If You Dare (43 page)

He put his hands on her shoulders and stroked the sides of her neck. “I'm teasing you,
mo cridhe.
It means Hill of the Rowan Tree.”

She cuffed him with the back of her hand, then returned it to his chest. “Hill of the Rowan Tree.
Pendant del Roure,”
she said, rolling the
r'
s in that voice he'd longed to hear, making his home's name her own. As she should.

“I do think you could like it there, but if you doona, then I'll take you wherever you can be happy.”

She went to her toes to nuzzle her face against his neck, again stunning him. “I'm happy where you are.”

His eyes closed from the tenderness in the gesture.
She wants to be with me,
he thought in amazement.
Damn, if she doesn't want to.

She drew back and said, “But on the way there, we'll need to stop in Paris.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Anna, I'll deny you nothing.” If money was the only obstacle between them, he'd bloody well rob trains.

She tilted her head. “Oh, you think I want to go shopping.”

He made his expression stoic.

But sadness flashed in her eyes. “Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline. This stop is of an entirely different nature.” When his brows drew together, she said, “I'll tell you on the way. But if we're going to Scotland, then you have to get me over the mountain before I get too big to fit through the pass.” She glanced around and added conspiratorially, “Trust me, you do not want to be stuck here for the winter with Aleix and Olivia mooning over each other.”

He grinned and leaned down to put his forehead against hers. “Anna, I'll take you away whenever you please. I still canna believe that you . . . that we . . . I thought I'd lost you.”

She twined her arms around his neck. “I don't suppose you can lose the woman fate decided was to be yours. You only needed to find her.”

“I have found her. And I'll no' be lettin' her go.” He laid his hands on her cheeks and gently kissed her.

“Actually,” she murmured against his lips, “I found you.”

Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate;

Your line to die for never seed shall take.

Death and torment to those caught in their wake,

Unless each dark one finds his forechosen mate.

For his true lady alone his life and heart can save. . . .

POCKET BOOKS

PROUDLY PRESENTS

IF YOU DESIRE

KRESLEY COLE

Available in paperback June 2006 from Pocket Books

Turn the page for a preview of

If You Desire. . . .

T
hough Hugh MacCarrick had imagined scenario after scenario in which he finally allowed himself to see Jane Weyland once more, he'd never envisioned her on all fours at his feet.

He'd entered her room and approached silently, watching as she swept her hand back and forth under the bed. He hadn't known how starved for the sight of her he'd been until he eyed the green silk dressing gown stretched taut over her slim back and hips, and her hair . . . dark, dark auburn curls that would appear black at night spilled down over her shoulders, concealing his view of her breasts. As if she read his mind, she piped her lip and blew a curl from her face then pulled the mass over one shoulder. He hissed in a breath at the creamy flesh she revealed.

Her hand froze. She slowly gazed up to meet his eyes. She had the damnedest green eyes—

Like a shot, she scrambled up and screamed.

“Jane, it's me,” he bit out as he crossed the spacious room toward her, holding up his hand in a nonthreatening gesture. He frowned to see it was near black with road dust.

She'd been bounding over the bed from him, gaze locked on the door, but now she slowed.

“Do you no' remember me?” He'd never anticipated this outcome. He'd remembered every minute detail about her.

She blinked at him. “Hugh?”

“Has your sight gone bad, chit?”

“Oh, it is you! How was I supposed to recognize you?” She nonchalantly hopped from the bed, her fear already shrugged off. “I haven't seen you in a decade and you're so dirty you look like you came down the chimney.”

He hadn't exactly stopped for ablutions when he'd thought she was in danger. Hell, he hadn't stopped for food. Now that he'd found her safe, fatigue and hunger clawed at him. He ran a sleeve over his face, remembering the jagged cuts marking his skin too late. He stifled a wince.

Though scarcely dressed, with her curves more highlighted than concealed, she sashayed around him, scrutinizing him up and down. When she faced him, she poked his shoulder with her finger. “Plus, you're bigger. A lot bigger. And your face is all shredded.”

His jaw clenched. “Where's your father?”

She raised her eyebrows at his surly tone. “I don't know. Probably in his study like he is twenty hours out of the day.”

“I dinna see him. The door was open and the butler was missing. And something you might note—no one came to answer your scream.”

She shrugged and the threadlike strap of her gown skimmed down her shoulder. Typical Jane, she did not pull it back. “Then your guess is as good as mine. Why
are
you so dirty?”

“I've ridden hard to get to London, and I need to speak to Weyland.”

“Why don't you run down there and check again?” She turned, dismissing him.

“You're coming with me. Put on a robe.”

When she ignored him, he scanned the room for a wrap. No wonder she'd been searching for something. Shoes and hose littered the room. Dresses were puddled where she'd dropped them.

Over the back of a chair, he spotted something that might cover her. “Put this on.”

“I'm not going downstairs until I'm fully attired. I'm late as it is for an engagement.” She chuckled as if at some private joke.

“We have a problem, then.” For all he knew Weyland and Rolle, the butler, had been taken down. “Because I'm no' letting you out of my sight, sweet.”

“Call down.”

He strode to the doorway. “Weyland,” he bellowed. No answer. “The robe, Jane.”

“To hell, Hugh.”

Why was she the one woman on earth he didn't intimidate?

“I've told you I'll go when I'm ready.”

“Then dress yourself,” he grated.

“Leave the room.”

“No' going to happen.”

“Turn around then.” When he didn't immediately, she tapped her cheek and said, “But then there's nothing you haven't sneaked a peek at before, is there?”

“Ah, lass, there's little you have no' shown me.”

Her eyes glittered with anger. “But just as you've changed, so have I.” She put her shoulders back and pulled her hair behind her, clearly aware of her charms and knowing she was
fuller. She'd always been blessed in form, with a lithe, graceful figure, and now there was more flesh in all the right places. It hadn't been conceivable to him that she could grow
more
beautiful.

And he had never taken the chance to touch her.

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth about to say something he shouldn't. “Just dress,” he ordered as he turned from her, taking the opportunity to wash his face at the basin. No wonder she hadn't recognized him. He hadn't shaved since his injury, and a layer of dust and abrasions covered him.

Of course, she was all perfection. He saw her in the mirror, a dainty foot poised on a stool as she rolled her hose up her long legs. When she slid up her gown to tie the garters into perfect bows, his hands clenched and he forced himself to look away. Jane smoothing her hose on—just another tormenting memory to put with the rest of them.

She'd always worn her garters high. Because her shifts were so short . . .

He heard stiff material rustling. “Are you no' done yet?” He didn't recognize his voice.

“Be patient with me, Hugh,” she said, sighing. How many times had he heard that same phrase?

He exhaled and answered as he always had, “I try, lass.”
Concentrate on details.
He spied her bow propped up near the doorway and noticed fresh blades of grass affixed to the bottom of her full quiver. He was pleased she'd kept up with her archery.

He'd bought her her first bow, helped her with her aim, and by the end of the summer, she could split a notch at a hundred paces. . . . He frowned. Had she been glancing at the door earlier? Or at the only weapon in the room?

She could well have been. In the past, when she hadn't been torturing him with coy smiles and soft words and touches, Jane had been a bit . . . fierce.

“You can turn around now.”

She sat at a dressing table, putting on earrings. Her blouse was unbuttoned.

“Could you no' finish your blouse first?” Why couldn't she have grown modest over the years?

“I can't put my hair up once I button it.”

So he watched, a man in agony, as she pinned her hair, her full breasts rising with each movement. When she'd finished her hair and the buttons, she stood and held out a necklace to him. “Hugh, would you?”

He crossed to her and took it, and she gave him her back. Tendrils of dark red hair were stark against the porcelain skin of her neck. He wanted to press his lips there more than he'd wanted anything in his life, and was a heartbeat away from doing so. Instead he inhaled her scent, unable to keep himself from closing his eyes. Her perfume was light but spicy.

And then his big hands, that had never been clumsy except around her, fumbled for a good few minutes. When finished, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along to Weyland's study downstairs. They found him staring out the window, absently rolling a letter like one might roll a map. He faced them, and smiled, but Hugh had never seen him appear so exhausted. He looked a decade older than when Hugh had seen him just months ago.

“MacCarrick, it's good to see you, son.”

Hugh didn't shake hands since he still clutched Jane's. “You as well, Weyland.”

“Papa,” Jane said, yanking her hand away. “Please tell me why Hugh was allowed to walk in on me dressing.”

When Weyland raised his eyebrows, Hugh gave her a baleful look. “No one answered the door. I found it unlocked and thought that was . . . off.”

“Oh, yes, well, Rolle was with me in the mews. The damned coal vendor was shorting us again,” Weyland explained,
as if he would ever worry himself over something so piddling. “Jane, I want you to wait outside for a few minutes.”

“Can't, Papa. I'm supposed to meet Freddie at the park this morning,” she said airily, and Hugh's stomach clenched. “Important engagement.” She used that word again. This time she had a secretive smile.

Weyland's tone was harsh. “Obey me in this.”

She narrowed her eyes and whirled out of the room in a huff, but Hugh heard her sit outside.

“I go with her, or get Rolle to watch her.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Weyland called for Rolle. Most butlers in fashionable London homes were older with a hint of grandeur about them, denoting experience and the longevity of a family's fortunes. Rolle was mid-thirties, wiry, nose broken so many times it was shapeless. His fingers were scarred from his incessant use of steel knuckles. Hugh saw the two interact before he shut the door and noted with anger that Rolle was in love with her.

“So have you been moonlighting?”

Hugh frowned until Weyland pointed out the cuts down his neck and the side of his face. “Something like that. Want to tell me why you've brought me here with such a dire message?”

Jane's life is in grave danger. . . .

“Davis Grey went rogue.”

Davis Grey. Hugh had counted him a friend until the last couple of years. The news didn't surprise him. “Why now?”

“Because I sent him on a suicide mission that failed.”

“Why in the hell would you do that?”

“He'd become . . . unstable. In retaliation, he's made public a list of all our people in the field.”

Hugh's fists tightened. “Everyone?” “The entire Network.”

“So I'm out?”

“Yes. You're retired.”

“Does Jane know?” he asked, trying not to reveal how much the idea disturbed him. “Does she know what I am?”

“No, she still thinks you're in business with me. But she will find out eventually. Everyone will.”

Hugh exhaled a weary breath. He'd never thought this would be the way he'd end his career. “Weyland, you ken the danger you're in. No' just from Grey.”

“I know.” He gave a bitter laugh. “At last count no man in England has more people who want him dead than I do. And they'll want more than that—the information, the secrets, the political prisoners. . . . It's about to be a firestorm. That's why I need you to take Jane away for a time.”