The Marquess's Scottish Bride

by Lauren Royal

  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 future happiness.

  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, two neat rows 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 guess what she meant.

  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 Emerald 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 hang it if one of them didn’t have a square head.

  Although somehow he’d known all afternoon, he gaped in astonishment.

  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 quivering 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 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 Emerald away from the street, tilted her face up, and crushed his mouth to hers.

  THIRTY-NINE

  STARTLED, Caithren pushed weakly at Jason’s chest with both hands.

  “Kiss me, will you?” He spoke against her lips. “They mustn’t see our faces.”

  “Who?” she asked, but the question was smothered by his mouth, and her awareness whirled and skidded when his arms settled around her shoulders, dragging her to him. 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. She wound her fingers in his silky, blunt-cut hair. Heat sprinted along her veins as his lips—

  He pulled away. “I think they’re gone.”

  She moved with him, pressing closer. “Are you sure?”

  “Mmm.” Another light kiss sent her heart to racing. “Pretty sure.”

  When he released her, 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, sweet. In my estimation, that was nowhere near a ravishing.” His hand went up to stroke his missing mustache, then dropped to his side. “Besides, you didn’t seem to take exception. You kissed me too.”

  “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 arranged this whole thing,” 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. “Need I make up stories to kiss you? Couldn’t I just…”

  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 spicy, warm scent flooded her senses.

  When he set her away, carefully placing her straight, she just stood there, trying to catch her wind. 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.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, shaken and embarrassed. To avoid his eyes, 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, considering whether she ought to believe him despite the blow to her pride.

  In all truth, a battalion could have thundered by during that kiss 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 more arguing.

  She wanted more kissing.

  Her legs felt wobbly, and her heart was still racing.

  He looked down at her and spoke more gently. “You see? They’re definitely gone.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and took her hand reassuringly. “Don’t be frightened.”

  She wasn’t frightened, but since she liked holding his hand, she didn’t say so. Even his fingers felt warm and exciting. Though she’d rather he take her hand because he wanted to, for him to take it out of gallantry was nearly as good.

  “Come along,” he said. “We’ll get you some supper, and you’ll feel better.”

  That prompte
d a smile. “Is food your solution for everything, then?”

  “Nearly.” 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 a room with Jason tonight made her legs go wobbly again. Remembering the touch of his lips, feeling his hand in hers, her whole body seemed afire.

  “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—he’d convinced himself they were being followed by a murderer.

  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 found herself tilting her face up…

  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 this man, though she couldn’t figure why. She didn’t want to marry him—perish the thought!—didn’t want to share Leslie with anyone but Cameron. But the feelings Jason seemed to kindle in her were thrilling and fascinating; what harm could there be in exploring them? She needn’t fear for her reputation, since she knew no one in this wretched country but the one Englishman—and he’d made it clear he already had the lowest opinion of her virtue. If she couldn’t convince him he’d got the wrong impression, she may as well live up to it, aye?

  Not that she cared what he thought of her. She didn’t require his good opinion.

  Only his lips.

  And his cooperation, she supposed.

  But surely that was quite feasible. She gathered he wasn’t immune to her charms—whatever those might be. She’d watched other girls wrap men around their little fingers. She’d simply have to do that to Jason until he gave up another kiss.

  Just one more kiss.

  Or perhaps several. They had two days left in their journey, after all.

  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.

  FORTY

  “NAY, PLEASE don’t leave.”

  His hand on the door latch, Jason turned to look at Emerald. She’d finished unplaiting her hair and was slowly dragging her fingers through the dark golden mass.

  “Pardon?” he said. “I’ll be back. I was just leaving so you can change.”

  “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.”

  She was holding herself in an odd, un-Emerald-like posture, her back all arched. Was she ill? Had she eaten something rotten at supper?

  Jason narrowed his eyes. “You removed the stomacher yourself in Newark-on-Trent.”

  “It was a struggle.” She sighed prettily, her eyes a soft blue. “You should have been there.”

  “Amusing, was it?”

  “Nay. I mean you literally should have been there to assist me.” With a coy flourish, she whisked his handkerchief out of her neckline and tossed it onto the closest bed. “Please?” she said huskily, coming closer.

  His gaze went straight to the creamy skin exposed by her scooped neckline. The room suddenly felt overwarm. Jason’s belly clenched. Perhaps the lamb had been rancid. Or perhaps he was feeling…

  That was, it seemed as if she wanted…

  Flowers of Scotland were muddling his brain.

  “Very well,” he said slowly, since he couldn’t see a polite way to refuse. “I’ll help just this once.” He began detaching the tabs. “This really is quite simple, though. Watch.”

  She looked down. “I’m watching,” she all but purred. “My, Jason, you really are quite good at this.”

  Now the room seemed unbearably hot. He wondered wildly if the inn might be on fire. Should he stick his head out the window and look for smoke? It sounded like a fine idea. So did loosening his collar and removing his surcoat, but that would be too much like undressing himself while he undressed Emerald…which was a notion his muddled mind couldn’t begin to contemplate.

  A nervous laugh escaped him as he set the stomacher on her bed. “There.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, coming even closer. Now they stood toe to toe. She raised her face, and the look in her blue, blue eyes, lit up by the blazing hearth, was unmistakable.

  She was seducing him!

  He’d wondered in the stables, when she’d gazed up at him with this same expression. But the smooth talk he’d somehow conjured in the alley—where had it come from? Nowhere near a ravishing, indeed!—hadn’t returned to him in the stable, leaving him confused and tongue-tied.

  Much like he was now. Though a distant corner of his mind had to reckon that, for Emerald to be acting this way of a sudden, she must think him a rather good kisser. He tried not to feel too pleased about that.

  Especially since he knew he ought not to kiss her again. Though kissing Emerald had been even better than he’d dreamed—an indescribable meshing of softness and sweetness and warmth…no, not warmth, more like fire. But a forging sort of fire, not a destructive sort. And her fingers had pulled gently at his hair like—

  He abruptly returned to the present to realize he’d plunged his hands into her hair, closing the gap between them and leaning over her until their lips were a mere whisper apart.

  Startled, he leapt back as if he’d been burned.

  Her brows knit together, then her eyes seemed to spark with something akin to desperation. Her hands went to tug at her laces, and he blinked at her, horrified. This was so unlike her. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “I’m g-getting comfortable for bed,” she stammered. “Like you keep telling me to. Mrs. Twentyman’s night rail, well, it’s really too big and cumbersome. I think I’ll just loosen this dress. You don’t need to leave—”

  “Stop,” he whispered, snatching up her hands. She fell silent. He held both her hands still, feeling dizzy with her nearness and the cloud of scent that surrounded him. Flowers of Scotland again.

  When she swayed toward him, he retreated a step. Her eyes going hard with determination, she walked up to him. Right up to him, her forehead nearly colliding with his chin. Her hands freed themselves and came up to rest lightly on his shoulders. He stood, speechless, while she went on tiptoe and pressed he
r lips to his.

  Soft lips. A deluge of sensation overwhelmed his uncertainty. Heedless of the painful wrench in his shoulder, his arms went around her to press her close, and then closer—close enough to feel the hard rectangle of her emerald necklace between them. Beneath the thin English dress, her back felt small and vulnerable against his hands.

  Vulnerable? Emerald MacCallum, vulnerable?

  Rational thought was slow to return, seeping in around the edges of the deluge.

  Of course Emerald was vulnerable, or she wouldn’t be needing his protection, and he wouldn’t be hauling her all over England for the sake of her safety.

  But vulnerable or not, she was still Emerald MacCallum. And he was still Jason Chase. And all the kissing in the world couldn’t change the fact that they were wrong for each other.

  There would never be courtship between them, much less marriage. There would only be impropriety, and later, inevitably, bad feelings.

  A true gentleman would put an end to this.

  Father would have put an end to this.

  Though Jason knew all that, it still cost him an enormous effort to break the kiss.

  Emerald gazed at him, her eyes now darkened to a deep, hazy blue. She licked her lips. He swallowed hard. Deliberately he lifted her hands from his shoulders, moved to sit on the far bed, and began pulling off his boots.

  She followed him and sat herself on the edge of the mattress.

  Though his arms itched to gather her to him, instead he forced a laugh. “Your bed is over there, Emerald.” He hoped she didn’t notice the roughness in his voice.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. She came to stand before him, and one hand went up to draw her thick hair over her shoulder. Twirling it slowly, she looked young, nervous, and innocent. It must be his imagination—either that, or she was quite the actress. The infamous Emerald MacCallum and this blushing maiden couldn’t possibly be the same person.

  Well, he could act, too. Forcing another laugh, he looked pointedly toward the second bed.

  Her lower lip trembled. “I know there are two beds in this room, Jase. You don’t have to laugh at me.” Averting her gaze, she walked slowly to the other bed, lowering herself to it as though she might break.