Chapter Seven #3
“Portugal. I knew the fighting would be brutal. I wanted them both to remain back. They didn’t need to be in the first assault.”
“But you were there,” she said, instinctively understanding. “How could you expect them to stay behind?”
“I knew what I was doing,” came his answer. “They didn’t.
“Of course, it’s my fault they were even there,” he said “Their only reason for joining the army was because I was going.”
“Were they not grown men and capable of making their own decisions?”
“They were followers. Whatever I did, they did. It’d been like that all our lives. I knew it…and in truth, I encouraged them. I had to go; they didn’t…but I didn’t want to go alone, you see?” He shook his head. “They should have stayed in Ireland.”
There was guilt in his voice and a touch of shame, too. The raw emotions touched her deeply. “Sometimes we can’t do what is prudent,” she whispered. “Sometimes we must just leap into life.”
He made a low hum of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. “Is that why you’ve run away, Miss Harrell? You are taking a ‘leap’ into life?”
Lyssa didn’t know if she wanted the conversation shifted to herself, especially by this man who had more layers to him than one would first suspect. Layers her always active curiosity could not resist. “Why did you leave Ireland?”
“That’s my tale, Miss Harrell, and not one I share.”
The rebuke stung, especially since she felt she’d been open about her dreams and motives.
Nor was she one to give up. “So, if you have turned your back on Ireland and choose not to live in England, then where will you go?”
“The Americas. British America or a place called Maryland. I don’t care. I’ll go where the land is plentiful and cheap.”
Land he would buy with the money from her father. In fact, she could see many similarities between Mr. Campion and her father. Both were men who went after what they wanted. Some thought such single-minded tenacity a disparaging trait, but not Lyssa. She’d cut her teeth on it.
The rain had let up a bit, its gentle sound calming. For a long moment she listened, wishing she could be like Mr. Campion and travel wherever her will took her. She turned to him—and with a start realized he’d fallen asleep.
He would not be pleased, and yet she did not wake him. Leaning closer until she could make out his features, she was struck by how much younger he looked when he wasn’t scowling.
A low snore rattled in his throat and his head fell at an awkward angle. He’d be awake in a thrice in this position, and she didn’t want him to wake.
No, he needed this sleep. She understood that now. Much of his frustration with her had been from the lack of it.
She would keep watch. Then he’d know how truly sorry she was for the trouble she’d caused him—and would cause him when she refused to return to London.
Lyssa knew what it meant to have a dream, and she regretted that in reaching hers, she would deny him his. “I can’t go back to London with you,” she said quietly. He slept on, peaceful…and this was the way she wanted him to stay.
She lightly pushed on his shoulder and his sleep-deprived body needed no more urging to lie down on the hard earth. She moved so his long legs could stretch out and he appeared more comfortable.
Of course, he was a big man and there wasn’t much room in the shelter for her. She managed to wiggle a space for herself by the bend in his knees.
A lock of his hair fell forward over his eyes. For a second, she was tempted to push it back, but she didn’t.
In fact, she’d already dared too much. He would not be pleased in the morning, still he needed sleep.
Squaring her shoulders, she was determined to keep watch. Then he’d know she wasn’t as pampered and spoiled as he obviously thought her.
Ian woke slowly, not completely grasping his surroundings.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and yet he’d had the sweetest dream. He’d dreamed his body had been curled around a soft, beautiful woman and his sleep had been deep. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman—too long, and his body was painfully aware of the fact.
Now, as he slowly came to his senses, he realized it had stopped raining. Dawn was just breaking. The birds were calling, and a squirrel sat not more than ten feet from where he lay and watched him with round, curious eyes.
Not only that, the woman hadn’t been a dream. Miss Harrell was snuggled up against him as trusting as a child, while his hand possessively covered her breast. His dick, as hard as a poker, was pressed against her bum.
All intelligence left his head. He couldn’t think, let alone move.
She was beautiful, with her red curls loose around her face and her cheeks rosy from sleep. She hummed a soft sigh and her lashes fluttered as she stretched and opened her eyes.
She smiled up at him, as lazy and supple as a cat…and then she turned toward his warmth, her breasts brushing against his chest.
Lust—strong, powerful, needy—shot through him.
In that moment, he had only one desire, and that was to plow into her, cock strong and sure.