Seduced by a Scot Page 12

  Nichol went down on one knee.

  “Do you know what infuriates me most of all, Mr. Bain?” she demanded.

  “I’ve an idea, aye.”

  “You’ve no idea. What infuriates me most is that I trusted you! I believed you!” she shouted angrily as Nichol rose to his full height. “What a bloody fool I was for trusting you, a mere stranger! Everyone I have ever trusted has abandoned me, and I canna imagine why I thought you’d be any different. I should never have let you take me. I should never have—” She suddenly stopped shouting.

  Her mouth gaped.

  She stared at the necklace he held in his hand a long moment, then looked at him again. “When?” she asked simply.

  “In the night.” He supposed he should be relieved to discover that he could not think like a thief, but it had been a bit of bother not to know how to steal properly. It had struck him near two in the morning that the Garbetts would immediately turn to Miss Darby if the necklace was discovered missing before they escaped, and would look through her things, and therefore, he had to alter his first plan. He’d felt ridiculous, catting about like he had in the night. He’d sneaked down the hall, pausing when a board creaked. He kept to the wall, where the floorboards were not as worn and were taut. His heart had been in his throat, but he could not allow them to take that necklace from Miss Darby.

  Quiet as a mouse, he’d opened her door. The bag was just inside, where she’d left it earlier. He could see her in her bed, lying on her side. Her long dark hair spilled behind her and he could hear her steady breathing. She’d looked so young to him, so vulnerable. It had made his heart ache in a peculiar and uncharacteristic way. She’d been dealt a rotten hand in life, that she had. Just like him. But to feel something about that, to find that he could not ignore it or push it away, had been unsettling.

  He’d found the necklace easily enough. He’d looked at her once more before he slipped out—she’d looked almost ghostly in the low light of the hearth’s embers, and he had suddenly imagined her hair sliding between his fingers. His lips on her neck. His hand on her breast.

  “I thought you had lost your nerve and put it some place they might find it,” she said meekly.

  Nichol tilted his head to one side and gave her a curious smile. “Do I seem to you a man who loses his nerve easily, then?” He glanced down at the necklace in his hand for a moment to gather himself. “I feared something might happen, and it did. I realized that if they discovered the necklace missing before we’d taken our leave, they’d suspect you, aye?”

  Her brows dipped. “So you...you came into my room while I was sleeping?” she asked with a tone that made it impossible to discern if she was angry or impressed.

  “Aye.” He held out his hand, the ends of the necklace dangling through his fingers.

  Miss Darby slowly stepped forward, her eyes locked on the necklace. And then she began to move with alarming speed. Nichol braced himself—he believed she meant to tackle and pummel him. Indeed she did tackle him, but not in the manner he was expecting, and he was caught completely off guard.

  Miss Darby threw her arms around his neck and yanked his head down as she rose up on her toes, and kissed him.

  He gave a short laugh of surprise into her mouth, which she flatly ignored while she kept kissing him. This woman! Was there no end to the ways she surprised him? She was igniting him, setting the blood in his veins on fire. She was taking risks she ought not to take, persisting when she ought not to persist, and he was a sudden conflagration of want. He slid his arms around her body, holding her to him to prolong this attack, and tangled his tongue with hers.

  She felt unimaginably soft in his arms, tasted sweet as spring. He felt himself foundering in the sensual caress of her mouth against his, sliding headlong into the grip of his determined arousal. But she suddenly lifted her head, breathless, her eyes glittering. She laughed so gaily—or was it hysterically—and he was startled. He’d not seen this side of her.

  “Mi Diah, what have I done?” she laughingly cried. Her arms slid from around his neck, her body slid down his as she put herself back on her heels. “I donna know what came over me, Mr. Bain, aye? I didna mean to do it, I swear it, and I canna explain it other than I am so happy,” she said, and took the necklace that he’d threaded through his fingers.

  He’d forgotten he was holding it.

  “I thought it was lost to me forever! Mi Diah,” she said, again, pressing her palm to one cheek, then the other as if to calm herself. “Please forgive me.”

  He felt inwardly shaky. He was rocked by that kiss and at present, wasn’t sure which way was up. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “No forgiveness is necessary, Miss Darby.”

  Her eyes were still shining, but there was a different sort of light in them now. It was slightly seductive. More knowing.

  “You are kind to no’ take offense, Mr. Bain, for you would be entirely in the right if you did. I do beg your pardon. Contrary to what you might have heard from the Garbetts, I am truly no’ in the habit of forcing my affection on gentlemen, unsuspecting or otherwise.”

  Affection.

  She laughed, as if surprised. “I scarcely know myself.” She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I need a wee bit of air, that’s what.” She moved as if to walk away, but paused and looked at him sidelong, a funny little smile playing on her lush lips. “I apologize for my harsh words earlier. I was so terribly angry. But I am in your debt, Mr. Bain,” she said, and turned away, walking up the road, rubbing her hand on her nape as if to wake herself from a long nap.

  How odd, how discomfiting that the gleam in her eye should make him feel so outside himself. So bloody restless.

  This was not like him.

  No one disconcerted him, particularly not the fairer sex.

  But here he stood, quite thoroughly disconcerted.

  He shook his head, tried to dislodge the thoughts rolling about. He took the horses by the reins and led them to walk up the road where Miss Darby had stopped, standing in the middle of the road, staring off into the distance. He noticed she’d put on the necklace—the emerald flashed at him from the hollow of her throat.

  “What do you think?” she asked, and turned, holding her cloak open so that he might admire it.

  What did he think? That it was bonny. Almost as bonny as the fair neck it graced. That he would very much like to remove it, to feel her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, to slide his hands over her creamy shoulders.

  “Do you think your friend will like it, then?” she asked, and curtsied deeply. “He might think me a fine lady, aye?”

  Bloody hell, but Nichol had forgotten about Dunnan Cockburn altogether. “Aye, I think he will,” he answered in all sincerity, and felt a slight swell of illogical resentment against Cockburn.

  Miss Darby rose up, and Nichol reached for the open panels of her cloak. “Unfortunately, we’ll no’ know how Mr. Cockburn finds your necklace straightaway, for we must take a detour.”

  He hardly knew what he was saying. His plan was to hasten her to Luncarty and leave her there, dispose of this particular problem, his job complete. He’d then go around to fetch the groom and see his brother after all this time. That’s what sentiment did to a man—it made him think of ridiculous things, and worse, act on them. Nichol hadn’t been to Cheverock in years. This wasn’t the way a son should return home, but his feelings for the lass were driving him to ignore even the slightest bit of common sense.

  “Pardon?” she asked as he fastened her cloak at her neck.

  “Do you recall the lad you frightened half out of his wits with your complaints?”

  Aye, he was mad, then. A simple kiss had propelled him to say and do things he ought not to, all to allow himself a wee bit more time in Miss Darby’s company. To what end? All for the sake of another kiss?

  She tilted her head to one side. “Aye yes,
I remember a lad, I do,” she said. “Only vaguely, really. He said no’ a word and I was no’ of a mood to pay him any heed.”

  “Aye,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. “I recall too well.” He fastened the second hook on her cloak. “The poor lad was left without a horse, he was. I was forced to send him off for safekeeping until I could come and fetch him.”

  “Why did you no’ bring him with you?”

  “If I’d brought him with me, I would have lost you.” He looked her in the eye. “And I could no’ allow that to happen, could I?”

  She smirked. “Mr. Garbett must have paid you handsomely, Mr. Bain.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Darby—he did no’ pay me nearly enough.” He smiled.

  So did she.

  Aye, he was mad. He would change his route, add two days to his time with her, arrive on his family’s doorstep with a woman he could not explain, all for the sake of a kiss.

  He dropped his hands to her waist to lift her onto the horse. But he didn’t lift her right away. He was caught by the look in her eyes. Her head was titled back, and her eyes were filled with amusement. Her gaze drifted to his mouth. “I didna ask you to come after me, Mr. Bain. Therefore, I refuse to feel the least bit bad for you.”

  “I would be sorely disappointed if you did, Miss Darby.”

  “Where did you send him?” she asked, and placed her hands delicately on his forearms as he prepared to lift her up.

  The warmth he was feeling began to cool as he thought about Cheverock. His father. He lifted her up onto the back of the horse. “Home,” he said. “I sent him to my home.” Even the words tasted bitter to him.

  “Oh!” She looked surprised and even a wee bit delighted. “That’s quite a risk, is it no’, Mr. Bain? They’ll think you’ve brought your mistress.” She laughed at that, as if it were wildly impossible.

  Nichol didn’t laugh. He couldn’t laugh. The dread had already begun to fill him, pushing against his ribs and his throat.

  Miss Darby’s smile faded. “I beg your pardon, my jest was in poor taste. What excuse will you offer for me, then?” she asked, averting her gaze. Her cheeks were turning pink. “I donna care what you say, if it helps you. No one’s opinion can harm me now.”

  She had not met his father, he thought bitterly. “I donna know,” he said truthfully. “I’ve no’ been home in many years and I canna be entirely certain how either of us will be received. But I will no’ see you harmed, Miss Darby.”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly surprised by that. “But—”

  Nichol turned from her horse and leapt up onto the back of his. He did not want to hear her question, did not want to explain, did not want to think of it at all. He set them off on a trot, away from the moments of tenderness they’d just shared, the warmth he’d been feeling, the affection she’d shown him.

  It had been a lark anyway. What he’d just done was foolish—nothing would change the fact that he was delivering her to Dunnan Cockburn. Today, or tomorrow or the next day, it didn’t matter, he would deliver her, because this was the way of his life. He made the acquaintance of women. He was intrigued by some. On occasion, he bedded them. But he always left them.

  He was a rolling stone, without a home, without a name.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t alter course and enjoy a day or two in her company.

  Affection.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MAURA WAS SUITABLY shocked by her own actions, but she was in no way sorry for them. She’d gone long past the point of worrying about propriety. Who could blame her, really? She’d been overcome by emotion—she’d felt such crushing disappointment when they’d left, and she’d thought her necklace lost to her forever. When she discovered Mr. Bain had it after all, her heart had filled to nearly bursting. It had felt as if she and Mr. Bain were two rebels, fighting against tyranny and injustice, and she’d been so filled with gratitude and victory and relief that she’d not been able to help herself.

  No, she wasn’t sorry for it even a wee bit—she was glad she’d kissed him.

  She kept thinking of his lips, how soft and pliable they were, and yet at the same time, rather demanding. Not in the same way Adam Cadell’s torturous kiss had been demanding—his lips had been hard and unyielding. Rather, Mr. Bain’s lips were the sort to demand by coaxing and teasing and molding her mouth to his.

  Maura shuddered with longing that sizzled like fat in her veins. She’d not wanted to stop kissing him, and she supposed she might have completely abandoned her morals had that pang of consciousness not stabbed at her when it did. She was suddenly aware of what she was doing, of who he was. She was suddenly aware of who she was, or had been, up until a month or so ago when Adam Cadell had ruined her life. She’d been a woman who valued her reputation and was careful not to give offense to anyone. She was a woman who waited patiently for Sorcha to marry so that she might possibly find her own match.

  She was most decidedly not a woman who threw herself at a man and kissed him so enthusiastically.

  And she had been quite enthusiastic.

  Her conscience had at last grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back from the brink of total ruin, and frankly, Maura still wasn’t certain how she felt about her meddling conscience.

  She watched Mr. Bain ride just ahead of her, his seat just as sure on the bare back of the horse as if he’d been in the saddle she now rode. His back erect, one hand curled into a fist and pressed against his thigh.

  She had to stop thinking about that kiss. Practically speaking, she had to stop thinking about him. She hardly knew a thing about him, really. He had burst into her tower prison and had whisked her off, intent on marrying her to a perfect stranger. She was, by his admission, a problem he’d been paid to solve. And he would have handed her off without the slightest hesitation had she not escaped. The only thing she really knew about him was that he was a decent soul, because he’d agreed to help her retrieve her family heirloom.

  A month ago, she would have been aghast by her familiarity with a man about whom she knew so very little. But as she was destined to be presented as a potential wife to a man she had not even met, she supposed her acquaintance with Mr. Bain was a deep one by comparison.

  Once again, her practical side chimed in, reminding her that instead of musing about how well she did or did not know the man she’d so brazenly kissed, she ought to be about plotting her next escape.

  Funny how the heat in her blood could drown out all reason.

  She’d think of her next escape when the time came. There was no use pondering it until she saw what obstacles faced her.

  So she would allow herself this bit of fantasy while she might. Soon enough, she’d not have the luxury of time to think of anything other than how to survive. Let me have this, she begged the practical side of her. Her practical side began to snivel, but her lustful thoughts banded together and crowded around it and pushed it off a bloody cliff.

  Mr. Bain glanced over his shoulder at her, as if to assure himself she was still there. She smiled. He faced forward again.

  What an interesting enigma he was. He was educated, refined in his manner. Maura would have guessed him the son of a vicar or a laird, a man from a respectable family. Why, then, had he not been home in many years? Why had he said he didn’t know how he’d be received? It was odd—he presented himself so fully in command that she would think he’d be fully in command of his family, too.

  No matter what he’d meant by it, it had cast him in a different light to her. He’d seemed rather black-and-white to her at first, but now he was varying shades of shadows and glimpses of bright light.

  She wanted to know how many other shadows there were in Mr. Bain. Perhaps there were dark shadows, peculiar peccadilloes that would astonish her. Perhaps he was the sort to lust after a woman’s foot. That was something Maura would have thought outrageous and impossible, b
ut Delilah Frank had whispered such madness about Mr. Grant, a widower who’d married a lass who was thirty years his junior. She said he likes to rub himself on her feet, Delilah had whispered in Maura’s ear one afternoon as they’d followed Sorcha and Adam about the garden.

  “What do you mean, rub himself?” Maura had asked.

  Delilah had giggled, her cheeks flushing red. “I mean it,” she’d said with a furtive glance about and a nudge to Maura’s side.

  Maura fixed her gaze on Mr. Bain’s back and tried to imagine it. The image forced a giggle, and she tried to swallow it, but that only made her want to giggle wildly, like a girl who’d gone off her head. She choked back more than one burst of laughter.

  Mr. Bain turned his head. “Aye, let’s have it, then. What amuses you?”

  How do you like a woman’s foot, Mr. Bain? She shook her head and bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing. It was absurd to even think it. “Nothing.”

  His gaze narrowed. He slowed his horse so that hers could catch up to his. “If you’ll no’ tell me, I will assume you are diverted by the plotting of your next escape.”

  Well, that was a wee bit uncanny. She would have been doing precisely that had she not kissed him and begun to imagine even more impossible things. “My escape!” she said gaily. “Whatever makes you think I plan to escape?”

  “Because you’ve demonstrated a penchant for it, aye? And, you have your necklace now. I would guess that you believe the world is now yours for the taking.”

  He was not wrong. “Well, you’re wrong, sir,” she said. “You lived up to your half of our bargain, and I intend to live up to mine.”

  “And by that, you mean you will allow me to deliver you to Luncarty,” he said with a lopsided smile.

  “I give you my word, Mr. Bain, I shall no’ attempt any escape until you’ve been long gone and canna be faulted.” She smiled prettily at him.