Page 29 of This Laird of Mine

Claire’s throat tightened. She would have her girls.

“Milady?” David’s voice broke into her thoughts. Claire turned back around and looked up at Jules’s friend, at his long, drawn face, his uncertain expression. “If my words upset you, I apologize. I simply wanted you to know we are here to support him.”

“Thank you, David. I appreciate your honesty.” She forced a bright smile despite the fact that her soul felt as though it was slowly being ripped in half.

Jules watched Claire enter the newly furnished green salon with David. She was laughing at something he said, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes sparkled, framed by tendrils of her over-bright hair that had worked their way free from her chignon to cradle her cheeks.

She seemed different—happier, definitely more relaxed, but also with a hint of sorrow in her eyes. Puzzled by the mixture, Jules watched her as David, the youngest male among them, led her to the newly acquired settee, then sat down beside her. She never stopped talking to David, who listened intently to her every word, his dark eyes unusually bright.

Something had happened between them, Jules thought, watching the couple discreetly while pretending to listen to what Jane said about all the new furniture they had purchased in the village. Something had forged a friendship between the two of them, or was it something more? Perhaps David desired Claire . . .

She was his wife.

Jules frowned at the thought. When had he started to think of her as such? It was ridiculous, and yet there was no denying the tension that tightened his hands or the pulse of jealousy that warmed his blood at the way David’s gaze lingered not on Claire’s eyes, but on the swell of her breasts, rising above her tight bodice.

Jules’s blood raced hot and furious through his veins. Before he knew what he was doing, he apologized to Jane, stood, then strode across the room.

“Claire,” he demanded, feeling the harshness of his voice echo in the thrumming of his blood.

Her conversation with David ceased. Her gaze shot to his, following his every move as he came closer and held out his hand. Her brow rose in question.

“Come with me to the cellar. We must select wine for supper tonight.” He knew there was very little wine left in the barrels, yet he had to do something to get her away from David.

With an apologetic smile at David, she accepted Jules’s hand and rose. He could not say why it angered him that she was speaking with David, but it did. And even more infuriating was the way in which she lifted her chin, met his gaze, and his challenge.

He had wanted to ignore her, to force her out of his life as rapidly as she had come into it. Yet there was something about her that was impossible to ignore. Her innocence disarmed him. Her calm determination defeated him at every turn.

He drew a stuttering breath, trying to calm his racing heart. No one had ever affected him like this, not even Jane. With Jane, he had been attracted to her beauty, her sweetness, her compassion, but their relationship had always been one of discussion and deep thought.

He and Jane had never kissed. And if truth be told, he realized now that from the time he had been thirteen years old, he’d set Jane on a pedestal of perfection that not even she could achieve. He had turned her into an untouchable goddess, and the culmination of all his dreams.

Jules frowned. With Claire, his responses were visceral, deep, anguishing. She tempted him as he had never been tempted before. Slowly, he could feel her breaking down the barriers he had built around himself, feel her piercing through the numbness he had allowed to wrap around his heart. He had learned in gaol to distance himself from feelings. It had been the only way to maintain his sanity at the time.

Why was she trying so hard to get close to him? He had nothing to offer her except poverty, disappointment, and debt. She could never be his. It would be better for them both if he ended this charade now.

He pushed the cellar door open, lit a torch, then turned to face her. He could feel his blood pounding through his veins, but it had quickly changed from anger. He stared at her moist, full lips. With just a look he remembered their taste. He could feel her softness beneath his palms. Damnation, how he craved her.

“Before I tell the others, I wanted you to know I am leaving,” he said, resisting the urge to touch her hair, her cheek.

“You’re leaving?” she looked at him with such grief in her eyes he had to look away.

“Not forever,” he clarified. “Since Grayson cannot come to us, I must go to Edinburgh to find the proof of our marriage. The church or the solicitor will have documents, if any truly exist. St. Giles, you said?”

“Yes.” She released a soft sigh. “You won’t send that young messenger back to Edinburgh?”

Jules brought his gaze back to hers. “I’ll not risk Joseph’s life for something that should clearly fall on my shoulders. Besides, I have business to conduct in town as well.”

She moved toward him. “Jules . . .”

“We need wine for supper.” He dodged her touch and went to the wine barrels lining the right side of the cellar; whiskey barrels lined the left. He reached for a wooden pitcher, made certain it didn’t contain dust or debris, then opened the spigot. Nothing came out. He tipped the barrel and was rewarded for his efforts with a thin stream of pungent wine.

“I could go with you,” she said, her voice quiet yet hopeful.

“No, this is something I must do alone. Look after our guests.” He had meant to say his friends, but had changed his words at the last moment in order to include her in his life, at least in some small way. He shook his head, trying to clear her from his thoughts. He had to stay focused on that one task.

“When do you leave?”

“First light.” He averted her gaze, fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms and carry her to his room, then spend the entire night exploring every inch of her body with his lips, his hands, and his mouth. What was it about her that made him lose his focus time and again?