It Happened in the Highlands(27)

The following morning, as he packed his sword with his pistols under the  seat of the carriage, Wynne was still thinking of his son's  encouragement to pursue Jo.

No doubt existed, in either his mind or his heart, that he wanted her.  He'd dreamed of her a thousand times. Since her arrival, he continually  sought her out or kept an eye on her whereabouts at all times. She was  back in his life, and her effect on him was stronger than it had been  sixteen years ago.

His blood pulsed each time he recalled riding back from the village with  Cuffe and coming upon the pandemonium at the fish pond. When he heard  her name cried out with such anguish along with the heartrending  entreaties to save her, he'd become a madman himself until he saw her  standing upright and wading through the water.

Later, her announcement that she was leaving wreaked havoc in Wynne's  mind. He was struck with the fear that he'd found her only to lose her  again. He dreaded that once she returned to the protective arms of her  family, his connection with her would be severed forever.

As a widower at his age, with wealth and a place in society, Wynne could  probably have entered into marriage again. But he'd never been prepared  to take that step. He would never consider a foolish match. He had no  desire for a child bride, regardless of her dowry or her position. His  sights had always been set higher. His devotion to his son dictated that  he choose a woman with a strong mind and a kind heart.                       
       
           



       

On the list of women he wanted, Jo Pennington occupied the first and only place.

Leaving the driver and groom with his coach and four, Wynne went back up the half-dozen steps into the north annex.

Jo was the woman for him, but he feared a proposal right now would only  invite rejection. He could make his feelings for her known; he could  reveal the true workings of his heart, but their future lay in her  hands. He'd withdrawn from her already when they were young; this time  it was up to Jo whether they should try again. All he could do was to be  here; she needed to decide if a future with him was worthy of a second  chance.

As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he saw Jo coming down the stairs alone.

"You're not bringing your maid?" he asked, after they'd exchanged greetings.

"As you know, sir, I'm well past the age of thirty," she answered  lightly. "I have little need to worry about a damaged reputation."

"Your courage does you great credit, Lady Jo," he said in mock seriousness as he led her out into the courtyard.

"And you, Captain? Are you worried?"

Wynne pretended he was resigned to fate as he handed her into the  carriage. "On more than one occasion, Dr. McKendry has said I'm a  delicate flower in matters of my own reputation. But in your case,  m'lady, I'll make an exception and try to bear up."

Climbing in and sitting across from her, he admired the smile tugging at  Jo's lips. She was a woman who seemed ready for any situation. The  black velvet hat and the deep-green carriage dress she wore beneath her  cloak were as handsome as they were sensible, he thought.

In spite of the early hour, she was fresh-faced and ready for their  adventure. Today was an unexpected gift. The two of them alone together  on the road.

The serving men climbed up top, and the driver was heard calling to his  four-in-hand, "Walk, walk on." As the carriage rolled on, Wynne saw Jo  looking out the window back toward the Abbey.

"Please don't tell me that moonstruck suitor of yours is running after us in his nightshirt?"

"Don't tease me," she scolded, although the reprimand didn't reach her  deep-brown eyes. "The doctor is not moonstruck. At least not because of  me. And he is not my suitor."

"Well, he's mastered the woeful look," he told her. "I'm sorry to tell  tales out of school, but last night after you ladies left the dining  room, the rogue tried everything he could think of to get the vicar to  give him the letter of introduction. His performance would have outshone  Garrick himself."

"But you were able to get the letter?"

"Happily, I still have the ability to outwit McKendry." Wynne patted his  pocket with the letter. "I promised the vicar I'd bring him a new set  of Denholm golf clubs the next time I come back from Edinburgh."

"You didn't," she gasped. "You need do no such thing. I'll see to it.  I'll make the arrangements to have the clubs made as soon as I get back.  I'm so sorry to impose on-"

"All of this was in good humor," he said softly. "The vicar expects no reward."

Her cheeks reddened prettily and her eyes flashed reproachfully as she  slapped his knee and smiled. Time again ticked backward for him. She'd  often acted exactly this way any time he'd tease or fluster her. Wynne  recalled how he'd then pull her onto his lap and kiss her, begging her  forgiveness.

He was tempted to do it now. This was the first time they'd really been alone since their kiss in the garden.

Her flushed skin matched the color of the rising sun, and she leaned  toward the window. He wondered if she too was recalling those bygone  moments.

While she was distracted, Wynne studied her profile. The shape of her  face, from the high cheekbones to the fullness of her lips. She was more  beautiful than his memory served. His gaze moved to the dark curls  escaping the velvet hat and slipped lower to the dress, momentarily  lingering on her breasts. He'd felt their fullness when he'd brushed his  fingers over them in the garden.

The two of them were close in age, but not in experience, he was  certain. He'd been married. And during the years before and after his  late wife Fiba, he'd had liaisons with women. Wynne's gaze once again  moved over her body, her face, her parted lips, and he wondered if it  was possible that she was still as innocent as she'd been years ago. It  made no difference to him. Her passionate response to his kiss stirred  that desire in his loins even now. She'd wanted more, as he did.                       
       
           



       

He shifted in the seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of his  thoughts and the reaction of his body. He needed to put his attention  elsewhere and quickly found a topic more potent than any other to curb  his body's wanton response.

"Your brother," he said. "Viscount Greysteil, Lord Justice of the  Commissary Court in Edinburgh. Does he know I serve as governor at the  Abbey?"

Her dark eyes relinquished the view of the rolling hills and turned to  him. "Dr. McKendry failed to mention you when he first communicated with  me."

"He was acting upon my recommendation. But since your arrival, you've  sent a number of letters to Baronsford, have you not?" He cocked one  eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

"Does it matter to you if my brother knows?"

Wynne patted the seat. "I always travel with a brace of pistols, so I'm  prepared, just in case he decides to pursue you here. Greysteil missed  my heart the first time. If he has a second chance, he might not feel so  generous."

He was joking, but Jo's eyes clouded at the memory. "I thought we weren't going to speak of the past."

"That was before," he said softly. "Now I find it unavoidable."

Her brows knitted, and she returned her attention back out the window.

"I didn't blame him then. I don't blame him now. He was defending your  honor. If I was gifted with a sister like you, I would have done the  same thing."

She continued to sit in silence, but Wynne knew he didn't have days or  weeks or months to pursue her. She could decide tomorrow to leave the  Abbey, and he'd be left with only memories and regret. This was his  opportunity to speak.

"My manner of breaking our engagement was badly done. Leaving you a  letter instead of meeting with you and telling you in person-"

"Did you know Hugh lost his wife and son during the war on the  Peninsula?" she interrupted, her voice grave. She was forcing a change  in the topic. "They died of camp fever."

Wynne knew this. His sister-in-law sent him not only news of Jo. He was  also regularly informed of Greysteil's successes and losses.

"He suffered terribly. The entire family mourned their deaths for  years." Her words were marked with sadness. His reference to the past  reawakened more than just the tragedy of their own separation.

"This past year, however, another chance at happiness came into his  life. He's married again, and he and his wife now have an infant  daughter."

Studying Jo's imploring look, he nodded and accepted her entreaty to  cease his attempt to speak of their break, at least for now. She wasn't  ready to have the wound of their past reopened. At the same time he knew  neither of them could fully mend until the scar had healed.