The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (36 page)

Shocked, she spun in his arms. But when a flash of lightning illuminated his eyes, she could see they were guileless.

“I’ll just keep you warm,” he repeated. “I promise. A Chase promise is—”

“—not given lightly,” she finished on a sigh.

She didn’t want to be just kept warm. She wanted to be kissed senseless. But she couldn’t face yet another rejection. She wouldn’t ask with words, ever again.

Instead, she went up on her toes. She raised her face to him, pulled the tie out of his hair, meshed her fingers in its silky softness.

Her reward was hearing his sharp intake of breath.

“To bed. To keep warm,” he said firmly and turned her around, guiding her across the darkened room with a hand clamped on her shoulder.

She clenched her teeth, but a tiny whimper slipped out anyway.

He halted. “Have I hurt you?” When she didn’t reply, his hand came up to clasp her chin and turn her face to him. She could barely see his eyes, but she could feel their penetrating gaze. “It’s your arm, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” she whispered. “I never found time to gather plants today.”

“Is it getting any better?”

“Nay.” She wouldn’t lie. But she didn’t want to alarm him, either. “It’s been but a day. These things take time.”

“I wish I could have a look.”

“Well, it’s dark. You can look in the morning, if it pleases you. For now…” She moved close and laid her head on his chest.

Though she felt him hesitate, she also heard his heart pounding beneath her ear. Muttering something unintelligible, he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, probably scattering all their carefully laid out clothes as he went.

But she cared not. She knew she had won.

The bed ropes creaked as he set her down, and another flash of lightning revealed his features in stark relief. Enough so she could find his lips with hers by the time the responding thunder rumbled through the sky, shaking the cottage, the floorboards, the bed.

Or maybe she was shaking. Nay, for sure she was shaking. His hands moved to cup her face, and then they were lying beside each other. It felt scandalous being this close to a bare-chested Jason, but it was growing colder, and he was warm, so she couldn’t find it in herself to fret. Tentatively, she pressed her palm against his smooth skin.

He sat up, breathing in slow, loud puffs.

“I said I wouldn’t do this,” he ground out from between gritted teeth. “It’s irresponsible, and—”

She gripped both his forearms, the only part of him she could easily reach. “For once in your life, would you forget about being responsible? What harm could come from a wee bit of kissing?”

His dark silhouette remained still. She wished she could see his expression.

A roll of thunder ended, leaving the room abruptly silent but for the dull pattering of the rain. “Just kiss me, Jason,” she whispered.

Another flash of lightning, and his answer was in his eyes.

No.

Despite her resolve, she had asked with words again—and, nay, he wouldn’t kiss the likes of her. He didn’t want her after all.

A sob tore from her throat—a sob born of frustration and embarrassment, endless rejection and unfulfilled hopes. She leapt up and made for the door, scrabbling at it with frantic fingers, shoving it to the floor behind her. A mighty crash resounded from the cottage as she raced out into the storm.

He was behind her within seconds, but she kept running, darting around the shadows of the trees, until finally he caught her from behind. She fell to her to her knees in the wet grass and threw herself forward, shutting her eyes against the sight of him, though she couldn’t really have seen him anyway in the darkness and the driving rain.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed over the deluge. Never had she realized water could be so loud. But that was good—it drowned out her harsh breathing and the staccato beat of her heart. It pounded her skin through the night rail, cold needles that drove away all her anguished thoughts. It caressed her body with the icy fingers she needed to cool her temper and bring her back to her senses.

Then warmer fingers were on her, rolling her onto her back. Jason was kneeling over her. “What on earth are you doing?” he demanded over a rumble of thunder. “You’ll catch your death out here!”

“Leave me alone!” Angrily she pushed at his hands and struggled to her feet. “Always, since I met you, you will never leave me alone,” she hollered as he came up after her.

A bolt of lightning illuminated his face for a second, just a second. But long enough for Cait to see his anguish, his regret, his obvious struggle with himself.

But most of all, she saw his want.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he bellowed over the wind and the rain and another hard crack of thunder. “I never wanted to leave you alone!”

And he was on her in an instant, his bare upper body hot against her coldness, his mouth seeking hers. Their lips met, and a jolt of need shot straight through to her heart. The kiss wasn’t gentle, but consuming. Lightning flashed as he crushed her to him. Rain pounded down all around them, but they were so close not a drop could shimmy between them. His lips traveled her cheeks, her nose, her hairline, leaving a burning path no cold water could erase. Unshaven roughness grazed her skin, a thrilling sensation that made her feel wild as the storm.

And for the first time, he didn’t pull away.

Long minutes later, it was she who finally broke the kiss, needing to catch her breath. She shivered in his arms, listening as thunder rumbled—in the distance, then closer—matching the uneven beat of her pulse. The rain smelled chilly and fresh, but Jason smelled warm and male.

“Caithren,” he murmured near her ear.

She’d thought she couldn’t feel any more wonderful, but hearing him utter her name—her real name, for the first time—made her heart constrict with an overwhelming happiness. He wanted
her
, Caithren…and, even more significant, he finally believed she
was
Caithren.

Finally.

He buried his lips in her wet hair. “Caithren, sweet Cait.” The words were muffled. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

She felt entirely too ecstatic to respond to his distress. “I told you I was Cait—”

“Not about that.”

He tucked her under his chin, his arms secure around her shoulders. Numb from the cold, her injured arm made no protest.

“I lost my head just now,” he said. “And I’m so very sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Cait cried over another crack of thunder. “Be sorry you didn’t believe me, if you will—you haven’t believed a word I’ve said since the day we met. But don’t you dare be sorry you finally kissed me of your own accord.”

“I’m not sorry for the kissing. I’m sorry for what will come later.”

By all the saints, he sounded wretched enough to throw himself beneath the wheels of a carriage. “Nothing bad will come later,” she insisted. “For heaven’s sake, it’s just a bit of fun.”

But as soon as the words passed her lips, she knew they were false. Kissing Jason wasn’t just a bit of fun. It was more than that. And something bad
would
come later.

Because later she would have to return home, never to see or kiss him again.

He set her away, keeping hold of one of her hands. “All right. Nothing bad will happen, then,” he said, although not as though he believed it. But a sudden smile burst free as he swiped at the rain dripping down his forehead. “Good heavens, have you ever in your life been so wet?”

SHE WAS STILL
laughing when they made it to the cottage and he shoved the door back into place.

Except for when lightning lit the sky and seeped through the shutters, the room was pitch-black, but Jason managed to find her old shift, which thankfully was nearly dry. He turned his back while she changed into it, then saw her to the bed before finding the driest of his own clothes.

After toweling off with his cloak and donning the slightly damp garments, he began to feel like himself again. Being out in the cold and the wet with Caithren had been…unreal. Though he couldn’t regret what they’d shared—he would treasure the memory of this night for the rest of his life—he berated himself for his weakness. Now he would have to work even harder to put the distance back between them—the distance that was necessary to ensure he kept his head about him until the danger passed. His first concern was delivering Cait safely into her brother’s charge.

And afterward…

Well, he didn’t begrudge her the blithe way she could speak of their attachment—
a wee bit of fun
, indeed—but he did envy it. He knew their parting would not be as easy for him.

When he crawled into the bed, she reached out blindly. Feeling in the darkness, she found his head and drew it down for a kiss.

A sweet, sleepy kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. Distance, he thought as he felt her drifting into sleep.

He had meant to put distance between them, yet here they were, nestled as close as two people could be. But she felt too good against him to be thinking of distance now.

The morning would be soon enough.

If it wasn’t already too late.

THE NEXT
morning, sunlight streamed through open shutters to where Caithren lay alone in bed.

She rubbed her aching arm. The wound felt hot beneath the bandage. She should have unwrapped it last night and allowed it some air, rather than keeping it swathed in damp cloth. But she hadn’t been thinking of anything practical then. She’d thought about nothing but getting Jason to stop running away from her.

And she had—ironically, by running away herself. Grinning, she gave a happy sigh, remembering glorious kisses in the storm and falling asleep in Jason’s arms. She could never have imagined how marvelous it would feel to be close to a man. Wanted by a man. But…

But now that she knew, how would she live the rest of her life without a man? Without
this
man?

Every fiber in her body reacting to that thought, she sat abruptly, pulling the quilt about her shoulders. It was time to talk sense into herself. Even should she spend the rest of her life with Jason—an idea so implausible it didn’t bear considering—she’d never again experience the depth of emotion brought on by that wild combination of attraction, frustration, and weather.

Jason had said they’d be in London by tonight. Friday—two days from now—she’d find Adam at Lord Darnley’s wedding. Then she’d go home to Scotland, where she belonged.

The door lay flat on the floor, and their garments, save for her noblewoman outfit, were all gone. Crammed unfolded into the portmanteau, no doubt.

She wrapped the quilt around herself and walked to the gaping hole where the door belonged. The sky was cloudless, and the last remnants of the rain glittered like diamonds in the sun’s rays. Songbirds chirped in the trees. A beautiful, lovely morning.

Jason was outside by the horses, already dressed in his nobleman disguise, securing their belongings. Her gaze skimmed his gleaming black hair and the masculine planes of his face. He had shaved while she slept, making her fingers itch to feel the smooth skin and compare it to the roughness she’d felt against her cheeks last night.

“Good morn,” she called.

He looked up, favoring her with one of those white grins that made her heart turn over. But as she watched, it faded. His eyes looked hooded, wary. “Good morn,” he returned, then glanced away.

Her heart floundered in confusion. The pleasant flutter in her stomach turned to an uneasy jumble of nerves. After everything that had happened between them, still he was holding back.

Crushed, she retreated back into the cottage.

“The horses did fine,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he followed her inside. “Get dressed, and we’ll make for Welwyn. I’m famished.”

Obviously, he was going to act as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed.

She heard the clink of coins hitting the table. “For the damage,” he explained, indicating the door and the mess of congealed bread in the fireplace. “The owners will have to pay someone to fix it up, wash the bedclothes and all.”