The Devil Wears Plaid Read Online Free PDF

possibly presume to know what manner of woman I am?”
    Before he even realized what he was going to do, he had stepped closer to her—close enough to stroke his roughened knuckles down the irresistible softness of her cheek. He’d never been a man given to bullying women but there was something about this tart-tongued girl that made him want to put his hands on her, to coax some sort of reaction out of her, even if it was to his own detriment.
    He put his mouth against her ear, deliberately lowering his voice to a husky whisper. “I know you’re still young enough—and comely enough—to need a real mon in your bed.”
    A shiver having naught to do with fear or the brisk wind raked her tender flesh. When Jamie drew back to survey her face, she was gazing up at him, her parted lips trembling ever so slightly and her dusky blue eyes large enough to reflect the rising moon.
    Before he could succumb to her unwitting invitation, Jamie turned away from her, determined to fetch her a bedroll and be done with her for the night.
    Her next words froze him in his tracks.
    “You’re wrong about my father, sir. He’s not the greedy one. I am.”
    Jamie slowly turned, his eyes narrowing as aprickle of wariness eased up his spine. He’d felt that unsettling sensation numerous times before, usually just seconds before he was about to be ambushed by a roving gang of Hepburn’s hired guns.
    His captive’s posture was no longer forlorn or fearful but openly defiant. Her voice was steady, her eyes as cool as the silvery moonlight playing over her high, freckled cheekbones. “Surely even a common ruffian such as yourself must know that most women would barter not only their bodies but their souls to wed a man as wealthy and powerful as the earl. Once I’m his countess, I’ll have every treasure a woman could desire—jewels, furs, land, and more gold than I could spend, or count, in a lifetime. And I can promise you I’ll not lack for a
mon
in my bed,” she added with a scornful toss of her head. “After I’ve provided him with an heir, I’m sure the earl won’t begrudge me a Season in London and a strapping young lover… or two.”
    Jamie simply gazed at her for a long, thoughtful moment before saying, “My name isn’t ‘sir,’ Miss Marlowe. It’s Jamie.”
    With that, he turned on his heel and left her standing there, her slender frame buffeted by the wind.

Chapter Four

    J AMIE, EMMA THOUGHT. SUCH an innocuous name for such a dangerous man.
    As the moon crested and slowly began its descent, she huddled deeper in the nest of scratchy woolen blankets her captor had provided. They smelled of
him,
a realization that only sharpened the jagged edge of her misery.
    The rich masculine musk with its earthy undertones of leather, woodsmoke and horse should have been offensive to her delicate nose. Most men of her acquaintance, including her father and every gentleman she had encountered during her three Seasons in London, smothered their natural scents beneath a choking layer of shaving soaps and floral colognes. One could hardly draw breath when walking into an assembly room crowded with dandies drenched in the most popular of that Season’s sweet waters, whether it be honey or rose. Instead of being repelled by Sinclair’sexotic scent, she caught herself breathing deep to draw it into her lungs, almost as if it had the power to warm her chilled blood.
    She rolled over. The cold, hard ground was as unwelcoming as a slab of rock. Every time she stirred, a new stone or twig seemed to rear up to jab her tender flesh. Not that she was likely to sleep anyway while lying a few scant feet away from a pack of dangerous outlaws in the middle of the Scottish wilderness.
    Not even their drunken snores could completely drown out the echo of her own mocking voice:
I’m sure the earl won’t begrudge me a Season in London and a strapping young lover… or two.
    Emma moaned aloud and buried her head beneath the blankets, wondering what