It was both heartwarming and frightening.
He sat down kitty-corner, so they would both have a view out of the window. It brought him close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body washing up against her skin. See the strength of his features, in all their symmetrical beauty.
‘Thank you,’ she said, impulsively.
A brow shot up and he turned to look her full in the face. ‘For what?’
‘For taking me to see the King. For bringing me here.’ She glanced out of the window. Off in the mist she could see the land on the other side of the great slash in the land named the Firth of Forth. She had seen it on maps. But she could never have imagined its stark beauty.
‘I thought him disappointingly ordinary,’ he said with a smile.
He could have said anything, but nothing else would have put her so much at ease. She laughed. ‘You should not talk so about your King.’
‘Aye, well, he is a man too. And a mite over-indulged, I’m thinking. But I’d no be him. All that pomp and ceremony. It would drive a man to drink. Talking of drink, would you like wine or tea?’
The maid who had entered stood waiting to hear her answer. Wine would be more in character, but with this man she needed all her wits. ‘Tea, please.’
‘And scones?’ the girl asked, looking at Logan.
‘Aye, scones, and cold meats and cheese.’ he said. ‘And I’ll have ale, if you please.’
The girl bobbed her head and left.
‘The fresh air has made you hungry,’ she commented.
His smile was rueful. ‘I don’t deny I’m sharp set. But it is auld George there I blame. I was scarce outa my bed when I heard he was to disembark today. I had a fine job of it to find a carriage at such short notice and no time to break my fast.’
‘Then the blame is mine. For if you had not promised to bring me, you would not have had to miss your breakfast.’
An angelic smile curved his lips and she felt her heart quake.
‘The pleasure was mine, Charity.’
A foolish girl’s blush heated her face. A blush! How could this be?
The maid saved her by entering with a tea tray, swiftly followed by a male servant with the food they had ordered. In the hustle and bustle of setting down the food and arranging the plates, she regained her composure.
But a blush. She was mortified.
The servants left and he helped her to a scone and butter. She refused the meats and the cheese. He filled his plate, eating heartily, but with perfect manners.
She sipped her tea and nibbled her scone.
After a draught of ale, he glanced at her plate. ‘You should eat more.’
Food held no interest. She ate to live. Not the other way round. She took another bite just to please him, surprised to notice how well the little scone tasted.
He nodded as if pleased. As if he cared whether she ate or not. When in reality he had only one thing on his mind and it had been shimmering in the air since they walked in this room. He wanted her.
And she would say no. She was positive she would.
But there was no tension in her decision. No fear he would not accept her refusal with grace and honour. A strangely comforting thought. And that she could not like.
To restore her faith in herself, she would torment him a little, before he had her answer. Make him pay for her temptation. It was only fair.
She stroked his upper arm lightly, as if to get his attention, and was surprised by the tingles in her fingers. ‘Tell me more about your family,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘You said you have brothers, so more than one?’
‘Aye. There were four of us growing up. My second oldest brother disappeared in America.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘It was years ago.’
Yet he still felt the loss. She could tell from the note in his voice. As much as she felt hers, though as far as she knew none of her family had met such a final end.
‘But your other brothers are well and married, I think you said.’
‘Aye.’ His expression brightened. ‘And very happy they are, too. My older brother is the Laird. He married an Englishwoman.’ He grimaced a little.
‘That does not please you?’
‘Our families were enemies. But she’s a good woman. Good for Ian. It is no’ my place to be pleased or displeased.’
‘And he runs the distillery?’
‘Aye.’
‘How do you manage to avoid the authorities?’ She managed an admiring expression, the sort of simpering face men expected.
‘We would do it under the law if we could.’ He grinned. ‘Which would put an end to my adventures.’
‘You like it,’ she said. ‘The danger.’
His eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘It was all I ever wanted as a lad. To be allowed to go along with my brothers. Now I’m the only one in the trade.’
‘How is that?’
‘Ian and Niall have families. They are needed at home.’
‘But surely it is just as dangerous making it as transporting it. There are revenue agents everywhere, Jack tells me.’
‘Gaugers, aye. But as far as they are concerned our still is legal. And there isna’ a man in Dunross to tell them otherwise.’ He sounded proud. Of his brother. Of his family. Of his clan. A man who knew his place in the world.
Where she had none. Or rather what she had she hated. She quelled the dismal thought, focusing on his puzzling words instead. ‘Are you saying there is some trick to it?’
His eyes narrowed a fraction as if she was pressing him too hard. ‘All O’Banyon needs to know is that we can deliver what he wants.’
He assumed she was spying for Jack. Let him. It would obscure the truth. ‘And you will get the whisky across the border.’
‘Aye.’
‘Your other brother, the lawyer, he approves?’
‘Niall and I don’t agree on much.’
Dissension in the family? Jack might find that of some interest.
She broke off another piece of scone and popped it in her mouth with a careless smile that said she’d held up her end of polite conversation and now it was his turn.
He gazed at her silently, as if trying to think of something to say.
‘What brought you here?’ he asked, his voice so gentle it raked at a raw place in her chest she hadn’t known was there. She could barely remember the last time anyone had been interested in her as a person.
A shiver trembled in her bones. She stiffened. Froze. She angled her body and gazed at him from beneath lowered lashes, smiling at the concern in his face, the interest. ‘Why, Logan, did you not just drive me here?’
Clearly dazzled, as he should be, he blinked. But he was not easily diverted. ‘Not here. To this inn. To this life? To Jack O’Banyon. A woman of your sort deserves far more.’
‘A woman of my sort?’ she asked with dangerous quiet and a glittering smile. ‘Do you judge what sort of woman I am?’
Answering a question with a question. Accompanied by a smile that promised everything a man could ever want from a woman. A confusing combination for any man, she’d learned.
Not this one. His gaze was sharp and clear and painfully direct. He put his hand over hers, a comforting touch, and she wished she had kept her gloves on for protection. The sensation tingled under her skin, trickled warmth through her veins, all the way to her belly. Her flesh yearned to be held, to be stroked, to be treasured. It was a lie. A trick.
She held still, as if she had not noticed the growing warmth in the room. The heat between them.
And then he lifted her hand in his, carefully, as if it could be broken by his greater strength. Eyes fixed on her face, he turned it over and, bending his head, touched his lips to her palm. A wa
rm velvety brush of his mouth against sensitive skin. A whisper of hot breath. Sensual. Melting.
Her insides clenched. Her heart stopped, then picked up with a jolt and an uneven rhythm. She felt like a girl again, all hot and bothered and unsure. And full of such longings. Such desires.
But the woman inside her knew better. She craved all that kiss offered. The heat. The bliss. Carnal things, that shamed her. Things she had resolved never to want again. They left her vulnerable. A challenge she could not let go unanswered. To do so would be to admit he had touched her somehow.
‘Charity,’ he said softly, as he lifted his head to look at her, still cradling her hand in his large warm one, his thumb gently stroking. ‘Never in my life have I met a woman like you.’
The words rang with truth. And they pleased her. She leaned closer and touched her lips to his, let them linger, cling softly, urging him to respond. And he did. Gently at first, with care, as if he thought she might take offence, or be frightened. Then more forcefully, his mouth moving against hers as he angled his head, his free hand coming up to cradle her nape while the other retained its hold. The feel of his gentle wooing of her mouth sent little thrills spiralling outward from low in her belly. On a gasp she opened her mouth and, with little licks and tastes and deep rumbling groans in his chest, he explored her mouth. The gentleness of it was her undoing.
The way he delved and plundered her mouth as if making the discovery for the very first time was incredibly alluring. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought this was his first time. Passion hummed in her veins. Dizzied her mind. Sent her tumbling into a blaze of desire.
He drew back, his chest rising and falling as if he too could not breathe, his gaze searching her face. And she melted in the heat in his eyes.
Horrified by such unbridled responses, she fought to hide her reactions. She managed a long slow smile before striking. ‘I doubt this is the sort of partnership O’Banyon had in mind.’
She had the dubious pleasure of watching his lips thin and his jaw harden. Not quite so angelic now. She braced herself for rough words. Welcomed the proof he was no different from other men.
He put her hand down until it once more rested on the pristine white cloth beside her plate of crumbs. As he released her hand, she felt the loss deeply and smiled at her girlish foolishness. He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Let me help you.’
‘Help me?’ She let her lip curl in derision. ‘If I did need help, which I do not, what help would I get from a smuggler?’
‘You don’t belong in this life. What you are doing to yourself is wrong.’
Doing to herself? Yes. Hers was the blame. The weakness. Hers the punishment, too. And deservedly so. Stupidity had its own reward.
Yet somehow he had sensed this was not what she wanted. Was he offering more? Afraid of what she might see in his face, she looked out of the window to the gulls wheeling free above the turbulent water. ‘You are offering me a cottage beside the sea, no doubt. And occasional visits from a Highland gentleman.’
Silence confirmed her suspicion. ‘I would die of boredom in a week.’ She covered a yawn to hide her sadness. ‘Indeed, I’m already bored.’
His face darkened as her knife struck home. ‘Then it is time we returned to the city.’
She pouted. ‘Do you think so?’ She picked up her gloves and put them on, drawing the cool, buttery-soft leather over the still-searing brand of his touch on her hand. Yet still those unwelcome shivers chased over her skin. Longing. Desire. Along with the knowledge that the touch of this wild bold Scot drove her to want things she’d long ago decided to do without.
She’d spent too long hardening her armour against such longings. To let them in now, with him, would be the worst mistake of her life. She would never survive when he realised she had betrayed him. Because as much as she wanted him, she was bound to Jack. A hard lump formed in her chest. ‘Then by all means, let us go.’
* * *
The coachman whipped the horses into a steady trot. Logan resisted the temptation to look at the woman who sat languidly, so unmoved beside him.
So she found him dull. Boring. Like hell she did. But for a man who lived by his wits he’d been remarkably obtuse. It was not his place to pry. Or to tease her with kisses. And especially not to seek out the vulnerable woman he’d glimpsed beneath her brittle shell, like a child digging out a winkle with a pin.
He should have left well alone and accepted her for who she was. She had gone from friendly and warm to distrustful in a single breath. And she should mistrust him, he thought bitterly. She meant nothing to him but his path to Jack’s business for his family.
This other thing, the slow burn of heat left from delving deep into her mouth, was something neither of them should or would admit. Lust did not drive him. It was simply an inconvenience. Something he had no trouble ignoring. Usually.
Right now it was not easy.
Ahead the gatekeeper rushed to open the way for them. He tossed the man a sixpence as they bowled through.
The silence between them was something he could almost touch. A physical barrier. And he needed to break it down before it became insurmountable.
Other women were easy to charm—a smile, a compliment, a teasing remark and they melted to his flattery. But she was not like other women. This one did not fall for easy blandishments. She fended them off with a sharp-edged tongue. And he liked the challenge almost as much as he liked those rare real smiles of hers.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I overstepped my boundaries.’
The tension left her body. He felt it in the air, though she said nothing, and breathed a sigh of relief. He kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead. No sense in saying more and losing the ground he’d gained.
They turned on to a road that would take them around Leith. Her wistful glance back over her shoulder at the sea revealed far more of her feelings than words ever would. More than she probably realised. He tucked the knowledge away.
She stared off to their left. ‘Is that a golf links?’
‘It is. A fine and famous one at that. Leith Links.’
She frowned. ‘Don’t tell me you are another man who spends his time hitting a little ball from one hole to another?’
He laughed at the indignation in her tone. ‘It sounds as if you do not care for the game. Does Jack play?’
‘Yes. When he can. For hours.’
More useful information. ‘’Tis said King Charles was playing here when he heard about the Irish rebellion.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye.’
‘Perhaps King George will follow suit.’
‘I doubt he could walk sae far. They’d have to put him up on a horse.’
‘Poor horse.’
They both laughed at the image. And suddenly things were comfortable again. As if they had never kissed.
‘I am thinking the man is not so energetic as to play a round,’ he said. Edinburgh lay before them in the distance. The castle on the mountain, the Palace at its foot and the tenements of old town between.
Once more cheerful crowds of pedestrians brought their progress to a crawl and for the rest of the drive they chatted like polite acquaintances as he pointed out the sights of the city. Logan felt redeemed in her eyes. Somewhat.
And there he would have to leave it. A wise man let a sleeping dog lie and this one had a bite that could damage his family’s plans. But for that, he might have been tempted to chance his luck.
Which in and of itself was a surprise. Oh, he liked women well enough. Too much for his peace of mind. But he’d learned that the tricky wee things had their own ideas about right and wrong. He’d paid a heavy price to learn that lesson and wasn’t about to forget it. Not even with a woman as beautiful as this one. Yet he had forgotten for a moment back at the inn. And he had the fee
ling he might be tempted again, if he wasn’t very careful.
* * *
When they reached her hotel, he helped her down. ‘Mrs Donaldson will bring your gowns tomorrow morning for a fitting.’
An expression of understanding crossed her face, the knowledge that Mrs Donaldson would sooner wait on her here, than have her in her shop. She made a small gesture with one hand. Acceptance.
It made his blood run hot. Anger on her behalf.
She gave him a rueful smile as if she sensed his annoyance, but her gaze was temptingly warm when it rested on his face. ‘Would you care to come up to our parlour? Jack may have returned by now.’
And if he hadn’t? The limit of his control had been reached during that kiss. More hours alone in her company, in a private apartment no less, would likely tip him over the edge of reason. And pleasant as the idea might be, and as much as he liked danger, he knew when discretion was the better part of valour.
He won against the temptation, barely, and took her hand in his. ‘I am otherwise engaged, I am afraid.’
The disappointment on her face was a surprise. But was it real or was it feigned? How to be sure? And if O’Banyon was not there, as he suspected, he would return at some point. No, definitely not a good idea. Not at the moment.
He bowed. ‘Perhaps you and Mr O’Banyon would like to join me for dinner this coming Saturday. Otherwise we are not scheduled to meet again until next week’s Drawing Room.’
‘I will speak to Jack about his plans.’ She spoke calmly, but there was a slight crease of worry between her brows. Because she did not want to meet, or because she did? Or was it worry about O’Banyon?
He contained his curiosity and gave her an untroubled smile. ‘I shall look forward to hearing your answer, then. Send word by way of my brother’s office, in New Town. Niall Gilvry, Lord Aleyne.
Falling for the Highland Rogue Page 8