of them. Each of us was given certain information. In case any of us was taken by the English the code could not be broken," Lainie said quickly, praying she could entice him with this little piece of deception.
Then she looked from Slade’s hand to his eyes, plainly reminding him of their bargain. Slowly he lifted his hand.
"I studied the journal, and I was able to breakdown some of the parts I wasn’t privy to. If I worked on it, I could probably figure out all of it," Lainie said with a hesitant smile.
"The most interesting part," she paused. "About ten years ago there was a plot against the King of England. A man was beheaded because he discovered the truth. No one was able to find proof of who actually plotted against your king."
He shrugged. "The plot involved a replica of the King’s seal."
"Yes," she said cautiously.
"What makes you think you can prove anything now?"
"I can’t."
"Or you won’t," he offered. "And why is that?"
When Lainie didn’t say anything else, Slade’s hand went to her belly. He spread his fingers wide almost spanning her hipbones.
Her breath came in with a rushing sound. It was the sensual pleasure that seemed to undo her. Despite the memories that haunted her, Slade's touch was nothing like Bertram's. For a moment she wished Slade’s touch could erase her sordid memories of the past.
"Go on," Slade said.
He knew his voice was too deep, too husky. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nor could he could control the intensity of his need, no matter how foolish he knew it was. Despite everything, he wanted to make love to the calculating Scottish lass who had once been Bertram's mistress.
She made him burn. The heat from her body was like an aphrodisiac seeping through his flesh and being absorbed into his blood, making it harder with each heartbeat to remember that she was just one more woman to get whatever she could by using her body as a lure.
Then Slade realized Lainie had said nothing more. He looked up and saw her watching him with shimmering sky blue eyes.
"You promised," Lainie said.
Furiously, Slade lifted his hand.
"It was my father who was executed," Lainie told him.
"Your brothers should be fighting this battle, not you."
"My brothers have suffered enough fighting for justice." She turned to look at him.
Without answering, Slade looked at the frail material of her shirt, which served only to heighten rather than to conceal the allure of Lainie’s body.
"Slade?"
When he finally looked at her, Lainie was afraid she had lost the dangerous game she was playing. Slade’s eyes were a pale green, and they burned with what she was coming to recognize as desire.
"I’m not so sure I believe any of your tall tales. I heard about the beheading of a MacPherson but nothing was ever mentioned about a stolen seal."
"A replica."
"'Tis all true . ' Tis in the journal. My brother has sought revenge for years. He married--"
"Whitcomb’s daughter?"
"Aye, you heard?" Lainie asked quickly.
"Sometimes news travels fast," he shrugged.
"David Whitcomb had my father beheaded. He accused him of treason but it was someone else. A plot against your English king. The proof is buried in codes in my journal. As well as other things," Lainie spoke, emotions vibrating within her.
"I’m listening," he said. "Not real patiently, but I’m listening."
What Slade didn’t say was that he was listening very carefully. He had heard rumors about this and he wanted to know how the pieces of the puzzle would fall. He wanted to know what part Lainie MacPherson played and why Bertram was involved.
"Does your journal tell you who else was implicated?"
"I think it does."
"But you don’t know for sure," he asked dryly, wondering if any of this was true, having his doubts about her story.
She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. "I
Then she looked from Slade’s hand to his eyes, plainly reminding him of their bargain. Slowly he lifted his hand.
"I studied the journal, and I was able to breakdown some of the parts I wasn’t privy to. If I worked on it, I could probably figure out all of it," Lainie said with a hesitant smile.
"The most interesting part," she paused. "About ten years ago there was a plot against the King of England. A man was beheaded because he discovered the truth. No one was able to find proof of who actually plotted against your king."
He shrugged. "The plot involved a replica of the King’s seal."
"Yes," she said cautiously.
"What makes you think you can prove anything now?"
"I can’t."
"Or you won’t," he offered. "And why is that?"
When Lainie didn’t say anything else, Slade’s hand went to her belly. He spread his fingers wide almost spanning her hipbones.
Her breath came in with a rushing sound. It was the sensual pleasure that seemed to undo her. Despite the memories that haunted her, Slade's touch was nothing like Bertram's. For a moment she wished Slade’s touch could erase her sordid memories of the past.
"Go on," Slade said.
He knew his voice was too deep, too husky. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nor could he could control the intensity of his need, no matter how foolish he knew it was. Despite everything, he wanted to make love to the calculating Scottish lass who had once been Bertram's mistress.
She made him burn. The heat from her body was like an aphrodisiac seeping through his flesh and being absorbed into his blood, making it harder with each heartbeat to remember that she was just one more woman to get whatever she could by using her body as a lure.
Then Slade realized Lainie had said nothing more. He looked up and saw her watching him with shimmering sky blue eyes.
"You promised," Lainie said.
Furiously, Slade lifted his hand.
"It was my father who was executed," Lainie told him.
"Your brothers should be fighting this battle, not you."
"My brothers have suffered enough fighting for justice." She turned to look at him.
Without answering, Slade looked at the frail material of her shirt, which served only to heighten rather than to conceal the allure of Lainie’s body.
"Slade?"
When he finally looked at her, Lainie was afraid she had lost the dangerous game she was playing. Slade’s eyes were a pale green, and they burned with what she was coming to recognize as desire.
"I’m not so sure I believe any of your tall tales. I heard about the beheading of a MacPherson but nothing was ever mentioned about a stolen seal."
"A replica."
"'Tis all true . ' Tis in the journal. My brother has sought revenge for years. He married--"
"Whitcomb’s daughter?"
"Aye, you heard?" Lainie asked quickly.
"Sometimes news travels fast," he shrugged.
"David Whitcomb had my father beheaded. He accused him of treason but it was someone else. A plot against your English king. The proof is buried in codes in my journal. As well as other things," Lainie spoke, emotions vibrating within her.
"I’m listening," he said. "Not real patiently, but I’m listening."
What Slade didn’t say was that he was listening very carefully. He had heard rumors about this and he wanted to know how the pieces of the puzzle would fall. He wanted to know what part Lainie MacPherson played and why Bertram was involved.
"Does your journal tell you who else was implicated?"
"I think it does."
"But you don’t know for sure," he asked dryly, wondering if any of this was true, having his doubts about her story.
She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. "I
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