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  “No, of course not. This is your home, after all. Would you care for a whiskey?” A tray with a whiskey decanter and two crystal glasses sat on a low table in front of the fire. He picked up both glasses and sat down next to her, crowding her into the corner of the settee. Leaning forward companionably, he put one arm around her shoulder and handed her the drink. “Now then, little wife, suppose we have a talk, you and I? You spoke of an annulment. Has that hard heart of yours finally softened? Do you now long for your beefy Irish lover? You wish to join him in connubial bliss?”

  “No,” she said shortly, shifting so that her elbow lodged firmly against his ribs, and giving a hard shove. “It’s my family that longs for him, not I. Have a care, Sinclair. You’ll make me spill my drink.”

  “Then it must be me you long for,” he said huskily, ignoring the sharp point of her elbow and pulling her into his lap.

  “Damn it, Sinclair, attend me if you please!” She slapped at his hands, struggling to free herself, spilling her drink in the process. “I appreciate you’re angry with me, despite your words to the contrary. I wish you’d just come out and say so instead of playing these games.”

  “You’ve never seen me angry, love. It’s not something you’d soon forget. I was merely ascertaining that you’re solid and real and not some figment of my inebriation. I remember what a hefty armful you were,” he added, giving her a slight squeeze.

  His warmth surrounded her, and she could feel his arousal pressed firm against her bottom. His mouth, just inches from hers, smelled of whiskey, and she wondered if it would taste like it, too. He’d kissed her three times, once on her wedding night and twice in his delirium. Each time she’d felt a mix of guilt and pleasure and a giddy sense of expectation. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him as a lover, as a wife kissed a husband. She relaxed against him for a moment, and then elbowed him sharply when his fingers began tracing her décolletage.

  He grunted and let her go. “What? No kiss? After more than a year of cruel separation this is your greeting once we’re alone? I’m very disappointed, Catherine. This is hardly the reunion I’ve been dreaming of.”

  She rose abruptly, tired of sparring with him. “You are angry with me, whether you admit it or not. I can see there’s little point in trying to discuss anything with you right now. When you’ve done amusing yourself, my lord, do you think you might direct me to a bedchamber?”

  He wasn’t angry, though. At least he didn’t think he was. Shocked and surprised to see her, yes. Confused and wary, certainly. Curious, intrigued, and decidedly unsettled. She’d seemed so cool and collected, walking back into his life out of nowhere with God knew what on her mind. She’d been nothing but trouble so far. And now here she was, back as if they’d parted only yesterday, an aristocratic stranger as cool and sparkling as one of her blasted highland burns. It was a relief to provoke a reaction and find the hellcat dwelled there still. Now that she’d shown herself, he wasn’t ready to let her go.

  “You’re a cruel and merciless overlord, madam. You beat and bit me, left me bruised and bloody on my wedding night, tied me hand and foot and tossed me to the mercy of the sea, and now that you’ve ruined my reputation, you are seeking to abandon me. Surely it is I who am the aggrieved party here. Pray sit down and tell me what I’ve done to deserve your ire.”

  She sighed, exasperated. “I’m actually quite wealthy, you know. You didn’t strike such a bad bargain. Moreover, my family and I are on friendly terms with the king. Indeed, I’m invited to court to discuss matters of trade. It’s part of the reason I’m here.”

  “Tell me more, my dear,” he said, patting the place beside him.

  “Will you behave yourself?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I’ll put the angels to shame, my love. I give you my word.”

  She eyed him warily, motioning with her hand for him to move farther to the right. He did so, then poured them both another glass of whiskey, handing one to her and putting his booted feet on the table as she settled down beside him.

  “A toast, my dear? To new beginnings?”

  “To new beginnings.” Catherine watched him toss back the fiery liquid, and not to be outdone, she did the same.

  “You drink like a soldier, little wife.” He reached for her glass and refilled it.

  “I drink like a Scotsman, English.”

  He held out his glass to her again. “To old acquaintance renewed. I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Jamie?”

  “To old acquaintance renewed,” she said, clinking her glass with his and downing her drink in two swallows. “I’ll try and do so, Sinclair, if you speak to me as yourself and not some prancing courtier.”

  “But I am a prancing courtier, love.”

  “No, you’re not.” She pulled up the edge of her skirt and rested her own boots on the table. “I’ve seen you on the battlefield. I’ve seen you on the scaffold. I’ve seen you as a mercenary and a tinker. I’ve seen your scars and I’ve seen you fight. I don’t know what you are, but I do know what you’re not. I suppose you have your reasons for the games you play, but if you want me to call you by your own name, then don’t play them with me.” She held out her glass for another refill, and though he raised an eyebrow, he complied.

  He tilted his head on an angle, his lips quirked in amusement as he watched her curiously, enjoying the view of petticoat and leather clad ankle. “So we’re to be honest with one another, are we? It’s a novel idea, my dear, but I fear overall a dangerous practice. Why don’t you start? I’ll observe from a distance and see if it’s safe.”

  She couldn’t stop a quick smile in reply.

  He tapped his boot against hers and gave her a gentle nudge. “Did you worry about me at all, mouse? Did you think of me when the nights were cold and long and the wind rattled at your door?” His voice was soft, insistent. “Did you miss me, Cat? I missed you. I dreamt of you. I dreamt I held you in my arms, wrapped in furs, as the sea pounded at my door.”

  Her heart stuttered and she blushed in the dark, wondering how much he remembered. The silence was relieved only by the popping and hissing of the logs on the fire, and she watched the f lames dancing and pulsing in the crystal goblets, strangely beautiful in the hushed room. His thigh rested warm and solid against her own, sending a shiver coursing through her veins that had nothing to do with the cold. She’d miscalculated the state of her nerves, and the strength of the whiskey. It had gone to her head, and she waited, in fear and anticipation, for him to press his advantage. As the minutes ticked by and he didn’t, she began to relax against him.

  “No answer, love? Or has my honesty put you to sleep?”

  The spell broken, she rallied instantly. “I do apologize, English—”

  “Jamie… Please.”

  “Jamie… I have had a rather long day and I’m feeling just a bit unwell. I’d prefer to leave our discussion to tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, waving him away when he moved to aid her. “I’m quite capable of standing, walking, and other mundane tasks without the help of a husband, thank you.” The sudden movement unsettled her balance and she tottered precariously to her left. When he scooped her into his arms, she clutched his neck to keep from falling. She was unusually tall for a woman, but he held her easily, making her feel dainty and ladylike, much to her amusement. When he stumbled and cursed, catching his toe on the corner of a bookcase, she gave a snort of laughter.

  “It amuses you to have me trip and fall like an underfed slave boy?”

  “I was merely ref lecting that I’m more of an armful than you imagined,” she replied primly.

  “You’ve always been an armful, mouse.” He shifted her in his arms and used his foot to nudge open the door.

  “You’d do well to consider that before you decide to keep me. I’m a brawny hoyden, sharp tongued and opinionated, better with a sword than a needle, and not the least bit biddable. I’d make a terrible wife.”

  “You’re a lovely Am
azon, my dear, long muscled and sleek, yet smooth and rounded in all the right places. You must trust me in this. I’m a connoisseur of such things. Ah, here’s Sullivan. Sullivan, have we a room ready for my wife?”

  “Indeed, sir, this way.”

  Jamie followed Sullivan down the hall, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. He felt it when she slipped into sleep. He laid her on the bed, waving Sullivan and the servants, including some squawking Scottish lass, from the room. He pulled off her boots, his hands lingering over supple calves and circling slim ankles, and then he covered her with a soft lamb’s wool blanket. He took a step back and looked at her warily. He’d never expected to see her again. What did she want from him? What trouble would she cause next?

  He touched the bridge of his nose and a slow smile spread across his face. He was going to have to be careful. The sight of her had set his heart to racing and momentarily stilled his breath. She brought out the worst in him, his lovely Highland lass. She made him reckless and impulsive and set him to craving, so he forgot all his best-laid plans, but he’d no intention of letting that happen again.

  Fourteen

  Catherine opened her eyes and closed them again, as the room spun in dizzying circles. The blood was pounding in her temples, and the clatter of silverware and china set her teeth on edge. Harsh sunlight beat against her eyelids in a painful white- and red-tinged haze. She moaned and covered them with the back of her hand. She was used to traveling long distances on horseback, but it seemed the endless rolling of the coach hadn’t agreed with her. She rolled over and buried her head under the covers, and memories of the last evening came f looding in. She’d seriously misjudged the strength of the whiskey, though not its lack of refinement. It clearly lacked the subtlety and smoothness that characterized her own. She supposed she’d also underestimated the extent of her own anxiety, else she’d never have drunk so much.

  She vaguely recollected her English husband carrying her to bed. It seemed she was still wearing her traveling clothes, so it was safe to assume nothing untoward had happened. Had he tried to kiss her? She seemed to remember something of the sort. The clattering was getting louder and a moment later her nostrils f lared, catching the dark and delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Peering through her fingers she saw one of her maids, Maire McKenna, setting out a cup and saucer on a nearby table. She was a pretty girl who bustled rather than walked, hummed rather than chattered, and despite her constant motion, had a presence about her that put one at ease.

  “Ah, thank you, Maire! How did you know?”

  “Mr. Sullivan sent it, ma’am. He said his lordship is looking forward to meeting you in the breakfast room.”

  “Is he? I’d not have taken him for a man who rises before midday.” But she knew it wasn’t true. She knew better than to underestimate him. Whatever game Jamie Sinclair was playing, he wasn’t a spoiled and pampered aristocrat, but a wily and seasoned opponent who’d traversed the Highlands and entered enemy territory on his own. She didn’t care how clever he was, though. There wasn’t an Englishman born who could beat a canny Scot when it came to hard bargaining.

  Maire led her to a sunny breakfast room. The coffee had revived her, though her nerves were still a little tender, and the smell of fresh-baked bread made her mouth water. Her English husband was drinking chocolate and reading a newspaper. Still a little unsteady on her feet, she returned his cheerful greeting with a careful nod as she edged around the table and gingerly sat down.

  He winced in sympathy. “The room isn’t moving, my dear. You needn’t grip the table so. Shall I have Cook make you a posset?”

  He bellowed for Sullivan and she gripped her head between he palms. “Beast!”

  “I’m right here, sir. There’s no need to shout.”

  “Thank you, Sullivan. Fetch my lady something for her head, would you?” He turned his attention back to Catherine, rising to pour her some chocolate. “Try this. It helps.” Sitting down beside her, he patted her hand solicitously. “Now tell me true, my love. Will I spend my married life dragging you home piss drunk from taverns?”

  She gave him a glacial look. “I do not… get… piss… drunk. I drink for medicinal purposes, and at other times I… tipple.”

  “Well you tippled enough last night to put a bishop under the table, but if that’s how a Scotsman holds his drink, I’d have to say they drink like… girls.” He grinned and dodged her elbow.

  “I was tired from a very long journey and anxious about my reception, and the whiskey was… well, I’m a guest, and unlike you, I’m polite and I’ll say no more,” she replied hotly, stung by the insult.

  “You needn’t feel anxious of your welcome, my love. We’re family now, after all.”

  “I’m not your love, English. I’m your unwanted and inconvenient wife.”

  “You promised to use my name.”

  “And you promised not to play games.”

  “Very well, but it’s you who’ve come to see me. You spoke of an annulment last night. What precisely did you have in mind?”

  “I thought we might help one another. Perhaps come to some kind of arrangement that would be mutually beneficial. You’re in needs of funds. I want my freedom and control of my fortune so I can keep it from the hands of my family.

  “Ah, not so loving kin, internecine warfare, Cain and Abel?”

  “Nothing quite so biblical. They would not use it wisely.”

  “One suspects they might say the same of you.”

  “Indeed they might. Particularly if they thought I intended to share it with a womanizing Sassenach rogue and gambler.”

  “And is that your intention?”

  “It might be.”

  “No offense, my dear, but we are in fact married. As unfair as it might seem to you, what’s yours is now mine. Why should I consider any other arrangement?”

  “Pax, Sinclair… Jamie. We won’t get far if you seek to rule me.”

  “I don’t seek to rule you. Some say I’m barely able to rule myself.”

  “We both know that’s false.”

  “Do we?”

  “Yes, so why this pretense?” she asked, genuinely curious. “The scapegrace courtier, the dissipated rogue?”

  He shrugged. “Some men have many faces, mouse. Who’s to say which one is real? Why do you avoid my question?”

  “Because you’ll not like the answer, I’m not sure how best to explain, and my head still hurts. Can we declare a truce? I’d like to discuss it with you, not argue. I’d like to take a walk to clear my head and then sit down somewhere comfortable and see if we can’t come to some kind of arrangement.”

  “Taking a walk through the noxious streets of London is hardly likely to clear your head. Might I suggest we go for a ride in the park?”

  “You wish to accompany me?”

  His face lit with mischief. “I do indeed. And after, I’ll have Sullivan make the rounds and place wagers on the identity of the mysterious beauty who accompanied me.”

  “You do cheat!”

  “Heavens no! I merely improve the odds wherever I can.”

  “Will you promise to leave our discussion until later?”

  “I will be your vassal, your dedicated guide. I’ll hold your pretty ankle and boost you into your saddle, carry your parcels, and menace any ruffians who dare to look your way.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, but when he set out to charm he was impossible to resist. He took her back to the mews and introduced her to Charlie Turner, a tiny, wizened man who was groom and sometimes jockey. For a man in dire financial straits, his stable housed some of the finest hacks she’d ever seen: long-limbed, high-stepping beauties that combined the intelligent eyes and fiery carriage of a desert mount with the height and strength of an English hunter.

  “Jamie, these beasts are magnificent! Wherever did you get them?”

  “Mmmm,” he shrugged with apparent indifference, but she could see the pride shining in his eyes. “I’ve had a mind to try my hand at breeding s
ince back in Charles’s day. He was kind enough to pay off a gambling debt by allowing me to breed a Barbary mare to his stud, Old Rawley.”

  “The champion race horse?”

  “You know of him?” he asked with a pleased smile.

  “But of course I do! He’s a racing legend!”

  Jamie nodded, and lifted her easily onto the back of a fine black gelding. “So he is. As it happens, I’ve had a bit of luck with it all since then. The mare produced a colt that won the cup at Newcastle twice. I’ve bred him with several of Sullivan’s mares and he’s sired some fine racehorses and hunters. Those that aren’t suitable for racing or hunting I use as hacks and pleasure mounts. I was beginning to make a bit of a name for myself as a breeder before this unfortunate business with Caroline. Only Buckingham gives me his business now.”

  They continued into the park, talking amiably about horse racing and breeding, neither of them paying any attention to the stir they were creating. Catherine enjoyed herself for the first time since Jerrod had come to warn her to cooperate or be imprisoned. It was strange how easy she felt around this man, as if she’d always known him, and strange that when she found herself threatened it was him she turned to and trusted, rather than her own f lesh and blood. They chattered and laughed, amusing each other with observations about the colorfully dressed fops and sparks strutting by like peacocks and the vulgar calls of the orange girls passing by on their way to the theatre.

  Returning to the house, they settled comfortably in the library, just as the sun began to set, bathing the room in shades of pink and indigo blue. Jamie poured two glasses of brandy and came to sit beside her. “So… rash and reckless little mouse. You’ve managed to avoid my questions thus far, but here we are. What has brought you quick and curious to my lair? What is it you propose… and why should I accept?” They sat companionably, sharing the well-upholstered settee in front of a cheerful fire, feet propped on a low table.

  “I’m the creature you’ve always dreamed of, Sinclair,” she said, sipping her brandy. “A rich and titled heiress, ripe for the plucking. My father hoped I’d marry someone who could help me lead our clan, but I failed in that duty and my cousin Donald became chieftain after my father’s death. Donald feels, and my family concurs, that a woman with a husband no one else has ever seen must be a lunatic who imagined him in the first place, or desperate to divorce him so she might marry again. I’m to procure an annulment or lead you to slaughter, so I can marry as my loving family wishes. If I don’t, my cousin will have me immured in a convent until I return to my right mind.”