One Night With the Laird (10 page)

“I can’t believe how I feel,” she whispered. She sounded confused, doubtful. She also sounded very young and inexperienced, and it gave Jack an odd pang of doubt. He wondered if he had misjudged her and all her sophistication was nothing but a facade.

“How do you feel?” he asked. He did not expect her to answer. She was too guarded in her emotions to be open with him. Yet now she looked at him with a dawning sense of wonder that, had he not been a complete cynic, might have made him feel like a god.

“I feel hot and dizzy and a little bit drunk,” she admitted.

Jack smiled. He could not help himself. So her sainted husband had evidently not been perfect at all. He had clearly been perfectly useless when it came to sex.

“You sound like a debutante after her first kiss,” he said, then regretted his words as the soft light vanished completely from her eyes.

“There is nothing of the debutante about me,” she said crisply.

“That’s true.” He caught her hand and pulled her around to face him. “When I asked you about that night in Edinburgh,” he said, his voice a little rough, “you said you did not know that it was me. Was that true too?”

Her lashes flickered down. He felt her tremble. “Yes,” she whispered.

Jack felt a savage disappointment. He had been so sure she had been lying, but by her own admission she had brazenly set out that night to seduce a man, any man. The vulnerability he had sensed in her just now had been a product of his imagination. He had seen it because he had wanted it to be so.

He was not sure why he felt so disappointed. He had no interest in anything other than possessing her.

“I wanted to forget everything that night,” she said. He saw her throat move as she swallowed convulsively. “I was looking for oblivion.”

Jack remembered her tears. Without a doubt she must have been missing Archie MacLeod, with whom she had shared a marriage, a relationship far deeper than a mere affair. He tried to find some compassion, but all he was able to feel was a fierce pang of jealousy—jealousy for her loyalty to her husband and an even less admirable fury that she had set out to drown her grief in the arms of any man who served her purpose. Someone other than he might have taken her; she would have made love with someone else the same way she had done with him, with heat and passion and abandonment.

“Well,” he said harshly, “next time you will be in no doubt that it is me.” He kissed her again. He still felt angry and he let it show in the way he took her mouth, took it and plundered it until she was gasping.

He loosed her, but only so he could look down into her eyes. “You need to understand,” he said harshly. “If you agree to be my mistress, then I want everything. Everything I ask you must give me.”

She was trembling, but not from fear. She nodded.

“Say it,” Jack said.

“I agree,” she whispered, and he felt again that flash of vicious triumph.

He released her. “I’ll travel with you,” he said coolly. “As we are betrothed. One of your men can ride my horse.”

He saw her bite her lip. Her dislike of him taking control was a tangible thing. He could feel the antagonism coming off her in waves. Still, antagonism so often made the conquest all the sweeter. She had used him. Now it was his turn.

* * *

M
AIRI
HAD
NEVER
been more aware of a man in her entire life. He sprawled on the seat opposite, totally at ease, totally in command, his broad shoulders resting against the cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him and casually crossed at the ankle. He was indecently handsome. In confined quarters the effect those spectacular good looks had on her was most uncomfortable. There was a dangerous heat spreading slowly through her body, and her heart bumped hard in her chest. He was not looking at her, but it felt as though he was. It felt as though he was thinking about all the things they were going to do together—all the wicked, wanton, exciting things she craved and yet feared at the same time. She did not understand why she was so attracted to Jack Rutherford and she did not like it, but she was at a loss to know how to prevent it. There was no point in pretending that she had been coerced into this situation. Jack had made an indecent proposal and she agreed, not just for the protection of his name but because ever since that night in Edinburgh her senses had been thirsting for more. She felt as though she had been living in flat black-and-white and Jack had given her not only color but taste and texture too.

Their eyes met briefly and Mairi felt a tug of sensual awareness. She shook her head sharply. All she seemed able to think about was Jack and that moment he would choose to enforce her side of their bargain. Perhaps even here, now, in the carriage... Her eyes flew to his face and she realized that he was looking at her. In fact, he was laughing at her. He had read her thoughts.

“I have more finesse than that, I assure you.” His words were a low, amused drawl. “Though sex in a carriage can be a stimulating experience. Have you tried it?”

“No.” She turned her face away, very aware that she was blushing. It was odd that when she had picked him up in Edinburgh she had felt so brazen and confident yet now she was quite the reverse. She looked back on that night as something she could not quite explain, something shocking. She had felt so lonely and bereft, so very alone, that she had acted in a way she barely recognized. She did not want to explain that to Jack, though. Such a confession would lead inevitably to questions about her relationship with Archie, and that was not something she ever wanted to discuss, least of all with Jack. The painful secrets that were Archie’s legacy weighed down on her. She could not trust Jack with the truth. She trusted no one.

She stared hard at the passing scenery, not really seeing it through the sheen of tears in her eyes. Confusion was not an emotion she was familiar with. From the earliest age she had taken control of her life, of her marriage and then of Archie’s estates and her inheritance. Everything had been clear and ordered and she had been the one ordering it.

She felt hot and disturbed, and she did not want Jack to know. She might give him her body as the price of his protection, but she was never going to allow him into her mind.

She turned her thoughts toward Michael Innes and the danger he posed. The thought of him taking her to court filled her with a cold dread. It would be shameful enough to have her own life held up to scrutiny and criticism—demeaning, painful and embarrassing for her family. But that was as nothing compared to the damage Innes could do if he discovered and disclosed the secrets of Archie’s past. Lady MacLeod’s health was even more fragile than her husband’s, and the shame of the disgrace would destroy her. Their daughter, Eleanor, the only child the MacLeods had left, would be tainted by the scandal too, left with no hopes of marriage. Innes would take the money and the land and undo all that Archie had tried to achieve. Archie had relied on her to keep his estates and his people safe. She could not bear to fail him and betray his trust.

She glanced at Jack. His face was set and dark as though his thoughts were far away. He looked hard, uncompromising. She knew from the little her sister Lucy had told her of Robert and Jack’s business dealings abroad that he could be ruthless and determined. In truth, she would have known that about him anyway. Beneath the elegance and charm, Jack Rutherford was as hard as nails. She wondered suddenly what had made him so. She knew nothing of his past. She knew very little of him at all other than that he was Robert’s cousin and the Dowager Lady Methven’s grandson. People spoke of his business interests and his fortune and his estates but never of the man or his background.

She wondered what on earth the Dowager Lady Methven would have to say when she heard about the betrothal, Robert and Lucy too. She did not want to lie to her family, yet she could hardly tell the truth.

She thought about Jack touching her with casual possession, the intimacy of his use of her name. She would be obliged to tolerate his behavior without complaint when he treated her as though she were his betrothed. It felt like a great deal more than she was prepared to give. Then she thought of what else she would have to give him, her body, without reservation or restraint. Her stomach dropped at the thought and a mixture of apprehension and wicked anticipation spiked through her. She pressed her fingers to her hot cheeks.

“We will be stopping at the Kinlochewe Inn soon,” Jack said. “I thought we could stay there tonight.”

It was the last stop before Methven. Mairi half wanted to press on to their destination, but it was another couple of hours on bad roads and at the end of it there would be too many explanations. Her head ached again, fiercely. She put a hand up to her forehead and rubbed it absentmindedly.

Jack was watching her. “What is the matter?” he said.

“My head hurts,” Mairi said shortly, “and I am very tired. I would appreciate some privacy this evening—unless you insist on claiming me as your mistress immediately.”

A wicked smile tilted the corner of Jack’s lips. “The prospect of making love to a woman with a sick headache does not really appeal to me,” he drawled. “Besides, anticipation adds an edge to desire.”

Mairi turned her face away again, but she could feel her already hot cheeks heating even more. The carriage clattered through the gateway into the inn yard. Jack helped her down, holding her against him for a moment as her feet touched the ground. His hand was in the small of her back and he held her still while he kissed her. He took his time. Mairi’s face was flaming when he let her go. She knew he had made sure that everyone saw. Jack Rutherford had claimed her and everyone would know it.

CHAPTER TEN

J
ACK
COULD
NOT
sleep. Normally he slept well, but tonight he was restless. He tossed and turned, knotting the sheets in a tourniquet about him, throwing the covers off, pulling them on as the chill of early morning settled on the room. The reason for his discomfort was not far to seek. She was about four feet away through the thin wall.

Prior to that evening he had not been aware that he had a conscience. He had done plenty of things in his life of which most men would be ashamed, and yet he had never felt a hint of regret. He prided himself on his ruthlessness and his ability to take what he wanted, using whatever means were at his disposal. He had thought that this was no different, that he was entirely justified in driving a hard bargain and demanding from Mairi the one thing he wanted. She had used him. Now it was his turn. Yet he felt no triumph. He felt nothing but a sort of emptiness.

This was not how it was meant to be.

Jack stared at the ceiling, at the play of the shadows across the peeling white paint and the cobwebs gently swaying from the beams. He knew Mairi wanted him with a hunger that matched his own. He had felt it in every kiss; she had admitted as much. Yet he also knew that blackmail was not the way to achieve what he wanted. It was not worthy of him. More importantly he wanted Mairi to give herself to him of her own free will.

He was going soft in the head. It was inexplicable.

With a vehement curse he threw back the covers and wandered across to the table, where he poured water from the jug into the bowl and splashed it on his face. He crossed to the window. It stood ajar and he pushed the curtain back to look out over the mountains. A pale mist hung between them as light as gossamer. The sun was rising. It was going to be another beautiful day.

The beat of hooves on the road caught his attention. A lone rider was coming in fast from the west. Early in the morning or late at night, such an arrival usually indicated an urgent message. Jack shrugged himself into his jacket and reached for his boots.

The horseman galloped into the yard below. Looking out, Jack saw Methven livery. He slid out of the bedchamber door, taking care not to wake the rest of the inn’s occupants, but as he made for the stairs someone moved in the shadows. His hand went instinctively to his sword and then he recognized the glimmer of light on her face. It was Mairi. Her hair was down in a cloud of dark auburn. Her feet were bare beneath the lace trim of her nightgown. She wore nothing else but a shawl about her shoulders, and in the flat morning light she looked pale and so vulnerable that Jack’s heart gave a strange jolt. With a soft oath he let his blade slide back into its sheath.

“I saw the messenger from Methven,” she said. “I’m coming down with you.”

“Looking like that?” Jack said. “One glance and he will forget the nature of his message.” His gaze slid over her. One curl had slipped beneath the delicately embroidered neckline of her nightgown and was nestling in the valley between her breasts. He could see their rounded shape beneath the fine cotton and the darker outline of her nipples rubbing against the material. His gaze dropped lower to the shadow at the juncture of her thighs. Suddenly all tenderness in him fled, replaced by desire. He felt his body harden into arousal. His eyes met hers, dark and hot, and he saw there the same flare of primitive need. It was like the previous time, only much more fierce.

He took a step toward her, all thoughts of the messenger and his letter forgotten, but in that instant he saw Mairi’s body stiffen. She stepped back, twitching the shawl defensively about her shoulders, clutching it tight in her fist. The gesture made Jack’s heart jolt again. Instead of wanting to rip the nightgown from her and take her against the wall, he found he wanted to wrap her up tightly and protect her. The switch from predator to protector threw him completely. He cursed under his breath.

“I’ll come and tell you the news as soon as I’ve spoken to him,” he said abruptly.

For a moment he thought Mairi was going to insist on accompanying him, but then she gave a nod that was equally abrupt and backed toward her bedchamber door. “Thank you,” she said. Then she spoiled it. “See that you do,” she added sharply.

Grinning, Jack went downstairs, where the yawning landlord was pulling back the bolts in response to the messenger’s knock. Ten minutes later the man was taking breakfast to set him up for the journey back to Methven and Jack was climbing the stair again, letter in hand, and knocking on the door of Mairi’s chamber.

“Come in here,” he said, gesturing to his own room next door. He did not want her maid interrupting them.

In the time he had been gone, she had taken the hint and now she was completely swathed in a red velvet cloak. Not an inch of bare skin was visible other than her face. Strangely Jack found that there was something mysterious and seductive about her even when she was fully covered. The red velvet rippled sinuously around her slender body and clashed vividly with the red hair that still tumbled about her shoulders. She looked glorious. He found himself transfixed by the shimmer and flow of the velvet and by the knowledge of what lay beneath the rich material.

Hell. His concentration was shot to pieces and all because this woman seemed to be able to command his responses simply by existing. It was a novel experience for him to find himself so much at the mercy of his emotions and he did not like it at all, but there was not much he seemed able to do about it. He allowed her to precede him into the room and shut the door behind her.

She turned, waiting for him to speak, her eyebrows arched in imperious demand. When he did not her expression dissolved into anxiety.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Lucy—the children—are they quite well?”

There was so much concern in her voice that Jack cursed himself for worrying her.

“Everyone at Methven is well.” He saw her expression relax at his words. She smoothed the cloak; her fingers were shaking.

“Thank God,” she said.

“Rob was sending a warning, though,” Jack said. “Your cousin, Wilfred Cardross, has escaped from Edinburgh Jail. Rob wanted us to be aware in case Cardross should spring an attack.”

Mairi was frowning. She sat down on the edge of her bed. “You think that Wilfred might attack us on the journey? And so close to Methven?”

“Since he bears a grudge against both our families,” Jack said dryly, “I would not be at all surprised.” He and Robert had sprung the trap that had captured Wilfred Cardross three years before. Mairi’s brother, Lachlan, was now master of the Cardross estates through his marriage to Dulcibella. There were more than enough reasons, Jack thought, for Cardross to bear a fierce resentment.

“Dismiss your men and ride with me this morning,” he said. “Cardross will be expecting you to be traveling in the coach. It is a sitting target. You’ll be safer with me.”

He saw temptation gleam in her eyes, saw a quicksilver flash of excitement before it faded and died. Earlier in the journey he had found himself wondering whether all spontaneity had been ironed out of Mairi’s life by her formidable control. Now he could see that beneath those layers of restraint there was still a spark of wildness. He wanted to strike that spark to a blaze.

“Do it,” he said. His voice was rough. “You know you want to.”

Her head was bent and she would not meet his eyes, but he could feel the indecision in her like a thread pulled taut. For a moment he thought she was going to accept and his heart surged, but then she looked away and shook her head.

“That would be foolish,” she said, “and dangerous. I’ll be safer in the coach.”

Jack came toward her. “What are you afraid of?” he asked softly. “I’ve told you I will protect you.”

He heard her breath catch, a tiny sound. He was so close to her now that he could see the way that her breasts rose and fell with the quick shaky breaths she took. Once again she would not meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” Jack said.

She looked up then. Her blue eyes were dark and wide, full of shadows.

“What are you afraid of?” he repeated.

“I’m afraid of being alone with you,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of how you make me feel.”

Suddenly they were not speaking of the ride to Methven or the danger posed by Wilfred Cardross and he had never wanted a woman so desperately in his entire life.

His fingers captured her chin and turned her face up to his. Despite the raging need he had for her, he waited, gave her time to move away. Instead she pressed a little closer to him, unconsciously, instinctively. The red velvet cloak rubbed sensually against his body.

Raw lust exploded in him and he kissed her. He had wanted to be gentle at first, but hunger overrode tenderness and instead he kissed her hard and felt her instant response. It was a response that threatened to push them both over the brink too soon, too quickly. Jack felt as though he were sliding into an abyss. There was an edge of desperation in him that he simply did not recognize.

Fighting for breath, he drew back a little.

“May I—” His voice was ragged. He wanted her—now—but just as earlier, what mattered more to him was that she agreed, with no coercion, no doubt and no reluctance. Only yesterday he had thought he could override her feelings. Now he realized that he had been a blatant fool.

This time her response was not immediate. Silence fell for one second, two. Jack was just starting to wish he had not asked and risked rejection when she spoke.

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

It was the
please
that undid him.

* * *

J
ACK
PICKED
HER
up and dropped her in the center of the bed. Mairi was quite unprepared for the suddenness of it. The mattress springs protested as she landed and the eiderdown almost engulfed her. She lay on her back, arms and legs spread like a starfish, the red velvet cloak flying wide, her nightgown riding up about her thighs.

She saw the laughter in Jack’s eyes vanish and her throat dried as his gaze narrowed, sliding over her from the hair that tumbled about her shoulders, over the low, lacy embroidered neckline of the nightgown and down to where her nipples pressed against the silk, and then lower still. Her heart had already been thumping so hard she had been afraid that she would faint. Now heat exploded through her body and with it a sort of shyness that she lay so open to his gaze. She started to move her arms down, but Jack was too quick for her, pinning her wrists above her head and holding them there in one hand while his knee came down between her legs, forcing them apart.

For a long moment she stared up into his face. He was so close now that she could see the stubble on his lean cheek and the thick gold of his lashes. She could see too the way his eyes had darkened with concentrated desire. It made her stomach tumble over and over.

It was too late for regrets and she was not sure she felt them anyway. Instead of discipline and restraint she felt wanton longing as heady as wine. She wanted another taste of wicked delight in a barren existence.

Jack leaned closer. His lips touched hers gently this time with none of the fierce need that had swept them up earlier. He took his time with sweet teasing kisses that promised so much yet always seemed to hold a little back. Before long she was panting and eager. She wanted to reach for him, but still he held her in that inexorable grip, her wrists above her head, as he drove her step by slow step toward the most delicious bliss.

A part of her that Mairi had thought she had buried sprang to life. She could neither understand nor control the feelings she had for Jack Rutherford. They stormed through her and swept aside everything but desire.

She had lost her shyness now. It had been destroyed by the need to satisfy the excruciating ache that frustrated her. She no longer felt mortified that she was lying prone beneath Jack with little but a flimsy layer of near-transparent silk between them. She wished the silk to perdition, wished that Jack would release her hands so that she could touch him, wished that he would move his leg just an inch upward to the junction of her thighs so that she could press shamelessly against him and relieve that hot carnal pulse that beat inside her. And he must have known, damn him, because he deliberately moved back a little when she arched upward and he kept kissing her, deeper now so that she was hot and restless and squirming on the bed. Her skin felt too heated and too sensitive. She was acutely responsive to the touch of his mouth on hers, wanting to feel him everywhere.

He drew back a little. The world spun. The morning light seemed too bright against Mairi’s closed lids, her body aching, trembling.

“Open your eyes,” Jack said. His voice was harsh though the kiss that punctuated the words was tender. “I want you to know it’s me this time.”

Mairi opened her eyes. The look in his eyes was harsh, as well; there was anger there and she knew in an instant that he had not forgiven her for the previous time when she had sought oblivion with any man, any lover. He still blamed her for that, as though she should belong to him alone. Yet there was gentleness in him too. He softened his grip on her wrists at last and then swept his hands down over her shoulders in a soft caress, pushing the silk nightgown aside, leaning down to kiss the hollow of her collarbone, the hot skin of her neck, the dip at the base of her throat. Mairi wriggled, feeling the sensual slip of the silk against her breasts almost, but not quite, as tantalizing as a lover’s touch.

“Please...” She arched again.

Jack’s hands stilled on her shoulders, warm and sure. Then he took hold of the front of the nightgown and tore it straight down to her navel, so fast and so violent that she cried out. Cold morning air flowed over her skin, hardening her nipples to tighter buds. Jack pushed the scraps of silk aside and took one tip in his mouth, tugging, licking and sucking on her. His stubble rubbed against her. Mairi’s mind splintered.

“Open your eyes.” His words were a whisper across her skin, enforced with a soft bite to the underside of her breast that was just short of pain. Her body jolted. The sting came again, to her nipple this time. Her whole body twitched. Her lashes flickered.