If You Desire by Mara (4)

 Whatever he’d said had evidently been the worst he could have. Her face grew cold in an instant. “Do you have any idea how many men I’ve told that to spare their feelings?” She crossed her arms and eased away from him. “Oh, how the worm has turned. Now I’m the unwanted, unhappy recipient of platitudes.”

 “Jane, no.” He reached out and laid a hand on her hip, tugging her closer. “You are everything a man could ever want in a wife.” He caught her eyes. “The truth is…the truth is that if I were ever planning to marry, I’d have you or none at all.”

 She tilted her head. “None at all?”

 “None. It truly is my problem. I have…difficulties that prevent me from marrying.”

 “Tell me one reason you don’t want to marry.”

 “That will merely invite more of your questions. As I said before, you doona seem to be happy unless everything’s laid bare.”

 “Hugh, this involves me, and I deserve to know more. I’m just asking you to be fair.”

 “Aye, I know. Believe me, I ken that. But you need to get inside and dry off.”

 “I’m not leaving until you tell me one reason.”

 Finally, after a long hesitation, he bit out, “I canna…give you bairns.”

 Thirty-eight

 “Oh,” Jane said, letting out a breath she hadn’t known she held. “Why not?”

 “Just never have.”

 He was right. Now she wanted to ask a slew of questions. “I suppose you purposely tried,” she said, struggling to disguise the hurt she felt. The thought of him wanting a child with another woman scalded her inside.

 “Christ, no, I have no’ tried.”

 She frowned. “Then how can you know?”

 “My brothers canna either.”

 Her eyes widened a touch. A childhood illness. It would have to be. Her eyes widened even more—was this why he’d never wanted to marry at all? Never wanted to marry her?

 It would explain everything! She swayed, and Hugh’s grip on her hip tightened. Hugh wouldn’t want to deny her children. He was always selfless like that. This made sense—this was the reason she’d wracked her mind for! She wasn’t daunted by this in the least. If she had her Scot, she could go without children. After all, her cousins would continue to spawn at an accelerating rate, inundating Jane with children to play with.

 If her heart had turned like a cart’s wheel at the sight of her wedding ring, then this latest revelation made her feel like someone had lit the cart on fire and sent it careening down a mountain.

 Her first impulse was to tackle him to the ground and kiss him, but she stifled that impulse, realizing almost immediately that it had been a Bad Idea. Surely he would be vulnerable after his admission, and she didn’t want to appear pleased over what he considered a loss. Her second impulse was to scoff at what he erroneously thought was a major obstacle, but to scoff would mean she didn’t respect his beliefs on the subject.

 Men really cared about these things, didn’t they? Did he feel he was less of a man because of it? She took a steadying breath. Be rational .

 “I see. I appreciate your taking me into your confidence.” She sounded calm, reasonable.

 He nodded gravely. “I’ve never told anyone before. But now you understand why I would no’ want to marry.”

 “I understand.”

 He nodded grimly.

 “But it doesn’t change my mind about us whatsoever.”

 “What?” he bit out, releasing her to take a step back.

 “I don’t know how to convince you that this wouldn’t have a huge impact on my life.”

 “You told me you love children. Even gave me reasons.”

 “I love other people’s children,” Jane said with a wry grin. When he scowled, she grew serious. “If you think I’ve ached in my breast wanting my own, it just isn’t true. I love the ones you saw me with because they are my family.” She glanced away. “I hope you don’t think I’m an unfeeling woman because I haven’t experienced that need. That’s something I haven’t told anyone.”

 “Did you never think to have them?”

 “If I got married and it happened—or didn’t happen—I wouldn’t have cried either way.”

 “This is no’ how I expected you to react to this,” he said, running his hand over the back of his neck.

 “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But this changes nothing for me.”

 “Damn it, the only reason you want this is because you have to fight for it. And once the fight is over, the desire will be, too.”

 “That is not true.”

 “In the past, you’ve fought for things you dinna necessarily want—you did it only because you needed the challenge. Admit it!”

 Well, maybe once or twice…But when she was younger she’d also believed she was all but married to Hugh—no challenge there, and yet she could think of little else but him.

 “And what happens if I give in and your interest fades?” Hugh demanded. “When you get back to England among your friends and family and parties, your desire to stay with me will wane. This is obvious to me, Jane.”

 “It hasn’t faded yet,” she muttered.

 He gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, aye, for the entire few weeks we’ve been together?”

 She shook her head—now, where’s that cliff? “I meant for the ten years we’ve been apart—or you can just round it up to half of my life.”

 He visibly swallowed. “Are you saying…? You doona mean…” His voice broke low. “Me, Jane?”

 Jane sighed. “Yes, you—”

 He tensed just as she thought she heard horses down the wooded drive. In one movement, he turned, shoving her behind him, and ripped off his shirt to cover her.

 After Hugh’s trail vanished in Scotland, Grey’s options hadn’t been promising.

 This was Hugh’s country, and the wilds were his element—never Grey’s.

 Worse, Hugh would bloody know he was good enough to lose Grey. That galled him.

 If Grey hadn’t been dallying with Ethan, he wouldn’t have missed Hugh and Jane’s nighttime departure. He found it ironic that by taking the time to kill one brother, he let another one escape.

 Though he knew the countries of western Europe and northern Africa like the back of his hand, he’d never worked in Scotland. He was fluent in four languages, but Gaelic was not among them. The farther north he traveled, the more closemouthed and hostile the people were toward Englishmen—even more so toward Grey, who was emaciated and appeared ill. And possibly mad.

 He had thought about returning to London to torture Weyland, but he knew the old man wouldn’t talk—and Weyland probably didn’t know for certain where they were anyway.

 Just as Grey had begun to wonder if he could ever find them, he’d remembered that it was standard procedure in the Network to stay as close to telegraph lines as possible—and that only the most vital information, coded, of course, was dispatched.

 Hugh would stay within a day’s ride of a telegraph office, checking in periodically for word of Grey’s capture or death, so he’d know when to return home. Even though Grey knew all the codes and possessed the keys, no message would be sent without his own defeat. Which was a conundrum. How could Grey get Weyland to telegraph?

 Then he’d realized he didn’t have to be defeated before a message was sent.

 Word of Ethan’s death would be considered critical.

 Grey had suspected an urgent telegraph to Hugh about his brother would be sent to several stations throughout Scotland. In the end, Grey uncovered—through varying degrees of violence—that only four went out, and two of the receiving offices were located in this small area in the south central Highlands. Grey had combed every inch within a one-hundred-mile-radius of the first station and had almost completed the radius of the second. Hugh had to be around here somewhere.

 Unfortunately, the people here were cold, as usual, and money had no effect on them.

 He’d just decided to throttle someone for the information when he heard the nicker of a horse behind him. Glancing back, he spied, far up the road, a girl emerging from a path in the woods—one that he hadn’t seen as he’d passed.

 She was alone, leisurely riding a pony in the opposite direction, and she had no saddlebags. A day trip. Interesting. What was out in this wilderness? Perhaps Hugh’s hideout?

 This girl would likely be as closemouthed as every other Scot he’d encountered, but Grey just smiled, slipping medicine between his lips to ready himself. The wee black-haired miss obviously worked for a living. Grey’s hand flitted to his blade, holstered at his hip.

 Grey knew that women who worked for their bread were particularly keen on keeping their fingers.

 Thirty-nine

 Jane rested her chin in her palm, staring out the window down at Hugh as he drank with the other brawny Highlanders.

 The sounds they’d heard on the drive had been half a dozen towering Scots riding what looked like warhorses—Mòrag’s brothers, come to arrange work on the last part of the roof.

 Hugh had joined them for homemade scotch, but hadn’t invited her to socialize. Which didn’t bother her. Whatsoever. Nor did the fact that Hugh hadn’t even seemed particularly interested in her earlier revelation, at least not more than he was in swilling mash with other Gaels well after sundown.

 She was still reeling from his admission, and had dozens more questions for him, but he’d remained down there for hours. For someone who professed to being a loner, Hugh seemed to be getting along well with the men, and they treated him like one of their own. She frowned. He was one of their own. He was a tall and proud Highlander, and when he spoke to them in his low tone, these men quieted and listened. They already were growing to respect her steady, patient husband.

 Jane twirled her hair at her lips, then sniffed. Lord, would she have to bathe in a vat of acid to get rid of that harsh wax smell? Barring a vat, she was having another bath—and she wouldn’t be heating water for it. Hugh wouldn’t miss her if she headed for the spring, and she couldn’t go ask him to accompany her without being accused of “teasing.”

 Gathering her bathing gear and a towel, she exited the side door, away from the men. During the pleasant stroll, she gazed up at the nighttime sky and mused over the last few weeks with Hugh. She’d sensed she was wearing him down with each encounter they had, but did she really want a man she had to “wear down” to get him make love to her? A man who hadn’t particularly seemed to care that she’d always had feelings for him?

 When she reached the loch, she marveled at how beautiful it was here. The moon was full, yellow and ponderous in the sky, reflecting over the hint of fog enshrouding the surface. Steam rose in wisps from the concealed pocket of rocks containing the hot spring.

 Breathtaking. Damn it, she didn’t want to leave Scotland. Now London seemed so drab, sooty, and heartless. When Grey was caught, how could Jane go back there, knowing what she was missing both with Hugh and with this country?

 With a sigh, she disrobed. The water looked too appealing to resist any longer, and she slipped in. After setting her soaps and oils on the small ledge jutting from the side of a cliff, she washed her hair thoroughly. She’d just dunked under to finish rinsing it when Hugh appeared.

 For the first time, she actually heard him before she saw him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that his hair was disheveled and his demeanor was weary, but his eyes…they burned wild.

 “You didn’t have to come out here to coddle me,” she said. “Go back to your new friends.”

 He was silent, just staring.

 “Are you drunk?” She’d never seen him this way. Even at Vinelands, he’d had no more than a glass of scotch while everyone else imbibed heartily.

 “Aye,” he finally answered. “But it does no’ help.”

 “Help what?” she asked, bewildered by this new facet of Hugh.

 “Help me stop wanting you day and night. And I’ve come to realize only one thing will.”

 She stood waist-deep in the water, her hair streaming down her back, looking at him over one shoulder. Steam swirled all around her, and a hunter’s moon glowed above, illuminating the pale perfection of her body.

 Long moments passed as they both remained still, breathing heavily, as if gauging what the other’s next move would be. Unless she’d been jesting earlier, this exquisite woman had admitted to having feelings for him—for years .

 He’d rather not have known that.

 He hadn’t drunk with the MacLarty brothers only to make sure none of them got any ideas about his wife—especially after they’d all seen Jane in nothing but a wet shift and his shirt. He’d drunk because she’d absolutely staggered him—

 She turned fully to him, arms by her sides. Something in him simply…snapped.

 With a muttered curse, he snatched off his shirt, boots, and pants. He dove in after her, then yanked her naked slick body to him, pressing her close. Her hands trailed up his chest to twine behind his neck and her lush breasts slipped against him, making her moan softly.

 “This was supposed to fade, but it has no’,” he slurred against her neck. “It’s worse. How the bloody hell can it be worse?”

 “I-I don’t understand you, Hugh.”

 “You will,” he said, then used a straight arm to sweep off her bathing oils from the rock ledge. He set her roughly atop the shelf, putting them face to face. She gasped, but he simply gazed at her, committing this scene to memory. Her dark hair was streaming over her breasts, over her tight, jutting nipples. The silky curls at her sex were stark against her pale, spread thighs. “So beautiful,” he rasped. “You torment me. If you only knew…”

 He shoved his hips between her legs, leaning in to softly suck her earlobe. She sighed, relaxing, allowing him to work her legs wider.

 He grasped her breasts, molding them, covering them completely with his hands. Then, as she gazed at him breathlessly, he leaned down to suckle her as he’d wanted to do that afternoon.

 She cried out, and he recognized that he couldn’t stop what was happening, even if he wanted to. And he did not want to.

 Switching to her other nipple, he sucked her hard, but she liked it, holding his head to her breast, arching her back for more.

 Only after he’d made sure that both of the peaks were hard and throbbing did he pull away to move down her body, to her spread thighs. When his mouth was inches away from her sex, he let her feel his breaths before he pressed his opened lips to her, and slid his tongue out. She gave a strangled cry as he closed his eyes in bliss, delving at her folds, finding them deliciously slick with her own wetness.

 He glanced up to gauge her reaction and found her wide-eyed, shamelessly watching him. If possible, that aroused him even more. He spread her flesh with his thumbs, kissing her so that she’d never forget the sight of it. Between licks, he rasped, “Have you had this done tae you before?”

 She shook her head. “N-no, never.”

 He knew his expression was wicked. “I’m going tae make you come like you never have before.”

 She gasped. “Are you sure you want me to, Hugh?” she asked with a hint of nervousness. “While you’re down there?”

 “I want you tae come right under my tongue,” he growled, taking her between his lips to suck her clitoris for the first time.

 She cried out, threading her fingers through his hair, clutching him hard. “Hugh, I will, yes! There . Oh, God, yes!”

 At that, he went mindless…felt her damp breast clutched in his hand, her soft, soft flesh beneath his tongue…licking, devouring, squeezing her. He pushed up against the backs of her thighs, pressing her knees wider to get to more of her exquisite taste. She gave a sharp cry, undulating her hips up to his greedy mouth, completely abandoned.

 He broke away to say, “Now come for me,” then returned his tongue. When she did, her long moan was broken only by her awed words: “It feels so good . Hugh, you make me feel so good. ”

 He licked her madly as she writhed, and his cock seemed to pulse in the warm water with her every word, her every cry. When she grew too sensitive, he finally eased up, then stood before her. “I have tae be inside you,” he groaned, desperate to sink into her glistening, plump flesh, still spread to him. Becoming frenzied, he used one hand to pin her wrists above her head against the rock.

 Her half-lidded eyes grew wide and she quickly said, “Wait, Hugh. L-let me free. I need to tell you something.” But her words sounded indistinct as he cupped her sex beneath his whole hand. “Hugh, please—”

 “I am,” he growled, keeping her wrists pinned. “I’ve waited too goddamned long, and I’ll wait no more.”

 “But I’m—”

 “No more talking.” He was through listening. “You’ve haunted me.” He wanted to punish her as she’d punished him again and again. He wanted to take out ten years of pain on her and make her feel what he’d suffered. He shoved her legs wider, about to plunge into her and take her mindlessly, furiously. Finally.

 With his free hand, he clutched her breast, feeling his cockhead straining against her, seeking to be inside her. “I’ve told you I’m no’ a good man. If you would believe me, if you only knew, you’d no’ want my hands on you. But you push and push.”

 “I know. I do.” Her face went soft, and her body relaxed. “And I’m sorry. It’s just that I need you, Hugh,” she whispered, then leaned up to press kisses to his neck. “So much that I can’t think of anything but you.” The light touch of her lips and her panting words against his skin set him awash in that indescribable feeling of…rightness.

 Her eyes met his. She gazed up at him with desire, but also with trust.

 He released her wrists and lowered his forehead to hers. “Damn you, Jane,” he whispered harshly.

 Had he actually thought he could hurt her? The woman he’d been born to touch and to hunger for?

 “Don’t be angry, please,” she murmured. “I want this, but only if you do.”

 He almost laughed at that—if he did.

 “I do, Sìne.” He was glad she’d made him come to his senses. Not because he was going to back out of this—no, their fate was sealed on that score—but because he’d be damned if he took her like a mindless, rutting animal. The first time.

 He disbelieved what he was about to do, but he was resolved. For once in his life, he would have the woman he desired more than anything else on earth. He didn’t deserve her, but he was a selfish bastard. He didn’t deserve her, but God, he needed her.

 He’d bring her pleasure again. He’d meant for her to come around his cock when it was thick inside her, but knowing how badly he wanted this, he’d probably embarrass himself, losing his seed with the first thrust.

 He slipped his middle finger into her wetness, and she moaned, hips arching up to meet his hand. She was wet for him, but so tight.

 “Hugh,” she gasped out when he withdrew his finger and returned with two, preparing her, thrusting deep just as she arched up—

 He froze. Staring down at her in confusion, he said in a strangled tone, “Jane? You’re a virgin?”

 Her eyes flickered open at his tone, and she bit her lip guiltily. “I-I was going to tell you.”

 He removed his fingers, shaking over what he’d been about to do. He’d been about to hurt her—had wanted to—never knowing how devastating it would be. “Why did you no’ tell me?”

 “I thought you’d be less likely to make love to me.”

 “You thought right!” His eyes narrowed. “But you and Bidworth?”

 “Never even got close.”

 His relief staggered him, but then he realized that now there was no way he could have her. Just as he was about to pull away, she grabbed his hips, holding him to her.

 “Hugh, I want you to show me this, only you. I’ve waited so long, and I know you’ll make this incredible for my first time.”

 She couldn’t have said anything more convincing, because he knew she was right. He’d imagined taking her virginity countless times, envisioned the care he would take to spare her pain if he could. He would do everything in his power to pleasure her. Would another man be able to give her what Hugh was dying to?

 Forty

 “I will,” Hugh vowed, returning his fingers to her. “I want tae show you this. And that means readying you.” He began to tease and stroke her flesh again, making her melt for him, until she was on the verge of release. Mercilessly, he kept her just on the edge as he delved and rubbed, over and over.

 She moaned with need, ready to beg. “Hugh, I’m ready!” she cried. “I ache so much inside…please…”

 He was so gorgeous in the moonlight—his eyes were burning with intent, with possession. She swept her palms over his damp chest, reveling in the way the muscles in his torso flexed under her hands.

 At last, he took his shaft and positioned it, clenching his jaw when the head met her entrance. “So hot…so wet.” His lips were parted, his breaths ragged. “It’s everything I can do no’ to come right now.” When he began working the head inside her, she felt it stretching her—no matter how much he’d prepared her, the fit was still tight. “Tell me,” he rasped, feeding his length into her, “tell me what you meant this afternoon, Sìne.”

 By the time he met the barrier, she was trembling, clutching his shoulders, and he was sweating with the obvious effort to go slow. He gazed down at her, dark eyes questioning.

 “I’m yours,” she whispered. “To take.” She’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

 He groaned, thrusting deep. She felt the tearing, hissing in a breath just as he groaned, “So tight .” He shuddered, but remained still inside her as he gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I dinna want to cause you pain.”

 “No, I knew there’d be”—she tried to conceal a wince—“a bit of hurting.”

 Even with this discomfort, the feeling of closeness awed her. This was worth the wait a thousand times over. She could feel him throbbing inside her, could see his anguished expression, but somehow he didn’t move, wanting to spare her pain, wanting to please her.

 She gazed up at him and couldn’t hold back the words: “I…love you.”

 “What did you say?” he bit out, battling the frantic need to shove his hips at her.

 “I always have.”

 Her words made him wonder if he was dreaming this entire scenario—this was exactly as he would imagine. Now, when he was buried so deeply inside her, the need arose to say the words that would bind her to him—a vow of self, spoken in the old language. Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t have that right.

 Instead, he bent down and kissed her, with everything he felt for her, until she was panting. Her hands went from holding on to his shoulders, as though for dear life, to exploring touches over his body. When she tentatively rolled her hips, he withdrew, then eased back inside her, determined to make this good for her. Concentrate. Slowly in…easing out. Again.

 He had to stop wondering why she had chosen to give this gift to him —to love him. He drew back to study her face. “Does it still hurt, Sìne?” he asked, rocking against her.

 Her eyes fluttered open with a look of wonder. “N-no, not anymore,” she murmured. “That feels so perfect….” She leaned up to press her wet little kisses on his chest, driving him mad. “Does it for you?”

 In answer, he shuddered again and couldn’t help stirring himself in her, savoring all her wetness around him. When he thrust again, her nipples were hard points goading his chest. He bent to lick them, and she began meeting every thrust.

 As soon as he slipped his thumb down between them and rubbed, she cried, “I’m about to…You’re making me…Oh, God, promise you’ll do this again to me. Tonight.” She took his face in both of her hands. “Promise, Hugh .” His name became a cry as she climaxed.

 Though he fought it, had even stopped thrusting, her hungry body demanded, her sex squeezing him, tight as a fist. He couldn’t hold his seed. Defeated, he bucked between her thighs with all his strength, yelling to the sky. He came with a violent force, shuddering with each fierce pumping inside her.

 As he leaned against her, heart thundering against hers, he said hoarsely, “You love me?”

 Back in his bed, she curled against him, her breaths light on his chest, her body warm and soft with sleep. But Hugh was wide awake, turning thoughts over and over in his mind.

 Tonight, he had dared to put his rough hands on her delicate body—his hands, which had killed so many times before. He’d dared to take her virginity—had been about to do it in a crazed moment of anger. He’d almost hurt her without measure.

 Yet he hadn’t .

 The only dire thing he’d done was to give in when she’d wanted him four more times. If he was destined to bring her pain, then why had she told him that what they’d done had awed her?

 He wondered where the guilt was. He’d expected to be disgusted with his weakness; instead he felt alive, energized, optimistic. His body was relaxed, his muscles at ease. Throughout the night, she’d made him feel like the lad he’d been when he’d seen her last. He wanted more of that feeling.

 Tonight, he’d made her his, and it had felt like it was his right to do so.

 Because she wants me, too.She’d always wanted him. Before she’d slept, she confided to him about her feelings, and how long she’d struggled with them. The more she revealed, the more astounded he’d become.

 She’d told him she compared all men to him—and found them all lacking. Compared to him . He pulled her closer with the crook of his arm. He could scarcely credit it, but knew she told the truth.

 What if I just tell her about the curse? he thought again. She was intelligent. He respected her ideas and admired the way her mind worked. Maybe between the two of them, they could figure out a way.

 Tomorrow, then. It would be done.

 The next morning, Jane stretched with a grin on her face, feeling sore and well-loved. She was also more in love than she’d ever been. Last night had been everything she’d always dreamed it would be—better than.

 Her only regret was that they hadn’t been spending the last ten years of their lives like this. But as long as they spent the rest of them this way, she was mollified.

 Her eyes slid open, and she found Hugh was dressed in pants, seated on the edge of the bed. She took one look at his face and knew.

 “Oh, dear God,” she murmured. “I’m a regret.”

 “It’s no’ like that, Jane—”

 “Then tell me you don’t regret making love to me.”

 He raked his fingers through his tousled hair. “It’s more complicated than that.”

 She gave a bitter laugh. “It’s very simple. The man I gave my virginity to, wishes he hadn’t taken it.”

 He flinched.

 “You win, Hugh.” She stood, wrapping the sheet around her. “I’m going to say three words I’ve never uttered to anyone in my entire life: I—give—up.” She stormed out, striding into her room. After slamming her door, she locked it behind her.

 Seconds later, her door was rocked from its hinges. With a gasp, she glanced up from donning her shift.

 He was huge, filling the doorway. She was even more aware of his strength and the power in his body because she’d spent the night learning every inch of it, rubbing, cupping, and licking it.

 “Stop doing that to my doors!” she cried.

 “Then doona ever keep a locked door between us.”

 “I’m done talking to you!” she snapped, and darted past him, heading for the broken door.

 He grabbed her elbow, swinging her around. “Will you no’ just listen to me?”

 They were toe to toe, both breathing heavily. His brows drew together as if he was confounded, then his hand shot out to clutch her nape, yanking her against his unyielding chest. His voice a broken rasp, he said, “My God, I’ll never get enough of you.”

 His lips crashed into hers, slanting into a scorching, possessive kiss, making her ache anew. But she somehow shoved against him. “No! I’m not doing this! Not again. Not until you tell me what happened between last night and this morning.”

 After a hesitation, he took a deep, seemingly calming breath, then nodded. “Verra well. Dress yourself. Then we’ll discuss some things,” he said, looking for all the world like a man sentenced to the gallows.

 Forty-one

 Half an hour later, once Jane had washed and dressed, preparing for whatever he had to confess, she sat patiently waiting on the side of his bed.

 Hugh hadn’t spoken, just paced the room like a caged beast, appearing as if he were…nervous.

 “Just say what’s on your mind,” she said as he passed. “Whatever it is, it can’t hurt to tell me.”

 He slowed. “And how would you know that?”

 “Is it a secret that someone would kill me for? That Grey would torture me for?”

 “No.”

 “Does it embarrass you?”

 “No, but—”

 “Hugh, they’re just words. Trust me with your secret, and you won’t regret it.” When he still resisted, she tried to make light. “Do you worry that I won’t find you as attractive if you’re not the brooding Highlander with his devilish secrets? Tell me.”

 “Hell, you won’t believe me anyway,” he muttered.

 “This is going to sound mad. I ken it’s going to.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “But my family was…cursed. I believe that I will bring you nothing but misery if I stay wed to you.”

 Cursed? What the devil is he talking about? Though her thoughts were wild, her tone was inscrutable when she said, “Go on, I’m listening.”

 “Ten generations ago, a clan seer foretold the futures of the Carrick line and recorded them in a book called the Leabhar nan Sùil-radharc , the Book of Fates .” He pointed to the old book he always had on the table. “My brothers and I are fated to be solitary, living our lives alone, and will bring pain to those we care for if we think to do otherwise. We will be the last of our line and can never have children. For five hundred years, the foretellings have all come true—every single one of them.”

 “I-I don’t understand…” She inhaled and began again, “Do you care for me enough to stay with me otherwise?” she asked.

 “Aye, Christ, yes.”

 “Then you’re telling me that nothing stands in the way of us staying married except for a…curse?”

 When he didn’t deny it, Jane barely stifled the scream welling in her throat. This just isn’t happening to me! How could she be rational in the face of this? Reasonable was impossible.

 It was as if one of the foundations of her adult life had just suffered a fracture. Now everything built on it had gone askew. The quiet, steady Hugh she’d known for half her life was gone, and in his place was a superstitious madman.

 “Hugh, people simply…people like us simply don’t think like this anymore. Not with science and medicine. Mòrag is superstitious because she doesn’t know any better. You’ve traveled the world, and you’re educated. Beliefs like this belong in the past.”

 “And I wish I could put them there. But this has shadowed me for my entire life.”

 “You know me well enough to know I can’t accept things like this.”

 “Aye, I ken that.” He exhaled a long breath. “And I know that you scorn those who do.”

 “Naturally!” she snapped, then struggled for calm. “Are you telling me this now because you’re willing to forget this, forget these beliefs?”

 His expression looked hopeless—and resigned. “If I could have figured out a way to get around it, I never would have had to tell you.”

 When she realized that he wasn’t revealing this to explain his past behavior, but to explain why he couldn’t stay married to her, her lips parted. “You’re really saying this? That a Scottish curse—and, my goodness, aren’t those always the worst kind?—keeps us from remaining wed?”

 All of the worry, the careful strategizing, the effort to win him—all of it was for nothing.

 Because of a curse.

 Frustration threatened to choke her. No, Father, actually I can’t cajole him into staying with me. She’d never had a chance from the outset.

 “Everything in the book comes to pass,” Hugh said.

 “Everything. I ken it’s hard to believe.”

 “I should have kept a tally of your excuses! You’re not the marrying kind, you can’t have children, and, oh yes, you are cursed. Anything else you want to declare to scare me away? I know! You used to be a eunuch? You’ve only two months to live?” Then, in a breathy voice, she said, “You’re a ghost , aren’t you?”

 He clenched and unclenched his jaw, visibly grappling for control. “Do you think I’m lying about this?”

 “Hugh, I sincerely hope you’re lying—” She broke off as a thought arose. “Oh, dear God.” A trembling hand flew to her forehead. “Does this mean that a five-hundred-year-old curse is the only thing you were trusting to keep me from conceiving?”

 “I told you I canna get you with bairn.” His eyes narrowed. “But you said it dinna matter either way.”

 “I said it didn’t matter, so long as we were married! Right now, all I know is that you’re still leaving. And, yes, you told me you can’t have children, but I’m having trouble with the source of your information.”

 He strode to the table, flipping to the end of the book. “Just read the words, and let me explain.”

 She shook her head. “I can’t listen to this. I would no more listen to this than I would hear an argument that the sun is blue.”

 “You’ve wanted to know, and now I’m telling you—the first person I’ve ever told—but you doona want to hear it?” he demanded. “Read the words.”

 She yanked the book out of his hands. “This is the root of the curse ?” At his nod, she tossed it back to the table and flipped through, not bothering to be careful with the pages, though she could tell it was very old. Some of the text was written in Gaelic, some in English. Her brows drew together as she flipped toward the end. Now it all seemed to be written in English.

 “Why’re you frowning? Did you feel something—”

 “Yes!” she cried, swinging a wide-eyed gaze at him. “I’m feeling an overwhelming urge to toss this into the lake.”

 Ignoring her comment, he moved beside her and turned to the last page. “This was written to my father.”

 She perused the passage. Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate; Your line to die for never seed shall take. Death and torment to those caught in their wake… “You said all of this has come true?”

 “Aye. My father died the day after we read this the first time, the verra next morning, though he was no’ much older than I am now. And years ago, Ethan’s intended died the night before his wedding.”

 “How?”

 He hesitated, then said, “She either fell. Or jumped.”

 “Is this blood?” Jane scratched her nail against the copper stain at the bottom. At his nod, she asked, “What’s under the stain?”

 “We doona know. It’s never been lifted.”

 She peered up at him. “What if it says, ‘Disregard the above’?” At his scowl, she said, “Hugh, I don’t think this is a curse—I think this is life . Bad things happen, and if I made myself a template of future woes, I could pick and choose from everything that might have happened to match it. Now, I admit, your father’s death was strange. But there are physicians in London who posit that the mind can make the body do anything—even shut down. Belinda told me about it. If your father believed strongly enough, he could have effected this.”

 “And Ethan? The death of his fiancée directly before his wedding?”

 “Was either an accident or his intended wasn’t well and couldn’t take the idea of marriage to someone she didn’t love.”

 Again and again, she brought up points, calling on everything she’d ever learned about science or just plain human nature.

 Finally, he undermined all her efforts by saying simply, “I believe it. I feel it.”

 “Because you were raised to, and you grew into this curse, grew to fit it. You are the epitome of a self-fulfilling prophecy. You believed that you would walk with death, that you weren’t supposed to have joy in life.” She reached out and tentatively touched his arm. “But Hugh, I’m not expecting you to simply turn this off. It’s been with you for thirty-two years—it will take time to let go. I’m willing to work at it if you are.” His silence actually made her more optimistic. “In time, we’ll get you to start believing that you will have happiness—that you deserve it.” She cupped his face. “Tell me you’ll at least try. For me? I’m ready to fight for us if you are.”

 The moment stretched interminably. Her whole future hung in the balance—but surely he would make the right choice. She couldn’t be this in love with someone who would throw away what they had.

 When his gaze left her face to flicker uneasily to the book, she realized she’d lost.

 Jane didn’t lose well.

 Releasing him, she snatched the book, then stormed out of the room and down the stairs.

 “What’re you doing?” He was right behind her as she marched out of the house into the thick morning fog. “Tell me what you’re aiming to do.”

 She hurried through dew-wetted grass toward the loch. “To get rid of the problem.”

 “The book is no’ the problem. Just a reminder of it.”

 She had the lake in sight and didn’t take her eyes from it when she said, “Then I’m ridding you of the reminder.” She drew the book to her chest with both arms around it. She suddenly felt a sheen of cold sweat over her body, and inwardly shook herself.

 “No, lass, it’s no’ that simple. Pitching it into the water will no’ do anything.”

 “It might make me feel better.” She turned to go to the first rocky rise, farther up the water’s edge. It was deeper there, and she wanted this tome to sink to the bottom, never to touch another life again.

 “It will no’ matter if you cast it in the loch. It always finds its way back.”

 “Are you mad?” she snapped over her shoulder without slowing. “Listen to yourself!” When she reached the spot she wanted, she changed her grip on the book, readying to lob it, but hesitated.

 “What are you waiting for? Do it, lass. I’ve done it enough.”

 She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “You think I’m jesting? I’ll do it!”

 He waved her on, and she flung it with all her might. They both stood silently watching it sink, the pages fluttering until it disappeared.

 “Odd. I don’t feel any different.” She faced him. When he evinced the same grim, resolved expression, she didn’t bother to hide her bitter disappointment in him. “You were right—it didn’t do anything. You’re still going to throw away what’s between us. We must still be cursed.”

 “If I risked only my life, this would be done,” he grated. “I would no’ think twice. But if I were to cause you any kind of hurt, I could never forgive myself.”

 Tears began spilling from her eyes. “Any kind of hurt?” She threw her hands up. “This hurts right now, Hugh. It hurts worse than anything I’ve ever known.” She futilely wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Of course, you’ll just see that as proof that the curse is in effect, right?”

 “I would no’ have had you feeling even this.” He looked as if watching her crying was torture. He seemed to want to touch her but only clenched and opened his fist. “I would no’ have come back if no’ for Grey and would never have seen you again. I managed it for years—”

 “You…you purposely sought not to see me?” He’d been avoiding her? When she’d been begging her cousins to ride with her past his London home, praying for a mere glimpse of him? “This just gets better. Well, understand that the last ten years have been unbearable without you. So by staying away, you hurt me. By abandoning me, you devastated me.”

 “Abandoned? I never made you any promises.”

 “I thought we were getting married!” Her tears streamed without check. “I thought you were just waiting until I was eighteen. I didn’t describe my wedding ring to someone I didn’t believe would be my husband.”

 His lips parted, but then he shook his head. “Even if none of this had happened, even without the curse, I still would no’ have offered for you. I dinna have anything to offer you. I had nothing .”

 “I wouldn’t have cared as long as I was with you.”

 “That’s bullshite!” he roared, finally reaching the limits of his control. “You liked wealth and made no secret of it. And every time you made that clear, you dinna see me tensing at yet another reminder that I was no’ good enough for you. You described that ring for a reason, Jane—because you expected it!”

 “The only thing I expected was not to be abandoned without a word. And I’ll tell you right now that it’s so much worse to be left behind than to do the leaving.”

 “You have no bloody idea,” he bit out, his tone seething. “You want to know my secrets, Jane? Know that at twenty-two, I went out in the world and did a cold-blooded thing. And I did it for you . Because I knew if I did such a heinous act, I would never dream of entangling my life with yours. So doona tell me it’s easier to walk away—it’s no’. No’ if you can possibly go back.”

 “But you’re still going to do it again. When Grey’s caught.”

 “Aye. I know that I will,” he said, staring down at her. “Even if I doona know how.”

 Forty-two

 Later that morning, when Hugh felt he had calmed enough from the morning’s fight, he found her on the terrace shooting her bow. With her face cold and expressionless as marble, she drew back her bowstring and shot, drawing one arrow after another from the quiver at her back with incredible speed.

 She’d long since shredded her target.

 “Jane, can you stop for a moment?” he asked, falling in beside her when she retrieved her arrows.

 Angrily yanking them out, she collected them in the quiver. “Can you not see I’m busy?” She didn’t even glance at him, just returned to her line to nock another arrow. In one fluid movement, she raised her aim to the target, pulled and released the bowstring, hitting dead center.

 “I need to speak with you,” Hugh said.

 “And I need some time alone.”

 Noting the drawn expression on her face and her arms beginning to shake, he said, “You’ve been at this for hours, lass.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about, since I understand the situation perfectly. I’ve all but begged you to remain married to me. I’ve confessed my unwavering feelings for you and offered to do whatever it takes to get us past this. But there’s a rub. You can’t, because you’re cursed .”

 At last, he’d revealed his weighty secret, and she’d brought up the strong arguments he’d anticipated from her. But what had he expected—that he could be talked from something that had pervaded every corner of his life? Hell, even if somehow he could come to disbelieve the curse, he’d had it hanging over him so long, shaping him, that he was suspicious of happiness, was uncomfortable with it.

 He knew he shouldn’t have told her, if he wasn’t capable of even trying. “So what do we do about this marriage? We need to decide something.”

 “We can decide this very easily. You let go of this curse absurdity. If you swear never to mention it again, I’ll vow to wipe this memory from my mind. Then we’ll live happily ever after. Or, if you insist on this tripe, then we will end in one of two ways—divorce or separation.”

 “If I could let this go and stay married to you, I’d give my right arm for it.”

 At that, she hesitated in the middle of a shot, and hit just wide of the center.

 “But you can’t,” she said softly.

 He gave a weary exhalation. “No.”

 Making her manner brisk once more, she said, “Then we’ve made our decision.”

 “Jane…” When she wouldn’t look at him again, he turned from her, but didn’t know where to go, what to do.

 Work. Work would take his mind off her, off scenes of the night before. Yet the only thing left to do on the property, after weeks of ceaseless labor, was to clear the trees from the drive. He crossed to the stables, entering the darkened building. His mood must be palpable—the horses seemed startled by him, though they never had been before.

 Yes, getting lost in exertion would dull his desperate want of her. Who was he deluding? Nothing would dull it. It’d bloody gotten worse, now that he’d been foolish enough to think he could slake himself inside her—

 Blinding pain exploded through his head. The side of his face slammed against the hard-packed ground; warmth seeped down the back of his neck.

 Grey.

 Another blow connected with Hugh’s temple. Two hits, placed just as Grey had been taught to do—if he wanted to keep a victim alive but immobilized. The booted kicks to Hugh’s gut were solely for Grey’s enjoyment.

 Grey clucked his tongue. “Damn, Hugh, you could’ve made this a little more challenging.”

 Jane had watched Hugh amble down the hill toward the stables, looking as if he carried the weight of the world, and felt a pang, then grew more angered than before. He never allowed her to just step back, to lick her wounds a bit. And if she’d ever needed to…

 She felt as if she’d been slapped and was still reeling.

 He didn’t want to stay with her, even after they’d made love and she’d easily concluded that it was the most wondrous thing that had ever happened to her. It was bad enough that she’d given her virginity to someone who regretted taking it, when she’d waited so long, waited so impatiently. But rubbing salt in the wound was the fact that Hugh regretted taking it because of a sodding curse .

 This was so fantastical as not to be believed.

 Give his right arm, he’d said. Though all signs pointed to his caring for her much more deeply and for much longer than she’d imagined, she actually prayed that wasn’t true. If he’d felt half of what she had for all these years and denied them a marriage because of this…

 She thought she might begin to hate him.

 If Hugh had been honest and forthcoming about his superstitions all those years ago, she would have gotten over him. She would have understood there was no chance for them, and she would have married someone else. But he hadn’t been forthcoming, and she was done letting her feelings for Hugh “Tears and Years” MacCarrick eat away at her life.

 It was time for Jane to be practical. She could never compete with a five-hundred-year-old curse. She was never going to have a life with Hugh, so what would she do after Grey was caught? Though she’d told Hugh they could divorce, the idea of it made her cringe. Perhaps she could still get an annulment.

 Based on Hugh’s insanity.

 Or they could stay married but separated. She tilted her head. Yes, that was the better option. She would demand her dowry from Hugh—and her father had better be prompt to pay it, after he’d forced her into this farce of a marriage.

 With that money and as a married woman, she could be independent. She could travel, sponsor the arts, finally found the Society for the Expression of Vice! She could write dirty books for Holywell Street, take lovers like there was no tomorrow and have ten children by them. Yes. This could work—

 A thought made her heart sink and her blood boil. Hugh might believe in a curse as contraception, but Jane did not.

 She could be pregnant from last night.

 How could he do this to her? He expected her to accept this madness, and vowed to leave her, when she could very well be carrying his child!

 Before she had any real idea what she was doing, she was marching down to the stables. This was probably a Bad Idea. She’d impulsively tossed that book, but throwing it away hadn’t made her feel any better—well, not that much better. It had gone differently in her mind and such.

 But what did it matter how she behaved now? What else could be hurt by releasing the tirade bubbling inside her?

 Nothing.

 Because things couldn’t possibly be worse than they already were.

 Forty-three

 Hugh cracked open his eyes, wincing with pain, and found himself staring into the barrel of a pistol.

 He struggled to rise but almost lost consciousness. Though he knew he couldn’t dissuade Grey from this course, he had to try—because he understood exactly why he’d been kept alive, and his gut roiled with dread.

 “Doona do this,” he bit out, laboring for breath against the stabbing pain in his ribs. “Kill me, make it slow, but she has no place in all this.”

 “Why waste your breath?” Grey asked. “I just don’t think that way. In case you never noticed, I don’t think like you at all. I’ll kill her as easily as an insect.”

 “You were no’ always like this.”

 “Precisely why I’m here, Scot. To redress wrongs.”

 “How did you find us?” Hugh grated, trying to stall.

 “It was the oddest thing. I was stalking this young lass, not far from here, planning to remove her fingers, when she met up with a band of six riders. Big bastards on massive mounts. They set off onto a path into the woods, but left a trail so deep that a blind man could follow them, a trail straight here….”

 Out of the corner of his eye, Hugh spied a flicker of white. Raising his gaze, he saw Jane poised at the stable entrance, face stoic as an angel’s. An avenging angel’s—she had an arrow nocked in her bow, pointed at Grey’s back. The string was pulled so tight with her leather-tipped fingers, Hugh thought the bow would snap.

 Hugh dropped his eyes, but Grey must have followed the direction of his gaze. He twisted around to fire at her, but she let her arrow sing without hesitation. She’d obviously aimed for his heart, but she’d caught him too quickly. Grey hadn’t finished whirling around when her arrow struck. It only pierced his gun arm—through the forearm, pinning it to his chest. Hugh couldn’t see Grey’s face and reaction, but saw Jane’s.

 Her eyes were stark and wide, her lips parting in shock.

 A monster. The man she’d known as Grey was gone and in his place was something she could scarcely comprehend. His face was drawn tight over his prominent cheekbones. A wide coal-black hat shaded his wasted face and darkened teeth.

 Before she could nock another arrow, he lunged for her. Swinging his free arm out, he backhanded her, sending her spinning into the wall. She heard Hugh’s roar of fury just before her head hit and snapped forward. She slumped, sinking inch by inch to the ground, as she fought to keep her eyes open.

 Even though Hugh had been lying on the ground with blood coursing down his neck and temple, now he somehow lumbered to his knees, but Grey turned. With a yell, Grey reared back his leg and kicked him across the side of his head, making Hugh’s body jerk in recoil before collapsing once more.

 Jane bit back the hysterical scream clawing at her throat and crawled to her bow. She snatched it up just as Grey turned, setting those crazed eyes on her. Scrambling backward, she clumsily tore another arrow from her quiver.

 The movement made her vision blurry…couldn’t stop blinking…even while taking aim. On a prayer, eyes closing, she pulled back the bowstring and shot again. She heard a meaty thump. Hit him… In the shoulder.

 Not a kill shot. Try again. Fight. Another arrow.

 Grey closed in and ripped the arrow and bow from her with his free hand, tossing them both away. “Jane, I’m afraid you’re just being tedious now,” he said, his tone gently chiding and utterly out of place with the maniacal expression on his waxen face. “If you cooperate, I might make this a bit less agonizing.”

 Blood poured from his wounds; his right arm was still raised against his chest, the hand that clutched his pistol useless. When he attempted to remove the first arrow, he rocked on his feet. Finally he just broke the shanks of both arrows at the middle, then dropped his gun, catching it with his left hand.

 “Grey, goddamn it, there must be something,” Hugh bit out, laboring to speak, “something you want more than this.”

 “We aren’t going to do this, are we?” Grey asked, as though exasperated. “Hash out old ills and slights, revealing things never revealed before in the hopes of a final understanding? If we did that every time you and I killed, we’d be wise men indeed. Besides, you know there’s never been any reasoning or bargaining that has moved me—or you—to mercy.”

 What is he saying?

 Grey stowed his pistol and unsheathed his blade, making her freeze with fear. Grey slits their throats , Hugh had told her.

 When he turned to her with the knife, she tried to meet his chilling gaze. “W-why?” she whispered.

 “Why? Because your father ordered my death, and he almost succeeded. Four bullets in the chest in return for nearly twenty years of murder for the old bastard. And because, once, when I was in a very bad way, your husband beat me to within an inch of my life—over you, incidentally—then left me to rot in a dark basement. I’m going to kill you to punish them for their slights. It’s nothing personal, you see.”

 “My father ? What are you talking about?”

 “You didn’t know any of this?” He cast a glance at Hugh, and tsked. “That’s not very forthcoming of you. And now that I think on it, it’s arrogant. You never told her, because you didn’t expect me to last long enough to be a threat. Take me out and she never has to know? But here I am.” To Jane, he said, “Your father deals death for a living, and Hugh is his most prolific assassin. Your father, Hugh, Rolley, even Quin have all lied and hid their real faces from you. How much you must have trusted them all to protect you. I bet you feel more foolish than frightened right now.”

 She spat the words, “They knew well enough that you needed to die.”

 “Yes, Weyland sought to destroy what he’d made.”

 “He didn’t make you like this—your addiction did—”

 “Wrong! When your father was doling out jobs, he made sure I took the brunt of the bad, the ones that really twist a man. My sacrifice made your husband what he is. Know that Hugh could so easily have been like me.”

 “Never,” she hissed.

 “Why not? Hugh’s a cold-blooded killer too, creeping about in the night and taking lives—just as I do.” He drew his lips back from his dark teeth. “But he’s not ruined, not yet. Because your father made sure he preserved Hugh for you .”

 She blinked in confusion.

 “Did they tell you nothing ?” He gave her a pitying smile. “Dear girl, Hugh has yearned for your heart so badly and for so long that I’m finally going to give it to him. Still warm from your chest.”

 Forty-four

 As he gathered the last of his strength, Hugh was forced to do nothing but listen as Grey revealed what Hugh was. He saw Jane’s face, stark with confusion, her gaze darting to him as if waiting for a denial.

 But when Grey took the merest step closer to her, Hugh lunged forward, tackling Grey’s legs. They plunged forward and struck the ground.

 Hugh rolled away. Grey’s body lay poised, propped at a grotesque angle by the remains of the arrows—until with a sickening rush, the tips pierced his back.

 At once, Hugh struggled toward Jane. Over his harsh breaths, he barely heard the faint gurgling sound coming from Grey. When Hugh reached her, he drew her up in the crook of his arm, gently touching her face, but she couldn’t seem to focus on him. “How badly are you hurt, Sìne?”

 “Hugh, you got…hit, kicked.”

 “He pulled the blows. Wanted me to see.”

 She gave a weak cry. “Oh, God, I feel his blood.” It was seeping outward from Grey, soaking her skirts.

 Hugh swooped her away, moving her into the sun.

 “Is he d-dead? Make sure he’s dead, please.”

 Hugh gently laid her back against the wall, then bit back pain as he closed the distance to Grey. When Hugh turned him over, the man’s eyes were open. He lived still, but the arrow through his chest ensured it wouldn’t be for long.

 Leaning in so Jane couldn’t hear, Hugh hissed, “Goddamn you, where’s the list? Did you release it?”

 Grey made a small movement as though he’d tried to shake his head. “Have it,” he said with a gasp, blood bubbling up from his lips.

 “Did you do something to Ethan? Tell me!”

 Grey’s face split into a gruesome grin. Just before he died, he rasped, “Ethan…was…my last number.”

 Through a haze, Jane felt Hugh lifting her in his arms, though he had been injured as well. She felt him shuddering as he clutched her, but she wanted to walk on her own, to take care of him. Yet every time she made a move to free herself, he squeezed her to him like a steel vise.

 She frowned when her skirts dragged down, then remembered they were wet with Grey’s blood. As Hugh walked, the material made sickening smacks against his legs. Nauseated, she fought to keep her heavy eyelids open, but it was impossible….

 When she cracked open her eyes once more, she found herself in Hugh’s bed, already stripped of her bloody clothes.

 “You’re awake.” Hugh was gazing down at her with an agonized expression.

 Well, of course she was. She only had a bump to her head and a bruised jaw. He was the one who was hurt, with dried blood tracking down his face and neck. When he began washing her off with a wet cloth, she said, “Hugh, stop this…let me get up to see to you.” He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken, and she couldn’t summon the strength to rise.

 Just when he’d finished and had slipped a new shift on her, Mòrag entered the room, took one look at the pile of bloody clothing, and began firing questions.

 “Go downstairs,” he ordered, talking over her. “There will be a saddled horse somewhere near the main house. Secure it outside the stable.” Then, seeming to rethink the matter, he said, “The Englishman who’d been aiming to hurt us is dead in the stable. Doona go in there.”

 “Well, if he’s dead, he will no’ need his horse!”

 “Do it!” Hugh barked. “And doona read anything in his bags.”

 “I canna read,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried from the room.

 Jane reached a hand to his temple. “We have to see to your head.”

 “It’s nothing.” He knew from experience that he would be foggy and would sleep more for a couple days. His ribs would hurt like hell for weeks, but he’d recovered from far worse than this. “I’m a hard headed Scot, remember? But you…” He studied her jaw, touching the tender area, and she couldn’t prevent a wince. “The bastard meant to break it.” His voice thrummed with cold anger when he said, “And would have, if he’d been stronger.”

 “What did he say to you in the end?”

 “He said he…killed my brother.”

 “Oh, Hugh, I’m so sorry.”

 Mòrag bustled into the room again. Between breaths, she said, “I’ve secured his horse.”

 “Good.” He rose unsteadily and told her, “Stay here till I return.”

 “Hugh?” Jane whispered, not ready for him to leave her sight. She was shaken to her bones, in pain, and still afraid, even though Grey was dead.

 “I have to check on something,” he answered, not looking any happier that he had to go. “I’ll be right back.” To Mòrag, he said, “Stay with her.”

 The girl replied, “Fine horse o’ his, with such high-class tack. My saddle was ruined by English with the sludge—”

 “Take it,” he barked. “Just doona dare leave this room, in case she needs anything.”

 Mòrag nodded, and as soon as Hugh had left, she said, “What the hell is going on, English? Did you shoot that man full of quills?” She appeared almost admiring.

 Jane nodded, feeling no regret for helping to kill a man, so she was surprised to find tears tracking down her cheeks. Her mind was a tangle of thoughts and questions.

 How much of what Grey had said was true? He was either a madman speaking lies—or her life was not at all as she’d thought. Was she surrounded by deceivers, by killers? Did Hugh truly lurk around in the dark and kill unsuspecting people?

 Could Hugh have wanted her to the desperate degree that she’d wanted him?

 Grey had been as dangerous as they’d said, but now he was dead, and the threat was gone. Even after this, she sensed nothing had changed with Hugh—which meant soon she’d be going home.

 To live among people she didn’t even know anymore.

 Hugh found the list in a sealed, waxed tube in Grey’s saddlebag, and burned the paper, watching until nothing remained but the finest ash.

 Jane was safe from Grey, and this other danger would never touch her or her father. They’d come through unscathed. But Ethan hadn’t.

 No. Hugh refused to believe it. He didn’t think Grey would lie about this, but maybe the man had been mistaken. He might have hallucinated.

 Wouldn’t Hugh feel it if one of his brothers were dead?

 Hugh would write and request information about Ethan. Yes, he’d get Mòrag to ride to the telegraph office this morning. Grey’s death needed to be reported, as did the recovery of the list.

 He wished he had an idea of what he would be writing about Jane—other than the fact that Grey had told her so much that Hugh would now be forced to explain the rest.

 When he returned with the message and sent Mòrag off to post it, he found Jane was sleeping, her cheeks still wet. How could the events of the day—and of their long night before—not have left her exhausted?

 He washed himself, gritting his teeth against the pain as he removed the dried blood from his beaten body. After he’d wedged a chair against the door, he crawled into bed beside her.

 When he woke, he found her on her side, watching him. It was night, but the moon was firing light into the room.

 “How is your head?” she asked sleepily.

 “Doona worry about me, lass. I’m concerned only with your jaw.”

 She brushed her fingers over it. “It’ll be sore. And it’s already starting to bruise, but I’ll be fine.”

 He touched it too, needing to make sure.

 “Hugh, I want to understand what Grey was talking about. What did he mean about you, and about my father?”

 She’d heard too much—she’d have to know the rest. And didn’t he owe her the truth after what had happened with Grey? She’d tolerated so much, had coped with all that had been forced onto her. Hugh knew this, and yet, still he hesitated.

 As many times as he’d imagined making love to her, he’d imagined the look on her face to learn of this. “Jane, I worked as…” He trailed off.

 “Go on. Please.”

 “I was a gunman.”

 “What is that?”

 He swallowed. “I…I killed people for the crown.”

 “I don’t understand. I thought you worked with Courtland. And how could my father be involved in that?”

 So Hugh explained that Weyland headed an organization that dealt with situations —ones that couldn’t be resolved diplomatically. He revealed what all of their roles were.

 “Quin and Rolley, too? Why didn’t I ever discover this?” she asked.

 “Most family members don’t. And your father never wanted this to touch you. That’s always been his worst fear. Lying to you sat ill with him.”

 Her voice soft, she asked, “Did lying to me sit ill with you?”

 “Never lied to you.”

 She bit her lip, frowning as she clearly thought back. Then she said, “My father did try to have Grey killed?” At Hugh’s hesitant nod, she asked, “Was Grey right to say that you were favored over him?”

 He ran a hand over his face. “I dinna believe so before. I thought Grey got the jobs he did because he was a bloody decade older than me and had years more experience. Now…I think unconsciously, Weyland might have.”

 Her eyelids were getting heavy though he knew she was burning to ask dozens more questions. “And what about Grey’s comment about…you and me?”

 After a lengthy hesitation, he grated, “True.”

 His answer seemed to hurt her more than anything. “How long, Hugh?”

 “Since that summer. Same as you.”

 She met his eyes. “Do I know all your secrets now?”

 “Aye, lass. Every single one of them.” When she fell silent, he said, “Jane, will you no’ tell me what you’re thinking about all this…about me?”

 She answered his question with one of her own: “Will what happened today change anything for us?”

 He finally made himself shake his head.

 “Then nothing will.” She turned away from him, murmuring, “So it doesn’t matter what I think.”

 Forty-five

 Hugh shot up in bed, wracked by a nightmare worse than any he’d ever had. The piercing pain in his ribs and head was still unfamiliar, momentarily confusing him when he woke. He frowned at his surroundings, rubbing at his eyes. It was well into the afternoon. Had he slept through the entire night and morning?

 His body was still shaking; his sheets were soaked with sweat. He’d dreamed of Ethan’s fiancée on the cold flagstones, head framed by her blood shining in the moonlight. But instead of seeing her glazed, sightless eyes, Hugh saw Jane, cold and still in death. He shuddered just remembering it—

 Where the hell is she?

 When he heard her in her room, getting dressed, he let out a relieved breath. After rising in stages, he staggered to the basin, wetted a cloth, then ran it over himself to wash the chill sweat from his body.

 Her light footsteps sounded in the hall outside his room as she made her way downstairs. He dressed as quickly as his injuries would allow, then followed. When he eased down the steps and into the kitchen, he found her motionless, staring blankly.

 The first thing he noticed was that her bruise had darkened and spread since yesterday, and he flinched to see it. Then his gaze landed on the object of her rapt attention—the Leabhar .

 He crossed to her side, silent. Even after all this time, the mysteries of the book still stunned even him. He wondered again how many of his forefathers had futilely tried to burn it or bury it in a locked chest, desperate to rid themselves of it. But the Leabhar was tied to his family like a disease passed down.

 “It can’t be the same,” she said softly. “I threw it in the water.”

 “It is the same.”

 “S-someone must have dragged it up from the bottom. You got Mòrag’s brothers to retrieve it.”

 “It’s dry, Jane.”

 “This is a jest. It has to be,” she insisted. “There’s more than one book.”

 He opened to the last page with the distinct blood stains.

 She gaped at it in horrified wonder. “I don’t understand.”

 “This is why I dinna care if you threw it in. The Leabhar always finds its way back to a MacCarrick. Do you still think this is naught but superstition?”

 She rubbed her forehead. “I…I don’t…” She was saved from answering when the loud nicker of horses sounded down the drive.

 When he strode to the window, she asked, “Who can that be?”

 A coach pulled to a stop at the front entrance. Hugh spied a man stepping out, and panic rioted in his chest. “It’s…Quin.”

 Hugh knew his telegraph would have arrived at Weyland’s yesterday morning; Quin must have set out at once, taking the daily rail to Scotland, then crossing the distance from a station to here by coach.

 Quin could only be here for one of two reasons. He’d come to collect Jane—though Hugh hadn’t asked him to, not yet.

 Or he’d come to deliver news of Ethan.

 Hugh turned to her, but she was already ascending the stairs, her back ramrod straight, no doubt thinking Hugh had telegraphed her cousin to rush up here and collect her at the first opportunity.

 Before Quin could make the front steps, Hugh threw open the door and met him. “Why’re you here?” he demanded. “Have you heard anything about Ethan?”

 Quin answered, “We were just receiving the latest dispatches in London when I got your message.” His expression was guarded. “We haven’t been able to find him. I do know that witnesses heard gun report and saw two men yanking Ethan’s body into an alley.”

 “To rob him or aid him?”

 “We don’t know—only that he’d definitely been shot.”

 Definitely been shot. Hugh stepped back to keep himself from pitching forward. He’d blindly held on to the belief that Ethan lived.

 “He could still be alive,” Quin said. “We’re combing the area, and Weyland will let you know if anything breaks.”

 Hugh didn’t trust others to look for his brother—he needed to be out there searching. His brows drew together. “But why are you here?”

 Quin answered, “Weyland wants the list destroyed or delivered into his possession.”

 “It’s destroyed. Then why’re you in a coach?”

 “To retrieve Jane.”

 “I dinna send for you to do that.”

 “No, but you also didn’t tell us that she was staying with you, just that she was safe here and had heard a great deal from Grey. As Weyland observed, your message said more than was written. Was I wrong to come for her?”

 In the fall morning air, Hugh had begun sweating again, reminding him of haunting scenes from the night….

 When he didn’t answer, Quin snapped, “Goddamn it, man, make a decision and quickly. You’re affecting others’ lives now. And I won’t watch you toying with my cousin any longer.”

 “No’ toying with her,” Hugh said quietly.

 “Maybe not on purpose, but the end is still the same—and it’s been going on for years!” Quin was the only male in Jane’s generation and was like an older brother to all the cousins, but especially to Jane who was an only child. Hugh understood Quin’s anger and didn’t begrudge him for it. “I’m sure she’s been too proud to tell you this, but Jane’s been in love with you since she was young.”

 “I ken that.” Unbelievable as it seemed to Hugh.

 Quin didn’t hide his look of surprise. “Then what is it? Is it because you think she can do better? I hate to tell you this, MacCarrick, but she can. I know what you are and what you’ve done.” He lowered his voice. “Now that the list is destroyed, you’re going right back to work. Would you leave her behind each week as you sneak off to make a kill? What kind of life would that be for her?”

 “She knows about me. And if I kept her as my wife, I would no’ continue ,” he said, as if he was arguing to keep her.

 “So you’ll stay at home with her? Try to be domestic?” he asked, his voice full of derision. “How will you fit in with her friends and family, when you simply don’t know how? My God, you couldn’t sit a gathering before you turned killer.”

 He was right. Hugh had been too long in the field, and was so different from the people in her life anyway.

 “If you can’t make a decision,” Quin said, his tone low and seething, “I’ll bloody make it for you!”

 The dream, the ominous reminder of the book, Quin’s arrival—what more did Hugh need to see to realize he had to let her go…?

 Apparently, Hugh needed to see Jane at the door with her bags packed, her mien stoic, and jaw battered. Hell, after the events of yesterday and the sight of the book this morning, she likely wouldn’t have stayed with him anyway.

 Quin sucked in a breath at the sight of her face. “My God, Jane. Are you all right?” When she nodded, Quin shot Hugh a black look.

 Jane was dressed for travel, her bags at her feet. She was truly leaving. Today.

 “You’re goin’ with him?” Hugh asked, his voice breaking a pitch lower.

 “What else would I do?” She smoothed her skirts. “I’m glad you sent for him when the threat passed. Very forward-thinking.”

 “I dinna—”

 “I thought so as well,” Quin interrupted. “Doing the right thing for both of you. Jane, we need to get on the road if we intend to catch the train in Perth. Say good-bye and come along.”

 When she nodded absently, Quin collected her bags, then strode to the carriage—because they were leaving. Now.

 Hugh had known he and Jane would part, but he’d thought he would have time to prepare himself. He turned back to Jane, staring down at her. “I was going to see you home.”

 “You don’t think Quin can keep me safe?”

 “Aye. Now. But I wanted to get you settled in, before—”

 “Before you leave again?” She shrugged, her face cold.

 “We knew it would come to this. No reason to prolong it unnecessarily.”

 He exhaled, running a shaking hand over his face.

 “We both have to get on with our lives,” she continued. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

 “I doona want you to go yet.”

 “Yet.”

 “What do you bloody want?” Was he sweating more? He couldn’t stop seeing that dream before him.

 Her voice quavering with emotion, she said, “We’re back to the simple choice. We put the curse behind us. Or you refuse, and once I leave here today, I will never want to see you again.”

 He couldn’t promise her he would disregard or forget something that had molded him and he couldn’t easily give her loss, which was all she would have with him. But he had to know…“You’d be willing to be with me, even after everything you learned?” he asked, wishing she would say no. To find the one woman who could accept him, and to find her in Jane would be too much.

 “I’d be willing to try , to see,” she finally answered. “To maybe understand everything better.”

 “And after seeing the book?”

 “That’s something I don’t think I will ever understand.” She shivered. “Yes, when I look at it, I fear it—but I also know we could be stronger than anything written there.”

 Jane was here for the taking, ready to face hell for Hugh—and it humbled him. But shouldn’t he be ready to do the same for her?

 “Jane, come along!” Quin called from the carriage. “We have to make a train.”

 She turned back to Hugh. “If I leave here today, it’s over. Forever, Hugh. I must move on from this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If you don’t choose me now, you never will. But the sad thing is that one day you’ll realize what you threw away.” When he was silent, her eyes watered. “And I promise you, it’ll be too late to get it back.” She turned toward the carriage. Just as she was about to climb in, Jane stopped and strode back to Hugh.

 She’d seen reason—she would stay with Hugh for a week more, aday more.

 The cracking slap to his face took him completely off guard. “That was for the last ten years.” She slapped the other side of his face, even harder. “And that’s for the next!”

 Forty-six

 “I never thought I’d say this,” her father began, as he nervously regarded Jane’s face, “but perhaps you ought to just cry.”

 Quin had suggested the same thing repeatedly on their journey back to London, right up until he’d deposited her in her father’s study. She’d been home for an hour—long enough for her father to finish explaining what he and Hugh and everyone else did.

 “I’m fine”

“I’m numb.”  When had her voice begun to sound so tinny?

 She took a sip of her iced Scotch, defying him to say anything about her drinking so early.

 “I’m sure this has all been a blow to you.”

 “Are you competing for the most patent understatement?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, really, Papa, imports ?”

 He shrugged helplessly, and she sighed. He’d finally been totally forthcoming with her—she thought. She’d been markedly less so about Hugh’s reasons for letting her go. “Who knows what he’s thinking?” she’d said to him and to Quin. “He made comments like he thought he wasn’t good enough for me….”

 “Jane, you keep saying you’re fine, but you don’t look it.”

 No, she’d been on the verge of crying since she’d first comprehended that Quin was there to retrieve her. In fact, she’d been as close to it as she’d ever been, without actually spilling tears. As she’d absently packed her things, she’d somehow prevented herself because she’d known that with her first tear, she might start something she couldn’t stop.

 “You’re right.” She gingerly touched the chilled glass on her swollen jaw, but the pain made her wince, and her father flinch—again. “This has all been a lot for me to digest. I see you and Quin and even Rolley, and I feel like you’re strangers.” She’d tried to put on a strong front when facing each of them, but for right now, all she could seem to manage was a wary indifference. “And Hugh? I had an idea of him for half my life. Now that’s…changed.”

 She wasn’t angry about Hugh’s role in deceiving her. He had a job to do, and after talking to her father, she better understood the seriousness and significance of what he did. One of his bullets could spare a million of them in some needless war, and yet his job was lonely and grueling and he would never receive credit—or support if he’d been captured. She’d forgiven Hugh—for this, at least—but her father? “As for you, well, perhaps you might have provided a bit more warning about all this, and a lot less pressuring me to marry an assassin. Just a thought.”

 Her father couldn’t meet her eyes—and she’d noticed that for the last hour, he’d avoided looking at her mother’s portrait as well. “I regret what I did. But I swear that I believed Hugh would come around and do the right thing. The man has been in love with you for so long, and he’s always been honorable. But then, you understand that—you’ve always understood that. Jane, do you know how proud I was of you for choosing a man like Hugh? You saw things in him others couldn’t. I thought the two of you were perfect for each other.”

 We almost were.

 “Are you sure that you made it clear you were in love with him? And that you wanted to remain married?”

 She made a sound of frustration. “You—have—no—idea.”

 He briefly raised his palms in the air. “Yes, yes, very well. I won’t ask again.”

 “Well, what do you propose I do now?” She rotated the glass against her cheek to the cooler side and added, “With all the money from my dowry that you’ll be giving me.”

 He quirked a brow, but wisely said nothing.

 “I really have no idea what a woman in my situation does.”

 “Jane, I know I promised you I could smooth this over with Frederick, but”—he tugged on his collar—“he’s not precisely available any longer.”

 “How’s that?” she asked without interest.

 “He’s engaged to Candace Damferre. Her husband expired with no heir, leaving her everything. Bidworth’s, uh, quite beside himself that they’re both free.”

 What would Jane have done, weeks into marriage with Freddie, when his true love became free? Hugh might not have been able to give her a love-filled marriage, but he’d helped her father save her from a completely loveless one. “I’m happy for him.”

 “Are you truly?”

 “Yes. I couldn’t have gone back with him anyway.”

 “I know, but I promised you something I wasn’t completely sure of because I was positive it would work out with you and Hugh.”

 She shrugged. “Don’t feel guilty on that score, at least. You told me you could work all this out with Freddie,” Jane began with a careless flick of her hand, “if the marriage to Hugh was unconsummated.” She glanced up and frowned. “Your face is an interesting shade of red, Papa. Really remarkable.”

 His fists were clenched. “I’m going to kill him.”

 “Now, it seems”—she glanced both ways with exaggerated slyness and hushed her voice—“that I have to clarify if you mean literally.”

 For the last week, Hugh had combed the small lakeside village and all the surrounding areas for word of his brother. After days of doggedly chasing down every lead, Hugh was no closer to discovering anything to indicate whether Ethan was dead or alive.

 As Quin had said, many had heard gunshots, and some shopkeepers saw two men dragging Ethan’s lifeless body into an alley. One might have spied a very slim man loping down the street. The bottom line was that Ethan had disappeared, and Hugh had no more leads to follow.

 Nor had he any idea where to go or what to do.

 Without Jane, nothing held appeal.

 In the past, his life had at least had some purpose, but he didn’t know if he could go back to his occupation. Yes, the odds had been against Hugh reverting to a normal life—but, damn it, he had changed. Jane had changed him, and he had to wonder if he could return to that same existence. Besides, if it was true that Weyland always knew everything, then he now knew that Hugh had compromised Jane—and then all but kicked her out. He feared Weyland had washed his hands of Hugh.

 In his place, Hugh would have.

 Hugh’s official missives to Weyland were responded to promptly, but coolly.

 If not having Jane in his life had been painful before, now it was agonizing. Hugh knew exactly what he was missing. Worse, he knew how badly he’d hurt her. The more he thought about that morning, the more he regretted letting her go. But what choice did he have?

 Where to go? He hadn’t been to Cape Waldegrave for almost a year. He should go check on his estate and see if any improvements needed to be made—then do them all himself. Beinn a’Chaorainn was on his way there. He could pay Mòrag in advance to oversee the property. He could pick up the rest of his things and close down the house for good.

 To go there and not hear Jane’s laughter? Hell, who was he fooling? He just planned to go there to do eighty thousand pounds’ worth of brooding.

 Jane’s cousins were hovering.

 Claudia had basically moved in, and Belinda and Samantha visited as often as they could between time with their husbands and children. Today, Claudia and Belinda were flipping through fashion plates, smoking French cigarettes, and raiding Jane’s clothing.

 During the last two weeks, Jane hadn’t had an hour to herself. Apparently, when Jane had returned home, she’d worried her entire family with her mottled jaw and insouciant demeanor. But now the bruise on Jane’s face had healed, and her headaches had disappeared.

 She often wondered if Hugh had completely recovered.

 When she reflected over her time with him, she could think of only one thing she’d have done differently, even after all that had occurred between them. “Trust me with your secret and you won’t regret it,” she’d told him. She felt a flush of guilt, knowing he would have to regret it. She’d demonstrated no understanding or compassion, but then she’d never felt such fury, such strangling frustration.

 Jane had comprehended that she was losing the only man she’d ever loved—and that all the fight she had in her wouldn’t change that fact. Because she was losing him to something that didn’t truly exist….

 “Janey,” Claudia began in a scolding tone, “are you thinking about Tears and Years again?” She shook her head slowly. “We don’t think about him any longer, do we?”

 For obvious reasons she hadn’t told them what Hugh’s profession was. For some unknown reason, she hadn’t confided to them about the curse. Though telling them about it would actually have made Hugh more sympathetic to them, she knew Hugh wouldn’t want them to know. As it was now, they suspected he let her go out of shortsighted stubbornness or, taken with his past behavior, inconstancy.

 Shehad told them she’d made love to Hugh, and they’d all counted down the days together until she could determine whether she was carrying.

 Jane had been relieved that she wasn’t, of course. But she’d also felt a confusing pang….

 “Jane, I don’t believe I’ve reminded you today,” Claudia said, flicking her mane of raven hair over her shoulder, “that you spent a decade of your life pining for him.” She gave Jane a piercing look. “You can’t get those years back. Gone. Spent.”

 The first time Claudia had made this observation, Belinda had chided her, saying, “Jane needs to look to the future, not dwell on the past.” Now she said, “Claudia’s right. It’s been two weeks, Jane. You’ve got to at least begin to get over him.”

 Claudia made a sound of frustration. “My Lord, Jane, I think you’d take him back—”

 “Don’t you dare think that!” Jane snapped. “I’m not a complete idiot. Getting thrown over by the man I’ve loved—not once, but twice , mind you—destroyed any hopes for a rekindling.”

 “Then what is it?”

 “Things remind me of him. And every time I look at my father’s guilty expression, it kills me inside.”

 With a firm nod, Claudia said, “Right, then. I think getting over him would be more easily done while traveling, perhaps to Italy, where gorgeous, virile men abound.” When Jane raised her brows at the idea, Claudia continued, “Haven’t you ever heard the old saying? The best way to get over a man is to get under an Italian.”

 Forty-seven

 “Courtland, you made this place sound awful!” Annalía Llorente MacCarrick said as she skipped along the winding walk to Beinn a’Chaorainn. “It’s beautiful—I can’t believe this is my new home!”

 “Woman! Slow down,” Court grated, limping after her.

 Now that she was feeling stronger after two months of illness, he always seemed to be slowing her down, chasing after her bright skirts. With his still-healing leg, he was scarcely able to keep up—which made him a nervous husband.

 What if she stumbled, and he wasn’t there to catch her?

 Yet once he’d taken her gently by the hips and glanced up, Court could do no more than stare past her. Whose home is this and what did they do with mine?

 Squatters. Of course. Squatters with good taste clearly had taken over here.

 The shutters and front door, which had been barely hanging on by their hinges, were new and painted. A shining brass knocker beckoned visitors, the gravel walk was free of weeds, and greens were planted in intricate, immaculate beds. The roof seemed to have been completely repaired, and through the spotless new windows he could see furniture and carpets. Had his mother done this? Who else would it be?

 When he unconsciously squeezed Anna’s hips, she laid her hands over his and gave him a flirtatious smile over her shoulder. “Again already?” she purred, her accent giving the words a lilt. “My lusty Scot.”

 He raised his eyebrows at her clear invitation, and just like that, the house was forgotten. His voice grew husky. “I dinna give you enough at the inn last night? Or this morning?”

 She turned in his arms and whispered, “I don’t believe I can ever get enough of you.” She cupped his face with her wee hands. “Courtland, why did you tell me your home was so awful, when it’s grand? Why did you say we’d have to live at the inn until you got it inhabitable ? I remember the words you used: decrepit ,dilapidated , and, um, what was the other? Oh, yes—sty.”

 “I…it was no’ like this when I left it.” He dragged his gaze from her face and pondered his home once more. He’d known one day it would be beautiful, had vowed to make it so, but he’d never imagined this.

 And he didn’t even know who to thank.

 “I can tell you now that I was so uneasy,” Annalía continued, “not knowing what brutal Scottish wilderness you were bringing me to. And with the baby…”

 Court had been dreading this, especially now that they were starting a family—albeit unintentionally. Even had she not been carrying, he had cringed at the thought of bringing her here. But then, he didn’t have a lot of options.

 To keep her, he’d had to give up his life as a mercenary. Without doing that work, he had little money. It had been a conundrum that had crazed him. His inability to keep her in the style to which she was accustomed had been one of his concerns in marrying her, a wealthy and regal—literally—beauty. And after that first time she’d tried, she knew better than to offer money to him.

 He’d planned to fix one room, then do his damnedest to keep her in it until he could afford to do more. Now Court felt like a weight had been lifted.

 Anna tapped her chin, frowning in the direction of the freshly painted stables. “Courtland, isn’t that the horse my brother gave to Hugh?”

 Court followed her gaze. It was indeed. Aleixandre Llorente had given Hugh that stallion for bringing his “unique talents” to Andorra to help rid his country of the Rechazado. Even Court hadn’t known Hugh could blow up a mountaintop, or that he’d do it, killing thirty men, without blinking.

 Hughhad come here and done this for him? This was where he’d been? Court had scoured London for him and Ethan and sent messages through a dozen channels to tell them about the Leabhar and the curse and the future—as in, now the brothers allhad a future. He’d gone to Weyland to ask about Hugh’s whereabouts, but the old man was cryptic, as usual.

 And here Hugh was in the one place Court had never thought to look for him.

 Court shook his head, remembering how indebted to Hugh he already was. First, Hugh had invested Court’s money, giving him a steady income that freed him from having to ride with his gang. Then he’d come and renovated this property completely, knowing Court couldn’t pay him back, at least not for a while.

 Christ, he already owed his brother for something he could never pay back.

 Hugh had also saved Annalía’s life—

 Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a panicked young woman lurching from a side door, fleeing the house followed by some indistinct bellow. That couldn’t be his brother’s voice. Hugh didn’t bellow unless there was a sodding good reason.

 When Hugh yelled once more, tension shot through Court. He drew out the pistol holstered at his back and pulled Annalía into the house, then straight to the stairwell. “Anna, get in there. Now! And doona come out until I return.”

 Eyes wide, she climbed into the closet tucked beneath the stairs.

 He turned back with a glower for good measure. “Woman, I bloody mean it this time.”

 Once she nodded, Court made his way up the stairs quietly—thanks to a plush carpet runner and the absence of groaning and loose boards. He followed the sound of his brother’s cursing, punctuated by slamming and crashing. Was he fighting someone?

 Court lifted his gun, and with his other hand he cracked open the door.

 His pistol hand dropped, in time with his jaw. Not only had someone replaced his house, but they’d replaced his brother as well.

 Even-tempered, steady Hugh was unshaven, dead drunk, and regarding him with crazed eyes.

 Hugh pointed at the door, and the movement made him stumble. “That little witch took my goddamned whiskey.”

 “Who?”

 “Housekeeper.”

 Court applauded the girl for having the ballocks to do so, and then the sense to flee. “Aye, and it looks as though you’d be lost without it.”

 “Go to hell,” Hugh said, but his tone was more tired than angry. He sank down on the edge of the bed, elbows to his knees as he hunched forward. “What’re you doing here?”

 Court stared at his brother. “This is my home. Or it was. Why’d you fix it up?”

 “Because Jane wanted to. Never could deny that lass.”

 “You were with her here?” Court couldn’t fathom her reason for wanting to fix uphis home, but he knew it wasn’t out of any concern for himself. “I think it’s time you explained everything,” Court said, then listened in amazement as his brother recounted the threat from Davis Grey, the man’s subsequent death—and Hugh’s hasty marriage to Jane Weyland.

 “…I sent her away, and now she hates me,” Hugh finished. “But hell, you made the sacrifice for Annalía, so I could for Jane.” He exhaled with a measure of weariness Court had only ever seen in Ethan before.

 He reckoned this was probably not a good time to mention that as soon as Hugh had left him in France, Court had seemed to lose all reason and had sped back to Andorra to win his wife back—the wife presently stowed under the stairs.

 In fact, after weeks of searching for his brothers, and now that he finally had the opportunity, Court hesitated to tell Hugh about Annalía’s pregnancy. Once Hugh sobered up, Court would break it to him.

 “I was on my way north to my place and found myself here for the last week,” Hugh said, then looked away to mutter, “Miss her.” Seeming to shake himself, he said, “You can have your house back directly. No’ good for me to be here any longer.” Then he frowned. “I thought you’d go east with your men.”

 “Changed my mind,” Court said shortly.

 “Seems you’re reactin’ to the loss of your woman better than I am. Damn, Court, you looked like hell when I last saw you. Got over her so quickly?” He ran his hands through his disheveled hair, then winced and swayed—no doubt from a healing head injury. The movement must have worn him out, because he rested his forehead in his hands. “Tell me how to go about that. And be smug about it.”

 “What the hell happened to your head?”

 “Grey knocked me a good couple of hits.”

 “At least the bastard’s dead.”

 Hugh nodded, his expression grim. “Court, I have to tell you something. About Ethan.”

 Court exhaled. “What has he done now?”

 “He…Ethan is—”

 “Courtland,” Annalía said softly from the doorway.

 Hugh’s wild eyes got wilder at the sight of Annalía, but they seemed unfocused. He shot to his feet and roared, “What the bloody hell have you done?” He pointed a shaking finger at Court, advancing on him. “You vowed to me you would no’ go back for her.”

 In her nervousness, Annalía fluttered her hands to her rounding belly—a gesture she’d assumed in the last couple of weeks—and the movement drew Hugh’s gaze. Court saw when realization took hold.

 He rocked forward, the heels of his palms shoved to his eyes.

 Then he plunged backward to the ground.

 Forty-eight

 An hour later, when Hugh shot up in bed, he reeled once more.

 Court caught his shoulder. “Drinking while concussed! You bloody know better. What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”

 His voice hoarse, Hugh said, “It is no’ yours?”

 Court ground his teeth. As much as it infuriated him, he had expected this question, and when Hugh had appeared to be rousing, Court had made sure Annalía was out of earshot, leaving her downstairs with the recently returned housekeeper.

 “It’s my child,” Court answered. “I know why you ask, know you doona want to hope. I trust Anna with my life, but for your benefit, I’ll tell you that I was with her every hour, day and night, for weeks.” He struggled to rein in his formidable temper. “I’ll say that once. Doona ask again.”

 “But, she’s…you canna. What about the goddamned curse?”

 “It’s no’ what we’d thought. The last lines must qualify the others, cancel them out. The general consensus is that it’s about finding the right woman.”

 “Consensus? Who else bloody knows?”

 “Annalía’s family and…Fiona.”

 “You’re speaking to our mother?” Hugh gazed at him wordlessly for a moment. “I canna believe this.”

 “Aye, I know. But she regrets her actions so much, and she wants to talk to you. Now that I’m married, I see…I can see why losing someone you love would make you crazed.”

 And Fiona and Leith had been deeply in love.

 “When did you figure all of this out?” Hugh asked.

 “After you left, I replayed the words from the book in my mind,” Court explained. “No’ to know love. But I did. I was lost for Annalía.”

 “I thought that meant no’ to know love from another.”

 Court shot him a guilty look. “I was no’ thinking. Bit desperate. I was ready to convince myself of anything. Then, when I got there, she told me she loved me, too. And that she was having my babe. The curse is wrong, Hugh.”

 Court knew exactly when Hugh felt a glimmer of hope, because he grated a harsh oath. “Ah, God help me. I might have gotten Jane pregnant.”

 “Best hope you dinna,” Court muttered.

 “What? Why’s that?”

 “Imagine your new wife delivering the babe of a six-and-a-half-foot-tall Highlander, and tell me if that is no’ enough to keep you up nights for nine months. If I’d had any idea I could get a babe on Anna, I’d never have done it. Never .”

 Hugh’s brows drew together at the warning. “If it’s no’ already too late.” Rising a shade more slowly this time, he bit out, “Going for her.”

 Court pushed him back and assured him, “There’s plenty of time for that.” Now that Court knew what it was like to have a good woman’s love, he wanted it for his brother as well. And certainly there were better women out there for him than Jane Weyland. “Hugh, how can you be sure it’s her ?”

 Hugh’s grip on Court’s wrist was shockingly strong. “Are you…are you jesting ?” Hugh cast him an incredulous look. “I’ve wanted her for a third of my life, I’m presently married to her, and I’m so bloody in love with her it pains me.”

 Lost for that woman! There was nothing to be done for what Court was seeing now. “You will no’ make it to the property line in your condition,” Court said. “So you’ll sleep this off and leave when I think you can ride.”

 Hugh stubbornly shook his head, rising once more.

 “Do you really want to face Jane coming off a drunken bender and still recovering? And I doona like to say this—but what makes you think she’ll welcome you as her husband, just because you slept together? You said that you sent her away and she hates you now.”

 “Aye, and I know I hurt her. But the lass told me she loved me. She did. She has since she was a girl.” Hugh glowered. “Doona look at me like that. I ken how unbelievable it sounds.” He walked unsteadily. “She believed we were to be married, then thought I’d abandoned her.”

 Court whistled through his teeth. He had never seen that one coming. “That’s why she teased you? Then, brother, you’ve got an uphill battle ahead of you, I fear.”

 “Tell me something I doona know,” he mumbled as he began scouring the room for clothes.

 All the clan thought Court was the volatile one. Ethan was considered cold as ice. Hugh was supposed to be the even-tempered, logical—and neat—one. If they could see him now, grumbling about his injuries and sniping complaints as he quickly dug for clothing from haphazard piles on the floor, they wouldn’t recognize him.

 “You’re no’ up to this yet,” Court insisted. “Just do me a favor. Stay here until dawn.”

 “No’ a chance.”

 “Then for a meal and coffee? You need to sober up.” He gave Hugh a pained expression. “And, brother, a bath would no’ go amiss. You do know there are hot springs out back?”

 Hugh stumbled over a boot, then coughed into his fist. “That so?” he said, flushing for some reason.

 Forty-nine

 As Hugh neared London after a day of rail and riding, he fought a sense of urgency so strong it knotted his gut. After struggling against his feelings for so long, to give them free rein now was nigh overpowering.

 And the crushing presence of the curse was…gone. Hugh finally believed he could have a future with Jane. He had seen Annalía, and he trusted his brother’s judgment. On the subject of the Leabhar , Hugh trusted his mother’s as well—and Court had said she believed as he did. At last, Hugh could reconcile that sense of rightness, of inevitability when he’d been with Jane.

 A storm was whipping up to match his turbulent mood, but he didn’t care—he’d still reach her on this very night. All he had to do was get to her and win her back.

 One mile down, another mile closer. He leaned into the wind, frowning to realize that the only thing that stood in the way of his keeping Jane was how well he could persuade her.

 Hugh had rarely had need of that skill. He usually got his way by intimidation or force.

 He’d have to convince her that he would make an effort with her family, and that he could fit into her life. If he took it slowly, instead of a sudden immersion like he’d endured at Vinelands, he could get used to them.

 He’d bloody figure it out.

 Though she’d promised not to take him back, right now, anything felt possible to him. In fact, he hadn’t even told Court about Ethan because, for some reason, Hugh had a strong sense that his older brother still lived. He would continue to search for Ethan, unleash runners to investigate, then make a determination one way or another before he heaped more apprehension onto Court’s plate.

 Court was already dreading the upcoming birth—Hugh had seen him eyeing Annalía’s belly guiltily, even as she was unmistakably delighted.

 Hugh had never thought about worrying for a wife in labor before—he’d never believed he was meant to have a wife or children—but now the idea of Jane going through that made him shudder.

 Even as he reassured Court that women had bairns all the time, Hugh was promising himself he’d be talking to Robert, the laughing quack, and asking him exactly what the best way was “to wait” to have bairns—if she wasn’t already pregnant.

 By the time Hugh reached London, the rain had let up, but he hadn’t. His horse’s hooves clattered as they raced down the wet streets of London. A life with Jane, free of this constant dread, depended on his skills of persuasion. He swallowed.

 Hell, Weyland might not even let him in the house.

 Hugh owed the man yet another huge debt. Weyland was the only bloody one who’d seen so clearly that Hugh and Jane needed to be together that he’d taken steps to see it done. He’d forced Hugh to confront his feelings—and, Christ, he’d prevented Jane from becoming engaged to another man.

 Hugh had repaid him by sending his daughter packing.

 As more guests continued to arrive, Jane smoothed the silk of her new emerald green gown and pasted on a fake smile. She was preoccupied, restless, and bored at this party her father had manipulated her into hosting—her and Claudia’s own going-away celebration.

 Though she and her cousin had decided weeks ago to take a trip to Italy, her father had stalled them at every opportunity. Finally, they were departing by steamer in the morning.

 Though her father was furious with Hugh, she knew he still had hope for them, believing Hugh would return for her. Yet without receiving a word from him for weeks, Jane knew better.

 When Freddie and Candace arrived, Jane’s smile turned genuine. Not only was she happy for the laughing and obviously adoring couple, she also experienced a renewed sense of relief that she hadn’t wed him. Once she’d greeted them and they’d moved on to speak with someone else, she breathed a sigh.

 “Why the serious look, Janey?” Claudia asked, handing her a glass of champagne. “You always liked elegant parties.”

 “I know.” She loved the scent of the rose arrangements all over the house, the glitter of their chandelier fully ablaze, and the tinkling of crystal flutes kissing champagne bottles.

 “Has anyone said anything about your marriage?”

 She shook her head and took a sip. “No. Everyone’s been tiptoeing around it.” Most everyone here—a crowd of family and good friends—had heard rumors of Jane’s hasty marriage, and just as hasty separation, but no one except her London cousins had dared to ask her about it.

 “Well, then, cheer up! Tomorrow begins the adventure. We’re actually going to leave this sodding little island.”

 “Claudie, won’t you be sad to leave your groom behind for months?”

 “His eyes watered today,” she admitted, glancing away. “And I had a moment when I thought about backing out. But we’re not getting any younger, Jane.”

 Jane exhaled. “That’s too true.”

 When Belinda and Sam joined them, Claudia resumed taunting them. “Admit it, you old matrons, you’re jealous of our trip. We leave tomorrow , sailing toward sun, cuisine, and virility….”

 From across the room, Jane caught her father’s glance, and he gave her a quizzical look. She smiled at him in answer—she’d made an effort of late to be cheerful again, to get on with her life, but he’d been keeping a close eye on her tonight. He was continually worried, had been since she returned, and it showed. He’d barely agreed to let her go to Italy, until she’d reminded him that she didn’t need his consent.

 Suddenly, his face broke into a wide grin—which he immediately checked. His expression grew stern just as the crowd went silent.

 She heard a commotion in the hallway—a banging, then arguing, then the booming: “I’m here for my wife.”

 Loud, striding steps echoed down the hall behind her. No. It just wasn’t possible.

 “My God,” Belinda murmured. “Janey, what did you do to your Scot?”

 Jane turned slowly to find Hugh at the doorway, seeming to fill it. Her eyes went wide at his appearance. He was soaking wet, his boots covered with mud, and his neck was bleeding readily from shallow lines where a branch must have struck him as he rode. He’d lost weight and his wet hair whipped across his face—his unshaven face.

 But his eyes were what held her attention—they were black as night and burned with intent. He caught sight of her and his body tensed, like he was about launch himself at her.

 Everyone was silent or gasping. Hugh just continued to stare at her as if he couldn’t do anything else, his brows drawing together.

 At length, when he finally dragged his gaze from her, he surveyed the crowded party in progress, swallowing because everyone here was dressed to the nines.

 Except for him.

 His expression turned grim, and his shoulders went back.

 He’d just walked into a room full of people—normally punishing enough. But to look like hell washed over—and to be clearly embarrassing her? He swallowed again, wiping the rain from his face with his sleeve.

 An older woman tittered. “That is Jane’s new husband?”

 Jane swung her gaze on the woman and snapped, “Oh, shut up.”

 So it’s to be another trial by fire?

 Didn’t matter. Hugh was prepared to do anything. He strode toward Jane, past speechless guests, who stared at him so hard he could feel it.

 He held out his hand for Jane. “Come, Sìne. I need to speak with you.”

 Her cousins were glaring at him, urging Jane to demand that he leave, telling hernot to go with him. She didn’t appear to be in any danger of the latter.

 “I am sure this can wait,” Jane said. Had her accent ever sounded so crisp? “Come back tomorrow . Afternoon.”

 When some people nervously laughed at that, Hugh glanced around, brows drawn.

 He met Weyland’s gaze, trying to read the man—who was clearly trying to read Hugh as well. “I just want tae speak with her, Weyland.” His brogue had never sounded so thick.

 But then he spied Bidworth strolling into the room. Hugh gnashed his teeth, having never considered that Jane might take back up with her suitor. He’d also never imagined that Bidworth wouldn’t heed Hugh’s warnings to stay the hell away from Jane. The man caught sight of Hugh, blanched, and made a strangled sound.

 If Bidworth had dared to touch Hugh’s wife…With his fists clenched, Hugh strode forward.

 Bidworth backed up to a wall. “Bloody hell. He’s going to hit me again, isn’t he?”

 Fifty

 “This is not happening to me,” Jane muttered.

 “Will he really harm Bidworth?” Belinda asked, eyes wide as Hugh stalked poor Freddie.

 “Yes,” Jane hissed desperately, casting her father an entreating look. He wasn’t going to do anything! He only studied Hugh and her, back and forth, eyes watchful.

 “Fine.” Jane glared at her father over her shoulder as she hurried toward Hugh. “I’ll handle this.” Once she’d reached Hugh, his hand shot out to clutch her elbow as if he feared she’d flee from him at any second. “If you’ll come with me to Papa’s study?” He hesitated, so obviously wanting to thrash Freddie. “Hugh, if you want to speak with me, I won’t do it here.” He finally allowed her to lead him from the room.

 In the front hallway, Hugh slowed and grated, “Why in the hell is Bidworth here?” She saw him glance at her bare ring finger, and his tone went lower. “Have you…have you taken up with him again?”

 “Not that it is any of your business, but he’s here with his new intended,” she answered calmly, letting him relax an instant before adding, “to wish me well on my travels.”

 “Travels?”

 “Yes, you just ruined the party my family threw for Claudia and me to see us off to Italy for the winter.”

 “When are you supposed to sail?”

 “On the morning’s tide—”

 “No.”

 She rubbed her temples. “I clearly misheard you. For a moment, I thought you had just dared to insert yourself into my life once more. You gave up any right you had to do that.”

 “No, I dinna. I’m still your husband. We’re married, and we’re staying that way.”

 She blinked at him.

 “You heard me, lass.”

 Perfect, Jane thought with a sigh. I can get this man to keep me, but first I have to wear away his will for weeks, and then he must be pistol-whipped, bludgeoned, and concussed. It’s a formula.

 “What brought about this change of heart?” she asked.

 “There’s been no change of heart.”

 Behind Hugh, she saw her father ordering her cousins away, barring them from coming to her rescue. He probably thought he was buying Hugh time to apologize—when that notion hadn’t seemed to have occurred to Hugh at all.

 There was no apology, no flowers, not even a preamble. In fact, he hadn’t bothered to take the time to shave before he’d barged into her party, threatening servants and frightening guests—after she’d thrown herself at him for weeks. “How dare you show up here like this!”

 She couldn’t understand him. Something had changed in Hugh—yes, he wasn’t known to assail genteel soirées like a crazed Highlander—but this change was beneath the surface, a drastic shift in his whole personality. She sensed it. She…feared it. Maybe his head injury had been worse than he’d let on. Maybe it had altered him.

 “I dinna mean to embarrass you like this, God knows I dinna, but what I have to say canna wait.”

 “Yet you couldn’t tell me during all the time we were together?”

 More titillated guests peered around the corner, and Hugh looked over his shoulder, seeming to snarl at them.

 She gave the group a pained smile, and said in a confiding tone, “He’s just about to leave, you see—”

 “No’ a chance of it,” Hugh interrupted, telling her softly, “No’ without you.”

 Under her breath she said, “What could you possibly have to say to me now?”

 He opened his mouth to speak, but saw her glance past him once more at the gathering crowd.

 Hugh’s brows drew together. “This will no’ work.”

 Her gaze snapped back to his face. “That’s what I’m saying.”

 “You’re coming with me.”

 “When hell freezes—Oh!”

 Before she had any idea what he intended, he’d picked her up and easily lofted her over his shoulder. Her cousins gasped.

 “Hugh!” She kicked futilely. “What in the devil are you thinking?” Jane felt her face flushing from humiliation—and probably from being upside down. She didn’t deserve this treatment, and she didn’t have to tolerate it. She was a woman who had bloody steamer trunks by her door!

 Her father strode forward, and to him she snapped, “How many times are you going to let Hugh act this way with me?”

 “I swear to you, this will be the last,” he said, his tone steely. “Is that correct, MacCarrick?”

 “Aye, it is.”

 “That’s good to hear, son. My carriage is outside—you can take her to Grosvenor Square in it.”

 Hugh nodded, then strode straight out the front door. More guests were arriving as he descended the stairs with her. She closed her eyes tightly in mortification.

 When Hugh placed her in the carriage, she was breathless, speechless, and dizzy. As soon as they were rolling forward, Hugh dragged her across his lap, his hands flying to her face, cradling her cheeks as he pressed his lips to hers.

 She froze, stunned.

 “Sìne,” he rasped. “Ah, God, lass, kiss me back.” He brought his mouth down over hers, kissing her in that desperate way, as if it was the last he’d ever take from her. And like a fool, she felt herself responding to his need, to the urgency of it. He groaned, deepening the kiss as he clenched her in his arms.

 She was so close to getting swept up, missing him so badly, all but forgetting the pain he’d caused. No, no, no! She forced herself to break away, pushing at him. “You said you wanted to talk to me. And I didn’t even agree to that. You haven’t given me any explanation.”

 After several moments, he released her, just as the carriage eased to a stop. When a footman opened her door, she hurried out, but paused when faced with the grand façade of the MacCarrick town house.

 Her anger and hurt came back redoubled; a light mist began to fall, making her blink as she stared.

 All those times she’d ridden by, praying to see him—and he’d been avoiding her all along. Had he seen her from the window and closed the drapes? She felt her bottom lip trembling to remember how badly she’d ached, how terribly she’d yearned to see him.

 And that had only been the first time she’d lost him.

 Fifty-one

 “Jane?” he bit out in a strangled tone to see her eyes watering. His one chance to win her back…And all I’ve done is make her cry. Of all the reactions he’d anticipated, her crying was not one of them. He clasped her hand in his, pulling her inside out of the damp night. He could tell she wanted to resist, but she didn’t seem to have the energy.

 He took her directly up into his room and sat her on his bed, curling his finger under her chin. She’d closed her eyes, but the tears were spilling out. He felt as if a knife was being plunged repeatedly into his chest with each tear. “My God, lass, did I hurt you? Was I too rough with you in the carriage?” His breath left his lungs in a rush. “Christ, I was.” He remembered little of that mind-boggling kiss—he’d probably squeezed her with all the strength in his body. “I’ve wanted this for so long, and to be so close…I could no’ control myself.”

 When she said nothing, just continued to cry, he murmured, “This played out badly, I ken that, and I am sorry for it. Ach, Jane, this is killing me.”

 “Then take—me—back,” she said, biting out the words.

 “You doona want to go back like this with all those people there.”

 She pummeled his chest. “Then take me to Claudia’s!”

 “I canna do that either, lass.”

 How could he have bungled this so badly? He hadn’t been thinking clearly after everything that had happened and the mad journey here. But then to see her like a vision in the candlelight? The realization that this stunning, brave woman was his wife had hit him like a punch. He was the lucky bastard who got to dine with her each night and wake up beside her each morning. All he had to do was win her.

 Then he’d seen Bidworth. And assumed the worst.

 “I’ve much to tell you and could no’ wait any longer. I wanted to stay married to you. But you know why I believed I could no’.”

 “Because of the curse .” Her eyes glittered, and her tone was cold. “I would be very careful bringing that up to me.”

 “Aye, but since then I found out my brother’s to be a da.” How odd to say that. Hugh liked saying that. “He’s married, happy—”

 “So are you saying that the curse has been lifted?” She put her chin up. “Perhaps a magical charm was used to combat it? Will I be expected to wear a MacCarrick talisman around my neck?”

 “I’m saying we misinterpreted the words. I knew when I saw Annalía was pregnant—”

 “Listen to yourself! There’s this curse that’s prevented you from accepting me as your wife, but since some woman that I don’t even know named Annalía conceived, now we can be together. Do I have it right?”

 “It sounds mad. But today, for the first time, I realized I could have a future with you—without fear for you.”

 “Not good enough, Hugh. What if something else happens to make you think you’ll hurt me again? You didn’t believe in us before—why should I now? What if you find out what the book says under the blood, and it’s even more devastating?”

 “Court and Annalía think the last two lines qualify the ones that came before—that they’re about each son finding the one woman he’s supposed to be with. I believe that.”

 “And I’m the one woman for you?” Her tears were easing.

 He drew his head back. “I have never doubted it.”

 “So you think you can get me with child now?”

 “Aye.” His voice gruff, he said, “I dinna, did I?”

 “No, you didn’t.” At his relieved expression, she said, “Is the idea of children with me such a dread prospect?”

 “No, but the thought of you in labor, in pain, at risk…” He stifled a shudder. “I dread that . And lass, I would no’ share you well, no’ even with my own bairns.”

 She tilted her head at his admission, her eyes seeming to soften as she gazed at him. “But you didn’t get me pregnant. Will that change your mind?”

 “No, nothing will.”

 “You said over and over that it wasn’t just about the curse. You gave me reason after reason why we wouldn’t suit.”

 “No, they were just excuses—”

 “Are you saying you lied to me, then?”

 “No, I’ve never lied to you. And I made those excuses to myself as much as to you.” At her raised eyebrows, he said,

 “The reasons were true, but they doona matter anymore—because I will be whatever you need me to be.” He brushed away the last of her tears with his thumb, and she sniffled, but let him.

 “You can’t change that you’re a loner. I’m not, and I won’t live a solitary existence. Would you keep me from my family?”

 “No, never. If that’s the only thing standing between us, I’ll bloody move in with a houseful of them.”

 Her eyes went a shade wider. “Really?” she said slowly. Raaaally. “You would do that?”

 “Lass, none of what I’ve found out will matter if I canna have you. My future’s with you, or I might as well not have one.”

 “But I’m…afraid, Hugh. Something else could change your beliefs, and then I’d lose you a third time.” She briefly looked away when she admitted, “I couldn’t do it a third time.”

 “Do you know how badly I wanted to seize onany of your arguments at Beinn a’Chaorainn for why we could be together? But I could no’. And even then I struggled no’ to let you go. It was selfish of me, but I never sent for Quin to come for you.”

 “You didn’t?”

 He shook his head, gently laying his hands on her shoulders to rub up to her neck and back. “I’ve always been searching for a way I could have you, and now I’ve got one. If you accept me now, you will no’ be able to get rid of me.”

 “So you came for me tonight because you want to be completely married?” Jane said, nibbling her lip. “To live together?”

 “Aye, Sìne, if you’ll have me.” He swallowed, then enfolded her in his arms, but she was stiff, silent. Moments passed….

 When she at last wrapped her arms around him, too, he exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath.

 He drew back and cupped her face, gazing down at her. “Jane, I’ve told you before that I’m no’ a good man—”

 “But won’t you be good tome ?”

 “Oh, Christ, yes. Always.”

 “Will you love me?”

 His brows drew together, and his voice went hoarse. “Till my dying breath,” he said, the words sounding like a vow. “And you? Can you love me, even knowing what I’ve done?”

 “Hugh, I understand more about your profession now. I know that you saved soldiers’ lives, but you never got any recognition. You might not get credit for your grueling job anywhere else, but I, for one, am so proud of you.”

 “Proud?” he choked out the word. “Do you know how often I dreaded ever having to tell you about this?”

 “I always have been proud of you, and that hasn’t changed.” Then she eyed him. “Though I do want you to understand that if I’d been a son, I would have had your job.”

 “I doona doubt it,” he said, his lips tugging into a grin, but then he grew serious once more. “You ken what this will mean? So think on this, because I swear to you, lass, I’ll never let you go again.”

 Gazing up at him, she said, “Never let me go? I like the sound of that.”

 He blinked as if he didn’t really believe this was happening. She understood the feeling. But she sensed they’d crossed a threshold—finally.

 The antsy feeling was…gone. Because she was right where she was supposed to be.

 “I have money for you now,” he said, like he was trying to convince her to be with him. “I can spoil you. And we have that estate by the sea in Scotland.”

 “I get to live with you in your seashore home?”

 “Our home. And you should, especially since I bought it with you in mind—”

 “You did ?” she asked, both surprised and delighted. When he’d told her of it weeks ago, she’d dreamed about being there with him, never knowing he’d done the same about her.

 “Aye, I think you would be proud to call it yours. I’ll take you there straightway, if you like. We can leave tonight.”

 She bit her lip and murmured, “Or we could stay here for tonight…and finish what we started in the carriage.”

 “My vote’s for that,” he said in a rush, making her laugh, but it turned to a delicious gasp when he pressed his lips to her neck. His tongue flicked out with wicked kisses until she was shivering and clutching his shoulders. Against her damp neck, he said, “I need to take you again so badly…dreamed of it…”

 “Me, too.” She moaned softly as he laid her back across the bed, pressing her skirts to her waist.

 “After so long,” he began, his voice a husky rasp, “finally I’m free to claim you for my own.” He tugged her lacy undergarments from her, baring her to his gaze. Her knees fell open with his first hot touch between her thighs, and she watched in fascination as his eyes slid shut with pleasure. “I’m warning you now,” he said, biting out the words. “I’m going to be so damned greedy for you, lass.”

 She eased her arms up to him, reaching out in welcome. “I’m yours for the taking.”

 At that, his expression turned fierce, his eyes burning with feeling as he stared down at her. “After tonight, love, you will no’ ever doubt it.”

 Fifty-two

 “Are you ready to see our home, Sìne?” Hugh asked, as they stood near the end of a hedge-lined walk at Waldegrave.

 She nodded, breathless. “I’m beyond ready.” There were only so many minutes left until dusk, and they’d just arrived. “I’ve been dying to see it for the last week!” It had taken them that long in London to resolve certain concerns. If Jane hadn’t been utterly in love with him already, then she would have been when he’d asked for help to fulfill his promise of toys to his new nieces and nephews.

 He’d gruffly explained, “It’s simply good strategy to get on with your family. I’ll bribe the youngest generation directly before the holidays and ensure their cooperation.”

 Biting back a grin, she’d answered, “Toys: you’re positively Machiavellian.”

 Jane had also taken the time to make up to Claudia for canceling their trip, and to thank her father repeatedly for, as he called it, “his brilliant marriage coup.” Hugh had spoken with Dr. Robert, returning home from his meeting with a red face and a box of various…supplies. She and Hugh had decided they would reevaluate the question of children in a year or so. After all, she was greedy to have Hugh all to herself, too.

 Now he clasped her chin and brushed her bottom lip. “If you doona like it here, you’ve only to tell me.”

 “I’m positive I’m going to love it,” she assured him. Then she narrowed her eyes. He didn’t look nervous whatsoever. She sensed he knew she would love it as he did—and that meant he was only increasing her suspense. She lightly cuffed his chest. “If I can ever see it. I promise I’ll love it, even if it looks like Ros Creag.”

 “It’s a wee bit grimmer. But I ken how you like that.” He grinned, reminding her of how heartbreakingly handsome he was when he smiled. She’d be seeking out his smiles as if they were her target.

 Though he’d offered to take her anywhere in the world for their honeymoon, she’d wanted only to come here. Undoubtedly, they would travel in the future, but they needed to be within a day’s train ride of England because they were confident Hugh’s runners would soon pick up a lead on Ethan. Jane also wanted them to be near Beinn a’Chaorainn for the birth of Hugh’s niece or nephew in the spring—even if Courtland was going to be there. If Hugh could make the effort with her family, she’d do the same for him….

 “And we can change things here, too,” Hugh said with deliberate slowness. “The color or—”

 “Please, Hugh, I can’t stand it anymore!” she said with a choked laugh. “I want to see our seashore home.”

 “You know I canna deny you.” He took her hand and led her past the end of the walk and out into the open.

 She gasped at the sight, feeling light-headed. When her eyes watered, he squeezed her hand. “Say something, lass.”

 “It’s like…a dream.” The manor was stunning both in beauty—and in size. Built of dark cream-colored brick, it had classic black shutters and marble balconies fronting the sea side. The grounds were picturesque, rolling down to majestic cliffs. And the waves… When she caught her breath, she whispered, “You really can see the sun set through the water.”

 At her words, he looked so proud, as though he felt ten feet tall. “I’m glad you like it,” he said simply. “Ready to see the inside?”

 “Can we just watch the rest of the sunset?” she asked.

 “Of course.” He drew her back to his front, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head.

 As they gazed out together, she said, “But, it is a shame that it obviously won’t need any improvements.”

 “Oh, aye.” He chuckled, a low, rumbling laugh that was still rare, but came more often each day. She adored hearing it. “Still glad you married me?”

 “A bit ,” she said, and he turned her in his arms. “I’ve only been waiting for this since the first day I met you, when you called me ‘poppet’ in your brogue.”

 “I recall that day. I remember thinking that when you grew up, you’d lead some man on a merry chase.” He tucked her against his warm chest. “Ah, lass,” he rasped, pressing his lips against her hair, “I just dinna know it would be me.”