“We never were,” she returned hotly.
“Then you will also agree that bringing an unwanted child into the world will not solve anything.”
“Our child would not be unwanted! I will take good care of him, and gladly.”
His gaze narrowed. “It is not as easy as that. Having a child is a serious proposition.” His lips twisted. “Even I am aware of that.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise,” she said stiffly.
“But a man you have deemed unworthy of marriage could not possibly be a good father.”
Her cheeks heated. “Jack, don’t—”
“No, we will speak the truth. How is this child going to feel, knowing he was conceived only to stop a stupid feud?”
“He doesn’t need to know that.”
“Those things have a way of making themselves known.”
He was right. She clenched and unclenched her hands. Finally, unable to think of a retort, she said in a sour voice, “I cannot believe you even care about such a thing.”
His expression grew grimmer. “Your opinion of me could not be lower, could it? To you, I am just Black Jack Kincaid, the man with no heart.”
“No, no,” she said, regretting her words. “I didn’t mean—”
He threw up a hand. “Forget it. I shouldn’t be surprised. There is really no reason for you to believe otherwise.” He turned from her and stalked to the window. The pale afternoon sun lit the planes of his face, his auburn hair a slash of color against the deep blue curtains, his body rigid with anger. “What a damnable mess.”
Fiona shivered a bit in the chill of the bedchamber. She thought longingly of the warmth she’d felt tucked against Jack, of the way his hard chest muscles had pillowed her cheek, of the way his scent had tickled her nose. A slow heat began to warm her, beginning down low and moving higher, a deep tug of attraction, rich and sweet.
Heaven help her, she was lusting. The realization sent a flood of heat to her cheeks. “If our families think I am already with child, they will have to halt their animosity, which will give us some time to—” She closed her mouth. Heavens, how would she finish that sentence?
His gaze narrowed. “Time to what?”
“Time to—to—to—” Dear Lord, please open the earth and swallow me whole! How had she let her tongue get her into such a fix? “You know what I mean.”
“No,” he said slowly. “Explain yourself.”
“You know what I meant!” Fiona snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “While it will not be pleasant for us—”
“Speak for yourself.” An unexpected smile twisted his lips. “Making the child is the only good part of this plan. If you remember anything, you should remember that.”
Oh, God, she did remember. She remembered every sweet, delicious, breath-gasping moment. Slowly, she nodded.
His gaze traveled over her, hot and possessive, leaving a sizzling trail. “I’d take you here and now, if it suited you and we had the time.”
Fiona’s gaze flickered to the bed, then back, a delicious shiver feathering over her skin. She imagined them there, legs twined, hearts pounding as he—
No. She had to stay focused. She could not become distracted by such things.
“Fiona?” His gaze rested on her mouth.
“Y-yes?” Her lips tingled as if he’d touched them.
“You said you’d notified your brothers that we are married?”
“Yes. I sent a note to both my family and yours.”
Jack sighed. “I was afraid of that. Your brothers will arrive soon.”
She shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“Wonderful,” Jack muttered. He stalked to the window, then back, pausing before her. “How did we get here?”
“In my carriage.”
He turned on his heel and went back to the window, pushing aside the curtain to peer outside. “It’s getting cloudy and the wind is picking up.”
Fiona sighed. “That was me, I fear. You have sorely tried my patience.”
“As you have mine.” He released the curtain. “I am not going to wait for your brothers to get close enough to open the skies.”
Fiona wished she could ask Jack for reassurance that everything would be fine, but such luxuries were for real marriages. The thought made her shoulders sag.
“The carriage is away from the front door, which is good.” Jack yanked the latch up and pushed the window wide. Fresh air blew into the room, lifting the curtain and shaking the tassled ties.
“Jack?” she asked, bemused. “Why does it matter if the carriage is near the door or not?”
Securing the curtains to either side, he turned and walked back to her, then bent and swept her into his arms as easily as if she were a feather pillow.
Fiona grabbed him around the neck and held on tightly. “Wh-what are you doing?”
He grinned, all dark auburn hair and deep blue eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Kincaid, this is not funny! Put me down now.”
“No, love. You’ve planned things this far; now it’s my turn.”
“Your turn?”
He shook his head. “You always were a bit on the bossy side. Probably because of all those brothers of yours.”
She gasped. “Bossy? I am not bossy.”
“Hmph. Your brothers certainly used to think so.” He turned toward the window. “It’s time you stopped orchestrating the lives of everyone you know.”
“I don’t do any such thing!”
He glinted down at her. “No? Look at you now, getting married to save your brothers from a mess of their own making.”
“This is an emergency.”
“I know, I know. Lives are at stake. I understand. But you are not allowing your brothers to find their own answers; instead you’re attempting to manipulate them to your outcome.” He sat on the windowsill. “I call that bossy.”
“I call it necessity.”
“Whatever you call it, it’s time someone else was in charge.”
She squirmed, but his arms merely tightened. “Kincaid, put me down this instant! Hamish is not going to like this!”
“Good.” Jack swung one foot across the windowsill, then the other, then he was standing in the shrubbery. He grinned at her. “Hamish is not invited.”
She stilled a moment, as caught by his smile as by his words. “Invited where?”
“On our honeymoon.” Jack walked across the lawn to the carriage, his muscles rippling as Fiona clung to him. “We’re going to London.”
“But I thought we’d live at my house!”
“With your brothers?” Jack scoffed. “The ones who’ve sworn to kill every Kincaid they find? I think not.”
“But—”
“My lady?”
It was Simon, the footman.
“Oh, ah, Simon,” Fiona said, wondering desperately what she should say.
“Simon, good man,” Jack said smoothly. “Good news! Your mistress and I were married this morning.”
“Wh—you—the mistress—” Simon looked from Jack to Fiona, then back.
Jack nuzzled Fiona’s cheek. “Tell him, love.”
Fiona barely managed a smile through the shivers from his cheek against hers. “It is true. We are married.”
Jack quirked a brow at the footman. “So open the carriage door; we’ve no time to waste.”
“B-b-b—”
“And hurry, before I drop your mistress,” Jack continued, walking briskly past the astounded footman. “She may not have much height to her, but she’s an armful.”
“Jack!” Fiona protested.
Simon scurried to the coach and threw open the door.
“Thank you,” Jack said, tucking Fiona inside, then settling close beside her on the leather seat. “To London.”
“London?” Simon squeaked. “But that’s a long way—”
“London,” Jack repeated in a voice that brooked no argument. “We’ll stop along the way to change the horses. I have some board
ed on the London Road.”
“Aye, my lord, but—”
“Now.” The word dripped with rebuke.
Simon flushed, then bowed and closed the door.
Almost immediately, the carriage began rocking over the uneven road. Fiona sent a sidelong glance at Jack, noting the hard set to his jaw.
This was it. She’d married Jack Kincaid and won his reluctant agreement to support her plan. Now she’d have to pay the price for that agreement.
London, her bemused mind thought. Her family was left behind. Her friends and the servants she knew and trusted.
In London, there would be no one. No one but her…and Jack.
Good God. What have I done?
Chapter Four
Of course, pride and strength are not always bad. If ye’re ever in a fight, ye want a couple of MacLeans with ye in case things go from bad to worse. If there’s one word they dinna know, ’tis the word “cease.”
OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
The trip to London was long and tortuous. Though the carriage was of good quality—Alexander would have nothing less for his sister—it still swayed and bumped over the roads because of the speed Jack insisted upon.
Fiona, heart weary, fell into a deep sleep after the first few hours. The next two days passed in a blur. Every time the carriage stopped to change the horses, Jack would rouse her and escort her inside. There, she’d blearily partake of the inn’s fare, then they’d be off, the carriage careening madly toward London.
Finally, late on the third day, Fiona awoke with a start. She’d been deeply and dreamlessly asleep. She lifted her head, blinking into the dark as she surfaced to awareness.
Slowly, she realized she was in her carriage, snuggled in a corner, her cheek resting against…a waistcoat.
Fiona bolted upright.
Jack. The marriage. London.
Oh, God. She swallowed, painfully aware that her thigh was intimately pressed against his.
She had been sleeping against him. She scooted to one side, pressing her hands to her face.
“What’s wrong, love?” Jack’s voice rumbled through her. “Am I not soft enough?”
Fiona closed her eyes a moment. Oh, please, don’t let me have drooled.
There was a spark and a flash, followed by a faint hiss, as Jack lit one of the lanterns that hung in the far corner.
A warm golden glow suffused the coach and lit Jack’s auburn hair to a deep, rich brown as he settled back in his seat, his leg once more against hers.
Fiona’s gaze flickered over his clothing. Thank goodness no splotch of drool marred his waistcoat. Relieved, she smoothed her hair, pins scattering here and there, wisps of curls tickling her hands. “Look at my hair!” She caught Jack’s amused gaze and flushed. “I must look a mess.”
His eyes, almost black in the lantern light, raked over her, and a faint smile touched his lips. “You look like a woman just roused from a very well-used bed.”
Fiona had an instant image of herself and Jack, unclothed, their bodies entwined, memories she’d thought long dead.
She bit her lip, hoping the pain might drive out the thoughts.
“Don’t attempt to seduce me with that look.”
Her look was seductive? She lifted the edge of the curtain and regarded her face reflected in the window. “I don’t look seductive at all. I just look—Oh, blast! My hair!” Two large curls poked up in the back, giving her a faintly devilish look. “Why didn’t you tell me I had horns?”
“Perhaps I like women with horns.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking handsome and wolfish.
She tried to smooth her curls. “So you like horns? It’s so tempting to make a comment about you and livestock.”
He burst into reluctant laughter. “B’god, you are a fresh one.”
“I always was.” She gave her hair a final pat. “How is my hair?”
His dark gaze flickered over her hair, then lower. Much lower.
“I meant the hair on my head!”
Jack’s lips quirked in a smile, and he shrugged. “I won’t apologize for being a man.”
“You should apologize for being a rude man.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What did you mean when you said I was giving you ‘that look’?”
“I find it very erotic when a woman bites her bottom lip.”
“You must be teasing,” she exclaimed.
The blue of his eyes deepened. “You are an innocent, aren’t you?”
Her cheeks heated. “You, of all men, know that is not true.”
“There are many kinds of innocents, Fiona.”
She shrugged. “I have no regrets about our previous relationship, except that it did not end as it should have.”
“That was not my fault.”
“Yes, it was. You were not ready to settle down.”
“I offered to marry you! I waited for you, but you didn’t come. Instead, you sent your brothers with a damn note and—”
“You still had a mistress.”
Silence met this. Jack’s expression darkened. “I do not see what that has to do with anything. Many men have mistresses. I wished to marry you, Fiona. That was what should have mattered.”
An odd flicker of hurt burned through her. “Our values are quite different. I would not have countenanced my husband having a mistress.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps I would have given her up had you asked. We’ll never know, will we?”
“Do you have one now?” The question was out before she could recall it.
His lips tightened. “That is none of your concern.”
Fiona realized that her hands were clenched into fists, and she forced her fingers to relax. It was her concern. She could not accept a marriage that was othewise. And therein lay the only flaw in her plan: she’d married the one man she could not cajole, control, or persuade.
She regarded him from beneath her lashes. Every line of his body spelled defiance. From the way he planted his feet on the floor of the carriage, to the way his arms were crossed over his chest, to the proud tilt of his head, he was informing her without words that she had not won this battle. That she may, in fact, lose.
Fiona did not like losing. “Everything you do is my concern. We are married.”
“Not for long. The second I reach London, I will see what can be done with this mess.”
Fiona shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “The marriage cannot be set aside. I have already told you that.”
Jack quirked a brow at her. “You aren’t always right.”
“I know that,” she said with some asperity, “but even you must admit that I am right more often than not.”
He smiled suddenly, a spontaneous, lopsided grin that stole Fiona’s breath. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
If there was one danger in her current plan, it was that she might succumb to Jack’s attractions. Then there would be nothing but heartbreak, and she’d already had enough of that.
“You are biting your lip again.” His eyes glinted. “I am going to tell you why that gesture is so erotic, but I warn you, it’s quite reprehensible.”
“Anything that involves you tends in that direction.”
His lips twitched, but he replied easily enough, “When you bite your lip, it makes me think of all the other things you could do with your mouth.”
“Oh.” Like eat and kiss and—“Oh.” Her cheeks burned, yet she was also a bit intrigued. Jack had always had that effect on her. He could embarrass and tantalize all in the same breath.
But perhaps this was useful information. The time might come when she’d need to seduce him—especially if he proved recalcitrant about performing his “husbandly duties” once they reached London. Which he might be, if he had a mistress. Fiona pressed her lips together to keep from scowling. She had never been very good at sharing her things, and she was certain she’d be quite possessive about a husband.
“You have lost
some of your pins.” Jack picked up two from the folds of her gown and held them out to her. “Your hair is so long. Longer than the last time I saw you.”
“It’s almost to my waist.” She made a face. “I have thought of getting it cut.”
“I love a woman with long hair.”
“You love all women, long hair or no.” She sniffed, tackling an unruly curl near her temple.
He sent her a roguish wink. “At this moment, I especially love women with long brown hair and green eyes.”
“Oh, just stop it.”
“Stop what?” he asked, all innocence.
“Stop flirting. With you, every sentence is an offer.”
He leaned back against the squabs, his thigh sliding over to press against hers. “And with you, every sentence is a challenge.”
She didn’t know how to answer that. If she replied, it would confirm his comment. If she didn’t say a word, she left a wealth of sharp retorts unsaid.
He flipped up one corner of the leather curtain and glanced briefly out into the racing darkness. “We’re entering London. It’s almost two in the morning.” He settled back in his corner, his leg moving against hers once more. “I like traveling fast.”
She glanced to her other side. It would be cold to lean all the way into the corner, for the night air was seeping from every seam. She supposed she would have to accept his leg against hers. At least there was a good deal of clothing between them—her chemise, petticoats, gown, and cloak. Jack was wearing breeches and…She looked at his legs. What else? Could he be naked beneath his breeches? They seemed molded to him, outlining the powerful lines of his thighs and the swell just above—
Oh, God. She closed her eyes. She’d been looking at his—Not only was it rude, but it had sent an amazing tingle through her, almost as if she’d touched it.
“Fiona, if you ever look at me like that again, I will not be held responsible for what I do.” Jack was so close that she could feel his breath on her temple. “Do you understand?”
Fiona managed a jerky nod, relieved when he moved back.
Jack from a distance she could deal with. Jack in the close carriage, his thigh a mere inch from hers…the memories were too bright, too raw. She’d been young and impetuous, and fortunate that nothing more had come of their brief liaison than some uncomfortably vivid memories.