by Tarah Scott
The play of muscle beneath her fingers as he walked conjured visions of rippled muscles, tanned and completely male. What would his flesh feel like? If she ran her fingers feather-light over his skin, would it tickle? Would it tickle if he did the same to her? Horror brought her up short and she snapped open her eyes. What had gotten into her? She’d reached her decision last night.
Ruthven hadn’t stayed for supper—thank God in his small mercies. The meal had been pleasant, and Calum had been so attentive that Annabelle was reminded of why she had agreed to marry him. Still, she had lain awake deep into the night analyzing her reaction to Lord Ruthven, and concluded that once her father’s business with him ended, she would see little to none of him, and her silly infatuation would disappear as quickly as it had bloomed.
Annabelle drew a deep breath and slowly breathed out. She searched her mind for anything to distract herself from the rhythm of their walk, the heat of his body seeping through their clothing, the press of his ribs against hers.
“Why are ye on the road walking?” he asked.
Annabelle started, then grimaced inwardly. She was an idiot.
“I was on my way home from the outskirts of Tain—Mrs. MacBain’s home, as a matter of fact,” she replied.
“That is a long walk,” he said.
“Mrs. MacBain said the same. Her cottage is in terrible disrepair. That is why her youngest daughter is ill.”
“How ill?” His brow furrowed in a fierce frown and his eyes bore into her.
Tenderness stirred in her breast. He cares.
“Her cough is monstrous,” Annabelle replied. “But do not fear,” she quickly added when he opened his mouth to reply, “the doctor is supposed to visit her today.”
He returned his gaze to the road. “Let us hope he made it before this storm.”
Annabelle hadn’t thought of that. “Perhaps we should return to the village. In this weather, the cottage will be draftier than usual.”
He shook his head. “It is too dangerous on foot. We would end up sick ourselves. Have they blankets?”
“Yes.”
“Then the child’s mother will see that she stays warm. I will see to their cottage first thing tomorrow.”
“Repairs will take time. They have little more than four walls to protect them from the elements. I did not know your uncle, but he must have been a vile man,” she said.
“He was.”
Annabelle looked up at him, suddenly realizing the implication of her words. His mouth had thinned. “I wasn’t saying their plight is your fault,” she said.
“It is wrong, nonetheless.”
“You will put things right,” she said. “As for Ally, you said it yourself, her mother will continue to care for her.”
He nodded. “A mother’s devotion is great.”
“Was your mother devoted?”
His face softened. “Aye.”
Annabelle wanted to ask more, but he fell silent and only the ice crackling under their boots broke the quiet. They started up a small incline as rain turned to snow mingled with ice. A light coating blanketed the hills and trees before they reached the crest. It was beautiful, but cold, much colder than when they’d started out. Annabelle slipped. Ruthven’s hold on her tightened. He kept her upright, but her next step was unsteady.
“Aeckland Castle can’t be more than ten minutes away,” she said.
“By horse,” he said. “On foot, it is more than an hour.”
“That cannot be. I rode into the village this morning with Peter.”
His head snapped in her direction. “Who is Peter?”
“Mrs. MacBain’s cousin.”
“Do ye go about in the country unchaperoned with men?”
“My lord, Peter is fifteen. I am certain no one would suspect me of dallying with him. And I will have you know, Lena was with me. She left for home earlier than I did.”
“It makes no difference, Lady Annabelle, ye cannot come and go alone. Look what happened this time. When did ye last walk from Aeckland Castle?”
She shot him a recriminating look. “I can measure distance just as well riding as walking. It is no more than a mile and a half from the castle to the edge of Tain.”
“It is closer to five miles,” he replied. “We are no’ even halfway. There is a cottage beyond those trees.”
Annabelle looked in the direction he nodded. “I do not remember a cottage there.”
“Just as you do no’ remember how far it is from your home to the village.”
“I see no chimney smoke,” she said. “If there is a cottage, someone would have lit a fire.”
“Not if they are no’ home. We will wait out the worst of the storm there.”
“I will not,” she said.
He looked at her. “The weather has turned treacherous. The closer we get to Aeckland Castle the hillier the road becomes. It would be difficult enough on horseback, but walking is nigh impossible even on this slight incline.”
She agreed, the walk would be difficult, but he was overreacting. “Go to the cottage, if you like. I will continue on home.” She pulled free of him and his plaid. A harsh wind assaulted her and she drew a sharp breath.
“Lady Annabelle,” he began, but she hurried forward, hoping he would follow.
Sleety wet snow whipped across her face. She turned her head aside and in the next instant her feet slid. She found herself on her backside.
Chapter Fifteen
Lord Ruthven reached her side and lifted her off the cold, wet ground. He slid and Annabelle threw her arms around his neck in readiness for his fall. He righted himself, then slowly picked his way to the side of the road. He stopped and set her feet on the ground. When she stood, pain shot through her left ankle and her knee started to buckle. He caught her before she fell.
“Your ankle?” he asked.
She nodded, embarrassment heating her cheeks.
He slipped an arm beneath her legs and lifted her.
“I am too heavy to carry all the way home,” she said.
“Aye,” he said, and began walking.
“I beg your pardon,” she bristled. “I am not that heavy.”
“A gentleman always agrees with a lady,” he replied.
“You picked a fine time to be agreeable,” she muttered.
“Ye picked a fine time to sprain your ankle.”
She lifted her chin. “If I am that much of a bother put me down. I can make it home on my own.”
“Ye did no’ make it five paces before you fell on your arse,” he said.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you are rude?” she said.
“Aye.”
They entered the trees and walked in silence. Despite being pressed against him, the cold worked its way through her and Annabelle began to wish that his cloak still wrapped her. The snow now fell thick enough to limit visibility.
“We should have stayed on the road,” she said. “We are sure to get lost.”
“Ye need not worry,” he said. “I have an excellent sense of direction.”
“You are a charmer, my lord.”
He looked at her, brow raised. “What would ye know of being charmed?”
“Enough to know this does not qualify.”
Amusement played on his mouth, but he turned his attention to the trees. A small cottage came into view as a silhouette amongst the trees. As Annabelle had observed earlier, no fire plumed from the chimney. She shivered. The walls would block the wind, but would be no warmer than outside. Lord Ruthven lengthened his strides. They reached the cottage and he hugged her so close while trying the door that she could almost taste the flesh on his neck. The door opened without resistance—though her heart pounded at a gallop.
To her relief, the shadowed room they entered smelled clean. Lord Ruthven crossed to a small table near the fireplace and lowered her onto a chair. He unclasped his plaid and draped it over her shoulders.
“I am sorry, Lady Annabelle. I must leave the door open until I light
a fire. We need the light.”
Ruthven went to the hearth and knelt. He grabbed the tinder box, looked inside, and gave a grunt, then located kindling, scooped aside ash, and arranged the twigs and bits of wood in the hearth. Minutes later, a small fire burned. He closed the door, then added larger wood and shifted her chair closer to the fire. After he lit a candle and set it on the side table near the bed located in the corner to the left of the hearth, he knelt beside Annabelle and grasped her left foot.
“Lord Ruthven, what are you doing?”
“I want a look at your ankle. If it is swelling, you’ll want the foot out of that boot.”
“I can unlace my boot,” she said, but he already had the knot untied.
When he had the laces loosened, he gently worked the boot free. Annabelle jerked at the needle prick of pain.
He looked at her, brow furrowed. “Are ye all right?”
She nodded. “Just a small pain. I was startled more than anything.”
His frown deepened, but he finished pulling off the boot, then gently turned her foot to the side and examined her ankle.
“It isn’t bad,” he said. “Perhaps only a hint of swelling here.” He gingerly pressed on the area around the bone. “Does it hurt?”
“It is a bit tender,” she said. “Let me try it.”
He stood and grasped her hand. She rose on her good foot, then held onto his hand for support as she put pressure on the injured foot. An uncomfortable pressure in her ankle rose, but she took a tentative step, then a second and third, and found she could walk so long as she favored the good foot.
“It isn’t too bad,” she said. “I could have made it home.” He groaned and she laughed. “Now it is I who am teasing you, Ruthven.”
“God help me,” he muttered.
She looked at him and stilled. He stared, dark eyes soft but penetrating. It seemed he waited for an answer to a question she hadn’t heard. Butterflies skimmed across the inside of her stomach. She became aware of the gentle pressure of his fingers grasping hers.
“Perhaps ye should sit down?” he said.
His deep voice startled her.
“Yes,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. Annabelle released his hand and turned. He cupped her elbow and she limped back to the chair.
When she sat down, he crossed to the door.
“You should sit with me at the fire,” she said. “You must be freezing.”
He opened the door and Annabelle gasped. The mist-like snow had turned to thick flakes. The world outside belonged in a white fairy tale.
“How long do you think it will snow?” she asked.
He stepped into the doorway and looked at the sky. “The clouds are gray as far as the eye can see.”
Worry niggled. “My father and mother are sure to be worried.”
Ruthven twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. “You are only just now realizing the danger?”
“Danger?” she repeated. “You think—” She understood exactly what he thought. “That is ridiculous.”
Is it so ridiculous? her mind asked.
“These are the wilds of Scotland,” she said. “No one here will think anything of us getting caught in a storm.”
“Are ye saying Tain adheres to no societal code or are ye saying they have no gossips?”
The horror of their situation dawned on her. He was right. She was the daughter of the Marquess of Montagu, the future Marchioness of Northington. This was as bad, perhaps even worse, than getting caught kissing a man in Lord Harley’s gardens.
“Good Lord,” she whispered.
He nodded. “It is a shame Lord Northington did no’ happen along instead of me.”
He was right, again, but the idea that he wished he hadn’t found her thrust a knife into her heart. Tears sprang to her eyes. He swore, then whirled and strode to her. Mortified by her reaction, she forced back the tears before he reached her side.
“I am all right,” she said as he squatted beside her. “I’m just being silly.”
He lifted a hand and she stilled when he brushed what she realized was a tear from her cheek.
“A beautiful woman should never cry,” he said.
His words only made her want to cry all the more…and made her want to press her cheek to his fingers and drink in this one and only chance to feel his touch on her flesh.
Her heart began to pound. Had his gaze just flicked to her mouth? Was he going to kiss her? Would this kiss be as hungry as the one in the garden? Would he sense the hunger in her kiss? He abruptly shoved to his feet and grabbed the poker, then closed the door and crossed to the kitchen area. In minutes, a fire burned inside the small wood stove.
“Do you plan to bake bread, my lord?”
He stopped poking the wood inside the stove’s open door, and looked at her. “Ye say that as if I cannot bake bread.”
“Surely, you do not bake?” she cried.
He returned his attention to the fire. “I bake a fair biscuit.”
Annabelle laughed. “That I would like to see.”
“Perhaps one day, lass. But no’ today. If I rob this poor family’s larder I will be forced to replace what I took and I cannot afford that just yet.”
“Really, sir, you are not that bad off.”
“Aye, lass, I am.”
A pang cut through her heart. She wanted to assure him all would be well. She wanted to give him the diamond bracelet her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. But all that was impossible. Even if she could give him something, he would never accept it. Just as he wouldn’t have accepted even the winnings of a token wager.
All she could think to say was, “I never thanked you properly for saving Lena and me.”
“You are welcome, my lady.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Must you be so formal in private? It sounds as if we aren’t friends.” And she so wanted to be friends with this man. He would make a loyal friend.
“I am afraid so, Lady Annabelle. When I return you home, I must be able to say that I treated ye as the lady you are. I am a terrible liar. Anything less than the truth will show on my face.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
He leaned the poker against the wall, then propped a hip against the far corner of the table, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You think me a liar?”
“Of course not. But you are quite capable of lying skillfully, if need be. You lied when you found me in Lord Harley’s study.”
“No’ well enough,” he replied.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, sir.”
He lifted a brow. “Should I consider it a compliment that a lady considers me a skillful liar?”
“Yes,” she said. “You did it to save me. And had he not caught me digging up that box he would never have known you lied about meeting me in his study.”
“He knew.”
“You are just being contrary to prove your point.”
He studied her. “A man might think you wanted him to do something improper, then lie about it.”
“That is ridiculous,” she said, but the idea sent a shiver down her arms. “What I am saying is that you can certainly call me Annabelle with no ill effects.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured, “there will be ill effects.”
She released a sigh. “You do not like me very much, do you?”
“What the devil gave ye that idea?”
Annabelle shrugged. “I make you angry.”
“That is no’ true,” he shot back.
“You’re angry now,” she said.
“Frustrated. There is a difference.”
“You cannot like being frustrated.”
“Nay,” he said.
“Is there anything I can do to not frustrate you?”
He blinked, clearly surprised, then straightened from the stove, snatched up the poker and began poking at the fire.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I have done it again. We need a truce, Lord Ruthven. I will agree t
o do my best not to frustrate you, and you will do your best not to dislike me.”
“I do no’ dislike you.”
“I am well liked by many,” she went on. “Not a one of them reacts to me as you do.”
He whirled. “Did any of them catch you rifling through another man’s desk?’
“You aren’t going to forget that, are you?”
“You are damned hard to forget.”
“I have been told that before,” she said.
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Annabelle released another sigh. “What shall we do until the storm abates, my lord? I am not accustomed to sitting and doing nothing. You could bake those biscuits. I will replace the supplies.”
He frowned. “Nay. If ye want biscuits, I will make them.”
“I see you can be reasonable.”
He cast her an odd glance before opening the cabinet beside the stove. He removed several containers and placed them on the small table against the wall. Annabelle rose and started toward him.
He looked over his shoulder. “Sit down, Lady Annabelle. You do no’ want to aggravate that ankle.”
“It isn’t bad. And as I told you, I do not like sitting for long.”
“Sitting will keep ye out of trouble,” he said.
She laughed. “Indeed, it would. But I don’t have the temperament for it.”
He looked at her. “What do ye have the temperament for?”
“Why, frustrating you, of course.”
Chapter Sixteen
James was certain he would lose his mind before the storm let up. Darkness had fallen, complete and without forgiveness. He avoided thinking of what might have happened had he not met Lady Annabelle when he did.
He wished she hadn’t left the village alone and on foot. More than that, he wished someone had been home in the damn cottage. The best they could hope was to return to the village as soon as the storm abated and bribe Mrs. MacBain to say that Annabelle had stayed the night with her. James would pay every last shilling he had to buy the woman’s help.
