by Eliza Knight
“Aye.” Or was he? From all outward appearances and the respect he seemed to garner from everyone in his presence, which couldn’t be about his title alone, was he as bad as they’d been made to believe? “Auntie, I think I see Giselle over there. Would ye mind if I speak with her?”
“Oh, no, dear, go right ahead. I’ve a few friends I wish to catch up with as well.”
There was a small sliver of Jaime that felt bad for lying to her aunt, but a larger part of herself that didn’t. If Aunt Beatrice hadn’t decided to come to Edinburgh, then she wouldn’t have been aware of what Jaime was doing anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as if the woman married to her father’s brother had sought Jaime out in the past two years. She and Shanna were lucky for the shipping company because her uncle, who’d received her father’s title, houses and fortune, had done little to see to their comfort. Shanna had been disowned, and Jaime’s inheritance had been the company.
But bygones were bygones.
And Jaime wasn’t going to wait for her aunt to realize she hadn’t seen Giselle at all. She snuck out of the ballroom, pretending to look for the ladies’ retiring room, and finally saw Mungo lurking in the shadows by a grandfather clock.
“This way,” he murmured, leading her into the darkness past the winding staircase.
Jaime looked behind her once to make sure no roving eyes had followed them. The last thing she needed was for the morning’s society papers to light the flames of an illicit affair with the duke. Goodness, but she’d never hear the end of that, and it would likely ruin some of her business too if they thought her suddenly falling away from her practical nature.
Mungo held open a door enough distance from the ballroom that the music was barely heard, and Jaime ducked inside. There was a candle lit in a lantern at the far side of the room. Looming shapes lurched from the shadows and Jaime tried to make sense of what they were. A large beam with a ladder on each end. A massive roped-off platform that looked like a pugilist ring. Was that how Lorne kept in shape? Balancing on a beam and beating up some poor sap? She nearly tripped over a hard, metal lump on the floor. Various heavy-looking objects littered the ground. What in blazes was this stuff?
“Let’s no’ dally,” the duke said, drawing her eyes to his single lantern. She’d not seen him there, lurking in the dark. Now he was visible, the outline of his body framed by the light.
“What is all this?” She was genuinely curious.
“My gymnasium.”
“I suppose I was no’ certain what that was. We’ve no’ got one at our house, and I’ve not seen any elsewhere, either.”
“Boxing ring, fencing planche, training dumbbells.” He pointed to the ring, the beam and the lumpy metal things.
Jaime nodded, fascinated. There was a lot more to the duke than she would have guessed. And now she understood how he was so easily able to right the falling cargo box that two of her dockhands hadn’t been able to get under control. He was strong. Very strong. And filled with many talents, it would seem.
“But ye did no’ come here to admire my equipment.”
Jaime’s gaze settled on Lorne, and she stopped mid-stride, taking in the way the glow of the light made his gray eyes sparkle and how he appeared even bigger dressed in shadows. Why had his saying such made her want to admire him?
“Will ye tell me the truth?” Jaime picked her way over to him until they were only a few feet apart, the door to the massive gymnasium somewhere in the distance.
“Why?”
“Because everything seems so jumbled in my mind. Shanna’s gone missing, and I’m fairly certain ’tis because she’s…hiding from ye.”
Lorne leaned against the wall, hooking one ankle over the other, crossing his arms. He looked so casual and yet so…intense at the very same time. “Why would she need to hide from me? It is ye who stole my castle.”
Jaime straightened. She wasn’t going to back down with her questions now that she had him alone, even if he were going to try to antagonize her. “I bought it fair and square.”
“That’s beside the point.”
She found no issue with laying the truth at his feet. “I can only think she was afraid ye’d take her child.”
“Why would I do that?” Lorne had the audacity to sound exasperated.
“It is your child. Most men would take responsibility for their offspring.”
Lorne laughed and swiftly came forward until he was mere inches from her. She stared up into his eyes, feeling heat fill her body. She should back away. Leave this room immediately, but her feet remained rooted in place as she met his gaze and gave him as good as he got.
“I will tell ye this once, Jaime, and I hope ye listen well.” His voice was low, holding authority and warning. But it didn’t scare her. For some maddening reason, she felt…excited. “That child is no’ mine. I never touched your sister. Never even kissed her.” As he said the words, his gaze drifted over Jaime’s mouth.
Suddenly, Jaime felt even more light-headed than she had upon entering this room that was so filled with Lorne. She licked her lips, attempting to breathe, but he was crowding the space around her. The scent of him enveloped her—spicy, woodsy…intoxicating.
“But…” She tried to make her throat and tongue work to form words. “How is that possible?”
Lorne raised a brow, a tiny quirk of his lips showing her he found her question amusing. “Did no one tell ye how bairns are made?”
Oh… Flames shot to her face once more. And the image he put into her mind of Lorne…naked. Corded muscles, long legs, tight chest, strong arms ready to—
Jaime shook her head in frustration, needing to clear the visualization.
“I do no’ feel it is my place to explain such things, wee Jaime.”
The way he said “wee Jaime” as if trying to make her feel infantile. “I know how bairns are made, thank ye verra much.”
Lorne grinned, his gaze back on her lips, and dear heavens, he roved lower to her décolletage. Jaime whipped her hands up, covering her bosom, now quite certain Madame Yolande had cut the bodice lower than she’d agreed to. Air washed over her skin, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms, and she realized it wasn’t just air but his breath as he watched her.
“If ye know so much, lass”—his voice had taken on a softer tone, low and gravelly—"then I tell ye, if it was no’ me who planted a bairn in your sister, then who did?”
“No one,” Jaime said in a rush, still fighting all the sensations coursing through her. Coming here was a mistake. She should have written him a letter instead. Paper never elicited this kind of a reaction from her, not even her gothic romance novels.
“She is no’ the Virgin Mary.” Lorne huffed in exasperation. “I had no’ planned to tell ye this, Jaime, but I am beyond frustrated with this situation, and I’ve grown weary of your accusations. Shanna had a lover. I caught the two of them together at our engagement ball. Because I’m a gentleman, I took the fall for her. And now ye know the truth.”
Jaime gasped. “What? A lover? Who?”
She searched his face, looking for signs of deceit, but found his gaze steady, his face all too serious. Lorne was telling the truth.
“I do no’ know.” With that admission, he backed away a step, taking with him his alluring scent and the warm rush of headiness his closeness had brought.
She was both relieved for the space put between them and disgruntled by it. Ridiculous. The strange and foreign feelings he’d spawned in her tonight were forbidden. Everything about Lorne was hazardous, and there was a great risk being here with him in the dark.
Jaime forced her hand away from her breasts, back down to her sides, and stood tall once more. She couldn’t let him see how much he affected her. “But ye said ye caught the two of them together.”
“He jumped out the window before I could see who it was.”
“Out the window?” She laughed. “Ye’re lying.”
“Why would I lie? ’Twas a ground floor window; he’d only a couple of
feet to drop and then he ran off into the night. I’m a lot of things, Jaime, but I’m no’ a liar.”
If she took her sister’s situation out of the equation, she could believe him. Lorne had only ever been honorable. But the fact of the matter was, her sister’s situation was a major part of both their lives and couldn’t be negated. “Because ye do no’ want to claim the child, or responsibility for the woman ye ruined.”
Lorne let out a bitter, laugh. “Let me ask ye this, Jaime—why would I no’ take responsibility for my wife and child? Why would I throw a woman I’d pledged to marry out if she were carrying my heir? My whole existence, the legacy of my line, is based on the act of reproduction. I would never take advantage of a woman, and I’d never leave my child behind. That makes absolutely no sense.”
Jaime shook her head because everything he said seemed sensible. Even his voice was filled with reason. And now she was remembering small things that she didn’t want to. Seeing Shanna writing a letter and then slipping it in her sleeve when no one was looking. Shanna, staring wistfully off in the distance and ignoring the duke. Shanna, forgetting again that the duke disliked cucumbers or that he’d arranged to take her for a ride in the park, and she’d gone out instead with a friend. All of these things, Jaime had taken as her sister being in love and distracted by Lorne—for who wouldn’t be. Perhaps it had been that Shanna was thinking of another that entire time.
“Oh, no.” Jaime fanned her face and took another step backward. How perspectives changed when looked at from different angles.
Now that Lorne had planted the idea of Shanna’s lover in Jaime’s mind, she could see that it wasn’t the duke her sister dreamed about but someone else entirely. It had been Jaime back then who had kept encouraging her sister to do the things a bride-to-be would do. Inviting Lorne for tea, attending balls and picking out perfect dresses. Telling her sister the things that she’d noticed Lorne liked or disliked. Because Jaime had so badly wanted her sister to be happy, to be a duchess. Jaime’s admiration for Lorne had so blinded her that she’d failed to see her sister didn’t want him at all.
The question was, who had Shanna desired?
That was a question Lorne couldn’t answer, and suddenly Jaime felt so overwhelmed because it wasn’t just the truth of what happened between Lorne and Shanna that crashed into her like North Sea waves in a storm, but the other truth she’d denied for nearly a decade—Jaime had wanted Lorne.
Jaime turned, intending to flee the darkened room, the knowledge of her feelings, the intensity of his stare. Only as she ran, the lighting was terrible. The toe of her slipper caught on one of the heavy dumbbells, and she pitched headfirst into the floor. Her hands slapped the wood, catching her before her face smacked into it.
The quick clip of Lorne’s boots rushed behind her. As she was pushing herself up to sit, he knelt beside her, looking over her face and then the rest of her.
“Are ye all right?” He pressed a hand to her knee and then jerked away as if now realizing what he’d j done in that simple gesture.
Heat zinged up her thigh, settling somewhere in the middle, and she bit the inside of her cheek, her breathing uneven, which she hoped he’d conclude was because of her fall. Goodness, she needed to get out of here. The chill on her stockinged foot was warning enough she’d lost her shoe.
“My slipper.” Jaime patted around, trying to find the shoe that had been caught and ripped off her foot. But it was Lorne who found it first, her hand brushing over his fingers.
Another zing of awareness rapidly shot up her arm.
“I’ve got it,” he said slowly, reaching for her ankle. He smoothed his fingers over her foot, testing each toe. Nothing hurt, and his examination tickled. She bit the tip of her tongue to keep from laughing or gasping, really from reacting at all. Jaime was fairly certain the heat his touch caused would never go away. Her toes, foot and ankle would burn forever. “Nothing broken.”
She wiggled her toes. Circled her ankle. Still, he held onto her. “No.” The word came out in a rush of air. Jaime was surprised to find how much she liked the man she’d thought to be an arrogant fool. The impression she’d had of him since the incident with Shanna was being edged out by the man she used to know before that terrible moment—the man before her now.
Lorne eased her slipper gently back in place and placed her foot on the floor. Finally relinquishing her—regrettably. How could such a moment, the act of checking her for injury, of replacing her shoe feel so…intimate? So tender…
“Thank ye.” Jaime stared at him, hoping the emotions she felt weren’t screaming from her face. Normally one to wear a mask of placidity, she discovered it was incredibly hard to hide her thoughts at that moment. Perhaps the dim light was helpful enough.
Lorne stood and held out his hand, fingers stretching toward her. She took it, allowing him to lift her. But he didn’t let go when she was on her feet again. Mere inches were between them. Warm fingers wrapped around hers. He was staring at her, searching her face, and she found herself doing the same thing. Words flew about her head, but nothing she could frame into a coherent thought except one—kiss me.
That was a shot of cold water to the face. Jaime backed up a step, slipping her hand from his.
“I need to go. My aunt is likely tearing the place apart looking for me.”
Lorne grinned, some of that playful charm curling his lips, and she wanted to sigh at the sight of it. Her belly was full of butterflies. Oh, heavens, she had to remove herself from his presence at once.
“Should I carry ye out of here? I dinna want ye to fall again.” The tone of his voice was teasing and endearing.
Lord, but she was in trouble. Go!
Jaime’s voice, and her breath, abandoned her. All she could think about was how very close he was. How very dashing he was. How very charming.
“I can walk.”
“As evidenced just now—by the time ye get back to the ballroom, ye’ll be missing both shoes, and lucky no’ to have a black eye.”
Jaime couldn’t help laughing and was glad for that little bit of sound because her brain refused to think of anything to say. Not when her heart was pounding so fast, and the anger and bitterness she’d held onto for all these years seemed to be melting away into a puddle of confusion and something else. A heated, tingling feeling that made her want to dance and escape at the same time.
“Perhaps we should start over,” Lorne said softly, entreatingly.
Jaime cocked her head, the desire to flee dissipating as interest took the reins. “Start over?”
“Aye.” The smile he gave her was enough to melt even the coldest ice, and Jaime was not immune to it. “I’m His Grace, the verra stuffy Duke of Sutherland, but my friends call me Lorne.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and oh how she wished she weren’t wearing gloves. Not that the slim fabric made a difference because she felt that press of his lips throughout her entire body.
9
Lorne wasn’t certain if it was the way Jaime’s eyes had widened, or the way she’d licked her lips as she stared at his mouth, how she’d trusted him with holding her foot. But at some point in the last quarter-hour, he’d realized two things.
One, he desired the fiery, irritating, beautiful pain in his arse. More than he’d ever desired another woman, and to the point that left a gorging ache in his groin. He should have seen to the need first thing when he’d returned from the continent, but alas, he’d had more urgent things on his mind. The more disagreeable she became, the more he wanted to needle her. The more she frowned, the more he wanted to laugh.
And two, he was fairly certain she felt the same way.
Bending over her hand, kissing her knuckles, flirting with her, was more instinctual than it had ever been with another female, including her sister, his ex-fiancée. His desire for her was crowding out his ultimate goal of regaining his castle and teaching the chit a valuable lesson, and yet the illogical side of him kept welcoming these feelings, ignoring the facts.
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br /> “Well, Your Stuffy Grace.” Her voice had changed, sultry almost as she looked up at him, eyes all dewy and full of humor and something else—something with a sensual edge. She sounded hesitant as if she were trying on a new approach. “I’m Miss Jaime Hardheaded Andrewson. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Lorne laughed. The lass had hit the nail right on the head. For she truly was hardheaded. She grinned at him, pleased with herself, causing his gaze to fall back to her mouth. A sudden swarm of desire hit him in the gut. The urge to kiss her was intense, stifling. But doing so would irrevocably change everything between them in that reckless moment, wouldn’t it? And as much as he wanted to—as much as his desire for her had propelled them into this current situation—there was a part of him that held back. A part of him that shouted, “Stop this nonsense and leave this room immediately.”
But Lorne ignored that cautious, likely smarter, part of himself. “Ye are lovely,” he murmured.
Jaime’s mouth fell open in surprise. “No. No. No. No. I can no’ accept compliments, and you should no’ be giving them. This is… This is too much.” She pulled her hand from his grip and backed up a step. “We’re supposed to hate each other.”
“That is what everyone would expect.”
“Then why do ye no’?”
Lorne shrugged. “What about ye?”
Jaime bit her lip, then said, “I…can no’ say. I do no’ know.”
“Me either.” Casting aside the warning ripping through him, he embraced that headier need. Lorne closed the distance between them, stroking his fingers over her warm cheek. Her skin was soft, the arch of her cheekbone delicate. Nothing one would expect from a lass with an acid tongue. “I just know right now I want to kiss ye.”
Jaime didn’t retreat when he said it. Didn’t shout no, or for him to go to the devil. Didn’t wish him dead as she had on so many occasions since his return. Instead, she leaned into his fingers where they traced her face. Her eyes blinked up at him, inviting. But that wasn’t enough, not where she was concerned. For over eight years, she’d believed him a scoundrel. A virtue-stealing rogue who’d defiled her sister and left her with a child to bear on her own.
