"There is no inn on this stretch of road, but I plan to stop within the hour. Meanwhile, I've ridden all day and I'm tired, so I am going to sleep." His voice deepened as he added, "Unless, of course, you are offering to entertain me with more than senseless babble?"

"Entertain? How could I-" Realization dawned, along with a flood of heated embarra.s.sment. "I'd rather eat mud!"

He chuckled, the sound as rich as it was unexpected. "Then hush and let me sleep." He shifted deeper into the corner, though his long legs still filled more than his fair half of the s.p.a.ce. "Sleep, Caitlyn or Caitriona or whatever you call yourself. Sleep or be silent."

Fuming, Triona hoped the lout would be in a more accommodating mood once he'd slept. She tugged the blankets around her from neck to toe and settled into her own corner.

As soon as they reached some place with a lantern, MacLean would realize his error and send her home. Meanwhile, all she could do was rest. The mad race to reach London, then the disappointment of failing to find Caitlyn twice over, had exhausted her. Her body ached from the roughness of the ride, too.

She turned toward the plush squabs, slipped her hands beneath her cheek, and willed herself to relax.

Yet she found herself listening to the deep breathing of her captor and wondering dismally where Caitlyn might be. Had her sister changed her mind at the eleventh hour? Or had something befallen her?

Worried for both Caitlyn and herself, Triona shifted, exhausted yet unable to rest. Her knee ached, her body still thrummed from MacLean's kiss, and her lips felt swollen and tender. She lifted a hand to her mouth, shivering at the way it tingled.

No one had ever dared kiss her before. Father's stern presence had protected her from many things, she realized, and in a way, it was rather sad. She was twenty-three years of age and had never been stirred by pa.s.sion.

Triona frowned, realizing she was sorry for her lack of experience; a moral woman should be scandalized. She couldn't dredge up a bit of outrage, though.

The kiss had been...interesting. MacLean had been thorough and expert, a trait even an inexperienced kisser could recognize, and she thought she might enjoy kissing under different circ.u.mstances. She might enjoy it a lot, in fact. After all, what harm could come from a simple kiss?

She yawned. The rocking coach and the deep, soft cushions cradled her as they raced through the night, MacLean's deep breathing soothing her. Soon, sleep claimed her and hugged her into blissful nothingness.

Triona awoke, slowly becoming aware of the rocking of the coach, the creak of the straps overhead, and the incredible warmth engulfing her. She stirred, rubbing her fingers against the rough pillow beneath her cheek. She frowned at the roughness; then her fingers grazed something hard. She opened her eyes to find herself in a carriage, enveloped in dim light from a dim lantern, and blinked at the object at her fingertips.

It was a b.u.t.ton. A mother-of-pearl b.u.t.ton.

On a pillow?

Bemused, her gaze traveled from the b.u.t.ton upward, to another b.u.t.ton, to a wide collar and a snowy white cravat, and farther-past a firm chin covered with black stubble, over a sensual mouth, to a pair of amused green eyes. MacLean!

Triona gasped and bolted upright, leaving the warmth of the arm that had been tucked about her.

Hugh, who'd been enjoying the many expressions that had flickered over her face, chuckled. "Easy, sweet. You'll hit your head on the ceiling."

His mussed companion hugged herself, her gaze sparkling with anger. With a sniff, she moved to the farthest corner of the coach. "What were you doing on my seat?"

He shrugged, enjoying her discomfort. "You began to fall over. I merely gave you something to fall against."

Her brows lowered, her eyes flashing her irritation. Hugh was very glad he'd lit the lamp, though he'd kept it very low so as not to awaken his captive. In the faint, shadowed light, it was a testament to the strength of her expressions that he was able to read them at all.

It was odd, but in the few times he had met Caitlyn Hurst, he'd missed several important things about her-mainly because he'd made a point of not paying her the slightest heed. He hadn't spoken to her, looked directly at her, or even acknowledged her presence. He knew it had piqued her, and he'd enjoyed that immensely. Now he realized what he'd missed by his endeavors.

For one thing, he'd mistakenly thought her a slender, rather pixieish creature, but her face was softer, more curved than his memory had led him to believe, which made him wonder even more about what was under her cloak.

He'd remembered her voice as being higher-pitched, too. He'd certainly never realized that the troublesome chit possessed a voice that dripped over his senses like warm honey.

He also hadn't been aware of the thrum of physical attraction she exuded that made him...restless, eager to engage her in some way. Having seen his older brother's reaction to her seductive powers, he should have expected it. Perhaps he'd been immune before because he hadn't been in such close proximity. It was purely an imp of devilment that had made him slip onto her seat and pull her head to his shoulder, and her reaction hadn't disappointed him.

It was his own reaction that had astonished him. Having drawn her close, he'd been hard pressed not to touch her in other ways, and only the fact she'd been fast asleep had saved them both. Not that he really needed to worry. Her behavior had been wanton from the beginning, and she'd never squander her attention on a younger son. She'd be as anxious to end this farce as he was, probably more so.

A surprising twist of regret surged through him at the thought.

By Zeus, he needed to tread carefully. This woman was as false as her smiles. He'd suffered the hidden barbs of a woman's wiles before, and he'd not suffer them again.

She'd even attempted to convince him she was an innocent, with her refusal to respond to his kiss. She'd done very well at playing the shocked virgin, he thought grudgingly. Fortunately, he knew just who and what she was, and innocence had nothing to do with it.

Her gaze suddenly focused on the lamp and she turned toward him, looking eager. "Now you can see my face!"

He raised his brows. Was she looking for compliments? "So?"

She said impatiently, "Now you can see I'm not Caitlyn!"

His gaze raked over her honey-gold hair, mussed into curls about a distinctively heart-shaped face. "Still playing me for a fool, Hurst?"

She fisted her hands. "Blast it! You, my lord, have made a mistake."

"Not as much of one as you." The coach slowed and he turned to lift the corner of the curtain. As he did so, she gasped.

He glanced back at her and found her gaze locked on his hair. She stammered, "Y-y-you're not Alexander MacLean! You're his brother, Hugh!"

She'd seen the streak of white hair that brushed back from one brow, a relic of a dark time that he never dwelled on. "Stop playing the fool; it doesn't become you. You knew d.a.m.ned well who I am."

"Oh!" She fisted her hands and pressed them to her eyes for a moment before she dropped them back to her lap. "You are going to drive me mad! You don't believe a word I say and-"

Her lips thinned, her gaze narrowed, and he could almost see the thoughts flickering through her mind. By Zeus, I've never seen such an expressive face before.

Her lips relaxed, and then a faint smile curved them as her gaze traced the white hair at his temple.

"There is nothing humorous in this situation."

She lifted her brows, a genuine twinkle in her fine eyes. "Ah, but there is. I thought you were someone else while you now think I'm someone else-" She chuckled, the sound rich as cream. "The situation may be untenable, but the irony is delicious."

But not as delicious as you. He scowled, startled at his own thoughts.

"Stop this nonsense," he said impatiently. "I refuse to-" The coach slowed, then turned a corner. "Ah, the inn. It's about time."

Her eyes, large and dark in the dim light, sparkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Once we're in the stronger light, you'll see your error." A chuckle broke free, and she regarded him with such lively humor that Hugh was tempted to grin back.

Almost.

Finally he understood why Alexander had pursued her, even though he knew the dangers. There was something incredibly taking about the curve of her cheek, the way her thick lashes shadowed her large eyes, and the fascinating display of emotions across her expressive face.

It was a d.a.m.ned shame she was layered in two cloaks, for he couldn't see her figure. He knew what to expect, yet she seemed more rounded now, and oddly...taller, perhaps?

A chill rippled through Hugh.

Good G.o.d, had he seen what he wanted to see? What he'd expected to see? Surely he hadn't been so- The coach rocked to a halt, but Hugh was only distantly aware of the cry of his coachman, the sound of another carriage drawing up beside his.

Then the door flew open and Hugh turned, only to meet a fist as it plowed into his chin.

The blow did little more than stun him for a second. He rubbed his chin and glared at his attacker, a smallish older man wearing a fashionable multicaped coat. "Lord Galloway," he said curtly.

"You cur!" Galloway's face was a mask of fury.

Hugh's companion lurched into the man's arms. "Uncle Bedford!" she cried. "I am so glad to see you!"

"There, there, my dear," Lord Galloway said, fixing a very stern gaze on Hugh. "This ordeal is over, Caitriona."

Caitriona-not Caitlyn. Hugh's heart thudded sickly as he closed his eyes and faced the truth. G.o.d help him-he had the wrong woman.

Chapter 5.

"Every once't in a while comes a moment that hits ye so hard it instantly changes yer direction. When one o' these come, ye can duck all ye wish, but it'll hit ye just the same. And usually right betwixt yer eyes."

OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER'S NIGHT Over Triona's head, Lord Galloway's gaze suddenly widened. "Good G.o.d! You...you're not Lord MacLean! You're his brother, Lord Hugh!"

Hugh rubbed his chin. "So I've been told."

Galloway glowered. "Whoever you are, how dare you abduct my niece!"

"I did nothing of the sort! She was in my carriage of her own free will. G.o.d knows I didn't put her there myself."

"I know you didn't," Galloway said in a testy voice. "She caught up with you when you stopped to change the horses. In a vain attempt to rescue her sister, she slipped into your carriage, hoping to convince Caitlyn to give up her folly. Of course, Caitlyn wasn't there, but poor Triona had no way of knowing that." Galloway's mouth tightened. "You know what happened after that."

Hugh's chest ached as if someone were sitting upon it. He did know; she'd told him the truth and he'd dismissed her. Worse, he'd treated her as if she were a common woman of the street. G.o.d, what a wretched, horrid mess.

Lord Galloway seemed to follow Hugh's line of thought. "Triona's nurse returned to London post haste to tell us how the carriage drove off with my niece caught inside. Fortunately for Triona, I knew of a shorter route and was able to intercept you."

Fortunate for Triona, perhaps, but not for Hugh. There was nothing fortunate about this happenstance, not one b.l.o.o.d.y thing.

The door to Galloway's carriage flew open and two women climbed out. The first was short, round, and dressed in twelve shades of lavender, and he instantly recognized Lady Galloway. A second woman followed, heavily cloaked, her movements lithe and graceful.

The wind fluttered the hood of her cloak so that the bright light from the inn revealed her fully-a delicate heart-shaped face of breathtaking beauty framed in bright gold curls. Caitlyn Hurst.

Hugh turned his gaze back to the woman he'd captured. While her face was the exact shape as her sister's, her cheeks were fuller, her hair a honey blond and not gold, her thickly fringed eyes as large but lighter.

Lord Galloway slipped his free hand into his pocket and withdrew it. "Triona, we found your spectacles." He glared at Hugh. "It's a wonder they weren't trampled."

Triona took a neatly folded pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from her uncle, snapped them open, and slipped them on. Through the frames, her hazel eyes regarded him condemningly. The prim spectacles sat in striking contrast to the sensuality of her rich coloring and silken hair.

Memory of the kiss flooded back, of her shock, uncertainty, and then resistance. The kiss of an innocent. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, what have I done?

The older man's arm visibly tightened around his niece. "This is untenable. I'll have you know that Triona's father is a vicar!"

Despite the weight growing in his chest, Hugh gave a bark of sardonic laughter. "Of course. I suppose I should be glad she's not a nun, too."

Galloway's face turned deeper red. "This is not a time for levity."

"No," Hugh agreed heavily. "It's not. I just don't understand how-" He broke off, catching sight of the interested gazes of several footmen. Jaw taut, he said, "We should have this conversation somewhere more private."

Lord Galloway's gaze followed Hugh's. "I'll bespeak a parlor." He turned to give some orders to a footman, who took Triona's arm and escorted her away. She resisted, looking ready to speak, but before she could say a word she was swarmed by her aunt, sister, and another woman who'd just climbed from the coach. Hook-nosed and dragonlike, she glared angrily at Hugh.

So that was the nurse. It was a relief when the lot of them disappeared into the inn, Galloway herding them like a protective sheepdog.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, how did I make such an error? And yet she looked so much like Caitlyn Hurst, especially when I saw her peering out the coach window.

Hugh paused at the door to take one last, deep breath of the cold night air, trying to calm the sickening pound of his heart. His intentions had been so good, his purpose so clear-how could things have gone so wrong? Perhaps that had been his sin...the pride of certainty. And now he faced the bitter consequences.

"Och, m'lord!" Ferguson hurried up. "Should we stable the horses?"

"No, just walk them. I won't be long." Hugh's chest felt as if an iron band were slowly tightening about it.

"Aye, m'lord." Ferguson glanced about the busy innyard before leaning in to say, "If ye'd like, I can have the coach ready to move on a second's notice. We could be gone afore they even know it."

That was tempting. Hugh reluctantly shook his head. "Ferguson," he said in a heavy voice, "it appears the wrong la.s.s ended up in our carriage."

Ferguson's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but no sound came out.

"That's pretty much what I have to say, too." Hugh rubbed his neck.

"But-I dinna understand, m'lord!"

"Apparently Miss Caitlyn Hurst has a twin sister."

"And that's who-" At Hugh's curt nod, Ferguson's eyes widened. He clapped a hand to his cheek, his mouth ajar. "No!"

"Oh, yes. And it's a d.a.m.ned shame for all of us."

Hugh glanced toward the front window. Wide and deep, it was now aglow with lamplight, shadowy figures crossing this way and that. Inside that room, a drama awaited. And if there was one thing Hugh MacLean disliked, it was drama. Worse, this particular scenario came complete with outraged guardians, a damsel in perceived distress, and promised histrionics of the caliber usually reserved for Drury Lane.

From inside the inn, Lady Galloway shrilly demanded something-probably Hugh's head on a platter.

He sighed. "There's nothing to be done but face it. Keep the horses ready, Ferguson. Once this meeting is over, I wish to return to London as fast as possible."

"Aye, m'lord." Ferguson eyed the window with a dark glance. "Are ye sure ye dinna wish to have someone with ye, m'lord? There's five o' them and only one o' ye."

"I can handle them. It's their morals that may overwhelm me." Hugh straightened his shoulders, and entered the inn.

A bowing and sc.r.a.ping innkeeper with a round figure and thinning brown hair rushed forward to take his coat and hat, handing them to a serving boy who reverently took them to the kitchen to warm them before the fire.