Chapter 22

T he short carriage ride back to Auldgate Close was exquisite torture for Jessie. Ensconced in the far corner of the leather bench seat, opposite Lord Strathburn, she was in equal measures thrilled and dismayed to find Robert sitting close beside her.

His large masculine frame filled the confined space in a most disconcerting way. Whenever the carriage rounded a sharp corner, his muscular thigh pressed against her leg and she found herself blushing. Indeed, the physical contact brought to mind other lean, hard parts of Robert's naked body, and Jessie had to fight the urge to squirm against the tight ache between her own thighs. It seemed her wanton self had swiftly returned and demanded to be satisfied.

Thank God, both Robert and Lord Strathburn were deeply engaged in conversation about plans for a celebratory dinner that very evening at Strathburn House, so they did not seem to notice her flustered state. Heavens, she needed to harness some semblance of control around Robert. They weren't in an isolated cave or out-of-the-way inn anymore—they were in polite society. She needed to behave with decorum, especially as she was suddenly unsure of his commitment to her.

She willed herself not to dwell on the countess's pronouncements about Robert. The odious woman clearly had her own agenda and would like nothing more than to see them part ways.

But truth to tell, Robert's actions when he'd entered the Lord Advocate's antechamber had confused her. He'd looked happy to see her, and at first, she was certain he would embrace her as he had his father. But in the end, all he'd done was simply kiss her hand as any gentleman of passing acquaintance would. Whilst she could hardly have expected him to greet her with a passionate kiss in the Lord Advocate's office, she wondered why he hadn't displayed a little more affection than that cool perfunctory gesture.

Perhaps Robert was having second thoughts about marrying her. And that's perfectly understandable and it's better to know now, she told herself, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in her heart. Blinking away the prick of unexpected tears, she looked out the carriage window and tried to think about something, anything else.

But that was proving to be very difficult when Jessie was acutely aware of Robert's every movement and every glance her way. She risked her own peek at him. If only he wasn't so handsome . That was part of the problem. Even in a crumpled shirt and mud splattered buckskin breeks, with a three-day growth of whiskers, he looked darkly attractive. Her eyes lingered on his jawline, recalling how his bristles had felt beneath her fingertips and against her cheek when he'd kissed her this very morning—when he'd called her " my love ."

And that was the other problem—her memories of being in his arms, his caresses were all too vivid. Her eyes strayed to Robert's lips, wide and firm, curved now in that crooked grin of his that never failed to make her breath catch.

Dear Lord, she must speak with him. She needed to know if she really was his love, or had he just uttered the endearment in a moment of desperate passion when he believed he was going to be executed. It was too difficult to be this close to him, feeling the way she did, and to not know if he really, truly felt the same way.

"Jessie, we're at Strathburn House." Robert's voice broke through her musings and she started. She noticed with some surprise that Lord Strathburn had already started to climb out of the carriage with the assistance of one of the footmen.

"Oh… Ah yes…Thank you," she murmured, finding it difficult to meet Robert's gaze. Instead, she busied herself with gathering her skirts in preparation for alighting from the carriage, hoping Robert wouldn't notice how desperately self-conscious she suddenly felt.

The sooner they spoke in private, the better.

Robert frowned. Jessie seemed unusually quiet and distracted. Again, he wondered if she'd begun to be assailed by doubts about their betrothal. Was it too confronting a reality for her now that he'd been released?

Perhaps his desire to wed her—and take her to his bed—was greater than what she felt for him. He would have to be more careful with her, to court her as a gentleman should rather than continue to chase her like a rutting stag.

Mindful of his new resolve, Robert gently curled his hand around Jessie's elbow and helped her negotiate the carriage steps. She was still limping slightly, but he resisted the impulse to sweep her into his arms and carry her inside. Although, once they gained the entrance hall, he paused and caught one of Jessie's hands between his. He couldn't bear this awkward silence. Why, she wouldn't even look at him.

"Jessie lass," he prompted softly. "Is everything all right?"

She lifted her chin and met his gaze with what seemed to be some effort. There were purple shadows like bruises beneath her eyes, and her smile seemed brittle. "Aye, milord," she replied, her tone too formal for his liking. "I am verra tired, that is all."

"I see." Perhaps everything that had transpired over the last few days was just catching up with Jessie—her injuries, the long journey, the constant threat of danger. She must be exhausted. Nevertheless, Robert was still torn between the urge to kiss away her reserve and the need to take care with her. "I am aware that I must appear quite the ruffian at present," he said in a low voice meant only for her. "Perhaps we can agree to meet later, after you've rested and I've had a chance to make myself look more…civilized. Then we can discuss how we both wish to proceed…with our situation. Do you agree?"

Jessie nodded and, to Robert's relief, she smiled up at him.

There was little chance to say more because all at once there was a swarm of people gathering in the entrance hall to greet them—his father and stepmother and a line of the Strathburn House staff.

All, besides Lady Strathburn, were beaming with undisguised pleasure at him and Jessie.

Robert greeted his stepmother smoothly, briefly bowing over her extended hand. "My lady, it has been far too long. You are looking well."

"As charming as ever I see," she replied archly, her gaze flicking past him to settle on Jessie .

It was a narrow, menacing look.

An intimidating look.

Wariness pinpricked its way along Robert's spine. What the devil was his stepmother playing at? He tried to catch Jessie's eye, but she'd cast her gaze downward to the toes of her shoes. Her hands twisted at her waist. Something was going on between the two of them, he was certain of it—and he suspected it might have something to do with Jessie's sudden reticence.

He returned his attention to Lady Strathburn. "I trust I will be installed in my old chambers, my lady?"

"As you wish," she replied coolly. "I shall send Gordon up to make it ready for you. Although, I'm afraid most of your possessions—and that includes all your clothes—were disposed of long ago." She ran her eyes over his disheveled state, her distaste openly apparent.

"No matter." Robert turned to his father. The sight of him standing so tall, his eyes alight with pride and joy, brought a lump to Robert's throat. "Father, perhaps I could presume on your generosity and borrow MacGowan and your carriage for a short while to rectify the sorry state of my appearance?" Although he was reluctant to leave both Jessie and his father, he had a number of matters he needed to attend to, including visiting Leith Docks where the Phoenix was moored. Whilst there, he would be able to collect several trunks of his possessions as well as invite Drummond to tonight's celebratory dinner.

His father patted him on the shoulder. "Of course, my son. Whatever you require, it will be made so. I shall see you when you return."

Once his father and stepmother had quit the vestibule—in opposite directions to each other—and the servants had begun to disperse to attend to their various duties, Robert turned to find that Jessie had started to climb the stairs.

Good God. Was she running away from him?

This just wouldn't do.

"Jessie," he called, striding toward her, unease twisting in his belly. He couldn't let her go, not when there was this strange undercurrent of tension vibrating between them. He didn't like this subdued version of Jessie, not one little bit. Something was definitely wrong.

The conversation he'd intended to have with her later, he needed to have right now. Despite his previous resolution to play the gentleman, he was determined to take whatever measures necessary to see the spark return to her eyes. The warm spark that flared just for him.

Jessie halted on the bottom step and turned, one elegant hand on the newel post. He approached her slowly as he might a frightened deer and stopped before her, close, but not touching. Instead, he trapped her gaze. He could have sworn she was holding her breath.

He began without preamble. "I wouldn't believe a word my spiteful witch of a stepmother says about anything, especially if it's to do with us."

Jessie's eyes widened as she released a breath. "I… How did you know?"

Robert's mouth quirked slightly. "My stepmother is renowned for her self-serving ways, mo ghaoil . I suspect she would go to great lengths to maintain her influence, and Simon's, in this family. That may include trying to sabotage our union. She views us both as threats. I have returned and replaced Simon as heir to the earldom—and you, you will be Lady Lochrose and in time, the next Countess of Strathburn. I imagine my stepmother has intimated that my interest in you is passing?"

Jessie nodded, flushing.

At last, a reaction from her . He'd been right.

"Aye." Uncertainty clouded his fiancée's usually clear brown eyes as she continued. "But truth be told, Robert, I wouldna blame ye if that were the case. It is no' like you've been given much choice in the matter of our handfasting. It was, as I recall, verra much a fait accompli . Now ye have gained yer freedom and I'm no longer in any danger, I would understand if ye wanted to take some time to reconsider…our situation."

There was no chance of that, not when Robert's heart beat solely for the woman before him . He slowly reached out and took her hand from the newel post then brought it to his chest. With his other hand, he gently brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I know exactly how I feel about our situation, Jessie. But what I'd really like to know is, how do you feel?"

Jessie's breath caught and her gaze dropped to Robert's mouth. "I think… No, I know…" Her voice was edged with a delicious breathlessness. "I want ye… And I want ye to kiss me."

Thank God. At last Robert could claim Jessie in exactly the way he'd longed to since his release. Cradling her delicate face between his hands, he angled his mouth over hers and drank deeply of the honeyed warmth within.

Jessie's response was everything he'd dreamed of. She took everything he gave her, every caress of his lips, every stroke of his tongue, and teased and aroused him in return. She wanted him—there was no doubt in his mind she'd been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.

Yes, Jessie, you are mine . Robert felt it in every fiber of his being, to the very depths of his soul. Yes .

Desire flared, hot and intense, and without thinking, Robert pressed Jessie against the banister rail and cupped one of her breasts. She whimpered and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself into his palm. Even through the layers of her clothing, he could feel the impudent peak of her nipple. When she instinctively pushed her hips against his own, his already half-aroused cock stiffened even more.

God, he wanted more. So much more. But now was not the time.

But later tonight...

Heart pounding, Robert broke the kiss. He smiled with satisfaction at the sight of Jessie, pliant in his arms, lips red, cheeks flushed. Her eyes, still drowsy with desire, were the warm amber of liquid honey. He had succeeded in chasing away the shadow of reserved distance between them. With that kiss they had both come to an understanding. They wanted each other, they were tied to each other. Handfasted .

"I must go, my love," he murmured, stroking his thumb lightly across Jessie's swollen bottom lip. "I have some things to take care of on board my ship, but I shall be back by this evening. Later, after dinner, perhaps we may continue this discussion, in private, to clarify our positions even further."

Jessie's eyes glowed. "I look forward to it, mo chridhe. "

Robert's face was still wreathed with a besotted grin when he left Strathburn House in his father's carriage a few minutes later. He rather thought he would be smiling for the rest of the afternoon.

The White Horse, Edinburgh's largest coaching inn, was but a short distance away from Auldgate Close. Robert didn't intend to stay long. He viewed the slight deviation from his intended path to Leith Docks as an unpleasant but necessary duty, akin to removing vermin from the hold of his ship.

He left MacGowan with the carriage in the coaching yard and within a few minutes—courtesy of an avaricious innkeeper with dubious loyalties to his patrons and a penchant for coin—he had the key to Simon's room. The innkeeper had also helpfully informed him that Mr. Grant's manservant, Baird, had just recently departed in a sedan chair for the Grassmarket to run some errands for his master.

Robert paused by Simon's door, listening for a moment before entering. All was silent within. Given Simon's past love for anything and everything that fit into the category of "debauched," he surmised that Simon was likely abed, sleeping off the effects of too much alcohol.

Although Robert knew Simon had also been fond of the company of prostitutes since at least the age of seventeen—and most likely still would be—he doubted his brother would be partaking of the company of one of the local harlots at this time of day. Whilst the innkeeper could be easily bribed into parting with a key, it was unlikely he would let Simon flagrantly reduce the reputation of the coaching inn during daylight hours. The White Horse had to keep up the appearance of having some standards.

When the door swung open it was to reveal, as Robert had suspected, Simon practically passed out, face down, in the rumpled bed. The room stank of stale sweat, spilt ale, and the contents of a used chamber pot.

Simon did not so much as stir as Robert closed then locked the door, pocketing the key. The shutters were closed and there was nothing but cold ashes in the grate. In the weak light, Robert spied a wooden chair on the other side of the room by the window. With a determined stride, he crossed the clothes-strewn floor and flung open the shutters.

Simon groaned and rolled from his stomach onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the light. "I told you, you stupid sow, I didn't want you to clean my room," he croaked.

"I'm afraid it's not the chamber maid, dear brother," drawled Robert with a grin.

Simon bolted upright. His puffy eyelids flew open to reveal bloodshot eyes that fixed on Robert in disbelief. When he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Instead, he simply stared in horror, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly, his face gray.

Robert swung the chair around and straddled it in one fluid move, his arms resting on the back. He knew he looked like the worst kind of ruffian with his three-day growth and unkempt clothes. But if his rough appearance intimidated Simon, all the better.

Narrowing his gaze, he pinned his half-brother with a deliberately cold, uncompromising stare. "Yes, Simon, your worst nightmare has been realized," he said softly. "I've escaped the executioner's axe. And you, being struck dumb right at this moment, suits my purpose exactly. Now, all I want you to do is listen because I'm only going to say this once."

He then leaned forward over the back of the chair, intentionally flexing his biceps so they strained against the linen of his shirt. Simon immediately shrank back against the stained bedclothes, looking for all the world like he was going to be sick.

Undeterred, Robert continued in a silken, almost pleasant tone of voice that was completely at odds with his menacing physical stance. If it further rattled Simon, good. "Within a week, you will be taking up residence in lodgings that I will arrange for you here in Edinburgh, with an annual allowance that will be sufficient for you to maintain an adequate level of comfort while you complete a university degree. I really don't care what it is. What you study is entirely up to you. Thereafter, I expect you to find some sort of gainful and respectable employment. You will continue to be the recipient of my most generous offer, so long as you abide by my further stipulations—you will not set foot in Strathburn House, or Lochrose Castle, ever again."

"Oh, I say," spluttered Simon, finally finding his voice. "You can't do that. What has Father to say about this? My mother won't stand for it."

Robert's mouth twisted and he cocked an eyebrow. "From what I understand, Father has already banished you from Strathburn House. And I don't give a toss about what your mother will or won't stand for."

Simon's face grew an alarming shade of puce. "This is ridiculous! It's not like Father has died, making you king of the castle. You've got no right whatsoever."

"I have every right, Simon, because I'm the one who will be providing your funds," growled Robert. " Not Father. I also suspect that he's not planning on being particularly magnanimous where you're concerned, considering you've had me arrested—twice. You need to be accountable for your actions, especially those which have hurt others. You've lived a hedonistic, self-serving existence for far too long. It's definitely time you learned to live within your means and stopped leaching off our family's estate."

Robert stood abruptly and pushed the chair away, looming over Simon. He laced his voice with steel to deliver his final pronouncement. "And my final condition is this. It concerns Miss Munroe, who is soon to be my wife."

Simon sneered. "Surely you jest. That Jezebel is to become Lady Lochrose? Now there's a contradiction?—"

Enough . Robert slammed his fist into his brother's face and Simon hit the pillows, groaning.

Shaking his hand and flexing his fingers, Robert continued speaking as though nothing had happened. "You will never set foot anywhere near Miss Munroe, the future Countess of Strathburn, ever again. She will never have to look upon you again. If I ever find out that you have breached this condition I assure you, you will face a lot worse from me than a mere punch. Do I make myself clear, brother? "

Simon nodded his assent, clutching his cheekbone where a second dark purple bruise had begun to flower.

"Good. I knew you'd see it my way." Robert moved to the door and unlocked it. "I'll have Father's man, MacGowan, advise you of the details of your new accommodation when it has been finalized. If I never see you again, it will be too soon."

It was not long after his brute of a brother's departure when another knock sounded at Simon's door. He groaned and sat up. He doubted it was Robert, given that his brother had somehow managed to purloin a key. It was probably the maid.

The knock came again, more insistent this time. "Simon, it's me. Open this door at once."

Mother. Simon cursed under his breath. What the hell did she want from him other than to inform him of Robert's release and the subsequent change in the status quo? As if that would fix anything.

Simon staggered from the bed and approached the door. "Mother, I'm not decent," he called.

"Well, that's nothing new," she hissed back at him. "I'll meet you in one of the private parlors downstairs, the Green Room. Don't tarry. It's urgent."

Ten minutes later, Simon joined his mother in the parlor she'd hired. A pot of tea and an assortment of scones and cakes were laid out on a small table before the fire.

Simon thought he would be ill when his mother offered him a cup as he sat down. "No, thank you," he said.

Lady Strathburn cast a critical eye over him. "Simon, you look shocking. You really should curb your drinking somewhat." She frowned at his freshly injured cheek then continued, "And how on earth did you get that awful bruising? Not brawling in some cheap tavern, I hope. You look like a common criminal."

Simon grimaced and probed the tender, swollen crest of his cheekbone. "Bloody Robert paid me a visit, not less than twenty minutes ago," he grumbled.

Lady Strathburn sucked in a sharp breath. "The rogue."

"I suspect that's what you've come about, to warn me my brother has escaped the lion's den and that Father's agreed to his ludicrous stipulations to have me all but banished."

Lady Strathburn's mouth twisted with a malicious smile. "Yes, in part. But I also have a plan in mind, my dear Simon, to get rid of your brother and his upstart of a fiancée. But to succeed in this venture, you will need to maintain your sobriety for at least the rest of this day and the next—and to find some backbone when the occasion calls for it. Do you think you can do that for me, and for yourself?"

Despite the painful twinge in his cheek and jaw, Simon smiled back. "Yes, Mother, I think I can."