If You Desire - Cole Kresley (книга регистрации .TXT) 📗

She'd watched him kill with his hands, but she understood he'd had no choice.Necessary. The thought came from nowhere:She could accept that I've killed. Without judging me.

But could she accept the way he'd done it?

In the papers and in literature, assassins were regarded as cowardly and were universally reviled—even those from one's own country. In the last three major Continental wars, every army that captured snipers executed them summarily—there were no prisoners, no exchanges. Not that there would have been bargaining for gunmen like Hugh anyway….

None of this mattered. Hugh couldn't tell her of his involvement without divulging others'.

"Hugh?"

"I could have let the second one run for his life."

"What if there were others in his gang? Or h-he might have wanted revenge for the death of the other. Or he could have caused a commotion, and then Grey would know we've been here."

Hugh might have considered these factors, but he hadn't. There'd been no thoughts in his head when he caught the second man—nothing but the need to kill him for daring to touch her.

"You don't feel guilty, do you?" Jane asked.

"It dinna exactly improve my mood."

She twisted around, wriggling over his leg and against his arm so she could face him. Irritation was clear in her expression. "You act as if you'd had to shoot orphans and kittens! You killedkillers ." She frowned, her voice growing soft. "Do you regret having to do that to save me?"

His arm tightened around her. "No, lass, never."I relished it. "I just would rather…I dinna want you to see that."

She blinked at him. "To see how brave you are? To see you just stand there while the man shot at you?"

"It was no' bravery. The odds were slim that he could have hit me in a place that would put me down before I could get to him. And I meant that I dinna want you to see blood and death. I doona want that memory to follow you. To hurt you."

"Ifit was a memory that could hurt me, I simply wouldn't allow it to pervade my life. I don't want you to think I'm glib, or cold." She seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. "But I believe when the load gets too heavy, we have to shuck some weight from our shoulders. And Hugh"—she gently laid her hands on his forearm locked across her middle—"it really seems that you need to lighten your load."

What if I did?What if he just refused to feel guilt over his deeds and stopped dwelling on all he'd done? The temptation to do so was great.

Another mile passed in silence. At length, she murmured, "Hugh, when you called me your wife like that…" She trailed off.

He briefly closed his eyes. "I know. It will no' happen again."

"Th-that's not what I was going to say." She was trembling against his chest, her wee hands tightening their grip on his arm.

"Then what?"

Her next words made him sweat for the first time that day. "When you called me your wife, I found I really…like it."

If Jane had been curious about Hugh's life before the attack yesterday, now she was desperate to know more.

Though they'd finally slowed their pace to ascend a slippery embankment, she wouldn't question him now. She glanced over at him riding beside her in the morning sun, and her heart ached at how exhausted he appeared. He'd been ever wary, so vigilant to protect her—and they'd ridden hard.

The attack had demonstrated yet again how stalwart a guardian Hugh was. When she'd had the knife at her throat, she hadn't believed she was going to die—not then—but she had comprehended how her life would end if it came down to Grey.

Jane wouldn't take another minute with Hugh for granted.

"We're almost there, lass," he said then, with an encouraging nod. "I ken how hard this has been for you."

"For me? What about for you?" He and his horse looked much like they had that night in London.

He shrugged. "I'm accustomed to days like this."

"Of course," she said absently as she tilted her head to study him.

Hugh was a powerful protector, ready to unleash a chilling violence; yet, with her, he was tender and passionate. He had secrets, but she knew he'd be a faithful husband. He'd always desired her happiness above his own.

Just then, a breeze blew a lock of his thick black hair over one of his dark eyes….

She swallowed hard. Recognition took hold.

The Scotsman is…mine.As she gazed at him, she realized he was stillher Hugh. Jane wanted him, always had, but now she felt an abiding respect for him—a deeper, more mature…love. Oh, lord, she didn't love Hugh as much as she had before.

She loved him much, much more.

Yet she'd barely survived his leavingbefore —now what would happen to her if she lost him again?

She had decided he would be her first lover. Now she knew that this quiet, wonderful man had to be her last.How can I get him to stay wed to me? she thought, feeling panic rush through her at the thought of being forced to part from him.No! Calm down. Think!

"Jane, what's wrong?" he asked.

"N-nothing." She eked out a smile for him as a plan evolved in her mind.

No teasing. Only seduction. And only for keeps.

He frowned in return, and once they'd reach the rise, he increased their pace again. She was glad of the time to think.

Obviously, she needed him alone to prove that living with her wouldn't be a "wee bit like hell." So, she was pleased anew they weren't going to Carrickliffe.

Unfortunately, the only thing more undermining than a clan of strangers would beCourtland MacCarrick —who'd always hated her.

Hugh had said he didn't expect Court to be at his secluded home.Perfect. And barring Court's presence, nothing could keep them from staying there.

Chapter Thirty-three

Abit of work, my arse.Hugh stifled another curse.

Upon reaching the border lands of Beinn a'Chaorainn, Court's property in the wilds of Scotland, Hugh had had his first sense of unease. The long, winding drive was overrun with fallen trees, strewn across it at irregular intervals. They were rotting, meaning no one had been here in ages, not even a caretaker with a work cart.

By the time the house came into view, rain clouds had gathered, casting the manor in an ominous light. At the sight of it, Jane seemed to wilt in her saddle. The estate where Hugh had planned to hide Jane for possibly the entire fall…left a lot to be desired.

With a sinking feeling, he surveyed the tangled, stunted gardens, the front door hanging askew from one rusted hinge, the windows either broken out or matted with dirt and dead ivy.

At that moment, something wide-eyed and furry careened out of the front doorway.

He glanced at Jane. Her lips were parted, her breaths little puffs in the cold air. Dark circles were stark against her pale face. Their pace had been furious, but Hugh had reasoned that they could rest and recuperate at Beinn a'Chaorainn. Yet even under the strain of their travels, she'd been trying to cheerhim up, keeping her mood buoyant for him, sweetly scolding him for brooding.

Now, Jane's expression was guarded as Hugh dismounted and helped her from her horse. Without a word, he strode inside with his shoulders back, as if taking her here hadn't been a colossal error. The next viable alternative was to go to the clan, and he'd wanted to avoid that at all costs.

Hugh crossed the threshold, took one good look around.And so the clan it will be.

Feathers and nests from grouse and pigeons littered the hall. It appeared that red squirrels, maybe badgers or even foxes denned here, and Hugh couldhear teeming in the chimney. As if standing in sentinel, a pine marten was poised upright in the entry hallway, front legs bowed aggressively.

"Look, Hugh!" Jane cried, showing genuine energy for the first time today. "It's a ferret. Or part cat? I can't tell." She eased past Hugh, cooing, "It's the most adorable wittle thing."