Return of the Scot: The Scots of Honor Series

by Knight, Eliza

  “I think I know what’s happened.”

  “And that is?”

  He beckoned her to follow him out of the center of the garden, where they were easily seen, and under an arbor of vegetation. “I think what they’ve done goes deeper than either of us has considered. They sold ye the castle, which ye then gifted to your sister. So, ye handed my brother a large sum of money and your sister a veritable fortune in my seat.”

  “Aye,” Jaime drawled, a little frown wrinkling her adorable nose.

  “If they are married, the castle returns to Gille’s hands.”

  Jaime’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god. It was a ploy to gain funds?”

  “Aye. And as soon as they learned I’d returned from the dead, they were quick to run. They knew they’d lose the castle, but they did no’ want the fortune ye gave them to be taken too.” It all made perfectly horrible sense.

  “Do ye think my sister could have known about this? Why would she do it, and why would Gille?” She rubbed at her arms, either from the evening chill or the news he’d just relayed.

  And if he looked well enough, he could make out the shape of her hardened nipples. Dear God, help me…

  Lorne cleared his throat and hoped to do the same to his mind, which had gone straight to the gutter. “I can no’ answer for why your sister would do anything, other than they must have been attached for a very long time. And love makes men do odd things.” He frowned. Like show up at a lass’s house and throw rocks at her window.

  Jaime stared at him for a several beats, the air crackling between them. She licked her lips and shivered, which almost had him groaning. “My investigator has sent a man to Ireland to find them.”

  “As has my cousin. Let me give ye my jacket.” He started to unbutton, but she stilled his hand with hers, surprisingly warm for the shivering she was doing.

  “Keep it. We’ll no’ be much longer.” She let out a sigh. “I feel helpless staying in the city, waiting to find out what’s happening.”

  “Shall we go to Ireland, then?” Please say aye. Let me take ye away from here. To be alone with ye…for hours.

  Her eyes widened at that suggestion. “I can no’ do that.”

  “And why no’?” But he knew exactly why not. He knew a hundred reasons why not.

  “I’ve a business to run.”

  That was only one. “Emilia could manage in the meantime.”

  Jaime shook her head. “That is too much to ask of her.”

  “Is it? She seems capable.” And he was being truthful.

  Jaime pursed her lips. “Likely, she is very capable. But I’ve no chaperone. My aunt is returning to London, and I can no’ pick up and leave Scotland on a whim.”

  “But ye’ve property in Ireland and ships. Perhaps it is part of your business, and no one else’s, for that matter.”

  Jaime chuckled sofly. “And that does no’ explain why ye’re there with me.”

  Lorne shrugged. “Considering I’ve been contemplating expanding my wool distribution to Ireland and using your ships to do so, I say it is perfectly explained.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “We’ll need to leave sooner rather than later.” Tonight. Let’s run away right now.

  Jaime shivered again, and he took her hands in his, her fingertips chilled from the night air, drawing her closer. He rubbed life back into her hands. “Ye’re cold.”

  “Only mildly. But I should get back inside. We’re lucky no’ to have been seen yet.”

  “One more thing,” Lorne hedged. “A kiss before I leave.”

  He thought she would pull away, that she would shake her head at him, and rail at his impropriety, but she didn’t. Jaime surprised him by tipping her head up.

  “Just one.”

  Lorne thought he’d died and gone to heaven as he dipped his face to hers. She was glorious. Soft lips, quickly warmed by his breath. He tugged her hands toward his chest, wanting to feel her touch him, wanting to hold her in his arms. She was so supple and curvy beneath the thin layers. Before in her thick skirts and bodice, he’d let his imagination run wild with thoughts of what she’d feel like, but now, oh now, he knew. Rounded hips, a flat belly, and breasts… Och, but her breasts were full, and he desired nothing more than to cup them, massage them, kiss them. To savor the jutting points tempting him.

  Sliding his mouth from hers, he trailed kisses down her neck, tasting the faint salt of her skin, the subtle floral scent of her. Jaime leaned her head to the side, giving him better access, a soft sigh on her mouth, and he went lower, his lips gliding over the length of her collarbone. This was wrong. He should stop. It was one thing to fantasize about her, but to make good on it…

  Lorne ignored the good-intentioned side of himself. His hands went over her back, following the curve of her spine until he reached her bottom. There, he gripped the roundness of her. Groaned softly at the way she felt. Bloody hell… Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, her body bowing toward him, sinking against his frame, instead of relenting, instead of running.

  Lorne dragged them deeper into the shadows of her garden, finding a bench where he settled with her on his lap.

  “I know ye said only one kiss, but I beg of ye, Jaime, do no’ make me stop at one.”

  “Fine, two,” she said on a sigh. “But only two.”

  Then he was going to make it a good one.

  * * *

  This was madness. Like every moment she spent in Lorne’s presence, Jaime seemed to lose a little bit of her mind each time. And now here she was, sitting on his lap in a darkened garden, lucky that the shade of the arbor hid them from moonlight. But if anyone should come walking out and happened to duck beneath, they’d be caught. And the scandal sheets would have no end of fun with their silly cartoons and riffs on her person.

  Lorne shifted her so that her bottom hit the cold stone, warmed slightly from the heat of his body, and then he knelt before her, wrapping his coat around her shoulders. From his kneeling position, he stared up at her. The toes of her night slippers, wet from the grass, were pressed to the fronts of his knees.

  “What are ye doing?” she asked.

  “I’m going to give ye that second kiss.”

  “Kneeling on the ground?” She raised a questioning brow.

  He grinned, looking as roguish as ever. “’Tis the perfect spot, lass.” He placed his hands on her knees, the heat of his palms searing through her muslin nightgown.

  She should shove his hands away. Jump up and run inside. But she didn’t.

  Instead, she eyed him with curiosity. And felt the cold night air touch her ankles and then her calves, as he slowly slid her nightgown upward. The tips of his fingers stroked over her ever-growing bared flesh, and she sucked in a breath, frozen still. Her gaze locked on his. Every inch of her sang with…what? Desire. Passion. Anticipation.

  With her legs, exposed…that should have made her stop. But nay…

  In her haze of lunacy, she didn’t care about being caught or how extremely wicked this was. Jaime’s interest was most certainly piqued. And then he was bending down and pressing his lips to her exposed knee.

  “Oh,” she gasped. “That was your second kiss.”

  “Och, nay, lass. This is one long kiss. A special kiss.” He lifted her leg by the ankle, touching his mouth to the delicate point of her bone. “I’m still no’ done.”

  She nodded, licking her lips and watching him trail his lips up the length of her leg, pausing at her knee. Who was she to say no to him giving her this long, special kiss? It felt so good… She admitted she was incapable of asking him to stop. Because she wanted more… More of whatever it was that his eyes were promising.

  “That is, this is…” But she couldn’t find the words to describe how she felt or what she wanted.

  Lorne’s hands slipped higher on her bare legs to the tops of her thighs. He paused. Looking up at her, waiting, she guessed, for permission. She nodded. The grin that covered his lips right then and there sent
a shiver of delicious anticipation through her. He kissed higher, his hot mouth climbing the inside of her thigh. Oh, this was fantastically wicked. Ruination was hers. It was almost a certainty. This would get her banned from society. But even knowing that didn’t make her say “No more,” didn’t make her snap her legs closed as he kissed higher, his head disappearing beneath her nightgown.

  Hot breath fanned over her sex, and Jaime gasped, then sucked her lower lip into her mouth to keep from making any more noise. But it was hard not to when he kissed her right there.

  The warmth of his hands on her knees pressed gently outward, opening her to him. And then slick, wicked velvet stroked along her folds—his tongue!

  Her hands curled around the edge of the stone bench, gripping tight to keep herself from falling over in pleasure. Her grip anchored her to this spot when what he was doing to her made her want to float higher and higher until she disappeared into the clouds. Lorne’s grasp on her thighs, his tongue moving in maddening, delicious circles over the very heat of her, ignited a passion, a hunger inside her that demanded to be fed.

  She bit her lip hard, breathing in erratic puffs through her nose as he increased his speed, as he lashed her with that naughty tongue. Oh, but this special kiss… Her legs were shaking, her palms damp on the stone. It was difficult to remain quiet. Little whimpers escaped her unbidden, and she was powerless to pull them back.

  Every stroke, nudge, lick had her falling deeper and deeper into rapture. Was it possible to fly and fall at the same time? Because that was what this felt like. Never in her life would she have guessed a man could kiss a woman like this. And never again would she be the same. Even the thought of kissing was ruined for her.

  Ruined by this devilishly handsome and infuriating duke.

  Her hips rolled forward, searching for more of what he was giving, more of the pleasure, more of the… And then it was there, the thing she’d been unwittingly craving and reaching for, breaking her apart inside. Everything came alive then. Every nerve ending on fire and pulsing as her body shook against his kiss.

  Lorne slid his mouth along her trembling thigh, coming out from beneath her nightdress, looking extremely pleased with himself.

  “How did ye like that kiss?” he asked with a languid wink.

  Jaime swallowed, sucked in air, tried to find her voice, and at last said, “In case ye could no’ tell, I liked it verra much.”

  He laughed softly, then kissed her. “Ye have no idea how much I want ye right now. Ye’d better get inside before I have my way with ye.”

  If his having his way with her was anything like what she’d just experienced, Jaime was half-tempted to let him. He smoothed the skirt of her nightgown back into place and stood, holding out his hand. She took his offered hand and stood, wanting to curl into his body. But they’d dallied long enough, and if her aunt came looking for her, and subsequently found Jaime missing, she’d send out an alarm that woke the whole city.

  “I shall come by tomorrow to escort ye for a promenade through the park, Miss Andrewson.”

  She snickered at the way he used her formal name after where his mouth had just been.

  “And I trust ye’ll be more gentlemanly in broad daylight.” She lifted off his jacket, grateful for the warmth it had provided her, though she suspected with what had just happened, she wouldn’t be cold for a very long time.

  “I can no’ make any promises.”

  Jaime laughed and then sprinted for the back door. What had she allowed to happen? Goodness, she’d practically made love to Lorne in the garden. And she’d enjoyed every minute of it. Somehow, he’d had more control than she did, stopping before they’d gone any further. And she realized at that moment, that she could trust him. Trust him with her whole life. And she definitely could not trust herself, at least when it came to his kisses.

  What would she have done this past week without Lorne here to lean on? They were both victims of their siblings’ nefarious plot. But they were more than partners in unfolding the layers of treachery. They were something deeper.

  Being with him brought out all sorts of memories and feelings from before the war, before Shanna had made up the lies about him. Made her remember that she…loved him.

  Jaime stilled, a lump in her throat. Her breath was completely gone. Loved him. Aye. That was the rub, wasn’t it? The tragic truth. Knowing her own heart, and even after experiencing what they just had, Jaime still didn’t see how to make this work between them.

  Which meant traveling to Ireland together was probably—nay, most definitely—a bad idea. Since they’d been unable to keep their hands off each other every time they’d met the last few days, there was no telling what tempting mischief they’d get up to on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

  As she got into her bedchamber, a crack of thunder shuddered the window. And then just as suddenly, rain pelted down, pinging wildly against the glass. Jaime refused to take it as a bad omen, however. For if it were bad, then they would have been rained on in the yard, right?

  13

  An emergency with one of her ships delayed Jaime from deciding about traveling to Ireland the following day.

  She was there working alongside her men to transfer cargo from one ship to another after a mast had been struck by lightning in the storm the night before. The needed repairs threatened to delay the shipping, and that could not happen.

  With most of the Andrewson ships commissioned for work, it took some finagling, but Jaime was able’ to configure a different route and schedule with Emilia’s help. Barring any further calamities, it would enable them to be about their business in a timely fashion, with none of her clients dissatisfied.

  Jaime’s lady’s maid, Alison, had roused her before dawn to tell her the news of the mast. In a flash, she’d been out of bed, ready to take on the misfortune within a quarter-hour. Her hair was tied up in an untidy knot, and she was wearing the least fashionable of her working gowns and her sturdy boots. Physical labor nixed the need for fashion.

  It was a good thing Aunt Beatrice had left that morning, for she might have truly lost consciousness if she saw Jaime working so well alongside the men, slickened with sweat and muck.

  Dawn had barely broken when Jaime’s work was interrupted by a slow rise in the chatter, and her men pointing toward the docks. She followed their gazes. Standing there in breeches and linen shirts with their sleeves rolled up was the Duke of Sutherland, his cousin Malcolm, and his friends Alec and Euan, the latter two whom she briefly recalled from the ball.

  “Oh God, what’s happened?” she murmured, straightening. She could only think a major disaster had happened to bring the men here to her ship.

  “Pardon?” Emilia said.

  “Nothing. I’ll be right back.” Jaime hurried down the gangplank, her boots thundering against the wood, to the four waiting aristocrats. All larger than life and dressed considerably down for their stations. Below the elbows of Lorne’s shirtsleeves, his skin was exposed. Well-muscled forearms they were, but his left arm bore the brunt of a massive scar. She didn’t want to stare and quickly averted her gaze. “Good morning, sirs, how can I help ye? Has something happened?”

  “We heard about the ship,” Lorne said, nodding. “We came to help.”

  Jaime wrinkled her nose at him. She could not have been more surprised if the mast had reassembled itself. “What?”

  He glanced behind her and pointed. “Is that no’ your ship?”

  Jaime didn’t look. “Aye.”

  “With the broken mast?” He slowly spoke as if trying to color a picture for her.

  “Aye.”

  He waited perhaps for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he continued, “Thought ye could use a few extra hands. We were all meeting today for a bit of exercise, and well, this will do nicely—as well as help ye out.”

  She stood in stunned silence for a moment, trying to comprehend. But her tired brain couldn’t put two and two together. “Why would ye want to help me?”

&n
bsp; The three men with Lorne raised eyebrows in his direction and then excused themselves toward the ship to get to work.

  “Nay, do no’ go up there,” Jaime said.

  The men pivoted around, puzzled expressions on their faces. However, on the ship deck, Emilia saw the men coming and called them to her, embracing the extra help as Jaime should have. The men looked to her for confirmation, and Jaime gave a resigned nod.

  She turned back to Lorne. It was hard to meet his gaze after last night. She’d let herself fall under his spell once more, succumbed to pleasure, and now he was here, attempting to help her. The last thing he should be doing. They should be far from each other. And most certainly, not helping each other. “What’s this all about?”

  Lorne let out a short, exasperated sigh. “Exactly as I said. We came to help.”

  “I do no’ need ye.”

  “I know. Ye’re a verra capable woman. If these men were no’ in your employ, I believe ye’d try to take on the whole bloody task yourself.” He sounded irritated, and she couldn’t blame him.

  He was not wrong. She did like being in control. And she was at present acting like more than her usual stubborn self. “How did ye find out about it?”

  “The missive ye sent with your butler.”

  “I sent no such missive…” But her voice trailed off, and she frowned. MacInnes. The old fool was meddling. Had he seen them the night before? Her face heated at the thought.

  “Well, someone did. And now, here I am. Point me in the direction of where ye’d like me to help first.” He leaned closer, his clean scent surrounding her. The heat of his breath fanned over her cheek as he whispered near her ear, “And stop trying to push me away, lass. I’m no’ going anywhere.”

  Especially after last night… She could have finished that sentence for him.

  “I’m no’ going to Ireland today.” She felt it necessary to say so, even if it was obvious.

  “I had surmised as much.”

  After several minutes of wrestling with herself to find her voice, Jaime relented. “Fine, ye can help. Come on.”