"But you don't agree."
A statement, not a question. He watched her eyes as she considered it, noting the bright intelligence. "No," she said at last. "I never knew them well, as they left to fight in the war when I was yet a babe. But I always felt they loved me."
"Love." Once he would have said the word with derision, but now, twenty-eight years old and wiser, he managed to say it with only dispassion.
Still, she caught his ambivalence. "You don't believe in love?"
"No."
"You don't love anyone? No one loves you?" Her light green eyes looked incredulous. "Not anyone, in any form?" She colored suddenly and stood up. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm...we don't know each other. I shouldn't ask such questions."
He watched her amble to the window, her steps sure, not the mincing progress that passed for walking among the tittering ladies at court. He couldn't picture her whispering behind a fan, though he was sure she attended balls and the like, and probably had a wonderful time.
Not a social animal himself, he shuddered at the thought, his gaze following her graceful hand as she traced the path of a raindrop with one finger.
"Ask away," he assured her. "I've nothing to hide." It wasn't the truth—it wasn't even close to the truth—but it sounded nice. "No, I don't love anyone."
He saw her watching his reflection in the windowpane. "Your parents...?"
"Made my life miserable."
She turned to face him. "Brothers or sisters?"
"Ha! Not a chance. I reckon my folks came together once, and once only—and lived to regret it, I'm sure."
At his frank words, a becoming pink bathed her skin. He wanted to make her flush even more, with the pink glow of passion. But Cainewood's stern face hovered in his mind, along with those of the man's formidable brothers, and Trick knew it would never be.
She didn't deserve to be used, and he had no wish to bear the consequences.
"You love someone, then?" he asked.
"Oh, yes." The sunshiny smile was back. "My brothers, all three of them. And my new sisters—my sisters-in-law, actually—and my niece. When I first held her tiny body in my arms and she looked into my eyes...it was love at first sight." Her gaze focused on him and darkened. "I guess you don't believe in love at first sight, either?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I don't believe in love at all. Maybe I did once...but not anymore. Love's only an illusion."
Her mouth dropped open, then closed. It looked soft. "It's no illusion," she stated in a tone that brooked no argument.
He grinned, enjoying her naïve confidence. "Love for a babe in arms, well, perhaps. Love between rational adults...not bloody likely."
"You've no plans to marry, then? Not ever?"
"Of course I do." Lifting his goblet, he crossed to the cabinet to pour himself more wine. "Perhaps a decade from now. But love won't have anything to do with it."
"Someday," she said, "someone will change your mind. Someday you'll fall in love."
"You make it sound like a promise," he said, amused.
"Then you can take it that way. And a Chase promise is never given lightly."
He seemed to remember hearing one of her brothers use those words. "Hell, lassie, I hope you're right. But I'm not going to lay money on it. Would you care for more wine?"
With a glance out the window at the pounding rain, she nodded and came forward to hand him her goblet. He poured, then handed it back. Their fingers met, his warm, hers cool.
Between them the goblet slipped to the floor.
She gasped, staring as a dark stain spread on the cream background color of the patterned carpet, then dropped to her knees to collect the broken crystal and dab at the blot with the hem of her riding habit.
Trick stared down at her bright head. "Stop," he pleaded, hard put to keep from laughing at her panic. "You'll ruin your skirt."
"I'll ruin my
skirt
?" Worried green eyes glanced up at him. "Then will the stain not come out of the carpet, either?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," he mused. Surely one of the servants would know how to remove it. If not, he could always bring another rug from his London warehouse.
"But...I'm not usually clumsy." She gazed at the stain, then sat back and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. "And I've gotten you in trouble, then."
"In trouble?" he repeated stupidly.
"The crystal and the carpet..." She bit her lip, then her eyes cleared. "Tell the owner I'll pay for it all. Or rather, my brother will. It won't be a problem."
Tell the owner. Oh, she was a precious one. She thought he was a criminal, yet she worried about his carpet and angering his supposed landlord.
She'd be more on target worrying about her maidenhead, he thought wryly, reaching down a hand to help her rise.
At her full height, the top of her head came just to his chin. She tilted her face and fastened her gaze on his. Their hands seemed fused together, and he could hear her slightly uneven breathing over the patter of rain on the roof.
Slowly, her free hand came up to sweep the hair from his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, then she touched a fingertip to his lower lip, exactly in the center, so lightly he wondered if he imagined it.
Real or imagined, his body quickened. He stared at her soft mouth. "Don't you worry," he said low.
She blinked and pulled her hand from his.
He almost made a grab for her, but reminded himself who she was.
Damn, it had better stop raining soon.
"Come, there's water in the bedchamber." He swiveled and headed for the corridor, knowing she would follow. "We'll rinse the stain on your skirt before it can set."
Composing himself, he poured water into the washbowl and set it on the low table by the bed, then turned to beckon her near and hand her a towel.
She wetted it and leaned down to dab daintily at her hem. Frowning, she dipped again and dabbed harder. Finally, she sat on the bed, rucking her skirts up about her knees so she could plunge the offending stain into the bowl. She stared into space, holding the fabric in place with one hand.
Thinking she had very shapely calves, Trick sat beside her and grinned. "You're going to sit there till it comes out?"
She turned to look at him. "It won't take long this way."
He watched the water soaking her skirt. A dark circle grew to encompass much more than the stain, but she didn't seem to notice. Her gaze was riveted on his eyes.
She swallowed and licked her lips.
Despite his best intentions, he moved closer, then closer still when he caught a whiff of her sun-fresh skin and flowery hair.
From the main part of the cottage, he heard the door fly open and bang against the wall. He thought it must be the wind. Though he knew he should get up and close it, his arms stole around Kendra's waist, and he bent his head to hers, toward that soft, tempting mouth.
She swayed closer and raised her face. Her breath came sweet and warm from between her parted lips.
"Hey, are you here? We need your help to find our..."
Jason Chase arrived in the doorway, his brothers Colin and Ford close on his heels.
"...sister," he finished weakly.
Kendra and Trick jumped up and apart, taking the porcelain bowl with them. It fell to the polished floor with a loud crash.
"Not again," Kendra groaned. "I never drop things."
"This isn't what it looks like," Trick hurried to say.
"No?" A muscle in Jason's jaw twitched. "You mean to say I didn't see you on a bed with your arms around my sister and her skirts pulled up around her waist?"
"My knees," Kendra corrected.
Jason just glared at her.
"What were you doing, then?" Colin asked.
Trick wondered why he felt so uneasy. "Rinsing a stain from her skirt."
Ford rolled his blue eyes. "You expect us to believe that?" He turned on Kendra. "What the devil are you doing here?"
"I was...riding. And it started raining, and Trick came along—"
"Trick, is it?" Colin's eyes bore into hers, and Trick saw her flinch. "Exactly how well do you know this man?"
"For God's sake, Colin—we just met."
"And you let him put his hands beneath your gown."
Trick leapt to her defense. "Hell, no, Greystone—I told you, we were rinsing out a stain."
"A bloodstain, would that be?"
Kendra's eyes narrowed with puzzlement. "No," she said. "Why would you ask—"
"How can you think such a thing?" Trick interrupted.
"How could we not?"
"I'm disappointed," Jason said, stepping closer to Trick. "Very disappointed. Kendra has never acted particularly wisely, but she's been very sheltered and you ought to know better." He gazed at Trick with doleful eyes. "At least tell me you didn't know who she was."
"Of course I knew who she was!" Trick exploded. "I saw her with you in that bloody coach."
Beside him, Kendra gave a surprised gasp.
"Ah, yes," Jason responded, looking resigned. "That will have to stop, you know."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The highway robbery. You don't need the money, and Kendra doesn't need to see her husband strung up at Tyburn."
"Her husband?" Trick's heart pounded. Her brothers didn't know the truth. Or rather, they knew he wasn't posing as a highwayman for the money, but they weren't likely to learn the real reason anytime soon.
He'd given his word to King Charles.
And now they thought... "You think I bedded your sister? You must be mad!"
"They
are
mad!" Kendra railed. She turned to Jason. "You have to listen." And to Colin. "It was only a stain. A
wine
stain." And to Ford. "You're always telling me
I
jump to conclusions—"
Ford's hand shot out to grasp his twin's upper arm. "Come along, Kendra." With a murderous look at Trick, he pulled her from the room.
"We'll call on you when the banns have been posted," Jason ground out.
"No," Colin said. "It will have to be by special license."
"Bloody hell, you're right." Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "She could be with child."
With child?
Trick couldn't believe what he was hearing. One minute he was washing out a wine stain, the next he was accused of fathering a babe. With a woman he'd never even kissed.
Never mind that he wanted to.
Kendra was soaked to the skin. Water streamed from her hair into her tear-blurred eyes. She was shivering. But she'd rip her own tongue out before asking her infuriating brothers for one of their cloaks.
Riding behind them, she heard the murmurs of a deeply involved conversation. She took slow, fortifying breaths, wishing she could make out their words. She couldn't let them make her go through with this. But they wouldn't, would they? Surely they didn't intend for her to actually wed a highwayman. A highwayman she hadn't so much as kissed!
Which was a pity. Because she'd wanted to kiss Trick more than she'd wanted to do most anything else, ever.
She knew full well he'd been about to kiss her, and she'd been ready—no, not just ready,
thrilled
—to cooperate. But the kiss hadn't happened. Not to mention a mere kiss didn't warrant a forced marriage.
But, dear God, he'd turned out to be everything she'd fantasized and more. She'd melted just looking at him, and when he'd wrapped his arms around her, her whole body had felt on fire. She'd been dying for that kiss.
It would have been the first time she'd kissed anyone.
Oh, she'd been kissed, of course—she was twenty-three, after all, and not unattractive—but she'd never kissed anyone back. She blamed those brothers of hers. Every time a gentleman managed to pull her into an alcove or onto a balcony and press his lips to hers, one of her brothers would materialize, staring daggers into the unfortunate swain's eyes. And until now, she hadn't been enamored enough of any man to make an issue of it.
Why did her brothers always have to show up and ruin it all?
At long last, Jason sent the others ahead, then halted until she caught up. "I cannot believe you did that," he said.
"It was raining." She was seething inside, but somehow she managed to sound calm. "All I did was come in from the rain."
"That's not the way it looked," he said as though that were the end of the discussion.
She stared at his determined profile. A highwayman...her brother was letting—no,
making
—her wed a highwayman. Regardless of whether Jason thought she'd lost her virtue to the man, the fact that he'd as good as pledged her to a robber was beyond belief.
Her stare turned to a glare that drew his gaze. He blinked. "What were you thinking, riding out alone?"
Ignoring that, she drew breath. "I cannot believe you expect me to marry a highwayman. You, who wouldn't let Lord Harrison near me because he was only a baron!"
For a moment, Jason just looked at her. Then his lips quirked into a smile, and he threw back his head and laughed.
Incredulous, Kendra watched, wishing the rain pouring into his mouth would drown him.
"You—you—you don't know who he is, do you?" he choked out.
"Trick Caldwell. Patrick Iain Caldwell," Kendra returned through clenched teeth. "Do you think you would have found me in a man's bedchamber—never mind that nothing happened there—if I didn't so much as know his name?"
Jason only laughed harder. "Patrick Iain Caldwell What?"
"What? What do you mean, what? That's not his name?" Kendra bit the inside of her cheek. "I should have guessed he'd lie to me," she muttered, more to herself than her brother. "He's a bloody highwayman, after all."
"You don't know who he is." Apparently failing to notice her unladylike language, Jason actually snorted. "You really don't know who he is." With another shout of laughter, he dug in his heels and raced up to meet their brothers.
Kendra could hear their loud guffaws through the distance and the driving rain.
She rode behind them for another few minutes, listening to their whoops of laughter, hoping they'd expire from lack of air. A buzzard circled lazily overhead. Not exactly Ares's bird, the vulture, but close enough. A fury was rising in her that would do Ares, the God of War, proud.