by Scott, Tarah
He started to speak, to explain that her younger age might not allow for the understanding of his more experienced wisdom, but he stopped, remembering the empty marriage she'd endured.
"Hmm," he began slowly. "One day your feelings for me shall fade?"
"You are cruel," she cried. "You know that is not my meaning."
Marcus's chest tightened. She hadn't denied loving him. He gently squeezed her hand. "I am not Riley."
Elise twisted in his arms in an earnest attempt at escape. "You overstep your bounds, milord."
He barely repressed a sudden laugh when she thumped his arm with a small fist. She shoved at his chest and Marcus hugged her so close their lips almost met.
"Surely, I have proven I am not faithless," he demanded.
"Faithless? Good Lord, you're lucky I don't sacrifice you for my own selfish needs."
"Needs? Aye, lass, you need me. Nay," he added when she opened her mouth to interject. "Don't think I am ignorant of your needs." He slid a hand into her hair. "They are not unlike my own."
Marcus kissed her. She breathed deep and he felt his body throb with a need that he now realized had only begun to surface. What would he have done that first day he saw her in the meadow had he known just how badly he would one day need her? Send his men away and take her there—leave her no choice, nowhere to go but to him? Turning and fleeing straight back to Ashlund would have been the wisest course of action. But he would not have—could not have—even then. He had loved—or thought he loved—other women. He had been hurt in the past, but Elise held the power to destroy him. He slid his mouth down her chin and along her neck to the swell of her breast. Her head fell back onto his arm without resistance.
"You would marry a stranger?" she murmured.
Marcus froze.
"Take a lowly servant girl to wife."
He jerked his head up. "I wouldn't relegate anyone to that status, least of all, you."
Her eyes unexpectedly softened. "I know, but that doesn't change the differences in our classes."
"I care nothing for so-called classes. I care about living life."
Her expression turned appraising. "Even you did not flout that responsibility. Didn't you marry out of a sense of duty?"
"Aye. Which is precisely why I will not do so again."
Marcus crushed her lips to his. She didn't protest this time, and he slid her from his lap and onto the couch. Grasping her hand, he slipped it beneath his kilt and forced her fingers around his erection.
Elise started.
"Nay," he breathed in her ear. "Do not run from me. God, you haunt me at every turn." Releasing her fingers, he yanked her dress up and reached between her legs. "Your body responds to me without reservation. Let your heart follow. I promise, I will love you."
He slipped a finger inside her slick heat. Her grip on his shaft tightened convulsively. Marcus drew in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth to keep from spending himself. He removed his hand and slid on top of her, pressing his lips against her ear.
"Guide me into you, sweet," he whispered. "Let me show you how much I want you. Let me show you what love is."
She did as he urged, and he caressed her with his movements, his body meeting hers, arching away, then gently thrusting again.
"Is marrying me so terrible?" he asked against her neck.
She breathed deep. "No, but after the fact you"—she gasped when he thrust with a quick motion—"you will regret being chained to me."
Marcus laughed. "It will be the sweetest of tortures." He drove deep again.
She cried out as her muscles clenched around him.
"It's not as if you need to marry me." She blurted in a strained voice. "I have not withheld myself from you."
Marcus halted. Bracing a hand on either side of her, he looked down at her. "I love you. I want you—need you." He held her gaze as he moved slowly, nearly filling her, then thrust quickly and pulled back.
"I haven't left you," she insisted.
"You withhold a part of yourself. If not, you would be dragging me to the altar."
Elise reddened.
"You don't trust me." He kissed her ear.
She shook her head. "I cannot believe we are having this discussion in the middle of… that is, I can't believe we are-are doing this in the middle of a disagreement."
Marcus chuckled. "'Tis a new experience for me, as well. But, if we must disagree, this is a most pleasant way to do so." He slid his hands beneath her thighs, coaxing her legs around his waist. "Aye." He buried his face in her hair at the nape of her neck and drove into her. "I will protect you." He cupped a breast—she was breathing hard now, she wanted him—needed him.
He thrust quicker. Her breathless response told him she neared her pleasure. "You will be my wife, my marchi—"
"Your servant girl made mistress of the manor," she said.
Marcus jerked, his thrust going hard and deep. Elise gasped. He remained inside her, full to the hilt. "Why did you allow me to touch you?" he demanded. "Don't say it is because I am lord and you are servant. We both know better. I have the power to care for you, protect you."
At last, uncertainty shown in her expression.
"As my wife, your security is assured. No Campbells, or anyone else, can harm you."
"Nothing is that certain," Elise replied.
"I haven't failed you yet."
Her mouth parted in surprise.
He kissed her mouth and moved in her again. Kissed her forehead, cheek, then ear. "Admit you want me." He quickened his thrusts.
Her muscles tightened around him in readiness for her release.
"Admit it," he pressed. "You want me now and every day and night hereafter."
Elise hugged him tight. "Yes," she cried as her climax rolled over her.
"You are mine," Marcus rasped. "You will not regret the choice."
* * * *
Elise found herself being pulled down the hall of Brahan Seer. Marcus intended to take her directly to his father to announce their betrothal. Her head whirled as much from his lovemaking as his proposal. He picked up speed, nearly dragging her down the hallway.
She needed more time. "Marcus, wouldn't it be wise to give this more thought before telling anyone?"
"Nay."
"Slow down. I can barely keep up with you." She tugged on the hand he grasped.
"I can carry you, if you like," he responded, still striding in long paces.
"Good Lord, no. Marcus." Elise yanked hard on his hand.
He came to an abrupt halt and she tumbled into his arms.
"Aye, sweet," he drawled. "You wanted something."
"Slow down. I'm not a sack of potatoes to be dragged along behind you."
His gaze dropped to her breasts. "True, and I could easily forget myself even here in the common walkway."
Surely, he wouldn't have asked her to marry him if he'd seen the notice in the paper? Could she live with herself for deceiving him? "You needn't marry me," she said, then silently added, This is your chance, Marcus MacGregor. Save yourself. "I can't refuse you," she said, "even here."
His eyes jerked up to meet hers, the amorous light gone. "I believe we were on our way to see my father." Taking her hand once again, he continued at an even more relentless pace.
Five minutes later, they entered the stables where Cameron stood with the young foal born that summer.
"Father," Marcus called.
Cameron looked over his shoulder at Marcus, then her.
"We have an announcement," Marcus said as they drew up beside Cameron.
Cameron's expression turned bemused, but Elise knew better.
"Elise and I are to be married." Marcus's hold on her hand tightened. "And soon."
Her heart jumped into a gallop. "No one said anything—"
"Hush," he commanded, and looked at his father. "Have you anything to say?"
Cameron shrugged. "You are old enough to make your own decisions."
Marcus grinned, and she muttered,
"Bloody idiotic men."
Both men regarded her.
She looked back at them. How could she explain that the woman he wished to marry was wanted for murdering her husband? 'You see, my husband poisoned my daughter with tiny doses of the deadly nightshade. The symptoms were subtle, which explains why the doctors couldn't pinpoint the disease. I never caught Robert in the act, but he knew I knew and tried to kill me. I shot him in self-defense. Ignore the wanted notice in the London Sunday Times. It will eventually go away.'
Elise regarded Marcus. "As your wife, I am no longer prisoner?"
"You are not prisoner now," he replied. "You are in the castle for your safety."
"Safety," she murmured, then added, "If I wish to go to the village, you will allow it?"
He nodded. "If it pleases you. I have work I can take care of while we are there."
She narrowed her eyes. "I am no prisoner then?"
"Nay," he answered innocently, and she knew she would get no more.
He would ensure she was watched every second they were at the village. If she played the future wife, he would soon relax his hold. Pain stabbed at her heart.
She had to be gone before his priest arrived.
* * * *
Elise paced her bedchamber. Marcus's son would arrive any hour. Only two days had passed since she'd agreed to marry Marcus. Was he hurrying to Brahan Seer to meet the woman who would marry his father, or to expose her as murderess? How in God's name was she to escape not two, but three MacGregor men?
The fire blazing in the hearth cracked and she jumped. She pressed a hand over her racing heart. Something must be done. She recalled the various decanters of liquor sitting on the sideboard in Marcus's library and hurried to the library.
She opened the door and met Marcus's gaze as he looked up from the work on his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, love?" he asked.
She closed the door and headed for the sideboard. "I need a drink."
Elise ignored the quizzical lift of his brow as she stopped before the sideboard and surveyed the decanters. She spied the small square decanter filled with cognac. She removed the lid from the decanter, poured a healthy portion into a glass, then emptied it in two unladylike gulps.
She heaved a sigh, then poured another, and finished it just as quickly. She glanced at Marcus and saw he regarded her. "Oh," she said, "how thoughtless. Would you like one?"
He shook his head.
"Well, I do."
The glass reached her lips when Marcus's hand covered hers. "Slow down, lass. You're liable to regret this in the morning."
"Unlikely." She brushed his hand aside, then strolled to the hearth while sipping the cognac.
"Is something wrong?" Marcus inquired.
"Wrong?" She whirled. A delicious warmth radiated through her body. "A few months ago, I was shipwrecked, left penniless and alone, then, naïve little lamb that I am"—she narrowed her eyes at the mirth that leapt to his eyes—"I was pursued relentlessly by you."
"Perhaps what you need is a little comforting," he suggested.
Elise rolled her eyes. "What I need is another cognac."
"Nay."
She gave her head one single slow shake. "Do not think you can stop me from doing as I please. Now or after we're married."
Marcus caught her arm as she approached the sideboard. "Have you not had enough?"
She disengaged herself from his grasp. "I'm capable of handling my liquor. Be so kind as to move aside." She placed a hand on his chest and shoved.
He stepped back as she passed. "You're in a fine mood tonight. I have never seen you this way before."
Elise paused in filling her glass and looked at him. "Regretting your proposal?"
His mouth twitched.
Damn him, she mentally cursed.
"I think I will still wed you," he replied. "I'm looking forward to ravishing your sweet body every chance I get."
"I believe I pointed out you need not marry me to do that." She lifted the glass to her lips.
"Perhaps," Marcus said. "But it will be my obligation, and I will always know where to find you when my sense of duty calls me into service."
Elise halted mid-sip and narrowed her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged. "A wife is always in her husband's bed, aye?" His gaze made a possessive sweep over her body.
She lowered the glass from her lips. "Are you saying you're marrying me to ensure my… my availability?"
His wince and quick "Nay" confirmed the assessment. "I am marrying you because I love you and want you at my side."
A tremor passed through her at the declaration of love given so naturally, but she gave a feminine snort and retorted, "A masculine play on words."
"Nay," he denied even more vehemently.
Elise regarding him more closely. "You're jealous."
"Jealous?" His expression snapped to a stormy darkness. "Of whom?"
She waved her glass, dodging the liquid that sloshed over the rim and onto the carpet. "The funny part is"—the funny part is, she should have created a fictional lover long ago—"you were afraid I would want someone else."
He looked startled and she couldn't help a laugh. Elise placed her glass on the sideboard and came to stand in front of him. A fuzzy sensation in her belly made her feel reckless. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she caressed his jaw with her free hand. She ran her gaze in a purposeful, slow motion from his mouth to his eyes. "Perhaps I should have considered another application or two for my hand."
His arm shot around her. She squealed with the hard yank of her body against his.
"I am marrying you because I cannot live without you," he growled.
But you will, she thought, and pulled away so he wouldn't see the pain that rose too easily to the surface. Elise started for the sideboard and her drink. She reached the tumbler and once again downed the glass.
"Elise," he growled. "Enough."
Despite the sudden fogginess of her vision, she reached for the decanter again. This time, strong fingers pried her hand from the stopper.
"You seem to forget," Marcus said, "my warning about disobeying me."
Elise frowned, the fogginess creeping into her brain. "Ahh, you mean the threat to distract me with your body." She laughed. "I think that threat is a little old, don't you?"
Without warning, he swung her into his arms and, an instant later, she found herself on the couch, pinned tightly beneath him.
"I always keep my promises, love, even if it means finding a new twist to an old game."
"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight, milord. Let me go."
"Nay."
"Marcus." She groaned with the effort of attempting to shove him off her.
He shifted and, grasping her hands, wedged them behind her back. His weight lay fully on her and she wriggled, the increasing cloud across her mind impairing the ability to think. Even as she realized he'd lowered his head and his hair was tickling her chin, the sudden flicker of his tongue dangerously close to her nipple sent a jolt through her. She gave a tiny squeal and he responded with a noise deep in his throat. Gripping her wrists with one hand, he freed his other hand to reached down and yank up her skirt.
"Marcus," she breathed, unexpectedly clear headed, "we're in the library. You cannot!"
But he continued, his tongue—his tongue, she forgot in favor of the finger that slid across her pleasure point. Marcus wound a foot around her ankle and tugged her close until she felt the thick bulge pressed to her thigh. His grip on her hands loosened as a slow thrust slid along her thigh.
"I think ye will find your father in here," came Cameron's voice just outside the library.
Elise stiffened. Marcus yanked her skirt down as the door opened. She squeezed her eyes shut just before Marcus's gaze settled on his father.
"You chose a fine time to visit the library," Marcus said evenly.
"Aye," Cameron replied. "So it would seem. You look well this evening, lass," h
e added.
She buried her head in Marcus's shoulder, not quite stifling an oath.
"I think you had better do something about your lady's speech," Cameron said. "She's beginning to sound like a sailor."
"Was there something you wanted?" Marcus asked. "Kiernan," he exclaimed.
His muscles tightened and Elise realized he was rising. She grasped his shoulders.
He relaxed and said, "I'll be out directly. Give me a moment." The door closed with a soft click, then he said, "You can open your eyes now, love. They have gone."
Elise opened her eyes while shoving at him. "Get up for God's sake."
He obliged. "Only a moment ago, you didn't want me to rise."
She sat up. "Your son—he saw me."
"Elise—"
She shot to her feet. "Good Lord, you shouldn't have—"
"Now, love, 'tis not all that bad. You were fully clothed after all"—she groaned and plopped back down onto the couch—"and, truly," he went on, "this has been a household of men for many years. We aren't shocked by a little love-play."
Elise shook her head harder this time.
Marcus gave her a gentle look. "You can't avoid him our entire marriage."
Her stomach did a flip.
"I'll take full blame for the situation."
She paused. "That is the truth."
"Aye," he agreed.
She kept her gaze fixed on him, but she was imagining his son's face as he stared down at them, Marcus on top of her while she arched toward him. If she could only leave the castle tonight. But even an hour's absence would be noticed. Not nearly long enough. She remembered how they had tracked her clear to Glasgow and the damned pawnbroker.
"Leave Kiernan to me." Marcus's voice jerked her back to the present.
She eyed him doubtfully.
He smiled. "Don't concern yourself over it, love. 'Tis nothing."
Elise rose. "I'm going upstairs to change."
"But you look beautiful."
"I can imagine just how I look," she grumbled.
His gaze traveled the length of her, his expression taking on a masculine pride, which started a quiver in her stomach—and reminded her that his son had caught them when that same look was on Marcus's face.
Chapter Fourteen
When Elise finally stepped from the stairwell, Marcus had to remember to breathe. Pleasure rippled through him at seeing she had worn her hair loose. Her creamy skin, luminous against the soft brown of the modest gown borrowed for this occasion, radiated a sensuality, which revived the memory of their earlier lovemaking. Low bodice met high waist, emphasizing the curve of her breasts. The dress hung loosely around her slim body, transforming her into an ethereal creature drifting toward him. She stopped beside him and smiled at his son. Marcus watched Kiernan's acute scrutiny of her as introductions were made. She extended a hand as graciously as any duchess.