Karen Hawkins - MacLean 1 How to Abduct a Highland Lord Read online

  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 marryyou , 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. Itwas 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.

  She cleared her throat. “I was just rememberingus. ”

  “I think of us, too.”

  She blinked at him. “I didn’t think you would.”

  He sent her a darkly amused glance. “No? How could I not? You were my first.”

  “That’s impossible. You already had a mistress! Alexander said she wasn’t your first one, either.”

  “So I have your brother to thank for that slip of the tongue, eh? Remind me to thank him properly when I see him.”

  “I would have found out anyway.”

  Jack didn’t argue. “Yes, but you were special; my first virgin.”

  Embarrassment flooded through her, and she fixed her gaze on the tips of her half boots where they peeped out from beneath her skirts. If only she were something as simple as a slipper that did not have feelings or memories or anything else so uncomfortable.

  She frowned a bit. Shoes really did lead the perfect life. They were polished and taken care of and not expected to do anything more painful than occasionally step in a bit of mud or a rare puddle. She’d wager her shoes never wished they could just disappear.

  Fiona looked at her hands, the hem of her pelisse, the seat opposite, anywhere but at him. “My goodness, it is certainly warmer here than in the countryside, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He stretched out his legs so that his thigh pressed even more firmly against hers. “It is much warmer.”

  She snuck a look at him. When had his eyes grown so hard, so intense? Though he did not scowl, his entire stance still spoke of an undercurrent of bitter anger. Some part of her had hoped that he’d accept the circumstances of their marriage and not struggle against fate. That had been a vain hope.

  She sighed. “When will we arrive?”

  “Soon. We stopped to change horses in Barnet, so they’re fairly fresh.”

  “Barnet? I don’t remember changing horses there.”

  “We stopped while you were sleeping. I told your man—”

  “He has a name,” she said shortly. “It would be more polite if you’d use that rather than calling him ‘your man.’”

  Jack’s brows lowered. “You aren’t one of those reformer women, are you?”

  “The only thing I wish to reform is your poor manners.”

  Jack looked incredulous. “My wh
at?”

  “Your poor manners. I daresay you don’t know the names of any of your own staff, do you?”

  “I haven’t the time for such nonsense. There are dozens of them.”

  “Dozens? How large is your town house?”

  “Large enough.” He caught her gaze and held up a hand. “Hold. Before you get more out of sorts, let me try to remember that blasted man’s name.” He frowned. “Seth?”

  “Simon.”

  “Simon, then. He came to the window when we stopped to change the horses. I explained I did not wish to wake you, so he had the carriage propped up so we could change the horses. Your Simon is quite ingenious.”

  “I don’t remember any of that.”

  “I explained you were tired from our honeymoon activities.”

  Fiona gasped. “You did not!”

  Jack’s eyes glinted in the low light from the lantern. “No, I did not. But I thought about it.” He slipped an arm about her waist and slid her across the small space between him. “It’s not every groom who would be so understanding of his bride on their wedding night.” He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek. “Fortunately for you, I am a patient man.”

  An odd flutter danced in Fiona’s stomach, her skin prickling with goose bumps. He’d always had the ability to make her bones melt with just a simple touch and a soft word. He was so certain of himself—while she was filled with uncertainty, an unwelcome experience. For the first time in her life, she did not know what the future held, and it terrified her.

  He feathered his thumb over her lips, his gaze following the movement. “You have the most beautiful mouth, Fiona. So lovely and lush, like a strawberry plucked at just the right time, red and sweet…”

  He bent forward and raked his lips softly over hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was more of a promise, a whisper of what could be.

  Fiona shivered again, her skin hot, her breasts tight. She should fight this attraction. Fight it and keep her own emotions well in control. But the last week had been nothingbut control, and she was tired of not feeling, not touching. She wanted comfort and acceptance and passion. After a week of death, she wanted to tastelife. To hold it to her, to savor it and revel in it.

  She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Jack saw the exact moment she gave herself over to the passion that hovered between them. While she’d slept in his arms, the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin beckoning to him, he’d had to fight the desire to touch her, taste her, possess her. It had been along carriage ride. During a rough section of road, her hand had fallen into his lap, and he’d thought he would explode.

  It had always been this way between them. Since their first meeting, something hot and primal had drawn them together.

  Now, finally released, his passion exploded with the touch of her lips to his. He pulled her closer and nipped her bottom lip, savoring its plumpness.

  But he wanted more than a kiss. Far more. He slid his hand up to her breast, cupped her, and ran his thumb over her nipple, making it harden through the thin material.

  Fiona gasped, her mouth parting, and Jack slid his tongue between her lips. She moaned, pressing closer, her arms tightening about his neck.

  God, but she was sweet. He deepened the kiss, tasting her ripeness as he slid his hands down her back to her waist, to her hips. She was so lush and full. This was a woman made for love, made for him.

  A sudden rocking yanked him back to reality as the carriage stopped.

  “Damn it!” he growled. “We’ve arrived.” Jack looked down into her eyes. She sat on his lap, her lips swollen from his kisses, her skin touched with a ripe flush.

  His groin tightened, but he ruthlessly ignored it. She was his for the taking. He knew it. But before he made that leap, he had to discover for certain if their marriage could be annulled.

  In the meantime, it would cause no harm to remind her who had the upper hand. Let her taste the cost of being married to a man who didn’t wish to be. Jaw clenched, he pulled Fiona’s pelisse back into place and smoothed her skirts.

  A soft rap sounded on the door.

  “Oh, no!” Fiona struggled to get off his lap, but Jack held her there.

  “Jack!” she hissed. “Simon will see.”

  “Then let him.” He tightened his hold, his expression grim. “You are my wife now. That gives me the right to hold you whenever I wish.”

  Fiona had the damnedest effect on him, making him possessive and irritated at the same time. It was yet another reason to end this farce, and quickly.

  The carriage door opened, and Simon flushed at seeing Fiona in Jack’s lap.

  “The steps,” Jack ordered.

  Simon nodded, his gaze directed at the ground. He let down the stairs, then moved aside.

  Jack lifted her and stepped out of the carriage, carrying her to the broad steps that rose to the doors of his house.

  “Jack!” Fiona hissed. “Put me down. Your servants will see, too.”

  “Let them.”

  Fiona wished she dared struggle but feared that would only make their entrance appear more ridiculous.

  As Jack began to climb the stairs, Fiona looked up at her new home. Five stories of stately mansion rose above her head. Heavy molding around the large windows and doors bespoke a quality and craftsmanship that was obvious even in the dim night. “Good God! It’s massive!”

  Jack paused with his foot on the last step. “I do wish you’d keep those comments until we are in bed, love. I would appreciate them all the more there.”

  Fiona’s cheeks heated. “Stop that!”

  Jack’s wicked grin flashed as he stepped onto the portico. The huge doors opened as if by magic.

  Within moments, they were inside, the doors closing. Fiona had a hurried impression of black and red marble flagstone, rich carpets, and the glitter of a huge chandelier presiding over a foyer elaborate in gilt-edged side tables and large, golden framed mirrors.

  Jack walked briskly past a stiff individual who could only be the butler and a stern, gray-haired woman whose keys proclaimed her the housekeeper. The shadowy figures of at least a dozen footmen blurred in the background.

  “My lord,” the butler said as Jack walked past. “We didn’t know you were returning. There is no fire lit in your chamber. Shall I—”

  “No,” Jack said, taking the stairs two at a time. “That is not necessary.” He paused at the top, his gaze insolently caressing Fiona. “Please bring a large breakfast in the morning. Avery large breakfast.”

  Fiona had thought she couldn’t get more embarrassed, but she was wrong. Her entire body flushed. How dare he do such a thing in front of the servants?

  He is angry. I knew he would be.She just hadn’t expected he’d be so bitter.

  Jack carried Fiona down a long hallway, his footsteps muffled by thick red carpet.

  Fiona put her irritation behind her. Tomorrow, she’d have Jack introduce her to the servants properly, and all would be set to rights. For now, she wanted to stop thinking. To stop feeling. She yearned for the delight of losing herself in a large featherbed and fresh sheets.

  He opened a large door and carried her inside a huge chamber to a bed that towered at the center of one wall. He paused at the edge of the mattress and looked down at her, his expression inscrutable.

  Fiona’s breath shortened. She was agonizingly aware of the bed beneath her, of Jack’s arms around her. This was it; the moment he’d take his rights as her husband. Her body tingled, her breath shortened.

  Jack lifted her a bit higher and then, without ceremony, tossed her onto the bed.

  Fiona bounced, gasping as she tried to find some purchase in the sea of covers and pillows. “Jack!”

  He was already crossing the room to the open door.

  She scrambled to her knees, her hair falling about her, her skirts flipped this way and that. “Where are you going?”

  “To see my solicitor.”

  “At this time of the night?�
�

  “For what I pay him, he can drag his lazy arse from bed.” His expression was hard. “Meanwhile, you may sleep here. At least for tonight.”

  Her chest ached as if he’d struck her. “Jack, the feud—”

  “Will resolve itself, with our help or without it.” He opened the door. “Sleep well, wife. This will be the only night you enjoy my bed.”

  “But you can’t just—”

  The door slammed, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged chamber.