by Lauren Royal
As she straightened, her hair still bunched in one hand, Jason’s arms came around her from behind. She hadn’t even heard him move close. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.
Warm and soft. Her breath caught, and she stood stone still. She hadn’t imagined it the first time, she realized, a little thrill running through her at the thought. “What was that for?”
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I met you,” he said.
Quite unsure about this side of Jason and where it had come from, she turned to face him. His penetrating gaze was entrancing. “Well, I wouldn’t have stopped you,” she said.
“I don’t expect you would have.” He took a deep breath and looked away, the Jason she knew slipping back into place. “Let me fetch some dry clothes.”
Still stunned, she stood and shivered while he went through the portmanteau. One after another, their clothes came out, most of the pieces soaking wet.
She draped the garments on the floor around the room. “I hope they’ll dry,” she said on a sigh.
Finally, from the very bottom, he unearthed a pair of buff breeches and Mrs. Twentyman’s night rail and held them both up triumphantly. “Dry. Almost. Which do you want?” He waved the breeches with a grin.
Surprised and a bit unnerved by his playfulness, she snatched the night rail from his other hand. “This will do, thank you. Turn around.”
Thankfully, he obeyed. One of his feet impatiently tapped on the wooden floor, the wet boot leather squeaking with each motion.
“No peeking,” she admonished. Quite adept at removing stomachers now, she did so in all haste.
“Are you finished yet?”
“Nay. Stay put.”
His foot kept tapping while she wiggled into the night rail. Reaching beneath the hem, she pushed everything down and off, leaving her shoes in the wet pile when she stepped out of it.
“Now your turn.” She faced away to wait.
“I hate that night rail,” he drawled from behind her. “I think we ought to burn that thing.”
“You haven’t got a fire,” she said crisply. “And I haven’t got anything else dry to wear. Are you changing yet?”
“Of course.”
Wondering if he was watching her, she yanked up on the night rail’s sleeves, which fell well past her hands, and tightened the lacing at the collar. “Are you freezing?”
“Are you?”
She was goosebumps all over, though it really wasn’t too cold now that she was out of the wet gown. “Not since I changed. I’ll just take these clothes”—she bent to retrieve them—“and lay them out while you dress.” She started spreading the garments over what little floor space was left. “Don’t worry—I promise not to look.”
She made long work of squeezing the water from the brocade gown and wringing out its chemise. Her shoes were alarmingly soggy, but she sat them on the floor and hoped for the best. The stomacher was soaked, yet still just as stiff. Apparently Jason hadn’t been fooling when he said there was bone inside.
“Ready,” he called.
She turned, then whirled back away. “You’re still half-naked!”
“Shall I wear a soaking wet shirt?”
“Oh, never mind.”
Averting her eyes from his bare chest, she fetched the backgammon set and removed it from the burlap bag.
“Sit,” she said, plopping the drenched board onto the table. “It’s wet, but I reckon it’ll survive, seeing as it’s made from a cow that likely got drenched in its day.” She lined up the markers on their respective pips.
“I reckon it will,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. Taking the dice cup, he rolled two sixes.
She sat across from him, trying not to notice the way his muscles rippled when he leaned across the board to make his moves. Though still a livid pink, his wound looked all but healed. Rain beat down on the roof, and thunder and lightning disturbed her concentration.
She lost three matches in a row.
“I’m hungry,” Jason complained as she reset the board.
“There’s some bread left in the pocket of my cloak.”
He rose to fetch it, treating her to a view of his broad shoulders and back. He returned with a handful of white mush. “I don’t think so.” With a groan, he tossed it into the empty fireplace.
“Maybe it will stop raining so we can continue on to Welwyn before you waste away of starvation.”
He snorted.
But the weather didn’t let up.
By the time Cait had lost two more matches, the rumbling was directly overhead and nearly constant. Dark was falling. Brilliant flashes of lightning lit the room through the ill-fitting shutters, but the sporadic brightness wasn’t adequate to play by.
Caithren squinted at the dice, trying to see what numbers she’d rolled. With a sigh, she rose and headed for the entrance, picking her way around the clothes that littered the floor. She pried the door free from where Jason had propped it within its frame, just enough to see outside.
The rain pounded down, assaulting her ears. “I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere,” she yelled over the noise.
“I expect not,” Jason said softly, right beside her. When she jumped, one of his arms came around to steady her. The other hand reached to shove the door back into place, blocking most of the sound.
She could still hear the rain on the roof and through the shutters, but the room seemed suddenly and immeasurably quieter. He swept aside her hair and kissed that spot on the nape of her neck again.
She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he whispered.
She wasn’t sure. Was she cold or just extraordinarily aware of his lips on her skin? Regardless, she nodded.
“Come to bed, then. I’ll keep you warm.”
Shocked, she spun in his arms. But when a flash of lightning illuminated his eyes, she could see they were guileless.
“I’ll just keep you warm,” he repeated. “I promise. A Chase promise is—”
“—not given lightly,” she finished on a sigh.
She didn’t want to be just kept warm. She wanted to be kissed senseless. But she couldn’t face yet another rejection. She wouldn’t ask with words, ever again.
Instead, she went up on her toes. She raised her face to him, pulled the tie out of his hair, meshed her fingers in its silky softness.
Her reward was hearing his sharp intake of breath.
“To bed. To keep warm,” he said firmly and turned her around, guiding her across the darkened room with a hand clamped on her shoulder.
She clenched her teeth, but a tiny whimper slipped out anyway.
He halted. “Have I hurt you?” When she didn’t reply, his hand came up to clasp her chin and turn her face to him. She could barely see his eyes, but she could feel their penetrating gaze. “It’s your arm, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “I never found time to gather plants today.”
“Is it getting any better?”
“Nay.” She wouldn’t lie. But she didn’t want to alarm him, either. “It’s been but a day. These things take time.”
“I wish I could have a look.”
“Well, it’s dark. You can look in the morning, if it pleases you. For now…” She moved close and laid her head on his chest.
Though she felt him hesitate, she also heard his heart pounding beneath her ear. Muttering something unintelligible, he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, probably scattering all their carefully laid out clothes as he went.
But she cared not. She knew she had won.
The bed ropes creaked as he set her down, and another flash of lightning revealed his features in stark relief. Enough so she could find his lips with hers by the time the responding thunder rumbled through the sky, shaking the cottage, the floorboards, the bed.
Or maybe she was shaking. Nay, for sure she was shaking. His hands moved to cup her face, and then they were lying beside each other. It felt scandalous being this clos
e to a bare-chested Jason, but it was growing colder, and he was warm, so she couldn’t find it in herself to fret. Tentatively, she pressed her palm against his smooth skin.
He sat up, breathing in slow, loud puffs.
“I said I wouldn’t do this,” he ground out from between gritted teeth. “It’s irresponsible, and—”
She gripped both his forearms, the only part of him she could easily reach. “For once in your life, would you forget about being responsible? What harm could come from a wee bit of kissing?”
His dark silhouette remained still. She wished she could see his expression.
A roll of thunder ended, leaving the room abruptly silent but for the dull pattering of the rain. “Just kiss me, Jason,” she whispered.
Another flash of lightning, and his answer was in his eyes.
No.
Despite her resolve, she had asked with words again—and, nay, he wouldn’t kiss the likes of her. He didn’t want her after all.
A sob tore from her throat—a sob born of frustration and embarrassment, endless rejection and unfulfilled hopes. She leapt up and made for the door, scrabbling at it with frantic fingers, shoving it to the floor behind her. A mighty crash resounded from the cottage as she raced out into the storm.
He was behind her within seconds, but she kept running, darting around the shadows of the trees, until finally he caught her from behind. She fell to her to her knees in the wet grass and threw herself forward, shutting her eyes against the sight of him, though she couldn’t really have seen him anyway in the darkness and the driving rain.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed over the deluge. Never had she realized water could be so loud. But that was good—it drowned out her harsh breathing and the staccato beat of her heart. It pounded her skin through the night rail, cold needles that drove away all her anguished thoughts. It caressed her body with the icy fingers she needed to cool her temper and bring her back to her senses.
Then warmer fingers were on her, rolling her onto her back. Jason was kneeling over her. “What on earth are you doing?” he demanded over a rumble of thunder. “You’ll catch your death out here!”
“Leave me alone!” Angrily she pushed at his hands and struggled to her feet. “Always, since I met you, you will never leave me alone,” she hollered as he came up after her.
A bolt of lightning illuminated his face for a second, just a second. But long enough for Cait to see his anguish, his regret, his obvious struggle with himself.
But most of all, she saw his want.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he bellowed over the wind and the rain and another hard crack of thunder. “I never wanted to leave you alone!”
And he was on her in an instant, his bare upper body hot against her coldness, his mouth seeking hers. Their lips met, and a jolt of need shot straight through to her heart. The kiss wasn’t gentle, but consuming. Lightning flashed as he crushed her to him. Rain pounded down all around them, but they were so close not a drop could shimmy between them. His lips traveled her cheeks, her nose, her hairline, leaving a burning path no cold water could erase. Unshaven roughness grazed her skin, a thrilling sensation that made her feel wild as the storm.
And for the first time, he didn’t pull away.
Long minutes later, it was she who finally broke the kiss, needing to catch her breath. She shivered in his arms, listening as thunder rumbled—in the distance, then closer—matching the uneven beat of her pulse. The rain smelled chilly and fresh, but Jason smelled warm and male.
“Caithren,” he murmured near her ear.
She’d thought she couldn’t feel any more wonderful, but hearing him utter her name—her real name, for the first time—made her heart constrict with an overwhelming happiness. He wanted her, Caithren…and, even more significant, he finally believed she was Caithren.
Finally.
He buried his lips in her wet hair. “Caithren, sweet Cait.” The words were muffled. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”
She felt entirely too ecstatic to respond to his distress. “I told you I was Cait—”
“Not about that.”
He tucked her under his chin, his arms secure around her shoulders. Numb from the cold, her injured arm made no protest.
“I lost my head just now,” he said. “And I’m so very sorry.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Cait cried over another crack of thunder. “Be sorry you didn’t believe me, if you will—you haven’t believed a word I’ve said since the day we met. But don’t you dare be sorry you finally kissed me of your own accord.”
“I’m not sorry for the kissing. I’m sorry for what will come later.”
By all the saints, he sounded wretched enough to throw himself beneath the wheels of a carriage. “Nothing bad will come later,” she insisted. “For heaven’s sake, it’s just a bit of fun.”
But as soon as the words passed her lips, she knew they were false. Kissing Jason wasn’t just a bit of fun. It was more than that. And something bad would come later.
Because later she would have to return home, never to see or kiss him again.
He set her away, keeping hold of one of her hands. “All right. Nothing bad will happen, then,” he said, although not as though he believed it. But a sudden smile burst free as he swiped at the rain dripping down his forehead. “Good heavens, have you ever in your life been so wet?”
FIFTY-TWO
SHE WAS STILL laughing when they made it to the cottage and he shoved the door back into place.
Except for when lightning lit the sky and seeped through the shutters, the room was pitch-black, but Jason managed to find her old shift, which thankfully was nearly dry. He turned his back while she changed into it, then saw her to the bed before finding the driest of his own clothes.
After toweling off with his cloak and donning the slightly damp garments, he began to feel like himself again. Being out in the cold and the wet with Caithren had been…unreal. Though he couldn’t regret what they’d shared—he would treasure the memory of this night for the rest of his life—he berated himself for his weakness. Now he would have to work even harder to put the distance back between them—the distance that was necessary to ensure he kept his head about him until the danger passed. His first concern was delivering Cait safely into her brother’s charge.
And afterward…
Well, he didn’t begrudge her the blithe way she could speak of their attachment—a wee bit of fun, indeed—but he did envy it. He knew their parting would not be as easy for him.
When he crawled into the bed, she reached out blindly. Feeling in the darkness, she found his head and drew it down for a kiss.
A sweet, sleepy kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. Distance, he thought as he felt her drifting into sleep.
He had meant to put distance between them, yet here they were, nestled as close as two people could be. But she felt too good against him to be thinking of distance now.
The morning would be soon enough.
If it wasn’t already too late.
THE NEXT morning, sunlight streamed through open shutters to where Caithren lay alone in bed.
She rubbed her aching arm. The wound felt hot beneath the bandage. She should have unwrapped it last night and allowed it some air, rather than keeping it swathed in damp cloth. But she hadn’t been thinking of anything practical then. She’d thought about nothing but getting Jason to stop running away from her.
And she had—ironically, by running away herself. Grinning, she gave a happy sigh, remembering glorious kisses in the storm and falling asleep in Jason’s arms. She could never have imagined how marvelous it would feel to be close to a man. Wanted by a man. But…
But now that she knew, how would she live the rest of her life without a man? Without this man?
Every fiber in her body reacting to that thought, she sat abruptly, pulling the quilt about her shoulders. It was time to talk sense into herself. Even sh
ould she spend the rest of her life with Jason—an idea so implausible it didn’t bear considering—she’d never again experience the depth of emotion brought on by that wild combination of attraction, frustration, and weather.
Jason had said they’d be in London by tonight. Friday—two days from now—she’d find Adam at Lord Darnley’s wedding. Then she’d go home to Scotland, where she belonged.
The door lay flat on the floor, and their garments, save for her noblewoman outfit, were all gone. Crammed unfolded into the portmanteau, no doubt.
She wrapped the quilt around herself and walked to the gaping hole where the door belonged. The sky was cloudless, and the last remnants of the rain glittered like diamonds in the sun’s rays. Songbirds chirped in the trees. A beautiful, lovely morning.
Jason was outside by the horses, already dressed in his nobleman disguise, securing their belongings. Her gaze skimmed his gleaming black hair and the masculine planes of his face. He had shaved while she slept, making her fingers itch to feel the smooth skin and compare it to the roughness she’d felt against her cheeks last night.
“Good morn,” she called.
He looked up, favoring her with one of those white grins that made her heart turn over. But as she watched, it faded. His eyes looked hooded, wary. “Good morn,” he returned, then glanced away.
Her heart floundered in confusion. The pleasant flutter in her stomach turned to an uneasy jumble of nerves. After everything that had happened between them, still he was holding back.
Crushed, she retreated back into the cottage.
“The horses did fine,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he followed her inside. “Get dressed, and we’ll make for Welwyn. I’m famished.”
Obviously, he was going to act as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed.
She heard the clink of coins hitting the table. “For the damage,” he explained, indicating the door and the mess of congealed bread in the fireplace. “The owners will have to pay someone to fix it up, wash the bedclothes and all.”
