Treasured (21 page)

Isobel tore her mind from such thoughts and tried to concentrate on the preparations for her wedding feast. She envisioned the songs and dancing, the merriment. She thought of taking the floor with Jack, laughing, flushed with
excitement, fizzing with the happiness of the celebration. But such thoughts always came thudding back to earth.

What would happen after the dancing? Would she simply go to her room and sleep alone in her bed? Would he come to her? Try to seduce her? Demand his marital rights? She could not believe Jack would be harsh or abusive. He would not try to force himself upon her. But seduction . . . that was more his style. Sweet words and sweeter kisses, that glinting look from beneath his lashes, the teasing smile and enticing caresses.

She would not give in to his blandishments. She could not. After all, pleasurable as his kisses might be, she knew that Jack would soon return to London. And she would stay here. For the first time she could remember, the thought of staying at Baillannan left her empty.

Even worse, what if he did not come back to Baillannan at all? What if her cousin was right and Jack had simply fled from their marriage? She told herself that he would not abandon her. He had promised he would return. But in the cold, dark hours of the night, when she lay tossing and turning in her bed, she had to face the fact that she had no reason to believe him.

Jack had admitted that he was no gentleman though he found it useful to pretend so. He was charming and pleasant, always ready with a smile or a quip. It was easy to like him, even to trust him. But those qualities, she knew, were his stock-in-trade, the passage he used to enter the world of the wealthy from whom he won money. Was that his true nature . . . or just a façade?

The fact was that he revealed little of himself. Whatever emotions bubbled beneath his surface rarely spilled out. He
turned aside any talk about his past, just as he had avoided telling her why he was going to Inverness. When her aunt asked him where he was from, he had sidestepped the question and had done so again when Elizabeth asked whether his family would come to the wedding. Isobel remembered how easily the lie about his “ancestor” the
contessa
and her fictitious ring had sprung to his lips the other day.

The truth was, she knew nothing about the man. Had she made a terrible mistake?

Four days went by, then five and six, and still Jack had not returned. Isobel knew that others noticed his long absence and were concluding that he had jilted her. She saw the sidelong glances and heard the whispers as the local women gathered to prepare for the wedding feast. The servants had begun to look at her with pity, mingled with apprehension as they realized what it would mean for them if Isobel did not marry Jack.

Sleep became more and more elusive. With only two days left before the wedding, she climbed into bed, dreading the night of tossing and turning that she knew lay in front of her. Then she heard someone call out in the courtyard. She froze, listening. More voices. A whinny.

Isobel popped out of bed and shoved the drapes apart. There below her, a tall, dark figure was dismounting and handing the reins of his horse to a groom.

“Jack!” Isobel whirled and ran down the stairs.

The village of Kinclannoch lay in darkness as Jack passed through it. The half-moon provided little light, clouds drifting
over it intermittently. He would be lucky if his horse did not step in a hole on the rough road. But he pressed on, keeping the pace slow and hoping that his horse could see the way better than he. He was not about to stop when he was this close to home.

He had already spent far longer than he had intended. Who would have thought it would be so difficult to find an adequate ring in Inverness? After an afternoon of frustration, it had become clear that the only solution was to take the stones from his cuff links and have them reset in the best of the wedding bands the jeweler possessed. The result had been surprisingly good, but he had been forced to idle away two days longer in the town than he had expected.

And a dreary two days it had been. The town offered little in the way of entertainment. He had found a game or two, but the stakes were too low to make it worth his while. The tavern at the inn was small and smoky, and though the wench who served his ale gave every indication she would welcome his advances, he discovered to his surprise that he had no desire to make any. After the past few days with Isobel, his body was thrumming, and he should have welcomed the chance to slake his desire with the wench. Instead, when she bent over the table to place his drink, offering a clear view of her lush breasts, his thoughts went to Isobel and the feel of her soft breast cupped in his hand, the nipple hardening provocatively beneath his touch. The come-hither glances the girl shot him held none of the allure of wide, grave gray eyes suddenly lighting with laughter or sparkling with heat. Her skin was white and soft, but it had none of the creamy texture that made his fingers itch to caress Isobel’s skin. The girl’s face did not glow as if lit
from within when she smiled. And when she walked past him, hips swaying seductively, he compared her voluptuous figure to Isobel’s willowy form and found the barmaid too obvious and overblown.

However much hunger he might feel, it was only for that odd, unpredictable, unconsciously sensual woman who waited for him at Baillannan. The woman who in a few days would be his. Anticipation coiled within him. The marital bed had always sounded deadly dull to him, ordinary and orderly, with none of the lure of secrecy and the forbidden. Instead, he was beginning to think married sex might be the most enticing of all.

He had no doubt that he would eventually lure Isobel into that grand monstrosity of a bed he slept in—he had felt the passion simmering below that cool, controlled surface—and the thought stirred him in a way he had never before experienced. There would be no obstacle of time or deceit or fear between them, only the limitless freedom to follow their pleasure. She would be his in a way no other woman had ever been, bearing his name, even, someday, his child. She would come to him untouched and unschooled, and he would be the one to awaken her to desire. No other man would share her bed, none would hear her cries of passion or feel the sharp pleasure of her fingers digging into his back. Just thinking of it turned him hard and impatient.

That hunger had sent him from the tavern without even a backward glance at the willing serving wench. It was what drove him now. He wanted to be home. He wanted to seduce and cajole and tease Isobel. Damnit, he wanted to see her again.

He was so lost in thought that he had no hint of danger.
His horse followed the road as it curved around a large outcropping of rock, then suddenly the animal stopped, whickering, and pricked its ears. Before Jack could move, a man stepped out in front of him and raised the front shield from his lantern, spilling a half circle of light over the road.

Jack’s mount stepped back, snorting and shaking its head, and Jack tightened his hand on the reins, reaching toward his inside pocket with the other.

“Nay, dinna,” growled a voice above him, and Jack glanced up to see a figure standing on the rock, pointing a musket down at him. Even the poorest of shots could not miss him at such close range.

“The devil take it,” Jack muttered, and let his hand fall. It would be folly to try for the little gun he carried in the inner pocket of his jacket, and anyway it would be useless against the group of men before him. At least four of them were on the road, as well as the man aiming the musket at his head, and he could see vague shapes behind the others.

“It’s na him,” one of the men in the road said, turning to speak to one of the men beside the road.

“Nae, it’s the bonny lad frae the sooth.”

“The English,” another one added darkly.

The lantern at their feet cast only a dim light, still shielded on three sides, casting all its glow toward Jack. The men wore hats pulled low and mufflers wound around the bottoms of their faces, making it impossible to identify them—though Jack suspected that it would not be prudent to do so, anyway.

“Shall I shoot him, then?” asked the man on the rock.

“Nae,” came a low voice from the side of the road. “Dinna be daft. Are ye wantin’ to swing for it?”

Out of the corner of his eye Jack watched the man standing away from the others. His face was hidden by darkness, and Jack could see only the outline of his bulk against the darker rocks behind him. He could tell little about the man other than that he was tall and that his voice had a note of authority, which was confirmed by the way the others turned toward him when he spoke.

“Aye.” The man beside the lantern nodded sharply. “Just empty yer pockets then and ye can be on your way.”

“Slowly,” added their leader.

“Of course.” Jack lifted his hands, holding them up to show he held nothing, then reached down to pull out a small pouch of coins and toss it down in front of the lantern.

“And that one.” The man nodded his head toward the pocket on the other side of Jack’s coat.

“No.” Jack set his jaw, thinking of the things he had purchased in Inverness. “Take the money and go. I’ll say nothing. But you will not have aught else.”

“You forget; we hae the gun.” The man in front of him planted his hands on his hips.

“And as your friend pointed out, you will swing for it if you shoot me. A landowner. English. Think on that for a moment.” Jack turned and stared intently at the large man standing in the darkness. “If I die today, Miss Rose will lose Baillannan.”

A long, tight silence stretched between them. Then the other man stepped back, jerking his head toward the others. “Let him pass.”

Reluctantly the men moved aside, and Jack rode through them. The spot between his shoulder blades tingled all the while, but he kept his gaze leveled in front of him. He would
not give them the satisfaction of casting an uneasy glance back. He rode on at an unhurried pace, turning his face toward home.

Isobel was almost to the bottom of the stairs, her heart pounding in excitement, when the front door opened and Jack stepped inside. “Jack!”

He glanced up, and a smile flashed across his face. “Isobel.”

He strode forward, and in that instant Isobel launched herself down the last few steps and into his arms. He caught her, laughing, and his mouth found hers.

She was lost in him, in the kiss, surrounded by his warmth and solidity, enclosed by his strength. His greatcoat was rough against the tender, bare skin of her arms, and her nostrils were filled with the scent of horse, damp wool, tobacco, and him. The taste of him, too, was familiar and yet excitingly new. He kissed her as if he could not get enough of her, and she matched his eagerness, overwhelmed by the sensations slamming through her.

When at last their lips parted, she buried her face in his chest, her fingers clenched in his coat, struggling for some bit of composure. “You’re home,” she said, her voice muffled by his coat.

“I am.” Amusement tinged his voice.

A shoe scraped on the stone floor behind them, and a man cleared his throat. Isobel sprang out of Jack’s arms as if she’d been stung and turned to see Hamish standing a few feet down the hall.

“Hello, Hamish,” Jack said drily, turning toward the servant and shrugging out of his coat.

“Welcome back, sir.” The butler’s voice was starchy with disapproval despite his polite words. “We dinna know if something happened to you.” He reached down to swoop up Jack’s hat, which had been knocked to the floor by Isobel’s impetuous greeting.

Isobel took another step backward, the heat of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. She had behaved like a complete romp. Jack would think her forward behavior sprang from delight at seeing him again, that she could not wait to kiss him and hold him, which was not at all true. Merely relief that the wedding would go through had sent her flying down the stairs to greet him.

“I am surprised to hear that I caused you such worry. I do apologize,” Jack told the butler, his eyes dancing with amusement. He turned to Isobel, catching her hand, and said in a softer tone, “I am sorry indeed if I have caused you concern.”