Running into Temptation. Amanda McCabe
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eloped with handsome heroes did not feel so very…numb.
But then, was Philip Carrington truly hero material? She had been so sorely deceived once before, with Captain Whitney. Whitney had destroyed what little faith she had in men. But she hoped he had not destroyed her spirit.
In the giddy rush of that moment when David Marton burst into Philip’s room at the inn and caught her in Philip’s arms, Melanie had known all her practical plans of becoming Lady Marton of Rose Hill were gone. Yet somehow she hadn’t cared at all. Indeed, she had only felt—relieved. Free. And dizzy with the sheer, bubbling pleasure of Philip Carrington’s kiss. He was a most skillful kisser.
Melanie peeked at him from under her lashes. She suddenly felt remarkably shy for a woman who had run away so boldly with a man, but luckily he wasn’t watching her at the moment. He sat beside her on the seat of the hired carriage carrying them to Scotland, near but not touching, staring out the other window. She studied his profile against the pale yellow light, as strong and straight and perfect as some classical marble statue, and just as still and unreadable. The tumble of his golden hair fell over his brow and curled on the collar of his greatcoat. Yes—he did look like the romantic lover in a story. But how could the tale possibly end? In real life, romantic tales involving such men always ended badly. Look at her parents, at Captain Whitney.
She couldn’t see his eyes, so she had no clue what he thought about their impetuous act now. Was he deeply sorry he had asked her to go with him to Scotland to meet his rich uncle? Was he regretting the moment he kissed her and she, giddy with passion, had said yes? He had been remarkably silent on the journey thus far, and last night they had slept in separate rooms.
“Your romantic nature will get you into terrible trouble one day, Melanie,” her mother had said sadly as she packed her off from Bath after the catastrophic affair with Captain Whitney. It seemed Mama was horribly right, and now Melanie was utterly ruined.
Yet she would have done anything to escape from the stultifying tedium of her uncle’s house in that horrible little village. Where every day was the same as the one before, long, dull, never changing. She was losing herself there, losing the spark of excitement that made life worth living. Now she felt nothing but sparks.
Melanie studied Philip’s profile again, so handsome, so strong. Yes, her passion had steered her wrong before. But every day was a new day, at least away from the boring sameness of country life. Anything could happen now.
Especially once they crossed into Scotland. Gretna Green was there, just over the border….
Suddenly Philip turned to face her, as if he realized she was watching him. He studied her, his eyes narrowed, and she had the terrible, cold feeling that he had forgotten she was there. That he wondered why she was sitting next to him.
She pushed those misgivings away. It was too late for doubt now. She took another swallow of the whiskey and passed the flask back to him. He took a long drink of it and tucked it away.
Melanie gave a careless laugh, as if they were merely on a merry little jaunt to a summer picnic. “La, but I can’t believe we have come so far like this! It’s just like a voyage in a book.”
Finally, he laughed, too. It was a golden, wonderful sound, that warmed her even deeper than the whiskey. His eyes, those beautiful summer-blue eyes, cleared, and she saw the dashing, playful man she had been so irresistibly drawn to.
He reached for her hand and drew her close to his side. His arms were strong and warm when they slipped around her waist, his closeness reassuring. Surely sometimes her instincts steered her right? Surely she was meant to be here with this man? She looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him.
“It’s a grand adventure, Mel,” he said, his tone light. But she was afraid she sensed something taut and tense underneath his humor. “The best one I’ve undertaken in a long time.”
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