The Seduction of Elliot McBride

Chapter 17

Juliana watched Elliot come, her feelings a mixture of anger and relief. The shot that had awakened her at dawn had terrified her. Mahindar and Hamish had gone to investigate and returned saying they’d found nothing. No Elliot, no intruder, no bag of food, nothing.

Juliana had not been able to sleep again, fearing bloodshed and Elliot gone forever. Now she was sandy-eyed and a bit annoyed that Elliot should stroll casually through the garden gate as though nothing was wrong.

As Elliot neared her, Juliana admitted even in her anger that in the foreign clothes Elliot lookedquite delectable. His tanned skin gave him an exotic touch, and the trousers, hugging him to his ankles, outlined every muscle of leg and buttock. The short jacket gaped open over a thin white shirt, which fit snugly to his tanned chest.

Juliana cleared her throat. “Good morning, Elliot.”

Elliot lowered the rifle and stood its butt on the ground. “You’re out early.”

“I was awakened early. By a shot.”

He nodded. “That was me. But the only casualty was a bit o’ twine.”

Juliana closed her eyes, letting out her pent-up breath. “Elliot.”

Elliot touched her cheek, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, his gray eyes warm. “There was no need to worry, lass. I’m very good at taking care of myself.”

“That might be true, but…”

“I hoped I’d find you in bed.”

Juliana’s heart jumped then settled down to a hurried thrum. She tried to shrug. “Vegetables still grow in this garden. They’ve gone a bit wild, but they’re here. I thought I’d gather some. To help Mahindar cooking for everyone.”

Babbling helped, but she could not stop gazing at his taut thighs and the thick bulge the trousers didn’t bother to hide.

Elliot waited until she’d run down. “Where is Priti?”

“With Mahindar. Helping him with the goat.”

“Make sure she stays with him or his family every moment of the day and night. Is Hamish here?”

“Banging around in the scullery. I don’t think he ever sleeps.”

“He’s a lad.” Elliot rubbed his chin, where golden whiskers had sprouted in abundance. “But I’ll draw my own bath. Never mind.”

Elliot made no move to go inside, however. He remained on the path, his hands on the barrel of his rifle.

“Elliot, you do know there is a dog following you, don’t you?”

The red setter had sat down a few feet behind Elliot. When it saw Juliana looking at it, its tail thumped against the path.

Elliot glanced at it and the tail thumped double time. “She’s one of McPherson’s. She must be after more ham.”

“Ham again? You’re becoming quite obsessed with it.”

“’Twas the same ham. I fed it to McPherson’s dogs.”

“So that’s where you got off to so early? Fetching it?”

“Watching to see who took it. But no one did. I decided the dogs might as well enjoy it.”

“Then you were mistaken about Mr. Stacy,” Juliana said. “He isn’t here.”

Elliot shook his head. “I’m not mistaken. My experiment proved it to me.”

“But if he didn’t come out for the food…”

“If the man lurking in the woods had been a tramp or a Romany, he’d have come for the food. Stacy knows better.”

“Oh.” Juliana’s nerves tightened again. “So by not seeing him, you know he is there.”

“Yes.”

Of course. So logical.

Elliot leaned to her, holding the rifle out of the way. His body heat touched her through his clothes, the cloth warmed by him. He kissed her, his unshaved whiskers rough on her lips, his skin smelling of wind, cold, and silk.

“Finish picking your vegetables,” he said. He kissed her forehead, lifted his gun, and strode into the house.

Juliana watched him go, the silk trousers clinging to the finest male backside God had ever created.

Elliot, knees drawn to his chest in the old tin bathtub, scooped water into the brass bowl and poured it over his head. Warm water rained down his neck and back, washing away dirt and suds.

He felt the draft though he hadn’t heard the door opening over the sound of the water. His head was bent over his knees, and he didn’t look up. He scooped up more water, his skin heating as he poured the water down his back.

“Come in, Juliana.”

The door closed, the draft vanishing. “How did you know it was me?”

He’d know her anywhere, anytime. “I recognize your step. I know what everyone’s sounds like.”

“I admit, there’d be no mistaking Hamish.”

No, she certainly wasn’t Hamish. As soon as Elliot had heard her walk into the room, as soon as her sweet scent had come to him on the draft, his erection had climbed high and stayed there.

Damn Stacy. Elliot could have spent the whole night wrapped around Juliana instead of sitting in a tree looking for the man.

Elliot’s eyes were tired from lack of sleep, and his fingers were starting to shrivel from the water, but his cock was plenty awake.

He lifted his hand from the water, letting a stream of droplets fall on the rugs Mahindar had shoved around the bath. Elliot took Juliana’s hand and placed it on his cheek.

“I’ve shaved,” he said. “Not so much a barbarian anymore.”

Her cheeks went pink. “I like you a barbarian.”

Elliot’s body went tight, and his cock was in danger of poking its way out of the water.

Juliana traced his cheekbone then moved her finger down to his lips. Elliot opened his mouth and gently bit her fingertip.

Juliana started, but she didn’t pull away. She watched in fascination as Elliot closed his lips around her finger and sucked.

“Please tell me,” she said, her eyes still on his mouth, “what happened to you in India. I want to understand.”

The trickle of good heat in Elliot’s veins started to ebb. He released her finger. “Not now.”

“This isn’t a whim of mine. I came up here on purpose to ask you.”

Elliot returned his hand to the side of the tub and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to go back there. I want to be here. With you.”

“I won’t insist on any detail that is too upsetting for you. But I want to know the gist. Please, husband. Let me understand.”

The word husband made the heat return. But Elliot’s fingers bit down on the tin bath, muscles bracing. “Mahindar…”

“I do not want to ask Mahindar. I want you to tell me.”

Elliot pried his eyes open but slid down to let his head rest on the back of the tub. “Why?”

“Because Mahindar knows only the story you told him. I’m certain you left things out.”

“Mmm. Probably.”

Juliana put her hand on her chest, over her heart. Her wet hand seeped a damp handprint onto her blue bodice. “I know what you experienced was terrible. I know it will hurt your pride to talk about such things with your wife…”

Elliot laughed, letting his eyes drift closed again. “Pride? Pride was ripped away from me a long time ago. Pride is worth nothing. Nothing…”

The word spun the cold of the mountains toward him, the sound of gunfire, the endless skirmishes between people who cared nothing for borders drawn by governments—theirs or that of the British Raj. Elliot hid in a crevice in the rock, next to Stacy, neither man worried. They’d be able to slip away in the darkness, back down the hills to safer ground. Served them right for not checking local gossip first.

Then there had been the families. The two stupid Englishmen and their wives in their topees, bringing their children and a few Hindu servants with them to explore paths Alexander the Great had trod.

Stupid Englishmen who thought the color of their skin and their nationality would save them. They’d been cut off from retreat down the pass, targeted by one of the tribes who didn’t give a donkey’s balls about their nationality. The tribal men had lived in their rock fortresses in the hills for centuries—even Alexander, one of the greatest generals in written history, had turned back from them.

Elliot remembered the fear, the screams of the women, the cries of the children. He and Stacy had come out of hiding and cleared the way down the pass. He’d told the idiots to run—slow, too slow.

Shots had rung out, and one of the ladies had been hit. Only wounded, by the grace of God, but her terrified screams had split Elliot’s ears for a long time to come.

He and Stacy had held a hurried conversation, deciding their strategy. They had to be drastic to get away at all. Elliot would hold down the tribesmen with his repeating Winchester, while Stacy herded the English families down the hill. Stacy would return when they reached safe ground, and cover Elliot’s retreat.

Only Stacy had never come back. Elliot had held off the tribesmen for a long time, they determined to get the crazy shooter in the pass. But finally, Elliot had run short of ammunition, and the tribesmen had overwhelmed him.

Elliot’s hands burned again as they wrenched away the rifle. They spit at him and called him a coward, then wiped the blood of their fallen comrades on him and tried to kick him to death. Stacy was gone, and rescue would not come.

Elliot flinched as the blows came down, feet and sticks, the butt of his own rifle.

His thrashing tossed water onto the floor, and Juliana’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Elliot.”

He opened his eyes to Scottish sunlight, tepid bathwater, Juliana sliding her arms around him from behind.

Juliana didn’t ask why he’d started fighting, nor did she demand him to tell her what he’d remembered. She simply held him, never minding that her sleeves were getting all wet, the blue broadcloth becoming dark with water.

Elliot turned his head and kissed her cheek, liking how her breath felt cool on his damp skin. The screams, shots, and enraged shouts of men faded, to be replaced by the quiet sound of his lips on hers.

He reached his very wet hand up to undo the buttons of her bodice, but his fingers were too slick. “Take this off,” he said, tugging a button.

Her eyes widened. “Right now?”

“You charged in here while I was in my bath.” Where Elliot couldn’t walk away from her. “What did you think I’d do?”

He drew his finger down her closed placket, finding the damp spot where she’d pressed her hand. Her shoulder was also dark with water from where he’d rested his head.

“I am rather wet, aren’t I?”

Juliana undid the first two buttons of the bodice, and Elliot’s erection returned, harder than ever.

“Stand up,” he said. “Bare yourself for me. I want to watch you.”

Juliana’s face flooded with color, but she rose, fingers still on her buttons. “Only a very wicked woman would do such a thing.”

“Only wicked if the man is not her husband.” Elliot laced his fingers behind his head, the warmth in his blood hotter now than the water. “But you’re wicked, lass. You sat on a man’s lap, in a chapel, and told him to marry you.”

“That was not quite how it happened.”

“’Tis how I remember it, love. Go on. Unbutton.”

Elliot rested his hands on the sides of the tub again, but this time, his fingers were relaxed, warm.

Juliana, after a little hesitation, popped another button of her bodice. The linen corset cover beneath had a bow at the neckline, so fetching. Elliot watched her fingers, which trembled a little, as she unbuttoned the bodice all the way down.

“Take it off,” he said.

Juliana slid the bodice from her body and draped it over a chair. Her arms were bare, the corset hugging her breasts and waist.

“Keep going,” Elliot said.

Juliana flushed, pink spreading from her cheeks all the way down her neck. In addition to the ten freckles on her nose, freckles also ran down her throat to her chest, the pattern forming a point between her breasts. The blush emphasized it.

She unhooked the corset cover and reached behind her to unlace the corset. That came off—she exhaled in relief—to reveal the little top of her combinations.

“The skirt as well?” she asked, setting aside the corset.

“And the petticoats and whatever contraption you’re wearing beneath.”

“I have to wear at least a small bustle with this, or the dress will sag.” Juliana unhooked and untied the skirt from around her waist and pulled it away. She untied and stepped out of the petticoats as well as the bustle.

She stood bare but for her combinations, stockings, and low-heeled shoes. Her hand went to the fastenings of her combinations. “Shall I take this off too?”

Elliot’s memories shot back to a time when he’d been painfully young and shipping back to India after brief leave. He and his mates had ended up at a cabaret in Marseilles, where young ladies pranced about a stage in their underwear and called out, “What shall we take off next, messieurs?”

That glimpse of blatant sin had been nowhere near as erotic as Juliana in her combinations shyly asking, Shall I take this off too?

“Shoes and stockings,” Elliot said. His entire body was at peace, except for his cock, which was rigid as a maypole. But, after all, what did a maypole represent?

“Oh yes.” Juliana slid out of her sturdy workday shoes and slipped off her stockings.

“That’s enough,” Elliot said when she finished. “Come here.”

Juliana walked hesitantly to the tub. One step, two, three…

Elliot reached out, hooked his arm around her waist, and pulled her down to him.

No squealing when she got wet. Juliana laughed.

Her laughter was so dear to him. The fact that she laughed with him, better still.

Elliot pulled her all the way into the tub, onto his lap with its stiff erection, closing his arms around her and holding her close.

Juliana leaned against him and decided that Elliot wet was a grand sight. His eyelashes were beaded with water, his hair darker gold with it. From behind his lashes his light gray eyes were almost silver, his look heating her even in the cooling water.

Water droplets glistened on his shoulders and beaded in the hollow of his throat, sliding over the lines of his tattoo. Water curled the hair on his chest, darkening the golden strands.

Elliot stroked her with big hands through her wet combinations, molding her waist, her back, up under her breasts. His eyes were heavy with his lack of sleep, but his touch was sure and strong.

He cradled her in his hands, thumbs moving along her jaw to tilt her head back. He kissed her lips, his tongue taking the water from them.

Juliana lightly licked his cheekbone, liking the way her touch drew color across his tanned skin. He caught her mouth with his again, his kiss turning deeper, less playful.

She was soaking wet, her combinations forming to her body, the thin lawn hiding nothing.

Elliot slid his hands over her, cupping her breasts, her nipples tight against his palms. He kissed her with slow deliberation, a man seeking comfort.

He was aroused, the blunt hardness of his cock a firm line. Juliana wriggled against it, liking the feel of it.

“Wicked lass,” Elliot whispered.

He skimmed his hands down her waist, tugging open her drawers and peeling them from her body. The drawers landed with a wet splat outside the tub.

There wasn’t room for Elliot to make love to her here. He kissed her again, licking the water from her lips, stroking into her mouth. Juliana rubbed his slippery shoulders to his back, pulling him to her for a harder kiss.

Elliot’s hands went everywhere—her thighs, buttocks, waist, breasts. He kissed her with longing, lips caressing then commanding.

He was lifting her up, up, rising out of the tub with her. Water crashed from their bodies back into the bathtub and all over the floor. Elliot pushed Juliana’s camisole up and off, pulling her naked, wet body against his.

More kisses, Elliot lifting her against him, cradling her buttocks with one arm, while he hungrily took her mouth. He locked her legs around him, the ridge of his arousal nestled against her thigh, and stepped out of the tub.