What Happens in Scotland (22 page)

“Did you hear anything of interest?” he teased as he stepped out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

His mother’s lips pursed. “No, the door is too solid for my tastes.” Her hands clasped and unclasped in front of her. “How do things stand between you?”

James grinned. He couldn’t help it. It started in his mouth, but rapidly consumed his entire face. “I think you can expect me to make an appearance for dinner, on occasion,” he told her, enjoying the way the news made her face light with happiness. “Father asked me to find you, so he could speak with you. I suspect he thought I might have to travel a bit farther than the doorway, though.”

His mother answered with a sheepish smile of her own. “I expect your father knew exactly where I would be, and what I would be doing.” She cleared her throat, and her gaze turned thoughtful. “Lady Thorold waits for you in the kitchen. Or should I call her Mrs. MacKenzie?”

James almost tripped over his feet, though he was standing stock-still. “How . . . how did you know?” Surely Georgette, with her protestations over the permanency of the thing, had not confided in such a virtual stranger and perpetual busybody as his mother?

“I saw your ring on her finger.” His mother clucked in disapproval. “Really, a lady deserves a finer piece of jewelry than a man’s signet ring, Jamie. What were you thinking?”

He shifted uneasily. “Well, truth be told, neither of us was thinking.”

His mother cocked her head, her eyes searching his. “She explained something of that. She told me you were both planning to undo it. Is that true?”

James nodded, his stomach turning hollow. So Georgette had told his mother she did not want to be married. Somehow, when it had been a conversation between just the two of them, it seemed still negotiable. To bring others into the scheme made Georgette’s regrettable change of heart seem more real.

“Does your father know?”

“He does now.” James lifted his gaze to the floral-patterned wallpaper lining the hallway. He feared looking in his mother’s eyes, lest she catch a glimpse of the uncertainty he was sure radiated from him. “How is Georgette?”

“She’s fine,” his mother assured him. If his mother disapproved of his use of the woman’s given name, the tone of her voice gave no sign. “Being entertained by the boys and their tall tales, last I saw her.”

James shifted his gaze to his mother’s. “I abandoned her in the foyer. I was anxious over how the interview might go, but I should have been kinder in explaining that to her.”

“She understood.” His mother’s eyes softened. “I like her, Jamie, and I can see you do too.” She fished a hand in a hidden pocket of her skirts and it emerged, palm out, holding a small, feminine-looking ring. “I do not know if your minds are made up or not, but I would urge you not to react too hastily.”

James picked up the delicate bit of gold with interlocking knots carved on the surface. “I do not understand.”

“ ’Tis a fede ring,” she told him. “It belonged to your grandmother. The intertwined knots represent a strong bond. Fitting, I think. A marriage is something you should reflect carefully on before tossing it away like ashes in a grate.” There, finally, was the slightest bit of reproof echoing in her voice.

His mother was parroting the thoughts in his own mind, but unfortunately they did not reflect the thoughts of his fair bride. He struggled against a rising sense of irritation. “That is the problem, Mother. We did not think carefully before doing this. We’ve known each other only a few hours. You and Father courted a year before you married. ’Tis impossible to know if this is right or not, and we risk making the mistake permanent if we engage in a delay.”

His mother inclined her head. “The length of time you take to come to the vows is not what matters.”

“There is also the little matter that I may have accused her of thievery,” he added. “She did not think much of me then, I can tell you.”

That brought a chuckle out of her. “There are days when I feel like I could wrap my hands around your father’s neck as soon as kiss him, over a matter as trivial as what sort of meat I should have Cook serve for dinner. There are always frustrations. And it may have taken a year, but I also knew how I felt about your father within seconds of our first meeting. If you like her, you should give her a chance. And if you give her a chance, you should give her a real ring.”

James fingered the gold band with unsteady fingers. He had not expected such an ally. “You want me to give your mother’s ring to a woman I have known for all of a day?”

Her eyes shimmered with mischief. “You know how long it took your father to come up to scratch when we were courting, but have I ever told you the story of how
my
parents met?”

At the confused shake of his head, she went on. “They met on board a ship, crossing the Northern Channel when they left Ireland for Scotland. They walked on strangers, and walked off husband and wife. And they were married, quite happily, for forty-three more years.”

James cupped the ring tightly in his hand. “Just because they loved each other enough to withstand such a risk does not mean it is the sensible thing to do in my case.” His protest seemed shallow. “She’s practically a stranger,” he added. “She could be off for London tomorrow.”

And she does not want me.

His mother laid a hand on the door through which he had just exited. “There is a history in that ring worth considering, Jamie. I don’t know if this girl is the right one for you. I only ask that you think hard on it.”

James slid the ring into his pocket, his ears pounding with the same hopeful rhythm of his heart. “I will consider it,” he told her. But the words were meaningless if they were only one-sided. Thinking on it was not what was needed here.

Convincing Georgette to reconsider the legitimacy—nay, the necessity—of their vows would take something more than a skilled negotiator.

It might take a miracle.

Chapter 24

T
HE CLOCK IN
the hallway was striking the eight o’clock hour when James walked by. The long, distinctive chimes felt like a series of punctuation marks in his head.

Georgette had indicated a desire to be off for London, as soon as she was able. The thought sat like hot coals in his stomach. He knew he was attracted to her, but he felt there was something more lurking beneath the surface of it all. And while he was not sure what his feelings meant, he knew his emotions would not be better defined by distance. Time was slipping by, time he might use to change her mind, time he might use to get to know her better. The tiny ring felt like a solid gold bar, weighing down his trouser pocket. Did he dare take the chance?

Did he dare not?

He did not find her in the kitchen, although he did find a lovely apple pastry there, hot from the oven. He nibbled on a generous share of it as he continued to look. She was neither in the drawing room nor in the library, though the places he scanned brought the familiarity of his father’s house back like a returning tide. His lungs grew tighter with each missed opportunity. Finally, he stood still and cocked his head, listening for some hint of her.

The front windows in the library had been opened to catch the breeze. Through one of them, he heard faint shouts and shrieks of laughter, coming from outside. His feet followed his heart out the front door.

He found her in the hedgerow maze, playing tag with his cousin’s children. He stood a moment in the late evening sunshine and watched Georgette bob in and out of the chest-height greenery, reaching for the boys with a shout here, a twist there. She was fighting a losing battle, playing such a game with children whose heads did not yet extend above the bushes, but she kept at it gamely, laughing at her own ineptitude.

Night was but an hour or so away, and the sun’s light had wound down from a bright, startling thing to something gentle. Georgette’s hair had tumbled all the way down, her hairpins a casualty of the game.

James’s chest pinched in envy.
He
wanted to be the one to make her look happy.

He could imagine her this way, mothering her own children without thought to care or propriety. James had told his mother this girl was a stranger but that was not precisely true. The proper side Georgette had shown him today was something he was still sorting out. But this woman, the one laughing into the wind, this woman he
knew.
His body leaned toward her, even from a hundred yards distant.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and moved toward the maze. His fingers found the fede ring as he walked. He worried the bumps and ridges along its outer edge, turning over his concerns in his mind as the ring tumbled in his hand. Georgette had given him a gift, the strength and purpose to reunite with a father he had lost due to his own stubbornness.

How did one repay a kindness like that?

Fifty yards away, she saw him. He judged the exact moment she became aware of his approach. The angle of her body shifted from carefree to careful. He regretted the loss of freedom on her behalf. Why did she feel the need to be so staid, so proper, that she could not enjoy a game of tag with children? As he came closer still and entered the maze, she lifted her hands to work at her hair.

Ten yards out, his jealousy of the boys shifted closer to a heartfelt thanks. By God, she was beautiful like this, her chest rising and falling from her exertions, her cheeks flushed pink. Her hair scattered over her shoulders, a swinging curtain of ivory muslin brought to life by her animated smile.

He stopped in front of her. Shadows cast by the manicured hedgerows were starting to lengthen around them, and the breeze had cooled to close to tolerable, but the air near her shimmered with absolute heat.

The boys protested their loss of a playmate. Loudly.

James tossed them a grin. “You do not have to stop on my account. I enjoyed watching the game.” He leaned in closer to Georgette, whispering wickedly into one ear. “Or rather, I enjoyed watching
you
.”

Her hands tangled nervously in the snarled mess of her hair. “I look a fright, and well you know it.” She inched away from him. “Your family will believe I am deranged.”

“Delightfully so.” He watched her try to compose herself, the very picture of a woman flushed with pleasure. He had seen her look much that way last night, after . . . well, the thought of what he had been doing to make her flush that way made his stomach jump in three directions. His gaze pulled to the boys, who were watching him with matching petulant expressions. They were a problem worth a moment’s consideration.

Clearly, he had come to spoil their fun. And he, horrid man that he was, could not wait to do so.

“When I looked in the kitchen, the cook was just pulling a tart from the oven,” he told them, remembering what had ruled his actions when he had been their age. They pitched themselves toward the front of the maze and ran toward the house with excited shouts, the game forgotten. After all, what game had ever withstood the call of baked apples and cinnamon?

He could think of one. His body tightened in agreement, honing in on the sight of the woman who inspired such thinking.

The subject of his wayward thoughts was trying valiantly to twist her hair into a knot. “Your cousin’s sons are charming,” she told him through the battle to secure her hair. It slithered loose the moment she lifted her hands from it. “If ruled a bit strongly by their stomachs.”

“They do seem possessed of an exuberant appetite,” James remarked, enjoying the view. Her struggle for dominion over her coiffure was pure entertainment.

He was betting on the hair.

“If you hand me the pins, I will help you put it up,” he told her, though he was reluctant to put his hands to such a regrettable purpose.

She lifted her chin toward the house. “I am afraid they came loose somewhere over there, and are well and truly lost.” She grinned over her hands’ busy efforts. “How did things go with your father?”

“Better than expected,” he murmured, distracted by the way her movements made her chest push against her bodice. “There will be no further concern from your cousin. You might . . . ah . . . try looping it that way.” He motioned weakly with his hands.

“ ’Tis hopeless.” She sighed. “My hair has always been one of my greatest struggles. The individual strands are too thin to stay solidly in my pins, but as a whole it is too thick to tame.” She made a face and dropped both hands in defeat, letting the pale strands fall where they would. “And the color is most unfortunate. Even gray would be an improvement.”

Such an invitation proved impossible to resist. James reached out and lifted a handful of her hair, sliding the strands between the pad of his thumb and forefinger. His memory pricked at him, the sharp point of a knife. He remembered being fascinated by it when she had taken it down in the little room above the Gander. She had revealed it slowly, removing one agonizing pin at a time. She had let it fall across his bare chest, the cruelest of sensual devices.

They had rubbed on well together last night. Literally. They might have started in the opposite manner from most couples, but perhaps there was something to be recommended in acknowledging the physical tug of attraction before turning themselves over to the maelstrom of emotion in which he now found himself tossed. There was something between them, something thick and solid and possibly lasting. Something beyond the beauty of her hair or the pleasure of her smile.

The fede ring felt like heated iron in his pocket, nudging him in the direction of his thoughts. He could scarcely believe he was considering this. He was a man who plotted his arguments with slow purpose, who planned his future with agonizing care. But the thought of giving up on this moment, this
chance
, seemed a lamentable folly. He bent down on one knee, intending to beg for her hand.

Only he neglected to consider his injuries in this hastily constructed plan to win her favor. The knee he chose to kneel on was on the leg the black mare had kicked earlier in the day. His weight refused to stay balanced in face of the lightning-crack jolt of pain that shot through him as his knee hit the ground. He pitched over, the air whooshing from his lungs. He came to rest flat on his back, staring up at the orange-tinged sky.

Georgette dropped to the ground beside him in an instant, her face drawn in worried creases. The tall hedgerows cast her in deep shadows, and for a moment he felt as if the air had been sucked clean from his chest. She had looked much the same way last night, leaning over him in their room at the Gander . . . just before she had put that tempting mouth on him.

Only then she had been wearing far less clothing.

She framed his face with her hands, and her hair fell, soft and fragrant, to tease at his nose. She pushed it back with an impatient hand. “Are you all right? Should I fetch someone from the house?”

He answered with a breathless nod.

“I
should
fetch someone?”

He shook his head this time, his gaze centering on the lush lower lip she was worrying with her teeth.

Her eyes, which had been wide with concern, narrowed suspiciously. “Is this some trick to get me to kiss you again?”

He almost laughed. Such a prim look she was giving him, and such stern words in accompaniment. The rebuke in her voice was a direct contrast to the invitation presented by her lips and their circumstances. They were lying on the grass pathway of the hedgerow maze, in absolute privacy. Anyone who might attempt to find them could be heard long before they made it this far, and no one could see them from the windows of the house.

Kissing was the least of what he wanted her to do.

He wanted to roll her farther into the shadows. He wanted to unpeel her dress from those stern shoulders and mold each rounded curve into pliant submission using only his tongue and lips. That she looked so stern over the thought of a little kiss disturbed him. She had offered him more than a simple kiss five minutes into their meeting last night.

She doesn’t remember
, his conscience prodded.

I could show her.

“Am I finding success with my unorthodox methods?” he asked, pressing his hands into the grass in an effort not to reach for her.

She rocked back on her heels, her lips compressing to tight bands. “This is not wise, James. What sort of game do we play here?”

How quickly she shifted between the two women she carried inside her. One was quiet and proper, as easy to startle as the deer that ran free on his father’s estate. The other woman was confident and bold, an uninhibited caricature of her other self. But which one did he need to appeal to, in order to have her consider the offer sitting on the tip of his tongue?

“I don’t know,” he told her, settling his head back onto the soft spring of grass. Hope sat like a rock on his chest. “I do not intentionally play with your feelings. I only know I am reluctant to see it end.”

He waited for her reaction, his breath caught up tight. The trouble with honesty was it could frighten her off. He was frightened of his own thoughts, now that he had admitted to himself he wanted to make this real.

Her lips parted in surprise. A smoky gray challenge flashed in her eyes. She leaned over him, and this time he felt the full body contact like a kick to his heart. “That hardly seems fair, sir. I have you at a disadvantage.”

“Indeed.” His voice came out as a whisper, but it was all he could manage with her breasts pressing down on him in such a way. “And you should surely take it.”

G
EORGETTE’S HEART KNOCKED
about in her chest like an unruly colt.

He wanted her to kiss him.

He was asking her—nay, he was daring her—to take the chance she denied herself. He had all but invited her to explore his mouth with her own.

And dear God she wanted to. More than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

The waning sun and long shadows bathed his skin in shades of orange and gold, bringing out the red of his beard. He looked rough and hopeful, his green eyes beckoning her. Her head was lowering before she could even begin to rein in her body’s agreement.

She told herself she should be in better control of her actions. She told herself she should pick up her skirts and run out of this far too private maze back to her safe life and her easy future and her certain independence.

Unfortunately, she told herself those things too quietly. Because the moment her mouth touched his, she stopped thinking about the noise of her objections and forgot everything but the feel of him beneath her lips.

He tasted like cinnamon and apples. The rogue must have taken a bite of the treat he had promised the boys. She moved her tongue over his lips, tasting not only the sweet goodness, but the precarious heat of him. She had never kissed a man like this, leaning over the top of him, her bare feet pushing against grass. The danger of it, the sheer
difference
of it, sent a thrill humming through her.

A dim part of her brain bade her to go slowly. They were out of doors, for heaven’s sake, lying in the dirt and grass like eager young lovers, heedless of the danger or the repercussions. But logical objections took second place to her body’s demands. She had gone twenty-six years without giving herself over to self-indulgence.

She refused to go another second.

She lifted her hands to his face and curled her fingers around his beard. She kissed him hard, silencing all her mind’s doubts with the slide of her tongue and the welcoming heat of his body. The memory of how he had touched her this afternoon in the room at the inn sent her reservations scattering. She wanted him to touch her again, to lift his hand to her breast and pluck at her heart. But he remained still beneath her, content to let her guide their progress.

She lifted her own trembling hand to her bodice and showed him what she wanted. Slipped her buttons free from their moorings and reveled in the ragged sound of his lungs, laboring in time with her moving fingers. She slid one shoulder of her gown down, then the other.