The buildings seemed to fly by in a delightful blur. If Wolfe was in the company of any friends whom Hamish knew, Hamish was driving far too quickly to ascertain.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Hamish said.

“I know,” Georgiana said. “I just was upset.”

“Garnet Valentina.” Hamish’s voice was rich with amusement.

Georgiana flushed. “It was the first name I could think of.”

“It’s not a name that springs easily to my mind.”

Georgiana squared her shoulders. “Well, that’s because you weren’t just reading The Dashing Man and the Spanish Princess. Miss Valentina is the heroine of that story.”

“Ah...” Hamish smiled, but Georgiana was hesitant, as if expecting malice to appear in his eyes.

None did.

“That was clever,” Hamish said.

“Oh?”

“Wolfe completely believed your pirate past.”

“You’re teasing me,” Georgiana said.

People didn’t confuse her with seductive sirens. She was a Butterworth, the child of a long string of vicars.

They expected her to sing hymns and arrange flowers. Sirens weren’t assumed to have much knowledge of gardening. Any flowers they had were brought by suitors and not planted beside sensible vegetable patches.

She’d never lied like that. Perhaps she’d let Hamish believe that she was her younger sister, but she never would have introduced the idea.

And yet, today, she’d conjured a person. Her lips moved upward. She supposed she had had a bit of help from Loretta Van Lochen.

Hamish directed the horses into a posting inn, and then he helped her from the coach. She touched his hand, and warmth shot through her as he guided her down the steps. The man affected her effortlessly. She’d noticed the handsome manner in which Lord McIntyre had styled his hair and the fashionable cut of his attire, but it was Hamish who caused her heart to quicken. When she reached the cobblestones, she glanced up, only to find that she was far too near him. His cravat was not supposed to brush against her nose, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Her heart wasn’t supposed to quicken, and her breath wasn’t supposed to either. It was a shame that the first time she’d been alone with a man, it had to be one such as Hamish. It would be far more convenient if they’d despised each other.

Georgiana did her best to think about things she abhorred about Hamish, but all the things that she’d most hated about him, she now understood. Perhaps he’d broken into her room and waved coin before her eyes, but he’d been trying to act best for both his brother and the woman he’d thought had inappropriately claimed him. He hadn’t tried to threaten his brother’s bride; he’d offered to set her up to live independently for the rest of her life. Other men would not be so generous.

“I’m not a seductress.” She laughed, conscious that it sounded too high pitched.

Hamish didn’t smile.

Instead, his eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t be too certain.”

His voice sounded hoarse, almost husky, and she glanced up quickly.

“You must have thought me ridiculous,” she said.

“I didn’t.” Hamish’s eyes were serious, and Georgiana’s heart soared. “Indeed you’re the most seductive woman I’ve ever come across.”

Her eyes widened.

Memories of that kiss, that wonderful, delightful kiss, thrummed through her.

Hamish had spent time with her.

He’d traveled with her.

They’d made conversation, not guided by the interests of her mother and convention, which tended to be heavy on musings over the weather and the preferred method of drinking tea.

She averted her eyes.

He was being polite.

It was an instinct that shouldn’t surprise her. She knew now that he was dutiful, even if his actions might seem absurd. Men were always complimenting women’s appearances, as if remarking on a shade of locks or eye color could be the same as actual conversation.

And yet his voice did sound huskier than before.

Though, then again, her voice did as well. Perhaps it was the weather. Perhaps the thick floral fragrance in the air was irritating their eyes, and Georgiana was considering that he might actually like her even though there was a scientific, and decidedly unromantic reason for the lowering of his voice.

His gaze roamed her features. “That hair—”

“Is too red,” Georgiana finished.

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s vibrant. Like a flame.”

The man’s gaze remained intense.

Smoldering.

The space between them was narrow, and for a wild moment she thought Hamish might close the gap even farther. Wind fluttered against her dress, and she shivered.

She was unsure whether she’d trembled because of the frigid temperature or because of Hamish’s presence, but Hamish’s expression immediately changed.

“Let’s get you inside.” He headed for the inn. People were sitting outside it, gazing at them curiously, and warmth flooded Georgiana’s cheeks.

Hamish soon arranged for a room. The innkeeper gave them the key and pointed to a rickety staircase.

One room.

“We must be practically in Gretna Green,” Hamish said.

Georgiana didn’t question why he desired to spend the night here. It would be dark soon. Perhaps Gretna Green accommodations were limited. Likely he was simply being sensible in desiring to wait.

And yet...

Was he perhaps reluctant to end their time traveling?

The thought should have been absurd, but she couldn’t push it away.

Hamish pushed the key in the lock and turned it. They entered a dark room.

Tension seemed to swirl between them, and her heart raced. “It’s a nice room.”

“I thought you would wait until you could see the room before you praised it.”

It was dark.

Warmth crept over Georgiana’s neck. “I-I”

“You’re polite,” Hamish said, and amusement rang in his baritone voice.

Something sounded in the dark, and then candlelight flickered over the room, casting golden rays about the room. “It went out earlier.”

“Oh,” Georgiana said. “That was silly of me.”

“You’re not silly.” He leaned close, and something like desire shone in his eyes.

Something was about to happen.

Georgiana knew she should make an excuse to leave the room.

She should step away and chatter about something the man had no interest in, like table settings or napkin folding trends.

That was the sort of thing her mother and every governess she ever had would recommend.

And yet there was nowhere she would rather be. And even though this moment seemed rife with potential uncertainty, Georgiana remained. The man might as well have conjured her to stone: moving was unthinkable.

Hamish stretched his hand toward her and then ran his fingers through her hair. A thrill thrummed through Georgiana, tumbling straight to her toes, even though hair touching should have absolutely nothing to do with nerve endings in feet.

Hamish’s hands were doing intriguing things, moving from her locks to her dress. Her skin prickled, but in a manner so novel, so full of pleasure, that she could only stare at him, bewildered.

It didn’t seem possible that a hand might wield such power, and yet the only thought that occupied her was where it might stray next.

He coursed his fingers over her dress, veering toward her bosom. Her body ached for him, and in the next moment he brushed his lips against hers.

They kissed.

It was more tentative than the last time they’d kissed.

It meant more.

He pushed her against the wall, and the timber beams pressed against her dress. The action should have felt uncomfortable. Flora would have reminded her to take care of the mesh overlay on her dress, but the only thing that concerned Georgiana was the feel and taste of Hamish’s lips.

Delight soared through her. Chocolate and meringues were poor sources of pleasure when compared to the simple feel of his arms about her. She arched her head up, taking in his towering presence. His shoulders began where her eyes were placed, and she took in the dark strands of his hair and the man’s emerald eyes.

“I desire you,” Hamish growled.

Georgiana’s heartbeat quickened. “Because I said I was Miss Valentina?”

The words were clumsy, and she waited for the man to laugh, but instead he tilted her chin, holding it between his fingers. “No. You’re better. You’re you.”

She must have appeared confused, for he continued. “I’ve never met a braver lassie. You’re clever and quick thinking—”

“And I get myself into trouble,” she interjected.

This time he did smile. “I believe you’re not the only troublemaker in this room.”

“Are you referring to sneaking into my room?”

“I did think you were your sister. But I’m very glad I was wrong.”

His eyes twinkled, and despite all the impropriety, she found herself smiling back.

“You’re loyal,” he added solemnly. “Perhaps you get yourself into some trouble, but it’s only to protect others. And I can’t see that as a bad thing.”

No one had ever viewed her impulsivity in this light before. She was still as he continued to catalogue her advantages, even though no one, ever, took the time to praise her.

“And of course,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

“You mustn’t be polite.”

“I’ll remember that next time I’m confronted with a door when I walk with you.”

Her lips twitched. She had no doubt that Hamish would continue to do the right thing and open it for her.

He was continuing to look at her solemnly. “Your skin is so soft, and your eyes are a vivid shade of brown.”

She decided not to remind him that people seldom raptured about skin that contained freckles and that brown was not a color that most people referred to as vivid. “Dull” and “a shame” were the phrases her relatives had most commonly used when referring to them. Words were things she’d once been able to form, but her throat seemed dry, and speaking seemed an elaborate process impossible to contemplate.

Life consisted only of Hamish and her.

The world had become narrower and yet richer than she’d ever been able to imagine.

“I want to be with you,” Hamish said. “I want to—”

“Yes,” Georgiana said quickly.

He paused. “Are you certain?”

Georgiana knew the correct answer was no... She was from the country. She’d had some independence. One didn’t spend one’s whole life being warned against doing something and then never wonder what that thing entailed. And yet.... Soon they would arrive in Gretna Green, and she would join her sister’s protection, hopefully now imbued with all the dignity of a married woman. How could Georgiana return to her quiet life now? Would her parents be grateful that at least one daughter had married and whisk her away to the Norfolk countryside? A fate of organizing her father’s library and taking over household duties from her mother had seemed a relief sometime after the end of her second season. She’d grown tired of the assessing looks from the men she was introduced to during the season. She’d been dismissed as too bold, too lively, without the virtues of peaches-and-cream skin, flaxen hair, and blue eyes from which might alternatively conjure similes about cerulean skies or azure oceans, depending on their preference.

If her life was to return to the calm of Norfolk, did she want to leave without experiencing everything life had to offer? Being proper wasn’t what had compelled her to board Hamish’s coach in, albeit mistaken, pursuit of her sister. Being proper was something that other people advocated, and something that she suspected was of greater convenience to themselves. Being proper would be a possibility tomorrow once she caught up with her sister. It was not a necessity for tonight.

No.

“I want...everything,” she murmured.

His face lit up, and she hadn’t realized how constrained, how on edge, he must have been.

He pulled her into his arms, but this time, he lifted her and carried her toward the bed. This time she didn’t struggle. This time she only marveled at his strength, and she felt secure in his arms.

“Beds,” he declared, “Are a marvelous invention.”

“Indeed?” she breathed.

“Aye,” he said solemnly. “Particularly on this sort of occasion.”

“And what sort of occasion is that?” she asked, her voice somewhat faint.

“The very best sort.” He placed her on the bed, and she sank against the cool bedspread. The quilted texture prickled her skin, but in the next moment Hamish lay down beside her, drawing her closer to him.

She might desire this, but this was still new, and uncertainty rippled through her.

It wouldn’t do for Hamish to think she was being anything except practical. He might admire her, but he didn’t want to be saddled with a wife, particularly one of the English variety, a strain of British that compelled him to leave no insult unused.

The single tallow candle flickered light about the room, and she angled her head away from it, lest she gaze at Hamish in unbridled adoration and he feel honor-bound to halt their delightful explorations of flesh.

No, it was far better for him to think her merely curious, the sort of thing that had compelled Her Grace, the Duchess of Alfriston, to seek a career in archeology and which had made Miss Louisa Carmichael, the duchess’s sister-in-law study everything she could about marine life. Tonight he should think himself a replacement for a book or of some animal for Georgiana to dissect.

But then he kissed her, and when he lifted his head and smoothed her hair from her face, his gaze seemed to be one of such open wonder, that Georgiana decided that feigning coolness was an unnecessary task when there were so many pleasurable ones: such as kissing every inch of the man’s flesh.

The fire and candlelight flickered golden light over Hamish’s skin, and she inhaled his manly scent. She’d grown accustomed to that peculiar mix of cedar and cotton, but now with their bodies pressed together, she allowed herself to succumb to the novel sensation.