The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress

by Anna Campbell

  "I’ll bring up the hot water, my lord," Mary said from below. Jock carried the bags inside and placed them on the black and white tiled floor, before he closed the door behind him.

  "Thank you," Brock said without stopping.

  Having made her token bid for independence, Selina subsided into his arms. She wasn’t going to object to any chance to be close to him.

  Brock swept her into a large room decorated in a masculine style, all dark wood paneling and massive oak furniture. Large windows looked out over a darkening world, although light gleamed on a distant line of silver that Selina realized must be the sea. With a gentleness that touched her heart, he set her on her feet in front of the blazing fire. The warmth was welcome after the cold outside.

  "You didn’t expect to see the staff," he said, stepping back.

  "No, although I should have realized you had people to look after the house. Was it wise to use my real name?"

  "They’re my kinfolk. They offer their chieftain a loyalty beyond that of mere servants. They’ll go to the grave without a whisper of your visit."

  Selina sighed. She’d felt so happy and daring and free in the carriage. Now she felt like a temporary mistress. Shabby and disposable. The intrusion of other people into her sensual idyll made her too aware of how the world would view her actions, if word ever got out. "I suppose they’re used to you turning up with various women."

  He sent her an unreadable look. "I’ve never brought another woman here. Jock and Mary will treat you with every respect. They know that I use this house as a refuge. If I’ve invited a lover to share it, she must be a lady of more than usual significance."

  She shouldn’t feel special when he said that. "More than usual significance" didn’t count as a declaration of eternal fealty. Even if she was looking for declarations of eternal fealty.

  "I’m being silly," she said. "I’m not used to being a fallen woman."

  "Stop saying that." His hand cut through the air and indicated his displeasure. "You give yourself to me for desire’s sake. I give myself to you for the same reason. The world’s shallow judgments have no power over what we do while we’re here."

  The world’s shallow judgments would destroy her, should her surrender become public. She kept that unpalatable thought to herself. She’d committed to this path. It was too late for second thoughts, even if she wanted to have them. She had a mere week to enjoy Brock’s touch. Once she left this house, she’d have a lifetime to wallow in guilt and regret.

  "Kiss me, Brock." She held out her hand, dismayed to see how it shook. "When you take me in your arms, it’s easy to feel brave."

  Approval glowed in his smile. "That’s the spirit."

  He drew her into the shelter of his body for a long kiss, redolent with sweetness rather than passion. Selina melted into helpless response. She loved it when he kissed her as if he’d die for lack of having her. But the strange truth was that when he kissed her like this, the effect on her susceptible heart was more powerful than when he kissed her as if he wanted to devour her.

  His embrace made her feel so safe that she didn’t step away when Mary came in with two steaming ewers of hot water, followed by Jock with the bags.

  Mary set one jug on the mahogany washstand in the corner and carried the other through to what Selina assumed was the dressing room next door.

  "Shall I unpack for ye, my lord, madam?" Mary asked when she came back into the bedroom.

  "Aye, please," Brock said, moving away from Selina. "By the way, I didn’t introduce you all downstairs. Mrs. Martin, these are my kinfolk Mary and Jock Drummond. They take very good care of this house while I’m away."

  Mary curtsied. "Madam, we hope ye enjoy your stay. We’ll do our best to make this a happy visit."

  "Thank you," Selina said. "It’s a beautiful place."

  Jock bowed. "Aye, it’s nae bad. But it’s nae the Highlands." He was smiling as he carried Brock’s bag through to the dressing room.

  Mary lifted Selina’s bag onto the bed and started to lay out its contents on the gold and blue brocade cover. "Have ye been to Scotland, madam?"

  "No, I haven’t."

  The servants’ informal air contrasted with Derwent Hall, where the staff were trained to speak only when spoken to. This ease made Selina feel more relaxed.

  "Och, that’s a great pity. It’s a bonny country."

  "I’m sure." She’d always wanted to travel, but while Roderick would go as far as Timbuctoo for a horse race or a boxing match, he’d never have contemplated taking his wife with him. Cecil made regular visits to his mills in the north. She supposed that after she married him, she’d accompany him on occasion.

  Brock took her hand and drew her toward a wide window seat. Outside, the darkness deepened. This house was so isolated, no lights shone across the endless marshes spreading around them. "You’d love Bruard," he said softly.

  Feeling more at home by the minute, she left her hand in his. Mary displayed no salacious curiosity about her master’s relations with his new mistress. "Tell me about your home."

  "It’s a castle in the far north, a day’s ride from the sea. It was built at the height of the age of chivalry and has four strong towers. Bruard has never been taken in war, although plenty have tried. You could walk a day in any direction without leaving Drummond lands."

  Images of knights and damsels and moated fortresses flooded her mind. "It sounds like something from a fairy story."

  "The castle stands above a loch, and on a calm day, the reflection is perfect. Not that we have so many calm days in the Highlands, mind you. The high hills surround it in green, except in summer, when the braes turn purple with heather. A river runs through the glen, teeming with trout and salmon."

  Selina watched Brock’s face as he spoke. She couldn’t mistake how much he loved his home. "It must be glorious."

  "Aye, that it is." She noticed that here with his kinfolk, the Scots tinge in his voice became more noticeable. This glimpse into the man beneath the rakish veneer thrilled her. She found the rake irresistible, but the man who spoke of his home with such longing threatened to steal her heart away.

  His hold firmed on her hand. "I wish I could take you there."

  "So do I," she admitted, although that wasn’t the entire truth.

  Oh, she’d dearly love to see the landscape he described. But she couldn’t present herself to his clan as his mistress. It was bad enough having Mary, Jock and Erskine knowing what she was to the earl.

  She regarded Brock with a faint frown. "What I don’t understand is why if you love it so much, you spend most of your time down here in England."

  He spread her fingers over his thigh and began to play with them. The contact was casual, yet she felt the now familiar stirring of sexual interest.

  He sighed, and she heard genuine regret in the sound. "When I was a lad, London was like a bright, shiny toy, glittering with fun and novelty."

  "And women," she murmured. As if he drew her the way the moon drew the tides, she leaned in closer. Close enough that his tangy scent became the air that she breathed.

  Self-derisive humor quirked his lips. "Aye, and women, too." He paused and raised her fingers to his lips. The brief kiss sent heat swirling through her blood. "But lately, I find myself missing Scotland. A man can think in the hills in a way he can’t amid the hurly-burly of Town. Five years ago, I doubt I’d have valued the chance to think. But now…"

  "Now the wild whirl has lost its charm."

  He glanced at her with an almost diffident expression. "Playing the devilish Lord Bruard becomes wearisome, although don’t mistake me, the devilish Lord Bruard has had a devil of a good time."

  She stared down at their joined hands and spoke in a wistful tone. "Our lives have been so different. You’ve done just as you like, and I’ve never had the chance to follow my inclinations. Even when I became a widow, I couldn’t forget that I had to make a secure home for Gerald."

  On the far side of the room, Mary had finished u
npacking Selina’s valise. Now she went through to the dressing room. Selina’s low-voiced conversation with Brock would have been only a murmur to her, and they hadn’t broached on particularly personal subjects. Yet Selina felt her tension ease, now that they were alone.

  Mary and Jock must know that she was here to share Brock’s bed. There wasn’t even a hint that they’d prepared a separate chamber for him. Yet to her relief, Selina noticed no judgment in their manner.

  Displeasure deepened Brock’s voice. "I can’t stomach the thought of a woman as magnificent as you tied to that prosy bore. He’ll order you around without mercy, you know. And he’s completely under his mother’s thumb."

  A bleak smile turned Selina’s lips down, although amusement was the last thing she felt. "His mother doesn’t like me."

  "Why would she? She’s jealous, and she doesn’t want another woman taking up her son’s attention." His voice developed a somber note. "You’re lining up for an unhappy future, my darling."

  She loved it when he called her his darling, although the cynic inside her recognized that he’d had darlings before and he’d have darlings again. But that knowledge didn’t stop her heart leaping with pleasure when he spoke the words. He sounded like he meant them, as if he genuinely cared for her.

  "I have a son to worry about. My happiness isn’t important."

  He looked unimpressed. "Is there really no alternative? No economies you can make, nobody you can ask for help?"

  She shook her head. "I’ve considered every alternative. I can scrape together funds to leave London and live somewhere quietly, but I can’t afford Gerald’s school fees, and he deserves better than genteel poverty. His grandmother, Roderick’s mother, has offered to take him, but she’s always been afraid of her own shadow. She’d remove him from school and wrap him up in flannel and liniment and keep him all to herself. He’s a clever, active boy. He’d hate that. She doesn’t approve of me either, so she’d do her best to keep us apart."

  Brock spoke as if he weighed every word. "I could help."

  Horrified, she wrenched free and surged to her feet. She felt sick with humiliation. "Oh, no, you think I’m trying to wangle money out of you."

  He raised his eyes and responded calmly. "No, I don’t."

  "Then why would you make such an offer?"

  Rueful amusement lightened his intense features. "Because I hate to see you struggle. Because the idea of you in Cecil’s bed makes me want to smash something. Because I’m a rich man, and I wouldn’t miss the pittance that would make all the difference to you."

  Her cheeks hot, she backed away until she bumped into the huge bed that dominated the room. Bitterness soured her tone. "In effect, you’ll pay for my favors as long as you enjoy them. I gather that’s how these arrangements work. If I take money for what I’m willing to give you freely, you know what I become."

  Chagrin tightened his features. "I’ve insulted you."

  She folded her arms over her bosom. "Yes, you have."

  "I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention." He inclined his head in what was almost a bow of apology. "Common sense says that if you can find a more congenial way to ensure your boy’s future than marrying Cecil, you should take it."

  "You know what the world calls women who sleep with men for money."

  "I know the world is full of cruel definitions that bear little resemblance to the subtle reality of human relations."

  Stubbornly, she shook her head. "I can’t accept what you offer."

  "Why the devil not?" He spread his hands in bewilderment. "I already know a week of you won’t go near to slaking my appetite. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you."

  That insidious warmth, the same warmth she felt when he called her his darling, snaked down to form an uncomfortable mixture with her outrage. And her regret. Because without Gerald to worry about, the idea of lingering in Brock’s arms was too tempting.

  Lingering in his arms until he tires of you, a nasty voice said inside her head. What happens when he moves on to the next woman who takes his fancy?

  Selina knew what would happen. He’d leave her behind with a broken heart and a ruined reputation.

  "How would we manage it? Would you set me up in a discreet house somewhere? Visit me when you’re free?"

  "Why not?"

  "And what would I tell Gerald? What happens when people find out? How will it be for him, when his school friends learn that his mother is the Earl of Bruard’s doxy?"

  Brock’s lips tightened. "People wouldn’t find out."

  Her shoulders slumped with the despair she’d spent months struggling to beat back. "People always find out," she said flatly.

  "Then walk away from me after this week, but let me settle some money on you, so you can tell Cecil and his harridan of a mother to go to Hades. Accept my help, Selina, no strings attached. Don’t make me have to think of you in Cecil Canley-Smythe’s bed. Don’t make me have to picture him heaving about all over you, grunting and sweating and touching you with those thick fingers."

  She flinched at the horrid pictures Brock summoned, although he said nothing she hadn’t thought herself. Unsteady hands twined in her creased olive green skirts. "You’re too generous, but I can’t take your money."

  Self-mockery darkened his face. "Any amount of money is worth it, if it buys my peace of mind."

  She shook her head. "No, you can’t make me believe that you make this offer out of selfishness. You’re being kind."

  "I’m more than willing for you to pay me back in passion, if you feel you owe me anything."

  He was joking. Selina knew he was. But her voice was adamant when she replied. "I can’t accept your money, Brock. You must see that."

  "I don’t," he said with a hint of sulky charm. "My money saves you from Cecil. It saves me from thinking of you with Cecil."

  She shook her head again, although some craven, venal part of her said she was already his lover. What would it matter if she accepted payment? The world wouldn’t judge her any more kindly, if she gained no financial benefit in return for forsaking her good name. In fact, the world would no doubt call her stupid as well as loose, if she walked away with no reward for sleeping with Brock.

  But she knew better. She made a helpless gesture, as she struggled to find the words to explain her refusal. "Last night when I accepted your invitation, I expected pleasure."

  "I hope so."

  "And guilt. And self-hatred. But it hasn’t been like that. When you’re…inside me, I feel purer than I ever have in my life. Despite the wickedness of what we do together, with you I’m true to myself in a way I’ve never been before."

  An arrested expression settled on his striking features. "You’re saying there’s virtue in the honesty between us?"

  "I’m saying that I vowed to love Roderick, yet I never did. I vowed that I’d be one flesh with him, yet for the last five years of our life together, I banned him from my bed."

  "He was faithless."

  "He was. But then, in my heart, so was I." She paused. "My contract with Cecil is based on monetary gain. He knows it. He even likes it, because his wealth gives him power over me. But the bargain between us is at base a sordid exchange. I’m selling him my body, just as much as I’d sell you my body if you paid me. The cleanest union I’ve entered into is this one with you. I’m here because I want you. In this house, we’re equals, no matter the gulf in wealth and status between us. As you said before, we return desire for desire." She paused. "Do you understand?"

  His gaze was steady and full of that admiration that bolstered her soul – and frightened her at the same time, because it would be so easy to become addicted to it. Once she left this house, she went back to being Cecil’s penniless bride and meek doormat. Yes, Cecil.

  "You’re so brave. You humble me."

  "Not at all."

  She saw he wanted to argue, but Mary’s reappearance saved her from continuing this awkward conversation. "Shall I serve dinner in an hour, my lord?"
>
  "Does that suit you, Selina?" Brock asked.

  She appreciated him checking her preferences. Cecil never did.

  Oh, dear, she’d better break this habit of comparing Brock to Cecil. Cecil was her future, and if she stewed on how poorly he measured up to Lord Bruard, she invited nothing but misery. "Yes, thank you."

  "I’ll leave you to wash and change, then," Brock said, as Mary curtsied and left.

  This had been such a disturbing day, crammed with overwhelming emotions. Selina welcomed the chance to gather her thoughts away from that perceptive green gaze. "Thank you."

  But when he went through to the dressing room and shut the door behind him, all she knew was that she’d almost used up a day of her week. She didn’t want to be parted from Brock for a minute of what was left.

  Chapter 6

  Brock studied Selina over the ruins of the extravagant meal Mary had prepared for them. The flickering candlelight turned his new lover into a symphony of gold and shadows. Desire stirred, lazy now, but apt to flare into a blaze at the first encouragement.

  After what they’d done in the carriage, he was surprised that he was already so eager for more. But Selina Martin had exerted this power over him, right from the first moment he saw her, so unsure and out of place amongst the Derwents’ aristocratic guests. He’d wondered if his fascination might fade, once he’d had her. He never seduced unworldly women, and he’d feared the novelty of the experience might explain his obsession with her.

  But having had her, he wanted her again. Having had her twice, he wanted her over and over. He already knew a mere week wouldn’t quench his mighty thirst for her.

  It might be futile to regret that she refused to throw Cecil over and become his mistress, but futility didn’t blunt the sharpness of the pang Brock felt. He was greedy to want more than she offered, although he didn’t know how to stop. Already her scent was the promise of paradise and her voice the music of the spheres.

  A week was all he had.

  So when he asked his question, he hoped she had other ideas. He certainly did. "Would you like to move into the drawing room for port? We can play cards, or there’s a pianoforte, if you’d like a little music."