Jennifer Ashley - The Seduction of Elliot McBride

Juliana sank to the pew again, at the end of it, beyond his feet. High in the tower of the main church, bells rang, striking the hour.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in there, lass?” Elliot asked. He removed a flask from his coat and sipped from it, but unlike Cameron, he didn’t offer her any. “Getting married to whatever his name is?”

“Grant Barclay. I was to have been Mrs. Grant Barclay.”

The flask stopped halfway to his mouth. “Was to have been? Did you jilt the whey-faced bastard, then?”

“No,” Juliana said. “Apparently, yesterday, he eloped with his piano teacher.”

It was all too much. Strange laughter welled up inside her and came pealing out of her mouth. Not quite hysterics, but a hearty laugh she couldn’t stop.

Elliot lay still, like an animal deciding whether to attack or run. Poor Elliot. What must he make of a woman who’d jolted him out of his sleep by plopping down on him and then laughing uncontrollably because her fiancé had abandoned her?

Juliana’s laughter eased off, and she wiped her eyes with her fingertips. Her dark red hair was tumbling down, one of the yellow roses Ainsley had tied into it falling to her lap. “Stupid flowers.”

Elliot sat frozen, his hand gripping the back of the pew so hard he was surprised the wood didn’t splinter. He watched as Juliana laughed, as her glorious hair fell to her bared shoulders. She smiled though her blue eyes were wet, and the hands that plucked the flower from her lap were long fingered and trembling.

Elliot wanted to put his arms around her and cradle her close. There now, he’d say. You’re better off without the idiot. An even stronger instinct made him want to go find Grant Barclay and shoot him for hurting her.

But Elliot knew that if he made the mistake of touching Juliana, he wouldn’t stop at comfort. He’d tilt her head back and kiss her lips, as he’d done at her debut ball, the night she’d permitted the one kiss.

They’d both been eighteen. Before Elliot had gone to hell and back, that chaste kiss would have been enough for him. This time, it would not be enough, not by a long way.

He’d kiss down her pretty throat to her bosom, nuzzle her gown’s neckline with its points of lace, and feather kisses to her shoulders. Then he’d lick his way back up to her ripe lips, seam them with his tongue, coax her to let him inside.

He’d kiss her with long, careful kisses, tasting the goodness of her mouth while he held her and did not let her go.

Elliot would want to take everything, because Lord only knew when he’d have the chance again. A broken man learned to savor what he could when he had the opportunity.

“It will stay with me forever,” Juliana was saying. “Poor Juliana St. John. Don’t you remember? She’d already put on her wedding clothes and gone to the church, poor darling.”

What did a man say to a woman in this state? Elliot wished for the eloquence of his barrister brother, who stood up in court and made elegant speeches for a living. Elliot could only ever speak the truth.

“Let them say it, and to the devil with them.”

Juliana gave him a sad smile. “The world is very much about what they say, my dear Elliot. Perhaps it’s different in India.”

Dear God, how could anyone think that? “The rules there are damn strict. You can die—or get someone else killed—by not knowing them.”

Juliana blinked. “Oh. Very well, I concede that such a thing sounds worse than people expecting me to hide in shame and knit socks for the rest of my life.”

“Why the devil should you knit socks? Do what you like.”

“Very optimistic of you. Not fair to me, but I’m afraid I will be talked about for a long while now. And I am now on the shelf. Thirty years old, and no longer an ingénue. I know that women do all sorts of things these days besides marry, but I am too old to attend university, and even if I did, my father would die of shame that I was such a bluestocking. I was raised to pour tea, organize fêtes, and say correct things to the vicar’s wife.”

Her words slid over Elliot without him registering them, her musical voice soothing. He lay back and let her talk, realizing he’d not felt so at ease in a long while.

If I could listen to her forever, if I could drift into the night hearing her voice, I might get well again.

No, nothing would be well, never again, not after the things he’d seen and done, and what had been done to him. He’d thought that once he took refuge in Scotland again, it would stop. The dreams, the waking terrors, the utter darkness when time passed and he knew nothing of it. But it hadn’t, and he’d known he had to put the next part in his plan to work.

Juliana was studying him, her blue eyes clear like a summer lake. The beauty of her, the memory of those eyes, had sustained him for a long time in the dark.

Sometimes he’d dreamed she was with him, trying to wake him, her dulcet voice filling his ears. Come on, now, Elliot. You must wake up. My kite’s tangled in a tree, and you’re the only one tall enough to get it down.

He remembered the day when he’d first realized what he felt for her—they must both have been about sixteen. She’d been flying a kite for children of her father’s friends, and Elliot had come to watch. He’d retrieved the kite from a tree for her and earned a red-lipped smile, a soft kiss on his cheek. From that day forward, he’d been lost.

“Elliot, are you awake?”

His eyes had drifted closed on memories, and now Juliana’s voice blended with the remembered dream. He pried his eyes open. “I think so.”

“You did not hear me, did you?” Her face was pink in the dim light.

“Sorry, lass. I’m a bit drunk.”

“Good. Not that you’re drunk, but that you didn’t hear me. Never mind. It was a foolish idea.”

He opened his eyes wider, his brain coming alert. What the hell had he missed?

The darkness did that to him sometimes. Elliot could slide past large portions of conversation without noticing he had done so. He’d come back to himself realizing people were waiting for his response and wondering what was the matter with him. Elliot had decided that avoiding people and conversation was the best solution.

With Juliana, he wanted to know. “Tell me again.”

“I don’t think I ought. If it were a cracking-good idea, you’d have leapt on it at once. As it is…”

“Juliana, I swear to you…I drift in and out. I want to hear your cracking-good idea.”

“No, you don’t.”

Females. Even ones he’d been secretly in love with for years could drive him insane.

Elliot sat up and moved closer to her, his feet on the floor. He stretched his arm along the back of the pew, not touching her but close enough to feel her warmth. “Juliana, tell me, or I’ll tickle you.”

“I’m not eight years old anymore, Elliot McBride.”

He wanted to laugh at her haughty tone. “Neither am I. When I say tickle, I no longer mean what I did then.” He touched her bare shoulder with one finger.

A mistake. The contact shot heat up his arm and straight into his heart.

Her lips were close to his, lush and ripe. She had faint freckles across her nose, ten of them. She’d always had them, had always tried to rid herself of them, but to Elliot, every one was kissable.

Her eyes went still, and her voice was a whisper of breath. “What I asked, Elliot, was whether you would marry me.”

Elliot sat still, his eyes as gray as winter skies and just as cold.

Juliana realized that, when she’d blurted her question, she’d been thinking of Elliot, the teasing, warm-eyed young man of her youth. This Elliot McBride was a stranger. His light hair had been cropped close, his face hard, and thin scars laced his cheek.

This Elliot had tracked and killed other men, had been captured and held prisoner for so long that they’d all feared him dead. The ten months he’d been missing had been the worst of Juliana’s life. He’d returned to his brother’s house for a time to recover, but Juliana had not seen him. He’d visited no one, had let no one visit him, and had disappeared back to India again.

“As I say, a foolish idea,” Juliana said quickly. “You look a bit green, Elliot, so never mind. I didn’t mean to frighten the life out of you. Return to your cozy doze.”

Elliot’s gaze flicked to the bare altar and back to her, his fingers at her back hot in this chill place. “Not so foolish. I think it a grand idea.”

“Truly, pretend I said nothing. You didn’t hear me the first time anyway.”

Elliot moved his hand to cup her shoulder through the satin, his strength rippling heat through her too-cold body. “I cannae pretend I didn’t hear the second time, lass.”

“Well, I take it back. I shall remove to my father’s house and start returning the gifts. I kept meticulous notes, as I always do. Gemma smiles at me for my lists and notes, but she will thank me for them now.”

Her smile was wide, her eyes too bright, and Elliot’s heart beat so hard he was surprised it didn’t echo in the quietness.

He wanted to charge out of the pew shouting for joy, tow Juliana back into the church, and command the minister to get on with the ceremony. His family and Juliana’s were residents of this parish, they were both of marriageable age, and there would be no impediment. He knew people who could issue a new license quickly, and it would be done.