If You Desire by Mara (2)

 Now, years later, he stared at the ceiling as round and round his mind played out the same scenarios and consequences.

 Far too early in life, he’d learned about consequences, both avoidable and unavoidable.

 The morning after he and his brothers had found and read the Leabhar —which was thought to have been destroyed—Hugh had woken to his mother’s screams. She’d discovered her husband, Leith, the clan laird and a bear of a man in his prime, cold and dead in their bed.

 And then she’d shrieked her blame. Hugh had been nigh on fourteen, far too young to be saddled with that guilt.

 Years later, Ethan had scoffed at the curse, calling their father’s death a freak coincidence, and found a bride from the neighboring MacReedy clan who would actually dare to wed a “cursed MacCarrick son.” Sarah had fallen—or, as most believed, had been pushed by Ethan—from a turret at Carrickliffe.

 Then Court had lost his heart to a foreign lass and intended to marry her, though he knew that he could never give her children and would only bring her misery.

 Court had been defiant, daring to challenge their fate—until his Annalía had been a breath away from being shot in the head. Court had finally left her behind, safe at her home in Andorra, though it had nearly killed him. She’d become his entire world.

 Consequences. The lines within that book said Hugh was not to marry or to bind. Hugh worked to convince himself there was a difference between married and wed .

 Damn it, there would be no sealed union. If Jane agreed, they would be wed, but not truly bound together. As long as he didn’t claim her, she’d be safe. Surely. And God knew, he had no intentions of keeping her.

 He stood when Jane came out five minutes later, her eyes bright with either unshed tears or fury. A good wager said the latter.

 What’s it to be, then? What’s the verdict?

 Weyland was right behind her. “I’ll just go send a note to the minister and pick up the marriage license. Jane, you need to begin packing immediately.”

 Then Weyland was gone, leaving Hugh so dumbfounded he nearly rocked on his feet. “You’re going tae…” he began, but his voice broke lower. “We’re tae…marry?”

 “Yes, I am constrained to agree to this insanity—you are not. And you will ruin my life if you don’t refuse to do this for him.” Turmoil and emotion rolled off her in waves. She’d always been like that—volatile, like an explosive. Yet no one but Hugh seemed to understand just how complicated Jane was.

 So Weyland had succeeded. Hugh hadn’t expected her to be happy about the nuptials, but…“A temporary marriage to me counts as a ruined life?”

 Every word she spoke was clipped with her proper English accent, and dripping with outrage. “Do you know why I was with Frederick Bidworth—Lord Whiting—this morning?” She answered her own question, “Because I was accepting his sodding proposal today!”

 Hugh’s vision swam. But why should he be surprised? He’d wondered as each month went by, for years, why she hadn’t married. Wait. How had Weyland not known about this? He had to have. She was about to be “settled” without any interference from them.

 Bloody hell. This just kept getting better. Hugh had wanted to kill Bidworth for kissing Jane—whom the man had thought was his.

 “However, my plans were interrupted when you attacked Freddie.”

 Jane was within her rights to be kissing her soon-to-be fiancé. Just because Hugh could think of naught but her didn’t mean she was affected the same way by him. She’d had a life of her own these last years, and Hugh had just been dropped in the middle of it, swinging as he landed. “You were about to accept an earl, yet your father is still insisting on me?” It was a genuine question, but she took it as a retort and glared at him.

 “Why, Hugh? Why is Davis Grey doing this? You know him—is he truly so dangerous that I have to flee my home?” Her face was drawn with confusion. “Why is Father so set onyou ? Did he blackmail you into this as well? Of course he did. Why else would you agree to such a lunatic idea?”

 “I’ve no’ been blackmailed, but I have promised your father. Just cooperate with me. The arrangement will no’ be permanent as long as we doona…consummate the marriage.” He lowered his voice. “Rest easy, this is temporary. I have no intention of remaining married any more than you do. And you know that if I dinna touch you before, then you’re safe from it now.”

 “As if I’d let you,” she hissed.

 He pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing, his neck knotted with tension, but he tried to calm his tone. His ire never daunted Jane. “Did you ever think that this is no’ something I want either?”

 No, he didn’t want this, was never supposed to marry. But now that he’d seen her once more, he didn’t want anyone else to wed her either. And he was just selfish enough to agree to Weyland’s machinations. Her father knew what was best for her, he reasoned, and Weyland had chosen Hugh. “Jane, I dinna come here thinking I’d leave with a bride.”

 “Then why did you tell Papa to see it done ?”

 “Because I can protect you.”

 She advanced until she was toe to toe with him, unflinching as she raised her face to his. “If you do this, Hugh, you have no idea how much I’ll make you regret it. I’m giving you fair warning right now to desist from this.”

 When he said nothing, making his expression unbending, her lips parted in disbelief.

 “Resolved, are we? Then so must I be.” She made her tone soft when she asked, “Hugh, do you remember when I used to tease you?”

 As if he could ever, ever forget.

 “Darling, you’re going to find that I’ve gotten better at it.” She walked her fingers up his chest, and her voice grew breathless. “You’ll see that I’ve gathered new arrows…in my quiver.” Somehow she made that phrase sound wicked, and the customary sweat beaded on his brow.

 “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want this marriage,” she said. “So before you go forward with this madness, consider—how much can you resist…day after day?”

 He swallowed.

 “Prepare yourself, darling.” She turned, sauntering up the stairs with a hip-swinging gait that drew his riveted gaze. Over her shoulder, she said, “Because I’m about to make your life a living hell.” Disappearing into her room, she slammed her door.

 “More of the same,” he muttered, wondering if his wedding might go smoother than his engagement.

 Thirteen

 The wily old man had done it.

 Weyland had somehow convinced MacCarrick to marry his daughter. Felicitations all around.

 Grey had been creeping around the house all morning, entertaining himself by dodging Quin and Rolley. Though Grey didn’t blend as perfectly as he had in his prime, he’d been able to get close enough to gossiping servants to garner information.

 Apparently, Miss Jane was having trunks packed for at least a month, but she couldn’t provide a destination to help them select appropriate clothing to pack. And her lady’s maid was being left behind, while her horse and her bow and quiver were not. Food preparations were being made—refreshments for the minister, who’d arrived early, but no wedding breakfast, as the newlyweds were setting off immediately after the simple ceremony.

 The servants were sniffling at the news of the wedding and their mistress’s departure. They all fawned over her. Not surprising. Weyland had told Grey and Hugh with obvious pride that Jane had always been generous with her wealth and her time, regardless of a person’s station.

 The servants were far from enamored of the groom, however. As one of them opined: “’E’s frightening as ’oly ’ell and not near good enough for our Miss Jane.”

 This was true. Jane was so far out of his league it was laughable. MacCarrick was massive, stony, and intimidating; Jane was a celebrated beauty brimming with wit and charm.

 And she was MacCarrick’s sole weakness.

 Grey had discovered that the night of Jane’s coming-out ball—an event Weyland had insisted they attend. Grey had gotten MacCarrick drunk to lure him there, but Hugh had skulked outside, watching her through a window, his body tense. There’d been such longing in his eyes that Grey had realized the young Highlander was in love with the fair Jane.

 A bear chasing a butterfly.

 Grey had had to stifle a chuckle at the illogical match—even more so because Hugh had known he wasn’t good enough for her, yet he’d been unable to let go of his feelings.

 More shocking to Grey than Hugh’s capitulation was that Weyland had somehow convinced Jane as well. How? Had he come clean about their occupations? About Grey’s?

 It had been years since Grey had felt genuine amusement, but this situation was boiling over with such rich irony. An assassin bade to protect a life, the life he held dearest in the world—his wife’s . And to protect her from a better assassin.

 All of them had to know that Grey was a much more accomplished killer than Hugh was a protector.

 His amusement faded. He hadn’t wanted this to be easy….

 With Quin and Rolley hovering about them, and a sharp-eyed coach driver who had “Network” written all over him on the lookout, Weyland escorted Jane to the coach. Hugh followed, close behind her, behaving as if she had a target on her back.

 She did. Grey had a clear shot from where he lurked this moment. Unfortunately, his aim was…impaired at present. If he missed, he’d be doing nothing but alerting them that he was in England. No, he would have to get closer.

 At the coach door, Weyland held Jane’s head in both hands and put his forehead to hers. Her face went stark white, her expression stunned, when her father kissed her cheek good-bye. “Papa?” she said in a breaking voice, as if she was just now realizing she was leaving him and her home.

 Weyland forced himself away, pausing only to squeeze her shoulder and to give MacCarrick a hard look, letting him know what he was trusting him with. Then he left them, his own shoulders sagging like an old man’s—like the old man he was becoming.

 As Grey watched their actions and interactions in a kind of dazed captivation, he wondered if Weyland had told MacCarrick about the list to convince him. Probably.

 Grey did have the list, and had threatened to release it, but if that information went public, Weyland would be dead directly. In Weyland’s clandestine service, he’d routinely had to make cold-blooded decisions, dispatching men like Grey, Ethan, and Hugh to carry them out. If those numerous decisions were traced back to Weyland, it would be over.

 That wasn’t Grey’s agenda, not yet—

 When a sudden cold clamminess broke out on his neck and back, dampening his shirt, Grey reached into his jacket pocket. He’d anticipated that smoking would be more inconvenient in England than in some other countries, and had had his “medicine” prepared differently. He needn’t have bothered. In London, opium was proving easier to find than tobacco and cheaper than gin.

 But he liked the alteration. He chewed it, relishing it. The taste was like almonds that were slightly off. The texture was gummy.

 My medicine. He snorted. His body had been ruined from injuries sustained in his profession, and laudanum had made the pain bearable. Upon noticing that Hugh limped himself, especially in the mornings, Grey had offered him some. The bastard had shook his head firmly. So bloody sanctimonious.

 As he chewed, Grey’s heartbeat slowed to a ponderous rhythm, though he felt more excitement than he could remember. Luckily, with this dosage there would be no hallucinations. He hoped….

 Ah, and there went Jane, waking as if from a trance, beginning to gesture and fume even as MacCarrick was loading her into the coach. Stubborn Jane wasn’t one to be led blindly, and she was no doubt demanding answers, ones that Hugh clearly wasn’t providing. At the coach door, she stepped up, but turned to say something else to Hugh, putting their faces close. They both fell silent.

 Grey had compared Hugh to a bear chasing a butterfly. The corners of Grey’s lips tilted up. No, Hugh was better than that—he was like a wolf with a rabbit twitching her tail in front of him.

 Sooner or later, the wolf would attack.

 When Hugh shut the carriage door, he stood for just a second, exhaling deeply, as if getting his bearings. He ran a shaking hand over his face, no doubt disbelieving he’d wed the chit.

 “Don’t worry, Hugh,” Grey softly assured him. “It shan’t be for long.”

 In the past, if Jane had caught Hugh staring at her breasts, he’d always averted his eyes. In the coach for the last hour, he’d looked at her brazenly, studying her body, as if re-learning it, as if it was his right to do so. It galled her. He could have had unfettered access to her body. She would have denied him nothing in the past.

 The fact that she reacted to his heated gaze only infuriated her further. Why couldn’t she have found him less attractive than she had years before? She’d always thought him the most beautiful man she’d ever seen—even before she’d spied on him shucking off his clothes to swim naked in the lake and had gazed in awe at his magnificent body. And now this new hardness about him was nearly irresistible.

 A living hell, she’d promised him. She’d sounded so strong, so determined.

 Now she waffled.

 Stay married, her father had advised. She didn’t want that, couldn’t have that. She’d been forced to accept the alliance, but Hugh hadn’t been and could have saved them both from this.

 He’d refused.

 Because Hugh had left her no way out, Jane felt he might as well have pushed her off a cliff. Yes, a nice, big shove, sending her flailing and screaming right over the edge.

 Inevitably, once she landed, it was going to be messy.

 She was already livid with him over the past, before he attacked Freddie. Now she was wed to the very man who’d betrayed her, and this on the heels of the rawest show of fury she had ever seen. Hugh in the warehouse had been bad, but this morning he’d been worse. What she couldn’t understand was why.

 Had he become one of those men whose first reaction always tended toward violence? Or had her father already promised her to him, days, even weeks, before? Which would mean Hugh had thought his fiancée had been kissing another? She frowned. Recalling her conversation with her father, she realized he’d never asked her why Hugh had attacked Freddie….

 Hugh’s own explanation had rung hollow, even as he’d uttered it. Yes, Hugh was a close friend of the family’s, and, yes, perhaps she oughtn’t to have been kissing Freddie in the park behind the folly, but nothing excused what he’d done.

 Jane was angry and she wanted revenge. Her talent still lay in teasing and tormenting. In fact, as she’d pointed out to Hugh, her arsenal had only expanded, thanks to all the tricks she’d learned in her five London seasons among seven master cousins.

 Hugh should know what he’d given up back then. He should have a taste of what he couldn’t have now without risking a binding marriage to her.

 For every hopeless day and night filled with tears, for every man she’d compared to him and found lacking, for his decision to leave her…

 For all her pain, she would make him pay.

 “Oh, Hugh, darling, it’s close in here, is it not?” She unfastened the first few buttons of her blouse and drew it wide to fan herself. After opening the window on her side, she tugged up her skirts so she could kneel on the bench facing him. She reached past Hugh toward his window, resting one knee against his thigh, and placed her palm just above his own knee. His entire body went rigid.

 With her other arm stretched out to the window, she turned her head so their lips were barely inches apart. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?” she asked in a sensual whisper as she slowly rubbed her palm higher up his rock-hard thigh. His jaw clenched, and he swallowed hard. His brows drew together as though he was in pain.

 Make him pay.

 They hit a bump, and though his hands shot to her waist to steady her, she made sure she landed straddling him.

 He hissed in a breath. “Jane,” he growled, tightening his grip. But he didn’t raise her from her position—if anything, his shaking hands on her waist pressed her down.

 “What is it, darling?” she murmured.

 “Doona touch me, lass,” he rasped. “Just…you canna touch me.”

 And pay.

 “How clumsy of me,” she purred. “Needing you to support me, or else I might slide…slowly…inch by inch…down upon your ”—she leaned in close to his ear, making sure he felt her breaths before she enunciated—“lap.” He shuddered violently, lowering his head to her neck.

 When she eased back, he faced her, appearing stunned. His normally clenched jaw was slack.

 She patted his shoulder firmly—all business—then maneuvered and swished back into her seat to gaze casually out the window. “Yes, darling, now it’smuch better in here.”

 Fourteen

 Hugh violently rubbed his palms on his legs, struggling for a calm he didn’t possess. His swift, blood-pounding erection strained against his trousers. His breaths came haggard.

 After wanting her for so long…

 She didn’t understand just how tenuous his control was, and was even now gazing out the window, unconcerned. But he could see her coral lips curling without humor. She was playing with him, just as she always had.

 He’d tolerate it no longer. I saw her kissing another goddamned man.

 His hand shot out to grasp her arm, and her smirk vanished. She turned to him with a glare. “Hugh, release me.”

 He yanked her closer to him on the bench. “You’d do well to recognize I’m no’ the same lad I was.”

 “And what are you now?” she asked airily, seemingly unaffected by what had just occurred and by Hugh’s building anger.

 “I’m a man with a man’s needs.” He would teach her, give her this lesson now so that she would stop these flirtations. Because she was right—she had gotten even better, somehow improving on perfection. He sensed it was critical to put her in her place now. His voice grating, he said, “Doona expect to tease me like that and no’ relieve me in some fashion.”

 Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Some fashion? Enlighten me, darling.” Her soft fingertips toyed with his chest in the V of his shirt. Christ, she made him weak. “How do you usually prefer to be…relieved?”

 So she’d meet him measure for measure? He was a man with more experience, he should be able to win this handily. There had to be a line she wouldn’t cross. But could he pull back once they reached it?

 “I’ll have tae show you,” he heard himself saying. In one sweeping motion, he dragged her onto his lap, easing her back against his arm until he was leaning over her. She looked startled—after all, this was the first time he’d ever touched her back when she’d teased—but then a flicker of that stubborn look crossed her face. In the space of a heartbeat, she was all seduction again, reaching out to pet his neck even as she relaxed into his arm.

 His blood pulsed in his groin, making it hot and aching. When she gasped, he knew she could feel his erection throbbing under her arse. He was having difficulty thinking. Didn’t he have an agenda with this?

 Kiss her so hard she’ll forget she was in another man’s arms this morning….

 No. He was only doing this to push her, to startle her, to win this battle of wills. They always used to have them, and Hugh had lost as many as he’d won.

 Her lips were parted, welcoming. Her body was so damned soft against him. Just one taste. Yes, get this out of the way in the beginning. Of course. He’d only imagined how good kissing her would be, and when that was proved otherwise, he could get past his obsession.

 He leaned down, never taking his eyes from hers. He felt the lace hem of her skirt clenched in his shaking fist and had no idea how it had gotten there. No doubt he wanted to get to those wicked garters he’d seen her lace around her white thighs this morning.

 Her open blouse revealed the swells of her creamy breasts above her corset, and he bent to brush his lips over them, stunned to find her skin was as soft as it looked. When she shivered, her playfulness gone, he kissed up to the base of her neck, realizing this was the first time his lips had ever touched her.

 He inhaled the light scent of her skin and knew that he wouldn’t rest until he’d tasted her. Just once. With a defeated groan, he opened his mouth and flicked his tongue over her flesh. He shuddered with pleasure, and she gave the sweetest little cry, making him want to wrench more from her.

 “Is this what you want from me?” he rasped, drawing back to take in her face. She looked as dazed as he felt, staring at his lips, no doubt wondering how things had escalated so fast.

 He cupped her nape and slanted his lips over hers. She hesitated as if startled by the contact, then parted her soft, giving lips in offer.

 Her mouth was hot and wet as he slipped his tongue in, and when she met it, taking his strokes with hers, he stifled a groan. She moaned against him, the sound making his cock pulse painfully in reaction, and soon he was lost in the experience. At last he was tasting and touching her, dazed by sensation.

 This wasn’t a dream, not a scenario he’d envisioned in a lonely bed in some distant country. He was kissing her. And it wasn’t as good as his imaginings.

 It was better.

 His hand had slipped up the outside of her thigh almost to her garter, about to slowly untie—

 “Miss Weyland!” a voice called from outside the carriage. “I say, is Miss Weyland in there?”

 Jane froze, then pulled back. “Freddie?” she gasped.

 Not Bidworth.

 “Hugh, we have to stop.”

 His gaze flickered over her chest, her neck, her lips. When he met her eyes, he shook his head slowly. Leaning in, he took her mouth once more.

 She shivered, then pushed against him. “Stop!” She scrambled to sit up. “I am in deadly earnest, Hugh!”

 He finally released her, though he struggled not to yank her back when he realized she’d just responded to him . Such a small taste, after such a long wait, and it was still worth it.

 But as sanity returned, he disbelieved what he’d done—and been about to do. He had to cough to speak, and still his voice was hoarse when he said, “Never do that again. Never, Jane, or I vow tae you, I’ll—”

 “Stop the carriage,” she said, inhaling and exhaling deeply as she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. When he made no move to do so, she added, “We’re setting off for a location so secret you aren’t even going to tell me, but if you don’t let me talk to him, he’ll follow us all the way there.”

 “No’ if he’s unable to follow,” he said quietly.

 Her eyes widened, and she gazed at him as if she didn’t recognize him. “You’re crazed, aren’t you? Have the years warped your mind? You listen to me, Hugh MacCarrick. You are not to hurt him again. Do you hear me? Or, so help me God, I will get in the middle and—claw—your—very—eyes—out.” She gave him a glare to punctuate her threat.

 “You told your father that you’d sent a message to him.”

 “Of course I did,” she said, straightening her hair. He took the opportunity to pull his jacket edges together and furtively adjusted his shaft within his trousers. “Freddie must have ridden over directly upon receiving it, just missed us, and followed us north.”

 Biting back a curse, Hugh called to the driver to stop.

 “I want five minutes with him—alone,” she said, throwing open the coach door.

 “No’ a chance—”

 “I’m telling him good-bye. He deserves five minutes of my time. Especially after your attack today.” She met his eyes. “Hugh, damn you, please .”

 She always knew he couldn’t deny her when she looked up at him like that and said please. When he bit out a curse, she quickly descended before he could assist her. Through the back window, Hugh watched as Bidworth dismounted. When she rushed to him, the bastard laid his hands on her shoulders, then pulled her to his chest.

 Hugh couldn’t watch this, not now. She was his wife now. Not for good, only temporarily, but for now, she was his.

 His first impulse was to stalk out there, drag her away from him, then plant his fist in Bidworth’s face again. That last hit had felt so sodding good, and the break at the bridge of Bidworth’s nose was swollen and already blackening his eyes gruesomely. Hugh stifled the impulse, barely, but stayed tensed and ready to reach her in a hurry. He half-expected Bidworth to snatch Jane up and toss her on his horse to steal her.

 Hugh would have.

 He would use this time to study them interacting, to determine what type of loss this would be for her. Jane stared up at Bidworth adoringly—but then, it made sense that a woman like her would want a man like him. He was an earl, tall and blond, and they looked rich and aristocratic together. A perfect Briton couple.

 Hugh was a black-haired Scot with a menacing expression and gashes marring his face.

 Not to mention his occupation.

 Jane lightly brushed her fingers over Bidworth’s cheek, and Hugh hated him for it. She touched Bidworth lovingly—as she used to with Hugh. Now she touched Hugh to hurt him.

 Seeing this was hellish. Put Hugh in a sweltering marsh, force him to stand perfectly still with a rifle poised for a shot for half a day as the sweat stung his eyes and insects devoured his legs, and he would be happier than watching this. Jaw clenched, his hands in fists, Hugh watched as Bidworth refastened her top blouse button and suspected they were already sleeping together.

 “Jane, you cannot tell me this is what you want,” Freddie said. “I thought we had an understanding.”

 “I don’t, and we did.” She could feel Hugh’s eyes on her and shivered, still affected by how rapidly things had escalated between them. In the past, she could always touch and tease him, and he never touched her back. Just then in the coach, he’d had her in his lap, her bottom pressed against his very sizable and insistent erection, in the space of a heartbeat.

 His kisses had been scalding, devouring. Until five minutes ago, Jane had never known kisses could be like that. As though Hugh were branding her….

 As she and Freddie stood at the side of the road, she wanted to adjust their positions, so that Hugh couldn’t see her flushed face—and could only burn holes in her back with his eyes.

 “Your father said this MacCarrick has just returned after a long absence,” Freddie began, “and that you two had been promised to each other years ago. Is this true?”

 In a way. In her mind. “It’s rather involved, Freddie.”

 “Is Weyland forcing you to do this, sweetheart?” He stroked her hair. “Jane, you poor thing. You’re trembling.” He looked as if he might kiss her to comfort her, and Hugh immediately descended from the carriage, unfolding his towering height. In a clear warning, he crossed his arms and leaned his muscular frame against the side of the carriage.

 Freddie’s expression was aghast. “My God, he looks more barbaric than before! I still cannot believe your father is letting him marry you .” Then Freddie gave Jane a look that suggested he was amazed by her fortitude in surviving the marriage even this long. “What is Weyland thinking? This won’t be tolerated! We will figure out some way to free you from this man.”

 Jane glanced at Hugh and had to admit that he looked fearsome. Unfortunately for her, she’d always liked that about him, when it was directed at others.

 “I’ll take you away from here this very moment,” Freddie vowed.

 In a toneless voice, she said, “It’s done, I’m afraid.” Yes, her father did have significant influence with persons of power, but even he wouldn’t be able to smooth this one over.

 In her letter to Freddie, Jane had broken it off with him—completely.

 “This is probably for the best,” she said with a sigh. “You know your mother and sister don’t approve of me.” She would have been Lady Whiting by the skin of her teeth.

 “I hope that is not what has swayed you in this, because I say to hell with them.”

 Despite these heroic promises now, Freddie actually wasn’t accustomed to taking stands or becoming involved in discord in any way. That was one of the reasons she’d liked him so much, because he was so opposite to Hugh, who’d always been so quick to roll up his sleeves and fight for her.

 “I just don’t understand this,” Freddie continued. “I-I won’t accept this!”

 Yes, he would. Because the truth was that he wasn’t in love with her, either. He’d lost his heart to Candace Damferre, their mutual friend and his childhood sweetheart, who’d been forced to marry a doddering old man who was, impossibly, richer than Freddie.

 But Jane and Freddie had promised each other that if they did wed, they’d do their best to make a go of it, and Jane had known that Freddie was looking forward to a future with her. The entire situation was wrong .

 “I’d be sending you off to your doom—” He broke off as Hugh stalked toward them, exuding menace. Freddie’s voice scaled an octave higher when he said, “He’s going to hit me again, isn’t he?”

 Fifteen

 As Hugh neared, Bidworth’s face paled, making his bruises stand out. Hugh heard him murmur, “Jane, th-there are ways to amend this predicament, I’m sure. You’re not inescapably his wife, not yet.”

 “Seems like she’s more mine than yours,” Hugh bit out, aggravated by Bidworth’s statement, because it went to the heart of this whole situation. And the galled look the man was casting him tried his patience.

 Why did everyone find it so unbelievable that Jane would wed a man like Hugh? She’d kissed him in the coach like she was bloody well wed to him. Hugh placed his hand on her nape, an obvious sign of possession.

 Jane shot him a look that promised reprisal. “I wanted five minutes.”

 “Get in the carriage. Now.” When she only gaped at his command, Hugh leaned in and told her in a low tone, “Do it, or he’s going to get more than a tap this time.”

 In a rush, she took Bidworth’s hand and briefly shook it. “I’ll write, Freddie,” she said, then hurried to the coach.

 When she paused outside, Hugh told Bidworth, “Doona follow us. Doona come near her again. Forget you even know her.”

 “D-do you have…” Bidworth swallowed and began again, “Do you have a-any idea who I am?”

 The miserable coward, Hugh thought with disbelief, grappling for control of his temper. He had expected a jilted suitor, especially one nearly engaged to a woman like Jane, would be a threat waiting in the wings.

 Not a threat. Not even giving Hugh a serious argument.

 “Aye, I ken who you are. You’re the man who’s letting a woman like that go without a fight.” If Hugh had been in Bidworth’s position—able to have a life with Jane without risking dire consequences—he’d have fought off a bloody legion before handing her over to another man. A real brawl, with mud flying and blood spraying.

 For Jane as a prize, he would have spit blood with a grin on his face.

 “You doona deserve her, and you sure as hell could no’ have handled her,” he snapped. Leaving Bidworth floundering for words, Hugh turned to the coach, scowling as Jane climbed in instead of waiting for him to help her. When he joined her inside and the coach began to roll along, she waved at Bidworth until he was out of sight. Long after, she continued to gaze out the window, her little hands in fists. If Hugh ever expected a woman to cry, it’d be now.

 Jane had rarely cried when younger. On the few occasions when she had, he’d been at an utter loss. Seeing she was on the verge, he ran his hand over the back of his neck, realizing that hadn’t changed. “If you wanted him so badly, why did you no’ fight for him? You’ve always gotten your way in the past.”

 “This is your fault,” she snapped at him, “this entire situation. If Father hadn’t been able to order up another lackey bridegroom so handily, he would have let me marry Freddie.”

 “You blame me more than your father, who arranged all this? More than yourself, who agreed to go through with it? Maybe you might blame Grey?”

 “Why did Father pick you? You weren’t even in London. I demand to know what is really going on! Is this some scheme you and he cooked up to get me to marry you?”

 “As I said, I dinna go to your home thinking I’d be leaving with a bride. I never asked your father for you.”

 “So I’m actually supposed to believe that Grey might do violence to me. The business of imports must be spectacularly dangerous. And all this time I never knew the risks Father was taking.”

 Hugh said nothing.

 “Look me in the eye and tell me Grey’s unhinged and might hurt me.”

 Hugh met her eyes. “I can say with absolute certainty that Grey is soft in the mind and has dangerous intent, probably toward you.”

 “Grey was always nice to me,” she muttered.

 “I’ll bet he was.” When Grey became increasingly crazed, his taunts to Hugh always involved Jane. He’d known that she was Hugh’s one weakness. “Did Grey ever say or do anything odd to you? Show an untoward interest in you?”

 “No, I wasn’t around him that often.” She shivered. “Why would he want to do something so drastic?”

 “He was becoming unstable. Your father broke off ties with him and ordered an action—something that was within his right to do—that furthered Grey’s ruin.”

 “What do you mean by ‘an action’? What kind of ruin? Where do you fit into this?”

 Weyland had again stressed that he didn’t want Jane to know anything about the Network until they’d confirmed that the list had indeed been made public. Until then, Hugh was supposed to brush aside her questions, or lie. As Hugh wanted to avoid telling her of his own role, he’d readily agreed. Unfortunately, he found it impossible to lie to her. He needed some time to get his bearings with her, to find a way to deter her questions. “You’re keen on interrogating me, but I doubt you’d answer questions so readily.”

 “Ask me anything!”

 “Why did you wait so long to marry?” She’d had plenty of opportunities, had had offers when she was still a young lass and a coming-out ball when she was nineteen.

 “I hadn’t found the right man,” she answered in a that’ll-show-you tone.

 “Bidworth was the right man?”

 “He has all the qualifications I’m looking for. Every single one of them.”

 “Like what?” he asked.

 “He’s gentle and kind and considerate.” At Hugh’s bored look, her eyes narrowed. “He’s blond, with a face that makes women swoon, and he’s titled and popular and rich.”

 If these were the traits she was looking for, Hugh had never had a chance with her, family curse or not. “Bidworth’s cowardly,” he said. After meeting the man, however briefly, Hugh knew Weyland had been right not to let her marry the earl—he could never protect Jane.

 His comment got her going. “Just because he didn’t call you out over this doesn’t mean Freddie isn’t brave! He’s a peer of the realm and a proper British gentleman—who’s above issuing a challenge on the side of the toll road!”

 Hugh supposed there were advantages to being a brutish Scot with no title.

 “Freddie’s a wonderful man, all around,” she continued. “And your attacking him today? My Lord, Hugh, what has gotten into you?”

 “He should never have kissed you in public—”

 “I kissed him .”

 Twist that knife, Jane, he thought. That’s right, lass, from twelve o’clock to three.

 “And what about provoking him just now?” she asked. “He woke up this morning thinking I was his. Yet you threw this marriage in his face as if this means something to you.”

 “No worse than you throwing yourself at him on the side of the road.”

 She gasped. “I didn’t throw myself at him! I embraced him in farewell. Which would be expected, since Freddie and I have been seeing each other for years !”

 “Aye, but during those years, you likely were no’ panting in another man’s lap, returning his kisses, just moments before.”

 Her lips parted wordlessly, as if she’d only just realized she couldn’t deny it.

 “Jane, even if this marriage of ours is a farce, it’s binding until it’s ended. Never touch another man in front of me. Unless you want him dead.”

 She rolled her eyes at him. “Why, Hugh, you sound jealous, which we know can’t be true.”

 It was undeniably true. In this one day, Hugh had felt more jealousy clawing at his gut than in his entire life before. If they’d been truly committed, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt it to such a blistering degree just now—but there was no foundation for them. They were embroiled in a sham. He’d given her his name but could expect nothing back.

 The situation was maddening. How had he found himself agreeing to it, when all his instincts screamed against it? He’d been well aware that he was being maneuvered—and yet, he’d allowed it.

 Hugh had never been one to lose his temper or react impulsively. Now he felt he was losing control. What was it about Jane that made him feel primitive and possessive? He’d felt compelled to bare his teeth at Bidworth—or to hit him again, just for pleasure.

 Men like Hugh could not afford to lose control. Grey wasn’t the first of their kind to succumb to darker impulses. “And doona tease me any longer. Lass, you play with fire.”

 “If you can’t stand my teasing, you never should have agreed to this. It’s not as if you haven’t experienced it before or didn’t know what to expect when I warned you not to go along with this!”

 “We both agreed to end this marriage when the situation is resolved,” he grated. “I will no’ be trapped into something I dinna want because you think to amuse yourself by playing with me.”

 A coldness seemed to settle over her. “Don’t spend another minute’s desperate worry that you might be ‘trapped’ with me. There is nothing that can happen between us that will bind us together in this marriage, I assure you.” She opened her small traveling case at her feet and withdrew a book, turning from him dismissively.

 If only he could turn away and shut her out as easily.

 All morning Hugh had felt outside of reality, waiting for everyone to realize what a mistake his and Jane’s marriage would be. Each minute, he expected Jane to back out.

 In the back of his mind, he’d never thought it would truly be his decision as to whether they would move forward with this or not.

 When she’d begun packing, Hugh had paced. She’s actually going through with this? Impossible. What if the final choice came down to him ? Time and again he weighed the risks, but before he knew it, they were all waiting for him to sign his name to the marriage certificate.

 Hugh had heard Rolley mutter to Quin, “Never thought I’d see the day steady MacCarrick’s hand would shake like that.”

 How could it not, when Hugh felt he walked upon a razor’s edge between what fate would allow—or punish him for?

 And when he risked the only woman he’d ever loved.

 After an hour of silence in the coach, Hugh reached over and removed her book from her hands. Before she could gasp her displeasure, he presented her with a glass jewel case, offered in his big palm.

 “And what is this?” she asked, though she recognized the R emblem etched in the crystal.

 “Take it.”

 After a hesitation, she did, then opened it with a nonchalant air. Her heart flipped over like a cart’s wheel.

 Inside lay the most gorgeous piece of jewelry she had ever seen.

 She stared, light-headed, then gazed up at him. “This…this is wholly unnecessary.” She tried to hand it back, but he wouldn’t take it, and the bewildered look on his face made her hesitate.

 “Will you no’ wear it, lass?” he asked incredulously.

 He’d obviously never envisioned that she might not accept it. She finally set it on the bench between them. “Hugh, you didn’t have to do this. I know many women who do not have wedding jewelry.”

 “You will.”

 “I also know many women who don’t like to be given temporary jewelry.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “We know this will be over soon,” Jane said. “Jewelry, in this case, seems a bit…cruel.”

 He shook his head firmly. “You’ll keep it. After.”

 After he left her. Again.

 “So, did you have this lying around the house, in case of any impromptu weddings?”

 “Got it this morning. While you were packing.”

 “Hmm.” She tapped her cheek. “Now it all becomes clear. You got it after you guiltily realized that perhaps you shouldn’t have bludgeoned Freddie and manhandled me. You rode out and bought me a very expensive olive branch.”

 “You’ve been slighted a grand wedding and all that surrounds it. This is one thing I can control. I wanted to give my friend something befitting her.”

 “Are we friends, Hugh?” she asked, her voice sounding sad, even to her.

 He stiffened. “I’ve never doubted it.”

 She bit her lip at that, then surreptitiously glanced down at the ring case, her hands itching to pick it up. Her father had told her Hugh had saved some money, but Ridergate’s was fantastically expensive, and that ring—classically set with a huge diamond amidst a cluster of emeralds—was oh-so-lavish.

 With a sigh, she realized she ought not take it, because Hugh shouldn’t be spending that money on her, no matter how badly she wanted it. Especially when they weren’t to stay wed—

 He swooped the case back, surprising her. But he did it only to pluck out the ring and capture her hand. “Wear—it,” he grated.

 Was he nervous ? Jane could always tell when Hugh was uncomfortable or discomfited because his shoulders went back. They were presently jammed back. “This is what you wanted.”

 “Why would you think that?” Had he possibly recalled her description of her dream wedding ring? She nibbled her lip as she awaited his answer.

 He muttered, “You told me, lass.”

 He remembered? If a man could recall such minute details all these years later, then perhaps they had at least been the friends she’d thought them.

 When he slipped it on her finger, she shivered—she didn’t know why. He appeared relieved that she’d accepted it. And now that he was at ease, she began to react to him, finding herself relaxing as well.

 No matter how hard she fought it.

 Damn him, they’d always been like that—able to settle in with each other in easy companionship. Now it came more slowly, little by little, like a feather wafting down, but in the end, the amity was the same. Damn, damn, damn….

 Could a woman miss a man who brought her pain? Then somehow ignore all that pain and be excited to be near him again?

 A quick consideration indicated: possibly.

 Maybe she was simply grateful that for a space of many minutes, she’d forgotten about her anxious feeling. Or, more likely, she just liked the ring. Typical, typical Jane.

 She sighed. A near-acceptance of a proposal and a kiss before nine; a marriage, another kiss, and a ring before noon. She wished she could say that all these had occurred with only one man.

 Sixteen

 “Be forewarned, Hugh,” Jane said, when he held out his hands to assist her from the carriage. “I will now place my waist into your grip. Please don’t take it as teasing or making merry with fire in any way.”

 Ever since she’d entreated him to stop at this inn, he’d been wearing a scowl, and at her words it deepened, a glaring contrast to her own jewelry-induced blithe mood.

 When he grasped her waist and swung her down, she asked, “Hugh, why are you so averse to this place? It looks perfectly acceptable.”

 Hugh still held her. “It is. But you have to go through the common room to get upstairs.”

 “You’ve been here before?” she asked.

 He gave a short nod, his dark eyes raking over her décolletage, and she reacted yet again to his avid gaze. All day in the carriage, she’d alternately relaxed and tensed under his stare. After that kiss—which she’d worked to convince herself was a fluke of perfection, a devastating anomaly—she’d felt her breasts grow sensitive, swelling against the lace cups above her corset.

 And while he’d studied her today, she’d done so to him, though much more circumspectly. She’d noted that those gashes on his face and the scars on his neck and hands didn’t square with the occupation he professed, nor had the way he’d struck Freddie. Freddie was a tall man, yet Hugh had sent him flying—and he’d done it with the ease of an afterthought.

 Jane had been to pugilist matches before and had seen the great, hulking fighters with their meaty fists, yet she’d put everything she owned on Hugh against the lot of them. That didn’t fit. Nor did the way his muscular body had been honed as though from hard labor.

 She was convinced that he wasn’t just a businessman. What he might be instead eluded her—

 “Can you no’ cover yourself more?” he grated, finally releasing her. “The patrons here have no need to see you.”

 “I don’t have any clothing that’s not in my trunks.”

 “No’ even for your hair?” He frowned at the loosened tendrils.

 She wasn’t a bonnet type of woman, and a hat was impractical for carriage travel. “Hugh, I haven’t complained about the rigorous pace you’ve set. But if you continue to keep me out here in this damp night, famished and weary, I shall begin.”

 He exhaled a long breath, took her hand, then dragged her inside as though they were in a race. The common room they entered was, well, common. Boisterous patrons swilled gin and lunged for barmaids. Jane watched, impressed, as one escaped capture with a swift swish of her hips.

 Of course, Jane had been in much seedier places before with her cousins. If all of London seemed to be caught up with seeking thrills, then the Eight had made an art form out of successfully locating them. After disguising themselves in men’s clothing and pasting on fake moustaches—which probably served no purpose other than to make them chortle with laughter—they’d visited bawdy wax museums. They’d gambled in the east-end gaming halls. They’d gawked wide-eyed at lascivious pictorial shows.

 For Jane, this common room was a bit tame.

 When Hugh had to slow to wend through a crush of patrons, too inebriated to dart out of his way, a drunkard approached Jane. He stumbled after her, leaning in, looking for all the world as if he wanted to lay his head on her breasts.

 “Here, Hugh,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You might want to—”

 Hugh wheeled around, yanking her behind him, drawing back a fist in one fluid movement. Her eyes went wide, just as the room grew quiet.

 She touched his arm and murmured, “Hugh…don’t. It’s hardly sporting.”

 Jane’s cousin Sam had once described Jane’s temperament as fierce, but even Jane was startled at Hugh’s deadly demeanor and swift aggression. An importer? And she was the queen of Egyptian artifacts.

 When Hugh lowered his fist, the drunk lurched back, mumbling apologies—and, Jane feared, wetting himself a bit.

 Hugh kept her locked behind him in a vise-like grip as he scanned the room slowly. It occurred to her that she was with the biggest and most fearsome-looking man in this place. And the patrons all seemed to know it, as they peered at him warily and avoided looking at her altogether.

 When Hugh relaxed his hold and turned to offer her his arm, she proudly took it. As the room returned to normal, she and Hugh made their way to a salon off the common room. His body was still thrumming, as if not hitting that clod had taken much from him. She tried to make light of it. “My darling, the perilous world of imports has hardened you—”

 “MacCarrick!” a lovely older blonde called as she exited a back room. Her eyes sparkled as she sashayed up to Hugh. “I couldn’t believe it when they said you’d returned to my modest establishment,” she all but purred as she took his hand. She was buxom, with a sexy French accent and a bodice more riskily low-cut than even Jane had ever dared.

 Jane now fully comprehended Hugh’s reluctance to stay here. She suspected he and this curvaceous French woman had been lovers.

 Hugh extracted his hand from the woman’s, then presented her to Jane. “Jane, this is Lysette Nadine. Lysette, this is my…wife, Jane…MacCarrick.”

 Jane thought of all those times she’d written her name as Jane MacCarrick, and sighed. Hugh could scarcely utter the words. The pleasure that used to warm her turned into an annoying jab.

 “Wife?” The woman’s lips parted, but she swiftly recovered. “Must be a recent acquisition. You were unwed six months ago when I last saw you.”

 Hugh shrugged without interest. So they hadn’t seen each other for that long?

 Lysette lowered her voice to say, “I’d heard you’d sworn never to marry.”

 “Circumstances changed,” he replied, and Jane knew she was only dipping a toe into the undercurrent of their conversation. Sworn never to marry?

 This Lysette had big, ingenuous blue eyes—but she was actually very alert, taking in details, missing nothing. When Lysette rudely looked her up and down, Jane simply smiled at her as she might an unruly child seeking attention. She was confident enough in herself and, strangely, in Hugh’s attraction to her over the voluptuous woman—even if they’d been lovers. However, this woman’s misplaced possessiveness couldn’t go unanswered. Though Hugh had warned her not to tease him, Jane sidled closer to him, rubbing her cheek against his arm. She felt him tense immediately.

 Raising an eyebrow as if in challenge, Lysette asked, “How many rooms do you desire, Hugh?”

 “One,” Jane said before Hugh could answer. A challenge? Jane’s hand traced up Hugh’s back, passing a pistol in a holster she hadn’t even known he carried, and her fingers settled about his neck, nails languidly scratching just above his collar. His body shot even tighter with tension. “And we’d like a bath and our dinner brought there.”

 Lysette looked at Hugh as if expecting him to naysay Jane.

 Jane placed her other hand flat on his muscular chest, displaying her ring. “Have I overstepped, husband ?”

 He glowered down at her, but he did tell Lysette, “One.”

 Lysette gave her a tight smile. “I will show you up myself.”

 Once inside the surprisingly spacious room, Jane hopped on the bed and patted it. “Yes, darling, this will do nicely.” She gave Hugh a lascivious look and a teasing growl in her throat. “And I wager we’ll even sleep well on it, too.”

 He and Lysette both shot her looks. Hugh’s was one of warning. Lysette’s was one of promised retaliation.

 Finally Lysette huffed out, with a halfhearted, “If you need anything…”

 As soon as the door closed, Hugh asked, “More games?”

 “Shouldn’t we act as if we’re married?” Jane collapsed back on the bed, raising her hands above her to sneak another glance at her ring. She’d decided she would definitely keep the ring, even if she wasn’t keeping the groom with whom it was associated. “This is how I will behave with my final husband when he comes into the rotation. I’ll be eager to flirt with and touch him. And I won’t take it lightly when another woman tries to do the same.”

 “You’d be possessive of your husband?”

 “Quite so.” She eased up to her elbows. “Especially when it’s obvious that you—I mean,he has some type of history with a buxom innkeeper who’s intent on making me feel like an outsider in your—I mean, their little party of two.” She raised an eyebrow. “Care to enlighten me about your history with the Frenchie?”

 “No, no’ particularly.”

 “Hugh, sometime soon you’re going to burn to know something from me. I won’t be inclined to answer you if you continue to brush aside my questions.”

 Before he could reply, a maid knocked and entered to set up a copper bathtub behind a dressing screen.

 Under his breath, Hugh said, “Do you need her to help you undress before she leaves?” At her look, he added, “I thought you might be missing your lady’s maid.”

 “Oh, since you wouldn’t let me take her with us? It’s no matter—anything I require, you can provide. Besides, I’m sure you’re quite well versed in undressing women.”

 Behind the screen, the maid coughed. Hugh gazed at the ceiling, as if praying for patience.

 Jane ignored him, studying the maid behind the flimsy screen, noting that she could see every detail of her form in shadow or clearly through the slim gaps between the panels. If Hugh stayed in the room while Jane bathed, he would see the same. Jane shrugged. She wasn’t going to develop a sudden case of modesty when she was traveling and confined with a man indefinitely.

 Once the red-faced maid had carried in several cans of steaming water to fill the bath and retreated from the room, Jane crossed to the screen, slipping behind it. Was she undressing a trifle slower than usual? She thought she heard a low groan when her petticoats dropped, and a louder one when she slid her shift up her body, over her breasts, then up over her head.

 Oh, her poor, poor back was so travel-fatigued. She raised her arms above her and stretched.

 Hugh paced the room like a caged tiger.

 When she finally got in the tub, Jane softly moaned with pleasure—not feigned, as she adored taking baths. Then she lounged back to reflect on her insane day.

 She recalled the disappointment in Freddie’s eyes and immediately felt a pang. She’d been wracked with guilt over the way things had turned out, and his expression had nearly been her undoing. Adding to her guilt was the fact that just seconds before Freddie had overtaken them, she had been on the verge of forgetting why she’d teased MacCarrick in the first place.

 Even as impulsive and impetuous as she was, she was still was reeling. And it was by no means over. Now she was setting off on a grand adventure with Hugh.

 Jane believed he was finally taking her to Carrickliffe far in the north of Scotland. After he’d described it to her years ago, she’d always longed to visit it. Now she wanted to go there to experience the place that produced men like Hugh.

 She’d been to Scotland, but never north of Edinburgh, never into the wild Highlands. Was Hugh finally going to make good on a promise?

 She felt out of sorts—naturally she would, after the day she was having—but she was especially concerned about her burgeoning fascination with her new husband. After seeing Hugh so beautifully menacing downstairs, and after feeling the pistol holstered at his back, she was burning to know more about him.

 When he paced by once more, she stretched her leg up and smoothed bath oil down it. He stopped pacing, and she knew he could see her. In the past, she never would have worried that he was the type of man who might yank down the screen at the sight and ravish her.

 Now, she was forced to wonder.

 Exactly who was Hugh now? If he wasn’t in trade, why lie about it? Unless he’d been doing something illegal—perhaps with his younger brother, Courtland, the infamous mercenary? She raised an eyebrow. What if Hugh was a mercenary?

 She sighed. The problem with this fascination was that fascination led to feelings, feelings led to love, and love led to misery. She’d endured this sequence before and would give anything to avoid it.

 He was right. He wasn’t the same lad. The quiet, steady Hugh she’d fallen in love with was gone forever. And she didn’t know how to handle this new ruthless, intense man.

 He’d warned her that toying with him would be like playing with fire, and her antics in the coach this morning had definitely earned her a nice singe.

 She tilted her head to the side and frowned. But then, when have I ever hesitated to play with fire?

 Seventeen

 Hugh almost asked himself what he’d done to deserve this torment, but the answer would be too lengthy.

 She was running her hands up and down her long, long legs. He suspected she knew he could see, though she was such a sensual person that he’d wager she rubbed her legs as lingeringly when she was alone.

 What else did she linger over?

 The thought of her running her fingers over her sex…He had to gnash his teeth as his erection stiffened even more. He’d wager anything he owned that she did indeed touch herself like that whenever the need arose. Did she ever think of him? He unfailingly did of her. After Hugh had seen her last night, even his beaten, fatigued body had hungered for her, and he’d taken himself in hand.

 She had always been forward-thinking about sexual matters, and he knew she was filled with passion—passion that would need an outlet.

 He remembered Bidworth buttoning her blouse. Had Bidworth fulfilled her needs?

 Hugh should have killed him.

 How long before he could escape this impossible situation? Hurry up, Ethan. Else I’ll go mad . Striving to think of other things, distracting things, he paced to the window.

 Hugh hadn’t wanted to stay here. There were too many people he knew, and one who was privy to exactly what he was—Lysette, Grey’s ex-lover. But they wouldn’t have reached the next inn until nearly dawn, and once Jane had begun insisting, Hugh had thought he might as well try to extract some information from Lysette about Grey.

 Lysette had always been partial to Hugh, and Grey had left her to be with a whore.

 Yet the incident in the common room had proved this was a bad idea. Hugh should have had his arm around Jane’s shoulders, but he’d been dragging her along to get through the crowds. And Jane had taken one look at Hugh’s expression as he fought the urge to deal the drunkard a blow, and she’d known—not precisely what he was, but definitely what he wasn’t.

 He heard her rise from the water. Bounder that he was, he leaned back. When he caught a glimpse of her, he had to bite back a curse and shuffle his feet to keep his balance. In the space between the panels, he could see her damp back and hissed in a breath at the sight of the spot where her surprisingly generous arse met her long, slim leg.

 He closed his eyes briefly, berating himself for looking—even as he imagined striding forward to palm that taut cleft as he ran his mouth down her neck.

 He was stunned anew at how shapely she’d become. Her arms and legs were still slender, her torso as well, but her breasts and arse were plump and seemed to taunt his hands to cup them. Pull her to the bed, cover her wet, slick body with mine, take her furiously—

 The maid knocked once more, possibly saving them from disaster, and entered to set out their dinner on the room’s dining table. Hugh stayed facing the window since his cock was stiff as wood. When the girl left, he sat so Jane wouldn’t notice. He found the fare was simple, but the wine appeared to be a tolerable vintage.

 A few minutes later, Jane emerged from behind the screen, having donned a deep blue dressing gown and wrap. She wore the wrap open enough that he could see the pale tops of her breasts. When he could drag his gaze away from them, he saw that her shining hair was loose, with damp tendrils curling all about her face. Her flawless skin was pinkened, her eyes bright.

 She was elegant and fine, the lines of her face and body so pure. For a moment he just wanted to pretend that he was a lucky bastard who’d somehow truly landed her as wife. He wanted to pretend he saw her fresh from the bath at his leisure, and dined with her every night before they went to bed together.

 Here he was with a woman so lovely she’d make any man conscious of his words and actions, concerned about how she perceived him. She would unnerve most men. And yet she was still Jane .

 And when she allowed it, it was so damned easy being around her.

 “My wedding night.” She sauntered to her seat. “Darling, it is just as I’ve always dreamed.”

 She wasn’t going to allow it.

 He felt a flare of anger. Everything he was doing was for her benefit. Now, if she would just allow him to do his job unhindered…“My wedding night as well. I’m just as disappointed.”

 “Disappointed in the circumstance—or your bride?” Never taking her eyes from his, she took a sip of the wine he’d poured, then dabbed her tongue to her bottom lip.

 He shifted in his seat. “Any man would be proud to call you wife.”

 “Then, does this disappointment have anything to do with the fact that you’d sworn never to marry?”

 “Partly.”

 “Partly? So why else…?” She trailed off, eyes widening. “You have a lover, don’t you? One you didn’t want to forsake? That’s it, isn’t it? You already have a woman.”

 “I’m…between,” he said, hedging. He had never formed an attachment with another woman—didn’t think he’d slept with the same one twice. If he got angry enough at the world, he might drink and take a woman to try to forget, but it just worsened his resentment.

 Court had once asked Hugh why he bedded so few. If you felt like I did after, you would no’ either. “I just never had any intention of marrying—”

 “Never?” she asked in a strange tone.

 “It was not in my plans,” he said.

 She drank deeply. “Between, then, is it? I’ll bet you’ve had a lot of women.”

 “I’ll no’ speak of this with you.”

 “You used to tell me your secrets.”

 Never the big ones. Though he’d burned to.

 Hugh had often considered telling Jane about that terrible and weighty curse, but knew she would scoff. Jane could be irrational, temperamental, unreasonable—but she was never, never fanciful. He could just imagine her smirking and playing along: “Then I must eschew your cursed company, darling, for I quite fancy being alive.”

 And now, why would he tell her? The closeness they’d shared was gone.

 “So, Hugh, what do you truly do? You’re not a businessman. Unless a nefarious import attacked your face?”

 He raised his eyebrows at that. She was such a curious female, and one who had an infuriating habit of deducing and then deciding fixedly on her own theories. That could help him now. “Knowing you, you’ve worked out a theory as to what I am.”

 She put her hand out, palm up, motioning for him to give her his hand. Before he even had time to think better of it, he’d reached across the table. She captured his hand in hers, then ran the soft pads of her fingers over the calloused, scarred skin of his palm. Such a simple touch, but she made it sensual.

 Glancing up, she met his eyes. “I believe you’re a mercenary.”

 She was getting close.

 “Is that what you do?” Increasing the pressure, she ran her forefinger down the center of his palm, then back up.

 His voice was rough when he asked, “What makes you think that?”

 “It make sense. Father said you’d just come from travels with your brother Courtland on the Continent. Court is a known soldier of fortune—we’ve all heard of him wreaking havoc down there with a band of Highlanders. You must be one of them.”

 Hugh had been in Andorra riding with his brother’s men, but he’d only been there to help Court. They’d fought the Orden de Rechazado—the Order of the Disavowed, a band of fanatical assassins bent on killing Court and Annalía.

 “That would be how you cut your face,” Jane continued, with a feathery brush over the back of his hand. “And that’s how you saved up some money.”

 Some money? Hugh had turned his earnings into wealth with meticulous planning and calculated speculation. He was rich by anyone’s standards, with a grand seaside estate in Scotland. Her words sparked another first for Hugh—the unfamiliar need to boast, to impress her. Which was purposeless. “Why do you no’ believe I work in your father’s business?”

 “Hugh, I’m not a complete imbecile.” She tapped her finger against the worst scar on the back of his hand. “Look at your hands. And look at how muscular and fit you are. You did not hone a physique like that by working in commerce .”

 He checked a flush of pleasure at her inadvertent compliment and said, “I get outdoors a lot.”

 “I’ve been to pugilist matches with my cousins.” Her wee hands worked his into a fist, and she studied it before meeting his gaze once more. “I know what those fighters are capable of, yet after I saw the way you hit Freddie, I’d put you up against them with stacked odds.”

 Another roundabout compliment. He thought. “I had two brothers. I received a lot of practice. You ken that I used to fight with Ethan more hours than no’.”

 Of course, she was aware he was being evasive, but he knew that was only making her dig in her heels. “Father covered for your career as a mercenary, didn’t he?” She released his hand abruptly. “The youngest son gone bad would be met with a clucked tongue and a head shake. But two brothers? That would start to affect Ethan’s reputation, and he has a title.”

 Ethan’s reputation? She had no idea. How such a cold-blooded bastard could somehow keep his deeds secret amazed Hugh. Especially since Ethan had never bothered to try to. Still, he only shrugged.

 She leaned back. “Hugh MacCarrick, the mercenary. Unless you want to offer another explanation.”

 “No, no’ at all. Take that one, lass, and run with it.”

 “What do mercenaries do?”

 “Mercenaries fight for money—professional soldiers.”

 “Have you gotten to travel all over the world?” she asked, her tone suddenly wistful.

 “No’ to many places you’d want to tour.”

 “It must be exciting at times.” When he said nothing, she admitted, “I’ve always wanted to travel to exotic places. Quin has promised again and again to take Claudia and me on a grand adventure, but he’s always so busy.”

 Quin, take them traveling? Only if the two lasses wanted a tour of the world’s upscale brothels.

 “Do you ever get scared?” she asked. “During the fighting?”

 Hugh’s objective was to avoid fighting. “Even if I did, men doona admit to things like that.”

 “So you’ve been in wars? How many people have you killed?”

 He ignored her question. “You’re no’ eating, though you told me you were famished.”

 “I am.” At his look, she amended, “I’m eating distilled grapes. Answer me, won’t you?”

 “I have no’ kept a count.” Grey had taught him that. He’d said, One day, Scot, you’ll wake up, and you won’t be anything more than that number.

 “What did happen to your face?”

 She would bring that up again. She was pale and perfect in her silk.

 When Grey had begun sinking farther into the abyss, he’d loved to remind Hugh how far out of reach a woman like her was for a man like Hugh—a man with a beaten, pained body that made him feel so damn old and weary, a man who was awkward in social situations.

 A man who’d crossed a line from which there was no going back.

 “I was cut by falling rocks.” After he’d exploded a mountaintop to blow up the Rechazado camp—while they were still in it. “There was an accident.” True, he hadn’t meant to be in the way of a shower of slate.

 Hugh had killed thirty Rechazados, dead in an instant.

 She has no idea what kind of man sits across from her.

 “On the job?” She looked as if she was truly curious about him. But it wasn’t genuine interest. She only delved to gather what Hugh refused to give her—and only because he’d refused. Jane loved nothing more than fighting for something she wanted.

 He took a drink of wine, remembering that he was the fool who’d encouraged that drive.

 Once, when she was fifteen, Hugh and a grumbling Court had taken her to a nearby archery tournament. When the other female contestants discovered that she’d entered, none would compete against her.

 Hugh had seen the sharp disappointment in her eyes, a glimpse of a vulnerability that was so rarely seen. It had torn at him, and he’d found himself telling her under his breath, “Challenge the men, lass.”

 She’d brought a bloody medal home.

 It hadn’t been her first—there was a reason the women knew they’d be trounced—but Jane had stared at it as though it were, as if with that one came realization. She’d clutched it in two hands and met his gaze. “I want more .”

 “You’ve the skill for it,” he’d said, hedging, saddened. He’d known there weren’t many more for a young lass to go out and fight for—no matter how badly she needed that fight….

 “That’s why you don’t want to be married?” she asked. “Your job would prevent it.”

 “Jane, why is it that I’m always the one being interrogated?”

 “At least tell me where we’re going.”

 “If I’d told you this morning, would you have told Bidworth?”

 “No,” she said quickly, then admitted, “Well, I might have. But Freddie wouldn’t have told a soul.”

 “Then no, I will no’ tell you.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he made his voice like steel. “No more questions.”

 She sighed, glancing around the room, visibly restless. She didn’t seem to notice when her wrap slid from her smooth, pale shoulder, while every muscle in his body tensed. The thin nightdress beneath clung to her breast, and he found he couldn’t drag his riveted gaze from it. The material was so stark against her fair skin, and he imagined brushing the silk down her shoulders, letting it whisper over her nipples and slide down her lithe body. He exhaled a breath and hoped it sounded exasperated instead of enthralled. “Put your wrap back on.”

 She glanced down with a frown, then studied his reaction. “I need to leave it off. Because it’s warm in here, and I can’t ask you to crack a window.”

 “Put it back on.”

 She quirked an eyebrow. “You stared at my breasts so much in the coach today, you should appreciate when more of them is displayed.”

 “I admit I take pleasure in looking at you.” He wouldn’t even bother trying to deny that. Even now, her small nipples jutted hard against the fabric, and he imagined taking one between his lips, feeling it swell and throb as he sucked it. He glanced away and said quietly, “You’re a beautiful woman.”

 When he turned back, he thought she had blushed at his comment.

 “But seeing you like this makes me desire to do more, a desire you doona share and one we canna indulge.”

 She tilted her head, seeming to weigh his words very carefully, then said, “What if I told you I did share that desire?”

 “I’d answer that you’re a merciless flirt, and then I’d remark on how easily you have forgotten Bidworth.” In the space of an afternoon. Inconstant woman.

 Her eyes narrowed at his words, but she didn’t offer an answer.

 Not even a show of loyalty. And to think Hugh had worried that he might have to see her pine for the man.

 Hugh wouldn’t want a woman like Jane, even if he could have her.

 Didn’t matter. He was only here to protect her, and her games would get in the way. In a deadly calm tone, he said, “I’ve given you warning. You know what will happen.”

 She made no move to cover herself. This was just another battle of wills with her. Yet another.

 But he wasn’t the same compromising lad he’d been. Couldn’t be, even if he wanted to be. The things he’d seen had changed him. The things he’d done had tainted him.

 He’d killed with his bare hands.

 He shot to his feet and crossed to her, tossing her onto the table. He’d only planned to stand before her and yank her wrap up, yet he found himself grabbing her slender arms, pinning them to her sides. He could still back away; why was he drawing closer?

 No good can come of this. Because he was a hardened killer, obsessed for the last decade with an inconstant woman. One who loved to provoke him. A woman he could not touch, specifically because he’d married her. No good…

 She seemed to wait breathlessly to discover what he would do. Hugh had no idea either. When he eased his hips between her thighs, she began trembling. He was learning that her skin was sensitive, her entire body so damned responsive. Taking her would be like handling a firebrand.

 What if he sought to make love to her, and she let him? He swallowed hard, his breaths coming fast from the mere thought.

 To finally possess her.

 With a defeated groan, he leaned forward to briefly catch her sensitive earlobe between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. She hissed in a breath and shivered. With one hand flat on the small of her back, he tugged at her hair with the other, making her arch till she rested back with her elbows on the table.

 Dazed with intent, he leaned down to press his mouth to her silk-covered nipple.

 Eighteen

 As Hugh moved his lips down her breast, he rasped harsh words in Gaelic against her skin, seeming lost, as if he was so absorbed in what he did that he truly had no comprehension of it.

 She threaded her fingers through his hair, cradling him to her as she sighed with pleasure.

 This was what she was missing with Freddie. And, no, she could not live without it.

 It wasn’t only that he’d made her desire him; she sensed he needed her, or needed something from her. She was desperate to give him whatever that was.

 Thoughts of the future and memories of the past all dimmed before the hunger she’d seen in his eyes.

 Still gently tugging her hair to make her arch, he nuzzled her hard nipple, rasping against it, “Damn it, you’re supposed tae tell me tae stop.” After a hesitation, he closed his mouth over the aching peak, then began languidly circling his tongue around it.

 “Oh, my God,” she whispered in wonder.

 He glanced up, eyes dark, measuring her responses, studying her. “You like that?” At her helpless cry, he moved to her other breast. “You think that I’ll react the same way to your teasing as I did years ago.” He repeated the same tender exploration, saying against her breast, “You’re going to push until I finally break.”

 “B-but in the past—”

 “In the past, I was young and honorable. Now I’m old enough to know what I need and dishonorable enough”—he softly tugged on her nipple with his teeth, making her gasp and arch harder into his mouth—“to take it.”

 “Hugh,” she murmured, “Hugh, please.”

 “Do you want me to take it, lass? Push me more, and you’ll soon feel me sinking into your soft body.” He pulled back, met her eyes. Whatever he saw there made him recoil from her. Stabbing his fingers through his hair, he opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he bit out, “Stay here. Lock the door behind me and doona leave this room.”

 “Why?” she whispered.

 “I never thought you would be like this,” he grated. “No’ with me.” Then he stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

 She wasn’t supposed to be like what with him? How was she wrong?

 He remained outside, leaning against the door. He would have to wait there before going downstairs—she’d seen his thick erection bulging against his trousers and knew he’d have to get his body under control. Hers was just as ungovernable.

 As Jane sat panting on the edge of the dinner table, a fork parallel to her thigh and a glass of wine perilously close to the hand she’d thrown back to support her, she realized something dire. The kiss in the carriage hadn’t been an anomaly.

 She and Hugh were going to be like this every time they were together.

 She’d known Hugh would be a skilled lover—he was accomplished at everything he did, and whenever he’d assisted her from a carriage or into her saddle, he’d handled her as if she were made of glass. But she’d never imagined that the towering Highlander would be so…erotic.

 He’d made her burn for him, made her wet and aching between her thighs. Again.

 His kisses were slow and devilish, his lips firm and carnal. Could he guess that his threat to, oh, dear Lord, sink into her soft body , made her yearn for him even more? She’d almost cried, “Yes, do it!”

 She thought he hit something outside their room, then she heard him finally leave.

 She hadn’t wanted to charm and cajole Hugh into staying married, because she knew that he likely would leave her behind again, married in truth or no. And she’d been so angry with him for putting her in the position to be hurt all over again, and had vowed that she would protect her still raw emotions.

 Now she reasoned that they were both hurting at this moment. Though she didn’t want to stay married to him—she hadn’t wavered that much—she didn’t want to be separated from him right now. Not so soon. She half-expected him to disappear for another ten years, and wasn’t nearly ready for that to happen again.

 Get him back here…. Give him what he needs.

 Decided, she smoothed her gown, pulled her wrapper closed, downed a glass of wine in one unladylike gulp, then made for the door. She glanced out, but he wasn’t on the landing.

 Looking both ways, she hurried down the landing and peeked over the railing, down into the boisterous common room. Hugh sat at a table draining some liquid, his hand white from clenching the mug.

 She exhaled in relief. She wasn’t alone in this feeling—she’d affected him just as much as he had her.

 Perhaps he’d never returned for her because of his dangerous occupation. Her eyes widened. Perhaps he’d always wanted to but couldn’t—

 Her lips parted when she saw Lysette saunter up to him, draping her arm around him. The woman drew in close, whispering something in Hugh’s ear as she ran her hand up and down his back.

 He pushed her away, but Jane saw to her shock and horror that he did so only to follow Lysette to a back room.

 Nineteen

 “MacCarrick, it’s been too long,” Lysette said, closing the door behind them.

 “Do you have information about Grey, or no’?” Hugh’s voice was still rough from the pleasure of kissing Jane, his mind still in turmoil.

 When Jane had been pleading before, Hugh had looked into her eyes and seen something he’d never expected. She hadn’t been pleading with him…to stop . She’d wanted him to take her, had been asking him to.

 Never. Never was it supposed to be a variable that Jane might desire me back.

 He strode to the whiskey decanter and helped himself, then stared down into the liquid. He’d counted on the fact that even if he lost control, Jane would remind him with a stiff-wristed slap that she would not welcome his attentions. Without that check, he was doomed.

 “No pleasantries?” Lysette said. When he turned an unbending look on her, she asked blithely, “Why would I have information about Grey?”

 Women and their games.Hugh was sick of them. “Because you slept with him for years. And I know you’ve been keeping tabs on him since he left you.”

 Her look turned calculating. “If you want to know anything about Grey, then tell me who she is.”

 “You owe this to Weyland regardless.” Weyland arranged loans for people like her—information gatherers—to open shops and taverns and inns at crossroads all over Europe, like nets. Lysette was good at her job—she was observant and intuitive—and in exchange for information, she made a good living.

 “Doesn’t Weyland have a daughter named Jane? One who is reportedly lovely.”

 He swigged, knowing he wouldn’t drink more than a glass. “One and the same.”

 “Now it all makes sense. Everyone expects Grey to strike out at Weyland, and you show up here married to his daughter, taking her out of London. You’d do just about anything for the old man. Apparently, you’ll brook a marriage in name only.”

 “So sure it’s a marriage of convenience?”

 “Yes, when I find you here in my room—away from your new bride.” When he only drank again, Lysette said, “Grey told me once that you were in love with her.”

 Who hadn’t Grey told? How many people pitied him his feelings for Jane Weyland? Christ, Jane MacCarrick . Hell, he pitied himself for how much he liked the sound of that. “Grey said a lot of things that were no’ true. You of all people should know that.”

 “It’s obvious she’s playing with you. That one cares nothing for you.”

 “And why would you say that?” he asked, striving for an uninterested tone.

 “When I was flirting with you earlier, she looked at me as if she was amused. The last thing women regard me with is amusement, especially when I’m draped over their husbands.”

 “Perhaps she’s confident.”

 “Arrogant.”

 Possibly.

 “You reach too high with that one.”

 “Lysette, you are the third person today to express that exact sentiment. It’s ingrained.” Ethan, Bidworth, Lysette. Hell, even Jane’s servants recognized the divide between him and Jane.

 Lysette approached him, running her finger down his chest. It left him cold, and he drew her hand away with an expression of distaste, but her other hand was busy easing his shirttail from his trousers. “You should be riding a woman tonight. Even if the arrogant English chit would let you, she still wouldn’t be woman enough for a man like you.”

 Lysette had no idea. He’d had a glimpse of Jane’s unfettered passion just moments ago, and it had staggered him.

 Hugh exhaled and took her wrist, removing her hand. “Doona speak badly of her in front of me. We were friends long before this. Besides, I took a vow.” Until their marriage was annulled, he’d keep it.

 She pouted. “You’d deny yourself for a marriage of convenience? When I’ve been attempting to seduce you for years?”

 Hugh had noticed her flirtations. Might even have taken her up on it. She had all the qualifications—in other words, she looked nothing like Jane. But she’d been sharing his friend’s bed, and Hugh had never needed it badly enough to lose his head as some did.

 “Let me give you what she won’t. Or can’t.” Her voice went low. “I can do things to your body that will make you wonder how you’ve lived without me for so long.”

 Here he had a willing, attractive, and, apparently, wicked bed partner who’d gladly accept a night with him. And the only desire he had was that Jane would give a damn if he did it. Lysette ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, gaze locked on him.

 Knowing what he’d just come from, he felt vaguely insulted at Lysette’s interest. He still had Jane’s taste on his lips and could almost still feel her warm, soft flesh against his tongue. Hugh had learned long ago that it was of little use trying to find a substitute for her.

 He set the glass down. “If you’re no’ going to give me information on Grey, then I’ve no other reason to be back here.”

 “Where are you going?”

 “Back to my arrogant English chit. Who could teach you a thing or two about seduction.”

 “You’re still in love with her,” she said stiffly. “You’re different. Already.” She gave a humorless laugh. “You’re satisfied with the mere idea that she is yours.” When Lysette cast him a pitying look—yet another to add to the count today—Hugh wanted to roar that Jane had wanted him, too.

 He turned to the door.

 “Oh, Hugh. You stupid man! People like her don’t want people like us. I know this. Your Jane Weyland might flirt, she might even desire you. But you’ll never have her heart.”

 He bit out over his shoulder, “Jane MacCarrick .” For however long.

 “And what happens when she finds out you’re a cold-blooded killer?”

 He slowed.

 “What will she think of you then?”

 He couldn’t imagine. Killing as a soldier was a celebrated thing. Even the mercenary she thought him sounded better than an assassin. Assassins hid and struck from the shadows. That’s what people believed. Generally that was true, but Hugh had also had to fight for his life more times than he wanted to remember.

 He feared that even if she could get past all the killing he’d done, fierce Jane still might find his means…cowardly.

 “Even if she wanted you, you can’t go back to a life like the one she lives.”

 Lysette was right. The odds were against Hugh ever settling back into society, finding those day-to-day rhythms. They called it reverting —when battle-weary soldiers or assassins too long in the field went back to civilian life and somehow made a go of it. It was extremely rare, especially for someone like Hugh, who had always been adrift in social situations anyway.

 Just as he’d made it out of the doorway, stabbing his shirttail into his pants, she said, “Hugh, wait!” She hurried over to him, putting her hand on his chest to stay him. “Grey reached France this week.”

 He shut the door behind them once more. “How do you know?”

 “Because the woman I solicited help from to keep tabs on him showed up dead there.”

 “Does no’ mean—”

 “Her throat was slashed so violently, her head nearly came off.”

 Grey. No doubt of it. “He’s out of his mind.”

 “Even so, he’s still lethal. And he hates you and Ethan for what you did to him.”

 “You were right in league with us,” Hugh was quick to remind her.

 “But something else happened that night. What did you do to him?”

 “I’ve no sodding idea,” he lied, finding it easy with her.

 “If he’s coming after Jane, it’s just a matter of time before he finds you two.”

 “He’ll seek you out as well, Lysette. You canna reason with him, and he’s beyond saving. I hope you’re prepared.”

 “I will be.” Her expression resigned, she said, “Aren’t we a pair? A coquette about to be taken down by an assassin, and an assassin about to be taken down by a coquette.”

 When Hugh returned to their room, Jane lay curled up in bed with nearly all the lamps out, though he could tell by the tenseness of her form that she was still awake.

 He sat and watched her for more than an hour, and eventually she fell asleep, but it wasn’t long before she grew as restless as she was during waking hours, tossing and turning. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her lids. He wondered what it would be like to see her utterly relaxed.

 A real husband could join her and pull her to his chest, pet her, soothe away whatever dream gripped her. He wouldn’t fear that she might want him to make love to her for comfort, or that he’d need to for the same reason.

 Hugh wasn’t a real husband. No matter how badly he wanted to be.

 He reached for his bag and drew out the Leabhar . Ethan was right. Reading it would strengthen his resolve. It would remind him of the consequences of his actions and keep him from musing about what it would have been like to take Jane right on this table.

 Walk with death or walk alone. What more did Hugh need to see?

 The three brothers all walked with death, just as had been predicted. Court was a mercenary, and somehow Hugh and Ethan had met the one man in England who could guide them into their current occupations—Ethan, a jack of all lethal trades who was called in to deal with unpleasantries, and Hugh, an assassin.

 Hugh had been fortunate. He’d only been dispatched to kill grown men, and on each mark, he’d agreed that they’d needed to be taken out. Still, the faces began to accumulate. The grueling hours of preparation and the innate loneliness of the job took their toll.

 Always, in the back of his mind, he imagined the look on Jane’s face if she found out.

 On his first kill, he’d hesitated, knowing that if he pulled the trigger, he would cross a line and could never go back. But he had done it. He’d killed in cold blood, purposefully, determinedly. How dare he think to entwine his life with hers in any way?

 The idea flashed through his mind that there was still time to summon Ethan to come take her away—from himself. He dismissed the idea. Hugh wanted Jane protected—not terrified.

 Lost in thought, he barely heard her soft moan. She still slept, but she’d turned onto her back. One arm slowly fell over her head, stretching her gown taut, outlining her breasts in cool silk.

 Another soft murmur and a very sensual shiver accompanied her quickened breaths.

 This was not happening. She couldn’t be dreaming of something erotic, but her body and her movements told him otherwise. Could she possibly be dreaming of him? Of the way he’d kissed her earlier? No! He couldn’t let himself think like that.

 No good can come of this.

 Yet, as he looked from the book back to her, he realized his resolve was already faltering. She would need an outlet for all that passion. Like handling a firebrand….

 She raised her other hand and her ring glittered in the lamplight as her fingers brushed the side of her breast. He swallowed hard. He could give her an outlet, provide her release. His hands were fists as he fought not to touch her. If he were truly married to her, he could wake her by sliding his shaft into her. He’d find her already wet, already close, and he would slowly rock her to orgasm. But she wasn’t his to reach for in the night. All he could do was spy on her from the shadows.

 She turned her face into her auburn hair spread over the pillow, nuzzling the curls as if she desired to feel them against her skin as much as he did. A lock tangled around her pale neck, and he rose, reaching down to tug the thick strand free.

 Unable to help himself, he carefully lay beside her. As ever, he had to gnash his teeth against the pain that stabbed at him whenever he finally let his body be at rest. Everyone believed rising in the morning was hell on old injuries, but relaxing for sleep was just as bad, especially after what he’d put himself through over the last few days.

 At length, once the pain had subsided to bearable, he levered himself up on an elbow to gaze down at her. Surrendering to the need to touch her, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. She stilled, but didn’t wake, her breaths growing deep and even.

 I could take care of you, he thought. In all ways. Some part of him had always believed that if he worked hard enough, he could give her whatever she needed. If things were different, he could try to win her, to prove that he was the man for her.

 He marveled at the sweep of her dark lashes, the gentle parting of her lips. Even after all this time, he was still fascinated with her, still filled with affection for her.

 Nothing would ever change that.

 Hugh had known she was the only one for him since that night all those years ago when he’d returned to the lake and had seen her after more than a year away. Her eyes had sparkled as though from some secret amusement, and her hands held the doorway behind her as she rocked her hips up and back. Playful, bright, smiling. Everything a man like him would crave like air.

 “Why, Hugh MacCarrick, do my eyes deceive me?” she’d asked.

 “Jane?” he’d bit out incredulously.

 “Of course it’s me, darling.” She’d sauntered up to him and touched her pale, soft hand to his face.

 With her touch something passed over him, shocking him, calling him.

 “Jane?” he’d repeated in a strangled tone as he tried to assimilate all the changes in her. Her voice had grown sultry, would forever be that way. Her breasts were lush. She’d become a woman, the most beautiful one he’d ever seen. His heart had thundered in his chest.

 “It looks like you’re leaving,” she murmured. “That’s a shame, Hugh, because I’ve missed you so.”

 “No’ goin’ anywhere ,” he’d growled, and his life had never been the same.

 Twenty

 Jane had heard him return to the room last night and wondered if that was how their situation would work. All done? Passion spent with Lysette? Go back to protecting Jane?

 When she’d seen him leaving Lysette’s room, tucking in his shirt—only to be coaxed back inside once more—Jane had lurched back to her room. Berating herself as a fool, she’d clutched the basin, close to being sick.

 This morning in the carriage, which now seemed far too small, Jane kept her eyes averted so he couldn’t see how much his betrayal had hurt her.

 But what had he betrayed? The vows of a sham marriage—a marriage he’d made clear he couldn’t wait to discard.

 So why did it hurt so badly?

 Even knowing what he’d done, she’d dreamed of him last night. She’d dreamed he’d done exactly as he threatened—taken her, sinking into her body.

 Though she was still a virgin, she could imagine how he would feel thrusting inside her, how his big body would flex and move over hers as she wrapped her legs around him. In her fevered dreams, he’d fondled her breasts in his hot palms and sucked her nipples.

 Instead, he’d probably been doing those things earlier to Lysette. She turned away and put her knuckles to her mouth.

 What a bewildering position to be in—and she wasn’t particularly steady and clear-thinking in the best of situations! She knew her own weaknesses. She was impulsive, often saying and doing things without thought. She had emotions that swung from one extreme to another like a pendulum, and she felt things too strongly.

 Worse, all her faults seemed to be exacerbated when he was around. Her emotions ran high, and actions and words that seemed undeniable at the time made no sense in retrospect.

 She’d always been like that to a degree, but she’d endeavored to better herself. She’d learned that whenever she got into a temper, or whenever she was inundated with what her cousins labeled Bad Ideas, she needed to step back from the situation, perhaps leave the room to compose herself—to give herself a chance to see things rationally, reasonably.

 Stepping away had always helped her; now here she was, trapped in a coach.

 She let out a weary breath. She wished she were a reasonable person, wished that inexplicable urges and impulses didn’t goad her.

 Why was it that everyone could see these faults in her, but no one bothered to suppose that she didn’t want to be so flawed?

 Jane could imagine what it would feel like to be reasonable. She imagined she could do something as simple as donning spectacles to see the world more clearly. She would peer at her relationship with Hugh, and see a very simple equation.

 Hugh equaled pain.

 By the second day after they’d left the inn, Hugh had decided he would welcome Jane’s games.

 She’d ignored him with an ease that would bruise any man’s sense of worth. As their coach rolled through another sleepy town, he glanced over at her by the open window, watching as the sun and the breeze streamed in, toying with her loosened hair.

 Over the past day, she’d silently read A Gentlewoman’s Apprentice —or whatever book was behind the false cover. He hoped it wasn’t a novel in the same vein as the one he’d skimmed in her room in London. Especially since her eyes had been riveted to it as she ate an apple, or nibbled on a piece of hay she’d plucked when they stopped for food at midday.

 He should be glad that she’d left him alone. So why did he hate it when she ignored him, if the alternative was enduring her teasing?

 How many more days—and nights—can I take?

 For the tenth time that day, he silently willed his brother to work fast. Ethan had an uncanny way of finding people, and the best case scenario would be for Ethan to locate Grey and stop him before he even reached England. The worst case was that Grey could evade him for months….

 Hugh thought back over his and Ethan’s last conversation. He should have pressed him about what had happened with the Van Rowen girl. He should have given Ethan the benefit of the doubt and asked if his brother might be searching for something more. Hugh had, Court had—why had Hugh never considered his older brother would have the same needs?

 When Hugh saw him again, they would split a bottle of scotch and discuss this situation like men. If Ethan truly wanted the lass—even after discovering who she was—Hugh could share strategies for putting her from his mind.

 Strategies to share? Smug once more, MacCarrick? When he could think of little but Jane?

 Eyes wide, she gasped and flipped to the next page.

 At least she was in better spirits now than yesterday. Then she’d appeared deadened—not sullen, just lacking her usual animation. Jane generally exuded energy, but she had stared out the coach window, seeming to see nothing.

 He’d feared he had startled her with his attentions. Or that she even felt guilt for allowing his kiss because of her relationship with Bidworth. Perhaps she’d been appalled with herself for…enjoying it.

 As much as he couldn’t comprehend it, she had enjoyed his lips on her. He kept recalling how she’d appeared—breathless, pupils dilated, her skin flushed. But if she’d been like a firebrand that night, the next morning, she’d been like ice….

 Jane was clearly unhappy—a condition Hugh had never been able to handle well. “Sìne, I want to speak with you about the other night.”

 She didn’t glance up from her book. “So speak.”

 “Lass, I am fallible,” he said quietly. “And I’d asked you no’ to taunt me like that.”

 She raised her face to him in a flash, eyes glittering with fury. “So what you did at the inn is my fault?”

 Taken aback by how strongly she felt about this, he said, “No, I should have been able to govern myself. It will no’ happen again.” Of course she felt strongly. She’d thought she could play without repercussion. She’d never expected him to kiss her like that.

 “Why do you care how I feel about your…your behavior?” she asked. Had her accent ever sounded so proper?

 He hesitated, then admitted, “Your opinion of me is important.”

 “Is that why you won’t talk about your profession?”

 He said simply, “Aye.”

 “Silly, Hugh.” Her slow, unexpected smile in the sunlight was spellbinding. “I can’t think less of you than I do right now.”

 “Lysette,” Grey whispered at her ear, stroking her blonde hair from her forehead. “Wake up.”

 She did in an instant, shooting up in bed. Her jerky scream into his hand turned to a whimper when he placed his knife against her pale throat. The polished blade reflected the light from a nearby lamp, glinting when she began to tremble. “You’ve got so many men watching the place, I’d started to think you were expecting me,” he murmured. “Don’t tell me you’ve missed me.” He eased the pressure of his grip on her mouth, but increased the pressure of his knife. “I don’t have to remind you how short your scream would be, do I?”

 When she cautiously shook her head, he grinned in the face of her fear, of the tears beginning to fall, before finally removing his hand. “Yes, you must have suspected I’d visit, since you have your inn guarded like a fortress. But you of all people should know I can get past anyone you’ve brought in.”

 “What do you want from me?” she whispered, easing the bed covers up to just below her neck.

 “Hugh and Jane stayed here on their journey north. I want their destination.”

 “You know he wouldn’t trust me with that information.”

 Grey raised his brows. “And you discovered nothing in all of your customary prying while they were here?”

 “Hugh’s cautious, and I don’t believe the girl knows.”

 “I have a good idea anyway,” he said honestly. “I merely was hoping to confirm. So it seems this might have been a wasted trip.” He removed the blade. Just when her big blue eyes began to fill with hope, he said, “Of course, since I’m already here, I plan to make you pay for selling me out to Hugh and Ethan.”

 Her shoulders slumped. “They wanted to help you.”

 “Help me?” He remembered Hugh in a terrible rage, his bone-crushing blows raining down so quickly that Grey hadn’t had a chance in hell of defending himself. Then the two brothers had forced Grey into a murky basement where his muscles had curled and tightened, until he’d screamed with pain. For day after day, he’d suffered hallucinations in the dark, interrupted only by his vomiting.

 Even now, shadows passed before him as he remembered how those haunting faces with their glassy, sightless eyes had descended on him. He hadn’t been able to escape them. Because of her duplicity.

 “I only told them because I wanted you back with me,” she cried. “I wanted you to get well.”

 “You wanted me to get well, or you wanted to ingratiate yourself into the bed of a strapping young Highlander?”

 She looked away. “What are you going to do to him?”

 Grey spotted a bottle of scotch—fitting, he thought—beside her bed. He helped himself to a glass. “Take away what’s most precious to him.”

 “The girl is innocent in all this.”

 He nodded. “Which is lamentable, but, in the end, incidental.”

 “Hugh will die before he lets you hurt his woman.”

 Grey sipped, savoring. “So I’ll likely kill him within minutes of Jane.”

 “His brothers would hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

 He shrugged. “Ethan’s already on my trail. With all the subtlety of a charging bull.” That was how Ethan had always operated. No sneakiness, just annihilating his enemies with relentless pursuit. He would wear them down until they got sloppy—or grew too wearied of looking over their shoulders expecting to find his gruesome, scarred visage in the night.

 Ethan was incredibly effective in his occupation, a legend of sorts. Not famed like Grey, of course. “He nearly found me three nights ago. Apparently, he somehow knew about my London loft,” he said in a chiding tone. That was his Lysette, selling out to the highest bidder. Not a drop of loyalty.

 Luckily, Grey knew all of Ethan’s hideaways and properties as well.

 “I didn’t tell anyone about it”—she shook her head, her blonde tresses dancing about her pale shoulders—“I swear it.”

 Deciding that she was actually being truthful, he said, “Don’t worry, I believe you. I can admit that Ethan’s good.” If information was as valuable as coin, then Ethan had amassed a fortune from others like them who secretly worked in service to the Crown—outside the law. “And I realize now that he must have been keeping tabs on me ever since he deigned to free me from his basement.” Grey’s fist tightened on his knife handle.

 Lysette saw it and flinched.

 “I’ll take care of Ethan, though his life’s so bloody miserable, it’s almost not sporting to relieve him of it.” Which would be more cruel, to make him live or to kill him? Didn’t he himself have an affinity with Ethan? Ethan was a man who had nothing left to lose. Wasn’t there power in that?

 “And Courtland?” Lysette asked softly. “Do you think he won’t seek retribution for the rest of his life, if it takes that long?”

 “Lysette, I’d be more worried about your own survival right now.” He gave her his most affable grin. “Or you can just relax and accept what’s inevitable.” He would finally sever her from his life…slowly.

 That got a fine Gallic rise out of his little Lysette. Her tears stopped, and her eyes narrowed. “Hugh’s going to win. And I just wish I could be around to see it.”

 Grey threw his glass to the floor and lunged across the bed. “I try to avoid allowing last words.” He grabbed her chin, skimming the knife up her body. “And I don’t normally tolerate last-minute confessions, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

 Hatred burned in her expression. “My last words? You’ll lose—because Hugh has always been better than you. Faster, stronger. Even before your affliction you were a pathetic shot—”

 The knife flashed and blood sprayed over him.

 “You clever girl,” Grey said wonderingly with a cluck of his tongue. “You got me to do it quick.”

 Twenty-one

 Jane slammed the door on Hugh hard enough to make him grit his teeth just before the impact. The pictures on the walls were still rattling when she locked it behind her.

 After two days trapped at Ros Creag, the MacCarricks’ depressing lakeside manor, with Hugh’s curt surliness as company, she was ready to march up to Grey and say, “Do your worst. I defy you.”

 The only reason she hadn’t hied herself off to a cousin’s estate was that members of her family were due to arrive at Vinelands any day now. Not that Hugh knew that. “At this season, there will no’ be many around,” he’d said, defending his decision to take her here. But her family sought out the quiet fall season when there weren’t many around , since it was the only time they could be themselves….

 “Jane, I’ve warned you about locking the door,” Hugh grated outside her room. “Open it, or this time I’ll break the goddamned thing down.”

 “As you said yesterday—”

 The door burst open.

 She gaped, as much from the wildly swinging door and splintered doorframe as from Hugh’s lethally calm demeanor—he wasn’t even out of breath.

 “I’ll be damned if I can figure out why you’ve been angry,” he said. “But I’ve about had enough of this.”

 “As have I!”

 “You know, I always wondered what it’d be like to live with y—with a woman.”

 “And?”

 “It’s a wee bit like hell, with your carrying on.”

 “What do you construe as carrying on?” she asked, indignant. “When I avoid you because you’ve cut me off at every attempt I’ve made to start a conversation? Why would Iwant to be around you when talking to you is like pulling teeth?”

 “And how’s that?”

 “I asked you why your brothers haven’t married, and you snapped, ‘Drop the subject.’ I asked you why none of you have any children, and you said, ‘Enough of this.’ I asked you if you’ve ever considered adding a trellis and a rose arbor, anything to soften the grimness of this place, and you just walked out of the room! I’ve never met a surlier man.”

 “If I am, it’s because you’ve ignored everything I’ve asked of you.”

 “Like what?”

 “I asked you to avoid the windows, yet I continue to catch you in the window seat in the upstairs parlor, staring out at Vinelands. I’ve asked you to pick up things in your room, and you tell me it’s your ‘horizontal system’ and that if I canna discern it then I must be stupid.”

 Everybody who knew Jane knew she was untidy—her lady’s maid played solitaire and read gothic novels all day because Jane wouldn’t let her straighten much—but untidy worked for Jane. Without her system, how would she ever find anything?

 “And you refuse to let the maid clean up here,” Hugh finished.

 “I don’t wish to cause any extra work for anyone, and the servants are only here for a few hours a day. If it bothers you so terribly—and, really, Hugh, when did you get to be so exacting?—you can keep the door closed.”

 “You know I canna do that.”

 She sighed and trudged across the plush rugs to peer out the window. Ros Creag, which meant “stony promontory,” was as forbidding and no-nonsense as its name, just as it had been in the past. But then, the appearance did exactly what it was meant to—it kept people away. Had this place been welcoming, the MacCarrick brothers would have been overrun with Weylands borrowing fishing gear and foodstuffs, dropping off pies….

 Everywhere she looked outside, the gardens were freakishly orderly, as though a gardener had laid out the shrubs and flowers to the inch with a ruler, then ruthlessly checked any undue exuberance. The manor was stately but imposing, its bricks made of dark rock, like the craggy, lakeside cliff it clung to.

 Though separated from Vinelands by just that small cove, this place was a world away from it. Whereas Ros Creag was stern and solitary upon a cliff, Vinelands occupied an expanse of lawn rolling down to the water and a swimming beach, and looked like a quaint country cottage, though it had eight bedrooms. Arbors and follies dotted the property, and a small dock crawled lazily from the shore into the water.

 And Hugh wondered why she’d always preferred her own home to his.

 “So you truly doona like it here.” His words came from just behind her, but she hadn’t heard him approach. She frowned, recalling that he’d done that in London, too. He used to stride loudly, his boots booming across the floor. Now he was all sneaky silence.

 With a shrug, she turned and headed for the door. One good thing about Ros Creag? It was big enough that they need never see each other.

 Damn, she’d been nettled since the night he’d kissed her. Apparently, Jane agreed with everyone else that Hugh reached too high in wedding her.

 As he watched her walking away, he told himself yet again that it didn’t matter. Once Grey had been killed and she was completely out of danger, Hugh would leave her just as he had before.

 And go where? Do what? If the list went public, he would have no profession. He’d thought about joining up with Court’s crew of Highland mercenaries, but had dismissed the idea. Hugh was a loner, always working solo. Always on the periphery.

 Except with Jane. She was the only person on this earth he’d ever been able to be around constantly. Hell, he’d never been able to spend enough time with her, had always yearned for more.

 Now that he’d gotten his wish, he wanted to take it back.

 No, he could tolerate this. The situation was only temporary.

 Yet it wasn’t only the clutter or even her continued pique that bothered him. It had finally hit him that he would be living with her, under the same roof, appearing as man and wife. She was so mysteriously feminine, and never having lived with a woman, he found himself a shade overwhelmed.

 With a grated sound of frustration, he strode after her, picking his way around piles of clothing. Hugh was uncomfortable with disarray, having come to crave order and structure in everything. Without order, came randomness; Hugh hated random. He felt he’d been chosen at random for his fate, and he resented the lack of control.

 Weren’t women supposed to be fastidious, organized creatures? More unfortunate for him, much of Jane’s disarray came in the form of her fascinating undergarments. There were garters he hadn’t seen in her room in London, and even stockings with designs in them.

 “Wait, Jane.” He caught her elbow just as she reached the hallway. “Tell me why you doona like it here.”

 “I’m used to being around family and friends, everyone talking and laughing, and you take me away from all that to stay in this depressing —there, I’ve said it—manor. And even then I could tolerate it, if you were fit company.”

 “What is so bad about this place?” he asked, glancing around with an incredulous expression. “You never liked coming here in the past, either. Why?”

 “Why? I would have to leave my house—where there was whistling, and my uncles chasing their giggling wives, and happy children running about like wild creatures—to come here, where the curtains were drawn, and it was as dark and silent as a tomb.”

 “I was just as uneasy at your home.”

 “Why on earth?”

 He doubted he could ever convince her that her family’s behavior might make outsiders uncomfortable, much less someone as solitary as Hugh. But her locking the door on him rankled on so many levels, and he was just irritated enough to say, “Your aunts ran about with their skirts hiked up, fishing, smoking, passing a bottle of wine between them. And sometimes when your uncles caught your aunts and swooped them upstairs, they weren’t as quiet as they could have been with what they were doing.”

 “And how would you even know that, from the collective fifteen minutes you spent with them over five years?” When he said nothing, she asked, “Do you deny assiduously avoiding everyone but my father?”

 He couldn’t deny it—he’d never wanted Jane to see how awkward he was around groups of people. “You ken I’ve usually preferred my own company.”

 “At least my family was kind to you. Unlike your brothers’ treatment of me.”

 “My brothers were no’ unkind to you.”

 “Are you jesting? One entire summer, Ethan crept about like a frightful ghost in his lair with the entire side of his face bandaged from some mysterious injury—which you would never talk about. And if anyone happened to glance at his face, he’d roar with fury and run them off.”

 Ethan had been a harrowing sight that summer. And every summer after. “And Court?”

 She gave him an incredulous look. “My God, I think he’s the angriest man I’ve ever encountered, always simmering. You never knew when he was going to go off. Being around him was like sidling around a bear trap. And it wasn’t a secret that he wasted no love on me.”

 No, Court had never liked Jane. Hugh supposed Court had resented the girl who tagged along with them everywhere and was frustrated that Hugh didn’t mind at all. That last summer, Court had despised her teasing treatment of his brother, never considering that Hugh woke every morning impatient to return for it, day after day.

 But Hugh hadn’t known Jane felt as strongly about Court, and about Ethan, as well. “I dinna realize it was so bad.”

 “You never seemed to notice these things because you were so used to them.” She adjusted a vase on a shining end table, as if she couldn’t stand its perfect placement. Seeming to calm herself, she said, “Hugh, rehashing all this will help nothing. When I ask you questions, you don’t have to answer them, and you can be as dismissive as you please. That’s your prerogative. My prerogative is that I don’t have to be around you when it’s avoidable.”

 “The subjects you brought up are difficult ones.”

 She raised her eyebrows, waiting for more.

 “If I answer one question, you’ll ask a dozen more about my answer, no matter if I doona want to talk about it. You’re no’ happy until everything’s laid bare.”

 “I do apologize for wanting to know more about a man I used to be friends with, who disappeared for years without a word, who has now returned to be my husband in an odd marriage of convenience.”

 “Damn it, I told your father to tell you good-bye.”

 She glared at that. “Don’t you think I deserved it from you? It’s becoming clear to me that we didn’t have the friendship I’d imagined. I must have been like a gnat in your ear, a silly little girl who followed you around when you only wanted to hunt or fish with your brothers.”

 “We were friends—”

 “A friend would have told me good-bye when he knew he was leaving and had no intention of returning for years.”

 Could she have thought of him? Could she have missed him? “Are you angry about that?”

 “I’m puzzled. I would have told you good-bye.”

 “I dinna believe you would even think of me much after I’d gone. I dinna think you would care overmuch one way or the other.”

 She didn’t deny it or confirm it, just continued, “But now you’ve come back and we’re in this confusing situation, and I’m trying to reason it all out, but I don’t have enough information. Papa told me this might take months. Are we to be like this the entire time, with you cutting me off or getting angry when I ask questions?”

 “I doona want to be that way. I just…I just doona know how to handle this as well as I should.”

 “What do you mean by ‘this’?”

 He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jane, sometimes you throw me. And I’m unused to being married—even if it’s only temporary.”

 “Very well, Hugh. Let’s start with an easy question.” When she raised her eyebrows, he nodded grimly. “Why would my father ever find occasion to associate with someone as deranged and violent as Grey?”

 That’s an easy question? “Grey was no’ always like this. He came from a wealthy and well-respected family. He had strong connections.”

 “And he was your good friend?”

 “Aye.”

 “Did you try to help him with his affliction?”

 Hugh chose every word carefully, knowing he owed her more of the truth, but unable to divulge his own dealings without revealing everyone’s. “I attempted to reason with him, bully him, bargain with him. Nothing worked.”

 After that, Hugh and Ethan had decided to take matters into their own hands to wean him from opium. They’d captured Grey and carted him back to one of Ethan’s estates.

 Grey had been furious, frothing at the mouth, spouting insults. Either he had always been a sick bastard—and opium, like liquor, magnified his faults—or his entire personality had been altered.

 He’d vowed that if Hugh couldn’t “muster the ballocks to finally go fuck Jane Weyland as she so clearly needs,” then he’d make short work of her. Hugh barely remembered lunging for Grey’s throat and raining blows on his face. Ethan had scarcely been able to haul Hugh off. Afterward, all three of them had seemed shocked by Hugh’s utter loss of control.

 But after two weeks in a basement, Grey had emerged, seemingly cured. For a year, Hugh had believed he’d maintained an even keel. Ethan, however, suspected Grey only waited for a chance to strike out, and he’d been right.

 “I thought for a while that he’d gotten better. But the last time I saw him, his pupils were like pinpricks even in the night….”

 Seeing Hugh’s disappointment, Grey had self-consciously smoothed his soiled jacket and given him a half grin, and with it a glimpse of his old self. His accent had been clipped and proper, even as he looked away and said softly, “I didn’t want to be like this, you know.”

 “Then why?” Hugh had asked.

 “Not quite the way I’d planned things, as it were,” he’d continued lightly, but when Hugh said nothing, Grey finally cast Hugh a look that was raw, unguarded. “I woke up one morning, and I was nothing but that number.” He averted his face again as if embarrassed. “Good-bye, Scot.” Then he’d walked away….

 Hugh shook off the memory. “He was lost for good.”

 “Do you miss your friendship with him?”

 After a long hesitation, Hugh nodded. He did, even as he now burned for Grey to die—and even as Hugh knew his brother was out in the world, seeking to kill him.

 Twenty-two

 “Hugh! It’s me.”

 He blinked his eyes open. He was clutching Jane’s wrist as she leaned over him, her expressive face full of worry. He released her and fell back onto the bed. “Jane?” He ran his hand over his brow, finding it damp with sweat.

 “What’re you doing in here?”

 “I heard something. I thought you were having a nightmare.”

 “Aye.” He was often plagued with nightmares, murky scenes of targets who refused to die. He had always strived to make clean shots, to make it quick. But sometimes at great distances, in inclement weather, he’d failed to do so. When the shot was off the mark, they often writhed; some screamed shrilly. “Did I say anything?”

 She shook her head. “What was the nightmare about?”

 “No’ important.” It was then that he noticed her nightdress. Clinging, sheer white silk. His gaze dropped to her breasts—and she noticed, nibbling her lip.

 At once, he sat up and snatched a bundle of the cover over his sudden erection. “Damn it, you canna come in dressed like that.” His voice was hoarse.

 “I rushed in when I heard you. I didn’t stop for a robe.”

 “When will you learn, Jane? I’ve told you, I’ve a man’s needs. And when I see you like this…”—he shook his head hard—“it affects me. I doona want to do something we’d both regret.”

 She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re saying the sight of me in a nightgown is so irresistible it might make you, a man of the world, lose control?”

 “Aye,” he said simply, then added, “I’ve been long without a woman, Jane, and you are verra beautiful—”

 “What do you mean, long ?” She angrily crossed her arms. “As in four days?”

 He frowned. “What’re you speaking of?”

 “I saw you go into Lysette’s room. And come out with your shirt untucked.”

 His eyes narrowed. “You would no’ have seen that if you had stayed locked in the room.”

 Her voice was cutting. “That is of no matter.”

 “She tried to seduce me.”

 “Tried to, or succeeded?”

 “Are you jealous?” He didn’t dare hope she could be. Didn’t dare hope she felt the blistering envy that clawed at him when he thought of her with another.

 She put her chin up and sniffed, “You spent our wedding night in the arms of another woman. I hardly felt complimented by it.”

 “So it’s your vanity that’s been injured.” Disappointment settled over him. In a deadened tone, he said, “I dinna sleep with her.”

 “You didn’t ?” Her arms fell to her sides as if they’d gone boneless.

 “Why do you sound so disbelieving?”

 “It was clear she wanted you.”

 “I took a vow to you, and until that vow is annulled, I’ll keep it. Now, go back to your room.”

 Her hand fluttered to her forehead. “I see.” Strangely, her face had paled. After a moment, she nodded. “I’ll try to straighten my room. And don’t worry about me ‘carrying on’ anymore.”

 “And what’s brought about this change?” Hugh demanded, about to bellow with frustration. “Because now your vanity’s intact and you lost no competition with Lysette? So you can go back to being decent to me?”

 She seemed to flinch at that. “It wasn’t competitiveness or vanity. And I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved.” She looked as though she genuinely meant it.

 His ire eased somewhat, and he softened his tone. “Then what, Jane?

 Twining her hands, she said nothing.

 “You’re making me crazed, lass. I know you’re unhappy, and I doona know how to change that.” He rubbed his forehead, and exhaled. “Tell me how to change that.”

 At length, she whispered, “I was unhappy because I was jealous.”

 Jane left him with his lips parted and brows drawn, and withdrew to her room, easing the door nearly closed.

 She stood trembling against the wall with her hands flat against the rich wainscoting. Though she’d wanted to stay in his room, she’d stepped back . She was proud of herself and felt mature for her decision, especially since she’d been flooded with compelling impulses—along with many Bad Ideas on how to handle them. She was a mix of roiling emotions.

 It was possible that Jane could have been more awful to Hugh over the past few days, but she couldn’t conceive of how. “I know you’re unhappy, and I doona know how to change that,” he’d said, sounding so weary. Immediately, Jane had remembered her father’s words—Hugh tries….

 She squeezed her eyes tight, embarrassed at her cutting behavior, even as she was so pleased with him, so relieved that Hugh hadn’t touched that woman. Of course, a major deterrent to her feelings for him had just been eliminated. Which brought about her revelation.

 Was she right back where she’d been at the inn as she sat on the table? When she’d feared letting him out of her sight?

 Yes—

 Jane’s eyes shot open when Hugh’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck. He’d pulled on his pants and entered her room silently, giving her little warning before he dragged her to his naked chest. Leaning down, he slanted his lips over hers, groaning at the contact. He broke away only to ask, “You were truly jealous?” then set back in.

 Telling him the truth could open her up to hurt, could accelerate the rate at which she dropped off that cliff. And still, between their licking, seeking kisses, she whispered, “I didn’t want you kissing her. Because you should’ve still been kissing me.”

 At her admission, he tensed, hesitating for only a heartbeat before he lifted her in his arms, striding with her back to his bedroom.

 “Hugh?” she murmured in a daze. “What are you doing?”

 “I’ve something on my mind,” he said, setting her on the bed, following her down. As he leaned above her, his dark hungry gaze flickered over her, and his voice broke low. “Something I need tae see.”

 He rubbed an unsteady hand over his mouth, looking like a man in agony. His body seemed to thrum with tension. Frowning, she brought her palms up to cup his face, but he shuddered, even at that slight touch. What was happening here?

 For all the books she’d read, for all that she’d heard from her cousins and learned in London, she’d never imagined a man behaving like this—as though he were about to die from desire. The erotic books she’d read never had accounts of men’s bodies shuddering with lust, pained with a need so great they could scarcely speak and could barely stand to be touched.

 He reached forward to brush her nightdress straps down her shoulders, then dipped a kiss to her collarbone. Just as she felt cool air on her breasts and belly, he hissed something in Gaelic, and sank back on his haunches to stare. She felt his gaze on her bared skin like a touch and arched her back for him.

 Leaning forward once more, he rasped, “Mercy.”

 She thought she would scream in pleasure with the first wet flick of his tongue to her aching nipple. He cradled her breast with his whole hand, holding her in place as he sucked her between his lips.

 “Hugh,” she moaned, threading her fingers through his thick hair. “It feels so good when you do that.”

 His other hand was easing upward between her legs, his fingers caressing as they slowly ascended. “Tell me tae stop this,” he said against her breast.

 She shook her head, body quivering when he kneaded her inner thigh, coaxing her to spread her legs wider. The rough texture of his hand abraded her tender skin, but she loved it.

 “Tell me now.” His palm rubbed upward. She shook her head again and whimpered, afraid she was about to climax. She didn’t want this ever to end.

 “Ah, God, I canna stop.” His fingers passed the thatch between her legs. “I need tae stroke you here.”

 She cried out when he slipped the pad of his thumb against her clitoris, rubbing it sensuously. Another finger delved to her slick sex. “So wet.” He lowered his head, and against her damp nipple, he said, “You’d be ready for me, would you no’?”

 When he spread the moisture and continued his slow, agonizing strokes, she writhed helplessly to his touch. “Please, Hugh,” she said, panting. “Don’t stop.”

 He raised his head, studying her face. “I will no’.” His voice sounded hoarse, lost. “I want tae make you…make you come for me.” He stroked more firmly. “Tae see you—”

 She gave a strangled moan—she was already there.

 Twenty-three

 Hugh gazed in awe as she suddenly arched her back, hands clutching the sheets.

 Without thought, he set four fingers on her, cupping and rubbing her sex fast, mouth sucking greedily on her nipple to make it stronger for her. With his other hand, he snatched up her gown so he could watch her body twisting with pleasure.

 She gave a breathy cry that made his cock jerk painfully in answer, and her knees fell wide open. In utter abandon, she rocked her hips against his hand, over and over, until the tension left her.

 Trembling, she fell back onto the arm he’d draped behind her, lying docile and open as he slowly continued to pet her flesh.

 He couldn’t catch his breath. The sight of his fingertips against the wet auburn curls at her sex…He was going to lose his seed right in his trousers.

 She leaned up to bury her face against his neck. To his disbelief, she whispered how much she loved his touch. His touch. After a decade fantasizing about it, he’d made her come.

 And it was the most incredible experience he’d ever had.

 Her breaths were warm and quick, and between her words, she gave his neck little licks that made his cock grow impossibly hotter and harder.

 At that moment, spending in his pants did not strike him as a bad idea.

 He inwardly shook himself and pulled away, but she’d looped her soft arms around his neck and eased a knee up beside his waist.

 “Hugh, what about you? Won’t you stay with me?” She tugged gently, until he allowed himself to settle his hips between her thighs.

 She wanted him to come as well? Could he drag himself away? Not when she undulated her bared sex against him. Impossible. He was burning to free himself and sink into her slick heat, desperate to ride her mindlessly, finally taking what he’d needed for so long.

 Instead, when she did that sensual roll of her hips again, he tentatively thrust back against her. She sucked in a breath.

 “Dinna hurt you?” he choked out.

 When she said, “No, darling, no,” he leaned up and found his hand shooting between them to rip open the fastening of his trousers. He shoved his pants down to his thighs, baring his cock, so that it hung down over her.

 They were both breathing heavily, staring at where their bodies almost touched. Their flesh was so close. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stared at his shaft, at the slick head. As if in a dream, he watched as she rolled her hips again, seeking him. He put his straightened arms on each side of her, holding himself up, sweating with the effort not to take her.

 He knew he couldn’t have her, even when it felt so right to be here with her like this. He was awash in how right it felt. Yet, unable to stop himself, he pressed his own hips down. Lower, so slowly, until his shaft grazed against her swollen little clitoris.

 His eyes rolled back in his head.

 She gave a cry and another undulation that nearly put his cockhead inside her, ending everything. One of his hands shot to her hip to pin her down, then he pressed his shaft harder against her mound. He stayed there, letting it throb against her. Where his control came from, he had no idea. He only knew he had to stretch out every second, to make it last the rest of his life.

 But when she reached eager hands forward to grasp him, he grabbed her wrists, knowing he’d come before her last finger had wrapped around his shaft. “Put your arms over your head, Sìne.” She let them fall above her. “Keep them there for me.” She nodded, as if she understood his struggle.

 Soon the urge to thrust grew overwhelming. He obeyed it, pushing slowly over her sex, slipping up to her flat belly, then back, a near-constant groan rising from his chest. With his position and the movement, he was close to being inside her, as close as he would ever allow himself to get. Her cries would be the same—as would the way she was gazing up at him when she spread her legs wider and whispered, “Oh, God! Yes, Hugh!”

 He savored even this agonizing pressure. Another slow push over her sex.

 “Jane,” he groaned. Each time his shaft slid over her, he could feel his sack tightening until it ground against her wetness too. She made some unintelligible sound at the contact.

 The pleasure was too great. He was going to come, and he was going to come hard.

 He dropped his head and rasped, “Arch your back for me. Have tae taste you again.” When she rushed to do so, he sucked her nipple between his lips, then tugged it with his teeth until she moaned.

 Was she telling him she was about to come again? He’d make her. He’d hold on until she did once more.

 The pressure had nearly turned to pain when she cried out his name and thrashed beneath him in her orgasm.

 Lost, he ground himself determinedly up and back against her. “Ah, God, Sìne, I have tae…come,” he groaned, beginning to ejaculate. He gave a brutal yell each time the hard spurts lashed across her belly…over and over until he’d finally emptied his seed.

 His body wracked with after-shudders, he sank onto his elbows with hoarse exhalations of breath against her damp neck.

 He couldn’t believe he’d been thrusting over her like that. He closed his eyes in shame—he’d spilled his seed on her.

 Drawing away, he tucked his sensitive shaft back into his pants, then rose to grab a towel. When he returned he couldn’t bear to look at her, even as he wiped her skin and pulled her gown into place. He tossed the towel away and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Never had he felt so ashamed, so low. How was he going to face her tomorrow? Didn’t matter, he’d have to.

 No matter how badly he needed to leave, they couldn’t be separated.

 “Jane, I doona know what happened. I’m sorry.” He should be humiliated to be near her, and yet it was she he wanted to be with in the face of his shame—so that he didn’t have to take it alone. It was enough to drive any man mad.

 “There’s nothing to apologize for.” She sat up on her knees behind him. “Nothing.”

 “No, I should have had more control.”

 “Hugh,” she murmured, rubbing his back, “it’s just me, remember? It’s just your Jane. We were always comfortable around each other.”

 “This should no’ have happened,” he insisted.

 Just when he’d decided to rise, she said, “Stay. Sleep with me, please.” She coaxed with light touches and soft words until he somehow found himself out of his pants and in bed with her. When he’d resigned himself to staying like this, he drew her back to his chest, his arms smoothly crossing over her as if he’d locked her against him thousands of times before.

 As he’d imagined that last summer again and again, she was finally naked in his bed. He’d stared at this very ceiling and fantasized about touching her, kissing her. He’d dreamed of holding her as she slept.

 The reality was so much more. He’d known he would love the scent of her hair. He hadn’t known he would want to groan and shove a handful to his face. Or that he would realize her hair was long enough to brush his legs if she threw her head back while she rode him.

 He’d known he would love the feel of her, but he hadn’t realized how round her arse would be or that it fit like a puzzle piece to his lap.

 “No more nightmares, Hugh,” she whispered drowsily. “Or we’ll have to do that again.”

 He already wanted to do that again, was even now growing hard against her bottom. When she sighed in contentment, he frowned as he tried to recall how he’d ever thought living with her was bad.

 Twenty-four

 When she woke the next morning, Hugh was sleeping soundly. She lay staring, fascinated with the man before her.

 With his jaw unclenched, his face looked changed, younger even. The gashes on his cheek were healing, giving him a roguish look. That made her smile. He was a rogue—a mercenary—but he wasn’t a rake .

 She skimmed the pad of her forefinger over his bottom lip, remembering how he’d kissed her last night—deeply, desperately, like it was the last kiss he’d ever take from her, and he had to make it last.

 Everything in her had responded, and she’d let herself go. She shivered just recalling how he’d rocked his massive body over her, sliding his shaft against her sex until he’d brought her twice to orgasm. And then to see him take his pleasure as well, to see him spending over her flesh…wondrous. Though judging by his discomfited reaction last night, she doubted she’d ever be seeing it again.

 Which was a problem, as she’d all but decided Hugh MacCarrick had to be her first lover.

 If she’d ever needed her cousins’ advice, it was now.