Emerald

by Lauren Royal

  She smoothed down her skirts and spread them wide, doing her best to hide his efforts to lace his breeches, though the other couple was half-undressed now and completely oblivious. Their panting moans filled the air, striking Caithren as sounding rather comical. Surely she and Jason didn't sound like that when they made love.

  Did they?

  Giggling, she followed him out of the summerhouse.

  "This isn't funny," he muttered, buttoning his surcoat in a partially effective attempt to hide the bulge in his breeches. When she giggled again, he looked up and grabbed her by the shoulders, hushing her with his lips.

  That move, at least, was very effective.

  "Shall we make for home?" he asked against her mouth, the words teasingly warm. "I believe I've had quite enough of this ball for tonight."

  With a mastery that made her pulse pound, he deepened the kiss. For a long exciting minute, she was caught in his spell. When at last he pulled away, a soft sigh escaped her.

  "I've a bed at home," he said low in her ear, nibbling on her lobe. "And…" He looked up and raised a brow. "Privacy."

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  They ran through the gardens, laughing all the way, Caithren struggling to keep her clothes on as they went.

  A few feet from the door, Jason pulled her behind a hedge and turned her to face him. Together they got her chemise into place, her bodice laced, the stomacher attached—although it had an odd crease in the middle. She crossed her arms over it.

  "There." Jason adjusted the curls on her shoulders and kissed her on the lips. "You look perfect."

  "So do you." Her gaze wandered down his body and back up. He pulled the surcoat tighter around his middle. "Almost." She giggled.

  He loved the way she could go from hot passion to laughter in a split second. Though that meant she could be as quick to anger as well, it was worth it. It was what made her Caithren. It was what made him want her. If only she could still love him after this night.

  He knew he was asking for the impossible.

  "But that other couple," she said, "they will have grass in their hair. They're not nearly as creative as you are—as the Gypsy foretold you would be." Her teasing grin caught at his heart. "That other couple won't look perfect."

  "And Charles's courtiers will think nothing of it. So long as they're not man and wife." He drew her from behind the hedge, toward the glittering ballroom. "In these circles, men expect only their mistresses to be faithful."

  "Is that so?" she said, a challenge in her voice. Her eyes also told him she wouldn't put up with that sort of marriage.

  If only it mattered.

  Well, there was nothing for it. All he could do was make the rest of this evening as perfect as it had been so far, and then hope against hope…

  He took a deep breath and opened the door to the music and the dancing and all the people who'd done their best—albeit innocently—to keep him from loving Caithren this night.

  Grabbing her hand, he strolled through the crowd, a single purpose in mind: to get her into his arms again and finish what they'd started.

  "Cainewood! Haven't seen you in ages! Will you introduce me—"

  "Later."

  Later. Later. Later. Always one more interruption, one more excuse. It seemed an hour before they escaped out the front door and stood waiting for his coachman to bring the carriage around.

  Jason drew Cait near and wrapped her in his arms.

  She snuggled closer. "Crivvens, it was hot in there."

  "Hot?" He took her lips in a deep kiss, his hands wandering down to squeeze her bottom. "Right now it's hotter out here."

  She giggled. A sweet, sweet—bittersweet for him—giggle.

  When the carriage arrived, they hurried inside, and he pulled her to straddle his lap. "Can we do it in a carriage?" she asked as the door slammed shut.

  "I mean to find out." His hand went beneath her skirt and wandered up her shapely legs to find her slick and ready. With a little gasp, she moved to unlace his breeches, a seductive, impatient gesture that made him bite his lip. The carriage started with a lurch, hampering her fumbling efforts. When he finally burst free, he couldn't remember ever being so relieved.

  She wiggled close, wound her arms around his neck, fastened her lips on his, her tongue a warm promise in his greedy mouth. Then—bump!—the wheels hit a rut, and their noses mashed together.

  "Sorry," he whispered, adjusting her on his lap.

  "Mmm," she murmured, going again for his lips, but missing and grazing his cheek instead. "It's all right. I think." A little giggle sounded by his ear.

  Steadying her head in his hands, he tried once more, managing naught but a couple of fleeting baby kisses. The carriage bucked over the cobblestones as though it had no springs, never mind how much he'd paid to outfit the damned contraption.

  They jounced in and out of a pothole with a bone-rattling jolt that brought their mouths colliding together with enough force to nearly crack their teeth. "I don't think this will work," she whimpered.

  Ruefully he rubbed at his lips. "I'll make it work."

  Nuzzling her neck, he concentrated below instead, moving his hands to her hips in a feverish effort to guide their two bodies together. But the bench seat was hellishly narrow, and she shifted and swayed on his lap.

  No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't connect. Rounding a corner, Cait bounced right to the floor and stayed there, convulsed in laughter.

  "It's not going to work." Coming up on her knees, she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. Her skirts were twisted around her legs, the bent stomacher was skewed, and her tangled curls bounced on her shoulders in the same uneven rhythm as the carriage. "How long to your house?"

  This late, traffic was negligible. With the exception of aristocratic carousers, Londoners kept inside at night. "Five more minutes."

  "Five minutes." She sighed as though it were hours and hours. Then she reached to lace him back up, weaving on her knees while she tried to keep her balance.

  He pushed her hands away, knowing he couldn't take her fingers on him now. Quickly he did it himself, loosely, then pulled her up and across his lap.

  "It's sorry I am, Jase." She burrowed into his neck, her breath warm there, her mouth moist. "Do you think you can wait?"

  "I reckon I'll have to."

  Her only response was another sweet sigh.

  "You know," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle, "my brother brought a woman to this house last year and took her to his bed. And I was terribly righteous and told him he'd have to marry her."

  She sat upright, steadying herself with an arm across the seatback. "You mean Colin and Amy?"

  "Yes." He grunted when she bounced in his lap. "Last month they had a beautiful baby daughter."

  "That's very nice. But you don't have to marry me, Jason. In fact, I wouldn't countenance it." Her voice dropped until he could hardly hear it over the wheels rattling on the cobblestones. "My home is in Scotland."

  With a hand on her chin, he brought her gaze to his. "Caithren?"

  "Hmm?" In the soft glow from the sidelight, her eyes looked hazy blue.

  "Are you enjoying yourself this night?"

  She nodded seriously. "More than I ever thought possible."

  "Even though you're in England?"

  "Even though." Managing to guide her lips to his, she kissed him softly. "Maybe especially so." Her words were almost shy, surprising him. His Cait was never shy. "Because you're here. In England."

  A heaviness weighted his chest. "Will you remember that tomorrow? No matter what happens?"

  Her gaze was steadfast—and perhaps a bit curious. "I'll remember it forever."

  "Good. I'm counting on it."

  He was praying for it as the carriage drew to a halt. Because when the sun rose in the morning, what he had to tell her would surely break her heart.

  The house was dark and still when they entered. He eased the door shut and found her lips with his as he felt for the ca
ndle that was kept on the nearby table. Pulling away, he went to light it, fumbling when her hands streaked under his surcoat. He cursed softly, and Caithren giggled.

  "Hush," he whispered. "We cannot wake Kendra. I'm half-surprised she didn't wait up to hear all about our evening."

  With a soft hiss, the flame came to life, and she snuggled against him, her eyes a deep blue in the sudden light. Beneath the coat, her arms tightened around him. A choked sound escaped his throat, and he fused his mouth to hers. His breath quickened at her indescribable flavor, the way her soft curves molded themselves to his harder body.

  She angled her head, deepening the kiss, then suddenly broke contact. "Where is your room?" Her eyes blazed, full of impatient promise. "Hurry."

  The candle in one hand, he slung an arm around her, and they scrambled up the stairs, both of them stumbling in the mad rush.

  The minute his bedchamber door closed behind them, Caithren was on him, her mouth pressed to his. "Now," she demanded. "No food. No teasing. Here. Now."

  He reached blindly to set the candle on a table, teasing the farthest thing from his mind. It was all he could do not to rip her clothes or his in their haste.

  They tumbled onto the bed, all arms and legs and hot, wet mouths. "Now," she said again, and he drove into her, groaning at the sheer perfection of her body taking his. She climaxed with a sharp cry that met his own deep moan. He felt her tighten around him, and gusts of pleasure overcame him, stunning his senses.

  In seconds it was over. This time. There would be more time before the morning, time to be slow and caring, time to taste and touch.

  Time to savor the last hours before the truth destroyed everything between them.

  At the thought, an ache overwhelmed him. He nuzzled her ear, then words spilled out in a whisper. "I love you, Cait."

  Beneath him, she seemed to stop breathing. "I—"

  "Hush." He didn't want to hear it, not from her. Not when she wouldn't be able to say it again on the morrow. "I love you, and I want you to remember that. No matter what happens tomorrow."

  "Why do you keep bringing up tomorrow?" she asked in a voice soft and sated. "What is happening tomorrow? Besides the wedding and finding Adam? And hopefully apprehending Gothard?"

  He pulled back and captured her gaze with his. "We will wake to the morning sun, wrapped in each other's arms. I will bring you breakfast in bed." The candlelight seemed to flicker in her passionate, hazel eyes. "And then—then I have something to tell you. And I want your promise that you'll remember I love you."

  She struggled up on an elbow. "That is something," she whispered, "that I will never, ever forget."

  "Then show me," he said, and she melted into his arms once again.

  In the gray light of dawn, Jason jerked awake.

  He'd forgotten his head last night.

  Bloody hell, what if he'd gotten Cait with child?

  He lay stone still, a fist pressed to his heart. A few hours of mindless passion might have ruined both their lives.

  If the worst came to pass, what would she do? What would he do? He wasn't a man to force a woman to the altar, nor was he one to want his child raised in another country, far from his love and influence. But the decision wasn't his, that he knew. If she carried his babe, Caithren wouldn't even know until after she'd returned back home. She wouldn't have to tell him. He might never find out he had a son or daughter living in Scotland.

  How would she cope, a never-married woman with a child? Here she would be shunned. He was admittedly ignorant of the social pressures where she lived, but he'd wager it was the same. For the rest of her life, she might suffer for his lack of responsibility.

  He could only pray his seed hadn't taken. And though he was not a religious man, he did pray, fervently.

  Beside him Caithren slept, looking happy and peaceful. Though he ached to touch her beloved face, he wouldn't risk startling her awake. She would waken soon enough, and then it would be over…because then he would tell her the truth. Any feelings she had for him would die. And now she might be carrying his child—the child of their precious, fleeting love.

  Could things get any worse?

  Beneath his window, Jason heard the bellman call the hour of six, followed by muffled conversation. His skin prickled with a sudden, foreboding awareness. He slid from the bed and over to the window, parting the drapes just enough to see between.

  Through the morning fog, he could barely make out the bellman, his lamp held high, casting a yellowish glow. Beside him, talking to him, sat a man on a horse.

  A man with a squarish head.

  Apparently things could get worse.

  Letting the drapes drop closed, he dashed for the stables, pulling on his clothes as he ran.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  We will wake to the morning sun, wrapped in each other's arms. I will bring you breakfast in bed…

  Caithren woke to the morning sun, but Jason wasn't wrapped in her arms. Her heart plummeted. Then she decided he must be off getting her breakfast in bed.

  Until two hours later, when he still hadn't appeared with it.

  Tears stinging her eyes, she finally gave up and rose to get dressed. Everything in Jason's chamber reminded her of him. His personal style was evident in the solid, masculine furnishings. His scent clung to the bedclothes, the very walls. She cleaned up at his washstand, rinsing away the traces of his body on hers. But not the impression he'd made on her heart.

  After a night of blissful loving, she'd fallen peacefully to sleep, certain he was going to ask her to wed him this morning. She'd been sure that was what he'd meant—that she should remember he loved her when he asked her to be his wife. And he hoped that his declaration of love would persuade her to agree, even though she'd already told him she belonged home in Scotland.

  She had yet to decide what her answer would be. But she'd been sure of the question.

  But now she realized she'd been wrong. He'd only meant she should remember he loved her when he told her they couldn't stay together. That he loved her, but it wasn't enough. There were too many obstacles, too many differences. Her family was too low-ranked. Something.

  She could live with that, if she had to—it wasn't as though she hadn't been expecting it all along. But after promising the morning together to straighten things out, he'd gone off somewhere and left her alone to wrestle with all her wrenching doubts.

  So much for his promises not being given lightly.

  The pain and uncertainty were crushing. But Caithren Leslie could bear it.

  She should have known not to take an Englishman at his word.

  Jason held his nose as he rode past a ditch that had been used as a communal grave for more than a thousand bodies during London's last great plague. Though the remains had been covered with dirt, after two years it still seemed to reek.

  Everything in his life seemed to be reeking right now.

  Damnation, he'd lost Geoffrey Gothard's trail.

  As he turned the corner into the secondhand-clothing market on Houndsditch, Jason found himself wishing again that Caithren really were Emerald. Emerald MacCallum knew how to track a man. Emerald MacCallum would have captured her quarry.

  It had cost him precious minutes to saddle a horse and take off, but Gothard hadn't ridden away until he'd glimpsed Jason rounding the corner of the town house. Yet he'd never managed to catch up. And now the man had seemingly disappeared into the maze that was known as London.

  Once again they were playing hide-and-seek, but Jason couldn't figure out the rules of the game. Gothard had chased him all the way to London—why didn't he come after him now instead of running off? It couldn't be that Gothard feared confronting him on a public street, because Jason had followed him halfway across town. The man had had ample opportunity to lead him somewhere more private.

  Cursing his ineptitude, he kept one hand on his pocket watch as he jostled his mount between two unkempt riders. If Cait were Emerald instead, he wouldn't have panicked and left her,
terrified for her safety. Not to mention he might have done a better job of following the man if he hadn't been swamped with guilt. Guilt that muddled his mind. For more than thirty-six hours he'd known the truth, known that Caithren was searching for a brother she'd never find. Every one of those hours had taken its toll on his soul.

  Piles of garments cluttered the street, guarded by watchful owners. Barking madly, a dog skirted the mounds and darted under Jason's horse, making him shy. A wagon splashed mud as it careened on by, its driver ignoring several vendors who angrily brushed off their soiled goods, yelling obscenities after him.

  Once again Jason had proven himself a failure, unworthy of his father's name.

  He'd failed to catch Gothard. He'd failed to tell Caithren the truth yesterday, he'd failed to keep her safe from pregnancy, and he'd failed to be there for her this morning. She had no reason to attend the wedding, yet by now she was probably getting ready, excited to see her brother. He pictured her choosing a gown from Kendra's clothes press, carefully painting her face, sticking on another adorable heart-shaped patch. All for nothing.

  He craned his neck. Was that Gothard's sandy head he glimpsed through the mass of haggling customers? Thinking it just might be, his hopes lifted. He dug in his heels, racing after the man, then caught up to find himself disappointed yet again.

  It wasn't Gothard, after all. But the man had to be nearby…somewhere.

  He would give it one more hour. Then, if he were unsuccessful, he would go home. And—no matter that it would be the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life—he'd tell Caithren the whole truth.

  "He'll be back, Cait."

  Caithren looked up from her feet, which were trodding a path through Lincoln's Inn Fields, and over to her new friend Kendra. "I know he'll be back. He lives here." With a sigh, she made her way over to a stone bench. "You just don't understand. He promised me we would be together this morning. He said he had something to tell me."