by Lois Greiman
And why was that again? He’d never obtained an acceptable answer to that query.
“So, the gown…” he said, skimming his hand down her sleeve. “Tell me again why you wear it?”
She raised her chin the slightest degree. “And all the while I thought clothing was a fairly standard practice these days,” she said. “Even in the more backward regions. Such as the Isle.”
Good saints, she was mean, he thought, and managed to stifle a grin. “Some have taken to the idea, I’m told, but I, meself, have never been in favor of it,” he said, and skimmed his fingers along her arm.
“Shall I assume you don’t sunburn easily, then?”
He did grin now. Why fight it? “Some consequences are well worth the cost, lass.”
For a moment he almost thought her smile would win the day, but she managed to stave it off like one might the black death.
He raised his brows, watching her from inches away. “Quite certain, I was, that you believed the same a few minutes ago.”
She cleared her throat as he skimmed his fingertips across her knuckles. “I am fairly sure I already apologized for what happened a few minutes ago.”
“Ahh yes. I believe you did.”
“Then as a gentleman you are required to accept my contrition and not mention it again.”
“But I am not a gentleman,” he said, and kissed her.
And glory be, she kissed him back, her lips warm and needy and as soft as a dream against his.
The moment stood still, bathed in moonlight, washed with desire until she pulled gently away.
“What are you, then?” she whispered.
Her eyes were wide now, and though he knew himself a fool, he couldn’t help but think she looked as innocent as the tiny lambs she’d drawn into the world.
“I thought we had discussed meself already,” he said, and slipped his hand down her neck to her shoulder. It was a beautiful shoulder, as smooth as satin, as warm as mulled wine.
“You are not a simple blacksmith,” she said.
Leaning forward, he kissed her just where her bodice crossed her clavicle. Good saints, she smelled like magic. “I don’t believe I ever said I was simple, lass.”
“Who are you?” She breathed the question, and he drank the words in.
“I might ask the same of you,” he said. “One minute you are tearing the clothes from my wee shivering body and…” He meant to make light of it, but found that despite it all, he couldn’t quite breathe for the feelings the sharp memories elicited. Pausing for a moment, he scrambled for his equilibrium. And what the devil was that about? He was no stammering farm boy, after all. No bumbling lad out for his first tumble. “Well…” He found his stride after a moment. “Suffice it to say you were doing some rather fascinating things.”
Her gaze flickered nervously away, and try as he might he couldn’t decide which side of her he preferred, the bold baroness or the mild maid. He stroked the tender length of her elegant throat.
“Where, may I ask, did you learn such things, lass?”
She cleared that elegant throat and forced herself to look at him. “Might you think there’s a school for such things?”
He chuckled low and quiet. True, she was as changeable as a Highland wind, but none would call her boring. “If there is, I think you could apply as tutor,” he said.
“I don’t believe my husband would approve.”
From another woman perhaps the statement would have been amusing. But he was not amused. Indeed, the thought of her wed made his heart squeeze tight in his chest.
“Tell me true, lass, why do you resist?”
She fiddled with a fold in his sleeve, then slipped her fingertips onto his bare chest, slowly, as though she couldn’t quite help herself. But all the while she refused to meet his eyes. “Resist what?” she asked.
“Taking me inside yourself,” he rasped.
The blatant question seemed to shock her. Her eyes grew wide and she ceased to breathe, but in a moment she steadied herself.
“I don’t deny that I’ve been a bit…unorthodox in the past. But now I am wed,” she said, and slipped her pinky over his left nipple. He let his eyes fall closed but managed not to whimper like a hopeful hound. “And I have every intention of making this marriage last.”
Steeling himself, he considered her answer for a moment but found it impossible to believe a word of it. Perhaps it was because she was caressing him with mind-bending tenderness as she spoke. But maybe it had something to do with what he knew of her past. “Is it because I am not a great lord?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you are.” She pressed his shirt aside ever so slightly, granting her greater access and smoothing her palm across his pectoral. “You refuse to tell me the truth,” she said, and flickered her gaze to his.
Their eyes met with a clash of sharp feeling.
“I’m beginning to fear I could refuse you nothing,” he said, and felt suddenly that it was not just a foolish line, but a painful truth.
“Then tell me who you are.” She skimmed her fingers feather-light down a groove between his ridged muscles, but he managed to find some lucidness.
“I’m a worker of metal, a trainer of horses, a lover of women.”
“You’re a liar.”
He grinned. “If I were not, would you make love to me?”
“No.”
“Then I have little reason to change. Give me some hope,” he pleaded. “I am only a rough-cut stone now. But if I were polished, might you love me?”
“What you are is a—” she began, and stopped abruptly, immobilized. “What did you say?” Her voice was breathy.
“I believe I was begging for your—”
“Before that?”
“I asked for hope.”
“After that.”
He scowled. “I was talking about…me stones?”
“Stones,” she hissed, and suddenly she was upright, standing beside the bed like a general about to direct his subordinates. “Holy hell. The stones!”
He stared at her, wondering if she was, perhaps, completely out of her mind. Wondering, too, if that would make her any less desirable. “In truth,” he said, “not every woman becomes so excited about me stones. But I’m pleased to see—”
“Get out!”
“I beg—”
“Now.”
“I didn’t mean to offend—” he began, but she was literally dragging him from the bed, and damned if she wasn’t the strongest little baroness who had ever tried to drag him anywhere.
“The moon is gone now.”
“But it might—”
“Hurry!” she said, and shoving him out the door, locked it firmly behind him.
Chapter 14
“Why London?” Sean asked, but kept his gaze steady on the winding road ahead. Daisy was a fine steed, but had a tendency to hit every possible pothole if left unattended, and he had no desire to see his passengers dumped into the ditch. Even though Clarette Tilmont was obviously as mad as a spring hare.
She had insisted that Mrs. Edwards accompany them yet again. Thus the three of them were squashed onto a seat built for two. Their chaperone, bulky and lax, should have been an effective buffer between them, especially considering the baroness’s obvious derangement. Yet he could feel her effects on him as clearly as if he was touching her skin, kissing her lips. And how bloody stupid was that? He was not attracted to this woman. Well, not beyond the mere physicality of it, at any rate. Oh yes, he still intended to seduce her, but not because he wanted to. Well, he wanted to, but…fook it, he was as daft as she was. And why the devil were they going to London? Was she meeting a lover there? And if so, why the hell wasn’t he that lover?
“My lady?” Giving their snoozing chaperone a nudge to keep her upright, Sean kept his tone even, though God knew he wanted to shake the haughty baroness until her teeth rattled. Especially when she turned toward him as if he were of no more significance than a bothersome gnat.
“What i
s it, Lowlywick?”
He gave her a smile. He knew it might have been a little tight. Perhaps he’d been a bit frustrated since…meeting her. “I asked why we are traveling to London.”
She raised her brows slightly. “Might that be your concern in some unimaginable way?”
Damn right it was. She was driving him mad. He smiled again. “I but hope you are not in some sort of trouble.”
As if shocked by his words, she leaned away a little. Any farther and she might well tumble over the low side. He was ashamed to find the thought entertaining. Maybe.
“Whyever would a lady such as myself be in trouble?” she asked, and steadied their chaperone with one gloved hand.
Why? Because she was trouble. Damn her, he couldn’t even think when she was near. And when she wasn‘t near…Why the devil had she chased him so abruptly from her chambers the previous night? She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. Hadn’t she? Or was it all an act? A devious ploy to drive him from his—
He stopped himself, calmed his thoughts. “So all is well?” he asked.
“Of course.”
They rattled along for a few more seconds. He willed himself to be silent. After all, he was the driver, and little more. But the words came out unbidden.
“Is it a man?”
She turned back toward him with a snap and jerked her gaze to the widow, but the old woman was as limp as a cabbage leaf, her head bouncing loosely with every beat of the chestnut’s staccato trot.
“Must I remind you, yet again, that I’m a married woman?” Clarette’s voice was hushed but audible.
“Perhaps you should remind yourself,” Sean said. He felt petty and itchy.
“I’ve done nothing to break my husband’s trust,” she hissed.
He raised his brows.
She rushed her gaze back to Mrs. Edwards, but that one’s mouth had fallen open. Clarette pursed hers. The sight of those succulent lips did something ridiculous to his…everything. He pushed his gaze back to her eyes with an effort, but couldn’t forget how her mouth had felt as it enclosed him. His body tightened traitorously at the memory.
“You’ve a curious definition of nothing, lass,” he said, and though he tried, he couldn’t seem to keep his attention from the fullness of her lips.
“Quit that!” she ordered.
“What?”
“Looking at me like that.” She snapped her gaze back to the old woman who now snored between them. “She may be deaf, but she’s not blind.”
“Tell me why we go to London.”
For a moment he thought she’d refuse to answer, but finally she spoke. “I have a bit of business there,” she said, and reaching out, returned Mrs. Edwards’s flopping right hand onto her plump lap.
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of business?”
“Am I mistaken, or are you yet in my employ?”
“I can assure you I’m doing me best to service you.” He hadn’t exactly meant to make that sound suggestive, but damn it, it was impossible to think in any other terms where she was concerned. Now, however, she merely stared at him, scowling a bit, as if she didn’t understand the reference. Which was damned strange for a courtesan. “But you ejected me from your room.”
“Will you hush your mouth.” Her words were barely audible, but it hardly mattered. He could have guessed her sentiment just by seeing the outrage on her face, and for some reason that brightened his mood.
“I will if you tell me the reason for this journey.”
She glared at him for several seconds, lowered her attention to the old woman again, then sighed. “Very well, but you must swear secrecy.”
He refrained from holding his breath, but his attention was so intense on her that for a moment he forgot entirely about the mare. The tilbury bumped unceremoniously through a pothole.
Awakening suddenly, Mrs. Edwards squawked in terror. As for Clarette, she grabbed the mounting handle and braced her hip against the old woman to keep them both upright.
“Watch what you’re about, lad!” their chaperone scolded.
“Me apologies,” he said, and in a matter of moments Mrs. Edwards was snoring again.
“I believe you were about to divulge your reasons for this journey,” Sean said, and kept his attention on the road disappearing between the mare’s chestnut ears.
“And you swear not to tell another?”
“You’ve me word as a…blacksmith,” he said, and gave her his best smile. There was no reason to allow her to know that she was driving him out of his mind.
“Very well, then,” she said. “I plan to buy my husband a gift.”
He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. “A gift.”
“Yes.”
“And why is that?”
“Because he is my husband.”
“Then perhaps he should not have left you alone at—” he began, but she held up her hand. It was gloved, but he couldn’t forget how her velvety fingers had felt against his chest, his belly, his…
She cleared her throat, doing the same with his lurid thoughts, then scowled at Mrs. Edwards, whose head was lolling around like a walnut on a thread of yarn. “Sometimes I can be a bit…impatient.”
He stared at her. “What?”
She glanced away as if peeved. “Perhaps you have not noticed, you being a…” she waved a hand at him dismissively and shook her head once. “Whatever the hell you are. But at times I can be rather…”
“Mad?” he guessed.
“No.”
“Shrewish, annoying, petty?”
“Superior,” she said, face deadpan.
“Are you saying you are superior or that you act superior?”
For one wild moment he almost thought she would laugh, for her eyes lit like magic and her mouth quirked, but finally her impassive expression was firmly back in place.
“Both,” she said.
“So you’re apologizing for acting superior even though you are superior.”
“Some believe the nobility are supposed to be…” She sighed, looking put upon. “…accommodating to the little people.”
“Little people. Such as gnomes?”
“Such as blacksmiths.”
He wouldn’t kill her. That would be wrong. But he had no compunctions about embarrassing her. “A woman of your experience must know better than to think me little, lass,” he said.
She raised a brow at him.
“After last night,” he explained.
“Good God, have you no shame?” she hissed, and though her expression became increasingly haughty, her cheeks reddened in concert.
He couldn’t quite stop his chuckle, for her outrage made him near ecstatic. “Not about that, surely.”
“How is it that you’ve not been flayed within an inch of your life by some lady’s irate husband?”
“Generally the ladies in question have sense enough not to announce our affair,” he said, and failed to miss a bump in the road. Mrs. Edwards’s eyes flickered open.
“Truffles!” She all but shouted the word.
Clarette jumped, Daisy jerked in her traces, and Sean lowered his attention to the old woman’s eyes.
“What say you, Mrs. Edwards?”
“Chocolate éclairs,” she muttered, and nodded back into oblivion.
“We’re not having an ‘affair,’” hissed the baroness, and nudged the big woman’s bulk toward Sean.
“What’s that?” he asked, though he had heard her perfectly well.
“We are not having an affair.”
“What would you call it then, lass?”
“A mistake!”
He narrowed his eyes at her and kept the lines steady. “Is that what you always call it when you put your mouth around a man’s—”
“Shut up!” she hissed, and he laughed.
“Where are we going?”
“What?” she looked as flustered as a scolded child. Her expression made him want to ki
ss her…or shake her. Maybe both.
“To get this gift for your lauded husband. What is our destination?”
“We are not going anywhere. You’ll wait outside.”
“Very well,” he said, “unless it’s a bordello. You’re not buying him a prostitute, are you?”
“Of course not. What is wrong with you?” she gasped, and he laughed.
“For a courtesan, you seem strangely prudish.” He reconsidered that for an instant. “Sometimes,” he added, and she blushed again.
He watched the color dawn on her cheeks, then continued. “If not a prostitute, what?”
She looked annoyed. “He’s quite fond of cuff links.”
“So you’re going to a jeweler?” Hope surged in his chest. He knew a little shop that would be perfect for the occasion.
“If that’s acceptable to you.”
He smiled. “Far be it from me to overstep my boundaries and give an opinion regarding my lady’s plans. Which shop do you intend to visit?”
She paused for a moment. “You’re a metalsmith. Which do you recommend?”
“Please, me lady…” he said, exaggerating his brogue. “I am naught but a humble blacksmith.”
She scowled at him. “I doubt you’re a humble anything. Have you a shop to recommend?”
He pricked his ears at her tone. It almost seemed edged with uncertainty. “But surely there is a store you favor.”
She shrugged and glanced at the country that rolled past them like a verdant panorama. “Naturally, but I can hardly visit one my husband frequents. It might well ruin the surprise,” she said.
He longed to question her further, for she still seemed tense, but he dare not lose this opportunity. “There’s a shop on Oxford Street that some find pleasing.”
“Some who?”
He stared at her.
Her scowl darkened. “Some women?”
It actually took a moment for him to recognize the jealousy in her voice, but when he did, he smiled. “Dare I hope that you would care?”
