The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (31 page)

His expression softened.

Warmth flooded her belly. She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, though of pleasure or embarrassment, she didn’t know.

“A promise is a promise,” he said.

“You made that promise under duress.”

“I made you a promise. I intend to keep it.”

“You don’t have to. I release you from it.”

He gestured to her plate. “Eat something.”

She shook her head and pushed the plate away. “I am not hungry.”

He reached across the little table and pushed the plate back towards her. “Eat.”

“I. Am. Not. Hungry.” She made to move her plate again but he put his hand on the other side of it, stopping her.

She found her gaze locked with his and her heart’s beat sped. Unaccountably, she dropped her gaze. Her palms had gone all sweaty. “I am sorry, James, I am just not hungry.”

“Would you prefer fruit?” He reached for the fruit plate and picked up a golden-skinned pear. He took his knife and began to make thin slices. “You want to go back to the garden today?”

Her chest went tight.

Oh goodness. Any reference to the garden only increased her sense of shame over the wildness of last night. And yet, she burned to go back there. She couldn’t explain it but it was imperative that she weed the garden. That she reclaim it and free it to be what it once was.

“You want to go,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She
needed
to go. She nodded.

“Well, you won’t leave this house until you’ve drunk your tea and eaten something. Anything.” He handed her the plate with the thin slices of pear.

She took one of the slices and placed it on her tongue. It was sweet and slightly tart. Her stomach growled fiercely. Heat flamed over her face once again.

He laughed softly.

She raised her gaze to his.

He nodded. “Eat.”

She chewed obediently. Energy seemed to flood her being. Renewed determination to set that garden to rights. The intensity of that determination made her pause.

“What?” he said.

She gaped at him, not understanding.

“You’re frowning, what’s troubling you?”

She swallowed quickly, feeling the half-chewed pear rind scrape slightly as it went down. “James, do you think I am going mad?” She took a quick, deep breath. “I mean madder?” She frowned more deeply. “Is that a proper word?” A fleeting smile crossed his lips. “Yes, it’s a proper word, but not one that I think applies to you.”

“Last night—”

A look of pain contorted his face. “Catriona, don’t.” His voice resounded firmly.

“But…”

“You’re simply restless. Extremely so. You drank some wine, did you not? To calm yourself?”

“I suppose I did.” She hugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think it was that much.”

“But you cannot tell me now how many glasses?”

She paused then shook her head. “It was a long night. The thunder seemed to vibrate inside me, increasing…” She laughed nervously. “It quite jangled my already strained nerves.”

“Of course it did.” His voice was tender. Comforting as a warm blanket. He took one of the pear slices and brought it to her mouth.

She raised her brows, but he seemed intent on feeding it to her so she opened her mouth and let him, feeling slightly foolish yet at the same time feeling a profound sense of being cared for. A little confused, she dropped her gaze. Whilst she chewed, she felt him watching her…studying her, perhaps?

“You’re just a little lost, Catriona.”

Lost.

Well, that was a delicate way to put it.

He tapped her hand.

She looked up.

“Listen to me.”

Still chewing, she nodded.

“You just need something to…settle you, I think. Something to focus all that extra energy upon.” He frowned. “I should have realized this. But I think working on the garden will prove a fitting distraction.”

She finished chewing the pear slice, feeling both increasing strength from the sweet juice and comfort from his words.

Of course she was quite mad! She could have laughed at her absurdity to seek reassurance from him that she was not. But it was beyond kind of him to offer her such encouragement.

Chapter Twenty

Pleasantly full of smoked salmon and cold mashed turnips seasoned with sautéed onions, James leaned back on the cushions of the chaise lounge. The taste of peach brandy on his tongue was almost too sweet, yet it was so decadently sensual, especially when savored with the accompanying coconut and almond sweetmeats.

He had not binged on sweets like this since his youth. And he wasn’t at all sure he approved of such acts of indulgence. Yet he couldn’t have resisted a second glass of the brandy.

He nursed his third glass more slowly as he watched Catriona kneel near the rich, green sprigs of mint. Her beautiful face was obscured by a large, wide-brimmed hat adorned with a bright yellow ribbon that rippled in the gentle breeze. On her other side, colorful dahlias swayed softly. The sky was clear and brilliant blue, and the scent of herbs and sunshine and greenery was like a caress to his senses.

James had sent for the dahlias to be transplanted here as a surprise for her. Just as he had sent for the peach brandy and what seemed like a hundred other little pleasantries to spoil her with.

They had come here every day for two weeks, and he had helped her work on not only the garden but the roses on the trestles. He had even helped her clean the benches and statues and birdbath, scrubbing the stone and polishing tarnish off the brass accents.

He had never engaged in such agrarian, homey work.

Now they could come here and enjoy the benefit of their hours of labor, and the weather seemed to bless them.

The leisure of these sun-soaked days, spending so much time with her, eating the foods she preferred, sweet and rich and hearty, reading to her in the evenings, playing womanish card games, letting himself drink all those ridiculous brews she craved, such as strawberry wine and fruited brandies, to the point of tipsiness with her until they played at the piano and sang silly songs until dawn, had lulled him into a state of peace.

He’d become a stranger, living someone else’s life.

Soon, however, they would have to leave Scotland. He must return to London. And there, the rules and limitations of their current liaison would reveal themselves.

Would she be able to adapt? Or would he lose her again?

Lose her? Surely not yet. He had not yet had a chance to sate himself on her.

He hadn’t had her since they had arrived here.

He had decided to pamper and coddle her for a time. He wanted to give her time to heal from the withdrawal of laudanum.

But the time of his waiting had come to an end.

“Catriona.”

She looked up, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

He held his hand out to her. “Come to me.”

She gave him a broad smile and crawled the few steps to his side, settling herself with her knees drawn up to her chest and resting her chin on them.

“No, I mean come here, close,” he said.

She moved closer and he touched the ties of her hat.

“Let’s have this off, shall we?”

Something flickered in her eyes—what, exactly, he couldn’t tell, for she glanced away as a bird flew by cawing loudly. He removed the hat and put it aside. He took hold of the yellow ribbon that was tied about her hair and gently loosened it.

She turned to him.

“James.” In her tone was a light admonishment. She grasped at his hand but he held the ribbon away from her, watching the breeze ruffle her curls. The light brown tresses glowed with rich gold lights against the bright apple-green muslin of her dress.

“Give me my ribbon back!”

“Only if you give me something in return.”

Something definitely flickered in her eyes this time. “What?”

A sense of unease wound through him. He ignored it and grinned at her. “A kiss.”

The rise and fall of her chest seemed to freeze, and her eyes widened slightly.

“Is it so much to ask?” he said.

“Well, no, I suppose not.” Her voice grew hushed on the last words, for he had moved closer to her. His lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. Her peach-scented breath tantalized his senses and he put his mouth on hers.

Her lips were wooden. Stiff.

It took much gentle persuasion on his part to soften them. To warm them. Then he knew the sweetness of her tongue, the heat of her mouth. The lushness of her breast against his palm.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss to give her a moment to breathe.

She glanced down. “You said I might have my ribbon back,” she said breathlessly.

He handed it to her and watched as she fidgeted with it.

“It was no’ so bad, was it?”

She jerked her head up. “You’re making sport of me now?”

So much for trying to be playful.

“I am trying to warm you,” he said, cupping her cheek and then, unable to help himself, he put his mouth to hers again and kissed her hungrily. His cock throbbed insistently against his fall. He lowered his hand and took hers, dragging it to his fall and pressing it to his erection. He pressed her hand harder and excitement surged through him. He let her hand go then cupped both her breasts.

She let her hand go limp against the wool of his trousers.

He lifted his mouth from hers and leaned away, watching for her reaction.

She dropped her chin then bit her lower lip.

“What is it?” He heard the hoarseness in his own voice. His heart pounded fiercely, his arousal as strong as he had ever known it.

A flush spread over her cheeks. She didn’t look up.

He put his hand over hers, pressed it tightly to his thigh. “Come now, tell me.”

“I suppose I have turned shy.” She flushed brighter.

“Shy?”

She nodded.

Impatience swept through him. Damnation. Why had she decided to play coy? After all this time?

“Our becoming lovers seemed such a matter of urgency before,” she said.

“Catriona, it remains a rather urgent matter for one of us. Perhaps you could explain your change of heart?”

“Well, it is not so easy to explain.”

“Try,” he said, not bothering to hide his rising frustration.

“It seems like for the longest time, I have been beset with certain desires. Strong desires, perhaps even unnatural for a woman. And now, they are gone.”

“Gone?” He couldn’t stop the way the word erupted from him. Damn, he’d shown every bit of his shock and disappointment, making him vulnerable. Was she playing some game with him, to flatter her feminine vanity? Had she simply been amusing herself all along? Teasing him, but feeling nothing real for him.

Making a fool of him.

Just like she had done as an eighteen-year-old chit at Landbrae.

Devil take him before he’d give her the satisfaction. Not again.

Never again.

Blood pounded in his ears, making them feel as though they would burst into flames at any moment.

Several choice words rushed to mind, phrases that would cut into her. Hurt her as he had once hurt—

God save him.

He took several measured breaths, attempting desperately to clear his head. He had rarely experienced this kind of anger, the hot kind that drove every bit of his reason from his mind.

He took several more deep breaths, until he felt some of his control return. But with the lessening of his anger came the first bitter pangs of hurt. Not major. But he’d known rejection from her before. He knew how insidiously the pain would start and how exponentially it would grow. It had damned near destroyed him in his youth. No other woman could do this to him.

But that was true only if he allowed it to happen.

He hardened his expression. He’d rather die on the spot than show her his emotional weakness. “You feel no desire for me now?”

He’d spoken carefully, calmly even, though it took every scrap of self-control he possessed.

She bowed her head, but he could still see the smile twitching on her nervous lips. “I would no’ say it like
that.”

The heated rush inside him ebbed at the sight of that tremulous smile. Damnation. She could play on his emotions with no more thought than she might play a piano. Devil take her! He did not want to feel his anger easing up within him. He wanted to stay angry with her. To remain strong against her appeal. That unfair appeal she possessed to make him behave like a complete jackanapes.

“How would you say it?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice impassive.

He saw her chest rise and fall slowly with her deep inhalation.

So, she was uncomfortable? Or was she just a very good actress? Perhaps he ought to have been more skeptical all along.

“I suppose—” she flashed a look at him. “—I could do with some wooing.”

He couldn’t help but stare at her, flabbergasted. By damned! Hadn’t he been wooing her, all the past three weeks? Now it was his turn to sigh, but inwardly.

“I just need a little time, James.” She looked up and held his gaze, her eyes luminous. “The time must be right. Or we shall lose much. Surely, you sense it too?”

The time felt perfectly fine to him. In fact, it seemed quite overdue. But her eyes continued to hold his, pleading with him.

No. He wouldn’t soften to her. He should go and run himself in on his sword before he softened to her.

His stomach seemed to be turning. At first he thought something had been spoiled in their luncheon but then he recognized it for what it was. Disappointment.

Profound, shameful disappointment.

“I wanted our time to be here,” he said, the words slipping out from his heart before his mind could stop them.

An intolerable loss of dignity.

He waited to see the triumph glow in her eyes.

Her gaze remained open, warm. She reached out and touched his hand.

He resisted the urge to flinch. With any other woman, he would have pressed the issue and vanquished her hesitance with seduction. Dominance. But this particular woman was different. She was dangerous to him in a way nothing else in his life had been. He didn’t fear her as much as he feared that part of himself that was vulnerable to her.

And he deeply resented her for that fear, even as he despised himself for feeling that way towards her.

How had he put himself in this position? It had been just a little lust. A desire to protect her whilst indulging a lingering youthful desire to have her. Have her again and again until he was sated and she became just another woman.

And if that wasn’t all it had been, it was all it
should
have been.

How had it all gone so wrong?

She gave him another of those slow, trembling smiles.

His chest tightened. He hardened his expression.

“Our time can still be here, can’t it?” she said, running a flirting caress along the top of his hand.

Something flared inside him. A need to stop that casual little flirting gesture. She would trifle with him? By damned, he wouldn’t be trifled with!

He wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and press her down on the grass and soft earth. To hold her down and—

Take control over yourself.
He clenched his jaw and forced all the anger, indignation, disappointment and lust down with ruthless force. He forced his expression to be cold. “I need to return to London, soon.”

“Oh.” Her eyes shone a degree less brilliantly, he caught that in a flash just before her shoulders lowered and she let her head droop. “Yes, of course you must.”

Her voice was soft, so soft.

Sad.

That sorrow resonated into the tightness in his chest.

He knew himself to be in danger of softening.

He would not. God help him, he would
not.

“We’re done here today, are we not?” he said in a clipped tone.

She jerked her head up and looked at him with eyes wide, shocked. Her face was paler than it had been a moment ago.

“Well, go on then, pack up.” He gestured at the plaid blanket spread with the remains of their luncheon.

She flinched.

He had spoken coldly. Harshly.

She sniffed loudly and gave him a quick nod, then turned away from him. Her movements were slow and stiff as she gathered the dishes and cups back into the picnic basket.

He’d successfully hidden his feelings. He’d been cold and hard with her. A perfect bastard.

She was placing the folded plaid over the top of the basket.

A Blayne plaid.

The sight brought back a memory of Aunt Frances folding one just the same, the day she had packed his things for Eton.

It made him remember who he was. Baron Blayne, soon to be the Earl of Greythorn. He recalled his initial pledge to protect Catriona. No matter what he felt for her inside, he owed her that.

“I want you to go to London with me,” he said.