Rain still pounded on the window outside, but Flora knew it was morning by the gray glow that coasted through the glass panes. That, and she was accustomed to rising early with all the people about. Now, she lay here next to the English earl, wondering what to do.
Her mind wandered back to the previous evening. She had found it pleasant talking to Ruffles—actually, she knew now that the name didn’t fit him. He was Isaac, and he hid behind the façade of Ruffles. She didn’t know why yet, but she felt like up until last night, he hadn’t been his true self with her. The stiff way he carried himself around others wasn’t what he was showing her.
He rested on his side, looking peaceful and harmless. There was a savage strength to him, although she also knew that he could keep it contained when he needed. Her thoughts drifted back to when she’d gone after him with the knife, and how he’d deftly divested it from her without hurting her.
His hair reminded her of the setting sun as it took on a late afternoon radiance. Tentatively, she reached out, pushing a strand back from his temples. He wore it cut shorter than most men she knew, but the top was long enough to lay to the side like ripples of water. She pulled her hand back and stared.
Although they were shut now, it was odd how his eyes also reminded her of the sky, yet they were the deepest blue of a clear summer day. His slightly off-center nose was prominent but not overly large. His lips were full and pink.
He’d almost kissed her again last night, and she’d wanted him to, had wanted to feel his lips on hers. She’d never thought she’d want that again after what John had done to her, but here she was, desiring another man she couldn’t have—another one she was beneath.
I am good enough.
She came up on her elbows and, not quite understanding the compulsion, tilted her head and dipped it down toward his. Maybe it was that she wanted to make sure the jolt that had rocked her before when he kissed her had not been real.
Her lips landed on his, gentle like the time a butterfly landed on her yellow skirt. She closed her eyes and the air shifted as the velvet softness of them seeped into her. When she opened them, his blue gaze was riveted on her—confused, then hungry and intense.
She drew back. “I’m sor—”
But the words vanished as his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her into his warm, taught body. Somehow, they’d changed positions. She was on her back, Isaac above her, his examination taking in everything. She blushed with embarrassment and at the unfamiliar heat that had settled in and silently begged for him to keep watching her like that.
His arm, which still lay under her back, caused her breasts to arch up as an ache in them awakened. They felt heavier than normal, and she was finding it hard to breathe. Meeting his gaze, she was astounded that for the first time, she wanted to feel what would happen next. The sensation was overwhelming. His hand tightened on her waist, and he watched her intently.
“Did you just kiss me?” The words were husky and weren’t accusatory but strangled and reserved. It was more like a statement he couldn’t quite believe.
Flora wondered if he’d be mad or repulsed, but he surprised her with a thick groan that rumbled up from his chest and landed in his throat. He licked his lips as his stare drifted down to her mouth. Everything in her tightened and coiled like the ropes she’d seen that kept small boats tied to the docks during a brisk wind.
And she knew then that if he truly kissed her now, she would break away and never be the same.
His gaze darted back and forth between her eyes and her lips, seeming to contemplate his next move. As he moved closer, his head stopped just short of her lips and hovered before she felt his breath on her sensitive skin. “Can I kiss you?”
“Aye.” She thought her voice cracked, but if it did, he didn’t notice because his mouth was on hers. Not as gentle as butterfly wings—it was more like the fevered hug of someone who had not seen you in a while—but it did strange things to her.
His lips moved, and then his head was tilting, giving him better purchase as the arm around her drew her into his chest. Her breasts tightened, as if they were confined and full. She felt more than heard the moan escape from somewhere as her hands rose and clasped on smooth, warm skin. Where was his shirt? She was certain when he lay down, he was wearing one last night, just as she’d left on her shift.
Isaac’s tongue delved into her mouth and started to dance with hers as a fever started to rage inside her. A need to deepen the embrace, or keep it where it was and not let the moment end, assailed her. As their kiss continued, his free hand slid to her side, and fingers from his other hand threaded into her hair, leaving her scalp tingling, and pulling her further under his spell.
She wanted this.
Despite everything she’d been through and knowing the consequences, she couldn’t pull herself free. A man’s attention had never felt this way. Another’s touch had never caused her to lose all her senses like this was doing, leaving her begging inside to feel what the completion of this budding desire would be.
Something hard pushed up against her leg as he shifted, and suddenly, she wanted the pressure against that spot below, which ached for attention. Some sense invaded, and she realized she had to stop this, but then Isaac’s hand had left her head and was fondling her breast through the thin material still covering her. The touch sent sparks to her core. Just before his hand dipped farther to gather the material of her shift and attempt to pull it up, lightning flashed in the room, followed by a heavy boom.
She jumped, drawing back. Then her hand shot down to stop his, just as she had that day in the field with John.
But unlike that day, Isaac stopped, and his eyes met hers. He didn’t climb on top of her and force himself inside her. He watched her, and then his lips moved. “Do you want to stop?”
She couldn’t speak as she backed on the bed. And she knew her eyes must be filled with fear because she saw regret and guilt in his gaze. She swallowed, and he backed away, giving her space.
“Are you all right? I’m sorry if I went too far.”
“Nae. ’Tis my fault.” She had started this. And she hadn’t wanted to stop. It felt too real, too right. Something she’d never desired before. That was what had frightened her.
She tried to collect her thoughts, and it was on the tip of her tongue to say, “Nae, dinnae stop,” when she felt the bed shift. Isaac peeled free of the covers. As he stood, she was granted a view of his backside, all tight, powerful muscles leading down to sculpted, taut legs. She sighed and looked away in case he wanted privacy, but she was so tempted to drink in the sight and enjoy the fill of it while she could.
Dressing quickly, he moved to the door, but before opening it, he said, “I’ll tell Fredrick we are ready to start preparing for our journey.”
She rose and threw on the gown the modiste had told her would be appropriate for her first day at the house party. She smiled. What a great place to hide—fortune had been with her because a place like the Stonehaven estate would be the last place Alastair would think of looking for her. Maybe while she was there, she could come up with a plan to repay Isaac.
Now that she was getting to know him, she liked him. His mannerisms, his generous laughter, and patience as he’d worked with her these last couple of days. His touch, his kiss.
Her fingertips touched her lips. She had to forget that kiss, had to stop it from happening again because next time she might not stop, and then what would she do? She would have to choose between him and Bran and her family. That was a choice she couldn’t make.
An unfamiliar light rapping sounded at the door. It wasn’t Isaac. He would have just walked in. The sound was not the one typically made by Fredrick either.
Thunder boomed, and she jolted.
What if Alastair had found her? Suddenly, her veins were filled with ice, and her vocal cords were frozen. The knocking came again, just a tad bit louder.
“Flora,” a voice she recognized floated in from the other side. Isobel? “Flora, are ye in there?”
Swiveling, she ran for the door. Would Alastair take Isobel in her stead if she didn’t show? She opened the door and was relieved to see Isobel was the only person in the hall. Grabbing her arm, she drew her in and shut the door, plastering herself to the back as she let the breath return to her lungs.
“Are ye well?” Her sister looked panicked but also different.
She was wearing a new dress—that was what it was. The material looked as if it cost a fortune. Then, she glanced down to see herself half-dressed and realized what Isobel wore was probably comparable to the fine garment Isaac had purchased for her. Happiness invaded and washed away the worry as she realized the Englishman had taken care to look after Isobel’s needs.
“Aye.” Flora threw her arms around the girl, hauling her close and holding her tight. Thankful that Isobel was safe, that no one on Alastair’s crew had gone after her or followed her here.
“All right now.” Isobel released her and stepped back. “Let’s see what we need to do. I’m so excited I get the chance to practice on ye. I’ve always wanted to work on that hair of yers.”
Flora sighed and let her heartbeat return to a steady rhythm.
“So, tell me about yer earl. I heard ye stole something from him. What did ye take?” Flora couldn’t afford for Will to find out about Drostan’s demands. Will, or even Bran for that matter, might try to kill him if they knew.
“I dinnae wish to talk about it right now.” Or ever. How could she tell her little sister all the awful things she was doing, or that she might still have to do, to keep them all safe? “Tell me about Alastair. Will must be furious.”
“The bastard’s watching Camelot. Men everywhere. Bran had to sneak me out, and we went all these crazy ways to get here so that we weren’t followed. He and Will seem very concerned. I cannae believe Will made a deal with the earl to keep ye here, where ye are safe.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I dinnae ken but must have been something. Shouldnae be much of a problem for ye. He’s handsome. Do ye like him?”
“He’s an earl.” In her mind, that was enough of a reason not to like him.
“That doesnae matter. Have ye kissed him?” Och, Isobel always watched men as if they were desserts, sizing them up, then thankfully deciding she didn’t like sweets—but that never stopped her from looking.
“Isobel.” Flora’s gasp and the heat stinging her cheeks probably gave it away.
“Ha, I kenned it. I kenned he seemed too interested in ye.”
“Dinnae tell anyone, and it doesnae matter. He’s an earl, and I’m a thief. We will never belong together.”
“But ye can try.” Isobel’s eyes lit, and she gave a sigh that sounded hopeful. “’Tis like ye are Rashin Coatie.”
Flora wanted to groan. Bran had told everyone too many fairytales, and although it was nice to believe in dreams coming true, she lived in the real world—where parents disappeared, and women didn’t get second chances to become something they weren’t.
She glanced down at the dress being fastened to her, then at the slippers on her feet. “Isobel, I am no’ going to get to marry the prince, and ye arenae a cow. When my midnight comes, I’ll be lucky if I’m still a simple thief.”
A little later in the day, all the bags were packed, and Isaac climbed into his carriage with Flora, Fredrick, and Isobel. He’d never considered the space lacking before, but now as he sat, his leg pressed to the side of Flora’s, he questioned whether it had been a wise move to squeeze all of them into the confined area. Then, they lurched to a start, and Flora’s hand clasped onto his thigh, startled by the movement. Several moments later, she lessened her grip. But when she did, she left her hand on his thigh, burning him through the thin material that separated their skin. He fought the urge to reach out for her hand, just for the sensation of her flesh against his.
Then his thoughts turned to the way she’d awoken him this morning, and he struggled with the desire to take her fingers and ease them the scant inches upwards to caress the part of him that came alive just looking at her. What he was really afraid of was that if he made a move for her hand, she’d pull it away.
Her gaze had been riveted out the window, and when she turned back to him, it was with the enthusiastic gaze of someone unconcerned with restraining her emotions or thoughts. It made him wonder how she would react to his touch in bed. He had to push these thoughts away. She wasn’t interested in being with anyone outside of marriage, and she had good reasons to be concerned, especially given what she had lived through.
“I’ve never been in a carriage before,” Flora said.
“What do you think?”
“’Tis a bit unsettling not to have control of yer movements.”
“Ye get used to it rather quickly,” Isobel reassured her.
“And you have traveled by coach before?” He turned toward the younger lass.
“Oh, aye. Flora made sure I had transportation to the home where I received my training as a lady’s maid.”
“And ye did an amazing job. Mayhap this weekend, we can find ye a position with one of the ladies present.”
“Aye, ’twould give ye one less person to fret over.”
As he listened to their conversation, it dawned on him that everything Flora did was for someone else. She wore old gowns and no shoes, gave food to people on the street, and ensured that her family had opportunities—but she never did anything for herself. She had even told him that when the weekend was over, she wouldn’t be keeping the clothing he’d just purchased for her.
Why, then, had she stolen his family fortune? It couldn’t be for her. His sisters and mother had so many possessions they kept them lying around and discarded in places, showing they held no regard for the expense it took to purchase the items. Even now, Flora’s opposite hand traced circles over the material of the gown she wore as if savoring the feel of the smooth fabric.
They spent what felt like hours sitting in the confines of the small coach. The rain stopped, but the roads were like sludge in some spots, and the poor conditions slowed them down. The gentle rocking had eventually lulled the ladies into a peaceful silence. The sun was sinking, and the sky darkened as if it would rain again.
Finally, a small village came into sight, and he told the driver to pull the carriage over for the night. They needed a meal, and he needed a place to relieve himself. He was sure the rest of his traveling companions felt the same way. He was enjoying the ride, though, as Flora had nodded off about half an hour earlier. He found it endearing how she had leaned into him, snuggling like they were lovers, before falling asleep.
He’d planned on being at the Stonehaven estate this evening, but this gave him a little more time to think about handling the time there. In the rigid confines of the party’s company, how would he keep an eye on her? He wanted to believe she would be true to her word but putting his faith in her might be dangerous. She could double-cross him at any time and disappear. Yet there had been genuine fear and regret in her eyes when she’d told him of her plight.
The coach jostled again, and he glanced down to inspect the woman in his arms, just as a trace of sweet strawberries, mixed with heady lavender, reached his nostrils. He’d been trying to ignore the intoxicating scent, but anytime a wind blew through the confines of the small space, he inhaled her. Her lips had parted in her relaxed state when her head tilted to the side, and damn if he didn’t want to close the space between them and plant his lips on hers.
His head was dipping when he heard a throat clear. Fredrick met his gaze, and his brows rose as he tilted his head in a fatherly, “you are not going to do that, are you” way.
Luckily, the temptation was removed because their driver called out that they were approaching an inn. When they pulled up out front, he reluctantly broke into her slumber. “Flora.”
She woke with a start, then her gaze softened on him, disarming him with the familiarity and comfort she felt waking in his arms. She rose, and he slid out to walk in and secure them a room.
He hesitated. “Keep an eye on them,” he ordered Fredrick. And he knew the man would know he meant—“do not let my fortune disappear.”
He was able to secure three rooms, and for a few moments, he considered letting Flora room with her maid, Isobel, but he couldn’t risk her running off. If she did, he’d never find her again. She would have to stay with him. It had worked the last couple of nights.
If he were smart, he’d just turn around and march her back, demand that she give him his possessions, or he would turn her over to this Alastair character. And he would if she didn’t follow through with her promise—he’d have to, or his family would be ruined
He didn’t want to do such a thing. Currently, he wanted to be free of the stress of his financial obligations so he could analyze this need to protect her.
He collected his traveling companions, and they were led to the dining area as he’d requested to share a meal as his driver unpacked their trunks and carried them upstairs. The inn was deserted, so they had the whole common area to themselves.
The delicious aroma of roasted meat wafted through the space as if the owners had been expecting them all along. “It smells just like yers.” Isobel nudged Flora with a huge grin on her face.
He found himself wondering again, how did the woman handle it all? Even if Flora would be subjected to the rules of the ton this weekend, it would probably be a relief not to have so many responsibilities for just a little while. He’d have to make certain she enjoyed the weekend.
Just then, a wiry woman paraded into the room. “Come this way. I’ve set a table for ye.”
As they eased into the seats, Flora gave the woman a bright smile. “Thank ye.”
The table was small, and somehow, he’d been seated next to Flora. His leg so close they were almost touching. He could feel the heat from her as her fresh strawberry scent washed over him.
A short while later, the tall woman returned, bearing a tray filled with cups of ale and a pitcher, setting them all down on the side next to him and Fredrick. Just as he took a cup to pass to Flora, his valet took one to pass to the lady’s maid. As he turned and Flora’s fingers skimmed against his, he stilled, awareness of how badly he craved that touch clinging to him as the mud had onto their wheels today.
His gaze jumped up to hers as a sharp inhalation of breath assailed him at the need he thought he saw mirrored in her brown eyes. Oh, hell. He wanted her. He couldn’t deny it. He craved her the way a man desired a woman, but he knew it wasn’t right.
She turned a delightful shade of pink before tearing her gaze away to focus on her fingers, curled around his. But he’d seen it, and it was too late for her to hide that she was as attracted to him as he was her.
“Och, this is good,” Isobel interrupted.
The room was suddenly too hot, even as he loosened his grip on the cup and allowed Flora to pull away. Shifting to adjust for the part of him that had hardened at her touch, he felt some relief, but his leg brushed even closer to hers, craving the connection they’d lost.
The rest of the dinner was torture as they mostly sat in silence, spent from the travel and the conversations that had flowed most of the afternoon in the carriage.
“The rooms are prepared and set up the way ye asked.” The burly Highlander he’d spoken to upon arriving passed Isaac a key. “Last room on the left.” Then he placed another in front of Fredrick. “Across the hall from that one.” The innkeeper tilted his head toward Isaac. And finally, looking to Isobel, he set one in front of her. “This one is the second door on the left.”
“Thank you.” He palmed the key, then his gaze lifted to Flora, who was still pushing food around her plate with her fork. She’d been quiet since they’d reached the inn, and he wondered what had stolen her attention. She seemed melancholy, and he missed her free laughter and the casual smile she readily wore.
Fredrick produced a deck of cards. “Sir?”
“Yes, I believe that it is a good idea. Ladies, shall we play whist?”
The lasses snickered. Flora chimed in, her infectious smile once again present. “Aye. Mayhap we will teach ye how ’tis done.” Since it was one of the games that he hadn’t practiced with her the day before, he intended to prepare her for the upcoming weekend, knowing that it would be one of the entertainments. Yet suddenly, he was aware of some conspiratorial gleam in Flora’s gaze.
“I think we shall then.”
They rearranged so that the ladies could partner. He and Fredrick were good at whist, and he briefly considered making a wager but realized quickly that his thoughts turned to claiming a kiss from Flora’s plump pink lips. He kept the idea to himself because it would be indecent to make such a proposal in the company they were in; it was wrong in any company.
Several tricks in, she laid her hand on his leg, causing his male parts to bulge and reminding him of what he’d been trying to ignore—his growing attraction to her.
Somehow, the ladies won nearly every hand. He was thinking he’d lost his touch when he caught a shift in Flora’s hand on the table as he glanced at her intently, trying to ignore the ache between his legs. The little thief was cheating. The moment was already gone, and he could no longer prove it, but he was certain.
As he turned his attention toward her, she smiled at him and had the nerve to wink at him.
“Do not use your little tricks this weekend. The people we will be with won’t look so kindly on them if you are caught.” Anger had seeped into his words, but it was at the reminder of who he was, not because she was a thief. They couldn’t be together because they came from such different backgrounds. She was the first woman he’d ever really wanted, and she was absolutely wrong. Not wrong for him, but for his station, a position he’d never wanted but had to live up to.
Isobel yawned. “I’m so sorry.”
“It is getting late,” he said. The thought of having Flora alone in a room with him suddenly stopped his breath, and his chest started pounding.
When they rose to leave, he led the way up a set of creaky steps, anticipation coursing through him that he tried to stamp down. A warring emotion rose and attempted to squash the desire that had awakened in him.
She has taken everything from you.
But think about what she can make you feel.
He couldn’t control the wayward thoughts as they flitted in and out, competing with each other.
At Isobel’s door, he stopped to make certain the lass’s key gave her entrance. When Flora moved to follow her in, he clasped his fingers around her wrist. His breath caught at the contact. Glancing over her shoulder at him, he shook his head. She swiveled and then held her hand out palm up to let him know she would follow.
His hand tingled where he held her, and he wasn’t sure why. She’d spent the last few nights with him, but something in him was shifting. Yes, he still knew she was a dangerous thief; he’d not soon forget that she’d stolen his fortune and then pulled a dirk on him. Even if the latter hadn’t happened until after he’d abducted her from the street, she still had it in her. But now he knew there was a softer side to her, and he’d seen her compassion.
He couldn’t take her. That would be no better than the man from the stables. His mood darkened as he thought about what the man had done to her. There was nothing that could give her back what the blackguard had stolen, but he would make sure that John knew what he’d done wrong and never harmed another lady again.
He would be leaving to go back home, and he suspected she’d never agree to go with him. He also knew he couldn’t leave her with a child. So there, they were safe.
Nothing would happen between them. It couldn’t.
Loosening his grip, he allowed his hand to slide down and clasp onto hers, gentle, letting her know she could end the touch if she chose. To his surprise, she didn’t. Flora accepted his caress. He imagined a tremble run through her fingers, and a sharp thrill shot through him at the thought that she might be experiencing even just a fraction of the need winding its way through him.
Fumbling with the key in the hole, he felt like a lad in his youth. Technically, he hadn’t been with many. He’d shied away from entanglements because he didn’t want to be pressured into marriage, and with all his talk of mistresses, he’d never had one. Never wanted one until Flora.
He was keeping her so close because she would run off, and he’d never see his ships again, but all he wanted to do right now was put his lips on hers and drink her in. It was going to be one long night, no . . . weekend. How was he going to survive this?
He pushed in the door and his gaze landed on the small space and the bed that was almost half the size of the one they’d been sharing at the Aberdeen Imperial Inn. There would be no way to sleep without feeling the warmth of her body next to his.
She came in behind him and halted abruptly. He guessed she was thinking the same thing, but when he risked a glance in her direction, she was smiling. Shoulders held high, she pulled away and rushed toward the small window. Her body relaxed.
“’Tis lovely.” There was glee in her tone, happiness because their window overlooked the forest that the little village backed too.
Her words took him aback. He’d expected condemnation for forcing her to stay in such a place with him. Moving into the room, he shut the door and secured the latch, then strode over to look out to see if there was something more to the view than he’d expected. “Have you never seen trees?” He was joking, of course, but something in her enthusiasm had him wondering if there was a truth to it.
“Have ye been to my home?” Her head tilted toward his.
He forgot her question for a moment as he took in the fading sun, shining in and illumining her soft skin, making her glow, and giving her an ethereal visage as if she were descendant from the mythical Fae they speak so much of here in Scotland.
One of her eyebrows rose as his silence dragged on.
He blinked to clear the urge to dip his head toward hers. “I have.”
“Ye must have only gone into the main room then.”
“What makes you think that?”
“If ye had seen the room I share with Isobel and Peggy, ye would ken that we have one small window. It looks out onto the stone of the building next to ours. It’s always so bleak and makes me feel trapped.”
He could understand that. It must feel like a prison.
“That is why I go to the bench by the docks. I need space sometimes to breathe and just dream that things can be more.” More was elongated as if she were thinking of far-off places and something unattainable. He guessed, for her, it was.
Now, he realized what her fascination had been with the window back at their inn.
Her gaze shifted as she once again peered out the rain-fogged panes, and he was pulled back to a memory of the view at his estate. It was beautiful, with a terrace and a manicured garden only found by years of being tended to by those capable of producing a landscape fit for an earl’s residence. Not once had he ever seen anyone in his family take the time to enjoy the view. All his mother and sisters did was complain about what they didn’t have. Here was a lass who was happy looking out a window, dreaming.
He wanted to wind his arm around her waist and pull her close, inhale her sweet scent of strawberries and lavender. Despite her occupation, despite what she had done to him. He pivoted before he could act on the impulse. He had to fight this new obsession with her lips—but if he was honest, it wasn’t just her lips, it was all of her.
His regard skimmed the room. The trunks he’d ordered brought in sat in the corner. He couldn’t trust them being left out in the stables for the night without a watch. His coachman did need sleep as well. Thought of thieves reminded him that Flora could still not be trusted, so he reached down and pushed his trunk to block the door. It should be enough to deter her from trying to slip away during the night.
As he opened the chest, he drew out a fresh shirt. He hoped the barrier between them would be some deterrent to this urge to bury himself in her. Who was he kidding? There wasn’t much at this point that would tamp down the pressure between his legs.
Keeping his back to Flora, he undressed and pulled the shirt over his head, laying his clothes across the trunk. Swiveling back around, he was met by brown eyes that had been studying his backside. Hell, she couldn’t look at him like that. Averting his gaze away before he was tempted to cross the room and take her in his arms, he strode toward the bed. “We should try to get some rest.”
But he knew there would be no sleeping for him this night.