Soft lips. A deluge of sensation overwhelmed his uncertainty. Heedless of the painful wrench in his shoulder, his arms went around her to press her close, and then closer—close enough to feel the hard rectangle of her emerald necklace between them. Beneath the thin English dress, her back felt small and vulnerable against his hands.
Vulnerable? Emerald MacCallum, vulnerable?
Rational thought was slow to return, seeping in around the edges of the deluge.
Of course Emerald was vulnerable, or she wouldn’t be needing his protection, and he wouldn’t be hauling her all over England for the sake of her safety.
But vulnerable or not, she was still Emerald MacCallum. And he was still Jason Chase. And all the kissing in the world couldn’t change the fact that they were wrong for each other.
There would never be courtship between them, much less marriage. There would only be impropriety, and later, inevitably, bad feelings.
A true gentleman would put an end to this.
Father would have put an end to this.
Though Jason knew all that, it still cost him an enormous effort to break the kiss.
Emerald gazed at him, her eyes now darkened to a deep, hazy blue. She licked her lips. He swallowed hard. Deliberately he lifted her hands from his shoulders, moved to sit on the far bed, and began pulling off his boots.
She followed him and sat herself on the edge of the mattress.
Though his arms itched to gather her to him, instead he forced a laugh. “Your bed is over there, Emerald.” He hoped she didn’t notice the roughness in his voice.
“Are you sure?” she asked. She came to stand before him, and one hand went up to draw her thick hair over her shoulder. Twirling it slowly, she looked young, nervous, and innocent. It must be his imagination—either that, or she was quite the actress. The infamous Emerald MacCallum and this blushing maiden couldn’t possibly be the same person.
Well, he could act, too. Forcing another laugh, he looked pointedly toward the second bed.
Her lower lip trembled. “I know there are two beds in this room, Jase. You don’t have to laugh at me.” Averting her gaze, she walked slowly to the other bed, lowering herself to it as though she might break.
The thick sound of tears in her voice pierced him like a bullet. “I’m not laughing at you. I just…”
He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words to explain. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t have her thinking he wanted her—no matter that he did.
Silence stretched between them. Finally she turned her back on him and buried herself under the coverlet.
“Goodnight,” he said quietly, mostly to himself.
FORTY-ONE
CAITHREN SET down the candle and shook Jason’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
“What?” He struggled up, then fell back to the pillows. “It’s the middle of the night,” he complained, blinking in the near-darkness. “The birds haven’t even started their chorus yet.” He rubbed his eyes, then focused on her. “You’re already dressed?”
“You said you wanted to leave at first dawn.” She turned away and reached for her shoes so she wouldn’t have to look at him.
She could hardly live with her own ashamed thoughts, let alone what Jason must think of her. She’d made such a fool of herself. She’d acted like a girl of low morals and even lower dignity.
Impulsive, that’s what she was—Cameron’s teasing had proved right on the mark. She only wondered how she’d made it to her seventeenth year before thoroughly disgracing herself. She had to learn some self-control.
She wanted to be outdoors, in front of Jason on his horse, where he wouldn’t be able to see her face and she wouldn’t be able to see his. She wished more than ever that he’d obtained a second horse, because she suspected sitting so close to him would be nearly as agonizing as looking at him.
He was falling back asleep.
She shook him again. “You said this town made you uneasy.” Thank heavens she had a viable excuse to wake him and leave while it was still dark. “Do you wish to overtake the Gothard brothers, or nay? We haven’t any time to waste.”
“All right. Give me a minute.” With a groan, he rose from the bed.
She looked away as he changed his shirt.
While he readied himself, she parted her hair and hurried it into two plaits, tying the ends with the green ribbon he’d bought her at the fair. Thankful that her own clothes were dry, she folded the red dress and chemise and packed them away.
“Make haste,” she said.
“What’s going on here?” he mumbled, tugging on his second boot.
He was going to keep at her unless she managed to put this behind her. She gathered herself together. “About last evening,” she said to the floor, “do you reckon we can just forget it happened?”
“Nothing happened.” He shoved yesterday’s shirt into his portmanteau.
She pulled it back out to fold it. “Jase—”
“I’ve forgotten it already. I lack the sleep to think straight. I scarcely remember my name, let alone anything else.” He lifted the portmanteau and opened the door. She followed him out, feeling weak with gratitude. His brusque pardon had been exactly calculated to avoid further embarrassment for them both.
On the way from the inn he peeked wistfully into the dining room, but it was unattended and pitch-black. “The minute the sun comes up, we’re stopping for food.”
“Far be it for me to deny your stomach.”
He handed her the room key, dug in his pouch for some coins, and slapped them into her hand. “Leave these on the counter, will you? I’ll ready Chiron. No sense ruining the stable lad’s sleep, too.”
With a theatric sigh, he headed for the stables.
FORTY-TWO
THE BIRDS
