Fourteen
 

“When will you go?” Sir Adam asked.

Mary hadn’t missed the slight frown between his dark brows. It had taken most of the day, but she had finally managed to pull Sir Adam aside for a few minutes to speak with him privately. Knowing how much she enjoyed watching Davey, he suggested they sit near a window in the Great Hall that overlooked the practice yard.

The warriors weren’t yet in position, but Mary’s eyes kept straying outside. How she would miss this! Her chest pinched again at the unfairness. But it could not be avoided. Her last conversation with Sir Kenneth was proof enough. And if there was one thing Mary had learned, it was that when she sensed danger, she should run and not wait around for someone else to help her.

In his bed? Her stomach dropped. Dear God.

“As soon as transportation can be arranged,” she answered. “Tomorrow, if possible.”

The frown on those familiar craggy features deepened. His face was so known to her, she did not often take the time to look at him. He must be three and forty now, she realized. Still a handsome man. If only she could think of him that way. Her mind went to another man who she did think of that way, but dearly wished she didn’t.

Irony. Not funny at all sometimes.

“Does Davey know?”

She nodded. “I told him before the midday meal.”

“When will you return?”

Something in his gaze caused her to turn away. “As soon as I am able.”

There was a long silence, and Mary’s gaze slid to the window. She started to smile, catching sight of Davey. But then she noticed the knight he was speaking to: Sir Kenneth. Mary didn’t understand why her son had suddenly attached himself to the rebel knight. It was as if he’d transferred the adulation he’d had for Sir John to Sir Kenneth. Actually, she’d seen very little of Sir John today. His greeting on seeing her at the midday meal earlier had been stiff and reserved, almost as if he were embarrassed about something.

But it was Sir Kenneth who concerned her. Was he trying to get to her through her son?

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Mary turned back to Sir Adam in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Sutherland. He’s the man you met in Scotland. He’s the father of your child.”

Mary’s heart stopped. Her eyes widened in astonishment, and perhaps also in fear.

Sir Adam must have seen it. “You’ve nothing to fear, Mary. Your secret is safe with me. I will do whatever I can to help you. Why do you think I volunteered to go to France and asked you to accompany me?”

Mary continued to stare at him in shock. “You knew?”

A wry smile crossed his hard features. “My wife had ten pregnancies. Even though you’ve put very little weight on—weight that you needed—I know the signs.” He held her gaze, and said softly, “And I know you.”

Mary bit her lip and dropped her eyes, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. He loves me, she realized with a pang of sadness. How could she not have guessed how he felt all these years? She could see it so clearly now.

She lifted her gaze back to his. “I’m sorry.”

He seemed to know what she meant. She loved him, but not in the way he wanted.

He cleared his throat and looked away to the window. “Does he know? Is that why he has come to England?”

Panic replaced the moment of awkwardness. She shook her head frantically. “Nay, and I have no wish for him to find out. His arrival here has nothing to do with me.”

She could tell Sir Adam didn’t approve. “I’ve known Sutherland for a long time. You need not fear that he will not do right by you.”

“I have no wish for him to do right by me.” A wave of emotion rose in her throat and pricked her eyes. “I can’t do it again. I could never marry another man like Atholl.”

Sir Adam held her gaze; the compassion she read there nearly undid her. But she could also see the anger. “I loved your husband as a brother, but he had all the sensitivity of an ox. He had no idea how to treat a young bride. I told him so, many times, but …” He shrugged. “He was stubborn and used to doing what he wanted. He said you would adjust.”

“I was very young and naive.”

He grimaced. “That’s no excuse. But are you so sure Sutherland will be the same?” He shook his head. “Lord knows I spent half my time pulling him out of fights when he was young, and he has always been quick to take offense and quicker to use his fists, but the lad always struck me as sensitive.”

Mary tried not to choke. Sensitive? “Are we speaking of the same man? Sir Kenneth Sutherland is too arrogant, too bold, and too popular with the ladies by half.” What does that have to do with us? Those were not the words of a sensitive man. “He would probably take the child from me out of spite for refusing him.”

Sir Adam lifted a brow. “So he did ask you to marry him? I was surprised to think he hadn’t. The lad always had a fierce streak of honor in him.”

Mary refrained from commenting on “the lad.” It wasn’t honor that had precipitated his offer—or rather, non-offer—but Robert the Bruce. Now that he was no longer Bruce’s man, pleasing Bruce would not force his hand. “Please,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “Please promise me you will say nothing.”

His gaze fell to her hand. Mary felt her cheeks fire at the unconscious gesture, not realizing how it would seem. She moved it away as inconspicuously as she could.

“It is your secret, Mary. I will not interfere. Not unless you want me to. There are other choices, if you do not wish to marry him. I will protect you any way I can.”

She knew what he was offering, and was deeply touched by it, but she would not do that to him. She would not take advantage of his feelings for her and marry him just to give her child a name. She cared about him too much to hurt him, as her feelings—or lack of them—were bound to do. “I know,” she said softly. “And I thank you for it, but I can do this on my own.”

He nodded as if he’d expected her to say as much. “Then we will go to France in the spring as planned.”

Despite the fact that she had to leave Berwick, Mary felt a surge of relief knowing not all her plans had gone awry. And it was comforting to have someone share her secret.

Sir Adam stood. “I will have my men escort you to Ponteland tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. He started to turn away, but she stopped him. She couldn’t believe she’d almost forgotten to ask. She took out two silver coins from the bag she wore at her girdle. “I was planning to send a man around to the local churches. Would you do it for me, and give him this for his troubles?”

Mary did not have to explain, and he didn’t have to ask why. Sending men to the local churches to inquire about her sister was a common request. He took the coins reluctantly but did not comment. He didn’t need to. She knew how he felt: that this was a waste of time and money, and that her inability to put her sister’s death behind her was preventing her from moving past it.

The subject of her sister had always been a difficult one between them. Ever since that night, he’d been uncomfortable speaking of Janet. Almost as if he, too, felt some of the blame for what had happened. But he’d had nothing to do with it. If it was anyone’s fault, it was hers.

She glanced out the window again and frowned. This time, it wasn’t just Sir Kenneth and her son, but Sir John as well. They seemed to be having some kind of argument, but after a moment, Davey left without the eager bounce in his step.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It seems Davey has taken a liking to Sir Kenneth, and I admit, it makes me uneasy.”

Sir Adam’s brow furrowed. “You mean you do not know?”

“Know what?”

“It’s the talk of the castle. Sutherland saved the boy’s life.”

By saving the young earl’s life, Kenneth had become an instant hero among the English ranks and, in the process, had made a bitter enemy. If Felton hadn’t liked him before, he despised him now. Not only had the heralded knight been bested by one of the rebels and suffered the indignity of being set on his arse, he’d also nearly been responsible for the death of the young Earl of Atholl. That Kenneth had been the one to save him, he seemed to take as a personal insult. The fact that the young earl seemed to have transferred his idolatry only made it worse.

Kenneth had just learned from the lad that his mother was once again intending to flee, when Felton interrupted and sent the boy on some fool’s errand. “Stay away from my squire, Sutherland. I do not wish the lad to pick up any bad habits, and you are keeping him from his duties.”

Kenneth quirked a brow. “Your squire? I thought David squired for Percy.”

Felton flushed angrily. “As his champion and the best knight in his retinue, Lord Percy has entrusted me with the earl’s training.”

Kenneth wanted to ask him whether that included falling on his arse, but he knew it was wise not to antagonize the knight any further. He was already out for blood as it was, and Kenneth knew Felton would be watching him closely. He needed to keep his temper in check.

But Felton made it damned hard to turn the other cheek. The knight leaned closer so his words would not be overheard, his eyes narrow and hard. “I know why you’re doing this. But it won’t work. Winning over the boy won’t win over his mother.”

The mention of Lady Mary was enough to loosen Kenneth’s tongue. “And getting him killed will?”

Felton exploded in fury. “How dare you suggest I had anything to do with what happened! No one could have anticipated they would attempt to escape by jumping over a cliff. The earl was well protected.”

“Then how the hell did he nearly die, and I end up with this?” Kenneth lifted his injured arm, which was stinging like the devil. “I warned you it was too dangerous to take the lad. Next time don’t let your attempt to impress a lady affect your judgment.”

“By God, if you weren’t injured right now you would pay for your arrogance. I am still the best knight around here, and I won’t have a disloyal, opportunistic Highland traitor question my decisions. Winning a few barbarian games doesn’t make you a champion. Here, you are nothing until you prove otherwise.”

The smug bastard had managed to strike a nerve—a rather raw nerve. Anger ran hot through Kenneth’s veins and being wise was forgotten. “I don’t know, perhaps you could use a little Highland instruction. The ‘barbarians’ seemed to have put you on your arse easily enough.”

The look of raw hatred in the other man’s eyes almost made Kenneth regret his words. Almost.

“I’ll see you pay for that, you traitorous bastard.”

“You can sure as hell try.”

They might have come to blows—injured arm or not—if Kenneth hadn’t glanced over to the gate and seen something that made his blood run cold and his anger at Felton fizzle like water on hot rocks.

Jesus. Christ. God damn it to hell. A string of more oaths and blasphemes followed—silently, thank God. But it took every scrap of his training not to react. Keeping his expression carefully blank, Kenneth looked away from the group of women entering the castle gate, but fear prickled on his skin like a sheet of ice.

Before Felton could reply or notice his distraction, he added, “I will look forward to it.” And walked away, heading toward the practice yard where the women had gone.

It wasn’t unusual for women from the village to watch the soldiers practicing. Nor was it unusual for the soldiers to find the evening’s entertainment from amongst the spectators. Every camp had its followers, and a castle was no different. By the time he’d made his way over to the far side of the yard near the barracks, the women were already mingling with the soldiers who’d finished their duties for the day—including the beautiful red-haired woman who’d caught his attention.

Long auburn hair tumbled down her back in a veil of loose waves. Her rough, homespun kirtle was low on her chest, revealing far more of her bosom than he cared to see, but which left no doubt of her plans to attract a companion for the night.

She was flirting with one of the older men-at-arms as he approached. A relatively safe choice, but it didn’t temper his anger any.

When she saw him, her eyes widened in feigned excitement and a slow, seductive smile curved on her mouth, as sensual and promising as any wanton’s. “My lord,” she said in a husky gasp. “Where have you been? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

The man-at-arms turned to him, disappointment keen on his face when he recognized Kenneth. “Sir Kenneth,” he bowed. “I did not realize mistress Helen was yours.”

“She’s not,” Kenneth said, looking into the twinkling eyes of his sister. Damn it, she was MacKay’s responsibility now. What the hell was the bastard thinking? He managed to control his anger long enough to play his part. “We met the last time I was in Berwick.” He took her hand and placed a gallant kiss on it. “Though I am looking forward to renewing our acquaintance.”

Seeing that another had claimed his entertainment for the evening, the man-at-arms made his graceful retreat.

For the next few minutes they made a very public show of “renewing” that acquaintance. Helen sidled up next to him, flirting, batting her lashes, and flaunting her heretofore-unknown ample wares for all to see. If he were MacKay, he’d toss her over his knee for acting like such a jade. Hell, he was glad for his sister’s sake that the fierce Highlander wasn’t around to see the appreciative English glances at her breasts, which were practically falling out of her gown. As her brother, he had to stop himself from pulling the useless scrap of wool up to her neck and putting his fist through a few sets of teeth.

She ran her fingers up his arm. “You’re hurt!” Her eyes flashed naughtily. “Perhaps there is something I can do to make it feel better?”

It wasn’t easy to pretend seduction with his little sister—especially when he’d like nothing more than to throttle her—but Kenneth played along. “Why don’t we go someplace where you can examine it in private?”

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, turning around to address one of the men who was standing nearby. Percy was still keeping a close eye on him. “Tell Percy I’ll be back in time for the evening meal. The lady is going to tend my wounds.”

“Aye, I’m going to make you feel all better,” she said with a lecherous wink.

Before the soldier could object, Kenneth started to pull her toward the nearest storeroom but changed direction when he heard her mutter “stables” under her breath.

“Give us a few minutes, lads,” he said to the stable boys. “This won’t take too long.”

The boys snickered and moved outside.

The moment the door was closed, Kenneth turned to her in fury. “What in God’s name do you think you are doing here? And why the hell did Saint let you come alone!”

“He didn’t,” MacKay said, jumping down from the rafters above where bales of hay were stored. He was dressed as a peasant, and Kenneth detected the strong whiff of fish. “And keep your voice down, Ice, unless you want half the English army to come investigate.” He glanced angrily toward his wife. Though he’d called Kenneth by one of the “ironic” names MacSorley had coined to prod him about his hot temper, MacKay seemed to have forgotten his own. “And pull up your damned gown!”

Helen ignored the directive, put her hands on her hips, and looked at them both angrily. “If you two would just relax—”

It was the wrong thing to say. Both Kenneth and MacKay exploded, expressing the depths of their very unrelaxed anger at seeing her acting the jade in a yard full of Englishmen. Apparently, MacKay had caught quite a bit of her performance.

Helen let them have their say, but she clearly paid it no heed. “If you are both finished acting like overprotective nursemaids, perhaps I can see to what we came for?”

Before Kenneth could bark out another “why the hell are you here?,” MacKay explained, “She insisted on seeing to your arm herself.”

“And you let her?”

MacKay shot him a deadly glare. “I’d like to see you stop her. She said you were part of this now, and it was her duty.” He spat the last word, mumbling under his breath that he must have been crazy to let her do this—a point to which they were in agreement. “That it was my fault you were hurt in the first place, and if you lost your arm, she would blame me.”

Kenneth turned to his sister, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been hanging around Viper too long.” She was learning to fight dirty.

Helen lifted her chin. “It worked, didn’t it? Now, let me see it.”

MacKay handed Helen a leather bag, and she removed a few things as Kenneth shrugged off his surcote and unwrapped the linen bandage that the doctor had used to bind the cut. She gave a soft cry when she saw the ugly-looking mass of bloody, singed flesh, but went immediately to work on it.

MacKay distracted him from the pain of her examination by asking him about what had happened. Kenneth gave a quick explanation, hearing MacKay’s muttered oath when he learned the identity of the soldier he’d almost killed.

“It was too dark to see his arms.”

Kenneth nodded. “I figured as much. It was just bad luck that your blade found a gap between my mail shirt and gauntlet.”

He winced as Helen poked and prodded the wound, then applied a salve. “Ouch,” he said, pulling his arm away. “That burns.”

“You think nothing of putting yourself in the line of a blade, but whinge about a little medicine? By God, you men are all alike. I don’t know why I don’t wash my hands of the lot of you.”

He could see her blinking away tears and realized how worried she’d been about him. He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m fine, Angel.” He used the war name the Highland Guard had taken to calling her as the team’s healer. “Thank you.”

She blinked up at him, nodded, and then proceeded to give him a long list of instructions on how to care for the wound and what to look for, and extracted his promise to send for her if it festered. MacKay gave him the name of a friendly barkeep in town who could be trusted with a message, though they’d previously devised other ways of communicating should the need arise.

Kenneth took the opportunity to apprise MacKay of what he’d learned from the English warriors. So far, it wasn’t much—which bothered him. “I would have expected more activity by now. More supplies going north to bolster the English-held castles for the additional men.”

“There is still plenty of time.”

“Aye.” It was true. He frowned.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess I would have expected Clifford to be more involved. He and Percy are close, and with his interests in the Borders”—Sir Robert Clifford had vast holdings in the North of England and had been given James Douglas’s lands in Scotland by Edward—“I would have expected him to stick close to Percy. But he seems to be coming and going from Carlisle Castle quite a bit. I was thinking of volunteering on his next—”

“Let us worry about Clifford. Your job is to stay close to Percy. Stay on task, Sutherland. You don’t want to screw this up.”

Kenneth’s jaw clenched, hearing the warning he didn’t need: he was on probation. He nodded. Message received loud and clear.

Realizing the stable lads wouldn’t stay away for long, Kenneth said, “You need to get out of here. I assume you have a plan?”

“I will go out the way I came in,” Helen said.

“Striker and Hunter are waiting outside,” MacKay said before Kenneth could object. “I came in up the postern gate from one of the fishing boats.” That explained the smell. “I left a very pungent bag of salmon near the kitchens to retrieve for my descent.” He smiled. “The stench should be enough to prevent too many questions.”

While Helen packed up her bag, MacKay asked in a soft voice, “Everything else is all right? They do not suspect anything?”

Kenneth shook his head. “The ruse worked. How is Dragon?”

MacKay frowned. “Angry, bitter, and short-tempered as usual, but he’ll mend.”

Kenneth had been surprised that the Yorkshireman was part of the Guard. From what he’d seen, the disgruntled, England-born, Scotland-bred Alex Seton was often at odds with the other members of the Guard—especially his partner, Robbie Boyd.

Kenneth thought about mentioning Lady Mary’s presence at the castle, but something held him back. He supposed he knew MacKay would warn him off, and he didn’t want to hear it. “Bàs roimh Gèill,” he said. Death before surrender.

MacKay repeated the favored parting words of the Highland Guard and gave his wife a too-long-for-Kenneth’s-mind kiss before retreating to his hiding place.

Kenneth was about to put on his surcote, when Helen told him, “Leave it.” She reached over and untied his shirt, pulling it loose from his breeches. “There, you look more rumpled.”

He reached down and picked up a handful of hay, tossing it over her head, laughing as she waved her hands in protest. Then he reached over, snatching a piece of hay from her hair, and grinned. “So do you.”

She shook her head in mock chagrin. “Lord knows you probably have far too much practice at this. I assume the English lasses are as silly and adoring as the Scottish?”

She was right about the practice, he thought with a wry turn of his mouth, his mind going back to the last time he’d been caught in the stable. But his grin fell at the mention of “silly and adoring.” Helen’s words were all too close to the accusations Mary had made. She was wrong. He didn’t surround himself only with women who flattered him. He was sure he’d had countless conversations on other subjects, though damned if he could think of any that hadn’t been with his sister—or Mary. But she held his attention more than any woman before, and he didn’t like half of what she said.

It also reminded him of what he’d learned before his sister’s arrival. But if Mary of Mar thought she was going to escape from him again, she was in for a surprise.

Arm in arm, they exited the stable, looking to all who might see like very contented lovers. Kenneth wasn’t surprised to see the men who Percy had watching him standing nearby, nor was he surprised when they followed him to the gate.

He pushed her out with a playful pat on the bottom. She giggled and turned around, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek, whispering for him to be safe, before scattering through the gate in the fading darkness.

Kenneth turned and started walking back toward the Hall. He’d taken only a few steps when he felt the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze on him. He looked across the courtyard and saw a woman rushing down the stairs and across the courtyard toward the donjon. Lady Mary. He knew it was her, just as he knew she’d seen him.

He swore, wondering how much she’d seen.

If her pace was any indication, it was enough.

He hoped to hell she hadn’t recognized Helen. At the same time, he realized what she would think if she hadn’t. His mouth fell in a grim line. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He had every right to be with another woman. It was she who had made clear exactly what she thought of him: a good tumble. He was just playing to profligate form.

But he still wished she hadn’t seen him.

He let her go. For now. But this wasn’t over. Not by any measure.

It doesn’t matter. Unshed tears blurred her eyes, and all Mary could see was dark green as she pulled another gown from the ambry and tossed it on the bed. The dresses that had been hung only a few days ago were going right back into her trunks. The maidservant scrambled to keep up with her.

“Are you sure everything is all right?” Lady Eleanor asked with obvious concern.

Mary nodded, forcing herself to smile though her throat was tight and her eyes prickled. “I’m just tired, that’s all,” she said, feigning chirpiness to cover the high emotion in her voice.

What did she care if he was with a woman? It didn’t matter that her chest had felt like a boulder landed on it when she’d seen Sir Kenneth exit the stables with the red-haired creature on his arm.

The stables. She knew only too well what he did in the stables. It shouldn’t have hurt so much. She knew the kind of man he was. It should simply prove that he wasn’t for her. But the burning in her chest, the crushing weight of disappointment, didn’t seem to want to understand.

They were nothing to one another. Just because they’d shared a night of passion, just because she’d felt something more, just because he’d asked her to marry him, just because there hadn’t been a night that passed that she hadn’t thought of him, just because she was carrying his child, and just because her heart had jumped to all kinds of silly conclusions when she’d seen him here didn’t mean anything. The one night that had meant so much to her probably meant nothing to him. Despite what he’d said, he probably hadn’t given her a thought until he saw her dancing with Sir John.

When she’d heard what he’d done for Davey, she’d been so overwhelmed with gratitude, she might have confessed everything to him and been ready to believe anything he said. Thank God she hadn’t. Heroic feats on the battlefield wouldn’t make him a good husband. In fact, in her experience it was just the opposite. She was grateful, but it had nothing to do with them.

“You’re sure you do not wish to go to the meal?” Lady Katherine said.

Mary shook her head, a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with her pregnancy and everything to do with the prospect of seeing him rumpled and satisfied having risen inside her. “Beth can bring me something to eat if I get hungry.”

The girl nodded eagerly. “Aye, my lady. I will have a platter sent up from the kitchens.”

And a big pitcher of wine, she wanted to add.

“See,” Mary assured the two women who were looking at her with troubled expressions on their faces. Apparently her acting ability wasn’t as strong as she’d thought. “I shall be fine. Beth will take care of me. Go to the meal. I believe the earl has arranged for some minstrels tonight. I will probably fall asleep right after I finish packing.”

The ladies hesitated, but eventually she was able to push them out of the room. By the time she and Beth had managed to finish packing her trunks and bags, she was indeed ready to retire. Beth helped her remove her gown and gave her a plush velvet robe to put on while she sat by the brazier to finish her embroidery.

As soon as the girl left to fetch her something to eat, Mary took out the tiny piece of linen. Her chest tightened. It was a cap she was working on in secret for the baby. Sometimes the need—the desperation—for this child rose up so hard inside her she couldn’t breathe. All the love she’d wanted to give to her husband and son.

She perched the glasses on her nose and went to work, trying to put what she’d seen out of her mind and focus on the baby.

No matter what else had happened, she could not regret what she’d done. Her one night of sin with Sir Kenneth had given her this child.

But it didn’t lessen the hurt any. She was a fool. What had she expected? She was nothing to him, and he should be nothing to her. She gnawed on her bottom lip. If only the woman hadn’t been so young and pretty. Even from a distance she could detect the fine features and gorgeous red hair. She was vaguely familiar, but Mary figured that she’d probably seen her around the Hall before.

Her hands seemed incapable of managing the tiny stitches, so she removed the glasses from her nose, put the embroidery aside, and closed her eyes for a moment.

When the knock came, assuming it was Beth, she bid her to enter. She heard the door shut, and when the girl didn’t say anything she opened her eyes to tell her just to leave the tray. Instead she jumped to her feet in shock.

She stared at the man who’d invaded her chamber—who’d invaded her sanity. Sir Kenneth Sutherland stood—lazed, actually—with his back against the door and his arms crossed against his chest, watching her. The relaxed pose didn’t fool her. She could feel the danger emanating from him.

Dread sank to the bottom of her stomach like a stone.

“What are you doing here? Get out!” She hoped she didn’t sound as scared as she felt.

He smiled, glancing toward the trunks. “Running away from me again, Mary?” His gaze slid down her ready-for-bed-clad form, and she hastily clenched the edges of her robe tighter even though she knew he could not see anything. He let his arms fall to his sides and made a tisking sound. “For someone who purports not to care or have a thought about what happened, you seem to be very anxious to get away from me.”

He took a few steps closer to her. Why had she never noticed how small the room was? And who had lit the fire so high? The temperature seemed to have gone up twenty degrees. But the blast of heat wasn’t coming from the brazier. The pounding in her heart told her exactly who was the source of the heat.

“I have to ask myself why,” he said idly. He took another step, and she almost yelped like a frightened pup. He smiled as if he’d sensed it. A big, lazy, knowing smile that set alarm bells ringing up and down her spine. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared about how I make you feel. I think you’re scared not because it meant nothing to you but because it meant a lot. I think that if you didn’t care as much as you say you don’t care, you would be sitting down for the evening meal right now, not hiding up in your room.” He held her gaze. “I think you want me.”

Mary gasped with outrage. He was arrogant, overbearing, and so cocksure of himself. It didn’t make it any better that he was also right. Not that she would ever let him know that. “I’m not hiding, I’m packing. Not that it’s any business of yours, but I am not leaving to avoid you. There is a pressing estate matter to which I must attend.”

He laughed. “Very pressing, I’m sure.” She looked up, terrified to realize how close he was standing to her. No more than a foot separated them. “Is that why your pulse is fluttering, your cheeks are flushed, and your heart is beating so hard I can hear it?”

Her eyes widened in alarm. That wasn’t possible, was it? But he only smiled, her reaction giving her away.

She started to retreat, backing away from the chair she’d been gripping like a lifeline. Only then did she remember the baby cap. She sucked in her breath. It lay in the middle of the chair with her glasses like a beacon. All he had to do was look down. If he hadn’t heard her heart pounding before, he surely heard it now. She prayed …

Too late. “What are you doing?”

He reached for it, but she snatched it and the glasses from him before he could pick it up. “Careful! You’ll break the glasses.” Praying her cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt, she added, “It’s a piece of embroidery I’m working on.” She tucked it in the basket she used before he could look at it closer.

His eyes narrowed at her odd behavior, and for a minute she feared he might reach in after it. “For whom?”

She said the first thing that popped into her head. “I sell them at the market in Newcastle.”

He arched a brow, and she felt her defenses prick. “It is a perfectly acceptable way of earning money. How else should I have provided for myself when my husband was executed and my dower lands confiscated?”

He gave her a long appraising look. “I wasn’t judging you. I’m merely surprised, that’s all.”

Having avoided disaster, she just wanted him to leave.

“Why are you here? Why are you doing this? Why does it matter to you what I do, when you have so many other women to choose from? Was your tumble in the stables this afternoon not enough for you?”

He showed no shame at what she’d seen. Nor did he deny it. Had she really hoped he would?

Instead, he merely arched a dark brow wickedly—good God, even his brow was sensual! Was there any part of him that was not? “Jealous, little one?”

“No!”

But her protest was too strong and too quick. He closed the gap between them in one stride. She tried to step back, but all she could feel was the hard press of stone. He’d backed her against the wall, and there was nowhere for her to go.

“You don’t care?” he challenged, his eyes locking on hers.

Everything inside her was racing. Her heart, her pulse, her blood. “I don’t.”

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. Their bodies weren’t touching, but she could feel the heat, feel the weight of him pressing down on her.

Mary couldn’t breathe, conscious of the soft swell of her stomach between them. Despite the fact that the bump was still barely noticeable—fortunately, the weight she’d gained had been distributed fairly evenly so far—she was so certain that he would somehow sense it. That he would know the moment he touched her. Every inch of his body was so engrained on her memory, she assumed he would notice the changes.

But he didn’t. His hand slid around her waist, and he pulled her up against him. Even though he had the use of only one arm, she would have been hard pressed to escape if she’d tried.

“Then prove it. Kiss me.” His lips hovered just above hers. “Kiss me, Mary,” he groaned, right before his mouth fell on hers.

Her heart slammed into her chest at the contact. She dissolved into the heat. Melting against the hard granite of his body and the warm, velvety softness of his lips.

She descended—nay, plummeted—into a vortex of pleasure. Hot, mindless pleasure that pulled her into a molten whirlpool of madness. The fierceness of the passion that exploded between them claimed them both. She kissed him back. Clutching. Her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his arms as she fought to get even closer.

She moaned as his tongue licked into her mouth, as he bent her to him and plundered the deepest reaches of her soul, leaving no part of her unclaimed. Untasted.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Blood pounded in her ears. She was hot and weak and needy, her body clenching and quivering in anticipation.

He groaned, a deep guttural sound that made her heart flip, and dug his fingers through her hair to grip the back of her head, shifting the angle to kiss her even deeper.

She could feel the hardness of his manhood pressing against her insistently. He started to circle his hips to hers, and she made a sound of pure pleasure at the sweet friction. Heat clenched between her legs. She could feel her body softening, weakening, opening for him.

The memories of passion were visceral and immediate. She wanted him inside her, right here, right now. She wanted him to lift her skirt, press her up against the wall, and surge deep inside. She wanted to feel him moving, thrusting, slamming harder and harder. She wanted to feel the sweet crest of passion, feel her body spasming around him. And she wanted to hear him cry out. To see him stiffen. To see his face tense with the force of his passion.

And he wanted it, too. His hand was on her hips, her bottom, sliding up over her stomach to cup her breasts, her—

Stomach. Her mind caught up a fraction of a second too late to stop him.

He stilled.

For one long heartbeat nothing happened. She waited. In a moment of desperate self-delusion, she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t noticed.

But the calm was only a harbinger of the strength of the storm to come. When he lifted his gaze and his eyes fell on hers, the wrath was upon her.