Though Jane had been behaving herself, his want of her never relented. Even if she wasn't teasing him, she might as well have been. Jane exuded sexuality. Today, he'd passed her in a tight spot and had laid his hands on her waist. Her breaths had gone shallow and her cheeks had heated.
If he passed her room and spied her stockings and little garters strewn about, his gut tightened with want. Because their rooms were so close, each night Hugh drifted off to the intoxicating scents of her lotions and light perfume and to recent visions of her laces and silk corsets. In other words, he went to bed every night hard as steel.
On several occasions, Jane had approached him, nibbling her lip, appearing as if she needed to discuss something serious. He had no idea what she might be wanting, but always found himself relieved when she turned away without saying anything. Yet he knew soon she would broach whatever subject she wrestled with—and he sensed that this wouldn't bode well for him.
If he wasn't tormented with desire for her, he was wracked with concern about his brother and Jane's continued safety. And growing each day was a thick sense of foreboding Hugh couldn't shake.
Something had to give….
As Hugh labored with his horse to haul debris away from the manor, Jane perched in the saddle, sitting backward so she could watch Hugh.
Sheloved to watch him work, especially when he was shirtless. Whenever he stood and ran his arm over his forehead, the sweat-slick ridges of his stomach would tense, and Jane's breath would go shallow. She didn't think she'd ever seen anything half as beautiful as his muscles covered with sweat.
Today was her first afternoon off since they'd arrived. Mòrag was harvesting kale today, so Jane was relaxing, which obviously pleased Hugh.
He likely believed she worked so hard just to compete with Mòrag, but Jane feared her cleaning skills would be forever eclipsed by the girl's.
No, Jane worked to prove she could be an asset to Hugh, that she was a good wife and one worth keeping. She tended the gardens, she painted furniture, and she arranged the beautiful homespun rugs Mòrag had bought from local artisans. The house was already becoming homey and comfortable.
If she lost Hugh in the end, it wouldnot be from lack of trying….
'Water, lass?'
She blinked, tossing him his canteen. He drank greedily, then ran his forearm over his mouth. She loved it when men did that. And by 'men' she meant 'Hugh.' When he tossed the canteen back, she was so busy staring at him that she missed, fumbling the canteen twice before it thudded to the ground. She could barely contain her yearning—indeed, she'd ceased bothering to hide the depth of it—yet Hugh still hadn't touched her. Again and again, she mulled reasons why.
With a frown, he released the leather trace over his shoulder, then scooped up the canteen on his way to the saddle. When he dusted it off and handed it to her, she gave him a sheepish smile.
He backed away from her with a guarded expression, then took up the traces again. The horse strained forward once more.
She'd struggled to broach the subject of staying married to him, but his eyes always seemed dark with warning—just like now. She felt as if she would be all but proposing to him, and she could admit her confidence was shaken. Men were usually tongue-tied, stumbling over themselves to give her whatever she wanted. Hugh was distant, his countenance shuttered.
She inhaled, grasping about for courage. There wasn't going to be a better time than now. Before she lost her nerve again, she quickly asked, 'Do you want to know what I've been thinking about?'
He shook his head emphatically, so she waited several minutes before she asked, 'Hugh, do you think I'd make a good wife?'
After a hesitation, he slowly answered, 'Aye.'
'You swear?'
'Aye.'
'You're not just saying that to spare my feelings?'
'No. Any man would be proud to call you wife—'
'Then why don't you just keep me?'
He stumbled over his feet, falling to his knee in the mud.
'Iwant to keepyou ,' she declared, as if her seemingly innocent question hadn't just sent his body and mind reeling.
He rose, inwardly cursing. Why did she have to start with the teasing once again? Damn it, all in all, he'd been having a good day. The unseasonably mild weather had held pleasant, and he'd been enjoying her company, as usual. As she'd chatted and laughed about this and that, he'd been sneaking glances up at her, marveling at how much Scotland was agreeing with her.
Her cheeks were pinkened, her eyes appeared, impossibly, a more vibrant green, and her auburn hair was even shinier, seeming burnished with gold.
The lass was growing so beautiful that at times, she rendered him speechless.
'It's a reasonable question, Hugh.'
Now he felt himself growing cold. 'This is no' something to jest about.'
Earlier, the expressions flitting across her face had gone from thoughtful to panicked to fearful, then to the determined mien she wore now. 'I'm not,' she said in a steady voice. 'At all. I want to stay married to you.'
He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't quite manage it when he saw that she was serious.Unbelievable. His voice hoarse, he finally said, 'It will no' happen, Jane.'
Shewanted to be his lover and his wife? Right now, he wished to God he were selfish enough to keep her.
'Why? If you give me a good reason, I'll desist from this. Otherwise…' She trailed off, as if in warning.
'I told you, I never wanted to be married.'
'Butwhy ? Give me one reason.'
'That is just no' the life for me,' he said simply. 'Never has been and never will be. You have to accept that some men are no' husband material.'
'I think you are.'
'You doona even know me anymore.'
'Because you won't tell me anything,' she countered.
'Take my word for it.'
'Are you certain you don't want just totry staying married after all this is done? To see if we suit?'
'Aye, I'm verra certain,' he said, making his tone cutting.
'Really?' she said slowly.Raaaally. As if she hadn't heard him, she slipped down from the saddle. 'It's a big decision.' She gave him a solemn nod. 'I know you'll want to think it over.' Before strolling off, she tilted her head and studied him, her bright eyes focused and clear.
It was, he thought, swallowing hard, the same way she looked at her arrow's target.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Having raised the subject of staying married, Jane returned to it over the next week with stubborn frequency.
As Hugh worked a Dutch block plane over a new column for the rickety portico, he waited for a glimpse of Jane and mulled over her latest campaign.
The night before, he'd been drinking scotch on a rug by the fire. She'd sat behind him, up on her knees to rub the sore muscles of his back, sharing sips of his drink. His lids had grown heavy as he'd relaxed against her.
The fire, the scotch, his wife easing his body after a hard day's labor.Bliss . He took a savoring sip—
'Any thoughts on our marriage, my love?'
