He'd choked on his drink. She'd smiled innocently when he glowered.
This morning on her way out to the terrace to shoot, she'd said in a casual tone, 'I noticed you didn't pack any reading material—except for that odd book—so I left a novel on your bed.' As he stared after her, she tossed over her shoulder, 'And I marked the scenes Iparticularly enjoyed.'
He knew exactly what kind of novel she spoke of. As soon as she was out of sight, he bounded up the stairs, eager to see what she would like. Set on his pillow was a book with her false cover, and he tore it open. Five minutes later, he sank to the bed, running a shaking hand over his dazed face.
If these were scenes she enjoyed, then they would suitperfectly ….
No, damn it, this was just the latest battle in her insidious campaign. Her continual sallies never let him forget that every day, here for the taking, was the woman of his dreams. He was like a stallion around a mare in heat—he couldn't concentrate, couldn't keep his mind on anything but how her hair smelled and how her skin tasted.
His eyes followed her everywhere. When she worked, she'd taken to wearing a bandanna over her hair, and she'd begun unbuttoning her blouses to beat the heat of the kitchen or whatever chore she'd undertaken. It seemed to Hugh that her dampened breasts were always on the verge of spilling out. Jane, usually so elegant, looked like a lusty barmaid, and he loved it.
In fact, he couldn't decide which version of her he liked best: the clever beauty in London, the archer with her leather-tipped hunting gloves, or this carefree temptress.
His need for her was unrelenting. He wasn't thinking clearly. He was constantly hard during the day and couldn't sleep a night through without having to spend. The other night, after dreaming about her riding him, he'd awakened soaked in sweat—and precisely three quick strokes away from ejaculating.
She'd wrecked him, weakened him. And when she began staring at Hugh with a mixture of almost innocent curiosity and blatant yearning, only one thing kept him from answering the plea in her eyes.
The book. He kept it out now, staring at it often. It reminded him of what he was….
He frowned when he realized that well over an hour had passed since he'd heard humming or seen a flash of her going by. Hugh hoped she'd decided to sleep for an hour or two, instead of her usual exhaustive toiling, even as he doubted it.
He laid aside his plane, dusted wood shavings from his trousers, then strode in the front door. He met Mòrag, returning to the kitchen with a basket of turnips.
'Where's my wife?'
She shrugged. 'Saw English in the north wing last. Said she was going to wax the floors.'
He nodded and grabbed an apple from a bowl, then dropped it as he caught an unmistakable scent.
The girl sniffed. 'What the hell has she done now?'
'Paraffin, Mòrag,' he barked over his shoulder as he took off at a run. 'Think about it.'
Mòrag gasped and dropped her basket to follow.
Paraffin wax was for floors.
And was easily confused with paraffin oil—another term for…kerosene.
He burst through the closed door and swallowed at the sight. Jane had coated thirsty mahogany wood with jugs of kerosene.
She tottered to her feet. 'I wanted to surprise you and have this all finished.' She rubbed her nose delicately with the back of her hand. 'But I feel quite foxed.' Shrugging, she picked up a chunk of sandstone and said, 'I was just going to sand the dried area—'
'No!' he and Mòrag shouted at the same time.One spark…
Heart in his throat, he lunged for her just as Mòrag cried, 'Are ye daft, English?'
Jane blinked, sputtering as he hauled her outside to the well. 'I assume I did something wrong?' she said as he quickly stripped her of everything but her shift.
'Aye. I'm agreeing with Mòrag on this.' He pumped a continuous stream of water all over her wee hands and arms, scrubbing the oil away. 'You've taken on far too much for one person with this project. And that oil is flammable and usually used by'—lanterns—'by professionals. If one drop of candle tallow hit your skirt just then, you'd have gone up in a blaze.'
'Oh.' Jane bit her bottom lip. 'You're angry.'
'Concerned.'
'Hugh, be patient with me.'
'God knows I try, lass.'
When he spied Mòrag preparing to leave for the night, he ordered Jane, 'Scrub your legs and feet. I'll be right back,' then strode to the stable to catch the girl. 'Mòrag, I want you to keep my wife away from any and all dangerous and flammable substances that might be on this property. Lock them away if you have to. And I'll triple your wages if you can keep her out of the north wing till I can replace the boards.'
Hugh turned back to Jane to bark, 'Scrub!' and Jane jumped with fright, then dutifully scrubbed.
Mòrag made a disgusted sound. 'You're no' going to scold English worse? After ruining the room like that?'
Hugh shrugged. 'From now on, I'll make sure she understands some things are dangerous around here, but, no, she'll no' know she damaged an entire mahogany floor.'
'I'd have been tarred.' But then Hugh knew Jane had started growing on the girl when Mòrag glowered and threw her hands up. 'English is no'stoopid —you ken we'll have to bluidy age the new floor, too?'
'It's time you told me why're you've been working so hard, lass,' Hugh said when he returned.
She was feeling tipsy and cold, and yet delightfully shivery as Hugh's rough hands rubbed up and down her arms, checking for oil residue. She grinned drunkenly. 'I'm endeavoring to impress you. So you'll keep me. And let me live in your seashore house.'
When he gave up a shadow of a grin, she said, 'Actually, that wasn't a joke.'
His face creased into a scowl. 'You bring marriage up? Again? You're as stubborn as a Scot! Do you know that?'
'I could make you happy,' she insisted. 'And you're in a position to take a wife.'
'Damn it, lass, you would no' like being married to me.'
'How would it differ from what we've been doing?'
When he'd agreed to this marriage, he'd anticipated her wanting out at the first opportunity. That was supposed to be the one constant. He'd never imagined he would be grasping for arguments againsthimself , as he stared at Jane's shift getting soaked with cool well water and clinging to her plump breasts. His hands on her arms began to move more leisurely.
He hadn't been concentrating well anyway, but how could he be expected to formulate an argument when faced with her little nipples stiffening under every spurt of water that hit them? He was in a bad way. He remembered that last time he'd kissed them, he'dfelt them throb beneath his tongue….
He broke away, removing his hands completely from her body. 'Jane, forget this plan of yours. I'm no' a good man. And I would no' make a good husband.'
'This makes sense to me. It's a logical move for us. We're already married, and we've done the formalities.' She lowered her voice to say, 'All you have to do is make love to me.'
'Logical? You want this because it's logical? That's the one bloody thing it is no'.'
Her brows drew together as she gazed up at him. 'Hugh, what is so wrong with me?'
He'd never imagined a woman like her could fear herself lacking. He couldn't allow her to think that in any way. Which meant telling her the truth. At least, part of it.
'It's no' you. It'sme .'
Whatever he'd said had evidently been the worst he could have. Her face grew cold in an instant. 'Do you have any idea how many men I've told that to spare their feelings?' She crossed her arms and eased away from him. 'Oh, how the worm has turned. Now I'm the unwanted, unhappy recipient of platitudes.'
'Jane, no.' He reached out and laid a hand on her hip, tugging her closer. 'You are everything a man could ever want in a wife.' He caught her eyes. 'The truth is…the truth is that if I were ever planning to marry, I'd have you or none at all.'
She tilted her head. 'None at all?'
