In the back of his mind, he’d never thought it would truly be his decision as to whether they would move forward with this or not.
When she’d begun packing, Hugh had paced. She’s actually going through with this? Impossible. What if the final choice came down to him? Time and again he weighed the risks, but before he knew it, they were all waiting for him to sign his name to the marriage certificate.
Hugh had heard Rolley mutter to Quin, “Never thought I’d see the day steady MacCarrick’s hand would shake like that.”
How could it not, when Hugh felt he walked upon a razor’s edge between what fate would allow—or punish him for?
And when he risked the only woman he’d ever loved.
After an hour of silence in the coach, Hugh reached over and removed her book from her hands. Before she could gasp her displeasure, he presented her with a glass jewel case, offered in his big palm.
“And what is this?” she asked, though she recognized the R emblem etched in the crystal.
“Take it.”
After a hesitation, she did, then opened it with a nonchalant air. Her heart flipped over like a cart’s wheel.
Inside lay the most gorgeous piece of jewelry she had ever seen.
She stared, light-headed, then gazed up at him. “This…this is wholly unnecessary.” She tried to hand it back, but he wouldn’t take it, and the bewildered look on his face made her hesitate.
“Will you no’ wear it, lass?” he asked incredulously.
He’d obviously never envisioned that she might not accept it. She finally set it on the bench between them. “Hugh, you didn’t have to do this. I know many women who do not have wedding jewelry.”
“You will.”
“I also know many women who don’t like to be given temporary jewelry.”
“What do you mean?”
“We know this will be over soon,” Jane said. “Jewelry, in this case, seems a bit…cruel.”
He shook his head firmly. “You’ll keep it. After.”
After he left her. Again.
“So, did you have this lying around the house, in case of any impromptu weddings?”
“Got it this morning. While you were packing.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her cheek. “Now it all becomes clear. You got it after you guiltily realized that perhaps you shouldn’t have bludgeoned Freddie and manhandled me. You rode out and bought me a very expensive olive branch.”
“You’ve been slighted a grand wedding and all that surrounds it. This is one thing I can control. I wanted to give my friend something befitting her.”
“Are we friends, Hugh?” she asked, her voice sounding sad, even to her.
He stiffened. “I’ve never doubted it.”
She bit her lip at that, then surreptitiously glanced down at the ring case, her hands itching to pick it up. Her father had told her Hugh had saved some money, but Ridergate’s was fantastically expensive, and that ring—classically set with a huge diamond amidst a cluster of emeralds—was oh-so-lavish.
With a sigh, she realized she ought not take it, because Hugh shouldn’t be spending that money on her, no matter how badly she wanted it. Especially when they weren’t to stay wed—
He swooped the case back, surprising her. But he did it only to pluck out the ring and capture her hand. “Wear—it,” he grated.
Was he nervous? Jane could always tell when Hugh was uncomfortable or discomfited because his shoulders went back. They were presently jammed back. “This is what you wanted.”
“Why would you think that?” Had he possibly recalled her description of her dream wedding ring? She nibbled her lip as she awaited his answer.
He muttered, “You told me, lass.”
He remembered? If a man could recall such minute details all these years later, then perhaps they had at least been the friends she’d thought them.
When he slipped it on her finger, she shivered—she didn’t know why. He appeared relieved that she’d accepted it. And now that he was at ease, she began to react to him, finding herself relaxing as well.
No matter how hard she fought it.
Damn him, they’d always been like that—able to settle in with each other in easy companionship. Now it came more slowly, little by little, like a feather wafting down, but in the end, the amity was the same. Damn, damn, damn….
Could a woman miss a man who brought her pain? Then somehow ignore all that pain and be excited to be near him again?
A quick consideration indicated: possibly.
Maybe she was simply grateful that for a space of many minutes, she’d forgotten about her anxious feeling. Or, more likely, she just liked the ring. Typical, typical Jane.
She sighed. A near-acceptance of a proposal and a kiss before nine; a marriage, another kiss, and a ring before noon. She wished she could say that all these had occurred with only one man.
Sixteen
“Be forewarned, Hugh,” Jane said, when he held out his hands to assist her from the carriage. “I will now place my waist into your grip. Please don’t take it as teasing or making merry with fire in any way.”
Ever since she’d entreated him to stop at this inn, he’d been wearing a scowl, and at her words it deepened, a glaring contrast to her own jewelry-induced blithe mood.
When he grasped her waist and swung her down, she asked, “Hugh, why are you so averse to this place? It looks perfectly acceptable.”
Hugh still held her. “It is. But you have to go through the common room to get upstairs.”
“You’ve been here before?” she asked.
He gave a short nod, his dark eyes raking over her décolletage, and she reacted yet again to his avid gaze. All day in the carriage, she’d alternately relaxed and tensed under his stare. After that kiss—which she’d worked to convince herself was a fluke of perfection, a devastating anomaly—she’d felt her breasts grow sensitive, swelling against the lace cups above her corset.
And while he’d studied her today, she’d done so to him, though much more circumspectly. She’d noted that those gashes on his face and the scars on his neck and hands didn’t square with the occupation he professed, nor had the way he’d struck Freddie. Freddie was a tall man, yet Hugh had sent him flying—and he’d done it with the ease of an afterthought.
Jane had been to pugilist matches before and had seen the great, hulking fighters with their meaty fists, yet she’d put everything she owned on Hugh against the lot of them. That didn’t fit. Nor did the way his muscular body had been honed as though from hard labor.
She was convinced that he wasn’t just a businessman. What he might be instead eluded her—
“Can you no’ cover yourself more?” he grated, finally releasing her. “The patrons here have no need to see you.”
“I don’t have any clothing that’s not in my trunks.”
“No’ even for your hair?” He frowned at the loosened tendrils.
She wasn’t a bonnet type of woman, and a hat was impractical for carriage travel. “Hugh, I haven’t complained about the rigorous pace you’ve set. But if you continue to keep me out here in this damp night, famished and weary, I shall begin.”
He exhaled a long breath, took her hand, then dragged her inside as though they were in a race. The common room they entered was, well, common. Boisterous patrons swilled gin and lunged for barmaids. Jane watched, impressed, as one escaped capture with a swift swish of her hips.
Of course, Jane had been in much seedier places before with her cousins. If all of London seemed to be caught up with seeking thrills, then the Eight had made an art form out of successfully locating them. After disguising themselves in men’s clothing and pasting on fake moustaches—which probably served no purpose other than to make them chortle with laughter—they’d visited bawdy wax museums. They’d gambled in the east-end gaming halls. They’d gawked wide-eyed at lascivious pictorial shows.
For Jane, this common room was a bit tame.
When Hugh had to slow to wend through a
crush of patrons, too inebriated to dart out of his way, a drunkard approached Jane. He stumbled after her, leaning in, looking for all the world as if he wanted to lay his head on her breasts.
“Here, Hugh,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You might want to—”
Hugh wheeled around, yanking her behind him, drawing back a fist in one fluid movement. Her eyes went wide, just as the room grew quiet.
She touched his arm and murmured, “Hugh…don’t. It’s hardly sporting.”
Jane’s cousin Sam had once described Jane’s temperament as fierce, but even Jane was startled at Hugh’s deadly demeanor and swift aggression. An importer? And she was the queen of Egyptian artifacts.
When Hugh lowered his fist, the drunk lurched back, mumbling apologies—and, Jane feared, wetting himself a bit.
Hugh kept her locked behind him in a vise-like grip as he scanned the room slowly. It occurred to her that she was with the biggest and most fearsome-looking man in this place. And the patrons all seemed to know it, as they peered at him warily and avoided looking at her altogether.
When Hugh relaxed his hold and turned to offer her his arm, she proudly took it. As the room returned to normal, she and Hugh made their way to a salon off the common room. His body was still thrumming, as if not hitting that clod had taken much from him. She tried to make light of it. “My darling, the perilous world of imports has hardened you—”
“MacCarrick!” a lovely older blonde called as she exited a back room. Her eyes sparkled as she sashayed up to Hugh. “I couldn’t believe it when they said you’d returned to my modest establishment,” she all but purred as she took his hand. She was buxom, with a sexy French accent and a bodice more riskily low-cut than even Jane had ever dared.
Jane now fully comprehended Hugh’s reluctance to stay here. She suspected he and this curvaceous French woman had been lovers.
Hugh extracted his hand from the woman’s, then presented her to Jane. “Jane, this is Lysette Nadine. Lysette, this is my…wife, Jane…MacCarrick.”
Jane thought of all those times she’d written her name as Jane MacCarrick, and sighed. Hugh could scarcely utter the words. The pleasure that used to warm her turned into an annoying jab.
“Wife?” The woman’s lips parted, but she swiftly recovered. “Must be a recent acquisition. You were unwed six months ago when I last saw you.”
Hugh shrugged without interest. So they hadn’t seen each other for that long?
Lysette lowered her voice to say, “I’d heard you’d sworn never to marry.”
“Circumstances changed,” he replied, and Jane knew she was only dipping a toe into the undercurrent of their conversation. Sworn never to marry?
This Lysette had big, ingenuous blue eyes—but she was actually very alert, taking in details, missing nothing. When Lysette rudely looked her up and down, Jane simply smiled at her as she might an unruly child seeking attention. She was confident enough in herself and, strangely, in Hugh’s attraction to her over the voluptuous woman—even if they’d been lovers. However, this woman’s misplaced possessiveness couldn’t go unanswered. Though Hugh had warned her not to tease him, Jane sidled closer to him, rubbing her cheek against his arm. She felt him tense immediately.
Raising an eyebrow as if in challenge, Lysette asked, “How many rooms do you desire, Hugh?”
“One,” Jane said before Hugh could answer. A challenge? Jane’s hand traced up Hugh’s back, passing a pistol in a holster she hadn’t even known he carried, and her fingers settled about his neck, nails languidly scratching just above his collar. His body shot even tighter with tension. “And we’d like a bath and our dinner brought there.”
Lysette looked at Hugh as if expecting him to naysay Jane.
Jane placed her other hand flat on his muscular chest, displaying her ring. “Have I overstepped, husband?”
He glowered down at her, but he did tell Lysette, “One.”
Lysette gave her a tight smile. “I will show you up myself.”
Once inside the surprisingly spacious room, Jane hopped on the bed and patted it. “Yes, darling, this will do nicely.” She gave Hugh a lascivious look and a teasing growl in her throat. “And I wager we’ll even sleep well on it, too.”
He and Lysette both shot her looks. Hugh’s was one of warning. Lysette’s was one of promised retaliation.
Finally Lysette huffed out, with a halfhearted, “If you need anything…”
As soon as the door closed, Hugh asked, “More games?”
“Shouldn’t we act as if we’re married?” Jane collapsed back on the bed, raising her hands above her to sneak another glance at her ring. She’d decided she would definitely keep the ring, even if she wasn’t keeping the groom with whom it was associated. “This is how I will behave with my final husband when he comes into the rotation. I’ll be eager to flirt with and touch him. And I won’t take it lightly when another woman tries to do the same.”
“You’d be possessive of your husband?”
“Quite so.” She eased up to her elbows. “Especially when it’s obvious that you—I mean, he has some type of history with a buxom innkeeper who’s intent on making me feel like an outsider in your—I mean, their little party of two.” She raised an eyebrow. “Care to enlighten me about your history with the Frenchie?”
“No, no’ particularly.”
“Hugh, sometime soon you’re going to burn to know something from me. I won’t be inclined to answer you if you continue to brush aside my questions.”
Before he could reply, a maid knocked and entered to set up a copper bathtub behind a dressing screen.
Under his breath, Hugh said, “Do you need her to help you undress before she leaves?” At her look, he added, “I thought you might be missing your lady’s maid.”
“Oh, since you wouldn’t let me take her with us? It’s no matter—anything I require, you can provide. Besides, I’m sure you’re quite well versed in undressing women.”
Behind the screen, the maid coughed. Hugh gazed at the ceiling, as if praying for patience.
Jane ignored him, studying the maid behind the flimsy screen, noting that she could see every detail of her form in shadow or clearly through the slim gaps between the panels. If Hugh stayed in the room while Jane bathed, he would see the same. Jane shrugged. She wasn’t going to develop a sudden case of modesty when she was traveling and confined with a man indefinitely.
Once the red-faced maid had carried in several cans of steaming water to fill the bath and retreated from the room, Jane crossed to the screen, slipping behind it. Was she undressing a trifle slower than usual? She thought she heard a low groan when her petticoats dropped, and a louder one when she slid her shift up her body, over her breasts, then up over her head.
Oh, her poor, poor back was so travel-fatigued. She raised her arms above her and stretched.
Hugh paced the room like a caged tiger.
When she finally got in the tub, Jane softly moaned with pleasure—not feigned, as she adored taking baths. Then she lounged back to reflect on her insane day.
She recalled the disappointment in Freddie’s eyes and immediately felt a pang. She’d been wracked with guilt over the way things had turned out, and his expression had nearly been her undoing. Adding to her guilt was the fact that just seconds before Freddie had overtaken them, she had been on the verge of forgetting why she’d teased MacCarrick in the first place.
Even as impulsive and impetuous as she was, she was still was reeling. And it was by no means over. Now she was setting off on a grand adventure with Hugh.
Jane believed he was finally taking her to Carrickliffe far in the north of Scotland. After he’d described it to her years ago, she’d always longed to visit it. Now she wanted to go there to experience the place that produced men like Hugh.
She’d been to Scotland, but never north of Edinburgh, never into the wild Highlands. Was Hugh finally going to make good on a promise?
She felt out of sorts—naturally she would, after th
e day she was having—but she was especially concerned about her burgeoning fascination with her new husband. After seeing Hugh so beautifully menacing downstairs, and after feeling the pistol holstered at his back, she was burning to know more about him.
When he paced by once more, she stretched her leg up and smoothed bath oil down it. He stopped pacing, and she knew he could see her. In the past, she never would have worried that he was the type of man who might yank down the screen at the sight and ravish her.
Now, she was forced to wonder.
Exactly who was Hugh now? If he wasn’t in trade, why lie about it? Unless he’d been doing something illegal—perhaps with his younger brother, Courtland, the infamous mercenary? She raised an eyebrow. What if Hugh was a mercenary?
She sighed. The problem with this fascination was that fascination led to feelings, feelings led to love, and love led to misery. She’d endured this sequence before and would give anything to avoid it.
He was right. He wasn’t the same lad. The quiet, steady Hugh she’d fallen in love with was gone forever. And she didn’t know how to handle this new ruthless, intense man.
He’d warned her that toying with him would be like playing with fire, and her antics in the coach this morning had definitely earned her a nice singe.
She tilted her head to the side and frowned. But then, when have I ever hesitated to play with fire?
Seventeen
Hugh almost asked himself what he’d done to deserve this torment, but the answer would be too lengthy.
She was running her hands up and down her long, long legs. He suspected she knew he could see, though she was such a sensual person that he’d wager she rubbed her legs as lingeringly when she was alone.
What else did she linger over?
The thought of her running her fingers over her sex…He had to gnash his teeth as his erection stiffened even more. He’d wager anything he owned that she did indeed touch herself like that whenever the need arose. Did she ever think of him? He unfailingly did of her. After Hugh had seen her last night, even his beaten, fatigued body had hungered for her, and he’d taken himself in hand.
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