The Taming of a Scottish Princess

  He wished she’d put her spectacles back on, for it was disconcerting facing that nakedly beautiful gaze. “I’m surprised you’ve been kissed at all.”

  “Oh, yes.” She looked about the seat for her spectacles. “Many times, in fact.”

  “Many— Bloody hell! How many?”

  Her brows lowered and she held up a hand as she began to count, “Eight, nine, ten—I think that was— No, no. Wait.” She bit her lip. “I forgot about those two, so eleven, twelve—” She looked up at the ceiling as if searching for more memories. Finally, she shrugged. “I can’t remember them all.”

  Fury burned through him until he remembered her awkwardness. “I don’t believe you. You’ve been kissed once, if that.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because you’re inexperienced; I could tell.”

  Hurt instantly flashed in her eyes, and he fought the urge to apologize, a feeling so unlike him that he growled, “You see? That’s the very reason kissing was a bad idea. Now every time I say something, your feelings will be hurt.”

  She stiffened. “My feelings are not hurt; they’re just offended.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. And you can stop glowering at me as if I did something wrong. I’m not the one who initiated that kiss.”

  He lifted his brows, and she flushed. “Not the first one, anyway,” she amended.

  “It won’t happen again,” he returned, unaccountably irritated. The fact that she had reached for him still stirred his blood and made him ache to explore her yet more.

  His discomfort made him scowl. “You practically threw yourself into my arms. You should have a care how you comport yourself in the future.”

  She grabbed up her spectacles and whisked them into place on her pert nose, her back ramrod straight. In that instant, she became the Jane he knew so well. “Don’t muddle your facts, Hurst. You kissed me—and quite thoroughly, I might add. I merely responded.”

  “You threw yourself at me,” he repeated stubbornly.

  “No, I kissed you back.” She sent him a frustrated look. “I vow, is there no man who can talk about physical pleasures without exaggerating?”

  He choked. “What do you know of men and physical pleasures?”

  “Enough to realize that if a man tells you something about them, only half of his story will be true, if that.”

  The tinge of bitterness in her voice gave him pause. “Someone has lied to you.” Perhaps he’d been wrong, and she had been kissed more than once. But whoever had done so had apparently done a remarkably poor job.

  Her cheeks turned a deep pink. “It doesn’t matter. I kissed you back because I was surprised at how good it felt. That and I was curious. That’s all.”

  “Whatever the circumstances, we’d be stupid to pursue it. It would ruin our arrangement.”

  “Agreed. However, I must admit that I resent that you believe I’ll change the way I react to you because of a simple kiss.” She found her pins scattered upon the floor and began to return her hair to order. “I’m not such a ninny that I’d allow such a silly thing to affect me.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yes, we will. And when we do, you’ll owe me an apology, which I’ll take in two bottles of good Scotch. The same kind your brother-in-law sent to you in Egypt.”

  “No. That’s damned good Scotch.”

  “Which is why you’ll get me two bottles.”

  “By Ra, you’re an impertinent, saucy—”

  “Careful, Hurst. We just kissed, so according to you, I shall now interpret everything you say in a very negative manner and might burst into tears and run shrieking off to a convent.”

  She chuckled, smoothing her skirts and looking every bit as proper as she had upon entering the coach. “I never realized until now how little you know about women. Oh, you can discuss Ptolemy III in great detail, but you’re a complete novice when it comes to the fair sex.”

  “You’re pushing me, Jane.”

  “No, I’m pushing you back,” she returned, a martial light in her eyes. “There’s a difference.”

  “I wish we hadn’t kissed at all,” he snapped.

  “So do I, but we can’t unkiss, so we must deal with it as best as we can. In fact, I’ll begin now.” She raised up to bang the flat of her hand on the carriage ceiling, bringing her breasts directly in his line of sight.

  Michael’s mouth went dry, and he found his hands curving as if they were covering those delicate mounds. Why hadn’t he done so when she’d been so pliant in his lap—

  She returned to her seat as the carriage slowed to a stop. “I’ll ride with Ammon while your temper cools. He’s alone in the second carriage and I’m sure he’ll enjoy a companion.”

  The coach rocked as the footmen jumped down and Michael frowned, suddenly realizing that he didn’t wish her to go. Not until they’d hashed out the nonsense that hung between them. “Jane, don’t be ridiculous. We’ll just”—he waved a hand—“make things go back to the way they were. If you’ll just calm down and—”

  “If I will calm down? You’re the one who is—”

  The coach door opened, and with a flat, unamused look, Jane gathered her pelisse and climbed out. She paused in the doorway and sent him a prim frown of disapproval. “Pray try and get some sleep. It will do wonders for that temper of yours.”

  With that, she left, and the footman closed the door behind her.

  Michael thought about following her and shaking some sense into her, but he didn’t trust himself any more than he trusted her. Perhaps she was right and they needed some time apart. “Twenty years might do it,” he muttered.

  He threw himself into a corner of the coach, rammed his hat onto his head, and yanked the brim over his eyes. He slumped there, arms crossed as he wondered what in hell had just happened. Before yesterday, he’d never imagined Jane as—well, a woman. She was just Jane. But somehow that simple, stable fact had gotten tossed upon its head and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Perhaps solving the riddle of who Jane Smythe-Haughton really was would rid him of this new, uncomfortable view of his assistant. After all, if she hadn’t stoked his damnable curiosity, he would have never had such a heated reaction to a mere kiss. Once his curiosity was sated, his interest in her would be, too.

  Pleased to have come up with a sure way to resolve the predicament, Michael tugged the discarded carriage blanket over himself, settled farther into the corner, and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  From the diary of Michael Hurst:

  Since I’ve been traveling alone in my coach—which I am enjoying despite what certain impertinent assistants may think—I’ve spent the time summarizing our quest:

  • The Hurst Amulet was stolen from the family and then gifted to Queen Elizabeth, recorded among her personal items as late as 1588.

  • We know from a letter she wrote that for some reason Elizabeth became fearful of the amulet, and sent it as a gift to a foreign dignitary.

  • One hundred years later, an amulet that fits the description of the Hurst Amulet appeared in the inventory of a powerful viceroy of Egypt, who was later assassinated. His goods were dispersed to the winds, but rumors persisted that the viceroy knew he was in danger and he’d sent his treasures to a place of safety, leaving behind a map for his son.

  • The map was hidden inside three matching onyx boxes.

  • That is the final written record we have of the Hurst Amulet. Until now . . .

  They traveled for two weeks, and as the days passed, the roads grew more and more rutted and the vistas more starkly beautiful.

  Eventually they turned toward the coast and the sunshine faded, leaving unending gray. It was under just such an inauspicious sky that the three dirty, muddy coaches rolled into Oban, a tiny port town situated upon the western coast of Scotland.

  During the trip, whenever they’d come to a stop, Michael made sure to tell anyone who cared to hear that he was enjoying the solitud
e of his coach. In truth, he’d been bored to death and had passed the time working on tedious translations of various ancient texts that held references to jewels and amulets, hoping for more clues to the one he sought.

  Privately, he’d discovered something about himself: traveling alone was not to his taste. Over the last four years, he’d become used to Jane’s company. While she wasn’t a chatty sort of female who burdened one with a lot of silly comments, she did know how to liven a monotonous journey with interesting conversation, and he found that he missed both her wit and her sharp commentary.

  All in all, the journey had been onerous in the extreme. It didn’t help that Jane hadn’t seemed to miss his company a bit and was her usual sunny self, although he could tell by the way she rubbed her lower back when no one was looking that the roughness of the trip was beginning to pall on her, too.

  It was with a sense of relief for all when they finally arrived at the only inn in the small town of Oban. As the carriage pulled to a halt, Michael glanced out the window at the uninspiring building and then returned the scrolls he’d been translating to their protective containers. He’d just finished slipping them into his satchel when the door opened and the footman let down the steps.

  Michael tucked the satchel under his arm and descended, looking about him with a frown. “It’s damned foggy.”

  “No, it’s not.” Jane, just handed down from her coach by a footman, walked briskly toward Michael, her boots clicking on the damp cobblestones. “You’re wearing your spectacles and I daresay it’s been days since you’ve cleaned them.”

  Something in her tone suggested that he was incapable of the task, and he glowered at her. She was wearing her usual gray gown, brown pelisse, and sensible gray bonnet—looking exactly the same as when he’d first met her four years ago. Though she looked the same, since their kiss he couldn’t seem to help but notice other things about her. Though her glossy brown hair was sensibly tucked away, a few loose strands curled about her ears. She had a habit of tucking those loose strands away, her slender fingers unconsciously drawing his gaze to her delicate ear, the slender line of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, and the way the material of her modest gown covered her creamy white skin and—

  He gritted his teeth and turned away, yanking off his spectacles and tucking them into his pocket. “We need a boat to take us to the island, though the size of this town doesn’t make me hopeful that we’ll find one easily.”

  “Nonsense,” she said briskly. “Some of the locals do nothing else but ferry people and supplies to the outlying islands. This is a slow time for them, too, so we shouldn’t have any trouble arranging for passage.”

  He sent her a sour glance, noting that her spectacles had fogged to a thick white as she’d spoken. She removed them to rub the glass briskly between her gloved fingers.

  “Hot air,” he said with satisfaction.

  She sent him a twinkling look that made him forget his momentary irritation. “It’s better than the icy cold you’ve been blowing on me since we left London.”

  “I’ve been polite.”

  “Barely. Fortunately, I’m used to your moods.” She held up the spectacles, opened her mouth to a perfect O, and puffed warm air upon them.

  Michael’s gaze locked on her soft lips. They were in the perfect shape to—

  He yanked his gaze away. By Ra, whatever it costs, I’ve got to stop doing that. And so he’d been telling himself ever since he’d made his fateful mistake and had kissed her.

  He looked glumly at the gray landscape. “It’s going to rain.”

  “It’s quite overcast, which is normal this late in the day. I daresay that as the evening breeze rises from the bay, this mist will blow out.”

  He sent her an annoyed look. “Why are you always so cheery?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Because it irks you, and irking you is what I live for.”

  “Witch.”

  “Stubborn curmudgeon.”

  He tried to think of another appellation to toss her way, absently rubbing his cheek where his stubble itched. He’d taken to shaving every five or six days, just long enough to continue and annoy Jane without having to deal with a full beard, which he found bothersome. As he rubbed his cheek, he caught the disapproval in her glance. “I suppose I should shave.” He grinned at her hopeful look. “But I’m not going to.”

  She cast an unfavorable glance at his chin. “It’s not a look that suits you.” Her breath misted into fog in the chilled air, her cheeks pink as she held up her spectacles and then, apparently finding them still not clean enough, used her gloved fingers to wipe them yet again. “I forgot how damp it is here at this time of the year.”

  “You look cold through and through. Apparently the foot warmer in your coach didn’t have enough coals to melt the cockles of your icy heart.”

  She merely smiled. “I gave my foot warmer to Ammon. If I’m too warm when I travel, I get ill.”

  He was pleased to be able to say, “I know.”

  “I’m sure you do,” she said in a dry tone, replacing her spectacles on her nose. “Seeing as how we’ve traveled together for four years and usually in the same carriage, you could hardly not know.”

  He wisely didn’t answer but nodded toward the inn. “I’ll send a footman to discover what sort of transport is available. I’d like to leave for Barra within the next day if possible.”

  “Excellent. I must admit that I’m tired of traveling. It’s not as wearing as a camel train through the desert, but it’s close. The seats in that coach are not what they should be, and I fear I’ll be woefully sore for the next few days.”

  “My coach’s seats are quite comfortable, but then, it’s better sprung than the other. A pity you didn’t see fit to ride with me instead.” He turned to walk toward the inn door.

  She fell into step beside him. “I’m sure I was much more comfortable in Ammon’s coach. But that doesn’t alter the fact that this trip has been quite long and the roads atrocious.”

  “The roads were horrid. I don’t care much for Scotland thus far.” He opened the inn door and stood to one side. “After you.”

  She preceded him into the inn, where they were greeted by the innkeeper, a plump woman with iron gray curls and a crooked nose that would have been at home on the face of an Irish boxer. In a deep voice, she informed them that she was a widow and that her name was Mrs. Farquhar.

  Jane introduced herself and Michael, and then Mrs. Farquhar escorted them to the inn’s only common room. As they went, the innkeeper chattered with such a thick accent that Michael could only understand one of every three words she said. Fortunately, Jane was back in charge of things, and she made some pleasantries that had their hostess grinning as she bowed them into the common room and then toddled off toward the kitchen.

  Jane removed her gloves and neatly tucked them into her pelisse pocket before approaching the weak fire that had been laid out.

  Michael noticed some firewood in a rack beside the window, so he set his satchel beside the settee and fetched some larger pieces of wood to add to the flames. He dusted his hands as he straightened, the fire already crackling more brightly. “There. That should be warmer. I take it that you ordered refreshments from our hostess? I detected the word ‘dram’ among her garbled speech.”

  “Her speech isn’t garbled; she merely has an accent.”

  “I couldn’t understand her.”

  “Only because you weren’t trying.” Jane removed her pelisse and her bonnet and then hung them upon a peg by the door. When she was done, she straightened her spectacles and sank into the chair closest to the fire. “I vow but though I’m sitting still, I feel as if I’m still inside that wretched carriage. I’d much rather travel by camel.”

  “They rock just as much.”

  “Yes, but their gait is much smoother, and they don’t toss you about as if you were a loose pebble in a box.”

  Michael shrugged out of his overcoat and tossed it over the back of the settee, then
dropped into the chair opposite hers. “The carriage smells better than a camel.”

  She curled her nose. “I’d forgotten about that.” The fire crackled cozily and Jane leaned toward the warmth, holding out her hands to the flames, her spectacles reflecting the fire. “Coach or camel, I’m glad we’re finally near our destination.”

  He grunted. “This cold and relentless travel makes me long for the warmth and comfort of the sulfi’s palace.”

  She chuckled. “I never thought I’d hear you say that about our prison, velvet lined as it was.”

  “I almost grew fond of that place; my brothers took so long to procure my release. It took them months.”

  “If I’d had another week or so, I’d have won our way free. The sulfi was beginning to show signs of reason.”

  Michael had to stare. “You have gone completely mad. He was not beginning to show signs of reason. You were too busy flirting with him to notice, which made for a very difficult situation when the time did come to leave.”

  She sniffed. “I was not flirting.”

  “You danced in front of him wearing the most revealing, low-cut—”

  “Nonsense. I performed a perfectly acceptable regional dance while wearing perfectly proper clothing for that culture, which you would know if you’d get your head out of a book once in a while.”

  “Acceptable? Proper? You wiggled your hips like a . . . a . . . a . . . I can’t even say it. And I won’t even begin on your choice of clothing.”

  “The sulfi’s wives helped me select those.”

  “I couldn’t believe you were willing to expose yourself like that. The whole thing was quite undignified, and your dance—I don’t wish to be cruel, but you lack a noticeable amount of grace. I’ve seen bears dance better.”

  He’d thought to irritate her, but instead she chuckled. “It was quite fun. Besides, you must admit that he treated us better after that. We were moved to better quarters and given more servants, better food, and even access to his library.”

  “He always treated you well. I was the one held captive.”