In that moment, he had only one desire, and that was to plow into her, cock strong and sure.
Chapter Eight
IANreacted quickly before baser instincts could take hold. He rolled away from her and rose to his feet, careful to keep his back to her.
He focused on the outside. The rain had stopped and the early morning smelled clean. Heavy fog floated across the ground, and there was a bit of a nip in the air.
He struggled for sanity. He counted to one hundred, thought of the names ofallthe members of his family alive and dead, and started in on the sixty-three initial clauses in the Magna Carta before realizing sanity wasn’t coming.
Lust still reigned supreme.
“Mr. Campion?” She still wasn’t quite awake, still didn’t know his reaction to her. Was still sleepily sensual. Warm. Inviting—
“Stay here. I’ll be back. In a moment.”
He strode off through the wet grass. Thick fog meant there had to be water somewhere, and his prayers were answered as he stepped through a parting of the trees and found himself on the edge of a good-size lake. Ian walked straight for it, tossing off his coat, pulling off his shirt, unbuttoning his breeches, kicking off his boots, and shaking off his socks until he was naked as the day he was born, and dove in.
The water was freezing—and exactly what he needed.
He planted his feet on the soft, muddy bottom and lifted his head and upper body out, gasping for air. All thoughts of Miss Harrell’s breasts, her warm, round buttocks, and his strong desire for both were shocked out of his system.
A shiver went through him and he lowered in the water as he watched tendrils of fog floating across the surface of the lake. His body adjusted to the icy temperature and he took off swimming, needing the exercise while he came to terms with what had happened.
He’d fallen asleep on watch.
He’dneverfallen asleep on watch.
Pulling his arms through the water, he feared what it meant. He was losing the honed edge, the hardness, and he couldn’t afford to,not with so much at stake.
But then, everything he touched, he seemed to destroy—starting with his own youthful ideals years ago. He’d had to flee college, his studies, and his father’s plans for his future.
Then had come the army. He’d hidden from the English right under their own noses. What he hadn’t anticipated was for his brothers-in-law to die. It had been a stupid waste and he was tired. Bloody tired.
But he couldn’t give up yet. Not with Fiona, Janet, and their children needing him.
Ian lost himself in the rhythmic movement of his arms. He could have swam forever. Instead, he turned and headed back to shore, the angry voices in his head growing less powerful, until he could live with himself again.
And what of Miss Harrell?
The simple task of fetching her for her father was taking on Herculean proportions, and it wasn’t just because there was a group of murderers after her.
No, it was because she reminded him of the man he could have been. A man who could have presented himself to her. Who could have wooed and won her, even as an Irishman.
Instead, now, he was the outlaw, the pariah, the outcast. It wasn’t so bad for himself, except he’d taken his family’s honor with him.
Ian quit swimming and, curling himself into a ball, floated a moment, letting the water carry him.
His father had always boasted that Ian was like a fish in water. Floating, Ian thought he could hear echoes of his father’s voice in the murky silence of the lake…and his mother quietlyanswering him. They’d both been so proud of him, even when his youthful arrogance had cost them all they’d owned.
He shut his mind, not wanting the memories. The past was behind him. He’d learned long ago he could not dwell on it. If he did, he might go mad.
There was only one choice before him. He had to see Miss Harrell safe and collect his money. Money meant freedom and he desperately wanted to be free of his past. Somewhere in this world was a place where a man could be who and what he was. He’d find it—and not let them break him.
Nor would he allow an idealistic bluestocking with uncertainty in her eyes and a taste for adventure lure him into making another grave mistake.
Ian Campion knew who he was. He was far from perfect, but he’d promised himself long ago he’d live life according to his own dictates.
He straightened his legs and stood, throwing his head back and letting the water run in rivulets down his chest and the flat expanse of his abdomen. The sun was burning off the fog and gilding the tops of the trees surrounding the lake. The chill in the morning air hit his warm muscles and he felt clean and whole again. He had direction—
