Weak with exhaustion, emotional, and chilled to the bone, Phoebe felt she’d gained a new chance at life once they pulled her out and sat her beside the well. Ian found her, saved her, but she knew she had enough life left in her to limp to the house on her own two feet.

But he wouldn’t allow it. Wrapping his coat around her, he then picked her up and carried her, holding her to his chest as if he would keep her there forever, just as he’d promised.

As they crossed the gardens at Bellhorne, servants ran from every direction to meet them. It was a spectacle, to be sure. Shouts rang out. Millie appeared and burst into tears before they reached the house. She acted as if her sister had been dead and was now brought back to life.

Phoebe didn’t want to think how close she’d come to giving up.

Everything around her was a blur, and the excitement moved her, but she wanted nothing more than to sink deeper into Ian’s embrace. His name was what she’d continuously intoned during those moments when all hope seemed lost.

All good things must come to an end, however. Once he carried her upstairs, her hero was pushed out of the room. In what seemed like an instant, Mrs. Hume and a number of maids stripped her out of her clothes, bathed her with warm water, dried her carefully, and tucked her into bed in a nightgown with a hot drink. Millie stayed with her, supervising and fussing over her every second. She was so weary and cold. She couldn’t warm up.

“The doctor will be coming up,” the housekeeper told them as she and the others went out.

“Mrs. Bell?” Phoebe asked her sister when they were alone. She could only imagine how upsetting the news of her disappearance could be to the woman. “I hope no one told her I was missing.”

“She and Mrs. Young were taken to the rectory.” Millie looked out the window at the early evening sky. “I don’t know what story Captain Bell came up with to send his mother away, but it was all arranged quickly and efficiently. I don’t believe she knows.”

Phoebe was relieved, but she had no more time to speak privately with her sister as there came a sharp knock at the door. Millie admitted a man who introduced himself as Dr. Thornton.

“So she’s alive,” he began, scowling at Phoebe from the darkening shadows by the door. “The instigator of this ruckus.”

Even if she knew the doctor well, his rudeness would not have been easily overlooked. Of average height, he carried himself like a man ready to do battle at any moment. His face was pockmarked and showed a number of whitish scars that stood out on his ruddy skin, but beyond that there was nothing distinctive about his features. Phoebe knew for certain she’d never met him. But the way he paused when he entered, staring at her before coming into the candlelight by the bed, made her wonder if they might indeed have been introduced before. Perhaps when Sarah was still alive, she thought.

Millie introduced the two of them, and the coolness in her tone indicated that she too was taken aback by the man’s behavior. The doctor, however, showed no awareness of how he was being perceived.

“I know well enough who you are.” He scowled at Phoebe as he checked her pulse and bent to inspect her face and eyes. “You’re guests here, and I don’t mind telling you that no good comes of taking liberties when you’re a stranger.”

She was no stranger to this house, not to the gardens and the grounds, and she was not taking any liberties. But as Phoebe began to reply to his impertinence, he picked up her hand, raised her elbow, and then proceeded to bend her arm in every possible manner until she gasped in pain. Apparently satisfied, he released it without ceremony. Turning to Millie—who hovered like a nervous mother and watched everything he did—he announced that nothing was broken, so far as he could tell, the heart was still beating, and her breathing was perfectly fine.

“I won’t know how badly the shoulder is bruised until the swelling recedes. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, we’ll have a better idea.”

Phoebe stretched her left arm and flexed her shoulder. It hurt more now after his abuse, but she wouldn’t complain to this man if the limb fell off and dropped onto the floor.

“So,” he said, looking at Phoebe, “in bringing chaos to the house, upsetting your hosts, and raising an uproar that caused men from two counties to leave their farms and join the search, the consequences of your irresponsible behavior are a few scratches on the side of your face.”

She was good at deflecting reprimands, but this man had a way of delivering a sharp jab, and he caught her off guard.

He shifted his attention again to Millie. “And the scratches will heal soon enough and leave no scars.”

“Doctor,” Millie began curtly, “I hope you know that my sister—”

“I know that being where she doesn’t belong and wandering alone in unfamiliar places are dangerous pastimes,” he said, cutting her off sharply and glaring at Phoebe. “If you saw the anguish you caused Captain Bell, after all he’s been through.”

“I didn’t . . .” Phoebe said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t go into that well . . .”

“No?” He turned on his heel. “Watch for bouts of hysteria in her,” he ordered Millie. “Forgetfulness, fever, confusion, or memory loss.”

None of which would be as disagreeable as enduring this man’s manner for even a moment longer.

The doctor started for the door. “Have Captain Bell send for me if any of those symptoms appear.” He stopped with his hand on the knob and frowned at Phoebe. “You’re lucky to be alive, young lady. Cherish this moment. Next time, no one may come around to save you.”

The physician’s words rang a warning bell. The push from behind. The way she’d been left. Whoever had done it assumed no one would ever find her, never mind save her.

The bedroom door closed behind Dr. Thornton, and Millie looked back at her with utter disbelief. “Have you ever known anyone more disagreeable?”

She had. Their father could be fairly disagreeable after one of their arguments. But the earl’s temper was generally justified.

Millie came to the side of the bed, fussing with the sheets and blankets. “You’re still shivering, and you’re very pale. You should try to eat something, and then sleep. I’m going to ask Mrs. Hume to send up some light supper. Would that be all right?”

Phoebe took her sister’s fluttering fingers in hers. She looked into grey eyes still red-rimmed from earlier tears. “I know you were frightened. I’m sorry.” She placed a kiss on the fingers. She hated seeing her younger sister upset like this.

“What happened to you?” Millie sat on the bed. “You’re adventurous but not clumsy. How is it possible you fell into a well? This is so unlike you.”

It was one thing to share her adventures and successes with her sister. It was quite something else to divulge the dangers. Just as she could not tell her what happened in the Vaults, Phoebe remained silent now.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she replied. “But would you ask Captain Bell to come and see me?”

“Of course.” She stood slowly. “I’ll fetch him now.”

Phoebe waited until her sister was at the door. “And Millie, if you please, I need to speak with him alone.”

* * *

“You have no reason to worry, Captain. Her ladyship is hearty enough. What’s a wee dunking to a lass her age?”

Standing in the gallery, Ian frowned at the doctor. Thornton was clearly working at being his most disagreeable tonight. If this was the way the man spoke to Phoebe, he decided, they’d better lock every door to the castle to keep her from running back to Edinburgh tonight.

“What about her fall? Her face is bruised. Her shoulder was injured.”

He waved a hand unconcernedly. “She’ll recover from her bumps and scratches in a day or two. I spoke to the sister about complications to look for, though I don’t see much possibility of anything developing.”

Ian walked him to the staircase and watched the doctor descend to the great hall. On occasions like this, he wondered if Thornton was worth the aggravation he left in his wake. Perhaps it was time to find a replacement for him. He shook his head. He couldn’t. Not after what he’d heard tonight.

His mother had returned from the rectory only minutes after he’d carried Phoebe back to the house. Thankfully, she’d gone straight to bed, unaware of the chaos that had taken place. Not long after, however, Ian had overheard bits and pieces of an argument in the great hall between Thornton and Alice.

It had been nearly three years since Alice arrived from Maryland, but Ian realized tonight he barely knew the woman. He’d been completely blind to the romantic triangle which had developed right under his nose. Thornton’s angry words were louder than Alice’s, but it was clear that his cousin had developed an unrequited affection for the minister while the doctor had been pursuing her to no avail.

Little wonder Thornton was more prickly and short-tempered than usual this evening.

Shaking off thoughts of other people’s problems, he made his way toward Phoebe’s room. The doctor’s assurance meant nothing. Ian found her in the well, and he saw how fragile and helpless she was while clutching his neck. He needed to see her himself and make sure she’d recovered as swiftly as Thornton seemed to think.

Millie appeared at the end of the hallway as he reached it. “Captain, I was coming to find you. My sister would very much like to speak with you, if you would.”

He had so much he wanted to say to her too. Those hours when she was missing had wreaked havoc in his mind. With every tick of the clock, Ian had imagined worse and worse things befalling her. He gestured for Millie to lead the way, but the young woman hesitated.

“I should like to visit your library and choose a book, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Please help yourself.”

“And after I find something to read,” she said, “I need to go down and ask Mrs. Hume to have a supper tray sent up for my sister.”

Ian started to ask if he could send someone to the kitchens for her when she stopped him.

“I know I’ve thanked you for saving my sister, but I cannot express to you the gratitude my family—”

“Please,” he said. “There is no need. I’m just so relieved this has all turned out as it has.”

Millie twisted a kerchief in her hands and disappeared in the direction of the library.

A few moments alone with Phoebe. He would not compromise her honor, but propriety was all but meaningless right now, considering the circumstances. Ian went swiftly down the corridor and knocked once. Hearing her reply, he stepped in, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Ian paused inside. Phoebe lay on the bed, propped up with pillows, blankets pulled up nearly to her chin. Waves of glorious dark hair spread out around her face. He silently cursed the doctor. Any fool could see from the pallid skin and bruised cheek, she’d been hurt.

“I know I must look a fright, but I feel quite well,” she whispered, freeing a hand from under the bedclothes and stretching it toward him.

Ian took one step, two . . . and then he couldn’t hold back, regardless of everything he’d ever been taught about gentlemanly behavior. He reached her side in an instant, and she sat up, opening her arms to him.

“Hold me, please. I cannot warm up.”

He was a lost man. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered her to his chest. Her left side had been bruised, and he was cautious of it. She pressed her face against his heart, and Ian caressed the silky softness of her hair. One hand moved down her back, and he rubbed the nightgown along her spine, trying to create warmth. She moved closer to him, and he felt her shivering.

“You don’t appear well. I’m sending for another doctor. We can get someone here from Dunfermline by dawn.”

“Hush,” she whispered, lifting her face before he could move. Her uninjured hand slipped around his neck, and she tugged at his hair. “You are what I need. No one else.”

The warmth bloomed in her cheek. Their lips were a breath apart. Ian swam in the azure depths of her eyes, and her words dangled alluringly between them.

She no longer looked unwell to him. She looked alive. Very much alive.

This moment, right now, he would have liked nothing better than to lift her onto his lap and hold her until the sun rose high in the sky. As thin as it was, that nightgown was a barrier, keeping him from the pale skin he wanted to warm with the touch of his hands and his lips. If he could, he would pull the string knot and kiss her throat, her shoulders, her breasts and those dark hard nipples showing through the material so enticingly.

Ian wanted to make love to her. His blood was hot, he was growing hard, and this was the woman he wanted. But he was a scoundrel for even thinking it, considering everything she’d gone through today.

He tried to pull back, but she stopped him.

“No regrets,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

The meaning of the words she’d spoken earlier came to him. No regrets. No regrets about the two of them. During her direst moments in the well, Phoebe had been thinking about him. And while she was missing, he was going mad with the thought that she was lost to him forever.

Ian could think no more. He lowered his head to taste her lips. Phoebe’s mouth parted, and her sigh of pleasure was his undoing. He deepened the kiss, her mouth battled back, giving and taking. Quickly their play of passion became a battle of wills. He captured the back of her head to hold her still and drank from her giving mouth. She was driving him to lose control, to live in the moment without thinking of anything but the heat building between them.

She pushed back what remained of the bedclothes and move one leg over him. Instantly, she was straddling his lap, and Ian gave in to her eager mouth. He battled the urge to roll her back onto the sheets and tear away the damned nightgown. He wanted to run his tongue over every inch of her silky skin. He wanted to hear her cry out his name with pleasure. His hand slid along her shapely legs. He couldn’t tell if the sigh was hers or his when his palms possessed her heart-shaped bottom. He pressed her against his hardened cock, and the breath caught in her chest. She lifted her head. Stormy eyes looked into his, understanding his needs.

“Phoebe,” he whispered. Words tumbled over each other in his frenzied brain. Words he wanted to say. He wanted her. Body. Soul. Heart. He wanted her for today. He wanted her forever.

She laid a hand on his chest, burning a brand through his linen shirt clear to his heart.

A noise outside the door startled them. He’d left the door partly open. Anyone could walk in on them at any moment. Ian shifted her off his lap and rolled her back onto the bed, covering her with the bedclothes. Her face was flushed, but she was not afraid of anything or anyone. He almost laughed and leaned close to her.

“You’re jeopardizing my reputation, Lady Phoebe,” he whispered against her lips, pulling the blankets to her chin.

Before he could step back, she caught his wrist. “Don’t go. There’s something I need to tell you.”

* * *

She’d asked Millie to get Ian for the purpose of telling him what happened in the Auld Grove. But once he came into the room, her body battled with her mind. After the traumatic shock of being nearly murdered today, all she wanted was to feel the dizzying whirl of passion in his embrace.

Improper. Naughty. Indecorous. Wicked. Unladylike. Immoral. Phoebe knew how her fierce desire for him could be construed. But she almost died. Died. And when he entered, looking so concerned for her, all she wanted was to feel his hands on her skin. To feel his lips on her throat, on her breast.

A blushing heat flamed all the way from the collar of the nightgown to the top of her scalp as she thought about how she’d attacked him, climbed onto his lap. Given another moment, she would have torn the clothes off both of them.

He brought a chair close to the bed, but still at a respectable distance. He was giving them both some space. Carrying Phoebe back from the Auld Grove, he’d wrapped his coat around her, and the warm manly scent of him had enveloped her, comforted her.

He’d changed out of his wet clothes, but he hadn’t dressed completely. He wore boots with the buckskin trousers that hugged his muscular legs, and the white linen shirt was immaculate beneath his deep brown waistcoat, though he’d not bothered to don either coat or cravat. As he sat down, she could not help but notice the pronounced bulge in his breeches. She’d felt it pressing against her a moment ago. She wanted to feel it again.

“I’m glad to see that you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid for you is not the same as afraid of you.” He smiled and glanced at the door. “Another time, another place, under more appropriate circumstances, and I’ll show you who is afraid of whom.”

She lay her hands flat on her belly, feeling the heat emanating from her body now. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Captain Bell.”

“I’m counting on it.”

As much as she would have liked it, Phoebe couldn’t lie here and flirt with him all night. She’d asked Millie to give them a little time to talk privately. She had no doubt her sister would be back shortly.

“I want to tell you what happened in the Auld Grove.” The ache in her shoulder had returned now that she wasn’t distracted by Ian’s closeness. Carefully, she pulled her bruised arm from beneath the blankets and rested it on top. “I didn’t want to speak of this to anyone but you. And I’d prefer that you don’t even mention it to my sister.”

Immediately, his expression became serious. Ian leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and waited for her to say more.

“I went there because that’s where Sarah and I used to escape to during my visits,” Phoebe told him. “I don’t believe anyone followed me from the house. At least, I didn’t see anyone. And once I was there, I saw no sign of any Romani or vagrants in the camp by the waterfall.”

He raked a hand through his hair and his expression grew dark. “I should have covered that well long before now. It’s dangerous to have—”

“I didn’t fall in, Ian.” She inched up on the pillows. “It wasn’t an accident. I saw the well. I was standing and looking into it when someone pushed me.”

“Pushed?” His boots hit the floor and he was on his feet.

Phoebe recalled the hand between her shoulders. “Yes. Someone pushed me in and then threw my hat in after me. He or she, whoever it was, wanted to make sure I’d never be found.”

* * *

A cat has nine lives, they say. For three, she plays. For three, she strays. And for three, she stays. But Phoebe Pennington was no cat. She would die.

She’d started this feud between them that night in the Vaults. And since then, she’d become a worm in his flesh, a disease eating at his brain. She tormented him in his sleep. She was a distraction. Instead of focusing on what he’d been called to do, he was thinking of how to destroy her. She was feeding off of him. Tearing his thoughts from his true calling. Dividing him against himself.

He stood in the darkness as the frothy fingers of the black firth reached toward the world of sleeping men. The voices were coming closer. The cold fingers were on his flesh.

But oh, how this unnatural chit plagued him!

The creature had escaped death twice, but that did not give her nine lives. She’d used up all she would ever have.

Nine lives. It was all a lie. He’d seen cats go in the mill pond. They never returned.