“You’re m-making this up,” she accused, wishing her words came out stronger. “The Gothards aren’t here!”
“If you value your life, you’ll keep your voice down and play along.” His mouth brushed her cheek and trailed down her neck, leaving a damp, quivery path. “You’re my wife,” he murmured against her throat. “I think we must be newlyweds. Try to look like you’re enjoying this, will you?”
Aye, she was enjoying it.
When she pressed against him, he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. The heat from the bread seemed to seep into her stomach and spread. Her head felt woozy. Her entire body felt limp. Only the wall and Jason’s arms kept her standing.
Her fingers tangled in the coarse hair of the wig. The now-familiar exhilaration stole through her, and a part of her wondered how she could have thought she was better off without this.
Another, distant part of her wondered if the Gothards were truly near. Even if they were, she felt safe here with Jason, as she always had, though it made no more sense now than it had in the beginning. The melting intimacy felt genuine, not like playacting, and despite herself—despite the possible danger—she found herself savoring every second.
Surely he felt their connection, too. Somehow she would make him admit it.
He raised his head and looked both ways, then said, “He’s gone.”
She tightened her hands on the back of his neck. “What else can you tell me about your wife?” Her wobbly voice betrayed her emotions. “I-if I’m to act the part, then—”
“Mmm.” It was a succumbing sound. “My wife…well, there’s no one I’d rather kiss.” The green of his eyes turned deep and unfathomable. His mouth brushed over hers, once, twice, then settled in a kiss every bit as deep as his gaze.
She was startled by his intensity. He wanted her, she was sure of it…
Now that she was dressed like an Englishwoman, said a tiny, niggling voice in the back of her mind.
Indignation flared. It wasn’t right. She’d wanted him all along, even with his silly mustache and his overlong hair, even when he dressed as a miller. It was Jason she wanted, not the package in which he was presented.
But he only liked her in a fancy, low-cut dress.
She raised her head, struggling to regain her senses. “Now you don’t push me away,” she accused. “Ever since I put on these clothes.”
“No,” he said, breathing hard. “Ever since I saw you dance with the Gypsies.”
Since then? Her heart twisted. Dancing with the Gypsies, she’d been herself, more herself than at any other time since she’d stepped foot in England. But did he mean what he said? Or was he dukkering—telling her what she wanted to hear?
He backed away, catching the bread from between them before it could fall to the ground.
Cait blinked and put her palms to her cheeks. She focused on the loaves in his hands. “They’re squished,” she said foolishly.
“Gothard is gone.” He handed her a loaf. “I think we tricked him.”
“I hope so,” she said.
But maybe not. Maybe she’d like to try tricking him again…unless she was tired of being trifled with. She wasn’t thinking entirely straight. The bread didn’t feel as hot as it had between their bodies. Though she wasn’t hungry, she unwrapped the loaf, tore off a hunk, and stuck it in her mouth. Before she could say something else foolish.
“Shall we go?” he asked her.
“Aye.” Swallowing, she wrapped her bread back up. “Let’s go.”
They untied their horses and headed out.
The road out of Biggleswade was narrow, with a few small houses scattered alongside. As scattered as Cait’s thoughts. Jason was the most confusing person she’d ever met. Exasperating. Authoritative. Overprotective.
But he certainly knew how to kiss.
Although it was clouding up and cooling off, the brocade gown was heavy enough to keep her warm. The gown and her blood pumping through her veins…
What would she have done without Jason? It felt like a lifetime since he’d kept her off the coach. She’d still be on it, wouldn’t she? Slowly making her way toward London, listening to Mrs. Dochart day in and day out.
She’d have her money and her clothes—clothes that didn’t leave so much skin exposed for the world to ogle. But she wouldn’t have attended a country fair, tasted syllabub, or danced with the Gypsies.
Or learned what it felt like to really be kissed.
He’d swept her plans out from under her. That was bad enough. But what if he’d swept her heart out from under her as well?
FORTY-EIGHT
My dearest Malcolm and Alison,
I did not have to travel all the way South, as evidence proves the Gothards to be following the Great North Road towards London. They are not good at covering their tracks. So I hope to be home sooner than planned, which is a very happy thing, because I miss you both more than words can say.
All the day, as I ride the road, I think about my two bairns and what you might be doing. Every day that passes without you is a day I’ve missed forever, and I cannot wait to see your two bonnie faces and hold you in my arms again.
From what I have learned, these men are very, very bad people. I know I will be doing the world a good deed to see them gone. All the same, I would rather be with you, and I count the days until it will be so. I cannot wait to hug and kiss you, and my dearest prayer is that when I come home to you this time, it will be forever.
Your very loving Mama
DURING THE TEN long miles from Biggleswade to Baldock, the weather failed to cooperate. As the long blowing grasses gave way to Baldock’s neat clipped gardens, the clouds grew darker and the wind picked up, whipping beneath Caithren’s heavy skirts.
They rode past the Church
