Page 8 of This Laird of Mine

“You cannot scare me, Lord Kildare. I know more about life and the vile places it can take a person than you ever will.”

At the unexpected response, he pressed his lips together. Was she a wanton, then? A fancy woman thinking to entrap him? She looked like an angel, but a comely appearance could hide a dark soul.

Jules clenched his fists at the direction of his thoughts. He could not lose himself to his past troubles. He had to stay focused on Claire—why she was here, what she intended with him.

He would not know until he did his own investigating. But before he spent the time and energy on his so called “wife,” he intended to speak with Grayson about her claims. Why would Grayson betray him, betray his creation of the “perfect” wife by finding a real woman to play the role?

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, she said, “I am who I say I am. You will not deny me my rights as your wife, will you?”

He let a moment tick past before he answered her. “Until I have proof of our marriage, I cannot claim you to be anything but an interloper.”

Her lips curved into a cynical smile. “Very well. If that is how you will play this. But be aware that I am not going anywhere while you determine the truth behind my words. In the meantime, I intend to make our guests comfortable.” She turned away, heading toward the stairs.

He caught her hand and pulled her around, not harshly, as her fingers threaded with his before the touch ended. In that brief contact, an awareness arced between them, left him tingling and off balance. “And what about me, Claire? Will you act the part of wife for me?” Jules asked, attempting to sound fierce. Instead a husky timbre resonated in his voice.

Claire’s posture infused with unexpected steel. Her features hardened. The weakness he had seen earlier was no longer evident, and he realized there was more to this woman than he’d first thought. “There is room in this tiny chamber for only one of us, milord,” she said.

“Is that a challenge?” Ignoring all the warnings in his head, Jules reached for her hand once more, knowing as he did he was playing with fire.

She stepped out of his reach. “Think of it however you will, husband. I might be a woman who had no option but to accept what it was you or your solicitor offered on your behalf. But the marriage agreement I signed was very real. I am your wife.”

Her declaration goaded awake a long-dormant devil within him, a misplaced part of himself he had managed to temper over the years to a polished sheen of civility. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he moved toward her. She tensed as he crept ever closer, until he was rewarded with her faint, intoxicating fragrance.

A flicker of surprise flared in her eyes and her breath whispered across his cheek a heartbeat before he pulled her forward, crushing her petal-soft mouth beneath his. For one heady moment her mouth was pliant, and then she fought, pushing him away.

The innocence of this exchange startled him. She had no audience before which to perform. And yet the kiss felt almost real . . .

Hot color flooded her cheeks. “You may only kiss me when I allow it,” she said, drawing back, her chest rising and falling with each rapid intake of breath.

“Well, then. If you are to remain here and impose on my hospitality, then you’d best get used to allowing me to kiss you frequently. For I will have some payment for my generosity.”

She gasped.

He smiled, feeling once more in control of the situation. “You are not my wife. You are a creation of my own making, and one I intend to rid myself of as easily as you were created.”

She frowned. “I will not make that easy.”

His smile increased. “Yet another challenge, my dear?”

She delivered him a sharp, angry glance. “You cannot drive me away.”

Again, that devilish side of himself reared and without hesitation he acted. He grasped her hand, spinning her around, and pulled her backside against his chest, pinning her free arm to her side.

“Consider your challenge accepted,” he breathed against the back of her ear.

She struggled in his grasp, but her movements were hampered by her heavy skirts. Still, one booted foot came down on his instep, drawing a hiss of pain from him. And as quickly as the pain came and went, so too did the sudden realization of how intimately he held her. As her buttocks pressed against his loins, desire, slid down his spine. For a heartbeat he allowed the indulgence, basked in the sensation of feeling alive again, feeling lust, desire, and physical need like he had not in so many years. He might have a reputation as a reprobate thanks to his stepmother and her gossip amongst the servants, but the reality was nothing of the sort.

In that moment of relaxing his guard while his thoughts wandered, Claire pulled out of his grasp. And with a rapid intake of breath and a swish of her skirts, she disappeared down the stairs.

He stared after her, and a sensual image of Claire reclining naked upon the small, sagging bed ambushed him, flooding his mind, filling his senses. He breathed sharply. Her scent lingered in the room. His body tightened further at the sweet torture she had evoked. The woman was an intruder in his life, yet she bewitched him like no other woman before.

Even Jane.

His heart raced at the realization. How could he possibly be bewitched by such a scheming interloper as Claire Elliot, when Jane, in all her perfection, was in a room belowstairs?

One exchange with Claire and he had forgotten all about the woman he’d loved since he was twelve years old.

Jules released a heartfelt groan. For that very reason, he had to get rid of Claire.