The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(28)

Her gaze slid to his mouth. For lips that were often thinned and pulled in a rather grim line, they were certainly soft and smooth as honey when he wanted them to be. For that matter, she would never have expected such a rough and uncouth warrior to kiss with such skill and tenderness.

Obviously, those “hundreds” had not been without effect.

Why did that realization make her chest ache?

It wasn’t that she cared who he’d been with, she told herself, it was just that she didn’t like surprises. Especially ones that were so devastating. And that kiss certainly qualified.

Mother Mary, she’d nearly let him take her innocence! Indeed, she’d practically handed it to him with no more inducement than a skilled kiss and a few heated caresses.

Her cheeks burned. Well, maybe more than a few. She had to force herself not to drop her gaze further, remembering the incredible sensation of the thick column of his manhood riding against her. She’d wanted him even closer. She’d wanted him—her cheeks burned—inside her. Wanted it so intensely that she would have thrown away everything—her virtue, her morals, her honor. She’d been brought up a lady, never allowed either of her betrotheds even a chaste kiss, but with one press of his lips he’d turned her into a wanton.

The charged silence stretched on until finally, he broke it. “That should never have happened.”

For once they were in agreement.

His gaze had shuttered, and once again she found herself looking at the hard, implacable warrior.

“I hope you will accept my apology, but”—he should have stopped there—“you made me angry.”

Janet was aghast. “So this is my fault for not meekly following along and doing your bidding?”

His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm. “Meek and biddable might help to remind me that you are a nun. And pious and serene, for that matter. You don’t act like any woman of the cloth I’ve ever met.”

“And have you had ‘hundreds’ of them with whom to compare me as well?”

He stilled, his gaze turning as hard and penetrating as a steel dagger. “What happened to your accent?”

Janet hoped she hadn’t gone as pale as it felt like she had. “What are you talking about?” she replied in her Italian accented French, careful not to overdo it.

But he was like a hunter who’d just trapped a hare and wasn’t about to let go. He took her by the elbow. “What are you hiding, Sister? Who the hell are you?”

Fear rose inside her as those penetrating steel-blue eyes locked on hers. She felt exposed and wanted to run, but had no place to hide. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as the veil she’d erected between them threatened to dissolve. She just wanted him to let her go.

“I’m an innocent maid in the service of the Bishop of St. Andrews whom you almost seduced. That’s all you need to know, and all that matters. Do not attempt to absolve your own guilt by seeing things that aren’t there and making excuses for your own actions.”

Her dagger had drawn blood. He dropped her arm and stepped back. “You are right.”

Janet felt a twist of guilt in her chest, seeing the shame once again on his face, and wanted to reach for him. But she kept her hand firmly planted at her side. It’s better this way, she told herself.

“There is no excuse, and I will not attempt to make one. You have every right to blame me for what happened. You can be assured I will confess my sins at the next opportunity.” His mouth fell in that grim line that she was beginning to find strangely attractive. He gave her a pleading look, which she suspected was rare and didn’t appear to sit very comfortably on his face.

He reached his hand to his head as if he meant to rake his fingers through his hair, but then let it drop. “Look, can’t we just try to forget about this and pretend it never happened? I don’t want there to be any difficulties when we reach Berwick.”

She would like nothing better. But Janet suspected forgetting about it and pretending it had never happened was going to be impossible. Even now, just looking at him, her skin flushed with a new awareness. Passion, desire … lust. Like Pandora, she’d opened the lid and was now tasked with finding a way to put away all those feelings again. But once released, would they ever go back?

She had to try.

Difficulties, he’d said. He was obviously concerned that she’d tell Lamberton what had happened. Janet was about to assure him that she’d rather swallow nails than speak of what had occurred here, when she stopped, considering what else he’d said: Berwick. She hated using his torment against him, but in this case, she told herself it was warranted. She had a job to do.

She nodded. “Confession will ease my mind a great deal. There is a small church in Roxburgh where you can go while I attend to my business in the castle.”

“We aren’t going to Roxburgh. Berwick will be soon enough.”

“Not for me. Besides, if I return to Berwick having failed to bring back those sugared nuts, the bishop might wonder why, and I will have to give him an explanation.” They both knew she wasn’t talking about nuts. “It is no more than a half-mile away. Please, I will be careful, and there is no cause to think there will be any danger. I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

Her gentle teasing and attempt to ease the tension between them elicited nary a flicker of a smile. Ewen wasn’t in the mood for teasing.