Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (15 page)

“Well, maybe I am your half sister and we share a mother in common,” she said, concocting
the tale as she went. “Your father was Scottish, while mine was from the Continent.
To our mutual sorrow our mother recently passed away and you are escorting me home
to my grieving papa.”

“If he’s grieving, why wasn’t he with you and your mother at the time of her death?”

“Because they had a terrible misunderstanding years earlier and she took me and fled.
The war separated them and before they had a chance to repair the rift, it was too
late; she was dying. Consumption.”

His lips twitched with amusement. “And my father?”

“Dead, of course. He was her first husband, whom she married out of duty. She never
loved him. My papa was the only one to whom she truly gave her heart.”

Daniel stared for a long moment, then tossed his head back on a booming laugh.

“What is so funny?” she demanded. “I think it a most plausible story.”

“
Story
is right,” he said once he’d exhausted his laughter. “Ye ought to take up the pen.
Ye’d quite put Miss Austen to shame. And Mrs. Radcliffe as well.”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe it is a wild tale, but it’s better than letting everyone
believe we are wed.”

His face grew serious. “Is it, lass?” Slowly he walked toward her and stopped less
than a foot away.

She resisted the urge to retreat, holding her position. Her back was pressed against
the door frame, trapped.

He gazed into her eyes, his own a rich, earthy green. “While we’re traveling together,
it’ll make things simpler if we let people assume what they like. Be glad they think
we’re married. If I doona mind claimin’ ye for my wife, why should you?”

A wild flourish of tingles chased over her skin, her breathing growing strangely shallow.
“B-because it’s not true. It would be better if you said you were my brother.”

And safer.

She’d sensed he was dangerous, but never more so than at this moment.

He smiled and skimmed a finger over her cheek from temple to chin. Her skin burned
where he touched and her eyelids fluttered half closed.

“See? Ye’re blushin’ again, lass. No one with eyes would ever believe ye’re my kin.”

And then he leaned toward her.

Three inches away.

Two inches.

When there was only one inch left, she was certain he was going to kiss her.

And she was certain she was going to let him.

Suddenly he straightened and turned away, striding across the room to the window where
he stood with his back to her. “They’ll have dinner ready soon. The maid ought to
be along any moment as well. Ye should make ready.”

For a brief time, she couldn’t move.

What had just happened? Why had he changed his mind? But maybe the confusion was all
of her own making and he had never planned to kiss her.

Drawing on a deep well of reserve, she regained control of her muscles, only then
aware that she was shaking. “Y-yes. Dinner,” she repeated, realizing she had no appetite
at all.

Turning, she moved back into her room.

But before she could close the door, he spoke again. “Don’t go anywhere, Your Highness.
Stay inside until I come to collect you.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

It wasn’t a difficult promise to make. After all, where else did she have to go?

Daniel forced himself to hold steady, made himself stare blindly out the window rather
than turn to watch her go. He knew that if he looked back, he would follow. Once that
happened, he didn’t doubt he would take her up on the kiss he knew she had been willing
to give—and possibly a great deal more.

It would be easy to seduce her, he realized.

She had all but invited him to during those quiet moments when they’d stood barely
inches away.

To make it even easier, the staff assumed they were married. With just a few well-chosen
words, the innkeeper and his staff would deliver their meal and not trouble them again
until morning.

Assuming he and Mercedes bothered to leave the room at all in order to eat.

But that wasn’t going to happen. He was escorting her to London, where he would deliver
her safe and untouched to whomever was waiting to aid her.

And if no one was waiting?

He’d considered that possibility before, considered that she might be telling tales
about the friends who would be so overjoyed to receive her into their care.

If that happened he would decide at the time how to proceed. He was good at making
quick judgments; he’d made hundreds, if not thousands, of them during his years in
the military.

As for her family, who knew who they truly were? Certainly not a king and queen…

When she’d spun her stories for him tonight, she’d more than demonstrated the imaginative
nature of her mind. He’d rarely met anyone who could weave such a vivid and intricately
detailed web of fabrications.

But half brother and sister?

She clearly did not see what others did, because of all the emotions he felt—brotherly
regard wasn’t anywhere on the list. Not even if he were the greatest actor to ever
walk the stage would he be able to pretend he did not find her attractive.

That he did not want her.

His fingers turned to fists at his sides.

He would get through the next few hours, and then they would be back on the road again.
But first he needed a good meal and a good night’s rest; everything always seemed
easier when the basic physical needs were met.

Of course
all
his physical needs would not be met, but he’d make do. He had before and he would
again.

What if she had another nightmare?

What if she wanted to share his bed tonight? Would he be able to resist the temptation?

Of course ye will,
he assured himself.
She’s only a wee lass and naught to fret aboot.

Resolved—for now anyway—he went to his valise, drew out his soap and shaving gear,
and moved to the basin to bathe.

A
quiet knock sounded on the connecting door nearly an hour later. Mercedes startled
out of her reverie and stared at it from where she sat on the room’s only chair.

She wished, not for the first time, that she had been able to change her dress. But
since she was wearing the only gown in her possession—hateful though it might be—she
had judged it unwise to hand the garment over to the maid for freshening before dinner.

What if the gown had not been ready by the time the major arrived? Her cheeks had
grown warm again as she’d imagined having to tell him she could not dine because she
hadn’t any clothes.

Rather than risk being caught in her unmentionables, she had done her best to clean
the road dust off her skin and clothes using the sponge, soap, and pitcher of warm,
fresh water the maid had brought her. She had also arranged for the maid to launder
her dress overnight once she’d retired to bed; the servant had promised the gown would
be ready by morning.

Considering the dozens and dozens of gowns and accessories she owned for every conceivable
time of day and occasion,
the fact that she was now reduced to a single gown seemed laughable.

Only she was not amused.

Then the major’s knock sounded at the door and her woolgathering had come to an abrupt
end. Standing, she opened the door.

He looked wonderful and smelled even better. The fact that he’d taken the time to
wash was evident; his auburn hair was slightly damp and combed neatly away from his
face, the rich red even darker than usual. His cheeks were clean shaven so that every
hard angle and chiseled curve was apparent.

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how inviting plain soap and lemon water could
be. Her fingers twitched at her side and she had to stop herself from reaching up
to stroke his cheek so she could find out if his skin really was as smooth as it looked.

What is the matter with me this evening?
she wondered as she glanced away. Why was she so very aware of him tonight? And earlier
in the curricle, she added with a hint of chagrin.

Exhaustion,
she assured herself. And an unfamiliarity with her surroundings and situation.

Daniel—Major MacKinnon—was the only person she knew, the only person she could trust,
and they were traveling in close proximity to each other. It was only natural she
would be keenly aware of him, more so than any man she had ever met.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low, throaty.

“Yes.”

“Hungry, I hope?”

“I am,” she answered automatically, although as soon as she said the words she wondered
whether they were true. Whatever appetite she’d had seemed to have vanished.

She moved to follow him across her room to the door. As she did, the rough wool of
her gown rubbed across her
back and she gave an involuntary little wriggle against the itch.

He stopped, one of his auburn brows arching high. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she lied. “Nothing.”

But as soon as she began to move again, the itch returned, worse than ever.

“Oh,” she cried with a shiver. “If you must know, it’s this infernal dress. It—” She
broke off, wriggling again. “It itches worse than a bramble.”

Briefly, he regarded her and the dress. “Why don’t ye change into another one, then?”

She exhaled with exasperation. “Because I do not have another one, as you should well
know.”

“And why should I know that?”

“You’re the one who bought it for me, or rather had it bought for me, and a worse
gown I’ve never had. It’s horrible.”

An array of emotions passed over his face ranging from surprise to confusion to anger.
“What do ye mean, I only bought you
one
? I left money to buy you two or three frocks depending on the price.”

“The maid gave me this gown and no other. What choice did I have but to wear it?”

The dark look intensified on his face. “And you’ve been suffering and said naught
about it all this time? Ye thought I would put you in something that drove you mad
with misery?”

“No…well, maybe…I didn’t know what you might do. You left me that day, remember?”

He looked momentarily pained. “Aye, and I should not have done—I see that more clearly
all the time. If I had no’ gone, that thieving little trollop back at the inn wouldn’t
have been able to cheat me and leave you to wear that monstrosity. I have to tell
ye now that I’ve been wondering why you’d wear something so plain, but I didn’t want
to mention it and give offense.”

Her lips parted. “Believe me, you would not have done. This is quite the ugliest dress
I’ve ever worn, not to mention the most uncomfortable.”

As if to show its agreement, her skin itched again and she gave another wiggle.

“Take it off,” he told her.

“What?”

“The dress. Take it off now,” he commanded. “Turn around and I’ll unfasten it.”

“No!” Astonished, she tried to take a step back.

Before she could, he took hold of her shoulders and spun her around. Without giving
her so much as another second to protest, he began working open the buttons.

She squirmed, trying to resist him. But her efforts were useless. Trying to protect
what remained of her modesty, she crossed her arms over her chest to hold the sagging
dress in place.

Suddenly he gave a sharp inhalation. Then, in the next moment, he stroked one broad
palm over the tender skin of her back, gentle as a whisper.

She wiggled again but not from discomfort this time.

“My God, ye’re rubbed raw. Take that damned thing off,” he said thickly, slowly lifting
his hand away. “Put on your night rail and dressing gown. I presume those are comfortable
enough?”

Silently, she nodded, continuing to hold the gown in place over her breasts.

“I’ll have this thing burned and find ye something else to wear for the morrow.”

“B-but what about tonight? What about dinner?”

He paused. “I’ll tell them to set it up in my room. And none of yer protests about
not being dressed properly,” he added when she opened her mouth to do exactly that.
“I’ve seen ye in yer night attire more times than I can count, so once more isn’t
goin’ tae hurt.”

She knew she should argue in spite of the logic of his words—to preserve her modesty,
her pride. But with the
hateful wool away from her back, she wanted nothing so much as to peel the gown free
of her body and burn it just as he’d said.

“I’ll send the maid in,” he went on. “I’ll have her bring something to soothe yer
skin. We’ll eat when ye’re ready.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, saw the black look on his face—the frustration,
the remorse.

Then he turned away and left the room.

Trembling, she stripped off the dress, flung it to the floor, and sank onto the bed
to wait for the maid.

Dinner was quiet, neither of them offering more than a few commonplace remarks as
they concentrated on the meal. The roast chicken with new green peas and potatoes
was surprisingly good and Mercedes discovered she had more of an appetite than she
had imagined.

By the time the cheese, fruit, and sweets were served, the long day was making itself
known. Smothering a yawn, Mercedes refused the dessert and coffee; Daniel poured himself
a short whiskey. She sat for another ten minutes out of politeness while he enjoyed
a slice of raisin tart and a bit of the cheese.

“Are you certain ye don’t want any?” he asked. “It’s quite good.”

She shook her head. “It looks delicious, but no. If you will excuse me, I am going
to retire for the night.”

He met her gaze with a thoughtful look of his own. “Will you be comfortable on yer
own?”

She crossed her arms over her stomach and fought back a quiver of trepidation at the
idea of being alone in the dark. But she wasn’t so lost to the situation that she
would blithely share his bed. She had a few tiny scraps of dignity remaining, even
if they were hanging by a proverbial thread.