Adventures of a Scottish Heiress by Cathy Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page B

the one she’d hollowed out and used to hide her money, had been burned in the wagon. She had nothing. Her fingers refused to move and the plaid seemed to become more tangled.
    The Irishman solved the problem by pushing her hands out of the way and ripping the material. “Go!”
    She dared not disobey.
    Higher they climbed up the ravine. Once at the top, he kept her running, taking her by the arm and hurrying her faster than she’d ever moved in her life. They followed a rutted wagon road but it didn’t make travel any easier. Her chest hurt fromtrying to breathe. She had a pain in her side and her feet stumbled over each other, her shoes not made for such strenuous exercise.
    Abruptly he ordered, “Here, get down,” and pushed her beneath some bushes. Before she could think, he followed her, covering her body with his own and edging them both closer to the shrubbery’s roots. He even took the time to tuck her plaid close around her body. They lay so close together she could feel the racing beat of his heart against her own.
    Lyssa was thankful for the rest. However as her heartbeat returned to normal, she became aware of how uncomfortable her position was. He held her against the muscled wall of his chest, their bodies spooned together. Her arm, trapped under her body, began to hurt. Rocks and small twigs on the ground pressed painfully into her. The earth was rich here with the smells of rotting leaves and moss.
    She wiggled, needing to find a more comfortable position. His arm around her tightened. “Hold still.”
    “Do you think they are coming?” she whispered.
    “If they do, I don’t want the bush to be shaking.”
    He made sense. But Lyssa still had to pull her arm free, which he let her do. Lying on her stomach, she cradled her head on her arm and tried not to think about what sort of insects would becrawling around on the ground at night.
    Her nose itched. She dared to scratch it.
    All was still in the night. Not even the frogs croaked. She waited, expecting something to happen.
    Nothing did.
    Finally, she could be silent no longer. “What are we doing?”
    “Hiding.”
    His curt, obvious answer brought out a healthy flash of temper, an emotion she seized to keep other fears at bay. She rolled over to face him, intent upon giving him a much-needed rebuke. He accommodated her by shifting his weight and she ended up on her back. However, once there, Lyssa knew she didn’t want to be underneath him this way.
    There was even less space here than in the Gypsy wagon and she found herself practically nose to nose with him…not to mention the fact they were fit together—intimately.
    All anger vanished from her mind as the slow heat of embarrassment stole up her body. Her heart suddenly kicked up its beat. His lips were less than an inch from hers and his breath smelled like Cook’s warm buns when fresh from the oven, a scent that could lure her to the kitchen at any time and was disconcerting when connected to him.
    However, he was clearly annoyed with her maneuvering.His “Are you settled?” was like a slap in the face.
    “I’m trying to be,” she returned. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
    He did not mistake her meaning. Tension tightened his body. He raised his upper torso to glare down at her, the movement joining their lower bodies even closer. Lyssa caught her breath at the bold intimacy, realizing it was one thing to tweak the pride of a dandified lord on a dance floor and something else completely to challenge this man, who knew no rules…or boundaries.
    But then he slid over as if the contact had been of no consequence and wedged himself closer to the shrubbery roots…and she felt a disquieting stab of regret. Uncertainty was not a comfortable feeling. She didn’t know if it came from the loss of his body heat and the safety his strong presence provided or the possibility that she had insulted him—not that Lyssa was afraid to stand up for herself.
    However, as she and the Irishman lay