The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(46)

Rather than be intimidated—as any lass in her right mind should be—the lass only looked more outraged. Stretching to her full height, a good foot shorter than he, she stood toe-to-toe with him and dotted her tiny finger into his chest to emphasize her words. “You have no right to order me to do anything. What I do is none of your business.”

Whether it was her words or the thought of his father, he didn’t know. But as quickly as the anger had stoked inside him, it was doused. Ewen was nothing like his father. Nothing.

His father had been rash and undisciplined, wild and irresponsible. He had no concept of duty and loyalty.

Ewen knew exactly where his duty lay, and it wasn’t in laying with her.

He stepped back. “You’re right.”

He should thank her for reminding him. He wasn’t going to have this conversation because it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. Janet of Mar was not for him.

It didn’t matter that no other woman had ever affected him like this. It didn’t matter that he took one look at her and felt every inch, every bone, every ounce of blood in his body heat with desire so fierce and raw that it took his breath away. It didn’t matter that she made him angry. It didn’t matter that she was the first woman he could talk to without having to worry about whether he’d said something wrong.

Hell, it didn’t even matter that he liked her. So what? Marriage wasn’t based on likes and dislikes. It was based on duty, and people did their duty and ignored their personal desires every day.

Civilized men—responsible men—didn’t simply take a woman because they wanted her. His father might have done that, but he wasn’t his damned father. He didn’t get impassioned about anything, damn it. And sure as hell not about a woman.

Except her.

He swore. It was only a few days. He could handle a few days of almost anything—including being aroused to the point of pain.

His physical discomfort was almost worth the expression on her face. His sudden retreat had discombobulated her.

She blinked up at him. “I am?”

He nodded. “Aye. It’s not any of my business. But you’d think after what happened with your sister at the bridge, you would be more cautious.” She flinched, and Ewen sensed that his barb had struck deeper than he’d intended. But maybe it would make her think. “Now, if you are ready, we should go.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left before the hurt in her eyes made him do something stupid.

Stung by the reminder of her sister, Janet watched him walk away. What had just happened? One minute he was looking at her as if he didn’t know whether to throttle her or kiss her (she was rather hoping for the latter), and the next he was walking away as if he didn’t care one whit about her.

Perhaps he didn’t.

The realization stabbed. Why was he acting like this, so cold and indifferent? Good heavens, he’d seemed more attracted to her when he’d thought she was a nun!

Something had changed between them, and it wasn’t just a veil. She’d thought …

What? That he felt something for her? That there had been some kind of special connection between them? Had her own feelings made her see something that wasn’t there?

It wasn’t often that Janet felt unsure of herself, but it was becoming an all-too-frequent occurrence around Ewen Lamont. How a rough, uncouth soldier with limited communication skills (which sounded better than “spares words but not feelings”) and abysmal manners could leave her so unbalanced and confused defied comprehension. She’d come across a thousand men like him (although admittedly not many who were built like a stone wall and handsome enough to make her knees weak).

She didn’t know what she wanted from him. He wasn’t right for her—she knew that. He was too opinionated, too rigid, too much like her patronizing “lasses-can’t-do-that” brothers and father. But she couldn’t deny that seeing him again made her heart flutter as if she were a thirteen-year-old lass who’d just met her first handsome knight. She felt silly and woozy and flushed all at the same time.

Jerusalem’s temples, she couldn’t even breathe right! All he had to do was stand next to her and the wild fluttering of her heart took over her lungs, making her breath quicken into short little gasps.

And heaven forbid he touch her! If he touched her, she would turn into a horrible soupy mess. All melty and hot, and unable to think straight.

She was too old to be acting like this. Surely these kind of feelings were the province of lovesick young girls, and not a woman of seven and twenty who was basically a nun?

Except there was no “basically” when it came to being a nun. He’d made her remember that she was a woman. A woman who was no longer young, but who knew exactly what she was going to do, until he’d come along and confused her with his no-nonsense, say-whatever-is-on-his mind and won’t-be-gainsaid manner, his ruggedly handsome face, that broad chest and distracting display of muscle, and most of all, the fierce taste of passion that had shown her just how far from nunhood she really was.

Instead of trying to remember every facet of a kiss that should never have happened, she should be focusing on her job. And instead of feeling excited at the prospect of spending time with him over the next few days on the journey north, she should be angry at him for insisting that she leave the Borders and interfering with her mission yet again.