wild as your nature leads
you to be.”
His words, so softly spoken
and so intimate – so perilously tempting - made my stomach clench tight but
even so, I knew that I had to stop this. Already, in my naivety and accursed
curiosity, I had let it go on far too long. I should have thrown him out of
my chamber within a minute instead of allowing myself to be drawn in. The
difficulty, the danger, was that Neil Sinclair was right. I was wild.
I always had been. He had had my measure from the start.
My wayward mind whispered
that it would be exciting, deliciously enjoyable, to be Neil’s mistress. My
knees threatened to give way completely at the mere thought of him seducing
me. I realised with a shock that I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
But I was not stupid. I
would not trade my good name to be a rich man’s mistress, with my body
entirely at his disposal. I would not do it even for those mysterious and
seductive pleasures he promised me. Yes, I concede – I was tempted. Very
well, I was greatly tempted, to within an inch of accepting. But…
