How to Abduct a Highland Lord (6 page)

 His eyes, almost black in the lantern light, raked over her, and a faint smile touched his lips. “You look like a woman just roused from a very well-used bed.”

 Fiona had an instant image of herself and Jack, unclothed, their bodies entwined, memories she’d thought long dead.

 She bit her lip, hoping the pain might drive out the thoughts.

 “Don’t attempt to seduce me with that look.”

 Her look was seductive? She lifted the edge of the curtain and regarded her face reflected in the window. “I don’t look seductive at all. I just look—Oh, blast! My hair!” Two large curls poked up in the back, giving her a faintly devilish look. “Why didn’t you tell me I had horns?”

 “Perhaps I like women with horns.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking handsome and wolfish.

 She tried to smooth her curls. “So you like horns? It’sso tempting to make a comment about you and livestock.”

 He burst into reluctant laughter. “B’god, you are a fresh one.”

 “I always was.” She gave her hair a final pat. “How is my hair?”

 His dark gaze flickered over her hair, then lower.Much lower.

 “I meant the hair on my head!”

 Jack’s lips quirked in a smile, and he shrugged. “I won’t apologize for being a man.”

 “You should apologize for being arude man.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What did you mean when you said I was giving you ‘that look’?”

 “I find it very erotic when a woman bites her bottom lip.”

 “You must be teasing,” she exclaimed.

 The blue of his eyes deepened. “Youare an innocent, aren’t you?”

 Her cheeks heated. “You, of all men, know that is not true.”

 “There are many kinds of innocents, Fiona.”

 She shrugged. “I have no regrets about our previous relationship, except that it did not end as it should have.”

 “That was not my fault.”

 “Yes, it was. You were not ready to settle down.”

 “I offered to marry you! I waited for you, but you didn’t come. Instead, you sent your brothers with a damn note and—”

 “You still had a mistress.”

 Silence met this. Jack’s expression darkened. “I do not see what that has to do with anything. Many men have mistresses. I wished to marryyou , Fiona. That was what should have mattered.”

 An odd flicker of hurt burned through her. “Our values are quite different. I would not have countenanced my husband having a mistress.”

 He shrugged. “Perhaps I would have given her up had you asked. We’ll never know, will we?”

 “Do you have one now?” The question was out before she could recall it.

 His lips tightened. “That is none of your concern.”

 Fiona realized that her hands were clenched into fists, and she forced her fingers to relax. Itwas her concern. She could not accept a marriage that was othewise. And therein lay the only flaw in her plan: she’d married the one man she could not cajole, control, or persuade.

 She regarded him from beneath her lashes. Every line of his body spelled defiance. From the way he planted his feet on the floor of the carriage, to the way his arms were crossed over his chest, to the proud tilt of his head, he was informing her without words that she had not won this battle. That she may, in fact, lose.

 Fiona did not like losing. “Everything you do is my concern. We are married.”

 “Not for long. The second I reach London, I will see what can be done with this mess.”

 Fiona shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “The marriage cannot be set aside. I have already told you that.”

 Jack quirked a brow at her. “You aren’t always right.”

 “I know that,” she said with some asperity, “but even you must admit that I am right more often than not.”

 He smiled suddenly, a spontaneous, lopsided grin that stole Fiona’s breath. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

 If there was one danger in her current plan, it was that she might succumb to Jack’s attractions. Then there would be nothing but heartbreak, and she’d already had enough of that.

 “You are biting your lip again.” His eyes glinted. “I am going to tell you why that gesture is so erotic, but I warn you, it’s quite reprehensible.”

 “Anything that involves you tends in that direction.”

 His lips twitched, but he replied easily enough, “When you bite your lip, it makes me think of all the other things you could do with your mouth.”

 “Oh.” Like eat and kiss and—“Oh.” Her cheeks burned, yet she was also a bit intrigued. Jack had always had that effect on her. He could embarrass and tantalize all in the same breath.

 But perhaps this was useful information. The time might come when she’d need to seduce him—especially if he proved recalcitrant about performing his “husbandly duties” once they reached London. Which he might be, if he had a mistress. Fiona pressed her lips together to keep from scowling. She had never been very good at sharing her things, and she was certain she’d be quite possessive about a husband.

 “You have lost some of your pins.” Jack picked up two from the folds of her gown and held them out to her. “Your hair is so long. Longer than the last time I saw you.”

 “It’s almost to my waist.” She made a face. “I have thought of getting it cut.”

 “I love a woman with long hair.”

 “You love all women, long hair or no.” She sniffed, tackling an unruly curl near her temple.

 He sent her a roguish wink. “At this moment, I especially love women with long brown hair and green eyes.”

 “Oh, just stop it.”

 “Stop what?” he asked, all innocence.

 “Stop flirting. With you, every sentence is an offer.”

 He leaned back against the squabs, his thigh sliding over to press against hers. “And with you, every sentence is a challenge.”

 She didn’t know how to answer that. If she replied, it would confirm his comment. If she didn’t say a word, she left a wealth of sharp retorts unsaid.

 He flipped up one corner of the leather curtain and glanced briefly out into the racing darkness. “We’re entering London. It’s almost two in the morning.” He settled back in his corner, his leg moving against hers once more. “I like traveling fast.”

 She glanced to her other side. It would be cold to lean all the way into the corner, for the night air was seeping from every seam. She supposed she would have to accept his leg against hers. At least there was a good deal of clothing between them—her chemise, petticoats, gown, and cloak. Jack was wearing breeches and…She looked at his legs. What else? Could he be naked beneath his breeches? They seemed molded to him, outlining the powerful lines of his thighs and the swell just above—

 Oh, God. She closed her eyes. She’d been looking at his—Not only was it rude, but it had sent an amazing tingle through her, almost as if she’d touched it.

 “Fiona, if you ever look at me like that again, I will not be held responsible for what I do.” Jack was so close that she could feel his breath on her temple. “Do you understand?”

 Fiona managed a jerky nod, relieved when he moved back.

 Jack from a distance she could deal with. Jack in the close carriage, his thigh a mere inch from hers…the memories were too bright, too raw. She’d been young and impetuous, and fortunate that nothing more had come of their brief liaison than some uncomfortably vivid memories.

 She cleared her throat. “I was just rememberingus. ”

 “I think of us, too.”

 She blinked at him. “I didn’t think you would.”

 He sent her a darkly amused glance. “No? How could I not? You were my first.”

 “That’s impossible. You already had a mistress! Alexander said she wasn’t your first one, either.”

 “So I have your brother to thank for that slip of the tongue, eh? Remind me to thank him properly when I see him.”

 “I would have found out anyway.”

 Jack didn’t argue. “Yes, but you were special; my first virgin.”

 Embarrassment flooded through her, and she fixed her gaze on the tips of her half boots where they peeped out from beneath her skirts. If only she were something as simple as a slipper that did not have feelings or memories or anything else so uncomfortable.

 She frowned a bit. Shoes really did lead the perfect life. They were polished and taken care of and not expected to do anything more painful than occasionally step in a bit of mud or a rare puddle. She’d wager her shoes never wished they could just disappear.

 Fiona looked at her hands, the hem of her pelisse, the seat opposite, anywhere but at him. “My goodness, it is certainly warmer here than in the countryside, isn’t it?”

 “Yes.” He stretched out his legs so that his thigh pressed even more firmly against hers. “It is much warmer.”

 She snuck a look at him. When had his eyes grown so hard, so intense? Though he did not scowl, his entire stance still spoke of an undercurrent of bitter anger. Some part of her had hoped that he’d accept the circumstances of their marriage and not struggle against fate. That had been a vain hope.

 She sighed. “When will we arrive?”

 “Soon. We stopped to change horses in Barnet, so they’re fairly fresh.”

 “Barnet? I don’t remember changing horses there.”

 “We stopped while you were sleeping. I told your man—”

 “He has a name,” she said shortly. “It would be more polite if you’d use that rather than calling him ‘your man.’”

 Jack’s brows lowered. “You aren’t one of those reformer women, are you?”

 “The only thing I wish to reform is your poor manners.”

 Jack looked incredulous. “My what?”

 “Your poor manners. I daresay you don’t know the names of any of your own staff, do you?”

 “I haven’t the time for such nonsense. There are dozens of them.”

 “Dozens? How large is your town house?”

 “Large enough.” He caught her gaze and held up a hand. “Hold. Before you get more out of sorts, let me try to remember that blasted man’s name.” He frowned. “Seth?”

 “Simon.”

 “Simon, then. He came to the window when we stopped to change the horses. I explained I did not wish to wake you, so he had the carriage propped up so we could change the horses. Your Simon is quite ingenious.”

 “I don’t remember any of that.”

 “I explained you were tired from our honeymoon activities.”

 Fiona gasped. “You did not!”

 Jack’s eyes glinted in the low light from the lantern. “No, I did not. But I thought about it.” He slipped an arm about her waist and slid her across the small space between him. “It’s not every groom who would be so understanding of his bride on their wedding night.” He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek. “Fortunately for you, I am a patient man.”

 An odd flutter danced in Fiona’s stomach, her skin prickling with goose bumps. He’d always had the ability to make her bones melt with just a simple touch and a soft word. He was so certain of himself—while she was filled with uncertainty, an unwelcome experience. For the first time in her life, she did not know what the future held, and it terrified her.

 He feathered his thumb over her lips, his gaze following the movement. “You have the most beautiful mouth, Fiona. So lovely and lush, like a strawberry plucked at just the right time, red and sweet…”

 He bent forward and raked his lips softly over hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was more of a promise, a whisper of what could be.

 Fiona shivered again, her skin hot, her breasts tight. She should fight this attraction. Fight it and keep her own emotions well in control. But the last week had been nothingbut control, and she was tired of not feeling, not touching. She wanted comfort and acceptance and passion. After a week of death, she wanted to tastelife. To hold it to her, to savor it and revel in it.

 She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.

 Jack saw the exact moment she gave herself over to the passion that hovered between them. While she’d slept in his arms, the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin beckoning to him, he’d had to fight the desire to touch her, taste her, possess her. It had been along carriage ride. During a rough section of road, her hand had fallen into his lap, and he’d thought he would explode.

 It had always been this way between them. Since their first meeting, something hot and primal had drawn them together.

 Now, finally released, his passion exploded with the touch of her lips to his. He pulled her closer and nipped her bottom lip, savoring its plumpness.

 But he wanted more than a kiss. Far more. He slid his hand up to her breast, cupped her, and ran his thumb over her nipple, making it harden through the thin material.

 Fiona gasped, her mouth parting, and Jack slid his tongue between her lips. She moaned, pressing closer, her arms tightening about his neck.

 God, but she was sweet. He deepened the kiss, tasting her ripeness as he slid his hands down her back to her waist, to her hips. She was so lush and full. This was a woman made for love, made for him.

 A sudden rocking yanked him back to reality as the carriage stopped.