The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (28 page)

Something drew her this man, though she couldn’t figure why. She didn’t want to marry him—perish the thought!—didn’t want to share Leslie with anyone but Cameron. But the feelings Jason seemed to kindle in her were thrilling and fascinating; what harm could there be in exploring them? She needn’t fear for her reputation, since she knew no one in this wretched country but the one Englishman—and he’d made it clear he already had the lowest opinion of her virtue. If she couldn’t convince him he’d got the wrong impression, she may as well live up to it, aye?

Not that she cared what he thought of her. She didn’t require his good opinion.

Only his lips.

And his cooperation, she supposed.

But surely that was quite feasible. She gathered he wasn’t immune to her charms—whatever
those
might be. She’d watched other girls wrap men around their little fingers. She’d simply have to do that to Jason until he gave up another kiss.

Just one more kiss.

Or perhaps several. They had two days left in their journey, after all.

As they headed to the taproom for supper, she came up with a plan.

Now she just had to find the nerve to carry it out.

“NAY, PLEASE
don’t leave.”

His hand on the door latch, Jason turned to look at Emerald. She’d finished unplaiting her hair and was slowly dragging her fingers through the dark golden mass.

“Pardon?” he said. “I’ll be back. I was just leaving so you can change.”

“Will you remove this stomacher for me?” She licked her lips, her hands moving to fumble with the tabs. “I’ve got it knotted. I’m not very good at it.”

She was holding herself in an odd, un-Emerald-like posture, her back all arched. Was she ill? Had she eaten something rotten at supper?

Jason narrowed his eyes. “You removed the stomacher yourself in Newark-on-Trent.”

“It was a struggle.” She sighed prettily, her eyes a soft blue. “You should have been there.”

“Amusing, was it?”

“Nay. I mean you
literally
should have been there to assist me.” With a coy flourish, she whisked his handkerchief out of her neckline and tossed it onto the closest bed. “Please?” she said huskily, coming closer.

His gaze went straight to the creamy skin exposed by her scooped neckline. The room suddenly felt overwarm. Jason’s belly clenched. Perhaps the lamb
had
been rancid. Or perhaps he was feeling…

That was, it
seemed
as if she wanted…

Flowers of Scotland were muddling his brain.

“Very well,” he said slowly, since he couldn’t see a polite way to refuse. “I’ll help just this once.” He began detaching the tabs. “This really is quite simple, though. Watch.”

She looked down. “I’m watching,” she all but purred. “My, Jason, you really are quite good at this.”

Now the room seemed unbearably hot. He wondered wildly if the inn might be on fire. Should he stick his head out the window and look for smoke? It sounded like a fine idea. So did loosening his collar and removing his surcoat, but that would be too much like undressing himself
while
he undressed Emerald…which was a notion his muddled mind couldn’t begin to contemplate.

A nervous laugh escaped him as he set the stomacher on her bed. “There.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, coming even closer. Now they stood toe to toe. She raised her face, and the look in her blue, blue eyes, lit up by the blazing hearth, was unmistakable.

She was seducing him!

He’d wondered in the stables, when she’d gazed up at him with this same expression. But the smooth talk he’d somehow conjured in the alley—where had it come from?
Nowhere near a ravishing
, indeed!—hadn’t returned to him in the stable, leaving him confused and tongue-tied.

Much like he was now. Though a distant corner of his mind had to reckon that, for Emerald to be acting this way of a sudden, she must think him a rather good kisser. He tried not to feel too pleased about that.

Especially since he knew he ought not to kiss her again. Though kissing Emerald had been even better than he’d dreamed—an indescribable meshing of softness and sweetness and warmth…no, not warmth, more like fire. But a forging sort of fire, not a destructive sort. And her fingers had pulled gently at his hair like—

He abruptly returned to the present to realize he’d plunged
his
hands into
her
hair, closing the gap between them and leaning over her until their lips were a mere whisper apart.

Startled, he leapt back as if he’d been burned.

Her brows knit together, then her eyes seemed to spark with something akin to desperation. Her hands went to tug at her laces, and he blinked at her, horrified. This was
so
unlike her. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m g-getting comfortable for bed,” she stammered. “Like you keep telling me to. Mrs. Twentyman’s night rail, well, it’s really too big and cumbersome. I think I’ll just loosen this dress. You don’t need to leave—”

“Stop,” he whispered, snatching up her hands. She fell silent. He held both her hands still, feeling dizzy with her nearness and the cloud of scent that surrounded him. Flowers of Scotland again.

When she swayed toward him, he retreated a step. Her eyes going hard with determination, she walked up to him.
Right
up to him, her forehead nearly colliding with his chin. Her hands freed themselves and came up to rest lightly on his shoulders. He stood, speechless, while she went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

Soft lips. A deluge of sensation overwhelmed his uncertainty. Heedless of the painful wrench in his shoulder, his arms went around her to press her close, and then closer—close enough to feel the hard rectangle of her emerald necklace between them. Beneath the thin English dress, her back felt small and vulnerable against his hands.

Vulnerable? Emerald MacCallum, vulnerable?

Rational thought was slow to return, seeping in around the edges of the deluge.

Of course Emerald was vulnerable, or she wouldn’t be needing his protection, and he wouldn’t be hauling her all over England for the sake of her safety.

But vulnerable or not, she was still Emerald MacCallum. And he was still Jason Chase. And all the kissing in the world couldn’t change the fact that they were wrong for each other.

There would never be courtship between them, much less marriage. There would only be impropriety, and later, inevitably, bad feelings.

A true gentleman would put an end to this.

Father would have put an end to this.

Though Jason knew all that, it still cost him an enormous effort to break the kiss.

Emerald gazed at him, her eyes now darkened to a deep, hazy blue. She licked her lips. He swallowed hard. Deliberately he lifted her hands from his shoulders, moved to sit on the far bed, and began pulling off his boots.

She followed him and sat herself on the edge of the mattress.

Though his arms itched to gather her to him, instead he forced a laugh. “Your bed is over there, Emerald.” He hoped she didn’t notice the roughness in his voice.

“Are you sure?” she asked. She came to stand before him, and one hand went up to draw her thick hair over her shoulder. Twirling it slowly, she looked young, nervous, and innocent. It must be his imagination—either that, or she was quite the actress. The infamous Emerald MacCallum and this blushing maiden couldn’t possibly be the same person.

Well, he could act, too. Forcing another laugh, he looked pointedly toward the second bed.

Her lower lip trembled. “I know there are two beds in this room, Jase. You don’t have to laugh at me.” Averting her gaze, she walked slowly to the other bed, lowering herself to it as though she might break.

The thick sound of tears in her voice pierced him like a bullet. “I’m not laughing at
you
. I just…”

He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words to explain. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t have her thinking he wanted her—no matter that he did.

Silence stretched between them. Finally she turned her back on him and buried herself under the coverlet.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, mostly to himself.

CAITHREN SET
down the candle and shook Jason’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

“What?” He struggled up, then fell back to the pillows. “It’s the middle of the night,” he complained, blinking in the near-darkness. “The birds haven’t even started their chorus yet.” He rubbed his eyes, then focused on her. “You’re already dressed?”

“You said you wanted to leave at first dawn.” She turned away and reached for her shoes so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

She could hardly live with her own ashamed thoughts, let alone what Jason must think of her. She’d made such a fool of herself. She’d acted like a girl of low morals and even lower dignity.

Impulsive, that’s what she was—Cameron’s teasing had proved right on the mark. She only wondered how she’d made it to her seventeenth year before thoroughly disgracing herself. She had to learn some self-control.

She wanted to be outdoors, in front of Jason on his horse, where he wouldn’t be able to see her face and she wouldn’t be able to see his. She wished more than ever that he’d obtained a second horse, because she suspected sitting so close to him would be nearly as agonizing as looking at him.

He was falling back asleep.

She shook him again. “You said this town made you uneasy.” Thank heavens she had a viable excuse to wake him and leave while it was still dark. “Do you wish to overtake the Gothard brothers, or nay? We haven’t any time to waste.”

“All right. Give me a minute.” With a groan, he rose from the bed.

She looked away as he changed his shirt.

While he readied himself, she parted her hair and hurried it into two plaits, tying the ends with the green ribbon he’d bought her at the fair. Thankful that her own clothes were dry, she folded the red dress and chemise and packed them away.

“Make haste,” she said.

“What’s going on here?” he mumbled, tugging on his second boot.

He was going to keep at her unless she managed to put this behind her. She gathered herself together. “About last evening,” she said to the floor, “do you reckon we can just forget it happened?”

“Nothing happened.” He shoved yesterday’s shirt into his portmanteau.

She pulled it back out to fold it. “Jase—”

“I’ve forgotten it already. I lack the sleep to think straight. I scarcely remember my name, let alone anything else.” He lifted the portmanteau and opened the door. She followed him out, feeling weak with gratitude. His brusque pardon had been exactly calculated to avoid further embarrassment for them both.

On the way from the inn he peeked wistfully into the dining room, but it was unattended and pitch-black. “The minute the sun comes up, we’re stopping for food.”

“Far be it for me to deny your stomach.”

He handed her the room key, dug in his pouch for some coins, and slapped them into her hand. “Leave these on the counter, will you? I’ll ready Chiron. No sense ruining the stable lad’s sleep, too.”

With a theatric sigh, he headed for the stables.