The Ghost Read online

  His jaw tightened.

  Her belly clenched . . . low.

  The tic below his jaw began to pulse and those tiny white lines reappeared around his mouth.

  He wanted her, but he didn’t look happy about it, and something about that stung. It stung quite a lot, and brought out a streak of heretofore unknown wickedness in her. Wickedness that made her want him to eat his words. Every last one of them.

  If he thought her a whore, so be it. He was just like all the rest. People always let you down. Why would she have expected more?

  She leaned into his hold, pressing her body against his. “And what of you, Sir Alex?” She blinked up at him coyly. “Although I’m sure a chivalrous knight like yourself is too principled for tumbling out of alcoves.”

  Senses Alex didn’t even know he had exploded at contact. It had been hard enough holding back his desire when those incredible breasts had been displayed only inches away for him to admire every mouthwatering ripe curve, every delectable point, and every tantalizingly deep crevice.

  Christ, she was practically bursting out of the gown. The fabric seemed to stretch to the breaking point to contain all that straining flesh. All he had to do was reach down, slide his finger along the edge of her bodice, and he’d see the pink of her nipple. What shade would they be? A delicate light pink or succulent, berry red like her mouth?

  Aye, looking was difficult, but having them crushed against his chest, that was torture unlike any he’d ever felt before. He ached to touch them, to feel the full weight in his hand, to rub his finger over the silky skin and pebbled tips, to squeeze and lift them to his mouth and tongue. Just thinking about it made him crazed with lust. His body was as hard as a damned spike.

  Those siren eyes didn’t help any. They dragged him in and made him think of pleasure. Of hot, twisted limbs in bedsheets, of sweaty, naked flesh, of sin and passion and lust.

  She was temptation and base desire, and a damned fantasy come to life. It took everything he had not to pull her into his arms and cover that taunting, but achingly soft red mouth with his. He knew how good she would taste, how good she would smell. Like warm honey and flowers in the spring . . .

  The fierce intensity of his reaction infuriated him. He knew what she was doing, damn it. She was only trying to provoke him. He should be repulsed by the obvious ploy. But his body sure as hell didn’t understand. It throbbed, ached, and tightened to the point of pain.

  Ploy or not, he was good and provoked. He was going to take what she offered, damn it, and teach her a lesson about prodding hungry lions with a stick—or in this case, two very firm and barely covered breasts that he’d be picturing for too many nights to come.

  He slid his arm around her waist to pull her even closer, groaning at how good she felt. She seemed to melt right into him. She gasped at the movement, and his mouth was about two seconds away from smothering the next one, when he suddenly swore and pulled back.

  Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t teach women lessons like that. He sounded like a barbarian. Women were to protect, cherish, honor, and revere.

  He released her so quickly she seemed to need to catch herself. But that didn’t explain the slightly dazed look on her face. She blinked a few times, staring at him in confusion.

  Clearly she’d expected him to kiss her, and just as clearly she’d been surprised when he hadn’t.

  But was there something else? Had she wanted him to kiss her? Had the ploy been less of a game than he thought?

  He raked his hand back through his hair, and told himself not to think about that. The lass was confusing him enough. When he thought of how close he’d come to doing something dishonorable—maybe very dishonorable—it shamed him.

  How the hell had this happened anyway? He’d only wanted to talk to her, but when she’d left the castle instead of returning to the tower he’d become curious about where she was going, and, admittedly, whom she might be going with.

  He’d been angry—maybe more than angry—and so he’d acted like an arse.

  He’d only wanted to protect her, damn it, but his well-intentioned warning had gone all wrong. Instead of the delicate diplomacy that the situation demanded, Alex had come storming in with the blunt force of a hammer. The only other person who could make him lose his temper like that had been Boyd.

  He took a deep breath as if he could forcibly purge the torrent of emotions that still raged in his blood. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped, and then started again. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”

  The wariness in the way she eyed him filled him with shame. This wasn’t him, damn it. He didn’t argue and lose his temper with young women—or threaten to ravish them against a wall.

  Wariness, however, did not dull the blade of her tongue. “For what?” she asked. “For following me? For accosting me in the streets? For lecturing me about that which is none of your business? For being a sanctimonious, self-righteous prig? Or for nearly doing yourself that which you judge me for doing?”

  His mouth hardened. She might be right, damn it, but he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. He was trying to apologize. “I was speaking out of concern—”

  “I don’t want, nor did I ask, for your concern.”

  He could feel the anger building again and tried to contain it, but his spine stiffened. “I don’t think you realize the ramifications of what you’re doing and the lasting harm it might do. I’m trying to protect you.”

  His words had no effect. She seemed to be struggling to contain her anger. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor to rescue me from myself, Sir Alex. Despite your belief that I am not capable of thinking for myself, I know exactly what I’m doing and the ramifications.”

  “That isn’t what I meant. I don’t think you are incapable of thinking for yourself, damn it.”

  He couldn’t recall ever forgetting himself and swearing in the company of a lass before. But she didn’t appear to notice and acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “You may have known my mother, but you are not responsible for me, nor does it give you a right to interfere, lecture me, or give me the wisdom of your opinion. All I want from you—the only thing I want—is that you leave me alone.”

  He suspected his eyes were every bit as flashing and sparking as hers when their gazes met. His jaw was locked; he didn’t trust himself to speak.

  What was it about this lass that made him so crazed? That made him act like an arse and feel like a barbarian? That made him tempted—even now when she was so obviously furious with him—to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she listened to him?

  Bloody hell.

  When she marched off, he didn’t try to stop her. Leaving her alone was exactly what he should do.

  7

  IT RAINED THE next three days, delaying the ride with Sir Hugh, but Monday dawned bright and sunny—much to Joan’s dismay.

  She knew she should be anxious to go to Wark, but the brief respite had only increased her wariness where Sir Hugh was concerned. For three days he’d stalked her like a predator ready to pounce, and for three days she’d made sure she did not leave her chamber without the company of one of her cousins.

  Proving his astuteness, Sir Hugh seemed suspicious when he commented about it at dinner one night. Whether he believed her explanation about her “duties,” she didn’t know. But his gaze definitely sharpened when he saw Margaret approaching the stables with her.

  “Lady Margaret,” he said. “What a delightful surprise.”

  Clearly it wasn’t.

  “I hope you don’t mind my coming along,” Margaret said with a bright, good-natured smile. “But after being cooped up in the castle for most of the week, I couldn’t pass up the prospect of a ride.”

  Joan held her expression impassive as Sir Hugh’s gaze flickered to hers before turning back to her cousin’s. Margaret was more skillful with dishonesty than Joan realized. She’d asked her cousin to accompany them, claiming—honestly—that she wasn’t sure she could trust Sir Hugh no