“Trying to find some peace,” he replied, then added, “without much success.”
His rudeness took her aback. As did his anger. It seemed coiled in him like a snake, ready to strike.
He took another long drink. “So unless you’d care to bring me more wine, you’ll leave me be.”
Determined not to be intimidated, she forced herself to take a few steps into the lion’s den. “I think you’ve had enough.”
He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound bereft of humor. “There isn’t enough.”
She’d never seen him like this. He’d always seemed too controlled to lose himself in drink. “What’s wrong, Patrick? What is bothering you?”
He turned away from her, gazing stonily into the smoldering fire, his jaw locked and unyielding in profile. “Return to your guests, my lady. I’m not fit for civilized company right now.”
There was something behind his words, but she couldn’t hazard a guess. Her instincts told her to leave, but instead she moved closer. Close enough to reach out and put her hand on his arm. It felt as yielding as stone under her fingertips. “Is it your wound?” she asked gently.
He wrenched away as if her touch had scalded him. “My wound is fine,” he growled.
She swallowed the hot ball of hurt. Why was he acting like this? “Then what is it? I know something is wrong.” His eyes met hers, dark and impenetrable. “Won’t you tell me?” she implored.
His hand clenched the flagon until his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t say a word.
Something was eating away at him, causing him pain. There could be only one explanation. Her heart went out to him, her only thought to try to ease his suffering. “Is it your wife? You must miss her terribly. Is there anything I can do?”
He muttered a crude curse and tossed the flagon into the fire, the jar shattering and claret spraying before bursting into a web of crimson flames. He was out of the chair and on her before she could react. He grabbed her arms, shaking her with the force of his anger. “God damn you, Elizabeth, always so bloody selfless! Trying to take care of everyone around you. Don’t think to try to fix me. There are some things beyond even your considerable skills.”
She shrank back instinctively from the vitriol; he’d never talked to her like this. Yet she realized this was the anger she’d sensed in him, lurking under the surface. The part of him he’d always kept hidden. Without the façade, she saw him for what he truly was: a man consumed by demons she couldn’t begin to fathom.
But it didn’t explain why all this rage was directed at her. He was looking at her as if he hated her. What had she done to provoke him so?
She’d thought …
Fool. She’d thought he cared for her.
Tears burned behind her eyes. “I was only trying to help. I just wanted to know what was wrong.”
Something in his gaze seemed to snap.
She stepped back instinctively, but he caught her to him in his iron grasp, the hard-muscled arms closing around her like a vise. Her breath caught in surprise. For the first time, she felt the force of his strength. He could crush her without even trying.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” He took her chin, forcing her to look at him. She could feel the angry pounding of his heart through the soft leather of his jerkin. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I want you so bad, I can’t think straight. My body is on fire. I can’t look at you without wanting to pull you into my arms. I can’t touch you without thinking of running my hands all over you.” Her eyes widened. The raw desire in his gaze shocked her. Never had she thought herself capable of driving a man to such extreme passion. “But that is only half the problem.” His eyes had narrowed to slits, the lines around his mouth etched white. The dark stubble of his beard cast an ominous shadow along his hard, square jaw.
Whatever the problem, it didn’t bode well for her. She tried to pull away, for the first time truly frightened, but he wouldn’t let her go. His arms were like steel.
“You want to know what’s really wrong, Elizabeth?” His face was only inches from hers. “I saw you kiss him.” He spoke each word with damning precision.
She gasped. He saw us. He was angry with her because he was jealous. But it was the intensity that surprised her. One chaste kiss had driven him to the edge. “It was nothing,” she said softly, trying to soothe his anger.
“Nothing?” He looked as though he wanted to shake her. “He asked you to marry him, didn’t he?”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
He swore and finally released her, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “God, you are actually considering him, aren’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
His fiery gaze pinned her. “Because you want me.”
His flat tone infuriated her. “Wanting you isn’t the issue.” His eyes flashed, but she pressed on, heedless of the danger, needing to know his intentions. “If that is all that is between us—”
“Is that what you think?” His eyes locked on hers, his expression tight and fierce but brutally exposed. She could see the warning tic at his jaw and felt his body shudder with anger. “Did you think I would take you and not marry you? I might be only a guardsman, but I’m not without honor.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Didn’t you?” He gave her a piercing look. “I’ve no right, but I want you to be my wife more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. And the thought of you marrying him is tearing me apart.”
Her heart slammed into her chest at the dark emotion in his voice. But before she could react, his mouth was on hers, claiming her, possessing her, giving proof to his words.
The dam had broken. All the pent-up anger, the pent-up emotion, the pent-up desire, rushed free with the force of a tidal wave, crashing over her and pulling her into the dark whirlpool of passion. Where the only thing she could think of was kissing him and drowning in sensation.
His mouth devoured hers with a hunger that could not be denied. As if she were the only one for him and he for her. As if he could claim her forever with the force of this one kiss.
It was a kiss not to persuade, but to compel.
She opened her mouth and he groaned, sliding his hand through her hair, cupping her head to bring her more firmly against him. And then his tongue was inside her, twining, demanding, urging her deeper and deeper. Harder and faster. Until his breath became her own.
The taste of him filled her. The wine. The spice. The heady masculine essence of him permeated her bones.
She melted against him, wanting to get closer, the power of his body a potent aphrodisiac. He was so tall and strong—all thick, heavy muscle and long, powerful limbs. A warrior. A protector. In his arms, she knew that nothing would ever harm her.
She trusted him. Completely.
The fierce pounding of his heart against hers drove her on. The rough stubble of his jaw scratched the tender skin around her mouth, but she didn’t care. Her nipples hardened against his chest. His hand slipped around her bottom, lifting her to him.
She gasped, feeling the thick column wedged against her, and then moaned. Her body clenched hot with desire.
She kissed him with all of the emotion that she could not yet put words to. Kissed him with all she had, wanting it never to stop.
Patrick was mindless with lust, his hunger insatiable. The claret had dulled his reason. All he could think of was touching her, sinking into the heat, and making her his.
It was what she wanted, too. He knew it in the way her body went limp in his arms in sweetest surrender. She dissolved against him, warm and syrupy.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large wooden table, laying her back so that her hips rested just on the edge. His breathing was as heavy as the pounding of his heart as his gaze swept over her flushed cheeks, her pink lips softly parted, her trusting blue eyes hazy with desire. Her skirts were tangled in glorious disarray, revealing part of one slim, shapely leg.
So beautif
ul. So ripe and ready for his touch. He’d never been more aroused in his life. He wanted to see her naked, splayed out before him. The only thing that prevented him from ripping apart her bodice was the crowd of people in the other room.
The possibility of discovery only heightened the urgency.
Slowly, he edged up her skirts and sucked in his breath. He jerked hard, the sudden pull in his groin almost unbearable.
She was naked from the waist down except for thin ivory stockings that stopped above her knee and pale blue satin slippers on her tiny feet. Her legs were exquisite—delicately shaped with flawless velvety ivory skin that he ached to touch. And between her legs was the sweetest soft pink flesh he’d ever seen. He couldn’t wait to taste her. To slide his tongue between her honey folds, to take her shudders of pleasure against his hungry mouth.
His pause had given her time to be embarrassed, and she tried to push down her skirts.
He grabbed her wrist and held her gaze. “No. I want to see you. Don’t you know how beautiful you are?”
Her cheeks flushed and he could see her uncertainty, but before she could protest he touched her, sliding his hand between her thighs. “God, your skin is so soft.” He scraped his knuckles back and forth along the tender skin, and she shivered. “Like silk,” he whispered huskily.
She tossed her head back, and the sexy little throaty sound she made told him that she’d forgotten her embarrassment. His fingers swept higher, closer, teasing her until she moaned. Until her body started to quiver. For him.
In their passion, if nothing else, they were equal.
He inhaled deeply, the faint feminine scent of her desire calling to him in the darkest, most primitive way. “Look at me, Lizzie,” he demanded gently. “I want to see your face when I touch you.”
Her eyes widened and her breath came quickly from between her lips in a little gasp, but she didn’t look away. Her hips lifted reflexively against his hand.
It was he who closed his eyes with a groan of pleasure when he finally slid his finger inside her. The relief was too intense. She was so slick and soft. So hot. His finger dipped inside her, and she closed around him like a glove. He sank into her again and again as he pressed the heel of his hand against her mound.
The sweet little sounds she made forced his eyes open, and the look of utter rapture on her face nearly undid him. He was hard as a damn rock and ready to explode, throbbing to the point of pain. But he didn’t stop.
He was going to make her come.
He watched her breath quicken, watched the confused restlessness cross her face, watched as her back arched and her hips started to press against his hand. He couldn’t wait to get inside her. Couldn’t wait to meet her passion with his own.
He could feel it come. Feel the pressure build and the need for release drown out everything else. Feel that sudden clench—the little pause at the very peak of pleasure—before she started to break apart.
It was the moment he’d been waiting for. He pressed against her mound a little harder, increasing the friction to make her pleasure more intense, and found the sweet little spot with his finger. Her eyes widened with surprise as the rippling contractions crashed over her. She cried out, and her sexy little sounds of pleasure made him pulse.
Watching her come was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He clenched hard to prevent himself from joining her. Not yet.…
He kissed her again, sliding his tongue deep in her mouth with long, demanding strokes as he fumbled with the ties of his breeches—not for the first time cursing the absence of his plaid—and positioned himself between her open legs.
The thick head of his cock nudged against her warm dampness, the contact almost shooting him over the edge in a burst of sensation.
He had her. All he had to do was close his eyes, toss back his head, and slide deep inside her. She was his for the taking, thoroughly seduced. If he took her, she would marry him. He knew it.
He didn’t know what stopped him—perhaps the kernel of deep-seated honor awakened by Lizzie—but with a pained growl, he broke the kiss. His eyes searched her face. “Tell me not to stop, Elizabeth,” he said tightly. “Tell me you want me.”
She was still soft with her release, and confusion filled her eyes. “You know I do.”
He looked right into her eyes, breaking through the haze, forcing her to think. “Then you’ll marry me?”
“I …”
Hesitation was the only answer he needed.
She didn’t want him. Not enough, anyway. What the hell had made him think he could compete with the likes of Robert Campbell? The moment was gone, fading into uncomfortable silence.
The fire in his veins turned to ice. He uttered a vile oath and pulled away from her. The pain in his groin was nothing compared to the tight burning in his chest.
She sat up, her face crumpled. “Don’t you see? I’m trying to do the right thing.”
He turned back to her, his face revealing no hint of the sting she’d given him. “So am I.” And he was a fool. Honor had no part in his life—not anymore. This was about getting his clan’s land back. Righting a grave injustice. He wasn’t supposed to give a damn. His eyes narrowed on her. “But you had better make a choice soon, because next time I won’t stop.” He went to the door. “I hope your family realizes the sacrifice you intend to make for them. But if they love you as much as you say they do, I would think they would want your happiness.”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at him with a helpless look on her face. Achingly vulnerable. She appeared to be exactly what she was—a woman who had just come apart in his arms. She wanted reassurance, but he forced himself not to go to her.
He’d given her the best part of himself, and it hadn’t been enough.
His eyes lingered over her swollen mouth, mussed curls, and disheveled clothing. “You might want to freshen up a bit before you return to Campbell,” he said coldly. His eyes raked her face. “You have the look of a woman who has just been very thoroughly pleasured.”
Chapter 11
The next morning dawned cool and clear. The early mist had lifted, leaving a thick layer of dew clinging to the hillsides beyond the castle, shimmering in the morning sun like faerie dust sprinkled over a lush bed of emerald.
Like his eyes.
Lizzie shook off the image of his gorgeous face tight with passion as he’d stroked her. God, could she think of nothing else? Especially now, when her mind should be on other matters.
She stood in the barmkin with Robert, readying their horses for a hunt that Colin had organized for the handful of guests who’d remained after the feast. Colin had begged off at the last minute; apparently the ill effects of drink last night had yet to wane. In addition to Robert and herself, there was a handful of noblemen from the surrounding area and half a dozen guardsmen—they would take no chances. Patrick was in his usual place at the periphery, looking unbelievably handsome and completely unaffected by the events of the evening before.
His calm, solid presence proved an unexpected annoyance. If he was still angry, she couldn’t tell.
How could he behave as if nothing had changed when it felt as if Lizzie’s entire world had just been flipped upside down?
Never had she experienced anything like that. It wasn’t just the closeness of their bodies, the intimacy of his touch, or the shattering pleasure he’d given her; it was something much more intense, much more powerful—the feeling of utter connection to another soul. For those few brief minutes in his arms, they’d felt as one. At least she thought so.
She was a romantic fool, always seeing things that weren’t there.
Her eyes sought his again, but as he’d done all morning, he avoided her gaze. When their eyes happened to meet, he looked away. Her chest tightened with pain. His cold indifference stung even more than his terse words of the night before.
She’d angered him with her hesitation, but surely he had to know how difficult this was for her? He was asking her
to put aside the learning of a lifetime. Duty had been ingrained in her from birth—it was part of who she was.
Instead, he’d looked at her as if she’d failed some unspoken test—as if she’d failed him.
Had she?
Every bone in her body had cried out to say yes to his proposal, to his body; only fear had prevented her. Fear of being hurt. She’d made the wrong decision once before based on passion, and she couldn’t bear the thought of making another mistake.
Could she risk her heart again?
Her chest squeezed. She wondered if it was already too late.
Robert came up beside her. “Are you ready, my lady?”
She managed a smile. “Yes, if you’ll help me up.”
“Gladly,” he said. Instead of moving the mounting block to her horse, he slipped his hands around her waist, lingering intimately, possessively. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t need to look to know that it was Patrick. She bit back a smug smile. Apparently he wasn’t as indifferent as he appeared.
Robert must have caught it as well, because after he’d finished lifting her and settling her on her horse, he turned to address Patrick.
“You and your men are not needed today, Murray.” There was a note she hadn’t heard in Robert’s voice before—a note of steel that belied his normally light-hearted manner. “I will watch over the lady.”
Patrick’s face betrayed none of his resentment, but Lizzie felt it fire the air between them. It was odd. Though Patrick was as dark as Robert was light, there almost seemed to be a resemblance between them.
“I’ll be going along all the same,” he replied matter-of-factly. “ ’Tis the laird’s orders. The lady is not to be outside the castle gates without her guardsmen.”
Lizzie could sense the burgeoning tension between the two men and knew that she’d better intervene before something terrible happened. She was painfully aware of the differences in their station. Moreover, Colin would have Patrick hung in chains for offending a guest—particularly a guest of Robert’s importance.
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