The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (29 page)

“You sound so certain, but for all you know, it could go on for years.”

Not if he had anything to say about it. “It won’t.”

She stared at him, trying to find a crack where one didn’t exist. “Don’t do this, Alex. Please, I’m begging you to reconsider.”

“Why are you fighting this so hard when I know it’s what you want?”

“What
I
want?” she exploded angrily. “This has nothing to do with what I want. This is about
you
—about easing
your
conscience, assuaging
your
honor. I told you I
didn’t
want this.”

“Is that right? And when you came to my room, what did you think then, Joan? What did you
really
think would happen?”

She looked down, biting her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean for it . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

She sounded so forlorn—almost lost—and it ate at him. He wasn’t an ogre, damn it. Why was she trying to make him feel like one?

They’d gotten off track; he needed to get them back on. Gently, he took her in his arms. She did not resist, but the indifference was almost worse. His chest tightened as he tipped her face to his. “It was never my intention to make you unhappy. I was only trying to do what I thought was right. I thought after what happened that you would not be wholly averse to a match. I went to Edward because I knew Sir Henry would not support the match and would do everything to prevent it. The king may have granted permission, but I would very much like to hear you say yes.” He took a deep breath. “Marry me, sweetheart. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to make sure you never regret it.”

He quieted her objection—if she’d been about to make one—with a kiss. The moment their lips met, he felt something break apart inside him. All the worries, all the troubles, all the posturing and pleading he’d had to do with Edward were forgotten. It hadn’t been six days since he’d kissed her last, but it felt like an eternity.

Christ, her lips were so soft and sweet. He wanted to devour them—devour her. But he forced himself to go slow. To ease her into the passion this time. To show her that it wouldn’t always be fast and furious between them, that it could also be slow and tender but every bit as intense.

And hot. It was like a damned inferno. One touch of their lips and the air combusted between them, spreading heat in molten waves over them both. It threatened to pull him under, but he kept his mind focused on his task. This was a wooing, not another ravaging. He was going to make it impossible for her to refuse.

Where words hadn’t worked, Alex used his mouth and tongue to persuade. He enticed. He entreated. He showed her with each sweep of his mouth over hers and each gentle caress of his lips why she should say yes. Why she
must
say yes. There was no other answer. What they had together was too powerful and right to deny.

He took his time savoring and drawing out every taste and sensation of her lips before finally giving her his tongue.

She moaned at the first stroke. And then he made her moan some more with each sweep, each circle, each long, slow pull. He made those pulls echo in her chest, until the yearning became palpable. Until it turned to moans of need.

They were the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, because he knew what they meant: surrender. She was surrendering to the passion, and he had no intention of letting her go.

He took her for a long, slow ride of touch and discovery. He tasted the soft, silky skin below her ear and kissed the long curve of her neck. He used the back of his finger to sweep the taut tip of her nipple and then to circle the heavy curve of her breast.

He tortured her with slow and gentle. He wanted her to feel every touch and every stroke; he wanted to eke out every bit of sensation and every ounce of pleasure; he wanted to drive her mad with desire.

It was working. Her fingertips were digging into his shoulders. She was dissolving against him again, just the way he liked it, giving him free rein. Letting him lead and set the pace.

But those fingertips . . . they were driving him mad. He could feel her desire and it set off the sparks of his own. His mouth found her lips and covered them, as his hand found her breast and did the same.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted her naked. He wanted her warm, velvety soft skin sliding against his. He wanted her hands all over his body. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel all that dampness gripping him, all those tiny muscles spasming and contracting around him. He wanted to hear her scream his name as he made her shatter over and over.

She wanted it, too. Her breath was coming in low, soft pants, and she started to press against him, increasing the friction with increasingly insistent circles of her hips. It was so tempting to give her what she wanted—Christ, what they both wanted. He was so hard and throbbing he could explode with one touch. All he had to do was lean her back on the table, lift her skirts, and sink into her inch by silky hot inch.

But not yet, damn it. No matter how much his body was aching, the next time they made love, it would be with his ring on her finger.

Very slowly and very deliberately he pulled away. His heart was banging like a drum and his skin was hot and tight with passion and unspent lust. It would take a long time for his body to cool.

She mewled in frustration and tried to pull him back. He smiled and shook his head. “Not yet, sweetheart. Not until we are wed.”

The frustration had not yet left her body, and her eyes fired a dark blue. “You are sure of yourself, aren’t you? You think that one kiss will change my mind?”

“It isn’t your mind I want to change.”

He wanted her heart.

When she realized what he meant, the fight seemed to leave her. “Oh, Alex.”

“Will you marry me?”

She nodded, it seemed helplessly. “Aye. I will marry you. Though God knows, we both might come to regret it.”

He was too happy to heed the words of doom. But they would come to him later.

T
HE NEWS OF
Alex’s return and their engagement spread quickly, and the repercussions did not take long to be felt. Sir Henry was predictably furious, and Alice—although feeling vindicated—accused Joan of betrayal, treachery, and taking advantage of their “kindness and generosity” in taking her in. As it was true—albeit for different reasons—Joan’s guilt gave her more patience with her cousin’s dramatics than she might have had otherwise.

Alice was still harping the next morning as they readied to join the other women to go hawking—the queen had wasted no time in organizing the hunt to show off her prized falcon. The fact that this wasn’t court and they were only weeks away from war didn’t seem to bother her.

Joan put down the fur-lined plaid cloak she’d picked to go with her cousin’s riding habit on the bed to protest yet again. “I had no idea what he intended, Alice, truly. Alex did not tell me where he was going. I was just as surprised as you to see him riding in with the king.”

“You expect me to believe this?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Leave her alone, Alice,” Margaret interjected. “You saw her face; you know Joan did not plan this. Besides, it is a good match. Surely you did not intend our cousin to remain unwed forever?”

They all knew that was exactly what she intended. But even Alice realized it would sound churlish and selfish to admit as much. “Of course not.”

“Then what objections do you have?” Margaret asked. “Sir Alex is from an old and respected family, and is a baron of considerable lands on both sides of the border.”

“He is a Scot,” Alice said.

“So are we,” Margaret reminded her.

“Exactly,” Alice replied. She turned to Joan, adding with more astuteness than either Joan or Margaret gave her credit for, “It is your future I am concerned about. Your close connection to an infamous rebel makes your position here difficult enough, and now to marry a man who fought with the Scots two years ago and who is already under suspicion? Your loyalty will be in question even more.”

“I have no connection to the woman who abandoned me,” Joan said flatly. “Nor has my loyalty ever been in question.” She tried not to sound as curious as she was. “And what do you mean by suspicion?”

“Didn’t you know? Sir Alex offered to find the rebel in our midst to prove himself innocent.”

It took her a moment to process what she meant, the idea was so ludicrous. “Alex a spy?” Joan was so surprised she laughed—and not just at the irony. “That is ridiculous. Anyone who has spent five minutes with him would know that is impossible. He hates subterfuge of any kind. He is straightforward and direct—deception is not his way.”

It was hers. Though for the first time since she’d agreed to help Bruce, she wished it were otherwise. She hated lying to Alex; deceiving him felt wrong in a way that it never had before.

“For what it matters, I agree with you,” Alice said. “He is the shiny knight type—the kind who actually thinks the code of chivalry is not just for children’s tales.” She laughed as if the idea were ludicrous. Joan shouldn’t be surprised by Alice’s insight into Alex’s character; when it came to men, her cousin could be surprisingly clever. She, too, knew how to pick a target. “But I am merely passing on what was being said, and why you should be concerned.” She paused. “Henry and Pembroke are determined to uncover this spy before they march to Stirling; I do not wish you to be caught up in their net.”

It sounded almost like a warning, and for a moment Joan wondered if her cousin suspected something. But even if she did, what could Joan do? She’d tried to refuse Alex, but there was no excuse she could give him without rousing his suspicions. No matter how angry she was—and she was furious at the high-handedness in arranging the marriage without her consent that smacked too much of her father’s controlling behavior and the kiss that had turned her mind to mush—she’d realized that it was best to go along with it. For now.

“I won’t,” she said with more assurance than she felt. “I thank you for your concern, cousin, but do not worry. The next few weeks . . .” Her voice dropped off. “Anything could happen.”

Somehow she would find a way to break the betrothal—even if she feared that by then she might not want to.

Her fears were not unwarranted. No sooner had Joan and her cousins descended the stairs to join the other women in the courtyard than Alex appeared by her side.

“I’ve been conscripted as an escort,” he said, by way of answer to her unspoken question.

Joan lifted a brow. “Why do I think you were not averse to the duty?”

“Aye, it’s a nice break from the preparations of war.”

“Is that all?”

“There might have been another reason or two.”

She frowned. “Two?”

He quirked a decidedly devilish smile that made his already too-handsome face even more devastating and landed with a thump somewhere in the region above her ribs.

Dear God, would she ever grow used to how handsome he was?

He can be yours
 . . .

No, he can’t
. She had to force herself to quiet the voice of temptation. But every minute she spent with him, it grew louder.

He was everything she’d once imagined a knight could be: courteous, gallant, charming, and attentive. He made her laugh, made her feel like she was the most important person in the world, and seemed to anticipate her wishes even before she thought them. When one of the “ladies” in the queen’s party tried to flirt with him—not seeming to care that Joan was right there—he gently but firmly cut her off. He only had eyes for one woman, and he made sure everyone knew it.

It was like a dream. She might as well have fallen back in time into the pages of her favorite stories: the fair maid being wooed by the gallant knight. He seemed to have forgotten her reputation, and she forgot the disappointment and cynicism that had helped construct it.

Maybe if she could have kept it at that it would have been easier to dismiss, but Alex was intent on drawing her in deeper and deeper with questions and conversations that made her realize he really wanted to know her. The
real
her. The person she hadn’t been for a very long time.