The Marquess's Scottish Bride

by Lauren Royal

  Grabbing her hand, he strolled through the crowd, a single purpose in mind: to get her into his arms again.

  “Cainewood! Haven’t seen you in ages! Will you introduce me—”

  “Later.”

  Later. Later. Later. Always one more interruption, one more excuse. It seemed an hour before they escaped out the front door and stood waiting for his coachman to bring the carriage around.

  Jason drew Cait near. She nestled close. “Crivvens, it was hot in there.”

  “Hot?” He took her lips in a fervent kiss. “How’s that for hot?”

  She giggled. A sweet, sweet—bittersweet for him—giggle.

  When the carriage arrived, they hurried inside, and he sat her back on his lap. She wiggled close, wound her arms around his neck, and fastened her lips on his. Then—bump!—the wheels hit a rut, and their noses mashed together.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, going again for his lips, but missing and grazing his cheek instead. Another little giggle sounded by his ear.

  Steadying her head in his hands, he tried once more, managing naught but a couple of fleeting pecks. The carriage bucked over the cobblestones as though it had no springs at all, never mind it was the latest—and costliest—design.

  Attempting another kiss, they jounced in and out of a pothole with a bone-rattling jolt that nearly cracked their teeth. “I don’t think this will work,” she said with a sigh.

  Then, rounding a corner, she bounced right to the floor and stayed there, convulsed in laughter.

  “It’s not going to work.” She steadied herself with her hands on his knees. Her skirts were twisted around her legs, and her tangled curls bounced on her shoulders in the same uneven rhythm as the carriage. “How long to your house?”

  This late, traffic was negligible. With the exception of aristocratic carousers, Londoners kept inside at night. “Five more minutes.”

  “Five minutes.” She sighed as though it were hours and hours.

  He pulled her back up to sit beside him on the bench. “You know,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle, “my brother brought a maiden to the town house last year and all he did was kiss her. Yet I was terribly righteous and told him he’d have to marry her.”

  She sat upright, steadying herself with an arm across the seatback. “You mean Colin and Amy?”

  “Yes.” He grunted when a bounce sent her careening into him. “Last month they had a lovely baby daughter.”

  “That’s very nice. But you don’t have to marry me, Jason. In fact, I wouldn’t countenance it.” Her voice dropped until he could hardly hear it over the wheels rattling on the cobblestones. “My home is in Scotland.”

  With a hand on her chin, he brought her gaze to his. “Caithren?”

  “Hmm?” In the soft glow from the sidelight, her eyes looked hazy blue.

  “Have you enjoyed yourself this night?”

  She nodded seriously. “More than I ever thought possible.”

  “Even though you’re in England?”

  “Even though.” She kissed his cheek, apparently not trusting her aim enough to target his lips. “Maybe especially so. Because you’re here. In England.” Her words were almost shy, surprising him. His Cait was never shy.

  “Will you remember that tomorrow? No matter what happens?”

  Her gaze was steadfast—and perhaps a bit curious. “I’ll remember it forever.”

  “Good. I’m counting on it.”

  He was praying for it as the carriage drew to a halt. Because when the sun rose in the morning, what he had to tell her would surely ruin everything.

  The house was dark and still when they entered. He eased the door shut and felt for the candle that was kept on the nearby table. Attempting to light it, he fumbled when her hands streaked under his surcoat and around him. He cursed softly, and Caithren giggled.

  “Hush,” he whispered. “We cannot wake Kendra. I’m half-surprised she didn’t wait up to hear all about our evening.”

  With a soft hiss, the flame came to life, and Cait settled her chin on his chest, her eyes a deep blue in the dim yellow light. Beneath the coat, her arms tightened around him. “Must we go to sleep so soon?”

  Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. Shedding his surcoat, he pulled her over to one of the brocade chairs and onto his lap. Their lips sought each other’s and seemed to meld, and she twisted round to face him, her hands curled around his neck, pressing closer to him than seemed possible. All was heat and excitement and humming—every nerve in his body seemed to be humming with awareness.

  Would this be their last kiss ever? The possibility hit him like a punch in the stomach. He groaned aloud, but he didn’t break the kiss. Instead he deepened it, savoring her fierce response. There was his bold Caithren. His precious Caithren. He stroked her hair, her face, and up and down her sides. He tasted her, and breathed her in, and committed every sensation to memory.

  A long time later, knowing he couldn’t allow this to go any farther, he reluctantly drew away.

  Her eyes blazed, full of impatience. “Where is your room?” she asked.

  “You’ll have your own room here,” he said. “We have plenty of rooms. And I presume I can trust you now not to escape me.”

  He watched the heat in her gaze subside. “Of course,” she said with a sigh.

  Not quite ready to let her go, he nuzzled her ear. Then words spilled out in a whisper. “I love you, Cait.”

  She seemed to stop breathing. “I—”

  “Hush.” He didn’t want to hear it, not tonight. Not when she wouldn’t be able to say it again on the morrow. “I love you, and I want you to remember that. No matter what happens tomorrow.”

  “Why do you keep bringing up tomorrow?” she asked softly. “What is happening tomorrow? Besides the wedding and finding Adam? And hopefully apprehending Gothard?”

  He pulled back and held her gaze with his. “You will wake to the morning sun. I will bring you breakfast in bed.” He tried to smile into her lovely hazel eyes, flickering in the candlelight. “And then—then I have something to tell you. And I want your promise that you’ll remember I love you.”

  “That is something,” she whispered, “that I will never, ever forget.”

  IN THE GRAY light of dawn, Jason jerked awake.

  He lay there for a few minutes, not knowing why he’d awakened, but knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep. He imagined Caithren sleeping in the room where he’d left her, imagined her looking happy and peaceful. But she would waken soon enough, and then it would be over…because then he would tell her the truth. And any feelings she had for him would die.

  He’d never felt more wretched in his life. Could things get any worse?

  Beneath his window, he heard the bellman call the hour of six, followed by muffled conversation. His skin prickled with a sudden, foreboding awareness. He slid from the bed and over to the window, parting the drapes just enough to see between.

  Through the morning fog, he could barely make out the bellman, his lamp held high, casting a yellowish glow. Beside him, talking to him, sat a man on a horse.

  A man with a squarish head.

  Apparently things could get worse.

  Letting the drapes drop closed, he dashed for the stables, pulling on his clothes as he ran.

  SIXTY-THREE

  YOU WILL WAKE to the morning sun. I will bring you breakfast in bed…

  Caithren woke to the morning sun, but Jason hadn’t brought her breakfast in bed. Her heart plummeted. Then she decided he must be in the kitchen getting her breakfast.

  Until two hours later, when he still hadn’t appeared with it.

  Tears stinging her eyes, she finally gave up and rose to get dressed.

  After their marvelous evening together, she’d fallen peacefully to sleep, certain he was going to ask her to wed him this morning. She’d been sure that was what he’d meant—that she should remember he loved her when he asked her to be his wife. And he hop
ed that his declaration of love would persuade her to agree, even though she’d already told him she belonged home in Scotland.

  She had yet to decide what her answer would be. But she’d been sure of the question.

  But now she realized she’d been wrong. He’d only meant she should remember he loved her when he told her they couldn’t stay together. That he loved her, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many obstacles, too many differences. Her family was too low-ranked. Something.

  She could live with that, if she had to—it wasn’t as though she hadn’t been expecting it all along. But after promising the morning together to straighten things out, he’d gone off somewhere and left her alone to wrestle with all her wrenching doubts.

  So much for his promises not being given lightly.

  The pain and uncertainty were crushing. But Caithren Leslie could bear it.

  She should have known not to take an Englishman at his word.

  JASON HELD HIS nose as he rode past a ditch that had been used as a communal grave for more than a thousand bodies during London’s last great plague. Though the remains had been covered with dirt, after two years it still seemed to reek.

  Everything in his life seemed to be reeking right now.

  He’d lost Geoffrey Gothard’s trail.

  As he turned the corner into the secondhand-clothing market on Houndsditch, Jason found himself wishing again that Caithren really were Emerald. Emerald MacCallum knew how to track a man. Emerald MacCallum would have captured her quarry.

  It had cost him precious minutes to saddle a horse and take off, but Gothard hadn’t ridden away until he’d glimpsed Jason rounding the corner of the town house. Yet Jason had never managed to catch up. And now the man had seemingly disappeared into the maze that was known as London.

  Once again they were playing hide-and-seek, but Jason couldn’t figure out the rules of the game. Gothard had chased him all the way to London—why didn’t he come after him now instead of running off? It couldn’t be that Gothard feared confronting him on a public street, because Jason had followed him halfway across town. Gothard had had ample opportunity to lead him somewhere more private.

  Cursing his incompetence, Jason kept one hand on his pocket watch as he jostled his mount between two unkempt riders. If Cait were Emerald instead, he wouldn’t have panicked and left her, terrified for her safety. And if she were Emerald, he wouldn’t be muddled by guilt that compounded with every passing hour. It had now been more than thirty-six hours that he’d known Adam Leslie was dead, more than thirty-six hours he’d been maintaining an unforgivable lie. Every one of those hours had taken its toll on his soul.

  Piles of garments cluttered the street, guarded by watchful owners. Barking madly, a dog skirted the mounds and darted beneath Jason’s horse, making him shy. A wagon splashed mud as it careened on by, its driver ignoring several vendors who angrily brushed off their soiled goods, yelling obscenities after him.

  Once again Jason had proven himself a failure, unworthy of his father’s name.

  He’d failed to catch Gothard. He’d failed to tell Caithren the truth yesterday, and he’d failed to be there for her this morning. She had no reason to attend the wedding, yet by now she was probably getting ready, excited to see her brother. He pictured her choosing a gown from Kendra’s clothes press, carefully painting her face, sticking on another adorable heart-shaped patch. All for nothing.

  He craned his neck. Was that Gothard’s sandy head he glimpsed through the mass of haggling customers? Thinking it just might be, his hopes lifted. He dug in his heels, racing after the man, then caught up to find himself disappointed yet again.

  It wasn’t Gothard, after all. But the blackguard had to be nearby…somewhere.

  He would give it one more hour. Then, if he were unsuccessful, he would go home. And—no matter that it would be the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life—he’d tell Caithren the whole truth.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  “HE’LL BE BACK, Cait.”

  Caithren looked up from her feet, which were trodding a path through Lincoln’s Inn Fields. “I know he’ll be back,” she replied to her new friend Kendra. “He lives here.” With a sigh, she made her way over to a stone bench. “You just don’t understand. He promised me we would be together this morning. He said he had something to tell me.”

  Kendra sat beside her, her features lit with intrigue. “Any idea what?”

  Slowly Cait drew her hat off and set it on the bench. Sweeping her hair from her face, she watched a dove flutter from the sky and peck around in the grass, foraging for food. A fresh scent in the air hinted at coming rain, reminding her of home, but the thought did nothing to raise her spirits.

  “You’re hiding something,” Kendra insisted. “I can tell.”

  “Are you always so observant?”

  “Always,” Kendra said smugly. “So what is it?”

  “This is going to sound daft.” Cait licked her lips and smoothed the skirts of the blue day dress she’d borrowed from Kendra. Until the Gothards were caught, she felt safer disguised as an Englishwoman. “I realize we’ve known each other less than two weeks, your brother and I, but I thought…well, I thought maybe he’d be asking me to marry him.”

  Kendra clapped her hands. “I knew it!”

  “Nay, you don’t understand.” Tears sprang to Caithren’s eyes—oh, how she hated that. She brushed at them angrily. “He made such a point of saying we’d talk in the morning. Then he disappeared.” She turned on the bench to face Kendra. “I was wrong. He only wanted to tell me we cannot be together. But he lost his nerve, or just decided something else was more important.”

  Her new friend reached to take her hands. “Maybe you misunderstood about this morning.”

  Cait shook her head. “Impossible.”

  “Then something unexpected came up.” Kendra’s fingers squeezed tight. “I’m sure of it. Didn’t you say you needed some papers for your brother? I’ll wager he wanted to take care of that before he talked to you. And when he does, it won’t be to say you cannot be together.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he went to do or what he’s going to say.” Caithren pulled her hands from Kendra’s and hugged herself. “I hadn’t made up my mind, anyway.”

  Jason’s sister fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Oh, yes, you had.” She smoothed her own apple-green skirts. “Whether you know it or not.”

  Uncomfortable under that gaze, Caithren rose and resumed walking.

  Kendra jumped up to follow. “How is your arm today?”

  “It’s healing.” Cait shook her head in disbelief. “After English doctoring. I never would have thought it.”

  “They say never trust an English surgeon. Quacks, one and all.” Kendra grinned. “How was it cut? You said you would tell me.”

  A small smile threatened to burst through Cait’s melancholy. “I never said anything of the sort. You said you would ask.” She took a deep breath. “Wat Gothard nicked me with his sword. We think he was going after your brother.”

  “He was?” Kendra stopped dead on the path, her face a mask of concern. “Maybe Jason went after Gothard. What if he’s not here because he’s hurt?”

  “Hurt?” Cait echoed numbly. “He was going to warn Scarborough today, but he said nothing about chasing down Gothard. He doesn’t know where to find him. We don’t even know if he’s in London.”

  She couldn’t bear to think of Jason hurt. He didn’t want to be with her, and he didn’t want to tell her, either. That was all there was to it. He would have said something were he planning to go after Gothard.

  Kendra was still watching her, as though waiting to be reassured. Suppressing her own unease, Cait touched her friend’s arm. “Your brother didn’t go chasing after Gothard this morning.” When Kendra still looked wary, Cait forced a smile. Surely there was nothing to be worried about. “I’m certain of it. You yourself said he wasn’t after revenge.”

  Kendra nodded, apparently placated. “Still, I cannot
believe you were injured. It sounds so romantic, being saved by the man you love.” She leaned against the rail that edged the path, her eyes lit with envy. “My life is so boring. What sort of adventures have you two been up to?”

  So much had happened, Cait didn’t know where to begin. And she couldn’t bear retelling all the events that had brought her to respect and love Jason in such a short time. It hurt too much. “Your brother brought me from up north to here. A long, tiring journey. Things happened.”

  “Things.” Kendra’s voice sounded speculative, but she let the matter drop. “At least tell me what you meant last night when you said you hadn’t cared properly for your cut. What could you have done that the doctor didn’t?”

  “There are healing plants, but—”

  “You’ve knowledge of healing?” When Cait nodded, Kendra looked excited. “Could you teach me, then? I visit the sick at Cainewood, but sometimes I don’t know what to do for them, and—”

  “There’s a great deal to teach.” Cait reached to pluck a leaf off a low-hanging branch overhead. “You cannot learn it all in an afternoon.”

  “When you come to live at Cainewood—”

  “I don’t think that will be happening.” Walking again, she shredded the leaf and avoided her friend’s eyes. “Your brother doesn’t love me, Kendra. Or at least not enough. I’m naught but an annoyance to him.”

  She knew that wasn’t precisely true, but she didn’t know how to put it. She only knew that if Jason wanted her, he would have been with her this morning as he’d promised.

  A Chase promise is not given lightly. If he’d ever considered marrying her, he must have had second thoughts. Now, even should he return and ask for her hand, she couldn’t say aye. Not knowing he’d had such doubts.

  She knew he felt guilty over their improper behavior, but she wouldn’t marry him just to ease his shame. For her, it was all or nothing. A half-commitment would never do.

  It was a gray day, to match her mood, even darker along the paths where the trees met overhead and cast their shadows. She walked beside Kendra, listening to her own thoughts and snatches of conversation from passersby. When they scooted to the side to let a wizened old vendor pass with his barrow, he nodded to them and recited a little verse.