McAlistair's Fortune (6 page)

“Oh.” She blinked away her stupor and smiled at him. “You believe me, then?”

“No. It’s a hypothetical question.”

She felt herself slump. It was a little disheartening, really, that he should so easily dismiss what she’d told him. “Well, whether you believe it or not, it is a ruse. It has something to do with a deathbed promise Mr. Fletcher made to the late Lord Rockeforte—Alex’s father. Can’t imagine what sort of promise it was that required matchmaking or why he thought to include me. I barely knew the man.”

“Can’t you find a husband on your own?”

“Certainly, I can,” she answered quickly, and hoped he couldn’t see her flush in the dying light.
Probably,
she could find a husband on her own. She’d never actually received an offer of marriage, but then, she’d been careful not to lead any gentlemen in that direction. “I’ve simply no interest in the endeavor.”

“Why not?”

She picked up a small twig and tossed it into the fire. “One could just as easily ask why one should.”

“Children and a home of your own.”

“Haldon is my home, Mr. McAlistair, for as long as my family resides there. Beyond that, not every woman relishes the idea of planning her life around marriage, birth, and running a house.”

“Many do,” he pointed out. Then he added, “McAlistair.”

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s McAlistair, not Mr. McAlistair.”

“Oh.” Goodness, the man really was odd. “McAlistair is your first name?”

He shook his head.

“
Have
you a first name?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

She waited a beat. Then another. Then laughed and rolled her eyes. “La, how you do go on.”

“Mr. McAlistair was my father.”

“Generally, that is how it works.”

“I don’t care for the reminder.”

“I see.” She plucked at a blade of grass, torn between doing what was polite and letting the matter drop, and doing what she wanted, which was to satisfy her insatiable curiosity. “Was he unkind?”

“I don’t know,” McAlistair answered without a hint of emotion. “He left when I was four.”

“I’m very sorry.” She plucked at the grass again. “I suppose you haven’t any siblings, then?”

“I’ve six younger brothers.” He handed her some of the remaining bread.

“Younger?…Ah.” She bobbed her head and, because she was starving, and he was holding it out so insistently, and it was such a small portion, really, and…oh, very well, because she was weak, she accepted the food. “That makes sense.”

It wasn’t until she’d taken a bite that she realized he was staring at her again. She chewed and swallowed. “What?”

“Makes sense?”

She cocked her head at him. “Did you expect me to condemn your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well.” He certainly was blunt. “I don’t see why. Most members of the demimonde consider extramarital affairs to be fashionable—provided the lady has produced at least one male heir, of course.”

“Are you a member of the demimonde?”

“No, but I’ll not judge an abandoned woman for seeking comfort. She wasn’t left a choice, was she? Pity she couldn’t have obtained a divorce.”

“You approve of divorce?”

Heavens, were they having an actual conversation? “Under certain circumstances, yes. I don’t think people should go about changing spouses willy-nilly, but neither should it be so difficult for a woman to free herself from an injurious union.”

“Like the women you help?”

She took another bite of bread. “Exactly.”

He stared at her, unblinking, for a full five seconds, as if considering her very carefully. “My brothers have different fathers.”

She stopped midchew. “What,
all
of them?”

He nodded once.

“Well. I see.” She swallowed and thought this new bit of information through. “Perhaps she required a great deal of comfort.”

It was hard to tell in the encroaching darkness and with the way the fire cast light and shadows across his chiseled features, but she rather thought he might have smiled.

Then she was absolutely certain he was scowling. Not at her, mind you, he was staring at something off to her left, but still, he was scowling.

Confused, she followed his line of sight. “What is it?”

“Don’t move.”

“What? What is it?”

She saw it then, the brown snake with black jagged marks along its back, slithering not two feet away from her side. Though it wasn’t the first adder she’d come across, it was certainly the first she’d encountered while sitting on the ground. She felt an involuntary shiver run over her skin.

“Oh, hell.”

“Stay still,” McAlistair repeated sternly. Crouching, he pulled his knife from its sheath. Before she had the chance to even wonder what he meant to do, he lunged forward in a fluid movement, grabbed the snake with his free hand, and neatly sliced off its head.

Even as her heart fluttered at the danger and her mind reeled with the sheer speed at which McAlistair had acted, Evie’s stomach turned over at the woeful sight of the beheaded snake. “Was that
really
necessary?”

“Yes.” He stood to toss the carcass into the woods. “Or I wouldn’t have done it.”

“It wasn’t hurting anything.”

“Yet.”

“You could have—” She broke off and, for once, was grateful he wasn’t inclined to fill the silence. Her arguments were foolish. There wasn’t anything else he could have done, short of catching the snake, saddling one of the horses, and riding—in almost darkness—deep into the woods to release it far enough from camp that it wouldn’t be inclined to return.

She frowned sadly in the direction of the dead snake. “It’s a great pity.”

He resumed his seat. “You’ve a fondness for snakes?”

“I don’t know if it could be termed a fondness,” she said, thinking of the cold shiver she’d felt. “But I have a respect for them and an aversion to killing a living thing that’s not intended for food.”

Unless she was much mistaken—and she rather thought she must be—a hint of devilish humor crept into his voice. “Should I fetch it back and cook it?”

“I…” Her gaze jumped back to him. “
Can
one eat an adder?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain? You’ve had them before?”

“Number of times.”

She bit her lip and considered. “What do they taste like?”

“Mild.”

Mild, she thought, could mean a great many things. It could, for all she knew, mean mildly disgusting.

“Wouldn’t you like to soothe your conscience?” McAlistair inquired.

She would, but not at the expense of her stomach. She peered at him over the flames.

“Are you goading me?”

“Challenging you.”

“A dare, is it?” She couldn’t resist a dare any better than she could resist curiosity. “What would the terms of the challenge be?”

“You eat four bites, and you get your choice of blankets for the night.”

She snorted. “You’d have given me that choice, at any rate.”

“Not without the four bites,” he replied, and this time she was quite sure she could hear a bit of the devil in his voice. “Not now.”

“I see.” She laughed. “And what do you get, should I fail? Aside from a more comfortable night’s sleep?”

He said nothing for a long, weighted moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft as velvet. “A kiss.”

Her mouth opened but no sound emerged. A kiss?

A kiss in the woods? Was he mocking her? She narrowed her eyes at him, but found she couldn’t see his face well enough to tell. Surely he would never be so cruel.

“A kiss,” she finally repeated hoarsely. She cleared her throat and attempted to instill a touch of sophistication in her tone. “Just a simple kiss, nothing more?”

“A kiss on my terms.”

A log crackled in the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The reflection of the bright shards danced in his eyes, and briefly illuminated his face. There was no humor to be found in his expression, not a hint of amusement softening his hard features. If anything, he looked rather…determined.

“You said…” She licked lips gone dry. “You said I wasn’t meant for you.”

“You’re not.”

“Then why…?”

He shook his head. “Those are the terms. Do you accept?”

“It…” She cleared her throat again. “It seems a skewed bargain. Winning only gains me something you’ve decided to take away. I want the boon of my choice.”

“Such as?”

She wracked her brain for something,
anything,
she wanted more than another chance to kiss McAlistair. “I want…I want…” She hit on just the thing. “I want you to take seriously and be open to discussing that this whole business is a matchmaking ruse.”

“I’ll take your concerns seriously,” he countered. “More would be a lie.”

She considered that and decided she appreciated the honesty. “Very well. We have a deal.”

T
he sky had lost its last vestiges of gray by the time McAlistair finished skinning, cleaning, and cooking the snake.

It didn’t look altogether terrible, Evie mused after he’d handed her a portion. It didn’t smell altogether terrible either. She broke off a small piece, squared her shoulders, and popped it into her mouth.

“What do you think?”

It
was
mild. In fact, it was rather bland. Had she not been all too aware of the fact that it was snake, she might have assumed it was some kind of tastelessly prepared fowl. “It’s not altogether terrible.”

“Can you eat the whole of it?”

“Certainly.” And to prove it, she took another bite and chewed around a smug smile.

He was sitting closer to the fire, and to her, than he had been earlier, and the flickering light allowed her to make out the lines and angles of his face. He offered her a half smile as he tore off a chunk of meat and bit in. Her eyes lingered on his mouth.

The memory of how that mouth had felt as it moved over hers—warm, gentle, and with the faintest hint of demand—flashed into her mind, and a nearly overpowering longing swept over her.

She could have that again. All she had to do was lose the dare. Her pride winced at the thought, but she slowed her chewing nonetheless. What could it hurt—aside from the obvious answer of her pride? She could make do with a thinner blanket, and McAlistair struck her as being too sensible to ignore the reality of a matchmaking scheme for very long. And even if he were convinced of the ruse this very moment, it was too late now to turn back and find the others. No matter how it had come to be, they were stuck together for the remainder of the trip.

She slowed her chewing further, and poked a bit at the remainder of the meat.

“Problem?” McAlistair asked.

She made a show of choking down the food in her mouth. “Not at all.”

She picked at the meat, tore off a small piece, and stared at it. Making sure he was watching her, she tore the piece in half, then in half again, then—

“That’s not a bite, Evie.”

“It is.” She put the now miniscule piece in her mouth and made a show of chewing once. “You see? I bit.” She might have swallowed as well; the piece had been too small to say.

“Doesn’t count.” He gestured at the remainders of the piece. “All of it.”

“That’s more than four bites.”

“Can’t you do it?”

“Of course I can.” She really could. Bland or not, her belly would be more than happy to have the meal. The rest of her, however, wanted something else. She pushed the pieces with the tip of her finger. “It’s a bit bland, that’s all.”

“Should make it easy to swallow.”

“You’d think,” she agreed in an absent tone. “But the idea of it…” She poked a bit more.

“Think of something else.”

She shot a glance at him. He was awfully encouraging. Did he want to lose the wager? She wasn’t in a position to judge, mind you, but
her
losing on purpose meant she would be kissed.
His
losing on purpose meant he didn’t want to kiss her—bit insulting, that. And odd, as it had been his idea.

“What if I were to eat the remaining two bites at once?” she inquired. “Would that count?”

“I’ll accept it.”

She hid a scowl at his quick agreement. He
did
want to lose. “Well, how much would that be?”

He reached over and tore off a piece—a gargantuan piece that equaled nearly double her original portion.

Very well, he didn’t want to lose.

“I can’t fit the whole of that in my mouth at once,” she told him with a laugh.

The corner of his mouth hooked up. “Then don’t.”

“That’s not two bites, which is what I owe you. It’s not even four bites. It’s a six-course meal and after-dinner snack.”

He jerked his chin at the tiny bits of meat she’d torn a moment ago. “The penalty for cheating.”

“I don’t cheat.” Some might argue she was cheating right now, but she wasn’t one of them. “I’m simply not hungry.”

“You’ve had little to eat today.”

“I had lunch with Mrs. Summers, or part of a lunch at any rate, and the remainder of it only a few hours ago.”

And she was still hungry, but a few hours’ fast would be more than worth the chance to kiss McAlistair again.

He flicked her a cool glance. “You made the bargain, Evie.”

She certainly had. And she wouldn’t have been arguing except that it would be expected of her, were she trying to win that bargain.

She played with the meat while McAlistair ate.

“I can’t do it,” she lied when he had finished. “I just can’t.”

He was silent and still for a long moment. And then, to her complete astonishment, he said, “You tried. We’ll call it a wash.”

“What?” She wasn’t certain if she should laugh, cry, or throw her food at him. “You can’t do that.”

“You want to lose?”

“That would be silly of me, wouldn’t it?” she asked, by way of avoiding the question. “But you said it yourself. We made a bargain, a wager, and—”

He reached for the watered beer. “I’m releasing you from it,” he said after a long drink.

“That is insulting to both of us.”

His brows rose at her cool tone. “Care to explain?”

She opened her mouth, intent on delivering a scathing lecture, but in the end decided on a simple, “You wouldn’t offer to release me of the wager if I were a man.”

His lips twitched. “Wouldn’t have made the wager if you were a man.”

“That is not the point.” She turned to scowl into the fire. McAlistair’s decision to release her from the bargain disappointed her for more reasons than the lost kiss. “You imply I am not to be held to the same standards. That leniency is required, as if I were incapable of fully understanding the bargain, or that my word is of less value than a man’s. I find that attitude insufferable.” Very well, she was going to lecture. “Furthermore, it shows you to be a small-minded individual who places little worth in—”

“Don’t move.”

“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat and her eyes darted about, searching for another snake. Was she sitting on a bloody nest of them?

“My way,” McAlistair said. With his dark gazed fixed on hers, he closed the distance between them.

“Your—?” Her eyes widened as she realized his intent. The kiss. He was going to kiss her. On his terms.

Her heart, already in her throat, began to beat wildly.

Taking her hands gently, he placed them on the ground and held them there. He leaned forward, close, closer, then stopped, just a breath away. “Don’t move,” he repeated in a rough whisper.

She nodded, or thought she did.

And then he was kissing her, and all thought was lost. She didn’t mean for that to happen—for her mind to go so utterly blank. She’d wanted to concentrate, to remember, to file away every minute, every second, every heartbeat of the kiss. It had seemed vital to do so only a moment ago. But now that his mouth was on hers, sensation pushed aside thought—his smell, his taste, the heat in her belly as he tasted her in return—and it only seemed vital that she kiss him back.

Her hands fisted under his. She wanted to touch, to pull him closer, to insist, but he held her still and moved his mouth over hers gently.

“My way,” he whispered.

He brought his lips back to hers and kissed her with exquisite tenderness, rubbing his mouth across hers in the lightest of brushes before retreating, shifting, and brushing again. He kissed her as if he were testing, as if she were fragile…or dangerous.

Without the strength to move there was nothing she could do but let him continue his delicate exploration, until she thought she might go mad for wanting more.

He meant to sample, nothing more.

That was what McAlistair had told himself when he’d made the bet and what he swore even as he’d taken Evie’s hands in his and bent his head to find her mouth. But after that first taste, that first intoxicating taste that was uniquely Evie, he was forced to admit what part of him had known all along: it was a promise he might not be able to keep.

Just the hint of her, that slightest meeting of lips, had the blood pounding in his veins and need clawing at his skin. Erotic images whirled dangerously through his mind: his hands in her hair, on her waist, under her skirt. Evie’s hands on his face, on his back, on his skin.

Restraining her hadn’t been the act of a man intent on lording power over a woman. It had been the act of a man who feared the power that woman had over him. A single brush of her fingers would be enough, more than enough, to snap his control. And he was furiously determined to retain what small amount he could still claim.

Just one more taste, one more sample, and he would force himself to stop.

Her tongue brushed his. It was just the tip, darting out in a gesture both hesitant and bold, but it was sufficient to make his blood boil and his need roar until he heard nothing else.

Chasing the need was fear.

He snapped himself back, gripping her shoulders as if he could hold or perhaps push her away. Later, he would realize it was a senseless gesture, as she was not only sitting, but sitting perfectly still. For now, however, it seemed absolutely necessary to keep her at arm’s length.

“Enough.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained.

Evie blinked her eyes open slowly.

Enough? How could it possibly be enough?

There was more, wasn’t there? she wondered, as her mind floated several inches above her head. Yes, of course there was more. She’d heard prostitutes speak of that more in very explicit terms. Those terms had sounded a little unreasonable to her at the time, but just now, she thought they sounded rather…interesting.

“Don’t you want more?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, her mind came crashing back to leave her stunned and reeling. “I don’t…I c-can’t…” She bit the end of her tongue. “I can’t believe I said that.” Even if she was terribly keen to hear his answer. It simply wasn’t something a lady said. Worse, it came perilously close to begging.

McAlistair released her arms and stood, and the sudden distance left her feeling cold despite the warm night air. She searched for something to say, anything to break a silence she felt becoming increasingly awkward, but he turned away and walked a few feet to their supplies before anything appropriate came to mind.

Evie stood to watch him. She could have watched just as easily while sitting, but it added another layer of discomfort, to be on the ground like something discarded whilst he was up and about.

McAlistair grabbed the thicker blanket and brought it to her.

Instinctively, she stretched out her hand to take it. “I thought I’d lost the better blanket,” she said softly.

“No, you lost the chance to choose. Go to sleep.”

Just like that? After what they’d done, what she’d felt? Have a blanket and go to sleep? She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “If you’re angry—”

“I’m not angry,” he said in a gruff voice.

“Well then, if you’re—”

“I’m not.”

The lump turned into one of annoyance. “How can—”

“Let it alone, Evie.”

She blew out an irritated breath. “For a man who speaks little, you interrupt a great deal.”

“For an intelligent woman, you require a great deal of interrupting.”

She gaped at him. “Are you…are you being
snippy?”

His only response was a growl before he turned and stalked off into the woods.

It was a simple matter for McAlistair to move through the dark. It was his element, his milieu, and he’d had years to hone his skills. He could move easily and silently through the trees and underbrush without disturbing a single twig.

He just wasn’t doing it right now.

In fact, he was, he could admit, stomping just a little. It couldn’t be helped. Speed was of the essence. There was a stream nearby, and with any luck, it would be frigid. He planned on dunking his head in it.

What the devil was
wrong
with him? What the hell had he been thinking, kissing Evie Cole
again?

That was the crux of the problem, of course—he hadn’t been thinking.

He scowled at his faulty reasoning. No, he had been thinking plenty—of holding her, tasting her, loving her. He’d thought of little else for years. The trouble was, imagining what it would be like to make love to Evie Cole while he’d been in the woods, alone, was very different from imagining what it would be like while they were in the woods, alone together. Now the temptation was very real.

He’d known it would be. The moment he’d led her into the woods without the others, he knew they’d be spending days with only each other for company, but he’d been sure he could resist. He’d had confidence in his self-control.

Bloody fool.

He hadn’t been able to resist her for more than ten seconds the first time she’d been within grabbing distance. What had made him think he could manage it after a full day of trying, and failing, not to look at the pale skin of her bare legs, the way her body moved with the rhythm of her horse, and the way her light brown hair slipped from its pins to be tousled by the breeze? Why the devil had he thought he could resist her while they sat alone under the moonlight, her face kissed by the glow of the fire and her warm laughter floating on the dark air?

It was the laughter that did it. That low, almost husky sound of pleasure had been his initial introduction to Miss Evie Cole. He’d heard it his first week as the Hermit of Haldon Hall, drifting up through the trees from the back lawn. It had had the strangest effect on him. He’d been sitting there, staring at the small stream that ran through the woods, alternating somewhere between blissfully numb and dangerously on edge. Without a mission to accomplish, with nothing else to occupy his mind, his thoughts had turned to the life he’d waited too long to leave behind and the bleak future that lay ahead.

He had felt hollowed out, burned to his very core.

And then he’d heard her.

He would never be able to say why it was her laugh and no one else’s that affected him so strongly. Why her voice had felt like a balm against his wounds, cooling the worst of the burn, softening the hardest edges of his memories. Perhaps because it was such a genuine sound—after years of dealing in lies, in the false, it was the sheer honesty of her delight that had moved him.