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He smiled. She sounded so vulnerable that had it been within his power, he would have turned this moment and taken her home.

“I know,” he said simply.

She cried until no more tears would come. He had held her so gently, like a father. Or a lover.

“Oh, English,” she moaned with a hiccup. “I need a drink.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “There will be wine in your room. Do you feel like going up there now?”

She pulled back, wiping at her nose with her soaked handkerchief. “Not wine, English. Whisky. Do ye not have any?”

He almost laughed. “Whisky?” he repeated. “You should not drink that stuff; it’ll burn holes in you.”

She cocked at eyebrow. “I have been drinking it since I was a bairn.”

He was taken aback by her statement and fought off the urge to laugh at her professed vice.

“No whisky for you, my lady,” he told her. “ ’Tis a low man’s habit and certainly not the drink of a future countess.”

She looked at him as if to pout. She was about to argue but decided she had not the strength. “Very well, English, whatever ye say. I would go to my rooms now.”

He gazed down into her eyes, smiling gently at her and tapping her lightly on the side of her cheek. Jordan’s heart swelled at the depth she saw in his eyes. She wished fervently he would kiss her again, now. She needed it more than the drink.

“English?” she asked breathlessly.

“Aye?”

She took a deep breath. “I forgive ye for what ye called me earlier,” she said. She was probing him and hoping he did not realize it. “I know it was a slip. Ye need not be embarrassed.”

He looked perplexed. “What did I call you?”

“Love,” she replied softly. “Ye called me ‘love’ when ye were looking at my cut.”

His smile faded and her heart lurched. She thought probing him was not such a good idea now. She did not want to hear his reply and lowered her gaze, gathering her skirts as if to leave. He stopped her.

“I am not embarrassed and it was not a slip,” he said. “But I apologize if the term made you uncomfortable.”

“Nay,” she said, trying to remain impartial. “It did not. I thought….” She shrugged and refused to continue.

“Jordan,” his voice was husky and deep. “I never, ever say anything I do not mean.”

Her head snapped up to him and she could not breathe. It was too much to hope for, too much to believe possible. She was afraid and thrilled and astonished at the same time. His eyes, Sweet Jesu,’ his eyes were boring their way down into her very soul. She felt as if she were being torn in half by her confliction emotions.

She decided she wasn’t strong enough to hear anymore. She tore her gaze away from his and nodded swiftly.

“I would go to my chamber now,” she repeated softly.

She took a step but his hand shot out and jerked her back, pulling her roughly against him even as his lips came down on hers. He was gentle at first, his lips so soft and caressing against her, that she instinctively leaned into him, aching for more. His stubble scratched at her, enhancing the pure sexuality of the kiss like nothing she had ever experienced.

When she moved to push closer, his huge hand grasped her face and did not allow her to budge an inch. His kisses were becoming more forceful, more demanding, and his tongue was plunging into her mouth, ravishing her until she was breathless. Her limbs tingled painfully from his actions and her belly was warm and quivering.

William pulled back reluctantly, forcing her to open her eyes. She smiled back at him with complete contentment.

“I thought ye were never going to do that again,” she teased.

He looked regretful. “I lied.”

“Then why did ye do it?” she asked.