Ann Lethbridge (18 page)

Nor would she want him if he was. Not really. But he would have to be told that there was no grand house in the country, no crofters. Nothing but sheep belonging to some as-yet-unknown tenant.

Niall sat down beside her. ‘The stone walls are good,’ he said. ‘The inside can be rebuilt.’

‘It would cost a fortune.’

‘Aye,’ he said softly, regretfully.

Ever since the day she left here, she had dreamed of coming back. Of coming home. A bright light in the darkness of loss that she had nurtured deep in her heart. The one thing she had always thought she could do to make up for not being the hoped-for son was to continue the Aleyne name here at Braemuir, just as her father had asked. She took a deep breath. ‘It will be up to Mr Murray, I suppose.’

‘Aye. I suppose it will.’

And what if he refused? What then?

She got up and began walking, wandering through what had been the formal gardens, the hedges overgrown and untidy, the roses struggling to push through the weeds. Niall and Kitty trailed behind her.

She had the oddest feeling that the house and the grounds were trying to tell her something. That there was a story here she was missing.

She strolled through the hedge and out into the park where once the magnificent lawn had swooped down to a planting of trees.

None of it was unfolding at all the way she had envisaged. And it was not what she had described to her suitors with such pride. She felt like an idiot. A complete and utter fraud. She turned to Niall, who was following her at a distance, his face grim. They had left Kitty behind in the gardens. Jenna could see her through a gap in the hedge sitting on a stone seat.

‘Do you think the boy at the tavern has left with that letter yet? We need to get it back.’

He stared at her. ‘You have to let them know where you are, Jenna. It is wrong to let them worry.’

‘Yes, of course I do. But there is something I have to change. Quickly. Before it is too late.’ She trotted back towards Kitty. She had to stop that letter.

‘What is going on in that head of yours?’ he asked as Jenna beckoned Kitty to follow and quickened her pace.

‘I am going to tell Mr Murray the truth.’ And give him a chance to change his mind. It was only fair. And for some ridiculous reason, it made her feel a whole lot better. She picked up her skirts and ran.

* * *

Niall paced the inn parlour. The letter was before her, and twice she’d hushed him, but the confusion inside him would not be silenced. ‘You aren’t going to wed Murray?’

She looked up. ‘No. Yes.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘Unless he is prepared to make the repairs required, which I am describing in detail, I am releasing him from his promise.’

‘And if he is no prepared?’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘Then I will have to seek someone who will.’

‘McBane? Oswald?’ Just the thought of either of them made his blood boil, because he certainly wasn’t in the running.

‘Not them,’ she said scornfully. ‘Someone I can trust. Someone who will care.’

For one blinding moment he wanted to say
marry me
. But care or not, there was nothing he could do to help her restore the house she loved.

‘Mr Murray might not mind.’ She bent her head over the paper.

‘If he wants the title badly enough, you mean.’

She must have heard the chill in his voice, because her clear green eyes met his again. ‘Of course. But he should know what is required in order to gain it. What else would you have me do?’

There was no room for discussion. He could see that on her face.

‘Then I will hire a carriage and take you back to Carrick Castle. There is no sense in remaining.’ He would leave her at Carrick and set out for America to look for Drew. It would take his mind off her and Murray.

‘No.’

He recoiled at her vehemence. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I will stay until either Mr Murray arrives to wed me, or Lord Carrick sends his carriage.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t go and leave the house to rot.’

‘What can you do to stop it?’

The haughty wee faery was back. He could see it in the way she looked down her nose at him. ‘I can make it look presentable in case Mr Murray arrives. A little less derelict.’ She tapped her pen against her lower lip, gazing through him. ‘The back of the house is mostly sound. I could tidy up the rooms at the front.’

Nothing but a fortune would make it look presentable. He didn’t want her near the place. ‘You canna go poking around in there. It will fall down around your ears.’

‘This is my home, Niall. I’ve waited years to see it again. There are things in there that have belonged to my family for centuries. Perhaps some of it can be salvaged. I can move them into safer parts of the house.’

‘Where will you live?’

‘Here, if the Hugheses will have me.’

And short of bodily carrying her back to Carrick Castle, he could see he could not move her. He had no choice but to stay and help her prepare for Murray’s arrival. And be there, in case Murray changed his mind.

It would all depend on how badly the man wanted that title. ‘I’ll help you, then.’

She shook her head. ‘I really don’t expect it.’

Another rejection. He ignored the pain of it. ‘I am paid by your cousin to act in his stead in his absence. I can’t believe he would want me to leave you here alone.’

‘I won’t be alone.’

‘No, you won’t.’ He gave her a hard smile. ‘I will be here.’

‘As you wish.’ She folded the letter and sealed it. ‘Please have the landlord take this to the post as soon as possible. Now I must find Mr Hughes and tell him of my decision.’

The best he could hope for was that the vicar would refuse to house her. Somehow he didn’t see that occurring.

It seemed he was going to take up a new career. Labourer.

* * *

Since coming to her decision the day before, she’d stopped calling him Niall. She was strictly formal in all of their dealings as if their friendship and...and, well, what had happened in the gypsy cart, had never occurred. He couldn’t help resenting the loss of closeness. But he understood. After all, he was the one who had pointed out that by staying, he was only doing his job.

And since the Hughes had no room for him in their small house, he had made an arrangement at the inn for room and board in exchange for chores. He’d risen at first light, helped the innkeeper with his barrels and mucked out the stables and then come to the vicarage. Jenna was waiting for him in the garden. Dressed in a practical blue-cotton gown of a country lass and a white kerchief covering her bright hair, she was admiring a trellis covered in yellow roses arched over a garden seat. The scent of roses filled the air.

‘I see you are ready, my lady,’ he said.

She spun around with a smile. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

‘We said nine, did we not?’

Somewhere in the house a clock struck the hour.

‘I am anxious to get started.’ She picked up the basket sitting at her feet covered by a white cloth. ‘A little sustenance, though I am expected back for dinner. Dear Mrs Hughes. I had to dissuade her from sending the maid along. I assured her I’d be perfectly safe with you.’

Safe was not a word she should be using with respect to him.

* * *

They followed the same path as they had taken the day before. The birds were singing, the sky was clear of all but a few fluffy clouds. The air was clean and mild and scented with spring. He could almost imagine they were just a country couple on their way to work in the fields. Almost.

He resisted the temptation to tuck her arm within his and kept a respectable distance. A challenge. Even so, it was impossible not to enjoy the morning.

At the curve in the drive, she stopped, staring across the overgrown lawn at the house. ‘I thought it was so beautiful when I was little. I recall it as much bigger. Now it looks small and sad.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I should have come back sooner.’

‘Things always seem bigger and better when you are a child,’ he said softly, wanting to fix things and knowing he could not.

The look she gave him said he didn’t understand. And perhaps he didn’t. ‘Where do you want to start?’

‘Perhaps we should look at the stables. Mr Murray seemed quite keen on his horses and keeps a large stable. It would be an advantage if we had decent accommodation in that quarter.’

They strolled around the back of the house and into the long, low, red-brick building a short walk from the back of the house.

‘They look fairly new,’ he said. ‘And clean.’

‘Father had them built not long after he married my mother. She loved her horses and insisted on proper stabling. I think he spent a bit more than he could afford.’

The stalls were clean and empty. ‘My father’s stable master was a good man. The building is in better shape than the house.’

In the last stall was a pile of rotting sacks. He pulled one apart. ‘Mouldy fleece. It will have to be disposed of.’

‘It smells awful.’

‘Yes. It’s too bad. It would have been worth some money.’

They walked around to the back of the house and into the kitchen. Jenna pulled a bunch of keys from the basket. ‘The housekeeper left them with Mrs Hughes.’ She unlocked the pantry and some of the cupboards. There were pots and pans and china on the shelves. Everyday china used by the servants. ‘The good china was all sold, Mr Hughes said.’ Her voice was a little shaky. ‘Carrick never told me about the debts. Apparently they were significant.’ She forced a smile. ‘But at least I can make a cup of tea.’ She pulled a wooden box from the basket and placed some cloth-wrapped packages inside the pantry. ‘Now to see what we can do in the drawing room.’

* * *

Three hours of hauling out lumps of plaster and pieces of wood and it didn’t look much better. Each time they cleared something out, something else fell. And the carpets had mildew. He doubted if they could be saved. The roof had to be leaking.

Jenna picked up another armload of bits of plaster and carried them outside. He followed with a pile of oak panelling that ought to have been too heavy for one man to carry. And was not. She’d found a few treasures, too: a couple of pictures, some figurines. Those they had locked in one of the cupboards in the kitchen.

She dropped her armload on the growing pile on the lawn and dusted off her hands. ‘Will you join me for a bite to eat and a cup of tea?’

Surprised by the visceral surge of pleasure at her invitation to sit down with her, he hesitated. He wanted to say yes. Desperately. He wanted to recapture the companionship they’d shared on their journey. If that had been all he wanted, then he would have said yes at once. But he wanted so much more. And that was impossible.

He clamped his jaw on the surging sensations and shook his head. ‘Mrs Hughes meant the food for you.’

‘There is enough in that basket to keep an army marching for a week. And I owe you something for all your help.’

Gratitude. It was her only reason for asking. And to refuse would indeed be churlish.

Against everything he had sworn when deciding to stay to watch over her, he found his lips forming an acceptance. ‘Verra well. I am honoured to take a bite with you.’

A smile lit her face. ‘Wonderful. I’ll go and lay out the food. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

He was looking forward to sitting down with her. To conversation, rather than orders and pleases and thank-yous.

As she walked indoors he could not help but notice the spring in her step. Perhaps it wasn’t only gratitude that had made her invite him. Perhaps she still considered him a friend. If so, perhaps he could convince her to give up this madness. Each time she walked into one of those rooms he was sure something would come down on her head. Once Murray came, or Lord Carrick sent the carriage for her, he would never see her again. He’d failed to keep her inside the castle. He’d failed to keep her safe. He just hoped the mess he had made wouldn’t land at Ian’s door.

He glanced down at himself. If he was going to be her guest, he had better wash up. Which meant a nice cold sluice under the pump in the courtyard.

It brought to mind the dip they had taken together and the ever-present arousal pulsed at the recollection. Not something he should ever think about again. Thank God for the blood-chilling benefits of cold water.

Chapter Thirteen

S
he was so glad he’d said yes. Jenna put the cloth across one end of the long kitchen table. He’d worked so hard, she would have felt awful if he’d gone hungry while she ate the delicious meat pie prepared by Mrs Hughes’s cook. Not to mention the fresh crusty bread to go with the cheese and pickles. She put them out on the table and put the kettle over the fire Niall had built when they first arrived.

She had enjoyed working with him today. The easy camaraderie they had was like nothing she had ever known before. He was a friend. More than a friend. She blushed, remembering how much more. Something inside her yearned for a repeat of that closeness, the carefree bliss she’d known with him in the gypsy cart.

If only... But friendship wouldn’t help Braemuir. She needed a man with the financial wherewithal and the desire to put the estate in order. A faint pang twisted in the region of her heart. An echo of the pain of loss. A pain she never wanted to feel again.

The estate would always be here. Houses did not die like people did. They could be restored. Rebuilt. They were permanent. People were not.

She did not want to become attached to Niall. But she would enjoy the small amount of time they’d been granted.

The kettle boiled, so she made the tea and put the teapot ready on the table and went outside to call him.

He was standing at the pump, making himself presentable for her. She couldn’t keep from smiling at those lovely broad shoulders, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he rubbed his wet hair on what looked like a handkerchief. His physical beauty inspired her with awe, but he must have sensed her watching because he looked in her direction.

Caught staring again. She waved. ‘The tea is ready.’

He grabbed his shirt from the pump handle and pulled it over his head. ‘On my way,’ he called out.

* * *

‘That was the best pie I have ever eaten.’

‘Mrs Hughes’s cook has a light hand with pastry.’

‘And the company made it taste even better.’

Was he flirting with her? Or simply being kind? Likely the latter. She didn’t dare imagine it was anything else.

‘I don’t think we should do this any more,’ he said.

‘Eat together?’

‘No. You. Clearing out the house. It’s too dangerous. I can’t allow it. There is nothing we can do to make it look better in a week. I’m sorry.’

It seemed that this conversation she had been leading up to had started before she was ready. ‘I know.’ She did know.

‘At last you are listening to reason.’

‘But no matter what happens, I am not leaving Braemuir. I need to be here. I cannot abandon it again.’

‘What if Murray doesn’t want to live here?’ His voice was calm, flat, as if he did not care one way or the other, but there was something else in his eyes, something that looked like pain, but he lowered his gaze to look at his hand clasped loosely on the table before she could be sure.

‘I sincerely doubt he will accept my conditions for the marriage. His family will advise against such a bad bargain.’

‘Not true, Jenna,’ he said sharply, looking at her again, a deep frown on his face. ‘You have a great deal to offer. And not just the title.’

The thought that he wanted her to marry the other man gave her a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. And a pain in her chest, close to her heart. Which was nonsense. What had happened between them had been an interlude she could blame on gypsy magic. She just wished she could get it out of her mind. Stop the ache inside her for more of the same. Stop the feeling of loss, knowing he would soon depart. It was something she did not want to feel.

He wanted her no more than she wanted him.

Not true. She wanted Niall in the worst way possible. Carnally. And... She cut off the thought and poured the tea. ‘Let us hope Mr Murray sees it your way.’ She handed him his cup and saucer.

‘And if he doesn’t, then Lord and Lady Carrick will take you to Edinburgh next year for the Season,’ he said.

‘What if no one wants to put the house to rights? Now that I know how bad it is, I could never pretend otherwise.’

‘You put too much store in this building of yours.’

‘Unlike people, buildings are for ever. Or at least a long long time.’ She grimaced. ‘Or they are if cared for properly.’

‘And how do you plan to manage that if you do not have a husband?’ he asked, sounding unconvinced.

‘There is the income from renting the land. I’ll ask Carrick to make it over to me now I’m of age.’

The doubt must have shown on his face, because her voice became fierce. ‘I’m just as capable as any man. Carrick will see it eventually.’

‘You can’t live here alone,’ he said in a low, dangerous voice. ‘It is not suitable for a woman of your station. And Carrick will not allow it, no matter how old you are. It isn’t safe.’

As she opened her mouth to speak, he made a wide sweeping gesture. ‘Oh, it is fine enough now. But what happens in the winter, when the snow fills the glen? When you run out of fuel for the fire and your pantry is empty?’

He meant when he was gone. Her heart dipped. ‘I will manage.’

‘You are not bred to this life.’

Her hands shook a little as she poured herself another cup of tea. ‘I am not made of spun sugar.’

He stood up, his chair scraping across the flagstones. ‘I won’t allow it.’

The back of her neck bristled. Anger. And disappointment that she wasn’t prepared to examine right now. She faced him, across the table, only too aware of his height and his breadth and the flare of fury in his eyes. ‘It is none of your business, Niall Gilvry. None. I didn’t ask you to remain here. Indeed, I wish you would go.’ The longer he stayed, the harder it would be when he left.

‘If I leave, it will be with you. Back to Carrick Castle.’

‘By force, I suppose.’

He rose, came around the table and stood toe to toe with her, looming over her, his expression fierce. ‘Yes. If you will not come willingly.’

They stood there staring at each other, sparks of anger charging the air between them. Anger and desire. Opposite sides of the same coin she realised, as her body caught light.

He caught her by the shoulders as if he would shake her, but instead hauled her hard against him. She lifted her face and he pressed his mouth to hers, hard, savage, searing, and she was no less savage in plundering his mouth with her tongue, tasting him, inhaling the clean smell of soap and a deeper masculine scent of warm man.

Pressed hard against his chest she could feel every inhale and exhale and feel the heat of those deep unsteady breaths against her cheek as he delved the depths of her mouth. Her heart pounded, her breathing became laboured. Little thrills low in her belly made her arch into him and his thigh pressed deep between hers as his large hand cupped her bottom and drew her close.

The same sensations she had felt that night in the gypsy wagon spiralled out of control. The deep need to shatter.

Finally he broke away on a groan. ‘Jenna.’ The anger was gone. Now there was only hunger. A note in his voice that tugged at her centre, weakened her knees and left her arms feeling too heavy to cling to his shoulders.

‘Niall,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

His trembling fingers cradled her jaw, as he gazed down into her face, his throat working as he swallowed. ‘You don’t know how you tempt me, Jenna. I want you. More than I can say. But—’

‘I want you, too.’

‘I can’t promise to restrain myself, like before.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Say no, Jenna. Say it and I will walk you back to the vicarage.’

The thought that he might go elsewhere to find his ease was a sharp knife between her ribs. She knew he wouldn’t stay at Braemuir much longer. The way he’d spoken of what would happen in the winter left her with a feeling of panic. The sense that she might never see him again, once he left here. ‘I want this,’ she said, smoothing his hair back from his face. ‘I want you.’

Acceptance chased by intense desire crossed his face in quick succession. He swept her up in his arms and carried her up the narrow back stairs. At the landing he hesitated.

‘First door on the left,’ she said.

He looked down at her, his face boyish, his beautifully sculpted lips curving in a smile. ‘You read my mind.’

He stopped at the door and she turned the knob. The bedroom was the one she’d had as a child, but the bed was big enough for two and the mattress and pillows were covered with a dustsheet. She smiled up at him as he set her down gently on her feet. He dropped to his knees before her, encouraging her to lift one foot. She placed her hands flat on his shoulders and looked down on his lowered head and felt an unfamiliar clench in her heart. A tenderness. This was not about tenderness, it was about the fulfilment of desire. She would do well to remember it.

He gently removed her shoes, then her garters. Skilfully, he rolled her stocking down over her knees and off. He sat back on his heels and ran a hand down first one shin, then the other, cupping her calf in his palm. He looked up, smiling, his eyes gleaming. ‘I love your legs. So shapely.’

Her heart lurched. How strange to be so affected by admiration of her legs. She’d had compliments before, but none that meant quite so much.

His hand caressed upwards, his fingers skimming behind her knees. She shivered.

He leaped to his feet and tilted his head, looking at her gown.

‘Laces at the back,’ she managed to say, turning to face the bed, glad of the chance to hide her blushes. It didn’t take him long to pull the laces free, from both her gown and her stays. Kisses brushed across her nape and her shoulders as he eased the gown over her shoulders, arms and hips, until she stood in nothing but her chemise.

Gently he turned her around. She looked up at him and there was no trace of anger or doubt. His face was pure seduction, heavy-lidded eyes, full lips parted, as his gaze ran down her scantily clad body. She ought to feel ashamed, but the look on his face gave her power and strength.

He teased the skin at the edge of her chemise, running one finger beneath the lace, tracing the rise of her breasts and the dip between. Her breasts tightened, felt heavy and full. She moaned. He swooped down to kiss the top of her breast, easing the fabric down with his thumb, hot mouth kisses until his tongue laved and teased at her nipple, then suckled. Thrills shot to her deepest core. She dropped her head back, clinging on to his shoulders and shuddering with the sensation rippling outwards from her centre. She cried out softly when his mouth left her and he blew a little puff of air across the sensitised peak.

He laughed quietly, a sound of delight, and moved to the other breast. The sensations started over again, only deeper, more resonant, and she could only moan and arch against him to ease her growing need for release from this wonderful torture.

He brought his mouth to her lips again, plunging deep into her mouth while his hands caressed her hips and buttocks and she felt his hard male length against her stomach. He groaned deep in her mouth and drew back with tender little kisses on her mouth, her cheek, her eyelid.

‘I can’t wait, lass.’ He picked her up and lay her on the bed, the mattress giving beneath her weight. She lay back against the pillows, her arms above her head, her legs relaxed and open. A wanton offering.

She watched from beneath heavy eyelids as he tore off his clothes, first struggling out of his coat, then discarding his waistcoat and ripping his shirt over his head, all the while his gaze roved her body with searing heat. He had to sit to remove his boots, which he did with frantic haste. Did he think she would change her mind?

The thought made her smile a little. How could she? She had thought of nothing but this moment since he had brought her such shattering ecstasy in the wagon and had left himself unfulfilled. Despite the delicious bliss he had brought her, she had wanted more...closeness. A oneness, she had called it to herself.

He stripped off his breeches and revealed his naked glorious arousal. At dusk by the burn he had been impressive, what she could see of him, large and very male. In the warm light from the window, he was gorgeous. The muscles of his chest and arms were clearly defined. His skin gleamed golden, emphasising the triangle of dark crisp curls across his chest that continued in a narrow trail down to meet those around his rampant male member. Rampantly demanding.

She wanted that glorious body against her, skin to skin, as she had not that first time. She wriggled the chemise up over her hips and pulled it off.

Startled, he stared at her, his gaze drifting down her body and back up to her face.

Had she gone too far?

‘My God,’ he said. ‘You are more lovely than I remember. Take your hair down.’

She took out the pins and let it fall around her shoulders to her waist.

‘I love your hair. It looks like fire, yet feels like cool silk against my skin.’

She smiled and opened her arms and he fell into them with a soft groan. He lay at her side, breathing hard, his lips nuzzling at her neck below her ear, his hand warm, gently kneading one breast, one heavy thigh between her legs, his hips flexing against her flank. ‘Jenna,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘You are a virgin, still. But if we continue, you will not be. Now is the time to change your mind, sweeting. But quickly.’

Sweeting. Not since she was a child had she heard such a tender endearment. It thrilled her as much as his caresses.

‘Jenna,’ he said, his voice sounding strangled against her throat.

She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. ‘I want this. I want you, Niall. I won’t change my mind, I promise.’

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like thank you, then he raised up on one elbow and took her mouth in a ravishing kiss, and the slow burn inside her flared bright behind her eyes, and scorched through her veins like hot smoke and she hugged him tight against her and kissed him back.

* * *

Permission.
Savage lust surged through Niall.
Control. Don’t lose control.
A shred of civilisation dragged him back from the edge. He hauled in a deep breath. He would not disgrace himself. ‘Jenna,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. ‘Be sure.’