And the Bride Wore Plaid (21 page)

And now he held her in his arms, her body moving as restlessly as his. Devon finally broke the kiss, but he did not release her as he usually did. This time he just held her. She clutched his coat, her face buried in his neck, her scarf on the ground at their feet. Her warm breathing tickled his overly active body, but all he did was hold her a little tighter. He waited for his breathing to still, resting his cheek against her silky hair, before he said, “One day soon, we are going to have to do something about this.”

She lifted her face and met his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Her cheeks colored, but she didn’t deny it.

“It is building between us. Can you feel it?”

She nodded.

He lifted his fingers to brush them across the line of her cheek. “I want you,” he said simply. “I want to make love to you.”

“Perhaps ... perhaps we should eat.” She moved out of his arms, stopping to retrieve her lost scarf.

Devon watched her open the leather bag that held their food. She hadn’t agreed, but she hadn’t refused him, either. For now, he would have to at least pretend to be agreeable to that.

He laid out their lunch while Kat fed apples to the horses, talking to them in a soft voice as if they were children. Thunder and Lady loved the attention and nickered in return, searching for more apples among Kat’s pockets.

Devon watched from the corner of his eye. When he caught himself envying the attention she was bestowing on the horses, he shook his head ruefully. He was so randy he was beginning to act like a lovesick swain, something he never did, even when deep in the throes of a new love.

Thank goodness none of his brothers was about or they’d tease him mercilessly. Especially Marcus who, at the age of thirty-nine, was becoming something of a tyrant.

Devon gestured toward their lunch, now spread upon a blanket. “The wind is picking up, and it is beginning to look more like rain. We should eat quickly.”

She smiled, finally leaving the horses. “Aye, Captain!”

He realized that her color was still high, and he wondered what she had been thinking. “I don’t believe I like being called ‘Captain.’”

“Oh.” Some of her smile faded.

“But you may call me ‘Admiral,’ if you’d like.” He made a magnanimous gesture. “Or ‘Admiral, sir,’ if it trips off your tongue any better.”

Laughter gurgled in her throat, and some of the tension left her face. “I hope you’re not pulling rank on me to get the largest apple tart.”

“All is fair in love and ... tartdom.”

She giggled, and Devon found himself reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face.

She jerked back at his touch. Devon frowned. “You just had a strand of hair on your cheek.” His gaze narrowed. “You don’t trust easily, do you?”

Kat’s face heated, and she said with a slight touch of defensiveness, “I trust people. I trust Malcolm and Donald and Annie and Simon and Neal and, oh, all sorts of people.”

“Just not me.”

She bit her lip, wishing she knew what she did feel. Her instincts were at war with her head, and she wasn’t sure which to believe. Her head told her that Devon was a rake and just wanted a few moments of pleasure. That there was nothing but pain at the end of that road.

Meanwhile, her instincts told her that she could trust him, that he wouldn’t attempt to lure away her heart. That he’d been honest—painfully so—and didn’t deserve her mistrust.

The idea of sleeping with Devon wasn’t, in itself, a horrible thing. In fact, judging by the way her body reacted every time he was near, a few hours of mutual pleasure might be satisfying to them both. The very thought made her breasts ache as if he’d already touched them.

But even while she acknowledged the temptation that was Devon St. John, a thought clamored in the back of her mind. He would make love to her and then leave her. He had offered no more. Could she accept such a bargain?

Truly, Kat did not know. So instead of mulling it further, she bided her time. “Perhaps we should eat first and then discuss this ... situation.”

His eyes darkened and for an instant, she thought he’d refuse. But then a smile glinted in his blue eyes. “A reprieve then. But only until we’ve eaten.”

The worst part about dealing with the opposite sex, poor souls, is that they never seem to realize that even when we tell them that they are in control, they are not. Nothing would ever get done correctly, else.

Mrs. Compton to Madame Bennoit, at a fitting at Madame’s establishment on Bond Street

Kat was agonizingly aware of Devon throughout lunch. He, meanwhile, seemed the same as ever—talking and teasing and several times making her laugh at his nonsense. Only once did she catch him looking at her with an intense expression. Just as they finished lunch, the clouds overhead darkened. The wind rose and the plaid blanket was puffed away while they were packing the remains of their lunch back into the saddlebag. Kat had to run to catch the blanket, laughing as she did so. The wind was quick and freeing, tugging her skirts and hair, blowing fresh and cool.

Her spirits began to lift even though a part of her still dreaded the upcoming conversation.

Devon put the blanket away, then looked up at the darkening sky. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it back to Kilkairn.”

She followed his gaze and agreed. It was looking dark, indeed. “There is a copse of woods where we can take shelter.”

He glanced at her with a lopsided grin that sent her heart spinning in place. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for a cottage like yours.”

“Far too much. All there is for shelter is a shed that was once used by the toll keeper. It has only three sides and probably leaks like a sieve.”

“Just my luck.” He untied the horses and led Lady to Kat. “Good thing I’m an admiral. We may have to swim home.”

She allowed him to help her into the saddle. He set her up without effort, then stood looking up at her, his hands still on her waist.

Kat grew uneasy under the intensity of his gaze. “What? Is my hair mussed?”

He grinned. “I was just thinking that the wind had made you look as if you’d just been thoroughly rolled in the hay, even if I’ve yet to touch you.”

But he had touched her. In many, many ways. In the weeks since Devon had arrived, Kat felt as if he’d awakened her. Brought her back to life after a long, lonely sleep.

The question was, if she allowed the relationship to go further, could she ever be satisfied to go back to the lonely sleep again, or would it be torturous to remember what she had and could no longer have?

Her smile must have faltered, for he removed his hands and said a little harshly, “Come. It’s about to pour. Where is this shelter?”

She waited for him to mount and then took the lead, directing them back down the path to where the shed was almost completely obscured by a copse of trees and brush.

Just as they reached the shed, the heavens opened and rain came down in buckets. Devon slid off Thunder as soon as they reached the shelter, then helped Kat down. She was already drenched and could barely see for the sheets of rain.

He took Lady’s reins, then pushed Kat gently toward the shed and yelled that he would be there soon. Kat stumbled forward, the water obscuring her vision. She could barely decipher the outline of the shed.

The old building was small and damp, but the roof wasn’t as bad as she’d thought, leaking in only two or three places.

She hugged herself, shivering a little at the cold. The breeze, which had felt so good before the rain, now seemed chilly and unwelcoming. She looked around the shed to see if perhaps there was enough wood to make a fire, then decided that if she attempted to start one, the entire place might catch aflame.

Devon appeared, wet to the bone, something tucked beneath his coat. He wiped the water from his face and glanced around. “It will do.”

“It has to,” she answered, offering a smile. A slight shiver wracked her as she spoke.

Devon pulled the picnic blanket from beneath his coat and handed it to her. “Here. Take off your jacket and put this over you. It’s fairly dry and will keep you warmer than that wet wool.”

Her teeth were beginning to chatter, so she took off the jacket and the bedraggled white scarf. After looking around, she hung them both on a stray nail. “I wish there was more furniture. Some chairs, at least.”

She turned to take the blanket from Devon when she saw his gaze on her chest. She looked down and winced. The rain had soaked her white linen shirt and her chemise all the way to her skin. The cloth clung to her, revealing far more than she’d intended.

Devon thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Common sense told him that Kat would have beautiful breasts, but the large, full mounds revealed by her wet shirt far exceeded even his lustful imagination.

He was awash with the desire to see them, taste them, cup them in his hands. “We must have our talk,” he said, wincing a little when his voice made the words seem harsh.

She colored, almost snatching the blanket from his hands and wrapping it around her. “So talk.”

He wiped water from his neck, pulling off his own wet coat and loosening his cravat. “Let’s sit.” He searched through the ruined remains of the shed, finding a chair with a broken bottom and a bucket that, turned upside down, could be used as a stool.

He placed the chair against the driest wall and put a board across the broken seat, then overturned the bucket and made a companion chair. “After you, m’lady.”

Kat took the chair, sitting primly on the edge of her seat. Whether it was because she was anxious or because the rain had wet her hair until it was slicked back from her forehead, her eyes seemed unusually wide.

“Well,” he said, sitting on the bucket bench and raking a hand through his own hair. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a more awkward situation. But then, I’ve never desired to talk about having a relationship before.”

She looked at him curiously. “Never?”

“No. They pretty much all just... happened. Mutual consent, as it were.” Most of the women he’d had relationships with hadn’t expected or wanted conversation. They’d wanted jewels, admiration, and his attention, all the while thriving on the hope that once he’d sampled their charms, he’d become so enamored that he’d desire something more—like marriage.

That never happened, of course. The more they wanted, the less he wished to give.

Kat was different. She didn’t ask for or expect anything his former loves had craved and demanded. And it made him want to do more for her.

It was a new and perplexing feeling. Added to that was his decision to be truthful at all costs. For the first time in his life, he was enjoying a relationship based on simple truth—he didn’t feel pressured to utter platitudes and inane compliments. Nor did Kat seem to want to hear false pledges of undying love. He knew that while the truth was sometimes difficult to express, Kat wouldn’t accept anything less.

He glanced at her now, noting that she was thoroughly covered, the blanket clamped about her throat and hiding her wet clothing. “Kat, I’m not very good at talking about things. I’m a man of action. But for you, I’ll try.”

She nodded, her eyes warm in the silvered light. “I know.”

Devon slid the bucket directly beside her chair, then reached over and pulled her to him.

She stiffened.

“You’re cold. The least I can do is keep you warm.”

She relaxed a little, glancing up at him through eyelashes that were spiked with wetness. “If that’s all you’re going to do.”

“Until you say otherwise, it is.”

They sat there, listening to the rain, their bodies gradually growing warmer. Devon rested his cheek against her hair, the faint scent of lavender drifting through the air. He always associated that scent with Kat now. Lovely and light, it seemed just like her.

Kat sighed and moved, her shoulder rubbing against his chest. Devon’s body reacted immediately. God, but she was a lovely woman. A lovely person.

The tension between them that had begun at lunch grew with each passing moment. The longer they sat together, his arm about her, her head resting against his cheek, the more insistent the urge became.

Devon lifted a strand of her hair and pressed his mouth to the tress. Wet, it curled about his fingers, clung in a way he wished Kat would. “At least your hair likes me.”

She blinked at him, a quiver of humor curling her lips. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

“Yes, but you haven’t said you did. I take that as a bad sign.”

She turned and, to his surprise, trailed her lips across his cheek. It was an innocent touch, though his reaction was anything but.

He almost gasped. “If you don’t wish me to touch you, you’ll have to forgo little demonstrations like that.”

Her brows rose. “Just a kiss on the cheek?”

“Any kiss, anywhere. They are maddening and make me want to pull you into my lap and savor you correctly.”

For an instant, heat flared in her eyes, but then her lashes slid down to hide her reaction. “I have a puzzle to solve.”

The soft words lingered in the air.

“Oh?”

“If I agree to take this relationship to a more physical level, what guarantee will I have that it won’t hurt when you leave?” She sighed, the sound sweet in the rain-wet air. “My mind and my body are at war over the answer.”

He drew her hair over his lips, savoring the silken stroke. “Sometimes the body is more truthful and uncomplicated than the mind.”

“And sometimes what seems an honest and truthful response is no more than a thoughtless reaction that would happen in a variety of other circumstances. For example, the way you might jerk away if a bee were to fly close by, or how you’d react if an ember from the fire landed near your foot.”

He smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?”

She tilted her head to one side, her wet hair now more red than gold. “No.”

“Then they were only being polite.”

Her lips quivered with a smile, but she ruthlessly repressed it. “I don’t believe it is possible to think too much.”