but I think we have crossed the line where we may use our Christian names.”
Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she repeated her question. “ Mr. Shaw, what would you have me give?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You are a chilly one. Are all British ladies like you?” Without waiting for her response, he reached out and reclaimed her hand, tugging her nearer. “I wonder what I could possibly want from such an attractive lady?”
She permitted him to pull her close, watched his well-carved lips move, hugging every word as he spoke. The rake.
Lips a hairsbreadth from her own, she heard herself ask in her starchiest tone the one question most likely to gain a reaction, “Tell me, Mr. Shaw. Are you in the habit of kissing married women?” She held her breath, waiting to see what kind of man he was—how deep his honor ran.
He paused, the whole of him tensing beneath her.
“Married?” His eyes dropped to her ring finger. “You wear no ring.”
“I left it behind lest some person of dubious morals decide to relieve me of it,” she lied. The ring had vanished in the night with Bertram years ago. Along with the rest of her jewelry.
“Shit.” He released her as if he suddenly held a viper in his grasp. His pale blue eyes roved over her regretfully. “Pity.”
She had so few dealings with truly honorable men that she did not quite know what to say at his immediate release of her. She knew Bertram considered married women fair play. As did most gentlemen of the ton . It would not have stopped them. Not as it stopped Griffin Shaw.
“And where is this husband?” His gaze flicked about the room as if he would find Bertram tucked away in some corner.
“I’m to meet him in Dubhlagan,” she replied, hoping he did not pry further, that he did not ask for answers she was unprepared to give.
“Ah, my destination as well.” He nodded slowly. “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you and your companion? I feel obliged to see you reach your destination safely.” He sat up higher on the bed.
“My companion?” She felt her brow wrinkle. “Oh, you mean Coral. She resigned her post. It appears she lacks the constitution for Scottish…weather.” Her mouth twisted at the wholly inaccurate euphemism.
“Weather? The girl seemed hardy enough. She had a strong set of lungs on her as I recall.” He lifted a dark brow in skepticism.
Astrid felt her lips twitch.
“So she left you here alone, then?” he asked. “Rather cowardly of her.”
Astrid shrugged. “I still have my driver. So you needn’t feel obliged to see me to my destination.”
“But I do,” he countered. “You’ve already sampled the dangers of this—”
“It’s unnecessary,” she insisted.
He studied her a long moment before replying. “Where I come from Indians believe that once you save a person’s life, you are forever bound.”
Their eyes held for a long moment. Longer than appropriate. Longer than comfortable.
“And what if one has no wish to be bound?” she asked, her voice a treacherous shiver on the air.
“One cannot simply decide to be freed.” His eyes roamed her face, searching. Looking deeply at her…in a way no one had ever looked at her before. Almost as though he saw her. Truly saw her. “In our case, we saved each other. I suppose that makes us doubly bound to one another.”
Bound . To him. A stranger? Another man .
She was already bound to one man she did not want. Must she suffer ties to another? Even one as enticing as him? Would she never be free?
With a small shake of her head, she dismissed the foolish thought. Of course not. He was being fanciful. Likely toying with her. They were not bound because they helped each other out of a sticky situation. Stuff and nonsense.
Her gaze drifted from his watchful eyes to his bandaged forehead.” Well, I don’t think you are fit to travel anywhere. Not for a good while.”
He brushed his fingers over his bandaged
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley