by Eliza Knight
If he were going to kiss Jaime, it would have to be with her explicit agreement. And good God, no one could find out. The papers would lap up every morsel like starved wolves, and all the wagers he’d burned in the hearth in his study would miraculously come back together.
This was a very stupid idea. He needed to leave.
“I want to kiss ye, too.” There was no hesitation in her words this time.
Well, there it was—her permission, her desire. And Lorne found he was unable to fight against the impulse any longer. One taste, then he’d tell her to go back to her aunt before all of Edinburgh realized she’d been in the dark with him long enough to make her virtue a thing of the past.
Lorne came closer to her, his hands cupping her face. She tilted upward, her full lips beckoning. She was beautiful, tempting. A goddess who’d lured him in. Dipping low, he brushed his mouth tenderly over hers, felt her sigh on his skin. She was warm, soft, tasted of punch. Good God…
Jaime’s fingers tentatively touched his chest as she returned his kiss, exploring him the way he wanted to explore her. But he restrained from slipping over her back down to her arse, keeping his hands to her face. But saints, he experienced the flutter of her fingers on his chest to his core, as if she were reaching inside him and grabbing at the vulnerabilities he’d tried to hide.
He slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss with a slide of his tongue between the seam of her lips. Jaime tightened her grip on his doublet, her tongue shyly coming into contact with his and then stroking with boldness. She might have been inexperienced with kissing, but the lass was quickly becoming an expert, taking the reins as she slid her mouth over his. And he let her, gave her this moment to discover, to savor.
The beast inside him wanted to crush his mouth to hers—to claim her, to show her what kissing was all about—but he also feared unleashing his passion would push her away. So, he held back. Gently stroking her tongue with his, discovering her mouth and letting her discover his in turn.
But there was only so much a man could handle, and when he reached the point where he wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and rip out every pin that held it in place, he ended the kiss before he caused her any damage that couldn’t be repaired.
“Ye need to go,” he managed to croak through a tight throat.
Jaime looked up at him, stricken, and he studied the play of emotions skittering across her face. Disappointment, fear, anger, resolve. Lord, but she thought he was being an arse again.
“’Tis no’ what ye think,” he said, hoping to soften whatever answers she’d determined in her mind. “But if I kiss ye anymore, we’re liable to end up on the floor, and…well… If we make it down there, I’m going to touch ye everywhere.”
Jaime’s mouth formed an O, and she let out a little gasp. Was that interest that flared in her gaze? No. He was imagining things, had to be.
“I see.” She smoothed her hands down her skirt, which was only slightly rumpled from her fall.
“Aye.” Lorne stepped back, trying to put space between them.
Regrettably, he watched her go, slipping out of the door to his gymnasium. And leaving him standing there, cock hard as stone and his mind filled with confusion. Jaime… He’d set out with the thought to seduce her, but now it seemed that she was the one doing the seducing. Or at the very least, he was tormenting himself by stealing heated kisses in the dark.
“What the hell?”
Lorne glanced up, surprised to see Alec coming through the door. All the desire pulsing in his veins was quick to vacate.
“Did ye come to box?” Lorne asked, nodding toward the ring.
“I might. What was Miss Andrewson doing in here?” Alec stomped forward, clearly out of sorts.
His friend must have thought Lorne had just finished ravishing the lass. Given another five seconds of kissing, he might have.
“It’s no’ what it looks like.” Except that it partly was, though it hadn’t started that way.
“She’s got no father to protect her, no brothers. Her uncle could no’ be bothered to leave London, and her silly aunt is half-sozzled with the other matrons in the ballroom and barely noticed she was gone. When I said marry her, I thought ye’d exchange vows before ye pulled her into a darkened room to ravish her. Good God, man, but ye can no’ risk a scandal like this.”
“Are ye taking up for the lass then?” Lorne asked, crossing his arms over his chest, more amused than anything else. Jaime need not worry about her virtue with him, even if he would have gladly taken it.
“Someone should if ye’re going to be a rake about it.”
Lorne chuckled. “She wanted to talk to me about Shanna. I kissed her, but I promise ye, I’ve no intention of bedding her.” Well, not unless she agreed to wed him.
“Then why did ye kiss her?”
“Why does any man kiss a beautiful lass?” Lorne held his hands out, exasperated.
“Oh my God, man,” Alec faltered. “Ye…love her?”
“Love” had not been the word Lorne would have used. It was a sentiment as foreign to him as losing a boxing match.
“Nay. I desire her.” He cocked his head. “Does that mean ye’ve never kissed a woman ye did no’ love?”
Alec ignored his question. “That is no’ the type of woman ye simply desire and make your move on.”
“I know.” Lorne let out a long-suffering sigh, one which he felt a lot more than he’d realized.
“Listen, I know that your good name and reputation were smeared because of her sister, and I’ll never understand why ye took the fall for her, but in this instance, ye actually are kissing the lass. And ye can no’ risk it. Her uncle will come back from London and put a bullet between your eyes; he’ll have no other choice.”
“Aye.” A bullet would spoil a lot of things.
“What the hell are ye thinking?”
Lorne shook his head. “I’m no’ exactly sure what I’m thinking. Only that I…I like her. I find her amusing.”
“I find my grandmother amusing, and I’m no’ kissing her.”
“That’s foul.”
Alec hooted. “It is rather, I know, but ye get the point. Jaime Andrewson is no’ the type of lass ye have an assignation with. She’s the type of lass ye marry.”
“Aye. So ye think I should propose?”
“If ye’re going to keep pulling her into darkened rooms for all to see, aye.”
“No one saw.”
“I did.”
Lorne grunted. “Shite.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. This was not at all what he’d had in mind for tonight. He’d wanted to show the world that he had no feelings for Jaime, and the exact opposite had occurred.
He had a whole lot of feelings for the lass, half of them pooling in his groin.
“Aye, shite is right.” Alec snorted.
“She told me her sister had run away.”
“That’s odd.”
“Said she thinks it’s because Shanna did no’ want to give me the lad.”
Alec pulled a cigar from his pocket, holding it between two fingers, but made no move to light it. “But he’s no’ yours.”
“Exactly. It’s deuced confusing.” He plucked the cigar from his friend’s hand to smell it. “Did ye get this from my desk drawer?”
Alec grinned and waved away the query. “What do ye think it means, her running away?”
“I do no’ know.”
Alec took the cigar back and lit it with the lantern that Lorne had hung on the hook. “Odd that Gille and Shanna are both missing.”
“What?” Lorne spat out the question, the thought having never entered his mind that the two of them were both missing—could it have been a coincidence?
Alec shrugged. “Seems strange, no?”
Lorne swallowed. Gille and Shanna—together? Nay. That would be almost a worse betrayal than selling the castle. “Impossible. Must be a coincidence, albeit a damned confounding one.”
Alec blew out a perfect ring of sm
oke and then stabbed the cigar into the center of it. “Has Malcolm found anything out yet about your wayward brother?”
“No’ yet.” Was it possible his brother had something to do with Shanna’s disappearance?
Jaime went first to the ladies’ retiring room, her face still in flames, her mouth feeling swollen from Lorne’s kiss, and her mind racing so fast she was likely to trip over it. With a linen square, she dabbed water on her cheeks and neck, and sipped at cool cucumber water.
When at last her heart had ceased its pounding, and her cheeks wouldn’t give away that she’d been thoroughly kissed, she went back to the ballroom, avoiding gazes, and imagining everyone knew what she’d been doing in the gymnasium. Lorne was not in sight, thank God, or else she was certain to be light-headed again.
Oh…but that kiss…
No! No, we will no’ be thinking of that kiss! Even if it had made her toes curl, and she’d tossed aside every little thing she hated about him in order to feel the brush of his mouth on hers, the power of his body…And there it was, her face was flaming again.
When she finally located her aunt, the woman was in stitches with friends she’d likely not seen in a while. They were all dazzling in their silk gowns, white gloves, feathered and jeweled headpieces, sparkling gems at their necks. None of them spared Jaime a glance, much like when she’d come to these silly functions as a debutante.
“Auntie,” Jaime murmured. “I have a headache. Shall I take the carriage and have him return for ye?”
Aunt Beatrice barely looked up from a friend who was whispering in her ear. “Yes, dear, if you do not mind. I do hope you feel better by morning.”
Jaime didn’t mind at all. And in fact, Jaime gave her aunt a quick kiss before rushing from the room, afraid she’d change her mind. Fortunately, no one tried to stop her, though she did falter more than once when hands were raised to whisper as eyes focused on her. But she didn’t have time to wonder what they were thinking, especially if it had anything to do with the duke.
Mungo stood by the front entrance, and when he looked at her, his expression softened only slightly. “Miss Andrewson,” he said with all the formality expected of a butler.
“My carriage if ye could, please, sir.”
Mungo studied her, and she had to wonder what he was thinking, knowing that he’d led her to the gymnasium to be alone with his master. “Are ye well? Ye look…flushed.”
Well, if that comment didn’t bring about more flames to her cheeks. What exactly did he think went on behind those doors? Oh, no, never mind, she didn’t want to know the answer to that. “I’m perfectly fine, just a bit of a headache.”
“Ah, well, the duke does have that effect on people.”
Jaime was too shocked by the man’s frankness even to answer, and she stopped herself short of laughing. To top it off, Mungo winked at her before going outside to summon her carriage. Perhaps he was not judging her, after all. When the butler returned, she was still flustered, so she thanked him and hurried down the stone steps, working hard to place one foot in front of the other before she tripped and fell on her face. Twice in one night would be entirely too much.
She nodded to her groom, who held open the carriage door and offered her his hand. Jaime practically dove into the carriage, sliding over the velvet seats, feeling some of the air return to her lungs at the prospect of soon being away from here. As she was about to shut the door, a large hand reached around to stop her.
“What…” she gasped, and then Lorne was there, climbing into the carriage with her and shutting the door. The small enclosure of her carriage shrank in size with him there, looming out of the darkness, a sinful angel coming to corrupt her some more. “Get out of my carriage.” Her voice sounded as shocked as she felt.
“Marry me.”
Had he said what she thought he said? “Pardon?”
“Marry me, Jaime Andrewson.”
“Ye’re mad. Or drunk. Get out of my carriage before someone sees ye.” She tried to look around him to the front of the house.
“It will no’ matter if they see me if ye agree to be my wife. We’ll put all the questions and rumors to rest.”
And she’d be able to kiss him whenever she wanted… Still, this was a terrible idea. A really bad idea. The man had been betrothed to her sister, and that had ended very badly on both sides. All of society thought he’d fathered her sister’s bastard and abandoned her—not only because Shanna had said it, but because he’d never discredited her either. If Jaime agreed to marry him, goodness, she’d likely lose more than half her clientele. They would think her unreliable, disrespectful.
Not to mention what Shanna would think. Despite having lied about their situation, she had to have wanted to get even with the duke for something, right? Nay, Jaime could not marry him. Absolutely not. Marrying him was the very last thing on earth she should ever do. Even if kissing him had been glorious.
“Nay. I can no’. Now please, leave my carriage.”
His mouth turned down in disappointment, and she wanted so badly to tell him that she’d misspoken, that she would marry him, that her clients would understand, and so would Shanna, but that was nonsense and dangerous. Marrying him would be a betrayal to Shanna, to Gordie, to herself. Kissing him had been a step too far already. There was so much at risk for her to fall for a rogue’s charm..
“Perhaps ye should think on it for a night before ye answer,” he suggested, ever the stubborn duke used to getting what he wanted. Well, that wasn’t fair either, because she was certain he hadn’t wanted to be imprisoned for two years, nor have his family seat sold out from under him. Oh, but there she went again, going soft on him.
“I do no’ need to think about it. My answer is no.” She held her head high, hoping he would see that she, too, could be stubborn.
“Just as ye said no to coming to the ball.”
He had a point there. “I came for answers, which ye gave me.”
“Aye, I did. And now I’m giving ye something else—an offer of marriage.”
“Not interested.”
Lorne smiled. “Ah, aye, ye did mention ye were Jaime Hardheaded Andrewson. I’ll find ye tomorrow.” And then he was slipping out of her carriage and hurrying back into his house, leaving her speechless. Her mouth dry. Her body heavy.
She tapped the roof of the carriage, her gaze on the front of his house as he disappeared inside. The ride back to her flat was a blur. And when she stripped out of her clothes, took out the pins from her hair, all she could do was think of Lorne and the way he’d kissed her, the promise in the intensity of his stare, and his offer of marriage.
Marry me.
Even the splash of cold water on her face did nothing to dispel the desire he’d ignited or the questions lurching ceaselessly through her brain. It was not the proposal she’d dreamed of as a lass. Nothing romantic about it at all. He’d barged into her carriage and demanded she wed him. Taunted her with the fact that she’d already changed her mind once with him. Didn’t he understand what a bad idea it was for the two of them to wed? The number of complications it would bring about was immeasurable. And one tiny little kiss couldn’t erase all the headaches that would come with it.
Despite what Lorne had told Jaime, her sister’s story had never changed. She’d always painted Lorne in a devious light as the seducer who had ruined her and left her with a child and a tattered reputation.
If Jaime were to announce that she was marrying him, her sister would be devastated. Heartbroken. Maybe not because her excuses had been true, but because Jaime had gone behind her back and would be publicly rebuking her sister’s claims or casting them aside as their parents had done.
But Jaime believed Lorne. Trusting his word meant that all this time, Shanna had been deceiving the world. And more importantly, deceiving Jaime.
How could her sister be heartbroken over someone she’d destroyed? Because that was the truth of the matter, wasn’t it? Shanna had been willing to destroy a man for her gain. And wh
at gain that had been, Jaime couldn’t figure out. Their parents had disowned her, and she’d lived exiled in Ireland until Jaime fetched her back to Scotland.
All of the information she’d found out tonight brought Jaime no closer to figuring out where her sister was now, for she’d not run away afraid that Lorne might take her child.
Jaime climbed into bed, sinking onto the soft linen sheets, curling her arm around a pillow, her body tired but her mind fully awake.
As she was sinking into sleep, her eyes popped open. The thing that had been tickling at the back of her mind all night but had yet to come to the surface, finally decided to peek its head out. If Lorne was telling the truth, and Gordie wasn’t his son, then how did he look just like him?
10
Frigid water splashed on her face and two cups of tea did nothing to wake Jaime after a terrible night’s sleep. So with eyes only marginally less puffy than when she’d finally given up and climbed out of bed to dress, she walked into her office at the wharf feeling very much worse for wear.
Emilia was already present and leapt to her feet, shoving her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “Miss Andrewson, good morning.”
Her clerk’s eyes lit up behind the glassy spheres with questions, no doubt wanting to hear all about the night before, but Jaime’s mind was still tied up in as many knots as it was when she’d lay down to sleep. Like a bunch of yarn, given to a kitten to play with. She was the yarn, and Lorne was the demon kitten.
His proposal. Well, if one could call that a proposal. It had been more like a demand. She didn’t even ask for her tea the way he’d said, “Marry me.” What would her household staff say if she started going around saying things like, “Tea me,” and “Dress me,” and “Carriage me.” They’d think her a brute or neanderthal, not a lady or a respectable mistress.
Then, of course, also plaguing her was the other discovery she’d made—that if Gordie wasn’t Lorne’s son and yet looked like him, there was only one other alternative—a male relative. And she didn’t think it had anything to do with the old Duke of Sutherland, long in his grave. But Gille, Lorne’s younger half-brother, who’d been so eager to unload the castle on her, especially when she said she was going to gift it to her sister—he was a viable key.
