Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (34 page)

"Oh, but—" Tara began.

"Now!" Roman said, then fought his instincts. "I fear we have an early day tomorrow."

Tara's eyes looked exceptionally wide. In a moment she turned them back to Dasset, who still stood too near. Far too near. "I fear he is right, my lord."

"My offer remains to see you home."

"Nay!" Roman said, then loosened his fists and tried again. "I must refuse, Lord Dasset. After all, she is under my protection. You understand."

Their gazes clashed. Deep inside, Roman almost wished Dagger would accuse him of something, anything. Rage, jealousy, and fear were brewing to a fiery potion within him, and he longed to quench the fire with brute action. Did she not realize she was flirting with death?

"Mayhap we will meet again," Tara was saying.

"Mayhap," said Dasset. Lifting her hand, he kissed it again. "Until then."

Roman stifled the urge to strike out, he quelled the need to pull his dirk and proclaim her his own. He took her arm in his hand. Beneath his fingers, he imagined he felt her tremble, but surely he was wrong, for she thrived on such sport.

She waited until they were well outside the house before she spoke. "You have it?"

Roman kept every muscle tight, lest he lose control. "It?" he asked softly.

"Do not tease me,
mon frere"
she said. "Do you?"

"Do you mean the bracelet?"

"Shh!" For just a moment, she was yanked from her persona. Roman gritted a smile.

"Aye," he said. "While you were busy flirting, I did what we came ta do. But you wouldn't—"

"Shh," she said, and smiled as a man in canary yellow hose passed them. "Joseph," she called, raising one hand. "We are ready to return."

The carriage pulled up. Liam jumped down with a grin and a nod. "I hope you had a lovely time, Mistress Fontaine."

"Oh. Lovely indeed." She sighed. Roman gritted his teeth, and taking her elbow, thrust her inside.

"And Lord Harrington," continued Liam. "He is well?"

"Drive," said Roman, and, following Tara, slammed the door shut in Liam's face.

In a moment, the carriage lurched off, drawn away from the festivities at a steady trot.

"Where is it?" Tara asked.

Roman watched her. Fear was beginning to fade, leaving behind the pungent residue of jealousy and anger. "'Tis safe."

"Where?" she asked.

"Did Dasset seem familiar ta ye?"

She drew a deep breath and just for a moment, her eyes closed. "He is Lord Dagger."

Roman said nothing for a moment, then, "I dunna ken what would be worse, ta think ye are so foolish as ta na recognize him, or ta think ye are so foolish as to recognize him yet try to seduce him."

She laughed. "I did not try to seduce him."

"Damn ye!" Roman leaned forward, abruptly grabbing her arms. "Think ye that I did not see how ye flirted with him? With him and a score of others? If seduction was not on yer mind, then what?"

"Know this," she said, yanking her arms from his clasp, "had I tried to seduce him, Scotsman, I would have succeeded." She sat absolutely still, the picture of the perfect lady, beautiful, poised, superior.

"And ye would have if the prize was high enough?" he asked.

"Aye." Her tone was steady, her chin raised. "If the prize was high enough, I would have indeed. But you cannot understand that can you, Scotsman? You are far too good to let anything make you sacrifice your morals."

Roman sat back slightly.

"You are far above me, Scotsman," she said quietly. "’Tis a good thing this will all soon be over so that you may return to those worthy of you. Just a few more details to see to, and you'll be gone. Once Dagger accepts the bracelet—"

"Ye'll na go." He kept his voice very steady.

Hers was the same. "What say you?"

"I'll na have yer death on me conscious. Ye'll na go to Dagger."

"It seems we've discussed this before," she said coolly.

"Thus there will be na need ta discuss it again."

"And you think
you
are the one to decide that?" she asked.
"You?
I go where I will, and I do what I please. There are not many advantages to being orphaned and destitute," she said. "But there is this one. And I'll keep it. You'll not tell me what to do. I'll go to Dagger."

"Truly?" Roman settled back in the carriage seat. "'Twill look strange indeed when ye show up with na bracelet. He may be a wee bit disappointed. But mayhap ye can distract him as ye have always distracted me. Ye certainly gave it a good start tanight."

"Where's the bracelet?" she asked, her tone even.

"I'll na tell ye," he said. "'Tis me own task ta do, and I'll do it alone."

"You've no idea what you're dealing with, Scotsman. Dagger is beyond your ken."

The carriage turned a corner and pulled to a halt. Roman glanced out the window, pushed open the door, and turned to her. "Then I will have trouble. But I tell ye true, lass, I will have trouble alone." He reached for her hand. She did not give it to him. Her face looked pale and her eyes very wide.

"Where is the bracelet, Scotsman?"

"Do ye, mayhap, wish ta announce ta the entire neighborhood that ye be Lady Fontaine? Or are ye about to get away from prying eyes?"

She reached for his hand and he drew her out into the night.

Liam climbed down from his perch behind the team. "When will ya need me?"

Roman held her arm in a tight grip. "She willna be participating in this one, Liam."

"I will—"

"She willna," said Roman, keeping his voice very low as he tightened his grip. "'Twould be far too dangerous, for it seems Lord Dasset is also Lord Dagger."

"Dasset?" Liam whistled low. "God's nuts! Pure evil and nobility, too."

"Aye," Roman said. "And he got far too close a look at the lass here. 'Twould be na but suicide for her to go-"

She opened her mouth again, but he shook her slightly now and gritted his teeth.

"She'll na go," he repeated, more for her than for Liam. "But I will need yer help tomorrow night, lad. At Cape Hood."

They parted soon after. Roman steered Tara into her room.

She faced him in the darkness. "Why are you doing this?"

Roman watched her. "Christine knows ye are the Shadow."

For a moment Tara stood stunned, but then she smiled, a small quiet expression. "So she knows," she said softly. "Long ago, I misjudged her. And now I underestimated her."

"Long ago?" Roman eyed her. "When?"

She drew herself from her reverie. "It does not matter, Scotsman. The Shadow is no more. When this deed is done I will not stay in Firthport."

The room was quiet.

"Ye’ll na do the deed, lass."

'Think you that I tolerated Dagger's slimy touch for naught?" she asked.

He remained very still, watching her. "Ye did na enjoy the flirtation?"

"Enjoy it?" Her laugh was shaky. "Aye, I enjoyed it!"

Roman gritted his teeth. "So ye were attracted ta him?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, aye," she crooned, "and what woman would not be? He has power and confidence. Did you not feel it? 'Twas nearly a tangible thing."

"Damnation, woman! Tell me the truth! Did ye desire him?" Roman asked, reaching for her.

She jerked out of his reach. "Desire him!" she railed. "He killed James! Do you think me such a whore that I can forget that?"

The room fell silent.

Roman exhaled and loosened his fists. He had been a fool and he knew it. But his need for her consumed him. "I owe ye an apology, lass," he said quietly. "I am na usually a jealous man. But never before did I know a woman I longed ta make me wife."

The room dropped like a stone into silence. Tara's jaw dropped open. "Wife?" She breathed the word.

"Aye."

Her smile was like sunshine. In a moment, she was in his arms. Her lips were on his, warm, passionate. She felt like heaven there, like drink to a parched man. Her arms were about him, and her hands...

Her hands! Reality dawned on Roman with bitter intensity. Her hands could not be trusted.

Kissing her back, he grasped her arms and pushed them up against her chest until she was pressed away from him.

"I said I would wed ye, lass. I did na say I would trust—What the hell is that?" Roman asked.

His eyes were narrowed, and his hands very tight on her wrists.

Tara blinked and shifted her fingers ever so slightly. She must hide the bracelet from him. She must. "What?"

"What have ye got in yer hand?"

"You wish to marry me, Scotsman?" she breathed, leaning closer.

"What have ye got?"

She lowered her head slightly so as to glance at him through her lashes. "I had heard you Scots were not the romantic kind, but surely a proclamation of marriage warrants a kiss."

"Ye have the bracelet, don't ye?"

"The bracelet? How ever—"

But suddenly he had her fist in both hands and was prying it open.

"What are you about? Don't!" she gasped, outraged. Trying to hide the bracelet as quickly as she could, she twisted away. He spun her toward him again. She kept her fist wrapped about the jewelry and glared at him, frustrated and angry.

Roman glared back, holding her wrists in a tight grasp. "How the devil did ye ken where it was?"

"What better place to keep precious jewels than your codpiece?" she snapped.

"Hell fire! Na where is safe from ye. Give it up."

"Nay!" She twisted again and lost her balance.

But before she went down she placed her foot just so.

Roman tripped, toppling with her. They hit the floor together. But while Roman concentrated on softening her blow, Tara concerned herself only with the bracelet.

Her hand dipped swiftly toward her bodice.

Roman took the brunt of their weight on his arm and side, but his head, too, struck the floor. They lay still, breathing hard. Roman groaned and rubbed the side of his skull.

Tara grimaced. "Are you badly hurt?"

"Aye," he said, opening his eyes enough to scowl at her. "I am, so give me the bracelet and cease causing trouble."

He was beautiful, and he was hers. For one shining moment in time he was hers alone. "The bracelet will not soothe your aches," she said softly.

"Nay?"

"Nay," she murmured, and brushing back the dark hair from above his ear, gently kissed his bruise.

"Ye canna go ta Dagger," he said huskily. "Do na think ta dissuade me."

"Mayhap I only wish to touch you," she said, and kissed his bump again. "Better?"

He grunted noncommittally.

"Is there another place that needs my ministrations?" she asked, drawing away slightly.

He held her with his gaze, then cleared his throat. "Me wrist."

Despite his size and strength, he seemed now like a small boy begging for favors. His hand felt broad and powerful in her own. She lifted it to her lips, turned it, and kissed the underside of his wrist. A fine shiver shook his body. 'Twas forever a mystery how such a man as he could be affected by her touch. It lighted a fire somewhere deep within her.

"Anywhere else?" she asked. Her tone was very quiet.

For a moment he didn't speak, then, "There is me chest."

While she unbuttoned his doublet, she kissed his throat. It seemed strange to her how even his neck could seem so entirely different than her own. Where hers was slim and long, his was broad and thick, heavy with muscle and sinew, and still dark from the walnut stain. She kissed him below his jaw, then between his tendons, and then in the warm hollow where his pulse beat strong and heavy.

His doublet fell open, and then his tunic, baring the broad expanse of his chest. Sweet Mary, it was a beautiful chest, carved muscle covered with warm, velvet flesh, and adorned with the amulet he had once again replaced. She slid her fingers up the leather strip to his collarbone, his shoulder, the hard, seductive slopes of his torso. He shivered when she touched his nipple, and when she kissed it, he jumped.

'Twas all magic. Just the sight of him could make her blood course hot and fast through her veins. But more wondrous still was the fact that he could be what he was and still desire her. Slowly, gently, feeling every inch, every tremor, every ripple of muscle, she slid her hands down his sides. Her fingers trilled over his ribs, brushing his garments aside, memorizing his body, etching each moment indelibly into her mind.

His chest was hard, broad, scarred. She kissed the healing wounds one by one, then ran her kisses soft as Irish rain down his sternum. His belly was flat but for the hillocks of muscle above his hose. She kissed the muscles, the ribs, the scar that ran along his side.

With utmost tenderness, she kissed his navel. He reverberated beneath her, but now he was no longer content to remain as he was. He rolled her over with ease. Suddenly he was on top and kissing her. And in that moment, every aching need was transported to her kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her.

Roman growled against her mouth, but in a moment he pulled away to kiss her cheek, her throat, the high-pressed, aching orbs of her breasts.

She tightened her grip on his back and arched against him, desperate to have him completely. His hands were everywhere, restless, hot, titillating. She moaned, desire and agony warring in her breast. But now his lips were on hers again, searing away any hope of thought.

"I love ye."

Tara sucked in her breath and lay still. He had uttered the forbidden words. "You’re wrong," she whispered.

Holding his weight on his elbows, Roman looked down into her eyes. "'Tis true. I love ye, Tara O'Flynn."

"Nay." She shook her head. Love muddled wits and slowed reflexes. And love between them ... It could never be. They were worlds apart, just as her parents had been. "Don’t say that.”

He kissed her again, gently, tenderly. "I must, for it's true. And, therefore, I canna let ye go to Dagger."

"You've little choice, Scotsman, for I have the bracelet," she said.

He eyed her bosom where he had seen her dip her hand "Give it to me, lass."

She shook her head and slipping from his embrace, rose to her feet. "Nay."

"Aye. Ye must," he said, rising too.