“I must talk to Taylor. I’ve learned some important information.”
“Could it not wait till morn?” A pucker formed between Hug’s eyebrows, indicating his distress.
“Nay,” she answered, knowing it could wait, but in her excitement she had rushed to the tavern to share the news, and she meant to do so this eve. She recalled how Wylie had delicately tried to warn her that both Taylor and Hug might be preoccupied. She had ignored it, giving no meaning to what he implied. It registered when she was confronted by the pretty redhead. It irked her that Taylor wanted to make love to her one day, and could so easily bed another the next. But her news couldn’t wait ‘till morn.
“Nay,” she repeated aloud when she saw Hug was waiting for her to say more.
“Can you tell me about it?” Hug asked.
“Aye, I can, but I’d rather tell you both at the same time.” She was being stubborn, but she didn’t care. She wanted to tell Taylor to his handsome face that Donnegan had headed in the direction she had determined. She wanted to receive his immediate apology. She glanced beyond the few occupied tables separating them, to find Taylor staring at her. Her eyes locked with his a moment before he picked up his cards and fingered through them. Her heart thumped. Was he displeased? Was he curious? It was impossible to tell.
Hug, who apparently had followed her gaze, said, “I see you noticed that Taylor’s in the middle of a game. He’s in one of his less gracious moods. Regardless, a woman never disturbs a man when he’s playing cards.”
“Then he’s not playing, he’s gambling. Please tell him that I want to talk to him.”
“Has someone died?”
“Nay.”
“’Tis someone in immediate danger?”
“Nay.”
“I’ll not disturb him, Jalene,” Hug said harshly, then placed his hand briefly on hers and added, “Sorry.”
“All right,” she complied, but already had a plan to get his attention. “I suppose if he left his card game and came to our table, that would be different.”
“Well, of course.”
She studied him a moment and was reminded of what Taylor told her about Hug being taken by her. “You were with a woman. I disrupted you. I apologize.”
“I’ve known her for a long time. Don’t worry yourself. I am happy to be in your company.”
She smiled her thanks, feeling more confident that he’d assist in her plan, and continued, “We’ll have to distract him so he comes to us then.”
Hug frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s get us a bottle and pass it between us. We’ll get loud and troublesome until he becomes distracted and comes over.”
Hug’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You’ll get sick. And, Taylor would be furious at me for allowing such a prank.”
“You’re not allowing anything. I need to talk to him, and if this is the only way I can get his attention, then so be it.” She folded her arms across her chest in a determined manner.
“Jalene, you know I’m fond of you and would really do anything you asked of me, but this—I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Don’t worry.” She leaned nearer to him. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Aye, what is it?”
What a dear, sweet man. He was being so patient with her.
“I’ve a tolerance to alcohol. It doesn’t affect me in the least.”
One emotion after another played across Hug’s face until he finally favored her with a skeptical look. “How can that be? What are you talking about?”
“You forget, I grew up in a distillery family. My father wanted to make sure my brother and I never abused the liquid. Consequently, he doled out a little bit of whiskey to us here and there. Enough, so we could build up a tolerance to it, but not so much so we would become ill. My mother didn’t approve, but when she saw it was doing us no harm, she quit quarreling about it with my father. When my father died, my brother, James, took over tasting the whiskey for quality, but occasionally I’d help. I can drink a great deal without it affecting me.”
Hug’s expression suggested both surprise and admiration, and she knew she had won him over. He stood up and walked over to the bar. After saying a few words to one of the twins, he returned with a bottle and two glasses. He set one glass in front of her and filled it with the goldish-colored liquid.
She raised it to her lips, smelled it, and downed it in one gulp. The whiskey burned her throat, causing her to cough. Hug gave her a doubtful frown.
“I’m all right. It went down the wrong pipe,” she choked out, instantly aware that it had been a long time since she tasted the liquid.
Smiling at Hug, she shoved her glass in front of him for more. He filled it. This time she waited for him to drink his before she downed the second one.
“See, ‘tis really quite easy,” she flashed him a confident smile and refilled her glass.
“Aye, but ‘tis not necessary to drink the whole bottle, or prove anything to me. I believe you. Not many men can drink two in a row like you did. Have you ever seen a man who’s imbibed too much?”
“Nay, not actually that I can recall. My father had strict rules about overindulgence.” A warm fuzzy feeling crept over her, settling in her cheeks and causing a burning sensation. “But, he told us abusing the substance can cause people to do things they normally wouldn’t do, and that they often slur their words, or walk unbalanced.”
“Aye, some people get mean while others become passionate.” His eyes twinkled, and his lips formed a lopsided grin.
She drank her third whiskey and refilled the glass.
“Which do you get?” she asked, although she knew the answer.
He chugged his second whiskey down and scooted his chair nearer to hers. “’Tis much more fun to be amorous.”
She giggled affectionately and leaned closer to him. He chose the same instant to put his arm around her and to pull her a bit more firmly to his barrel chest than he would if she were a mere friend. The quick and simple action made her light-headed, forcing her to concentrate more on her dizziness rather than on Hug’s advances. He touched her cheek and turned her face to his. Dear Lord, he was going to kiss her, and her brain’s message to resist him was traveling at a snail’s pace. She couldn’t react quick enough. Instead, his mouth came down on hers, tenderly at first, then with more passion. When his lips left hers, he said, “Jalene, you must know how I feel about you.”
“How sweet? Do tell us Hug.”
At the sound of Taylor’s voice, she and Hug pushed apart. She grinned up at him wishing her eyes would stay focused. “Hello there,” she said, attempting to prop her elbow on the table and missing it completely. “We were trying to get your attention, but I see we’ve made you angry.”
“Aye, there’s a good explanation for all of this,” Hug said.
She covered her mouth to prevent a lone hiccup from escaping, but that gesture failed, and she giggled at the odd noise she made. She glanced at Taylor.
“I intend to hear all about it,” he answered in a more angry tone, clearly unamused. “For now, I think we better get her to Wylie’s.” He reached for her hand.
She pulled away. “I don’t want to go to Wylie’s. I have something I want to tell you.”
Taylor scowled at Hug.
Hug responded with a bewildered expression before he said, “It’s not what you think, but I’m not at liberty to speak about it.”
“That’s right,” Jalene saucily added. “It’s a secret.”
“Wonderful, but we’re still leaving.” This time, Taylor grabbed for her arm instead of her hand and succeeded in holding it firmly.
“Nay, you’ll have to take me, chair and all. I’ll not budge until you let me say what’s on my mind.” She gripped the wooden chair with her free hand.
Hug frowned and spoke in a soothing manner to her. “Jalene, we don’t want to cause a scene. Perhaps you can tell us on the way back to Wylie’s.”
> She stuck out her bottom lip in a deliberately overemphasized pout. She looked from Taylor’s furious countenance to Hug’s imploring one. She’d cooperate for Hug’s sake, she thought with woozy determination. But Taylor could go eat a toad. She’d hurried to the tavern with important news to impart, and all he cared about was seeing her out the door.
She released the chair and swayed as she rose. Taylor caught her and pulled her to him. She rested her cheek against his chest to steady herself. The coolness of his waistcoat felt good against her burning face. She snuggled closer, wondering if she imagined him tensing, or if it was simply his muscled strength.
“Damn it!” Taylor removed her arms from around him and held her at bay. “Hug, get our horses. She needs to be put to bed.”
“Aye,” Jalene whispered dreamily, “put me to bed, Taylor.”
Chapter 16
Jalene’s hand found its way underneath Taylor’s waistcoat as he carried her down the dimly lit passageway to Wylie’s guest room. All the way back to the linen mill, she had nuzzled against him in all the right places, driving him mad with desire. How the bloody hell was he to disrobe her for bed, yet keep his sexual urges under control? He certainly wasn’t going to ask Wylie to undress her for him. Neither was he about to ask Hug.
Hug—that son of a bitch. It had taken him every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep from applying his fist to the man’s nose. Granted, he himself hadn’t made any claims to her, but the thought of another man kissing her, especially his best friend, affected him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t know how to handle it.
He tugged Jalene’s hand away from beneath his shirt just as she stroked the hairs of his chest. Jesus Christ, she inflamed him. “Stop that! You need to sleep.”
“Uh-huh,” she wrapped her arms around his neck as he placed her on the bed.
He sat down beside her and bent over, trying to loosen her grip. Surprisingly, in her inebriated state, she showed considerable strength. “Listen, sweetness, you’re not making it easy on me. I need your cooperation.”
“I thought I was cooperating. Kiss me.”
He gazed into her drowsy amber eyes that had taken on a fiery glow, then glanced down to appreciate her full lips, knowing they’d be warm and tantalizing against his. One quick kiss to say good-night. Bloody hell, why not?
He lowered his lips to hers and gathered her into his arms. The pleasure overcame him. His passion increased. He told himself, a moment longer and he’d break free. But she opened her mouth and their tongues met. She was sweet and tasted faintly of whiskey.
Whiskey? Jesus Christ, what was he doing pressing his intentions on an inebriated woman? He gave her lips a gentle, but final kiss and pressed her back against the pillows. When he released her arms from about his neck, he placed them at her sides.
Her eyelids fluttered, but remained closed in a face that glowed pink with a self-gratifying expression. With her dyed black locks spread in disarray across the pillow, she looked the picture of contentment. Well, maybe she’d sleep now. He glanced down at his aching loins. He, on the other hand would have to take a cold hip bath before he got any rest.
He scooted towards the foot of the bed to more easily remove her shoes.
“That was a nice kiss,” she murmured from behind his back.
He turned and smiled at the fact that her eyes never opened. “I’m glad you approve.” He struggled to remove first one shoe and next the other. Now, for the difficult task, he warned himself, as he stood staring at the black lacy shawl knotted in front. Carefully, he eased it off her shoulders and over her head, and tossed it on the chest of drawers behind him. That emerald green gown was another matter. The soft curves of her breasts and barely covered nipples were definitely a tempting sight. He rubbed his forehead. The last time he removed her clothing, she accused him of misconduct. Would she again if he did so? Bloody hell, he could use a dram of whiskey himself right now. He was about to place a coverlet over her and forget making her comfortable for sleep, when she opened her eyes. They were glowing at him.
“I want you,” she said.
She spoke so softly he wasn’t quite sure he heard correctly. She wanted him? He froze in place, afraid to move, afraid he imagined it. “What did you say?”
“You said if I wanted you, I had to ask. I’m asking.” She sat up and pulled her gown down below her breasts, exposing them fully to his view.
She was beautiful, and Christ how he wanted to take her. He retreated a few steps, knowing if he stood too close he’d lose control. His eyes never left hers as he reached behind him to retrieve the shawl. He held it in front of him like a cast-iron shield for protection, as he moved towards her.
“Cover yourself. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
He attempted to hand her the shawl, but she grabbed at it so abruptly, he couldn’t completely release the garment, and his arm got caught in it. The force drew him closer, before he freed his limb. She threw the shawl across the room and raised herself to her knees. Seductively, she flaunted her bare breasts at him. Her nipples were pert and hardened, begging to be suckled.
“Love me, Captain Traynor,” she commanded.
How could he refuse?
Roughly, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Her nipples dug into his chest as she clung to him, sending shocks of ecstasy through him. His mouth left hers to kiss her cheek, her ear, her neck. Breathlessly, she pushed away a bit. Her eyes were smoldering with desire. Her arms left him to lift her skirts. She pressed her chemise-clad hips to his before her arms surrounded him again. His manhood ached with desire as he nudged it against her mound, so close, but yet not close enough. Still holding her near, he hurriedly pulled his breeches down, freeing his swollen shaft. Grabbing her hand, he led her to him. She touched him softly at first, exploring, testing. Then she applied some pressure and quick strokes, nearly sending him to his climax. “Slowly, sweetness, I want this to last until you’re ready.”
He kissed her deeply, passionately, once again, and drew her down into the pillows. His hands caressed her breasts and gently tugged on each nipple. His mouth left hers and kissed a trail downwards to suckle each breast. Her hands roamed through his thick head of hair as he did so. She moaned and he traced a path of kisses down to her thighs. When he removed her drawers, his hand delicately massaged circles from thigh to thigh, teasing and barely touching her mound until his hand finally wandered between her leg to her moist swollen softness.
“Say it, Jalene. Tell me you want me.” He whispered into her ear in between nibbling on the lobe.
She moaned something undecipherable and he moved on top of her, nudging her legs farther apart. His manhood eagerly probed, waiting penetration. “Jalene, say you want me,” he asked again while he caressed her cheek with his thumb.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t stir. Instead, he heard the shallow even breathing of her sleep. Damn, he thought. Never had he wanted a woman more. He glanced down at her, sleeping so serenely. It would have been easy to take her—easy to relieve the pain in his loins, but he didn’t want it that way.
“Sorry, sweetness,” he traced her upper lip with his forefinger, “but if I’m going to make love to a woman, she’ll have to be awake for it.” He gave her lips a tender kiss, and reluctantly stood, pulling his breeches up over his burgeoning manhood. He adjusted Jalene’s gown and placed the coverlet over her.
“Pleasant dreams, sweet Jalene,” he said aloud to her. “Another time, I promise you.”
* * * *
Dear Lord, someone must have kicked her in the head, for the throbbing was so great. Jalene lightly kneaded her temples, trying to recall how she left the King’s Arms and ended up in the guest bed at Wylie’s. Slowly, embarrassingly, the events came back to her. She had downed several drinks with Hug. He’d kissed her, and Taylor had appeared. That she remembered, but it was what followed she was having a hard time recalling. Visions of herself exposing her bare breasts to Taylor kept coming to
mind. Had she dreamed this, or had she ...
Damn, she couldn’t remember, but the very notion brought a blush to her cheeks. A few drams shouldn’t have affected her. After all, she had drunk more than that when her father had scheduled taste-testing. True, she hadn’t consumed any whiskey for some time, but still, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Dear Lord, let these risqué images be a figment of a dream.
She groaned and covered her head with the pillow. Whatever happened, she couldn’t ask Taylor. The time at the storage shed, when she’d awakened to find herself in what she thought a compromising situation—she had unjustly accused him of practically raping her. How could she ask him how she had ended up in bed without embarrassing herself, or appear accusatory? Well, at least she was fully clothed, so perhaps her visions had been a dream. This explanation was more comforting. But it was still distressing to dream such indecent behavior.
She lifted her head from under the pillow in time to hear footsteps approaching. Quickly, she rested her head properly upon the pillow, shut her eyes and waited. Someone tiptoed near her bedside, paused and tiptoed from the room.
Once those footsteps faded, she sprang to her feet. The rapid movement sent jolts of pain exploding through her head, nearly toppling her. She gained her balance and crept along the wall that separated her bedchamber from the drawing room on the other side. Before, when she and Taylor had stayed with White Wylie, Taylor slept on the sofa in that room, and she wondered if he was the one who had just checked on her.
Since no doors or inner walls connected with the passageway, she could easily peer around the corner as she had done on her previous visit to Wylie’s when she’d searched for a candle. She was about to poke her head around the wall, when the sound of Hug’s voice stopped her.
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