eventually discover his den.
If Ethan didn't withdraw from the tavern directly and ride from this small town, Grey would have to kill him tonight. Grey hadn't planned to—at present; he wanted to murder Jane. He'd always found it prudent to prioritize these things lest one overextend oneself, and yet already he'd deviated from his plan by pursuing Lysette.
In this matter, however, Grey might not have much choice.
But Ethan wasn't exactly an easy target. To strike without detection, getting close enough to the man to gut him, would take hours of work—hours Grey didn't have.
After a quarter of an hour passed and Ethan remained inside, Grey realized he was going to have toshoot Ethan….
Assessing the area for a serviceable vantage, he found a balcony that faced the tavern's front entrance with a view of the side alleyway as well. As he climbed up one of the balcony's iron filigree supports, each old bullet wound in his chest screamed in protest.
But once he'd set up his position, time crawled by as he waited for Ethan to emerge. He watched people strolling on the street, or entering and exiting the tavern's groaning front door. Was Ethan eating in there? Interrogating? Grey knew he wasn't likely buying a woman. Ethan took no pleasure in life, not even pleasure in women any longer.
After well over an hour, Ethan exited from the side door. Grey aimed his pistol, though his hand shook wildly. With his other hand, he slipped medicine between his lips to ease it.
Immediately, Grey knew something was different about Ethan. In the light of a flickering street lamp, Ethan looked distracted, off his game.
Grey knew of only one thing that could make the man look like that, because he'd seen a similar expression on Hugh's face many a time.
Ethan MacCarrick had a woman on his mind.
In the past, Ethan had put on a good show, seeming uncaring about his appearance. But now, when two boys stopped and stared at his face, his brows drew together, as if he were only just comprehending how people saw him. He glowered at them, but evinced no satisfaction when he made them flee. Instead, he ran the back of his hand roughly over the scar.
Grey wouldn't pity him, though. Not when he remembered sweating with pain while locked in that dank basement. A flare of rage began to burn inside him, until it overrode even the most assiduous chewing of his medicine.
When Ethan had finally released him, Grey had acted as though he were grateful and on his way to wellness. Hugh had appeared so bloody relieved—and so guilty for hitting Grey. 'Ach, it's good to have you back,' Hugh had said. But Ethan had given him a look that said, 'I'll be watching you.'
Now Grey watched him. Again, he took a bead with a tremulous hand, willing it to grow steady.
Though Ethan couldn't have heard the sound from his distance away, the instant Grey cocked his pistol, he froze. He either sensed Grey at last or realized how careless he'd been, walking into an alleyway with vantages all around, without so much as a cursory scan of the area.
Ethan gazed upward and spotted Grey. His expression was disbelieving; so was Grey's—he'd never thought he would take out the great Ethan MacCarrick so easily. Then Ethan's face became a mask of rage. He yanked his gun free and fired.
When the bullet merely whistled through a deceptive billow in his bagging clothing, Grey pulled the trigger.
Blood spurted straight into the air from Ethan's chest, then cascaded over his fallen body.
A pathetic shot? Not tonight. Grey had aimed true.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Hugh rode back to Ros Creag with Jane dozing in his arms. She'd fallen asleep tucked against his chest in front of the fire, with the girl still slumbering over her legs. Once Robert had scooped up Emily, Hugh had gently lifted Jane, then quietly refused offers to stay the night.
Now Hugh found himself almost grinning as he imagined the looks on his brothers' faces when he told them he'd endured an evening at the Weylands'. They'd never believe him.
Yet it hadn't been that bad. No, he admitted to himself, it was one of the most enjoyable times he'd had in years. And now he was holding Jane again, and the moon was out, and she was…nuzzling his chest? He drew back his head. 'Jane, are you awake?'
'Only just,' she murmured, sliding her hands up to clutch his shoulders.
He frowned down at her. 'Then are you drunk, lass?'
'No, I feel very clear.'
In a voice gone hoarse, he asked, 'Why're you unbuttoning my shirt?' There was no way she could miss his instant reaction, seated as she was. Grabbing her upper arms, he shifted her until she wasn't directly on his stiffened shaft. 'No, Jane, you ken we canna—' Sweet Christ, had she just touched her lips, her tongue, to his chest? He threw his head back and stared up at the moon. All of the vows he'd reiterated to himself today grew indistinct in his mind, and he shook his head hard. 'You continue to treat this like it's a game.'
She blinked open her eyes as if she'd just woken from a dream. 'I don't treat it—'
'You knew better than to go anywhere without me.'
'I had to talk to my cousins. I needed their advice. Badly,' she said cryptically.
Though he knew she'd never answer, he asked, in a deadened tone, 'About what?' Excellent. Yet another secret that would taunt him.
'About the fact that…'—she leaned up to press her lips tenderly to his—'I want you to make love to me.'
He almost slid off the horse and took her with him.
Her light touches during the day had goaded him, stoking his need for her—which had only burgeoned after last night—to a fever pitch. And all day, he'd played the part of her husband. Despite himself, he'd begun to feel like one.
Tonight, he wanted to demand a husband's due.
'You want me tae take you?' His voice roughened at the thought.
When she nodded against his chest, he exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd held. He found himself positioning her on his lap, turning her until she was astraddle him. Once her legs hung over his, he ruched up her skirt high in the front and back. As he kissed her neck, one of his hands clutched her nape, the other rubbing far down her back to dip inside her silk pantalettes.
Squeezing her bottom, he lifted her up against his erection, rocking her to it, making her whimper, and him curse in agony. When he set her back down, she sucked in a shocked breath, because he'd cupped her between her legs so her sex rested in his palm. Her flesh was warm and wet in his hold, and she moaned in delight at the contact. But her moan turned to an anguished cry when his finger eased inside her.
Her sheath was incredibly tight and gripped his finger hungrily, making his cock ache to replace it. 'I will no' be able to stop myself,' he grated. 'It will no' be like last night.'
His thumb and forefinger played, and her head lolled, but he retained his firm hold on the back of her neck to make her face him.
Eyes heavy-lidded, she nodded.
'Do you understand me?' He rubbed her sensuously, and she began to undulate against his fingers.
'Hugh, oh, God! Yes, I do.'
As soon as she'd panted the words, realization hit him and his entire body stiffened. 'I'm going tae be inside you tonight.' After so long. 'You want me tae be.' Another thrust of his finger to punctuate his words.
'Oh, I do!' She was close. He could feel her body quivering, her thighs tightening and relaxing around his hips in seeking intervals until he thought he was going to explode.
Inevitable.He ached to possess her, and she wanted him to do the same. Why had he ever imagined that he could fight this? At her ear, he rasped, 'Come for me first.'
