Chapter Five

Jade never could tolerate a mystery.

It was why she hired investigators when the insurance company declared a loss "an act of God"; it was why the fact her new partner refused to use his name on documents galled her so bloody much; and it was why she hadn't walked away from The Cottage last night.

Because with one little sentence, Cam MacKay had become a mystery.

What did he mean, he hadn't kept the money she'd paid him? Lady Melton had told her the amount—either in cash, or in baubles—The Scot demanded for an evening of pleasure, and Jade had brought it with her.

She'd woken in his arms when dawn was just a hint in the eastern sky, surprised she'd fallen asleep in the stranger's arms. Because no matter what they'd shared the night before, The Scot was a stranger to her. Wasn't he?

Her dressing had been the quietest she'd ever managed—half-terrified, half-excited he'd wake and she'd be forced to have a conversation with him after holding his gaze in the mirror and orgasming on his demand—and her fingers had closed around that wallet of money.

She'd come to his room to lose her virginity, to experience pleasure. While it hadn't gone quite as she'd imagined, it was impossible to deny both of those things had happened, and he'd been brilliant at putting her at ease. It was simple to place the wallet beside the dildo and the dog-eared copy of A Harlot's Guide—the reminder of what she'd done with that still made her breath hitch and her thighs quiver—and slip out of the room.

I dinnae keep the money.

So why had he demanded it? What did he do with it?

A mystery.

And Jade was definitely intrigued.

Unfortunately, she didn't sleep well the night after her arrival at The Cottage. Oh, Cam's bed was quite comfortable, and the rain had become a constant background noise which was almost soothing.

But it was Cam's bed, that was the problem. It was his bed, it smelled of him…and he wasn't in it. Of course, it was almost midnight before she was able to determine that was the root of her issue. She wanted him in the bed with her.

Holding her.

Pleasuring her.

Somewhere in the adorably bucolic home, a clock had struck midnight when she'd huffed in irritation, kicked her way out of the cozy coverlet, and yanked up her nightgown.

Yes, it was likely considered rude to pleasure oneself while borrowing the bed of one's host, but when just the memory of said host could make her hot and needy, there was no hope for it.

So Jade had planted her heels on the mattress, spread her knees, and touched herself. She'd touched herself the way he had, tugging at her nipples, slicking her wetness through her curls, trying to convince herself it was his tongue, wishing she had that thick ivory dildo again… And eventually, she'd orgasmed.

It had taken too long, and hadn't been nearly as satisfying as when he'd met her gaze in the mirror and commanded she come for him. But at least she'd been able to sleep after.

And this morning, she was determined to solve the mystery which was Cam MacKay.

She found him in the kitchen, which wasn't mysterious in itself, but was odd.

"Good morning." He was beaming as if a night on the sofa had agreed with him. "Hungry?"

"Starved," she agreed good-naturedly. The two of them being here together was an unusual situation, to be sure, but she wasn't the shy and retiring type, was she? She needed to understand him. "What did Mrs. Higgins leave us to break our fast?"

Cheerfully emphatic, Cam waved last night's leftovers. "Bread. I'll toast it. Butter or jam?"

The rain still hammered at the windows, and Jade had to admit a breakfast of toast and jam and tea sounded lovely. "Both please. I'll start the tea."

They worked in companionable silence. Jade had to stop herself from blurting out questions, knowing he'd just deflect them. She wanted to know more about his business dealings, and how he could afford not to keep the money women paid him—and why!—but the more time she spent in his presence, the more she understood another truth:

She wanted to know more about Cam because, well…she liked him.

It was surprising, definitely.

She liked his smiles, she liked how preternaturally cheerful he always seemed to be. But that cheer hid something else, and she found herself smirking more than once at his sharp wit.

They "dined" in the kitchen, standing near the warm stove, sipping their tea.

As Cam bit into his fourth piece of toast, Jade turned her attention to the window. This faced the rear of the house, so the rain appeared to be coming at an angle instead of directly against the glass.

"Well, I think it is safe to assume neither of us is planning an excursion to the village?"

He blinked in what seemed surprise, and hurried to swallow. "I'm no'. It's warm and dry in here, at least until the thatch begins to give out. But if ye're still intent…?" He lifted his heavily sugared tea and raised a brow at her over the lip of the cup.

Shrugging, she sipped at her own tea to hide the way her lips seemed to want to curl in his presence. "I'm content to remain until the rain stops. What do you mean, ‘until the thatch gives out'?" Her eyes darted upward. "Is the only thing protecting us from being drenched a few strands of hay?"

He finished off his tea and gifted her with a smile as he began to clean up. "Try several feet of thatch, Treasure. Have ye no' been under real thatch before?"

For a spoiled Society fop, he certainly didn't mind tidying his own mess, did he? For that matter, he'd washed their dishes last night as well, and stored the remainder of the meal in the icebox, as if he were used to doing for himself.

"I didn't think ‘real thatch' still existed," she admitted dryly. "We're in the modern era, you know. Electricity and running water and all that."

"Aye, and the comforts are always—well, a comfort, when I return to London. But here on the Firth…" He shrugged and plucked her empty cup from her hand to dunk it in the basin, where he'd poured hot water in with the cold. "Sometimes it's nice to remember simple pleasures, aye? And the scenery is verra beautiful."

Her lips curled as she glanced toward the window once more. "I'll take your word on that. Now, about these simple pleasures…"

His head whipped around so quickly she couldn't hide her snicker. When he saw it, his expression eased from curious to contrite.

"Och, so ye've learned to tease me as I've been teasing ye, eh? Here's me thinking ye had some ‘simple pleasures' of yer own in mind…"

His sigh sounded so forlorn, she had to stifle a giggle. She managed to clear her throat and plaster on a stern expression when she nodded solemnly. "I do. I had to engage in a bit of it myself last night."

The soapy teacup slid out of his hand and splashed into the basin of water. "What?" he croaked.

She hummed, pretending confusion.

When he turned, not bothering to wipe off his hands before he plunked them on his kilted hips, her eyes were drawn to his bare forearms.

"What simple pleasure did ye engage in last night, Miss Jade Thacker?"

Her gaze still riveted to his muscular hands, glistening with soap bubbles, she felt her tongue dart across her lips. She'd intended to tease him, but it had suddenly grown quite difficult.

"Treasure," he murmured, and took an aborted half step toward her.

Her gaze jerked back to his. "Food!" she blurted, pleased to remember the direction of her original teasing. "If we're going to be stuck here until the rain stops, and Mrs. Higgins cannot reach us, how will we eat?" She swallowed. "I spent some time thinking of recipes I could remember."

For a moment, his face fell, his lips forming a sort of disappointed "oh". But then he brightened and shrugged those remarkably wide shoulders as he turned back to the basin. "And what did ye remember, Treasure?"

"Well, I confess, my mother was not a cook, but I've spent my share of weeks aboard my father's ships, and the cooks were always willing to show me one hundred and one things to do with salt pork."

"That sounds like a terrible children's primer," he quipped to the dishes. "One Hundred and One Things to Do With Salted Pork, Dry Biscuits, and Rat Feces to Get That Finger Out Of Yer Nose, Young Man."

"You've been aboard a ship, I see," she said drily. "And have some experience with young lads? Do you have a son?"

The thought had started as a joke, but even as she said the words, a horrible hollow feeling settled into her stomach. Might Cam have a child? He was certainly rakish enough to have fathered a few dozen bastards, if the stories were to be trusted.

And why did the thought of him siring a bastard on another woman make her feel…bitter? No, not angry, but angry. This sickly feeling clawing through her stomach wasn't jealousy, it was certainty; Cam fathering a child on another woman was wrong.

Why? Because you think he should be fathering one on you?

Ai-ya, no! Absolutely not. She didn't want his children.

Right.

Right.

Only a moment had passed while she argued collectively with her subconscious, her libido, and her surprisingly vocal ovaries. In that time, he turned and offered her another one of those patented dimple smiles of his.

"Nay," he assured her easily. "Nae bastards for me."

"How can you be certain?" she snapped, even while berating herself inside. What are you doing? Don't ask more questions! Not if you don't really want the answers!

His grin slipped just slightly, and he shrugged again as he turned back to finish rinsing. "I ken." Then he cleared his throat. "My best friend has a son. A good lad, almost ten, a mirror image of my friend."

It seemed a safer subject. "Really?" She began to set the kitchens to rights as well as she could, as he told her of Malcolm Forbes, whose home was to the west, and the poor man's doomed courtship.

She found herself entranced, and by the time Cam finished the story about how Malcolm had been reunited with his Violet—after agreeing to tutor the son he never knew was his—Jade found herself breathing a relieved sigh. "That's lovely."

"Aye, I'm pleased for the lucky bastard." Cam was grinning as he dried his hands, and she had to admit, she liked how he didn't pretend formality on her behalf. "And I'll tell ye more stories, once the whisky comes out."

"Whisky?" She arched a brow. "Is that how we're spending our day?"

"Och, nay." He winked. "I prefer brandy for day-drinking. But whisky loosens my tongue, ye ken, and without proper food in our bellies, ye'll likely die drunk, starving, and bored by my rambling stories."

Jade couldn't help it; she burst into laughter at his dramatic take on things. "We'll not starve, you poor man."

"Nay?" He wiped his brow in mock relief, brushing his curls back. "So ye ken more than just salt pork?"

Still chuckling, she brushed past him toward the door she correctly identified as a pantry.

"When I wasn't aboard a ship with my parents, we lived in a quaint little home—not as quaint as this place, but comfortable—near Liverpool. Our housekeeper kept the pantry stocked with certain supplies—ah!"

Beaming, she turned, a small sack of baker's sugar clutched in her hands. His arms were folded across his chest, his hip against the counter, one corner of his lips drawn up in a sort of lazy amusement as he studied her.

"Is it salt pork, Treasure?"

"Better." She smiled. "Last night I wracked my brain, and I am fairly certain I remember how to make simple sugar cookies—"

His whoop cut off her explanation, and when he lunged for her, she froze.

He caught her up, tightening his hold around her waist as he swung her in a circle and cried, "Lead with the cookie offer next time!"

For her part, Jade had frozen as he'd lifted her, crushing the fine sugar between them. The feel of his arms around her, the way she was pressed against him…her eyes fluttered shut on a silent inhalation as she tried to capture his scent.

After a long moment, she realized she was no longer being spun about, and slowly opened her eyes.

He was still holding her, just her toes touching the floor. The rest of her was supported by him. His arms were tight around her back, her hands pressed against his broad chest. She could feel his heart pounding as heavily as hers was.

And something hard pressed against the junction of her thighs.

His blue gaze was locked on her lips, and she could feel the heat, even if she hadn't seen it. He was looking at her the same way he had before he'd asked to kiss her, that night in the hotel room.

Her core ached at the memory of his fingers, his tongue, his words, and she silently begged him to ask the question again.

She knew what she'd say.

Yes.

Yes.

Please.

***

God Almighty, he was in trouble.

Cam knew he was holding his breath—the whole fooking world was holding its breath!—as he struggled to control his natural instincts.

He wanted her. He wanted her right here in the kitchen, up against the counter. He wanted her in the bedroom, he wanted her on the sofa, where he'd tossed and turned, imagining this exact scenario. He wanted her now, and he was beginning to suspect, forever.

But he couldn't have her.

Because once he did, they'd be well and truly married, and she didn't want that.

One kiss. She wants it as much as ye do.

That much was obvious. Jade was practically straining toward him, ready to meet his lips with hers. Could she feel how much he wanted her? And she wanted him despite it?

What could one kiss hurt?

Well, it could bloody well destroy his restraint, that was for certain.

She doesnae want to be married to ye. Try to remember that.

Swallowing, Cam forced himself to set her on her own feet, to release her. He tried for nonchalance in his tone, and knew he completely failed, when he cleared his throat and asked, "Cookies?"

She swayed, clearly not understanding, and he had to touch her upper arms. Just to steady her, of course.

"Jade? Ye ken how to make cookies?"

"You sound…" She shook her head and took a deep breath, then tried again. "You sound eager."

He likely did. Shrugging sheepishly, he forced himself to step back. "Dessert is my favorite food group."

She hugged the sack of sugar to her chest as she cleared her throat. "Dare I ask what a food group might be?"

"A group of food."

"Yes." She nodded. "I suppose I asked for that, really."

He grinned. "Cookies are my favorite types of food. My mother's cook used to let me help decorate them when I visited. I'll whip up the icing for ye."

Her own lips twitched, something between ruefulness and pleasure, as she held out the sugar. "You'll need this then. I'll start on the dough."

He didn't immediately begin to mix the sugar with the lemon juice and egg whites—it was too early in the process. Instead, he helped by preparing the area. While she gathered the ingredients, he found the board and pin used for rolling—deep in the pantry—and laid them and a bowl out for her.

Their earlier moment wasn't forgotten exactly, but as the moments passed in a helpful bustle, the silence turned…companionable. As she began to mix, she peeked over at where he greedily watched the dough form.

"You said you visited your mother home? Does that mean you didn't live with her?"

Cam took a moment to study the question from all angles before deciding that telling her of his past wouldn't be too dangerous. "When I was verra young, certainly. As ye likely ken, my da is a charming man. I like to think I get it from him."

She snorted softly, her lips curling, her attention on her work.

He smiled in return. "Ye might no' be impressed, but my mother was. The daughter of an earl, ye ken, who seduced a Scot who had nae interest in marriage. It was the scandal of the decade."

"She seduced him?" Jade cocked a brow at him, her hands methodically working the dough.

"They both agree on that. Da made it clear he wasnae marrying her, and my mother didnae care." He shrugged and grinned. "Now, let us move on, because nae one wants to focus on their parents' sex life, eh?"

She grinned. "Deal."

"My mother weathered the scandal, but my grandfather wasnae impressed by me, and when he found my mother a husband—a snooty baron who likes me as much as I like him—they all agreed it would be best for me to go off to school."

Her hands had stilled as she watched him. With lips turned down at the corners, she murmured, "Even your mother?"

Suddenly, Cam decided he'd better find a bowl for his icing. The hunt was easier than seeing the pity in Jade's intriguing eyes. "My mother was busy with her new family, and likely grateful I wasnae there to remind everyone of her folly."

"And so, when you visited, you spent time in the kitchens," she said softly.

"Och, it wasnae so bad!" He turned with a forced grin, the bowl in his hands. "I got to lick all the spoons, and learned self-sufficiency. Also, as I grew, the lasses were perfectly willing to help me perfect my skills." He winked lewdly, leaving no guess what he meant. "My education, and both of my families, taught me to be a gentleman. But I dinnae have to be, and that is a blessing all on its own."

She cocked her head, studying him in that way that tended to make him uncomfortable, as if she could really see, really understand, him.

"Yes, that is a benefit, I suppose," she finally agreed, before she dumped the dough out on the board and reached for the pin. "Especially for a businessman like yourself."

Since she was treading dangerously close to where he didn't want to go, he propped his elbows on the counter and turned the conversation. "And ye? Ye mentioned a ship and a quaint cottage in Liverpool—"

"House. This is a cottage. I had a proper house," she corrected without looking up.

"Which sounds perfectly adorable"—he used her word from yesterday—"but I'd rather hear about yer life on ship. This was one of yer father's ships?"

Her gaze jerked up. "You know my father?"

He managed a nonchalant shrug, as if he hadn't researched thoroughly. It had taken only a few moments, yesterday, after learning her name, to put it together with what she'd told him at the hotel, and realize which business it was she owned.

Although the coincidence was astounding.

It was too bad they'd met under those circumstances—

Nay, nay, her presence in his hotel room that night would never be "too bad" in his memory. But if they hadn't met that way, if they'd met at a political rally or whatever ridiculousness she'd suggested, she might've known the real him. Might've understood his secret.

Might've been willing to learn why he knew all about Thacker Shipping.

But for now, he needed a way to keep her talking.

"Everyone kens of Thacker Shipping, aye? Ye being raised onboard a boat, and at the hotel that night ye spoke of yer father's business…"

Slowly, her shoulders relaxed as she finished rolling out the dough. "Yes, Thacker Shipping. It's mine now, although signing everything J. Thacker makes my life easier, since Father's name was John. Before he met my mother, he sailed with most of his voyages, but after I was born he contented himself with shorter Channel crossings. Here, do you want to cut out the cookies?"

"Aye, of course," he agreed eagerly, already reaching for the dough, as she began to roll the next batch. "How did he meet yer mother? She was Chinese, aye?"

Her lips tugged into a thoughtful frown as she studied him. He grinned, not wanting to admit he knew plenty about Thacker Shipping.

"Yer name is Jade, Treasure, and yer coloring…" He shrugged. "A good guess."

"Yes, it was." Thankfully, her suspicion eased. "My mother was the daughter of a very wealthy merchant in the Guangdong region. My father met her at a banquet given in his honor, and they fell madly in love."

As Cam carefully cut out increasingly rude shapes—without her noticing—Jade told a romantic tale of forbidden courtship, daring feats, and finally a grandfather won over by love. When her mother, Meilin, joined her father on the high seas, her merchant grandfather deposited an obscene amount of wealth in a London bank for his grandchildren, when they came of age.

"They only had me, you see, and so in a month, when I reach twenty-five, I'll finally have access to that money."

Which she would pour back into her father's—her—company. "I remember. And if ye can manage to hold off marriage until then, ye'll have yer control."

If she was currently married to him, it could still be annulled…considering neither had consented in the first place.

She snorted softly, but he couldn't tell if she was thinking of her supposed marriage to Cam. "The laws are favoring a woman to keep her inheritance, but I'd rather be certain."

As they baked first one batch of the cookies, then more, he asked her questions about Thacker Shipping, and found himself amazed by how she managed so much. Not because she was a woman, no; such an empire would've taxed anyone's organizational abilities. But she was enthusiastic and level-headed as she explained, even when he didn't quite understand the technical aspects of trade.

In return, she asked him about his years at school, and he found himself telling her of the friends he'd made; Malcolm, Keith, James, and even Crowe. He told her how they'd all been sent to Swinson's, and the other lads there had objected to mingling with bastards.

"You're all bastards?" she clarified with curiosity.

"Aye, and my mother was the only lady among our mothers. Our fathers—all lairds—sent us for various reasons, but finding each other was the best thing which could've happened to us." He knew his crooked grin wasn't quite convincing. "It's easier to fight bullies with friends at yer back."

"Malcolm was the friend you told me about?" She waited for his nod, then asked, "And the others? Do you still see them?"

"Keith made his fame as the Battling Bastard, Britain's bareknuckle champion. He was married a few months back." Cam leaned in conspiratorially. "To the Duke of Cashingham's little sister."

Jade, properly impressed, chuckled. "There's a story there," she quipped as she tested the first batch of cookies. "How about the others? These are ready to be iced, by the by."

Reaching for them, Cam gave his icing one last whip. "James Lindsey died ten years ago, murdered."

"Oh, Cam," she gasped, her fingertips resting on her lips. "I'm so sorry. That must have been so difficult for the rest of you. Were you all together for the funeral?"

Swallowing, Cam focused on flooding the cookies the way his mother's cook had taught him years before. This one—a set of perfectly round tits—only required painting a pair of nipples, but the next—a flaccid cock—would be more complex.

"Aye," he murmured, intent on filling in the scrotum with icing. "Except for Crowe."

"Where was he?"

Without thinking, he answered, "In prison for murder."

When she gasped again, he winced, realizing what he'd admitted, and glanced up with a rueful smile to see her horrified expression.

"Och, it was a decade ago, lass. I miss James"—and Crowe, although he would never admit that to Keith and Malcolm—"but he's at peace, and so am I."

"Is Crowe still in prison?" she whispered.

He forced a crooked smile. "No' anymore, which is why I'm glad to be hiding here in Dumfries, aye?" She didn't respond to the humor. "Och, lass, dinnae fret. Here, tell me, does this look like a vulva to ye?"

When he turned the plate to display one of his creations—complete with outlined folds and a delicate iced clitoris—she gasped for the third time. Only this turned into more of a choke, and it wasn't until he stood to pour her some water that he realized she was laughing.

"Cameron MacKay, did you style all of my cookies in—in naughty shapes?"

Och, she's using yer full name? Ye're in trouble, laddie!

He grinned unrepentantly. "Aye!" he admitted cheerfully. "Far more fun to put in yer mouth, eh?"

Still giggling, she darted forward and snatched up one of the cookies. "Then here, it's only fair you taste them first!"

And with that, she popped it into his mouth.

A flood of sweetness spread across his tongue, but he wasn't so distracted that he couldn't grab her wrist, holding her—and the cookie—in place. He bit through the confection, leaving the rest in her hand, making sure his lips brushed against her fingers.

This close, he could see her eyes change from gray to a dark blue, and a soft shudder pass through her. As he chewed, he held her gaze.

"It's good, lass," he finally whispered, offering her a smile. "Verra, verra good."

Suddenly, an impish grin split her lips. "I'm so glad to hear you say that." And she dropped her eyes to the remains of the cookie she held.

Instinctively, his gaze dropped as well, and he saw her fingers wrapped around a pair of bollocks.

She was holding one side of the cookie he'd cut out to look like an erect cock.

The shaft was missing, and the taste in his mouth suddenly turned sour. "Did ye just feed me a penis cookie?"

Her grin grew, and she dropped one eyelid in a devilishly teasing wink. "You took a big bite of the poor thing. How did it taste?"

"I'm no' answering that now."

Solemnly, she nodded. "And risk ruining your reputation. I understand."

God help him, when she giggled, he couldn't control his humor any longer, and began to chuckle as well. There they stood, her holding a half-eaten cock cookie, and him holding her, laughing together.

And Cam knew he shouldn't be having this much fun.

Forget being in trouble, laddie. Ye. Are. Fooked.