Never Tempt a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  “Please, sir, may I have something to eat?” Isla’s sweet brogue was as pretty as she was. Well, hunger was an easy enough thing to relate to. Suddenly possessed by a paternal instinct, he nodded.

  “Of course, pet. And please call me . . . er . . . Uncle Rafe.” That sounded right. He suspected it wouldn’t be long before Joanna made him one officially, so Isla would be good practice.

  Isla waited by the window, her tiny palms pressed against the glass as she looked down into the gardens below. Rafe dragged himself out of bed. He gently urged the little creature into the corridor so he could dress. Once he was ready, he came out and led her downstairs. He informed a passing footman that they wished to eat as they entered the dining room. The child’s eyes widened as she took in the expensive furnishings, the warm oak-paneled walls, and the portraits of his ancestors. The Lennox family had been half-Scottish even before they had joined with the Kincades by marriage.

  “Here, sweetheart.” Rafe pulled out a chair, and the child climbed onto it. She was not quite tall enough to reach the table comfortably.

  Rafe stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm. That won’t do, will it? Can’t reach the muffins.”

  The girl stretched out a hand, trying to grasp the imaginary muffins, further demonstrating his point that she was too short.

  “Well, I suppose you could eat on the floor . . .” That earned a little giggle from the far too serious child. “No, that won’t do either. Ah! I have it!” He strode to a small settee that was backed against the wall overlooking the gardens and plucked two plush pillows from it. Isla slid out of the chair so Rafe could set the cushions down, and he hoisted her back onto the chair.

  “Better?”

  She grinned and nodded.

  Satisfied, he pushed his little charge’s chair close to the table and sat down beside her. A footman soon brought in the first wave of food. Muffins, kippers, hard-boiled eggs, toast, and a pot of marmalade were among the offerings.

  He helped Isla prepare a heaping plate.

  “Isla,” he said once she began to eat, “would you mind if I asked about your family?”

  She shook her head.

  “You mentioned that your papa is gone. Do you know if he’s still alive?”

  “He’s passed,” Isla replied. “Fever.”

  “Oh.” He had feared the father had simply abandoned his wife and child, though he wasn’t sure which outcome was more tragic.

  “Your mother . . . ?”

  “Fever too. She wouldn’t wake up. I . . .” Isla set the muffin down on her plate. “I was crying, and I went downstairs to find help. They heard me, and when I told them my mama wasn’t moving, they came and took her away.”

  “They?”

  “The men who took my mama.”

  Rafe frowned. “Was your mama still breathing when they took her?”

  Isla shook her head. “She made a terrible sound, like a rattle, and then she was very quiet. I was so scared.”

  “Do you know who these men are?”

  “They stay at the inn sometimes. They are bad men.”

  “That they are,” Rafe agreed. He wished he had met them last evening. He had no deep-seated objections to grave robbing, per se. The dead didn’t need any of their mortal baubles, and doctors made far better use of their corpses than the worms.

  But Lydia had heard these men say that they intended to silence the girl to both cover their sins and line their pockets. And for that, he would have killed them.

  Rafe put a hand on the child’s head, brushing her hair back in an attempt to soothe her. “That’s all I needed to know. I’m sorry, my dear. Finish your breakfast.” He moved her plate closer in encouragement. After a moment, she reached for her muffin again.

  Poor thing, Rafe thought. But the child was safe now. Brodie and Lydia would not let her go uncared for. But when those two parted ways, he wondered if there would be a battle for who would take the child. Brodie may bluster and growl as all Scots do, but he had a soft spot for helpless creatures as much as his brother Aiden did.

  “Isla, have you ever had chocolate to drink?” Rafe asked.

  “No,” the girl replied.

  Rafe chuckled and prepared her a cup of hot chocolate. “Well then, you are in for a treat.” He added two scoops of sugar to it.

  When Isla took a sip, her eyes widened and she licked her lips before she beamed up at him.

  “Like it?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Then drink up and I might let you have a second cup.” He felt he’d already proven himself to be an excellent uncle-in-training, but he wasn’t sure what to do to keep her occupied after breakfast.

  “Do you know how to play whist, by any chance?”

  Isla shook her head, and he grinned wickedly.

  “Excellent, I shall tutor you to fleece the richest men in His Majesty’s kingdom without them ever knowing, through a simple game of cards.”

  Jane Russell barely had time to think as she rushed out of her bedchamber in nothing more than a chemise and a dressing gown, clutching the letter her maid had given her to her chest. She burst into the room next to hers, and in her surprise, the letter fluttered down to the floor.

  Jackson Hunt stood facing a gilded mirror as he shaved himself, while his valet set out clothes on the bed. Both men paused in their activities to look at her, curious and surprised by her entrance.

  But Jane’s attention was solely on Jackson and the fact that he was bare-chested. He wore only a pair of lean, buff colored trousers, which clung to his narrow hips but displayed far too clearly his muscular thighs and bottom.

  “Good heavens. I’m so sorry.” Jane wasn’t entirely sure she had said that aloud until Jackson nodded to his valet, who hastily slipped past Jane and left the room.

  “I . . . should come back later,” Jane murmured, yet she didn’t move from the doorway.

  Jackson finished shaving and wiped his face clean before he turned to face her. His hazel eyes looked at her intensely, and her body responded in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Heat filled her face, as well as other parts of her.

  “You dropped something,” he said, nodding at her feet.

  Jane looked down at her slippers and saw the item she had thought so important a moment ago.

  “Oh . . . Right . . . Yes, how silly of me.” She retrieved the letter and opened it. “The butler from the Lennox house has written to us.”

  “Oh?” Jackson came over, and she had to force herself to stare at the page, in order to not stare at Jackson’s chest. The man looked fit enough to rival any of her sons in any sort of physical competition. It was enough to make a woman reach for the nearest bottle of smelling salts.

  “He said that Mr. Lennox, Mr. Kincade, and their female guest spent last night at the townhouse but left before dawn. They have no plans to return to Edinburgh and are bound for the Isle of Skye to the enclosed address.”

  “The Isle of Skye?” Jackson groaned. “What the devil takes them all the way up there?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea, but it is a rather pretty place. I went there once with my husband.”

  “I’ve never been,” Jackson admitted. “I spent my younger years building a life and trade. It didn’t lend much to traveling. At least, not to places that were pretty.”

  Jane folded the letter and finally looked his way again. There were faint lines around his eyes as he offered her a smile. Her heart gave a traitorous leap within her chest.

  “So, we are bound for Skye?”

  “It seems so.” Jackson’s deep chuckle melted through her.

  “Well then, I should leave you to dress and . . .”

  Lord, she was staring at his chest again, wasn’t she? Since when had she become a blushing bride on her wedding night? A bare chest should not affect her so.

  “You can touch me, Jane. I am not made of stone,” Jackson teased.

  “You could have fooled me—you look as hard as marble.” She frowned. “How are
you so sun-kissed?”

  He laughed again. “By working in the gardens. I work alongside my gardener. He’s an older fellow who I won’t ever terminate, and he needs help with lifting and digging and so forth. I could hire one of the young lads to do it, but it feels good to stay active.”

  Jackson caught her wrist and placed her palm on his chest. His skin was smooth, except for the light-gold matting of hair on his chest, and he was wonderfully warm.

  “Heavens . . .” Jane didn’t seem to have any other word for what she felt. It was like heaven to remember how good it felt to be young and full of life’s hungers. Tears suddenly welled in her eyes.

  “Did I do something wrong?” He cupped her chin and lifted her face up when she tried to hide.

  “No. It’s silly.” They stared at each other for a long, tense moment.

  “Am I a fool to want something more with you?” Jackson asked. “Have we passed that point in our lives for second chances?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I admit, you make me feel young again. And I feel guilty in so many ways, especially for wanting . . .” She dared not finish her thought.

  “For wanting love again?”

  “It seems foolish to think it’s possible,” Jane said. “Youth is full of impulse and desire, and as one matures one replaces those feelings with more practical needs . . .”

  “Until one sees those youthful feelings as misguided rather than important,” Jackson finished.

  “Yes, exactly. My life has been focused on duty, honor, and propriety for so long now. Even though I care little for the opinions of others, I have structured my life around the needs of my children and the stability of my family. I haven’t thought about what I wanted in a long time.”

  “Nor have I. Perhaps it’s time we started?” Jackson brushed his fingers down her neck in the most wonderful way, sending shivers of delight through her.

  “Perhaps it is.” Jane stared at his full lips. It made her rather giddy to imagine them exploring hers. He continued to stroke her neck, which mesmerized her and had her nodding before she could stop and think better of it. Jackson took control and pulled her into his arms.

  Jane, a force of nature who had made even dukes tremble, melted in this man’s arms as he kissed her. She had forgotten how she loved to be kissed, to be the sole focus of a man’s passion.

  “Good Lord,” Jackson groaned as he buried his face in her neck.

  “Yes?” she teased as her hands roamed over his chest and back.

  He returned his mouth to hers, stealing little nibbling kisses. “I could kiss you for days.” He parted her dressing gown to explore her curves. She was shy about her body, which was no longer as young and firm as it once had been.

  “Would you let me look at you, my darling?” Jackson asked.

  My darling. She could have swooned. It had been too long since a man had used such an endearment for her.

  “Jackson . . .” She breathed his name as her senses spun.

  “Yes?” He feathered kisses along her jaw as his heated body pressed against her own.

  “Take me to bed,” she commanded in a whisper.

  He lifted her up, carrying her straight to his bed. She lay back as he closed the door to his room.

  Heavens, he was a beautiful man. There was something to be said about a man who kept his physique. He was strong, sturdy in a way that most younger men were not. There was a promise that he knew his body and a woman’s and she would not be disappointed with the outcome. He took his time, removing his trousers as she looked on.

  “Your turn,” he said as he approached the bed.

  Jane sat up and removed her dressing gown. She loosened the ties of her chemise at her throat, and the fabric dropped off her shoulders. He reached up to stroke his fingertips over her skin just above the chemise, which still hung over her breasts, before he carefully pulled it down to her waist to expose her fully.

  Jane was blushing as red as her hair. Her body was not that of a young girl’s. Her breasts were larger, heavier with the passing of time and nursing children. She wondered if Jackson would find her disappointing, but she was stunned to find only heat in his eyes.

  “Exquisite,” he said as he brushed his thumb over one nipple. Jane’s body came alive after years of being dormant.

  He moved closer, laying her back on the bed so he could pull the chemise down the rest of her body and drop it to the floor.

  “Jane, you are a vision.” Jackson groaned as he leaned over her and stepped between her parted thighs.

  “As are you.” She gazed in admiration at his strong, muscled form and the boyish grin that covered his lips. “What is it?” Jane asked as he caressed her breasts before sliding a hand down her body to her folds. She hissed as he sank a fingertip into her, testing her readiness. She was ready—there was no doubt of that.

  “I feel like an untried youth being allowed a night with a most beautiful buxom maid. I want to leap on you and take you fast, but I also wish to savor every moment. It’s been a very long time since I felt that way.” There was an undeniable softness behind the heat in his gaze. It made the moment between them so much sweeter.

  “Let us savor it. It has been a long time for me as well, and I am honestly not sure I remember how to do it properly.”

  Jackson laughed and leaned over the bed to capture her mouth. Just like that, they rushed headlong into the moment together. He thrust into her body. He was slow and gentle at first, and Jane threw her head back on the bed. His eyes drifted over her as he withdrew and entered her again, making love to her at a leisurely pace, and she started to beg him for more. As the pleasure built between them, Jane let go of every thought and simply surrendered to her feminine needs.

  She cried out Jackson’s name as she came apart, and he followed her a heartbeat later, shouting her name. He held her hips as she trembled with the aftermath of pleasure.

  If she was being honest, she hadn’t gone without private moments of satisfaction all these years, but there was nothing better than a real man and real passion. The simple touches in the privacy of her bath were but a shadow compared to this.

  Jackson joined her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Do you have regrets?”

  Jane rested her chin on his chest, and he ran his fingers through the loose tumble of her red hair. “Regrets? With you? No.” She was silent a moment as she collected her thoughts. “I do regret that I’ve gone so long without having a connection to a man again. I do regret that.”

  “It is rather strange,” Jackson mused. “When I lost my Marianna, many women made it quite clear that they would happily marry me. But the thought of it, sharing my life with another woman, even a mistress . . . I couldn’t imagine it.”

  “You’ve had no women, not even a mistress, after all this time?”

  His face reddened. “There was one night exactly a year after my wife died. I was wandering around in a rather bad part of London. I found a tavern and was quite determined to drink or gamble away every coin in my purse, but I ended up meeting a maid working in the taproom. She was not a prostitute, but a barmaid. Still young, but not so young as the others, and I felt she was closer to me in age and might be a nice companion to talk to. I paid her to sit and talk with me between seeing to her tables. Molly was her name. She was a sweet woman, and at the end of the night, she offered me her hand and led me upstairs. We coupled in the dark, and she let me call her Marianna, and afterward I wept like a young boy. It was . . .” Jackson’s throat closed. “That was the only time.” His hazel eyes settled on Jane’s face.

  “This was different, wasn’t it?” she asked. A wicked smile began to form on her lips. “You know, from the moment I saw you coming up the steps to Mr. Lennox’s townhouse, I knew it would come to this.”

  “What?” Jackson looked at the two of them in bed. “This?” He scrunched the bedclothes up over his bare chest as though he was shocked. “Have I been taken advantage of?”

  Jane laughed at that.
“I believe that was a completely mutual part of the matter. No, it’s just that, after all these years, I think in order to recapture my own life, I had to run away to Scotland again.” She smiled, perhaps a little foolishly. “I make no demands on you, Jackson. Whatever you wish this to be, I will enjoy it for as long as it lasts.”

  He began to stroke her hair again, a thoughtful expression stealing across his handsome features. “I am yours, Jane, for as long as you desire me.”

  She slid up his body a few inches and lowered her head to kiss him. All thoughts outside of this room, this moment, were banished, if only for a little while.

  18

  Lydia giggled as she watched Isla stand on the small platform in the dressmaker’s shop on the Royal Mile street in Edinburgh. Isla looked like a giant doll with her hair curled in long ringlets and her new dress on.

  “Hold still, darling,” Lydia said when Isla started to fidget. “Just a few more minutes, all right?”

  Isla let out a long-suffering sigh, which made Brodie and Rafe laugh. The two gentlemen were somewhat uncomfortable in so feminine a shop, but they were bearing up well by letting little Isla amuse them with her antics.

  The dressmaker knelt at Isla’s feet, a set of pins in her mouth as she adjusted the hem of the pretty lilac gown Isla wore.

  “Mrs. Giles, will you have the gowns for my daughter and other items ready by this afternoon?” Lydia inquired. It had been a tad easier than she’d expected to claim Isla as her child in public, at least while they were purchasing items for her. Lydia was beginning to think she’d spent too much time around Rafe for lying to come so easily now.

  “Certainly, ma’am. The gowns will be easy enough to modify. I have a good team of girls who can make the adjustments this afternoon.”

  “Excellent. Where can we find a shop to buy her shoes?”

  “At the end of the street. There’s an excellent one there with children’s slippers and boots of all colors and sizes.”