Jack grabbed her wrist. “But you won’t, will you?” he said softly. “Because you need my help. You need me quite...desperately. We must preserve your...spotless...reputation, in public at least so that your late husband’s secrets may remain hidden.”
Their eyes met. He saw anger and contempt in hers, but also something close to desolation. She was trapped, and she hated it. For a woman like Mairi MacLeod who was so accustomed to taking command, he could see it was the most frustrating thing in the world to be so powerless. She would hate to have to submit, and yet if she did not she stood to lose all she cared for.
“You are quite intolerable,” she said.
“Agreed,” Jack said. “And yet you will have to tolerate me somehow if you want my help.”
Mairi shot him another glance from those smoky blue eyes. This one he felt in the groin.
“Under normal circumstances,” she said, “you are the very last man on earth I would agree to be betrothed to, but unfortunately there is no one else.”
“Thank you,” Jack said.
“If there was any other way—” Mairi said.
“We’ll take that as read,” Jack said.
She inclined her head. “As soon as it is possible, I will jilt you,” she said. “Thoroughly and with considerable satisfaction.”
“Not before I have made love to you,” Jack said. “Thoroughly and with considerable satisfaction.”
Her eyes were huge, shadowed with emotions he could neither read nor understand. He put out a hand and touched one of the auburn curls that had escaped from her bandeau. It was soft and it wound trustingly about his fingers like a silken noose. He cupped her cheek. Her skin was soft too; in a flash he was remembering the tender curves and hollows of her body and he was plunged into a sexual need so acute and primitive he almost dragged her into his arms.
Instead, exerting extreme self-control, he slid his hand to the nape of her neck and drew her forward a little until their lips were only a couple of inches apart.
It was like igniting a fire. When his thigh brushed the material of her gown, she gave a tiny gasp. Her eyes darkened to smoky, slumberous dark blue. Her lips parted.
So she felt it too; he had known she had, known from the moment he had kissed her at Ardglen that the attraction between them was both mutual and raging hot. But this confirmation, the evidence that she was as close to the edge of control as he, was almost enough to push him straight over that edge.
“Surrender to me,” he whispered. “Last time you took what you wanted. This time it’s my turn.”
His mind was full of the images of the previous night they had spent together, her body slick and heated against his, over his, beneath his.
She put a hand against his chest. He could almost imagine that that felt hot too, that her touch branded him.
Then, as though from a vast distance he realized that she was holding him off, not drawing him to her. They were still very close, almost touching.
“You’re a blackmailer,” she whispered, her lips moving against his. “You seek to take advantage of my weakness. You are no better than Mr. Innes.”
Jack smiled. “I think you’ll find that I am a lot better than Mr. Innes,” he said, “or indeed anyone else.” He changed the angle of his head slightly, seeking to deepen the kiss. His tongue touched the corner of her mouth, then slid across her lower lip. She opened to him at once, as though she could not resist. She tasted of strawberries and sunlight and he felt a rush of raw sexual need.
“Well?” he said as he released her.
“I can’t—” Mairi said.
“I think you probably can,” Jack said. He ran his thumb over her lower lip and felt her quiver in response.
“I don’t respond well to blackmail,” she said.
“On the contrary,” Jack said. “You just did.”
She shook her head slightly. He was not sure if she was disappointed in him or in herself. If her poor opinion was for him, that scarcely mattered, but he found that he did not like her being disappointed in herself. Which was odd, as he had no idea why he should care.
“Tell yourself you have no choice,” he advised, “if you wish to pretend you are virtuous.”
Her eyes were full of disillusion. “There is always a choice, Mr. Rutherford. If I become your mistress, I am not going to deceive myself that it was anyone’s choice but my own.”
Jack smiled at her formal use of his name. “If you are going to become my mistress,” he said, “you should call me Jack. Since we are betrothed it is perfectly acceptable for you to use it publicly—Mairi.”
She looked shocked. A woman who had given her body to him without inhibition looked shocked when he addressed her by her given name. That amused him.
“You take liberties,” she said stiffly.
“I’ve barely started,” Jack said.
He kissed her again. There was resistance in her, and indecision and a tumult of other emotions that he could sense and not understand, but when she opened her lips to his he forgot everything and lost himself in the driving need he had for her. When he released her, her eyes were blank with shock and she pressed her fingers to her lips.
“I can’t believe how I feel,” she whispered. She sounded confused, doubtful. She also sounded very young and inexperienced, and it gave Jack an odd pang of doubt. He wondered if he had misjudged her and all her sophistication was nothing but a facade.
“How do you feel?” he asked. He did not expect her to answer. She was too guarded in her emotions to be open with him. Yet now she looked at him with a dawning sense of wonder that, had he not been a complete cynic, might have made him feel like a god.
“I feel hot and dizzy and a little bit drunk,” she admitted.
Jack smiled. He could not help himself. So her sainted husband had evidently not been perfect at all. He had clearly been perfectly useless when it came to sex.
“You sound like a debutante after her first kiss,” he said, then regretted his words as the soft light vanished completely from her eyes.
“There is nothing of the debutante about me,” she said crisply.
“That’s true.” He caught her hand and pulled her around to face him. “When I asked you about that night in Edinburgh,” he said, his voice a little rough, “you said you did not know that it was me. Was that true too?”
Her lashes flickered down. He felt her tremble. “Yes,” she whispered.
Jack felt a savage disappointment. He had been so sure she had been lying, but by her own admission she had brazenly set out that night to seduce a man, any man. The vulnerability he had sensed in her just now had been a product of his imagination. He had seen it because he had wanted it to be so.
He was not sure why he felt so disappointed. He had no interest in anything other than possessing her.
“I wanted to forget everything that night,” she said. He saw her throat move as she swallowed convulsively. “I was looking for oblivion.”
Jack remembered her tears. Without a doubt she must have been missing Archie MacLeod, with whom she had shared a marriage, a relationship far deeper than a mere affair. He tried to find some compassion, but all he was able to feel was a fierce pang of jealousy—jealousy for her loyalty to her husband and an even less admirable fury that she had set out to drown her grief in the arms of any man who served her purpose. Someone other than he might have taken her; she would have made love with someone else the same way she had done with him, with heat and passion and abandonment.
“Well,” he said harshly, “next time you will be in no doubt that it is me.” He kissed her again. He still felt angry and he let it show in the way he took her mouth, took it and plundered it until she was gasping.
He loosed her, but only so he could look down into her eyes. “You need to understand,” he said harshly. “If
you agree to be my mistress, then I want everything. Everything I ask you must give me.”
She was trembling, but not from fear. She nodded.
“Say it,” Jack said.
“I agree,” she whispered, and he felt again that flash of vicious triumph.
He released her. “I’ll travel with you,” he said coolly. “As we are betrothed. One of your men can ride my horse.”
He saw her bite her lip. Her dislike of him taking control was a tangible thing. He could feel the antagonism coming off her in waves. Still, antagonism so often made the conquest all the sweeter. She had used him. Now it was his turn.
* * *
MAIRI HAD NEVER been more aware of a man in her entire life. He sprawled on the seat opposite, totally at ease, totally in command, his broad shoulders resting against the cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him and casually crossed at the ankle. He was indecently handsome. In confined quarters the effect those spectacular good looks had on her was most uncomfortable. There was a dangerous heat spreading slowly through her body, and her heart bumped hard in her chest. He was not looking at her, but it felt as though he was. It felt as though he was thinking about all the things they were going to do together—all the wicked, wanton, exciting things she craved and yet feared at the same time. She did not understand why she was so attracted to Jack Rutherford and she did not like it, but she was at a loss to know how to prevent it. There was no point in pretending that she had been coerced into this situation. Jack had made an indecent proposal and she agreed, not just for the protection of his name but because ever since that night in Edinburgh her senses had been thirsting for more. She felt as though she had been living in flat black-and-white and Jack had given her not only color but taste and texture too.
Their eyes met briefly and Mairi felt a tug of sensual awareness. She shook her head sharply. All she seemed able to think about was Jack and that moment he would choose to enforce her side of their bargain. Perhaps even here, now, in the carriage... Her eyes flew to his face and she realized that he was looking at her. In fact, he was laughing at her. He had read her thoughts.
“I have more finesse than that, I assure you.” His words were a low, amused drawl. “Though sex in a carriage can be a stimulating experience. Have you tried it?”
“No.” She turned her face away, very aware that she was blushing. It was odd that when she had picked him up in Edinburgh she had felt so brazen and confident yet now she was quite the reverse. She looked back on that night as something she could not quite explain, something shocking. She had felt so lonely and bereft, so very alone, that she had acted in a way she barely recognized. She did not want to explain that to Jack, though. Such a confession would lead inevitably to questions about her relationship with Archie, and that was not something she ever wanted to discuss, least of all with Jack. The painful secrets that were Archie’s legacy weighed down on her. She could not trust Jack with the truth. She trusted no one.
She stared hard at the passing scenery, not really seeing it through the sheen of tears in her eyes. Confusion was not an emotion she was familiar with. From the earliest age she had taken control of her life, of her marriage and then of Archie’s estates and her inheritance. Everything had been clear and ordered and she had been the one ordering it.
She felt hot and disturbed, and she did not want Jack to know. She might give him her body as the price of his protection, but she was never going to allow him into her mind.
She turned her thoughts toward Michael Innes and the danger he posed. The thought of him taking her to court filled her with a cold dread. It would be shameful enough to have her own life held up to scrutiny and criticism—demeaning, painful and embarrassing for her family. But that was as nothing compared to the damage Innes could do if he discovered and disclosed the secrets of Archie’s past. Lady MacLeod’s health was even more fragile than her husband’s, and the shame of the disgrace would destroy her. Their daughter, Eleanor, the only child the MacLeods had left, would be tainted by the scandal too, left with no hopes of marriage. Innes would take the money and the land and undo all that Archie had tried to achieve. Archie had relied on her to keep his estates and his people safe. She could not bear to fail him and betray his trust.
She glanced at Jack. His face was set and dark as though his thoughts were far away. He looked hard, uncompromising. She knew from the little her sister Lucy had told her of Robert and Jack’s business dealings abroad that he could be ruthless and determined. In truth, she would have known that about him anyway. Beneath the elegance and charm, Jack Rutherford was as hard as nails. She wondered suddenly what had made him so. She knew nothing of his past. She knew very little of him at all other than that he was Robert’s cousin and the Dowager Lady Methven’s grandson. People spoke of his business interests and his fortune and his estates but never of the man or his background.
She wondered what on earth the Dowager Lady Methven would have to say when she heard about the betrothal, Robert and Lucy too. She did not want to lie to her family, yet she could hardly tell the truth.
She thought about Jack touching her with casual possession, the intimacy of his use of her name. She would be obliged to tolerate his behavior without complaint when he treated her as though she were his betrothed. It felt like a great deal more than she was prepared to give. Then she thought of what else she would have to give him, her body, without reservation or restraint. Her stomach dropped at the thought and a mixture of apprehension and wicked anticipation spiked through her. She pressed her fingers to her hot cheeks.
“We will be stopping at the Kinlochewe Inn soon,” Jack said. “I thought we could stay there tonight.”
It was the last stop before Methven. Mairi half wanted to press on to their destination, but it was another couple of hours on bad roads and at the end of it there would be too many explanations. Her head ached again, fiercely. She put a hand up to her forehead and rubbed it absentmindedly.
Jack was watching her. “What is the matter?” he said.
“My head hurts,” Mairi said shortly, “and I am very tired. I would appreciate some privacy this evening—unless you insist on claiming me as your mistress immediately.”
A wicked smile tilted the corner of Jack’s lips. “The prospect of making love to a woman with a sick headache does not really appeal to me,” he drawled. “Besides, anticipation adds an edge to desire.”
Mairi turned her face away again, but she could feel her already hot cheeks heating even more. The carriage clattered through the gateway into the inn yard. Jack helped her down, holding her against him for a moment as her feet touched the ground. His hand was in the small of her back and he held her still while he kissed her. He took his time. Mairi’s face was flaming when he let her go. She knew he had made sure that everyone saw. Jack Rutherford had claimed her and everyone would know it.
CHAPTER TEN
JACK COULD NOT sleep. Normally he slept well, but tonight he was restless. He tossed and turned, knotting the sheets in a tourniquet about him, throwing the covers off, pulling them on as the chill of early morning settled on the room. The reason for his discomfort was not far to seek. She was about four feet away through the thin wall.
Prior to that evening he had not been aware that he had a conscience. He had done plenty of things in his life of which most men would be ashamed, and yet he had never felt a hint of regret. He prided himself on his ruthlessness and his ability to take what he wanted, using whatever means were at his disposal. He had thought that this was no different, that he was entirely justified in driving a hard bargain and demanding from Mairi the one thing he wanted. She had used him. Now it was his turn. Yet he felt no triumph. He felt nothing but a sort of emptiness.
This was not how it was meant to be.
Jack stared at the ceiling, at the play of the shadows across the peeling white paint and the cobwebs gently swaying
from the beams. He knew Mairi wanted him with a hunger that matched his own. He had felt it in every kiss; she had admitted as much. Yet he also knew that blackmail was not the way to achieve what he wanted. It was not worthy of him. More importantly he wanted Mairi to give herself to him of her own free will.
He was going soft in the head. It was inexplicable.
With a vehement curse he threw back the covers and wandered across to the table, where he poured water from the jug into the bowl and splashed it on his face. He crossed to the window. It stood ajar and he pushed the curtain back to look out over the mountains. A pale mist hung between them as light as gossamer. The sun was rising. It was going to be another beautiful day.
The beat of hooves on the road caught his attention. A lone rider was coming in fast from the west. Early in the morning or late at night, such an arrival usually indicated an urgent message. Jack shrugged himself into his jacket and reached for his boots.
The horseman galloped into the yard below. Looking out, Jack saw Methven livery. He slid out of the bedchamber door, taking care not to wake the rest of the inn’s occupants, but as he made for the stairs someone moved in the shadows. His hand went instinctively to his sword and then he recognized the glimmer of light on her face. It was Mairi. Her hair was down in a cloud of dark auburn. Her feet were bare beneath the lace trim of her nightgown. She wore nothing else but a shawl about her shoulders, and in the flat morning light she looked pale and so vulnerable that Jack’s heart gave a strange jolt. With a soft oath he let his blade slide back into its sheath.
“I saw the messenger from Methven,” she said. “I’m coming down with you.”
“Looking like that?” Jack said. “One glance and he will forget the nature of his message.” His gaze slid over her. One curl had slipped beneath the delicately embroidered neckline of her nightgown and was nestling in the valley between her breasts. He could see their rounded shape beneath the fine cotton and the darker outline of her nipples rubbing against the material. His gaze dropped lower to the shadow at the juncture of her thighs. Suddenly all tenderness in him fled, replaced by desire. He felt his body harden into arousal. His eyes met hers, dark and hot, and he saw there the same flare of primitive need. It was like the previous time, only much more fierce.
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