Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (23 page)

Now, he could buy the fabric honestly, but he saw no reason to regret the past.

It also had given him a means to see Margaret, both in Scotland and in London. He’d found reasons to be near her, to tease her and watch indignation make her blush. And he’d savored the stolen moments.

Just as he’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together over the past few weeks. He’d always been fascinated by her—but now he knew her far better. The prim and proper behavior was a carefully constructed act. She used it to keep men away and to protect herself from anyone who dared to see the truth.

For there was far more to her. She might have protested when he’d claimed a kiss or two . . . but she’d kissed him back. There was a passionate side to her, one she kept hidden from the rest of the world.

Cain walked up to the second floor of the house, counting doors until he found Margaret’s bedroom. He pressed his ear to the room but heard nothing. When he opened the door a fraction, the room was empty. Margaret’s belongings were still there, and he chose the wardrobe as a place to hide.

He kept the door slightly open, waiting for her to return.

She’d made such a mistake by laughing.

Margaret knew what Cain believed, but the truth was, she wasn’t laughing at him. She was laughing at the shocked expression of the young lady. And, in a way, she was laughing at herself for ever believing that good manners and proper behavior were necessary to social survival.

These people were dining like barbarians, and honestly, she’d never liked ortolan buntings, though she’d been trained in the proper way to eat them. One was supposed to consume the songbird whole, with a napkin over one’s head. Likely the other guests had never eaten them before, but their incorrect manners had made it far easier to disguise her lack of appetite for the delicacy.

Though she remained for the duration of the dinner, she fully planned to find Cain and apologize. He would be angry, but she felt certain that she could make him understand that she’d been laughing at the idiocy of eating songbirds.

It had been the worst supper party of her life . . . and at the same time, the best one. For now she realized that frankly, she didn’t care about any of it.

When the gentlemen retired to their cigars and port, she slipped away from all of them. She hurried up the stairs, planning to find Cain and apologize in her own way.

She went to his room and knocked, but there was no answer. Inside, the room was cold and dark, though his belongings were still inside. She didn’t know where he’d gone, but at least he hadn’t left.

Margaret returned to her own room and asked Annie to help her dress for bed. The maid unbuttoned her gown and unlaced the corset, helping her change into a linen nightdress.

“Will that be all, miss?”

“Yes, thank you.” Margaret dismissed the young woman and stood for a moment in the room. Her thoughts were tangled up like a skein of yarn, but above all else, she wanted to find Cain and talk to him. Perhaps she could go to him later, if he returned to his room. She should have asked Annie if she had seen him, but even if she had, the maid might not confess the truth.

Until then, she turned the key in the lock, knowing she had to keep everyone out. The dark emptiness stretched before her, and Margaret tried to decide what she would say in her apology to Cain.

She closed her eyes a moment, wishing she’d never laughed. He’d saved her life, protecting her at every turn. He’d teased her and tempted her into casting off her prim ways, making her feel alive again.

And now he believed she had mocked him.

With a heavy heart, she walked back toward the bed, trying to stave off the worry. She had nearly made it to the bed when she heard a creaking sound coming from behind her. Fear roared through her, and she stumbled forward, seizing the fireplace poker.

“Who’s there?” she managed to whisper.

“Don’t be killing me, lass,” Cain interrupted, pushing the wardrobe door open.

Relief rushed through her at the sight of him, and Margaret let the poker fall to the floor. Without thinking, she ran to him and threw her arms around him. He embraced her hard, and she blinked back the tears, so thankful that he was here with her now.

He stroked her back, letting his hands move down to her hips. His blue eyes stared at her with undisguised longing. “I like what you’re wearing, lass.”

Oh dear. It meant that he’d watched as the maid had undressed her. Mortification burned her cheeks, and she blurted out, “You didn’t have to spy on me, Mr. Sinclair.”

He moved forward, his presence shadowing her. “I didna see verra much. Does it bother you that I watched?”

It should have. And yet, her body flushed with the thought of him watching. Why on earth would such a thought cross her mind?

“Of course,” she lied. “You shouldn’t have done such a thing.” She closed her eyes, thankful that she’d had her back facing the wardrobe. “I want to apologize to you for laughing earlier. I wasn’t trying to insult you—it was simply that I realized how appalling the food was. I don’t know why he believed that such a dish would honor his guests. It was terrible.”

He said nothing but stepped back. “It was, aye. And if you’re wanting to apologize, you ken the best way to do that.”

A kiss, she remembered. Her skin warmed at the thought, and she let her hands rest around his waist. He kept his posture erect, so tall, she had to stand on tiptoe. “I can’t reach you.”

In answer, he lifted her up, his arms beneath her hips. She was trapped in his embrace, forced to hold on with her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, pressing a light kiss against his closed mouth. Cain kept her body close to his, letting her slide down until she stood before him. “I never meant to wound your pride.”

His hands framed her face, caressing her temples. “In the morning we’ll go.” But there was no mention of accepting her apology. Though he’d accepted the kiss, he hadn’t returned it.

She wanted to talk to him more, but it appeared that he wanted to leave. And she didn’t want him to go—not yet. “Will you stay a little longer?” She kept her voice calm, as if it meant nothing at all for a man to be inside her room. But her hands were trembling.

Cain’s blue eyes turned hooded, and he murmured, “For how long, lass?” The hunger in his gaze made her question the wisdom of her request.

She didn’t know what to say. Only that the idea of him leaving her alone sounded terribly wrong. She was torn between the desires of her heart and proper behavior. “A little longer,” was all she could tell him.

“You’re afraid of me,” he predicted.

She was about to deny it, but then the words came bubbling out. “I
am
afraid, yes. I shouldn’t want you to be here—even though you’re a trusted friend.”

“Is that what I am?” he asked. “A friend?” He bent to her mouth, taking her lips in a soft kiss. And with that one motion, she felt her inhibitions falling away.

No, he was far more than that. Margaret wanted this man desperately, wanted to feel his kiss and the welcome weight of his body upon hers.

“You are,” she agreed, trying to gather the shreds of composure that remained.

“And you trust me, aye?” His wayward mouth moved to the soft part of her throat, her body weakening beneath the onslaught.

Shivers broke over her skin. “I trust that you would never hurt me.”

His wicked hands moved downward, and the seductive touch made her ache for more. “Nay. I would only love you, lass.”

Something inside her cracked apart at his words, like a physical caress. Her breasts tightened beneath the linen nightdress, and she could almost imagine his warm mouth closing over her nipple.

The shock of heat and dampness between her legs caught her unawares, and she sat down on the bed, trying to collect herself. Sinclair had always been a dangerous man, but she felt like the ground was shifting.

“I don’t know what to say or do anymore,” she whispered. “But I will say this—I’m glad you are here with me now.”

Her heartbeat quickened, and she grew aware of Cain in a way she hadn’t before. He was so very tall, and every time she was near him, she felt the dark strength of his presence. It was as if he could see past her prim and proper rules to a very different woman.

Her words seemed to intensify his response, pulling her deeper beneath his spell. His hand reached out to cover hers, and she didn’t pull away. The weight of his palm seemed to push her past a breaking point she hadn’t known was there.

“I want to be with you. You ken that, lass.” His hand laced with hers in a silent promise. The air between them was charged with heat, and she was torn by the desire to reach out to him, to feel the strong warmth of his embrace. To rest her cheek against his heart and let everything else go.

“I . . . was afraid you would be angry with me,” Margaret admitted. Yes, Cain was an outspoken, brash Highlander who did as he pleased. But his rebellious ways had awakened a wilder side of her. With him, she could say anything she wanted, reveling in the freedom to be another woman.

For a while, the silence descended between them as she considered what to say now. If she allowed him to touch her, there was no going back. But the thought of lying alone in her bed, with only the cool sheets, brought another sense of despondency.

There was a light knock at the door and a male voice said, “Miss Andrews, are you all right? When you left early, I thought you might not feel well.” It was Mr. Barnabas, who had apparently felt the need to come and see about her welfare.

Abruptly Cain dropped her hand and moved toward the door. Although it was already locked, he shoved a small table under the knob. He raised a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“I was about to retire for the night,” she called out. “I found that I was more tired than I’d thought.”

“Might I have just a few moments of your time?” Mr. Barnabas continued. “We needn’t have this conversation with a door between us.”

Oh yes, we should,
Margaret thought. She didn’t doubt that the man had come with the hope of courting her.

Cain crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. Then he walked over to Margaret and caught her by the hand, pulling her toward a wingback chair. Now why was he doing that? To protect her in some way?

She cleared her throat, answering Mr. Barnabas. “It would be inappropriate for me to open the door, since I was about to go to bed.”

Especially wearing only her nightdress. But it was even more inappropriate to have Sinclair within her room while she was wearing so little.

The Highlander sat down, pulling her back to sit on his knee. Immediately, she tried to get up, but he locked his arms around her waist. What was he doing?

Margaret wanted to protest, but he pressed his hand over her mouth to prevent her from making a single sound. Every part of her body went rigid being this near to him. Not because she was afraid of what he was doing . . . but because she feared her own response.

His masculine scent caught her, and the feeling of his hands upon her waist was dizzying. She didn’t know what his intentions were, but a rush of heat poured over her.

“I am sorry that I cannot lend you my coach in the morning,” Mr. Barnabas insisted. “But I thought we could perhaps make other arrangements. You could stay here a little longer until my return.”

The man’s words blurred in her mind, for she was incredibly conscious of Cain’s presence. He pulled her nearer, his mouth at her throat. Shivers of need coursed through her, and she wanted so badly to turn her head to accept his kiss.

“Miss Andrews, please consider delaying your journey,” Mr. Barnabas asked again. “I should hate to think of you traveling on horseback for such a great distance. Not when I can be of assistance.”

Cain’s hands moved to her rib cage, his heated breath causing shivers to break over her flesh. Her body was aching for him, wanting so badly for his hands to move higher.

Touch me,
the wanton side of her wanted to beg.

“Good night, Mr. Barnabas,” was her shaky answer. “We will speak again in the morning.”

The sound of the knob turning startled her. Thankfully, it was still locked with the table shoved beneath it.

Cain set her aside and moved toward the door, poised to fight. He waited a moment, and Margaret held her breath. Barnabas wouldn’t try to force the door open, would he?

There was a long pause, and at last he muttered, “Good night, Miss Andrews.”

She listened to his retreating footsteps, not daring to speak a word, for fear he would come back. Her heart was racing, and she returned to sit at the foot of her bed. Cain didn’t move from his position by the door. His deep blue eyes studied her, and she felt a blush rise over her skin.

She reached for a wrapper, hiding herself as much as possible. Cain hadn’t moved from his place by the door, and she questioned what he would do now. She didn’t move for long moments. If she went to bed, would he stay where he was? Or would he try to join her?

Her hands were still shaking, so she clenched them together as she approached the coverlet, not looking at Cain. She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, bringing the blanket up beneath her chin.