Well, maybe once or twice...But when she was younger she'd also believed she was all but married to Hugh - no challenge there, and yet she could think of little else but him.
"And what happens if I give in and your interest fades?" Hugh demanded. "When you get back to England among your friends and family and parties, your desire to stay with me will wane. This is obvious to me, Jane."
"It hasn't faded yet," she muttered.
He gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, aye, for the entire few weeks we've been together?"
She shook her head - now, where's that cliff?"I meant for the ten years we've been apart - or you can just round it up to half of my life."
He visibly swallowed. "Are you saying...? You doona mean..." His voice broke low. "Me, Jane?"
Jane sighed. "Yes, you - "
He tensed just as she thought she heard horses down the wooded drive. In one movement, he turned, shoving her behind him, and ripped off his shirt to cover her.
After Hugh's trail vanished in Scotland, Grey's options hadn't been promising.
This was Hugh's country, and the wilds were his element - never Grey's.
Worse, Hugh would bloodyknow he was good enough to lose Grey. That galled him.
If Grey hadn't been dallying with Ethan, he wouldn't have missed Hugh and Jane's nighttime departure. He found it ironic that by taking the time to kill one brother, he let another one escape.
Though he knew the countries of western Europe and northern Africa like the back of his hand, he'd never worked in Scotland. He was fluent in four languages, but Gaelic was not among them. The farther north he traveled, the more closemouthed and hostile the people were toward Englishmen - even more so toward Grey, who was emaciated and appeared ill. And possibly mad.
He had thought about returning to London to torture Weyland, but he knew the old man wouldn't talk - and Weyland probably didn't know for certain where they were anyway.
Just as Grey had begun to wonder if he could ever find them, he'd remembered that it was standard procedure in the Network to stay as close to telegraph lines as possible - and that only the most vital information, coded, of course, was dispatched.
Hugh would stay within a day's ride of a telegraph office, checking in periodically for word of Grey's capture or death, so he'd know when to return home. Even though Grey knew all the codes and possessed the keys, no message would be sent without his own defeat. Which was a conundrum. How could Grey get Weyland to telegraph?
Then he'd realized he didn't have to be defeated before a message was sent.
Word of Ethan's death would be considered critical.
Grey had suspected an urgent telegraph to Hugh about his brother would be sent to several stations throughout Scotland. In the end, Grey uncovered - through varying degrees of violence - that only four went out, and two of the receiving offices were located in this small area in the south central Highlands. Grey had combed every inch within a one-hundred-mile-radius of the first station and had almost completed the radius of the second. Hugh had to be around here somewhere.
Unfortunately, the people here were cold, as usual, and money had no effect on them.
He'd just decided to throttle someone for the information when he heard the nicker of a horse behind him. Glancing back, he spied, far up the road, a girl emerging from a path in the woods - one that he hadn't seen as he'd passed.
She was alone, leisurely riding a pony in the opposite direction, and she had no saddlebags. A day trip. Interesting. What was out in this wilderness? Perhaps Hugh's hideout?
This girl would likely be as closemouthed as every other Scot he'd encountered, but Grey just smiled, slipping medicine between his lips to ready himself. The wee black-haired miss obviously worked for a living. Grey's hand flitted to his blade, holstered at his hip.
Grey knew that women who worked for their bread were particularly keen on keeping their fingers.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Jane rested her chin in her palm, staring out the window down at Hugh as he drank with the other brawny Highlanders.
The sounds they'd heard on the drive had been half a dozen towering Scots riding what looked like warhorses - Mòrag's brothers, come to arrange work on the last part of the roof.
Hugh had joined them for homemade scotch, but hadn't invitedher to socialize. Which didn't bother her. Whatsoever. Nor did the fact that Hugh hadn't even seemed particularly interested in her earlier revelation, at least not more than he was in swilling mash with other Gaels well after sundown.
She was still reeling fromhis admission, and had dozens more questions for him, but he'd remained down there for hours. For someone who professed to being a loner, Hugh seemed to be getting along well with the men, and they treated him like one of their own. She frowned. Hewas one of their own. He was a tall and proud Highlander, and when he spoke to them in his low tone, these men quieted and listened. They already were growing to respect her steady, patient husband.
Jane twirled her hair at her lips, then sniffed. Lord, would she have to bathe in a vat of acid to get rid of that harsh wax smell? Barring a vat, she was having another bath - and she wouldn't be heating water for it. Hugh wouldn't miss her if she headed for the spring, and she couldn't go ask him to accompany her without being accused of "teasing."
Gathering her bathing gear and a towel, she exited the side door, away from the men. During the pleasant stroll, she gazed up at the nighttime sky and mused over the last few weeks with Hugh. She'd sensed she was wearing him down with each encounter they had, but did she really want a man she had to "wear down" to get him make love to her? A man who hadn't particularly seemed to care that she'd always had feelings for him?
When she reached the loch, she marveled at how beautiful it was here. The moon was full, yellow and ponderous in the sky, reflecting over the hint of fog enshrouding the surface. Steam rose in wisps from the concealed pocket of rocks containing the hot spring.
Breathtaking. Damn it, she didn'twant to leave Scotland. Now London seemed so drab, sooty, and heartless. When Grey was caught, how could Jane go back there, knowing what she was missing both with Hugh and with this country?
With a sigh, she disrobed. The water looked too appealing to resist any longer, and she slipped in. After setting her soaps and oils on the small ledge jutting from the side of a cliff, she washed her hair thoroughly. She'd just dunked under to finish rinsing it when Hugh appeared.
For the first time, she actually heard him before she saw him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that his hair was disheveled and his demeanor was weary, but his eyes...they burned wild.
"You didn't have to come out here to coddle me," she said. "Go back to your new friends."
He was silent, just staring.
"Are you drunk?" She'd never seen him this way. Even at Vinelands, he'd had no more than a glass of scotch while everyone else imbibed heartily.
"Aye," he finally answered. "But it does no' help."
"Help what?" she asked, bewildered by this new facet of Hugh.
"Help me stop wanting you day and night. And I've come to realize only one thing will."
She stood waist-deep in the water, her hair streaming down her back, looking at him over one shoulder. Steam swirled all around her, and a hunter's moon glowed above, illuminating the pale perfection of her body.
Long moments passed as they both remained still, breathing heavily, as if gauging what the other's next move would be. Unless she'd been jesting earlier, this exquisite woman had admitted to having feelings for him - foryears .
He'd rather not have known that.
He hadn't drunk with the MacLarty brothers only to make sure none of them got any ideas about his wife - especially after they'd all seen Jane in nothing but a wet shift and his shirt. He'd drunk because she'd absolutely staggered him -
She turned fully to him, arms by her sides. Something in him simply...snapped.
With a muttered curse, he snatched off his shirt, boots, and pants. He dove in after her, then yanked her naked slick body to him, pressing her close. Her hands trailed up his chest to twine behind his neck and her lush br**sts slipped against him, making her moan softly.
"This was supposed to fade, but it has no'," he slurred against her neck. "It's worse. How the bloody hell can it be worse?"
"I-I don't understand you, Hugh."
"You will," he said, then used a straight arm to sweep off her bathing oils from the rock ledge. He set her roughly atop the shelf, putting them face to face. She gasped, but he simply gazed at her, committing this scene to memory. Her dark hair was streaming over her br**sts, over her tight, jutting ni**les. The silky curls at her sex were stark against her pale, spread thighs. "So beautiful," he rasped. "You torment me. If you only knew..."