Page 57 of A Highland Lass for the English Duke

"Not interested?" Will's ears appeared to prick up. He looked confounded. "Where on Earth did you get this, I am⁠—"

"Well, ye picked an awfu' funny way o' showing it," said Lissie, steam building within her. Hotly, she glanced around the coach. They seemed to have come to a sudden stop. "Ye cannae complain about me an' Trenton when ye an' Lettie have⁠—"

The end of the sentence never came because Will leaned over and simply kissed her words away.

"Will," gasped Lissie. She wiped her face expectantly. The texture of his lips was upon her, soft and deep, sending a profound thrill through her.

Will's face was buried deep in her own. He caressed her warm and deep, his sensuous kiss tingling deliciously. He barely gave her time to think nor space to move. But it didn't matter. Lissie was in no hurry to let go.

Will caressed the back of her neck, sending her into shivers of ecstasy. Lissie couldn't help it. She kissed him back, then, bringing her hands around his back, held him tight. And for a moment, she bathed in the feeling that his body held. It felt warm. And right.

Will's eyes lightened, catching her in his light blue gaze. Softly, he ruffled her hair, bringing her headdress off in a trice. Now her long hair ruffled around her back, tempting Will's fingers to caress it more. This was beatific. This felt right. Lissie felt her cheeks burn as everything collapsed into a warm, soft haze.

As the kiss developed, stinging her senses and giving her heat, Lissie wanted more. But she knew she could not. The wagoner had brought them to the roadside, where he had alighted to tinker with the wheel.

All this happened while he was gone, but he would not be gone long, and at any moment could reappear. Knowing that their time was short, Lissie struggled to regain control of herself. Fervently, she pulled back.

"Will, what are ye doing?" she asked, although she knew all too well what he was doing. And she did not want it to stop. All the same, she disengaged from his kiss.

Now Will stopped.

"I-I am sorry," he said, chastened. In an eye blink, he moved suddenly away, setting a firm distance between the pair of them.

From outside the coach, the wagoner repaired the wheel and was preparing to take the reins again.

To begin with, Lissie thought nothing of Will's retreat as he sat back beside her, arms folded.

He's just waiting for the coach to start, she thought. And she waited as he cracked the whip and drove the wagon forward. Fields passed in a haze of black-gray. Bit by bit, London inched closer. There it was, in the distance and the haze.

Night rendered it black, but there were signs of life—the flickering light of fire from the houses and occasional torchlight in the streets. They were growing nearer all this time, getting closer to her cousin's house. Yet, Will barely looked at her. Hurt, Lissie began to realize that he was deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"Will?" she asked unhappily. She forced him to face her, her cheeks burning with pain.

Guiltily, Will looked at her.

"Lissie, I am sorry. I don't know what came over me. I should never..."

Tears building in her head, Lissie could hardly bear to hear the words.

"It is my fault, Lissie. I am sorry that I am weak," Will told her. But she could not look him in the eye. She wanted to spit.

"Please, pray forgive me?" Will asked her.

But she could not.

"Ask a priest if ye want absolution," she said, her temper rising. Inside, she was having trouble stilling her heart, which had taken off at a pace far exceeding their poor, broken-down coach.

They had never got quite started after their ordeal with the wheel. A bit like how Lissie felt now. She was on the wrong foot with something that needed repairing. Something far more difficult than a broken wheel.

Taking advantage of the troubled wheel, Lissie cried out, "Driver, stop the wagon! I need to get out!"

"Lissie!" called Will in protest. He put his hand out to stop her. But Lissie shook her head. They were nearly home, the streets of London becoming visible through the cold mist.

"Driver, please!" shouted Lissie. She was adamant, although the wagoner was not.

"Miss, ye can't!" the fellow said, but he had already slowed to a stop.

Before he even did, Lissie leaped out. She didn't care that she landed in the mud, dirtying her long frock and scuffing her shoes. None of it mattered. From inside the coach, Will was preparing to follow her. But she shot him a look of pure hurt.