"I'm going for a walk," he said abruptly.
"All right," she said with no small measure of relief. The time alone would be welcome. Time to think about how she was changing. How they were changing, together.
He turned toward the door, hesitated, and turned back. "I think you must come along."
She groaned. "We've only just arrived. I'd rather stay here and have a wee rest."
Taking her by the hand, he pulled her toward the door. "I don't want to leave you alone."
She tugged her hand from his. "I'm not looking to escape you."
"I'm not concerned you'll escape. I trust you." He paused as though he couldn't believe those words had passed his lips. "But something has me uneasy. We both go, or we both stay here."
The four walls of the small room seemed to be closing in on her. With him in his present mood, the thought of spending all evening in here was daunting. With a sigh, she followed him.
A coach was departing as they went downstairs, its squeaky springs audible through the lobby's open front door. As they approached the innkeeper's desk for Jason to leave the key, another coach pulled up. Neither of them were Cait's coach, though. In truth, she'd given up looking. She knew it had to be days behind them by now.
"Busy place," Jason remarked to the clerk.
"A mail-posting station." The pale man shrugged. "The postmaster makes no wage—he paid forty pounds to obtain the position. Keeps the inn full." He nodded toward the door, where three more guests were straggling in.
In order to avoid all the activity in the front, they went out the back way and into the courtyard again. Once more Caithren's gaze was drawn to the engraved archway. LONDON 74.
"How many more days?" she asked.
Jason's gaze followed hers. "Two, I'm hoping." Propping one booted foot on a bench, he glanced around distractedly.
"You're worried the Gothards'll get there before you?"
"Pardon?" He looked back to her. "No, not really. I sent Scarborough a letter. Even should he not have received it, I think we'll have ample time to warn him. The brothers might beat us there by half a day, but I doubt they'll ride straight to his home and shoot him." He plucked a large leaf off the climbing vine overhead. "They'll want to plan first."
"It sounds like you're more concerned about saving Scarborough than finding the brothers."
"Scarborough's life is at immediate risk." As though he were uncomfortable, he rolled his shoulders, then winced and put a hand to where she knew the wound was hidden beneath his clothes. "The rest can wait. But not too long…the Gothards have gone too far already. God alone knows what they'll plan next."
Cait nodded. "I'm thinking we should rise early tomorrow and try harder to outpace them."
"I won't complain about leaving this place at first dawn." His fingers worried the leaf as he scanned the courtyard. "There's something eerie here."
She grinned, trying to lighten his mood. "Are you sensing a ghost, Jase?"
With a thud, he brought his foot down from the bench. "How many times must I tell you—"
"—there's no such thing as ghosts," she finished for him and laughed. "Is this where you wanted to walk?"
He tossed the shredded leaf to the gravel. "We'll walk around to the High Street."
They strolled out of the courtyard and around the corner. As they crossed the street, Cait glanced back at the Bell. It was a long range of stone-built bays and gables, with two massive chimney stacks and an impressive coach entrance. An ornate wrought-iron bracket supported a heavy copper-plate sign, painted with a large red bell.
There was nothing sinister about the place. But her hand went to her amulet, just in case.
Another mail coach pulled away as they started down the bustling road. There were fourteen public houses and inns along the High Street, and sounds of laughter and frivolity drifted out as they walked past. Beyond the candlelit windows, Caithren could see people eating, conversing, conducting business. Living their lives. Unlike her, none of them seemed to be questioning the very foundations of their plans.
This night she hardly recognized herself and her feelings.
Jason's boots slapped the packed dirt road; her own shoes made a softer, shuffling sound. Had he really kissed the back of her neck? She couldn't be sure. It had all happened so quickly.
Past the Talbot, the street became residential and quiet, a neat row of stone cottages with carefully tended gardens. Beyond that, nothing but the dusty Great North Road, stretching all the way to Scotland.
Caithren was so far from home. Her hand slipped into her pocket, feeling for Adam's portrait. She wondered what Cameron was doing right now. Dusk was falling, casting shadows along the street; Cam was probably having supper. He'd want to find his bed soon, to get an early start and take advantage of the long summer day. There would be a lot to do, with her not home to help him.
"What are you thinking?" Jason asked.
"Of home." The black cat from the inn came strolling up beside her. She reached down and picked it up.
"You sound melancholy." His tone was apologetic. "We'll be in London soon. Once I've…done away with Gothard"—he shrugged uncomfortably—"I'll give you the reward. For all your assistance. I don't need it." He stopped walking and turned to her. "That's why you're doing this, isn't it? For the money? I assume glory isn't nearly as important?"
When her fingers tightened in the cat's fur, it squealed and jumped from her arms. "How much did you say the reward is?"
"It said on the broadsides." He shot her a sharp glance. "A hundred pounds."
"And you're not needing that kind of money?"
He shook his head.
"Very prosperous mill you have there, Jase."
Mill? Jason thought. What did his mill have to do with this? For the life of him, he couldn't think of a response.
They'd reached the end of the village now, and he led her across the road. In silence, they headed back toward the Bell. Another coach creaked by, this time from the north. The sun was setting, and he saw her shiver at a sudden chill in the air. Their footsteps sounded loud in this sparse end of the village. She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, reached up to twirl a plait.
The faint sound of plodding hoofbeats followed the coach. Two horses. Feeling the hair prickle on his neck, Jason turned and walked backward to have a look. Two men. Too distant to see their faces, but they were hatless, and damn if one of them didn't have a square head.
Although somehow he'd known all afternoon, he gaped in disbelief.
A cold knot formed in his stomach. His thoughts only of Emerald, he swiveled and grabbed her arm, dragging her between two houses.
"What are you doing?"
"Hush," he whispered. "We're being followed." His hands went to her shoulders, and he backed her against the side of the nearer house. "Hold still."
As they waited, he felt her pulse speed beneath his fingers. One of his hands went to the hilt of his rapier, the other itched to reach for the pistol he'd hidden in his wide-topped boot.
But if he confronted Geoffrey Gothard here and now, what would become of Emerald? Torn in two directions, his thoughts raced incoherently. What would his father do? Protect the woman or stand up to the brothers like a man?
The hoofbeats came closer.
Panic.
Releasing his grip on the sword, he angled her away from the street, tilted her face up, and crushed his mouth to hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Startled, Caithren pushed weakly against Jason's chest with both hands.
"Kiss me, will you?" His lips brushed hers as he spoke. "They mustn't see our faces."
"Who?" she asked, but the question was smothered against his mouth, and her thoughts whirled and skidded when he gathered her into his arms. Maybe to shield them from view, but the truth was, she couldn't have cared less.
Improper or not, she was getting her wish, and she meant to make the most of it.
Her arms came up; her fingers wound themselves in his s
ilky, blunt-cut hair. His mouth caressed hers, clever and persuasive. Heat sprinted along her veins. This kiss wasn't like that bampot Duncan's, or like anyone else's at Leslie. As the laird's daughter, all the kisses she'd received had been chaste and respectful.
Jason's was anything but.
A little moan rose from her throat, and he coaxed her lips apart with his own. Her bones seemed to melt when his tongue invaded her mouth, soft and warm and more exciting than she ever could have imagined. She'd never tasted a man before, and this one tasted divine.
Just when she thought she could never get enough, he stilled. "I think they're gone," he whispered against her mouth.
She pressed closer, wanting more. "Are you sure?"
"Mmm." Another light kiss sent her heart to racing. "Pretty sure."
He pulled back, and she slumped against the wall.
He stepped out into the street for a moment. "They're gone," he said as he returned.
"Who?" Her voice came out thin and reedy.
He drew a deep breath. "The Gothards."
"The Gothards?" She struggled to pull herself together. "Why didn't you just shoot them?"
"I…it…didn't feel like the right time." He looked into the street, down at his feet, everywhere but her eyes.
She gave a violent shake to her head, and it cleared with a rush of shock and outrage. "I heard no footsteps following us! You only…you used that as an excuse to ravish me!"
"Ravish you?" He appeared to choke back laughter. "I think not. When I've ravished you, sweetheart, you'll know it." His hand went up to stroke his missing mustache, then fisted and dropped to his side. "Besides, I didn't hear you take exception. You kissed me back. I'm not the one who put your arms around my neck."
"You claimed we were being followed! I wanted to make it look good."
"Hmm, is that so?" He didn't look convinced.
He didn't look at all spooked anymore, either.
"You set this whole thing up," she accused him. "From the outset this eve, you've been telling me something was wrong. All so you could kiss me."
Now he did laugh. "That hard up I'm not. I needn't make up stories to get women to kiss me. For example…"
He pulled her away from the wall, bent her backward, and ravished—there was no other word for it—ravished her mouth with his. Any protest died on her lips as tendrils of sensation stole along her nerves. His tongue traced the line where her lips met, and she opened her mouth, and he nibbled on her bottom lip. His spicy, warm scent flooded her senses.
When he set her away, carefully standing her straight, she just stood there, trying to catch her breath. No words came to her stunned mind.
He had plenty of words for them both, though. "So, you see, I've no reason to make excuses. If I'd wanted to have you, I've had ample opportunity. You wouldn't have stopped me, as our little demonstration just proved."
"Oh," she breathed, shaken and embarrassed. Her knees trembling, she walked to the edge of the houses and looked out into the street. Although dark was encroaching, the little village was still busy. People drifted in and out of taverns and rode the street on horseback. She didn't recognize anyone, but they were all far away and hard to see in the failing light.
She turned back, not quite sure if she believed him or not. While he was kissing her, a coach-and-eight could have thundered by and she wouldn't have heard it with the blood rushing in her ears. She glanced up at the hard line of his mouth. If she questioned his intentions again, he'd surely argue, and she didn't want to argue with him.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
Her legs felt wobbly, and her heart was still racing.
He looked down at her. "As you saw for yourself, they're definitely gone."
His voice was gentler—not that it had been terribly harsh in the first place. His innate calmness unnerved her. When a man was upset, he ought to show it.
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't be frightened."
She wasn't frightened; if she looked peaked, it was because she still hadn't recovered from his sensual assault. When she failed to respond, he took her hand. Even his fingers felt warm and exciting. Though she'd rather he held her hand because he wanted to, for him to hold it out of gallantry was almost as good.
"Come along," he said. "We'll get you some supper, and you'll feel better."
That prompted a smile. "Is food your solution for everything, then?"
"Pretty much." He grinned, then led her back to the street. As they walked along, she shifted her fingers so they laced with his. That felt even better.
In tacit silence they made their way back to the Bell, their footsteps echoing in the dark. Jason seemed to be on the alert, leaving Caithren to her own thoughts.
After supper, Jason would leave her in their room for a while to give her privacy while she changed into Mrs. Twentyman's night rail. He'd return, remove his surcoat, loosen his clothes. She'd unplait and comb her hair, then reweave it into a single plait down her back. They'd climb into their separate beds. So it had gone almost every night.
But tonight felt different. Just thinking about sharing Jason's room tonight made her knees feel weak. Remembering the touch of his lips, feeling his hand in hers, her whole body seemed afire.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
"Let's go into the stables," he said, interrupting her thoughts.
"Why?" As they turned off the High Street alongside the inn, her mind raced with possibilities—mostly ones that made her blush. Some stables had nice lofts. "Are you worried for Chiron?"
"No. I want to make sure the Gothards aren't staying here."
"Oh." When disappointment flitted through her, she told herself she was being ridiculous. Of course his mind wasn't on kissing her—he'd convinced himself they were being followed.
He drew her into the Bell's stables and quickly paced the length, looking into every stall.
Pulled along by the hand, Caithren hurried to keep up. "Do you reckon the brothers are so poor they'll be sleeping in stables?"
"Not exactly." Reaching the end, he visibly relaxed and dropped her hand, leaning to take a fistful of carrots from an open wooden box. "I was looking for their horses. They're not here, though, so I assume they're staying somewhere else."
Cait followed him to where his own horse was stabled. Chiron munched contentedly while Jason resettled the thin night blanket over his back. She moved closer and smoothed a corner of the cloth. "You would recognize their horses?"
He gazed down at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. Her heart skittering, she tilted her face up, hoping for a kiss.
He blinked. "I believe so," he said and turned to leave the stall.
With a warm hand at the small of her back, he drew her outdoors. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel in the courtyard. When his fingers meshed with hers, she inhaled sharply at the contact.
Something drew her to this man, though she couldn't figure why. She didn't want to ever marry, to share Leslie with anyone but Cameron. But the feelings Jason kindled in her were fascinating. She'd never thought much of the marriage bed or what she would miss, but surely she couldn't want that with him. Just another kiss. He wasn't immune to her charms—she was sure of it. There must be a way she could coax a kiss.
One more kiss.
As they headed to the taproom for supper, she came up with a plan. Now she just had to find the nerve to carry it out.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Nay, please don't leave."
The door to their room halfway open, Jason turned to look at Emerald. She'd finished unplaiting her hair and was slowly dragging her fingers through the crimped, dark golden mass.
"Pardon?" he said.
"Will you remove this stomacher for me?" She licked her lips, her hands moving to fumble with the tabs. "I've got it knotted. I'm not very good at it."
For a moment he could only stare. "You removed it yourself in Newark-on-Trent."
"It was a struggle." She sighed prettily, h
er eyes a soft blue. "You should have been there."
He raised a brow. "Amusing, was it?"
"Nay. I mean you literally should have been there." She came closer, reaching past him to shut the door. "Please?" With a coquettish flourish, she whisked his handkerchief out of her neckline and tossed it onto the nearest bed. "You said you had a lot of experience taking these off," she said huskily, leaning into him.
What was going on here? What had gotten into her? Where was her usual willful independence?
Flowers of Scotland were muddling his brain.
"Very well," he said, since she wasn't giving him much of a choice. "I'll help just this once." Easing her back into the room, he began detaching the tabs. "This really is quite simple, though. Watch."
She looked down, her warm breath fanning over his fingers. "I'm watching," she all but purred, sounding nothing like the Emerald he'd come to know. "Oooh, Jason, you really are quite good at this."
She shot him a provocative glance, as though…she couldn't be trying to seduce him, could she? Emerald? Blushing, straightforward Emerald? What a contradiction she was!
With a nervous laugh, he set the stomacher on the bed. "There."
"Thank you," she whispered, leaning close again. She raised her face, all but begging for a kiss, just like she had in the stables.
But he couldn't kiss her, not in the stables and not now. Though he'd honestly begun kissing her to hide her from the Gothards, the kiss hadn't ended that way. Bloody hell, the reality of kissing Emerald had proved ten times better than the damned dream. Kissing her again would surely lead where neither of them should go.
But as he made to turn away, her eyes seemed to spark with something akin to desperation. Her fingers went to the gown's laces, loosening them, spreading the bodice wide, wider—wide enough that he could see the rosy tips of her breasts beneath the sheer chemise under the dress.
He watched, stupefied. This was so unlike her. "What the devil are you about?"
"I'm g-getting comfortable for bed," she stammered. "Like you keep telling me to." Her breasts rose and fell when she took a huge breath. "Mrs. Twentyman's night rail, well, it's really too big and cumbersome."
Emerald (Jewel Trilogy, Book 2) Page 18
