Cait followed him to where his own horse was stabled. Chiron munched contentedly while Jason resettled the thin night blanket over his back. She moved closer and smoothed a corner of the cloth. “You would recognize their horses?”
He gazed down at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. Her heart skittering, she found herself tilting her face up…
He blinked. “I believe so,” he said and turned to leave the stall.
With a warm hand at the small of her back, he drew her outdoors. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel in the courtyard. When his fingers meshed with hers, she inhaled sharply at the contact.
Something drew her this man, though she couldn’t figure why. She didn’t want to marry him—perish the thought!—didn’t want to share Leslie with anyone but Cameron. But the feelings Jason seemed to kindle in her were thrilling and fascinating; what harm could there be in exploring them? She needn’t fear for her reputation, since she knew no one in this wretched country but the one Englishman—and he’d made it clear he already had the lowest opinion of her virtue. If she couldn’t convince him he’d got the wrong impression, she may as well live up to it, aye?
Not that she cared what he thought of her. She didn’t require his good opinion.
Only his lips.
And his cooperation, she supposed.
But surely that was quite feasible. She gathered he wasn’t immune to her charms—whatever those might be. She’d watched other girls wrap men around their little fingers. She’d simply have to do that to Jason until he gave up another kiss.
Just one more kiss.
Or perhaps several. They had two days left in their journey, after all.
As they headed to the taproom for supper, she came up with a plan.
Now she just had to find the nerve to carry it out.
FORTY
“NAY, PLEASE don’t leave.”
His hand on the door latch, Jason turned to look at Emerald. She’d finished unplaiting her hair and was slowly dragging her fingers through the dark golden mass.
“Pardon?” he said. “I’ll be back. I was just leaving so you can change.”
“Will you remove this stomacher for me?” She licked her lips, her hands moving to fumble with the tabs. “I’ve got it knotted. I’m not very good at it.”
She was holding herself in an odd, un-Emerald-like posture, her back all arched. Was she ill? Had she eaten something rotten at supper?
Jason narrowed his eyes. “You removed the stomacher yourself in Newark-on-Trent.”
“It was a struggle.” She sighed prettily, her eyes a soft blue. “You should have been there.”
“Amusing, was it?”
“Nay. I mean you literally should have been there to assist me.” With a coy flourish, she whisked his handkerchief out of her neckline and tossed it onto the closest bed. “Please?” she said huskily, coming closer.
His gaze went straight to the creamy skin exposed by her scooped neckline. The room suddenly felt overwarm. Jason’s belly clenched. Perhaps the lamb had been rancid. Or perhaps he was feeling…
That was, it seemed as if she wanted…
Flowers of Scotland were muddling his brain.
“Very well,” he said slowly, since he couldn’t see a polite way to refuse. “I’ll help just this once.” He began detaching the tabs. “This really is quite simple, though. Watch.”
She looked down. “I’m watching,” she all but purred. “My, Jason, you really are quite good at this.”
Now the room seemed unbearably hot. He wondered wildly if the inn might be on fire. Should he stick his head out the window and look for smoke? It sounded like a fine idea. So did loosening his collar and removing his surcoat, but that would be too much like undressing himself while he undressed Emerald…which was a notion his muddled mind couldn’t begin to contemplate.
A nervous laugh escaped him as he set the stomacher on her bed. “There.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, coming even closer. Now they stood toe to toe. She raised her face, and the look in her blue, blue eyes, lit up by the blazing hearth, was unmistakable.
She was seducing him!
He’d wondered in the stables, when she’d gazed up at him with this same expression. But the smooth talk he’d somehow conjured in the alley—where had it come from? Nowhere near a ravishing, indeed!—hadn’t returned to him in the stable, leaving him confused and tongue-tied.
Much like he was now. Though a distant corner of his mind had to reckon that, for Emerald to be acting this way of a sudden, she must think him a rather good kisser. He tried not to feel too pleased about that.
Especially since he knew he ought not to kiss her again. Though kissing Emerald had been even better than he’d dreamed—an indescribable meshing of softness and sweetness and warmth…no, not warmth, more like fire. But a forging sort of fire, not a destructive sort. And her fingers had pulled gently at his hair like—
He abruptly returned to the present to realize he’d plunged his hands into her hair, closing the gap between them and leaning over her until their lips were a mere whisper apart.
Startled, he leapt back as if he’d been burned.
Her brows knit together, then her eyes seemed to spark with something akin to desperation. Her hands went to tug at her laces, and he blinked at her, horrified. This was so unlike her. “What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m g-getting comfortable for bed,” she stammered. “Like you keep telling me to. Mrs. Twentyman’s night rail, well, it’s really too big and cumbersome. I think I’ll just loosen this dress. You don’t need to leave—”
“Stop,” he whispered, snatching up her hands. She fell silent. He held both her hands still, feeling dizzy with her nearness and the cloud of scent that surrounded him. Flowers of Scotland again.
When she swayed toward him, he retreated a step. Her eyes going hard with determination,
