Drew accompany her, she had yoked him to her quest. She knew he didn’t believe in Papa’s innocence. She knew he was only here because he loved her, more than he ought to do and far more than she deserved.
And because of that—because of her—he had thrown away his good name and sterling reputation.
A gentleman had fled town with a woman suspected of helping a wanted criminal escape justice. An officer in the English army had attacked and subdued officers of the law. The heir to a dukedom was probably wanted on charges in Edinburgh right now, and his disgrace would hurt not only him but his family, his mother and sisters, whose approval and affection Ilsa had yearned for so desperately.
She wondered what the very proper English duchess at Carlyle Castle would say when she heard about Drew’s actions. Then she shivered and thought no, she would prefer not to know. It was bad enough thinking what Mrs. St. James would say. Ilsa’s throat tightened as she remembered how it had felt to think that she might have a mother in her life, in those few halcyon days before Papa’s fall from grace shattered her world.
And that exposed the most painful thought, the one that had been festering in her mind since Dunbar. She had told herself Papa was innocent, that these charges were lies from front to back, that when she found her father, he would confidently assert his innocence and explain his disappearance in some of the same terms Winnie had used: he had left town to avoid being unjustly accused; he had gone to amass evidence proving his defense; he planned a triumphant return with the forces of truth and justice on his side.
But now . . . she was not so certain.
Drew’s questions, which she had dismissed with such scorn, had privately unsettled her. Would Papa want to be found? Why hadn’t he reassured her and Jean before he left? Why had he left at all? What had he meant by that horribly guilty letter?
What if he weren’t entirely innocent?
What if he weren’t innocent at all?
What if she had lured Drew into ruin and disgrace for a lie?
She loved him more than anything in the world—more than Robert, more than Papa, more than her independence. And she had ruined him.
The door opened behind her, and Drew came in with a package under one arm. Ilsa clasped her arms to her chest; while he was out taking care of things, she had been lying in the cooling water staring at the ceiling. “You’re back,” she murmured.
“Aye.” He set the package on the bed. “A dress and unmentionables. Not very fine ones,” he said with a note of apology. “I’ve scant experience buying ladies’ garments.”
She felt sick but made herself smile. “I gave my clothes to the maid to wash. Anything clean will be a luxury. Thank you.”
His mouth quirked. “Since I made you send everything else back to Edinburgh, ’twas the least I could do.”
He had done that so they could escape the sheriff-officers sent to arrest her. Ilsa put her hands on the edge of the tub and got to her feet. “I don’t mind.”
His gaze seared her from head to toe. “If you need anything else,” he said in a low, gravelly voice, “tell me.”
There wasn’t another man in the world equal to him. No one else would have done what he had done for her, even when he thought her conclusions were wrong and her quest was doomed and it would cost him dearly.
Ilsa stepped out of the tub. “There is one thing . . .” She crossed the room toward him, water trickling down her bare body. She stopped in front of him and slid her hands up his broad chest, pushing the dust-covered jacket from his shoulders. With steady hands she unbuckled his belt and pulled the plaid free, letting it fall. She undid his neckcloth and the buttons of his shirt before stripping that off him, too.
He stood rigidly, his breath uneven. “Ilsa, you must be exhausted,” he tried to say, but she put her finger on his lips.
“This is what I need,” she said, and pushed him with her fingertips toward the bed. Without resistance he sank onto the mattress, falling back on his elbows, his eyes burning as he watched her.
I know this cannot last, she thought as she went down on her knees. I know he’s not for me. She dragged her fingertips down his stomach, taking