What Happens in Scotland (23 page)

Finally he moved, helping to push her chemise down with eager, rowdy fingers that knocked against her own tentative ones.

And then he stilled. For a long moment, Georgette wondered if she was not what he had imagined. Was not what he wanted. But then, finally, he reached out a hand and gently cupped her bare breast, rubbing the calloused pad of one thumb across her aching nipple.

“Do you ken how beautiful you are?” he asked, his eyes dragging up to meet hers, his words thick with appreciation.

And then his mouth followed the direction of his hands, his tongue was on her breast, and she came undone. Sensation she had never imagined snaked through her, connecting parts of her body that had never seemed remotely related before. Her insides throbbed, taut on a string, and he was the masterful musician who would play the instrument she had become. A cry bubbled up in the back of her throat. She pressed a hand against her mouth, unwilling to make even the slightest noise that might bring outside attention to what they were doing.

Noise that might encourage him to stop.

His lips left her breast and came up to claim hers. His tongue danced circles on her lips, explored the space of her mouth with sure intent. She pressed the length of her body against him, imagining what it would feel like to be completely skin on skin. Through her skirts she could feel the jut of his body, hard and promising. This was no tentative interest on behalf of a disinterested partner, no prelude to a dutiful bedding from a reluctant spouse. The heat of his mouth and the thrust of his member against her thigh told her he
wanted
her. And the knowledge did not frighten her.

Quite the opposite. When he touched her like this, she could almost imagine him doing so for the rest of her life.

Her fingers curled convulsively into his hair and she pulled his mouth closer to hers, desperate to close the hairbreadth distance that yawned between them.

And then he groaned.

Not in pleasure, though it was a sound that came close. No, the noise came from his chest and it was distinctly soaked in pain.

She drew back, confused. “What is the matter?”

“My head.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “You need to be careful.”

She moved her gaze to her fingers, which were gripping his hair a scant inch from the row of stitches on his head. She released him with a gasp. “Oh!” One hand coming to cover her mouth. “I am so sorry,” she cried.

“ ’Tis nothing.” He opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile. “Just a little injury someone gave me this morning.”

“That is not funny.” She fumbled to reseat her buttons, hurrying to put herself to rights so she could see about putting
him
to rights. Her passion doused, Georgette took a good, long look at the wound she had just been mauling. The stitches were still intact, thank goodness. A more effective antidote to desire had never been invented. “I hurt you this morning. I should not be allowed anywhere near you, for your own safety.” She put a hand on his chest to push herself up, but froze as he groaned again.

“Have a care there too,” he croaked.

She dropped her eyes to his coat, where old, dried blood stained the fabric. She had presumed, somehow, that the blood had been related to his head injury. But now she could see the fabric was ripped.

She pushed the coat aside and probed the tear, ignoring his hiss of pain. “Did I do that too?” she asked, her voice small. Shame suffused her every pore. She had treated him dreadfully.

“No. I was attacked in town this afternoon.”

“What?” Georgette pulled back, studying the lines of strain around his eyes. “
Where?
” His words made little sense. According to Elsie, most in town thought James MacKenzie a hero among men, a shining example of maleness that all of Moraig emulated. Who hated him enough to do such a thing?

He struggled to a sitting position, rubbing his head as he leaned forward. “Outside of the butcher’s shop. I have not given it much thought since I found you. I thought you had stabbed me, for a time.”

“Someone
stabbed
you?” she gasped. “And you thought it was
me
?”

He nodded, then reached a hand in his coat pocket and pulled something out. “With this, in fact.” He turned the tool over in his hand, his brows pulled down in a frown. “But as soon as I found you, I realized it could not have been you. The clothing differences aside, the person who attacked me was taller.” He gave her a wolfish grin, his appreciation obvious even through his pain. “And far less attractive.”

Fear had grabbed hold of Georgette and it shook her now, fiercely. It was perhaps the only thing in the world that could make her ignore such suggestive teasing. “But you thought it was me,” she said slowly. “Because your attacker resembled me in some way.”

He looked at her more sharply. The playfulness in his eyes burned away, leaving only suspicion. “Aye. The same hair color. How did you know that?”

Georgette bit her lip. The relief she had felt earlier on learning that things had gone well between James and his father settled into a sharper, stronger emotion. “Because that is my cousin Randolph’s pruning knife.” She pointed to the pearl-inlaid handle, which she had recognized instantly. “And if he was bold enough to attack you on a public street, I fear for your family’s safety.”

Chapter 25

J
AMES’S FAMILY MUSTERED
quickly in the library with a map of the estate unrolled on the table in front of them. The comfortable smell of leather book bindings and yellowed pages did little to offset the fear Georgette felt. She had not even stopped to put on her boots, instead picking them up and carrying them with her to stand barefooted on the carpet.

Georgette had been quickly introduced to both the Earl of Kilmartie, who was warm and welcoming, and James’s glowering brother, who had shown her only a stiff sort of courtesy. A palpable distrust hung from the man, like a heavy woolen cloak. Not that she blamed him. They would not be here, staring at a map and sorting out her cousin’s next possible move, if it hadn’t been for her.

She was surprised to hear James’s father explain he had rented the little stone cottage to Randolph. If her cousin had been audacious enough to attack an earl’s son in broad daylight, they might all be in jeopardy, especially now that the earl knew of Randolph’s plan to blackmail him. And her cousin had already wounded James, just this afternoon. The thought of anyone else hurt on her account sent her pulse pounding. She had credited Randolph with only a grandiose narcissism.

That he might be violent had regrettably not crossed her mind.

“The hunter’s cottage is here.” The earl pointed to a spot a few inches from where the castle was marked on the map.

“Why, that is scarcely a mile away!” Lady Kilmartie gasped, leaning in for a closer look.

Georgette glanced over as well. The little house had seemed so isolated, it was a surprise to see how close it actually sat to Kilmartie Castle. She had been living scarcely a stone’s throw from James’s family since arriving in Scotland.

His father looked up from the map, his face grim. “When I rented the place to Mr. Burton last month, he seemed an amiable enough young man. Reminded me of myself at that age, so focused on scientific explorations he barely had time for polite conversation.”

“Did you ever force an unwilling woman to marry you?” James asked.

“I should say not.” His father’s voice rang in surprise. “How could you even ask such a thing?”

“Because it proves he is
nothing
like you.” James’s gaze darted toward her. She squirmed as three other pairs of eyes followed suit. “Do you want to tell them, Georgette?”

She did not want to speak. Talking about it highlighted how naïve she had been to trust her cousin. How
stupid
she had been. But being silent would not help matters either.

“He tried to force me into marriage last night, after I refused him,” she admitted, her tongue thick with fear. She pressed backward, relying on the wood-paneled wall for support. “Your son’s involvement in this affair is due in no small part to his attempt to keep me from harm at my cousin’s hand.”

James’s eyes swept the room before coming to rest on his father. “I do not know what Burton may yet be capable of. Do we have legal means to see him evicted?”

“He paid for two weeks up front.” Kilmartie rolled up the map. “But he is late on the remainder of his rent. Should be a simple matter to have a footman escort him off the property.”

James picked up the map and began to tap it against one palm. “I dare not trust the job to a footman. Burton seems out of his head at times. One or more of us will have to do it.”

“Are you sure he is mad?” James’s broad-shouldered brother pushed off his own perch along the opposite wall and shot a suspicious glance in Georgette’s direction. “An inability to pay his debts does suggest some motive.” He raised a challenging brow that only she could see. “And he might have accomplices.”

James was staring at her, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “Has your cousin been having financial difficulties of late?”

Once again, she was startled by his attempt to draw her into the volley of conversation. She pressed her bare toes into the carpet. It was so much easier to prop herself up against the wall while others more capable than she discussed their strategies.

She drew a breath and considered what she had seen of Randolph in the days since she had arrived. She had been suspicious of his interest in marrying her for the financial security she would bring to the match, but that was not proof. “He did not say anything about his income,” she mused. “But I admit to being surprised by his modest choice of summer lodging.”

Lady Kilmartie broke in. “Perhaps he preferred a rustic holiday.”

“Randolph?
Rustic?
” Georgette shook her head and motioned toward James’s coat pocket, her confidence in her ability to contribute to the cause strengthening. “The man prefers nothing of the sort. Might I see his pruning knife for a moment?”

James placed the knife on the table where the map had just been stretched out. They all stared at it. She swallowed, thinking of how close it had come to doing James serious injury. The tool might have been too dull to properly do the job Randolph intended, but the scratch it had inflicted was centered over James’s heart. There was no doubting the man’s aim.

James’s brother bent over to examine it. “ ’Tis a man’s folding knife, simple in design.”

“ ’Tis a bit more than simple.” Georgette stepped forward and reached out a hand. “See here?” She brushed a finger over the thing. “The handle is inlaid with ivory and intricately carved, when a simple wooden piece would do. It is a ridiculous extravagance in a tool used to trim weeds, but all too characteristic of my cousin’s tastes. He is a poor scholar, but with the preferences of a peer.”

Kilmartie broke in, his mouth turned down. “He negotiated the summer’s rent for a pittance. When I think that I let him that house, so close to us . . .” He ended with a shake of his head. “It put my family in danger. I should have written to the references he offered.”

Georgette absorbed the regret in his voice and magnified it tenfold in her own head. She had done this to them. And she was helpless to make it right.

“When I saw him this evening, his clothing certainly suggested a penchant for expensive tastes.” James’s dry voice cut through her thoughts of guilt. “His coat was cut in the latest London fashion, and he was wearing Hessians to troop around Moraig’s dusty streets. Not even William is stupid enough for that.”

“You noticed his clothing but did not recognize him as the man who attacked you?” Georgette asked, surprised at both his power of observation and his lack of perception.

He offered Georgette a sheepish shrug. “I did not get a good look at the man’s face this afternoon, and I decided within minutes of our first meeting you could not have been the same person. As to his clothing, one notices these things when one is contemplating bloodying an adversary’s nose. I was more concerned about what he might do to you than what he may have done to me.”

Georgette released the breath she was holding at his admission. His words did little to ease her remorse at having forced this situation on him.

“Seems to me you’re a little
too
concerned about her,” his brother pointed out. “If her cousin’s circumstances do not support the lifestyle toward which he leans, perhaps this
is
simply about the money.” His gaze flickered toward Georgette. “And perhaps he did not act alone.”

Nausea churned in her stomach. The brother’s unspoken accusation hung in the air, waiting to be plucked and picked apart. But James simply shook his head. “If money is the motive, perhaps he is not merely mad. Perhaps he is desperate.” His eyes met hers from across the table, his jaw hardening. “And desperate men are the most dangerous sort. I need to fetch the magistrate.”

“I’ll go with you,” his brother said.

“No.” James shook his head. “I will do it. Mother and Father need you here for protection, and there are Georgette and the boys to consider too. I would ask that you stay here and make sure no harm comes to any of them.”

His brother scowled, looking none too pleased to be relegated to the role of nanny. On this, at least, they were of an accord. The idea of being left behind under the protection of a man who so obviously distrusted her opened Georgette’s mouth before she thought better of it.

“I want to go with you. To Moraig.” Her body tensed, already anticipating the rejection but refusing to accept it without a fight.

“ ’Tis too dangerous.” James set the rolled-up map forcefully down on the table. “I’ll not see you hurt.”

“And I’ll not see
you
hurt, nor your family!” Her voice came out a shrill jumble, but the words demanded release. “Not on my account.”

James pulled her to the side, his fingers a rough pleasure on her arm. Sympathy scoured his features. “I understand, truly I do. But I want you to stay here where I know you will be safe.” He glanced toward his brother. “William will make sure Burton causes you no harm.”

The fearsome William canted his head in her direction. His gaze was so heavy as to feel like a hand pushing her backward. “Aye. You certainly bear watching. You’ve caused enough trouble here, and ’tis dangerous work that awaits him.” He spared a sour look for his brother. “Work
I
should be doing.”

Her heart twisted at the betrayal of being passed off so easily. She crossed her arms, glaring at the man who would leave her behind with his large, mistrustful brother while he rode off to town. She knew she was being stubborn. Possibly irrational. But the long, hard day and the discovery of not only Randolph’s perfidy, but quite possibly his plot to do James harm, snapped what thin thread of sense she had left. Her mind grasped for a narrow foothold. “The magistrate will need my testimony in order to issue a summons for Randolph,” she told James. “You need me with you.”

“I
need
you to stay here, Georgette.” Exasperation crept into his tone. “You are wasting precious time.”

“Then stop arguing with me and listen to reason,” she challenged, sitting down on a nearby chair and pulling up her skirts. She picked up a stocking, which had been wadded unceremoniously into one boot, and began to pull it on over her foot.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, all pretense at placating her gone. “There is no reason to be found in this conversation. I don’t
want
you with me. I’ve enough to worry about with adding watching you to my burden.”

Georgette’s hands stilled, her objections splintering inside her.

There was a familiarity to his words and this path he would force her down that tasted of past disappointments. He would leave her here, a bystander to her life, and deny her any choice in the matter. He didn’t want her. She was nothing but a burden.

A bright, sharp pain pierced her heart. She had thought . . . she had thought James was different. That was what came of thinking.

More often than not, one found herself wrong.

“I’ll not stay here and be trouble for your family,” she repeated. It did not matter that one of the people she was trying to protect harbored suspicions of her innocence, or that the other two were staring at her with sharp-eyed surprise. If she stayed here with them, she was nothing but a burden. James had said as much himself. “I’m leaving, with or without you,” she warned, yanking the stocking the rest of the way up her calf.

Dimly, the distance of four miles and her inappropriate shoes clattered about in her head. But she was already pointed in this direction, like an arrow that had found its target. She wanted to punish him for such careless regard. “If not to Moraig, then to London,” she told him.

His eyes flashed, green fire that threatened to singe anything within arm’s length. “By God, if I have to lock you in here to keep that pretty neck of yours safe,” he growled, “so help me I will.”

“You’ll have to have a strong key,” she shot back. “Because I refuse to sit here and be your biddable wife.” She glared up at him, her hands already working on unrolling her other stocking.

He glared back. And then he stooped and picked up her boots.

For a moment, she actually thought he might help her put them on. Instead, he tucked them up under his arm, turned on his heel, and left. His family followed him out, his mother casting a last, worried look over her shoulder.

Georgette remained frozen on the chair, her stockings halfway on. She gathered her fractured protest into a ball she could hurl after him. He had taken her shoes. Her
shoes
, damn the man.

“I don’t trust her.” His brother’s voice echoed from the outer hallway.

“I don’t either,” came James’s heart-shattering reply.

And that was the last thing she heard before the key scraped in the lock.

H
E HATED DOING
it. God knew he hated treating her so, but the woman was proving a headstrong handful. At least James now knew to which part of her personality he needed to make his appeal for a real marriage.

Apparently, the wild, impulsive side of Georgette could quite overrule the proper, logical lady.

As he had left, he heard her banging on the library door, calling him any manner of names, threatening his manhood. She had shown him the full force of her temper and it had been magnificent. He almost chuckled at the thought. For a moment he regretted he could not be there to enjoy the spoils of such a glorious transformation.

Instead, he was bound for Moraig, on a mission he found more urgent with every indrawn breath. Burton had tried to murder him today. There was no telling what he might do to Georgette and his family.

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to William’s solid strength as he swung up on Caesar. He only hoped that by the time he returned with the magistrate, Georgette would have come to see that what he did was for the best.

He put his heels to the stallion’s flanks and gave him his head, letting the horse run. Shadows danced beneath Caesar’s hooves as they ate up the distance between Kilmartie Castle and town. To his left, the loch blazed red and orange, catching the last colors of the sky. The sun was threatening a rapid descent, streaming through the trees like a mirrored light and blinding him to the road ahead. And all the while, he prayed for speed.