He’d been mad to think of marrying Fiona, a fact that had dawned on him within days of her jolting rejection. Mad to think that passion alone was enough to carry them across the bridal bridge.
Oh, but what a passion it had been. Every moment had been consumed with thoughts of her, of her hair, of her scent, of the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
Thank God he’d eventually gotten over that madness. He would make certain those old feelings—so strong and out of control—remained naught but the fantasies of the wild youth he’d once been.
Suddenly, he realized that the worst thing he could do was stay where he was, snuggled in bed with Fiona. He could not allow the natural tenderness of the afterglow to soften his heart.
Perhaps that was what she meant by “expectations.” It would be awkward if she began to expect more of him than he was prepared to give. It would be a good idea to set her expectations to a believable level right from the beginning, so she wouldn’t develop any unreasonable hopes.
Frowning a bit, he sat up, allowing Fiona to move out of his way. “What time is it?”
She glanced past him to the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost four.”
“Ah. It’s still early, then.” He flicked back the covers and slid his feet over the side of the bed.
Fiona watched in disbelief as Jack stood and began to gather his clothes. “You…you are leaving?”
He didn’t look up from pulling on his breeches. “Of course. The gaming hells never close, and I’ve acquaintances I’ve yet to greet since my return to town.”
Fiona’s heart sank. “You are leaving,” she repeated, disbelief in her voice.
He sat on a chair to pull on his boots. “As you suggested, perhaps we should discuss our expectations.” He rose and crossed to a wardrobe, where he pulled out a fresh shirt. “I normally have my valet attend me, but I thought you might want more privacy. However, to make my comings and goings less disturbing, we can move you into one of the guest rooms and—”
“No.” Fiona gathered the sheets and sat upright. “I will not be relegated to a guest room.”
He shrugged. “As you wish. I just did not want to awaken you. I come in at varying times. So long as you are a sound sleeper—”
“I sleep just fine,” she retorted. “But I cannot believe you are leaving.”
“I cannot believe it, either,” he said, fastening his shirt. “I usually need a good hour’s sleep after a romp like that.”
So that’s all it was to him. Of course it is, she told herself fiercely. This is not a real marriage. This is a marriage of convenience.
Still, she could not help but feel slighted. It seemed wrong that he should jump out of bed and head to town. “Jack, I hope…I hope people think us a well-suited couple.”
He opened the wardrobe again and removed a waistcoat. “Why does it matter what people think?”
“If my brothers were to hear rumors that things between us weren’t as they should be, they might come to town.” It would take weeks for rumors to filter back to Scotland, but she hoped Jack did not think of that.
He paused, his gaze resting on her for a moment. “I don’t wish to see your brothers ever again.”
“And I don’t wish them to come to town. But if they thought I was unhappy or that you were carousing…” She shrugged.
Jack’s face darkened. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not a threat,” she said defensively, though a twinge of guilt made her hug the sheets a bit closer. “It’s just the truth.”
Jack finished buttoning his waistcoat, then came to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached over and threaded his fingers through her hair. “Your brothers will come anyway; you are their only sister, and they care for you.”
She sighed. “I suppose they will.”
“Once they get here, they will scrutinize our every move and annoy us to death.” He trailed his fingers over her cheek to her lips.
She had to admit that his words rang true. She didn’t want her brothers to come to London, nor did she want them to become involved in her marriage. It would only complicate things. She also wished Jack would quit touching her; that complicated things as well. It distracted her and made it difficult to think.
He wound a tendril of her hair around his fingers and lifted it to his lips.
Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. Perhaps with time, she’d feel more settled with him. But right now, every nerve screamed for attention.
She pulled back, her hair sliding free from his fingers. “This plan has become more complicated by the minute.”
“Simple plans are often like that.” He recaptured a long strand of her hair and brushed the tip of it over her lips. Her entire body still quivered from their passion, and the light touch sent an answering flare through her.
He smiled. “But I would expect no less. With you, nothing is as simple as it should be.”
Fiona wasn’t sure that was a compliment. Her lips tingled; her skin danced with goose bumps; her breasts tightened in anticipation. Every bit of her was aware of the man who faced her.
At least they still had passion; she hadn’t been sure after so many years apart. It had been the mainstay of their relationship—if you could call three jumbled weeks a relationship.
Yet Fiona knew from bitter experience that passion would not solve their problems. At best, it would give them a respite from the cares of the world and a means to become closer. But that was all.
Her heart ached, and she wished she could talk to Callum. He would know what to do; his innate ability to understand people was far greater than hers. But Callum would never again be able to give her advice. He’d never again be there when she needed him.
“Fiona?” Jack’s soft voice cut through her thoughts.
She looked at him, caught on the edge of tears.
“You are thinking of Callum.”
She swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry. I just wish I could talk to him.” She swallowed, trying to regain her composure. “I have not been able to discuss his death because my brothers have been so upset themselves.”
Jack’s warm hand closed about her chin. He tilted her face until her gaze met his.
“You may speak of Callum any time you wish.”
Jack’s offer soothed her heart in a way she couldn’t explain. She grasped his hand between hers. “Thank you.” A shy smile touched her mouth. “I would take you up on your offer, but I don’t think you have enough shirts.”
Jack looked at where she clasped his hand between hers, his expression frozen. Then, ever so carefully, he disengaged himself and stepped from the bed, saying in a rather clipped voice, “It will dry very quickly.”
“I feel like a watering pot, tearing up so much.”
“A lot has happened.”
Hardening his heart, Jack crossed the room to find his coat.
In silence, he dressed, catching a glimpse of Fiona from the corner of his eye. She sat pensively, the sheet pulled up to cover her breasts, her arms wrapped around her knees, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
The sight of her even white teeth set in the full, soft morsel of her bottom lip stirred him ruthlessly. He had the right to bed Fiona if he desired, the one woman he’d—
No. She was no different from any other woman he’d bedded. It was just that they’d never been able to draw a satisfying conclusion to their relationship. The other women had stayed long enough that he’d grown tired of them. But his and Fiona’s relationship had abruptly ended before it had reached that natural end. That was why he still felt this odd stirring of frustrated lust.
He found a new cravat and stood before the mirror. He was careful not to stand where he could see Fiona.
“Jack, where are you going?”
“To a select house party.”
She was silent a moment. “What if I wish to go with you?”
“This is not the sort of amusement one takes a wife.”
Her eye
s flashed.
Jack ignored her, smoothing his waistcoat. “I agreed to this marriage only because I was forced. I did not agree to change my life in any way, shape, or form. This”—he turned to face her—“is who I am.”
“I know that,” she said stiffly, her chin lifted. “I merely thought you might wait at least one day before you resumed your raucous pursuits.”
He shrugged, turning his shoulder to her. “Why should I wait? There are cards to play, bourbon to drink, women to—”
Lightning flashed outside. “There will be no other women.”
He lifted his brows, his jaw tight. “I will not be threatened.”
She flushed. “I didn’t mean to—”
“We shall discuss this another time. Fortunately for you, after our”—he almost said “romp” but caught himself—“exertions, I will not be in the mood for another woman. At least not tonight.”
In the distance thunder rumbled, and she gave a decided flounce as she wrapped the sheets more tightly about her.
Good. She was angry. That would keep them both from stupidly thinking this union was something more than it was. Still, he could not help but feel as if he’d just kicked a kitten. Repressing the oddest desire to apologize, he turned back to the miror.
“We don’t know yet if this gamble will succeed. We might not be able to produce this heir. Or perhaps our families will simply ignore our noble sacrifices and hurl into one another anyway.”
“They will not. I know they won’t.”
“We’ll see,” he said, placing a ruby pin in his cravat. His clothes didn’t appear too wrinkled, which was a wonder, considering he hadn’t used the services of his valet.
Time to go. There was no more reason to stay, and yet…he found himself facing Fiona. Her gaze met his, her expression a mixture of disappointment and frustration.
She wanted him to stay. He knew it without her saying a word. He supposed he didn’t blame her; she was alone, in a house she didn’t know, and still sad about the death of her brother.
Jack steeled himself. None of that mattered. If he stayed, she would begin to expect such things, and he was not about to let her think he was something he was not.
“When will you return?” she asked.
He paused by the fireplace to stir the embers back into flames. “Tomorrow.” He replaced the poker in the stand by the fire. “Sleep well.” He walked toward the door.
“Jack?”
He paused, his hand on the knob. “Yes?”
“You really do have no heart.”
His jaw tightened, but he offered no defense.
“You always seem to hate that name, Black Jack,” she said bitterly. “Yet here you are, striving to prove it true.”
“I am what I am. I am exactly what I was before you married me, and I’ll still be that after.”
Her eyes flashed. “I have expectations, too. I do not wish to be left in this house alone all the time. I would like to see London while I am here.”
“Of course, sweetheart. I am sure the coachman knows the way to Anstley’s Amphitheatre.”
Ignoring the angry set of her mouth, he bowed. “Meanwhile, I bid you good night.” He slipped from the room and shut the door, quickly making his way to the foyer.
“My lord.” Devonsgate stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Jack eyed the coat that was carefully hung over the butler’s arm. “You knew I would be going out.”
“You always do, my lord.”
“Yes. I always do, don’t I?”
“Yes, my lord. Once you have, ah—” The butler’s gaze strayed up the stairs, then back, a faint touch of color in his high cheekbones. “Once you have awakened from your nap, you inevitably go to one of your clubs, leaving your companion sleeping.”
“I didn’t realize I was so predictable.”
“We are all creatures of habit, my lord.” The butler helped Jack into his coat.
“And my habit is to visit gaming hells and buy gifts for unsuitable women,” Jack said. “What a wonderful set of habits, to be sure.”
The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a sharp wind whistled, so stiff that it rattled the heavy door.
Jack sent a harsh glance up the staircase before buttoning his coat to his neck. “I will need a hat, Devonsgate. I believe a storm is brewing.”
“That’s impossible, my lord. I was outside earlier, and it was clear—”
A flash of lightning lit the foyer before disappearing into a loud crack of thunder.
“Heavens! That sounds ominous.”
It was ominous. Devonsgate just didn’t know how much.
Jack took a deep breath, the familiar scent of lilac tickling his nose. Damn Fiona. He placed his hat firmly on his head. He would go out and have a good time, no matter what. What was a little rain, anyway?
“What ill luck, that it should rain right now,” Devonsgate said, eyeing the front windows with misgiving.
“That is the way things seem to be going for me lately. Ill. Very Ill.”
“I have heard many times that you live a charmed life, my lord. There are many who envy you.”
And why not? He had wealth, properties, and unlimited opportunities to do whatever he wished. He was indeed fortunate. So why did he feel as if he stood on the brink of a great cliff, a strong wind pushing him forward, toward the edge?
Jack’s gaze wandered past the butler, back up the stairs to the shadow of his bedroom door. For a long time, he stood there, staring. Then, with a muttered imprecation, he turned on his heel and left for the waiting carriage.
Chapter Seven
The White Witch was used to seeing fair men, but none so fair as the MacLean. Och, they are bonny lads and lassies, those MacLeans.
OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
Preston House was situated on the edge of May-fair. Built of white brick and decorated with stylish brass sconces and ornate trim work, it was as understated and quietly elegant as the dinner parties and soirees Lord and Lady Preston hosted. The location was a favorite of the bon ton and it was not unusual for Preston events to end with a leisurely breakfast for some of the more hardy guests.
Tonight, the bright lights of the house were barely visible from Jack’s carriage, dimmed by the rain that beat mercilessly upon the roof.
The coachman pulled up to the front door, and Jack jumped out, not waiting for the footman to appear. The rain slashed at him as he raced up the steps, head down against the onslaught. He reached the portico, protected from the rain by a large overhang.
Damn Fiona for this deluge. He knew it was her; the faint scent of lilacs fanned his ire. How dare she attempt to dissuade him from seeking his amusements? It simply made him more determined to enjoy his freedom, and the sooner she realized that, the better for everyone.
Still grumbling to himself, Jack took off his coat and shook it.
A footman opened the door immediately. “Ah, Lord Kincaid! Welcome to—” The man caught sight of the rain and blinked, plainly shocked.
Jack glanced back. It wasn’t just raining; it was a torrent streaming down in sheets.
“When did it begin raining?” the footman asked in a blank voice. He caught himself and flushed. “I’m sorry, sir! It wasn’t raining a moment ago, and—” He broke off, his mouth agape.
Jack followed the man’s gaze. His carriage was moving down the drive, and as the horses trotted away, the rain near the house slackened. The storm came from a single thick, black cloud that hung directly over the carriage.
The footman blinked. “I’ve never seen such a thing!”
Jack looked up at the now-clear sky. The moon gleamed peacefully, stars twinkled all around. Jack gritted his teeth and shoved his coat into the footman’s arms. “Summer storms are damned unpredictable.” He walked past the man and into the gaming hell.
The next time he saw Fiona, he’d—
He frowned. What could he do? She couldn’t
control the rain—not completely, anyway. He would have to discover exactly how this family curse of hers worked. And if she could control it in any way, he’d have something to say about it.
Another footman greeted Jack in the foyer, politely asking if he’d like his usual bourbon and if he’d had his dinner. That was more to Jack’s liking, and he replied pleasantly to the man, even as he realized with a faint sense of unease that while he’d been to this house often enough that the staff knew him on sight, he didn’t know any of their names. Fiona would have chided him for that.
He scowled. Fiona’s expectations were completely unrealistic. Worse, they were getting in the way of his amusements. Ignorance was a good part of comfort. His life had been much happier when he hadn’t been thinking about Fiona and what she did or didn’t feel.
The sounds of card play and laughter emanated from the main salon, despite the lateness of the hour. Jack headed inside, where he was greeted by the reassuring clink of glasses and the sweet smell of cigar smoke.
He paused, taking a deep breath, catching the eye of a delicate-looking blond beauty on the other side of the room. She immediately made her way to his side.
Twelve years ago, Lucinda Featherington had been the surprise debutante of the season, her fragile blond loveliness winning over her rather plebeian bloodlines and creating an instant fashion in the ton after years of reign by a bevy of dark-haired beauties.
At the tender age of eighteen, Lucinda had caught the eye and eventually the heart of Paul Featherington, one of the wealthiest men in England. After four years of being restricted by the boundaries of marriage, she was delighted when Lord Featherington’s political ambitions were realized, and he was appointed ambassador to a remote province in India. Lucinda had cried off going with him, saying the heat would be disastrous for her health. She’d very prettily promised to behave herself and had even brought an old, rather deaf, and somewhat blind cousin into her house as chaperone. Reassured that his wife would be living within the lines of propriety, Lord Featherington left for foreign climes, returning every so often to visit.
How to Abduct a Highland Lord Page 7
