How to Abduct a Highland Lord (14 page)

 “The blame is mine, not yours.” Jack made his way up the steps. He was beginning to think that perhaps he’d made an ass of himself last night. Damn it; all he’d wanted to do was to establish himself as master of his own life.

 Jack’s jaw tightened. He would not give that up. Although he’d been wrong to leave Fiona without seeing to her comfort, he still had the right to go where he wanted and when.

 He reached the bedchamber door, then looked down at his mussed coat. The least he could do was make himself more presentable for her. He placed the flowers on the floor by the door and straightened his cravat and coat. He used the edge of his sleeve to polish the toes of his boots, then reached for the flowers. His hand had just wrapped around the stems when the door was thrown open.

 Jack found himself looking down at the toes of Fiona’s boots. The boots that had rested so tantalizingly on his ass just last night.

 His body reacted instantly, flaming to awareness. He hurried to stand.“Oof!” His forehead bumped into something hard, the flowers flying.

 “Ow!”Fiona staggered back, one hand over her forehead above her eye.

 Jack grabbed her just as her knees buckled. “Fiona! I’m sorry! I just—oh, for the love of—”

 He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside, kicking the door closed. He absently noted the large brass tub off to one side while a breakfast tray sat on the small table before a newly stoked fire.

 He carried her across the room and gently placed her on the settee, then lifted her chin and examined her forehead. An angry red mark marred her smooth skin. Without thought, he pressed his lips to the spot.

 Fiona closed her eyes at his touch. It was a simple gesture, almost chaste, but it flooded her with a warm feeling of comfort. She leaned into his embrace, refusing to think about anything else.

 She’d spent the morning fuming at Jack’s absence. That had given way to a seething determination to let him know how she felt about his failure to inform the servants of her position. Then she’d spent a considerable amount of time practicing a pithy, well-thought-out speech that would let Mr. Jack Kincaid know in no uncertain terms what was what. She’d even planned which chair he’d sit in while she astonished him with her calm logic: the red chair received direct light, so she could see every expression on his face.

 She’d planned to establish herself as the epitome of dignity and grace, of reasonable discourse and womanly pride. And now this! He hadn’t even crossed the threshold, and they’d banged heads like a comedy act at Vauxhall.

 Life was not fair.

 Jack sighed, his gaze meeting hers. He looked tired, deep lines tracing from the corners of his mouth to his chin. Her fingers itched to soothe those lines, to touch his stubbled chin, to press a kiss to the corner of his lips and perhaps more—

 Blast it! She was angry with him, and rightly so. She could not just forget that. Fiona curled her fingers into her palms and jerked her gaze away. What was it about him that had her craving his touch, even when she was fuming mad?

 “I am sorry we had an accident,” she said now, struggling to remain calm. “I thought perhaps you’d lost something, so I was bending down to see what it was.”

 “I was polishing my shoe with my sleeve.” He looked down at his wrinkled clothing. “I was just trying to look more presentable.” He glanced behind him, where a broken flower stuck out from beneath the door. “I even brought you some flowers.”

 She bit her lip, looking at the flower smashed beneath the door’s edge, a quiver of laughter tickling her lips. What a horrid muddle. “Why did you bring me flowers?”

 “Because I’m an ass. I am very sorry I did not introduce you to the servants. I should have, but—” His expression hardened. “I was busy proving my life has not changed.”

 “Both of our lives have changed.”

 “Some,” he said shortly.

 She shrugged, turning her face away. There was no mistaking the challenge in his gaze. “I see.”

 He brushed his fingers over her forehead. “Had this been a bit lower, you would have had a black eye. It’s going to make a hell of a bruise as it is.”

 “Perhaps some ice would keep it from turning colors.”

 He immediately rose and crossed to the fireplace, reached over the mantel, and tugged twice on a long gold cord tucked beside the picture frame.

 “Sothat’s where the bellpull was.”

 Jack looked surprised. “Didn’t you use it when you called for the servants?”

 “No,” she said tightly. “When I wished for the servants to do something, I walked down the stairs and told them.”

 He looked at the breakfast tray, the bath, and the robe laid upon the bed, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “Fiona, I’m sorry.”

 “Yes, you are.” She bit her lip.Control. Grace. Composure. “I think we—”

 A soft knock sounded on the door, followed by Devonsgate’s entry. “My lord?”

 “We need ice,” Jack said in a terse tone. “Her ladyship’s head came into contact with my own, and you know how hard that is.”

 “Yes, my lord.” The butler turned to go, then hesitated. “My lady?”

 Fiona forced herself to look away from Jack. “Yes?”

 “I apologize if my previous demeanor lacked the respect due your position as mistress of this establishment. I did not know—”

 “Please,” Fiona said, throwing up a hand. “The circumstances were awkward for us all. Shall we begin again?”

 Devonsgate looked relieved. “Yes, please, my lady. I will fetch some ice for your forehead.” With another respectful bow, he disappeared, the door closing softly.

 Fiona got up and walked to the window, her hands clasped before her. How did one begin a conversation like this?Could she demand that he alter his actions? She’d abducted him and forced him into this marriage. Could she now demand that he be more…devoted?

 But that wasn’t what she really wanted. She deserved respect, if nothing else, and—

 An odd ticking sound came from the window. Frowning, she pushed open the thick velvet curtains. Hail clacked against the glass, standing in small mounds upon the sill. She sent an amazed gaze toward Jack. “My brothers arrived?”

 Jack nodded.

 “Where are they? In the sitting room? Why didn’t you tell me—”

 “They left. But they will return.” He gave a humorless smile. “They promised.”

 “Where did they go?”

 “I don’t know, though I believe two of them plan an extended stay in town.”

 “Oh, dear. Which two?”

 “Dougal and Hugh.” Jack frowned. “Or perhaps it was Hugh and Gregor. I don’t remember. You will find out soon enough, as they have promised to be quite visible.”

 She raised her brows. “What does that mean?”

 “You may ask them when they come to visit. I don’t feel qualified to speak for them.” Jack quirked a brow. “I don’t suppose you know which one of them can cause hail?”

 “Gregor. He has a cold temper. The rest of us just make rain.”

 “Like the cloud that’s been hanging over my carriage since last night.”

 Once again, her blasted temper had gotten her into trouble. Her gaze fell on the breakfast table, and she moved toward it with obvious relief. “We should eat.”

 He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back in his chair. “By all means.”

 She spread jam on two pieces of toast and placed them on plates, along with thin slices of ham and a poached egg.

 Another knock sounded on the door, and Devonsgate appeared with a small chunk of ice wrapped in a square of linen. He handed the ice to Fiona, filled Fiona’s teacup, and poured some ale into a cup for Jack, then left.

 Fiona pressed the ice to her forehead, watching Jack. When he took a deep drink of his ale, his coat pulled tight over his muscled arm. Fiona’s stomach tightened at the sight. He was so handsome, so attractive. “Where were you this morning?”

 Blast it! I wasn’t going to ask that! What happened to my prepared speech?

 He replaced his ale on the table, his expression shuttered. “If you must know, I was at a gaming hell.”

 In for a penny, in for a pound. She cleared her throat. “Jack, I did not like being left alone last night. The next time you go out, I would like to go with you.”

 That didn’t sound unreasonable. It sounded calm, well reasoned, and—

 “No.”

 “What?”

 “You heard me. A gaming hell is not a proper place for a gently bred lady.”

 “Nor for a gently bred man,” she returned stiffly.

 Jack’s mouth hardened. “Are you asking that I give up my amusements?”

 “No. I mean, yes. I mean—oh, blast it, I don’t know what I mean—except that you should not be carousing.”

 “I was not ‘carousing.’ If I had been, I do not see what business it would be of yours.”

 She clenched her hands into fists. “Everything you do is my business. We aremarried. ”

 “In name only.” He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “I agreed to get you with a child, but I will not give up my freedom in the process. If I wish to go to a gaming hell, I will do so. You cannot stop me.”

 A flicker of irritation rose. Fine, then. If he thought she would sit tamely home while he flitted about town, ogling women and doing God knew what else, he had another think coming. “Fine. But anything you can do, I can do also.”

 “Fiona, this is not a race.”

 She shrugged. “If you wish your freedom, take it. As I will take mine.”

 “Damn it, Fiona, you cannot—”

 A soft knock sounded on the door, and Devonsgate entered the room, followed by a line of footmen carrying buckets of steaming water. They poured it into the large tub one by one, and then left.

 Devonsgate folded a towel neatly over the lip of the tub and poured bathing salts into the steaming water. The room filled with the rich scent of sandalwood.

 Devonsgate gathered their dishes, then turned to Fiona. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

 She looked at her wrinkled gown. “This will need cleaning and pressing.”

 “Fiona’s clothing was lost in a storm,” Jack drawled. “We will be buying new gowns for her this afternoon.”

 “Yes, my lord. I shall order the carriage.” The butler bowed and left.

 Silence reigned. Fiona fidgeted, her gaze flickering to the tub and then back.

 “Aren’t you going to take your bath?” Jack asked.

 She looked at the tub, her color high. “I was hoping for a little privacy.”

 He gave an unexpected chuckle, the sound warming the room. “Fiona, I have seen you naked and writhing. Why would you mind disrobing before me now?”

 Somehow, last night seemed a long time ago. “I was just…” What? Going to refuse to be close to him because he hadn’t agreed to all of her requests? They had to continue their intimate contact if they were to have a child.

 Besides, she had never felt anything as powerful as their lovemaking, and she refused to give it up.

 She flicked a glance toward Jack and almost smiled. He lounged in his chair, looking relaxed, except for the hand that clutched one arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white.

 The truth dawned on her. He had been as affected by last night as she had been! Her heart skipped a beat, triumph washing through her.

 Fiona stood and walked to the tub, bending over to trail her fingers through the water. Hot swirls of steam arose, tickling her nose with the fragrance of sandalwood.

 Jack’s body was suddenly taut with tension. Fiona smiled. There was more than one way to skin a cat. She faced him and slowly undid the neck of her gown.

 Both of his hands now clenched the arms of his chair.

 Oh, yes. There was indeed more than one way to capture the attention of a very naughty Scottish lord. And oh, how good that attention felt.

 She pushed her gown from one shoulder, then stopped. “I’d best remove my boots first.”

 His eyes darkened with amusement. “Would you like me to undo them?”

 “That would be much faster, I’m sure.”

 He stood and walked toward her, proud and unbowed. She supposed there were benefits to not winning an argument; they were still able to face each other with their heads held high.

 They were two of a kind in many ways. She didn’t like losing, either. And they both enjoyed the heat of passion.

 She shivered as he knelt before her, his hands cupping her calf. He slowly untied the lace and glanced up at her. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

 She did so, marveling at the warmth that soaked through his coat.

 He held her leg with one hand and pulled her boot free. “There,” he said, dropping the boot onto the floor.

 Fiona caught her breath as his hand slid a bit farther up her leg.

 He flashed a wicked smile and lifted her other foot; in seconds, he dropped her other boot beside the first.

 She looked at the tub. “Do you think we mightboth fit in your tub? It seems quite large.”

 He chuckled, standing up. “It’s plenty large if you sit on my lap.”