by Jackie Ivie
There wasn’t any other reason for a summons that sent her there.
Why, oh why, hadn’t she considered this possibility? And why hadn’t she asked who was on the other side of the door before unbarring it? And why did Straith have to be an unprincipled cad, with little care for other’s troubles? Ainslee lifted her skirts with a hand that trembled, worked at conquering it, and then moved past William into the hall.
“Why didn’t he send a servant? Or, have you taken to delivering messages now?”
“Oh. I offered,” William replied.
Ainslee started walking, ignoring him as much as possible. Her free hand skimmed along the banister as she descended the spiral stone steps. The satin slippers didn’t make much sound. She didn’t hear William, either. Actually, she couldn’t hear much over the sound of her own heartbeat as it grew louder and faster with each step. She didn’t have to hear William to place him, however. She knew he’d be right behind her. He wouldn’t miss this.
She wouldn’t demur. She wouldn’t cower. She wouldn’t sob. Or beg. And she definitely wouldn’t cry out. No matter how many times Father hit her. Or how hard. She wouldn’t make a sound. She daren’t. It might be heard. She hadn’t seen the Duke of Straithcairn or any of his retinue leave yet. For all Ainslee knew, they were still in the great hall, toasting the betrothal of Lileth, while they waited for their host to return from the library.
She’d failed.
For some strange reason, that fact was a harder thing to deal with than her fear. She didn’t want to look too closely into why, so she didn’t. She simply put one foot before the other. They reached the third floor landing. Ainslee walked from the spiral steps into the hall, her steps barely making sound on the span of wood covered with the long woven rugs, either. This hall led to the salons, the ladies solar, the study…and finally—
...the library.
She stopped at the large double doors, her nose nearly touching. They’d fashioned these doors so tall that torchlight didn’t penetrate the gloom near the top of the doorframe. Ainslee pulled in a shuddered breath, straightened her shoulders, blinked rapidly at the moisture atop her eyes, and then reached for the handle. It was solid iron. Heavy. Well-used. Cold to the touch. It turned down without a hint of delay or effort when it normally required a wrenching.
The door opened inward into a room lit by a huge chandelier, since it was too hot for a fire. The library was a two-story room, built in an octagonal shape. Book-filled shelves lined every available wall, interspersed with two long windows that looked out at the MacAffrey loch. The room also contained free-standing shelving units. They were arranged, radiating outward from the center area, like spokes in a wheel. There were lots of shadowy recesses. Ainslee moved through them without a sound. Somewhere she heard the hint of a clock ticking away at time. It actually carried over the sound of her pulse.
She was heading toward the center of the room. Father always stood there, beside a massive desk all the MacAffrey lairds must have used. But he wasn’t there. Ainslee sent a quick glance about the spot, and then back the way she’d come. The door had been pulled shut behind her. William hadn’t even followed her in.
Ainslee forced herself to scan the area again. It looked deserted. There was only that large desk, a table, two sofas, assorted chairs. And then she saw a man silhouetted against one of the long windows.
He moved.
Ainslee dropped her eyes and stood rooted in place, trembling visibly. Why, oh why, was it so hard to be brave tonight?
Why?
“Well. Well. What have we here? It was you this morn. I should have guessed.”
Ainslee’s head snapped up. She stared across the lit area, and then up. He’d stepped fully into the light. Flickers from the candlelit chandelier danced through the area, highlighting every bit of Straithcairn brawn.
Oh! Thank the saints! It was the duke!
Relief whooshed through her with a rush, resembling a burn running with a torrent of water. She felt light-headed. Woozy. Faint. Ainslee reached out and grabbed onto the nearest object. It became the back of a sofa, the wood hard and solid in her hand. She clamped tighter to it as little dots danced about her vision, making the duke’s image warp and then clear.
Warp.
Clear.
“Y-y-your...grace.” The words trembled.
“Miss Ainslee MacAffrey.”
The library acoustics gave a resonating timbre to his voice as he said her name. His voice was warm. Deep. Musical-sounding.
“Your…grace.” This time, she cleared her throat first.
“You should probably call me Neal.”
“Your grace.”
Her voice was stronger. Her legs felt the same. Ainslee sketched a deep curtsey before standing back up. She didn’t release the sofa.
“We need to move past the greeting portion of this, Ainslee. We’re being timed. I’ve probably got but a minute left. You must reside in the Hebrides, as long as it took to fetch you.”
“You...asked for me?”
“Of course. Wasn’t that the plan?”
“Yes…but—?”
“But, what? Never mind. Whatever it is, we’ll discuss it later. We don’t have much time. I need to give you the Straith emerald engagement ring, and if you weren’t so damned young, I might...steal a kiss.”
She gasped. He regarded her for a bit and then snickered.
“Very well. We’ll forego any kissing.”
He stepped toward her, gaining illumination along his straight nose, full lips, strong chin... Her heart gave a start at his nearness. Ainslee’s eyes widened as she felt it. She’d known he was handsome, but it hadn’t meant much until right then.
“You truly…asked for me?”
He sighed heavily. “Give me your hand. Or…? You don’t want a bended-knee proposal, do you?”
“What? Why?”
“Why would you want a man on his knees? Or why am I here asking for you? Because, if you’re questioning the latter, quite frankly, I’m not even sure. I believe it has something to do with lesser evils. Add in a large, unbelievable dose of quantum physics, along with a heretofore undiscovered altruistic nature I apparently possessed, but have kept hidden, even from myself. All possibilities. There could even be something in the whiskey I wasn’t informed about. Your call.”
He’d walked around the desk while he’d spoken and stood before her, looking down. She didn’t know how to answer. His words were strange. Bewildering. And being this close to him had an odd effect on her throat. As if a knot had lodged there. She hadn’t known he was this large. He hadn’t looked it when lying on the ground this morn. The man was enormous. Ainslee was dwarfed. Even if she’d worn her riding boots with heels, regardless of how out of place they’d look, it wouldn’t have helped. She glanced up at him, and then back to the ruffles at his shirt front at her eye level.
“Your hand, my dear?”
He put his out, palm upward. Ainslee regarded it for a moment before craning her neck to look back up at him.
“Look. I don’t bite. All right? Not recently, anyway.”
“Bite?”
“I’m joking. Trying to alleviate your fears.”
“I’m...na’ frightened.”
“Left hand please? You looked ready to keel over when you first saw me. Don’t bother denying it. I didn’t just parachute in here, you know. Oh. Wait. Maybe I did.”
He stopped and chuckled. “Sorry. Private joke. I need your hand, dear. For the ring. I mean, you are accepting me, aren’t you?”
Ainslee nodded and placed her hand in his, and experienced a jolt of something completely unrelated to fear. She’d have jerked her hand back if he hadn’t already held it. She watched him slide the ring on first her ring finger, then her index finger, and then her middle finger where it dangled. It was useless. Her fingers were too small. He settled with crooking her fingers into a fist to hold the ring in place.
“There. Should work for the time being. As long as you don
’t go around hitting anyone. Pulling weeds. Doing dishes. You know. Stuff like that.”
“Your grace?”
She glanced up. He was smiling. Her heart stuttered. She moved her gaze to his mouth and chin before anything else happened.
“You really need to call me Neal. All right? We are affianced, after all. I’m pretty sure you can stop the ‘your grace’ stuff, especially when we’re alone.”
The breath she eased out trembled. She hoped he didn’t notice. His voice was unsettling. His touch even more so. Her entire body felt tingly all over, aware and alert, as if she’d just risen from the waves of the loch after a clandestine swim. Before the sun rose and the mists cleared. On the coldest of morns. Except this sensation didn’t make her feel remotely cold.
Anywhere.
“Hmm. If I’d known the color of your eyes, I’d have been tempted to ignore the custom, and bring a sapphire ring. I’d have made certain it was smaller, too,” he remarked. “By the way, we need to set a wedding date. You can figure that out, can’t you?”
“I can be ready tomorrow.”
He grinned at her. He had a beautiful smile. Very white teeth. Perfectly straight. Her heart stuttered again. Ainslee’s eyes widened. She swiftly moved her gaze back to the ruffles at his shirt front. Pulled on her hand. He released it.
“Oh. I think you’ll need at least a week. Maybe two. If this dress is an example of your wardrobe, I’m in severe danger of being accused of cradle-robbing. I was told you were somewhere in the age range of nineteen. But, you look about twelve in this get-up. You’re going to need some new clothing. Something age-appropriate. Tell your sire to send me the bill. And there isn’t a woman I know of that would turn that offer down.”
Her heart gave another stumble. That was beyond worrisome. She wasn’t supposed to react to the duke. Or any man. And she didn’t dare feel anything! She set about squashing the reactions. Now. Right now.
“Verra well, your grace. Two weeks.”
She took a step back to make it easier. Glanced back up. Couldn’t move her gaze.
Again.
“Oh. No rush. I was just making conversation. Tell you what? Why don’t we meet up in two weeks...to discuss possible dates? And please. It’s Neal.”
He folded his arms, and tilted his head to one side, giving the impression of looking her over as he might a horse or similar acquisition. Ainslee couldn’t shake the sensation. Her back straightened, and that just put every bit of her breasts against the tight bodice of the gown, defining portions of her anatomy no one ever saw. She watched him glance there and then he looked at something over her head. She watched a nerve twitch in his jaw. For the longest moment, neither of them moved. Nobody even breathed.
“Ainslee?”
Her eldest half-brother stuck his head in, his voice accompanying the door opening. Ainslee immediately stepped toward the duke. The move was instantaneous and instinctive. Self-preserving. And completely foreign.
It also blocked her from view.
“Oh…g-good eve, uh…your…grace. Have you seen my…uh…my sister, Ainslee, by chance?”
Mitchell’s words were slurred and nearly unintelligible. He stumbled into the door. It slammed into the wall. Smacked back against his shoulder, making him stagger backwards before catching it.
“As a matter of fact…” The duke began drawing out the words, but Mitchell interrupted him.
“The laird’s been yellin’ for her.”
“Tell him there’s no need. We’ve about finished.”
“I doona’ believe I can save her a beatin’ this…go-round. She’s so stup’t. She kens better than to set him against her when he’s in his cups.”
“Set him against her?” The duke repeated, without one inflection to his voice.
“You hush your tongue, Mitchell MacAffrey!”
Ainslee moved out from behind the duke before her brother said anything more. His face lightened and he smiled drunkenly at her.
“Oh. Hello, Ains…lee. Come along. Father’s yellin’ for you.”
Mitchell gestured for her. Ainslee moved another step away from the duke. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. She could barely move without somewhere showing signs of abject shame. Embarrassment. If only a hole would open in the floor before her! She’d have dropped into it with alacrity. She dropped a curtsey in his direction. She didn’t have enough moisture in her mouth to speak, so she whispered.
“I must go.”
“Oh. I don’t think so,” he answered.
The duke snatched up her hand and used it to pull her against him. Ainslee gave a soft gasp as he gripped her to his left side. He glanced down, his expression harsh, and nothing like the one he’d given her earlier. And then he looked across the library at her brother.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Neal.
Neal.
What are you doing, buddy?
Neal castigated himself silently, while Ainslee trembled at his side. Just like that, he’d gone off the script. Without any warning. This was the opposite of his objective. He was here to dot some ‘I’s, cross some ‘T’s. Get the hell out of Dodge. If the little waif lived in an abusive environment, what the hell did it matter to him? She wouldn’t be the first woman. Besides, she didn’t have any obvious bruising. No signs of trauma. She was obviously used to it. This wasn’t his concern.
He almost groaned.
There wasn’t one inkling to why he was doing this. Something weird was happening here. He didn’t recognize it and he damned sure didn’t like not knowing what it was.
So what if Ainslee was small? So excruciating young? What did it matter that she was – face it, Neal – the waif was mercilessly attractive. So what? Neal had been around stunning women his entire adult life although Ainslee MacAffrey might overshadow them all. Even dressed in a poorly fashioned dress, in an excruciatingly bad color choice, she had a beauty that transcended normality. It was almost ethereal.
He’d recognized it instantly. He’d nearly whistled when she’d first approached. She had a waterfall of midnight-colored hair falling across her shoulders and down her back, incredibly vivid sapphire hued eyes set amidst black lashes that wouldn’t need mascara even if it was available at this point in time, and pristine skin that a cosmetic counter couldn’t possibly enhance.
So what, Neal?
Argh.
He had to factor in her first reaction to him. Perhaps that was why he was standing here now, preparing to go head-to-head with her abuser. Ainslee’s face had lit up when she’d recognized him. He guessed the reason for it now. He didn’t think he was far off. She’d been expecting another man entirely. And that made her bravery as she’d approached him even more remarkable.
Neal stiffened as he regarded the MacAffrey heir. The move tightened his arm and lifted Ainslee from the floor, plastering her to his left leg. The closeness of her, as she melted into his protective arm caused an unfamiliar surge of electricity to course through his body.
He rocked back slightly with the force of it before returning upright. But, all of that had to have been in his mind. Ainslee hadn’t moved, and her brother didn’t appear to have noted anything.
What in the hell?
Mitchell grinned drunkenly across at them. Wove in place. And then he wagged a finger in their direction.
“Ye need to release..me, uh. Me. Me...” The lad stopped. Licked his lips. Hiccoughed. “Her. Ains...lee. Me sister.”
Neal cleared his throat. Glanced down at Ainslee. “I don’t believe we’ve finalized our plans. Have we, darling?”
He attempted a smile. Another jolt went through his belly and lower limbs. It messed with his intent. His eyes widened, any attempt at a smile died, and he shifted his gaze before anything more alien happened. The area where her brother stood was a viable option. And he knew he could deal with Mitchell, at least.
“Be off, lad. Find your father. Tell him to attend me here. Right now. And while you’re at it, request my Honor Guard.”
“But—.”
“I said to be off. Now.”
Neal used his most authoritarian voice, the one described in one magazine article about him as being predatory. Bestial. Almost feral. Neal hadn’t minded the description. It was an imaginative use of words by a journalist to sell papers. Hadn’t meant it was real. But he did possess something that got masses to listen. It wasn’t a rise in volume. It was more how he lowered his tone and projected it outward. He’d always possessed this ability. That was one reason he’d managed his first takeover. While his quarry had waited for a mic and sound system, Neal had been addressing the crowd. Swaying them with words every stockholder wanted to hear. Positive return. Zero risk. Profit. Profit.
Profit.
...always profit.
His voice throbbed through the library now, sending bass tones filled with command that expected obedience. The MacAffrey heir stood straighter, and then he did an off-kilter bow before leaving. The door shut behind him with a bang.
“You…should put me down now,” Ainslee whispered at his side.
“Oh. You believe so, do you?”
The words left this mouth, but he didn’t move anything. His body was giving him trouble. That was as foreign as it was unbelievable. He might as well be on another planet. His strength was already an oddity. What was happening, even more so. It didn’t take the slightest effort to continue holding her aloft with one arm. Exactly where she was, while nerve endings fired through him, sending messages filled with warmth.
No.
This was closer to scorching.
And then even worse things happened. The wool plaid of his kilt-thing, the velvet jacket, and the finely woven linen shirt that barely covered his ass and loins, weren’t remotely sufficient to prevent what was happening. He held a softly curved, wickedly desirable, and fully mature female against him. His body immediately recognized it and went on the alert, despite his effort at stopping it. This was ridiculous. Impossible. Intensely personal. He wasn’t bestial. Or feral. And he sure as hell wasn’t craven. Controlling testosterone had never been a problem. That Neal could remember, anyway.