Releasing her, he swept the red wig off his head and finger-combed his hair. “I’ve been less than completely honest with you, and—”
At the same time a liveried stableman rounded the corner to take their horses, one of the brick home’s double front doors swung open. A tall, thin butler poked his nose out. “Lord Cainewood—what a surprise.”
He couldn’t possibly be as surprised as Caithren was when Jason answered to the name. “Yes, Goodwin, I’ve found myself in town for a few days. I apologize for failing to send word.”
“No problem a’tall, my lord.” The butler eyed Cait with interest. “And the lady—”
“The lady will be lodging here as well.”
“Jason?” she whispered.
Jason was…a lord?
And this was his town house?
She’d fully expected his “town house” would turn out to be a garret in a questionable neighborhood. This house had several garrets of its own. Both tall and wide, its face was divided by columns and studded with big rectangular windows, each crowned with a triangular pediment.
Her mind reeled.
Goodwin held the door open wide, and Jason ushered her inside. She stopped dead on the threshold, staring at the home’s interior. The enormous windows made it lighter inside than any house she’d ever seen. Carved flowers and ribbons festooned the pale painted plaster walls. A wide staircase curved gracefully up to the next floor.
She turned to Jason. “What kind of a lord are you? A prince?”
“Nothing so grand.” He offered her an apologetic smile. “A marquess.”
She blinked, trying to absorb it all. Her legs felt shaky. “You’ll excuse me if I need to sit for a moment.” Spotting a pair of brocade chairs in the entry, she made her way over and lowered herself to one of them.
A marquess. Her head spun at the mere thought. She certainly couldn’t picture her very-Scottish self the object of an English marquess’s love. Not that Jason—Lord Whoever—would ever really love her. Wheesht, the fellow hardly believed a word she said.
She looked over at him, struggling to focus her eyes. The room seemed too bright. “Who are you? The Marquess of What?”
“Cainewood. A castle and lands down south.” He set the wig on a small gilt and marble table. “I told you about it, remember?”
The butler discreetly disappeared while Caithren digested the information. And here she’d made fun of Jason pretending to be an aristocrat. Well, he’d deserved it then, didn’t he?
“I live in a castle as well,” she said, lifting her chin. “And my father was a baronet.”
“I know. You’ve told me.”
“You believe me, then?”
He shrugged, a telltale red staining his face.
She wasn’t going to feel sympathy for his predicament. To the contrary, she felt like lashing out with her claws bared. “Well, I’ve always told you the truth. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“I know,” he said in a small voice. “But I never told you anything that wasn’t true.” He moved close and put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes begging her to understand. “I just—left out some details.”
“Details?” She pinned him with her best disdainful look. “That’s got to be the most glaring understatement I’ve ever heard.” She closed her eyes, put her fingers to her forehead, then opened them again and looked up at him. “My mam always said that credit lost is akin to broken glass.”
“Pardon?” His jaw tense, he stared at the toes of his black boots. “I understand the words, for once, but the meaning eludes—”
“Broken trust can never be restored.”
“Cait…” He went down on a knee before her, and she almost—almost—felt sorry for him.
But she felt too betrayed. “With all the deception we’ve had between us—”
Glimpsing something over her shoulder, he stood and pulled away. She looked up and back to see a young man and a young woman trooping down the stairs.
“Jason!” the female exclaimed. She ran down the last few steps and threw herself into his arms. “Are you healing well, then? Any news on the Gothards? My heavens”—she touched his face—“what happened to your hair and your mustache?”
“Let me guess,” Caithren said dryly, rising from the chair. “Your wife.”
She wouldn’t put it past him, no matter that he’d been kissing her. The young woman was petite and prettier than she was, with dark red hair and a fine complexion.
“Not my wife,” Jason said. “My sister, Kendra. And my brother, Ford.” He gestured toward the tall, young gentleman. Ford had long, wavy brown hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Ford, Kendra, this is Caithren Leslie.”
“Caithren, is it?” Kendra said with a wide smile. “Familiar, aren’t we?”
Cait curtsied, but Kendra rushed forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “Welcome to our home. Where did you find her, Jason? Are you two in love?” She gasped, holding up Caithren’s left hand. “Are you married? Jason—”
“No, we’re not married.” Her face on fire, Cait wrenched the ring off her fourth finger—she’d forgotten it was there—and thrust it at Jason.
Who promptly dropped it. “Kendra,” he groaned, kneeling to scrabble on the floor.
“You misunderstand, Lady Kendra,” Cait broke in. “I’m only traveling with your brother due to…unfortunate circumstances.”
“You’re Scottish,” Kendra said. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“Aye, and—”
“Scottish?” Ford interrupted. He examined her with keen interest, his gaze settling on her amulet. “Might you go by the nickname of Emerald?”
“Nay,” Cait said firmly. “My name is Caithren.” She turned to glare at Jason, half-expecting him to defend his brother. “Not Emerald.”
“Emerald?” Kendra scoffed. “As in Emerald MacCallum? Look at her, will you? Does she look like she chases outlaws?” She put a hand on Cait’s arm. “Men can be so thick-headed at times. I apologize for my twin. He is more thick-headed than most.”
Cait’s lips thinned. “No more than Jase.”
“Jase?” Kendra looked to him. “You let her call you Jase? Now I know you’re in love.”
Cait blushed so wildly, she could only hope the color would wear off by evening.
But Jason ignored Kendra’s cheeky comment. “What are you doing here?” he asked her.
Ford sighed. “I’m sorry to say I’ve yet
