She squared her shoulders and raised herself to her full height, “What? You…you supposed I’d remain the innocent bride while you gallivanted around London with your whores?”
The fire in his eyes changed as he took another step toward her. She didn’t understand it but whatever it was ignited a fire deep inside her, and its blaze sent something unlike anger coursing through her veins.
“I supposed ye’d do precisely what your told because I’m your husband now, Scarlett, whether ye like it or not.”
He crossed the last step that remained between them and she hadn’t time to see it coming. His arms were around her, crushing her against him in a flash, and his lips descended on her own in the blink of an eye. The anger coursing through her raged out of control.
But no, it wasn’t anger. It was something else, and so quickly it threatened to consume her. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t scream. All she could do was stand there, feeling his hard body against hers, his full lips crushing hers…and praying to God that he never stopped.
She didn’t resist when his lips parted hers and she felt the tip of his tongue flick across her lips before gliding against her own. And she was helpless to stop the muffled moan that rose from her throat as he slid back and forth, in and out, in an intimate caress that she somehow knew innately was an antecedent to something so much more intimate.
His hands moved from where he held her at the small of her back, gliding up her arms, grazing across her collarbones. Everywhere he touched her, her skin tingled and set the blaze inside her burning brighter, hotter.
He pulled away from her, but he did not release her lips, and his hands traveled lower. He cupped her breasts and she froze, stiffening in panic as the fire threatened to consume her. Dear Lord, what was she doing?
His hands fell away and his mouth left hers, and suddenly she felt bereft, despite her confusion a moment prior. He ran his fingers through his hair as he exhaled heavily, still close enough she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, caressing her.
“Nay, I think ye’d not make a very good whore, lass. Have to negotiate your price up front, ye ken?”
What? What was he talking about? And then it hit her—the argument she’d been engaged in before he’d pulled her to him and banished every bit of good sense from her mind. Mustering every bit of anger she could find, she glared at him in what she hoped would appear to be righteous indignation.
But he was first to speak. “Ye canna fool me. Ye’re flushed right down to your breasts, mo gràidh. I told ye last night that ye’d like it a lot.”
“Insufferable lout!”
“Is your head feeling a little bit muddled because ye’ve used that one already,” he teased with that same grin.
Letting out a screech, she stormed off then, not the least bit concerned with her direction or the fact she had absolutely no idea which bedchamber she could claim as her own. It didn’t matter. She’d come across a maid eventually and have the woman show her to an available room. She didn’t care which one—so long as it was as far away from Lachlan’s as possible.
Chapter 6
The day passed and then another in relative silence, aside from the familiar sounds of the house staff bustling about the manor. Lachlan had dined alone their first evening at Wendover, and the next as well. Lady Wendover had chosen to dine in her room, he’d been told by her pint-sized, brown-haired maid, Beatrice. As much as he wanted Scarlett, he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake—not that his father would have given him a say in the matter if he’d wanted one. And if his father was still alive now, the man would tell him he was being foolish. He’d say a woman like Scarlett needed a firm man to curb her temper. But Lachlan didn’t want to curb it. Hell, he’d welcome it if she’d show the faintest interest in him she’d had as a child.
A strong woman—there wasn’t anything finer, but it did him no good if she kept to herself in her rooms. For reasons unbeknownst to him, Scarlett did not want to have anything to do with him. Though, that wasn’t entirely true. Scarlett’s mind wanted nothing to do with him. Her body was a different story.
The heat that had radiated from her when he’d kissed her…the way her body had molded itself even more intimately against his…and the fire in her eyes that was so similar to the fire that shone in her anger. But it was different—hotter, brighter. Intoxicating.
She’d sent him headlong into a fit of rage one moment, and careening toward an untimely release in the next—with no more provocation than the brush of her against him through her skirts. But when she’d stiffened against him, it had reined him in fast—as much as his body protested—because he realized he didn’t want part of Scarlett. He wanted all of her, mind, body and soul.
And that left him in a fine mess since the woman seemed disinclined to come within fifteen yards of him. If they could just start over…
That was an idea, though how effective it might be, he didn’t know. Still, it was worth a try.
***
“What do ye say we call a truce?” he queried as she opened the door to his knock and he pushed himself past her.
“A truce?” she blinked at his unexpected intrusion.
What a woman—his wife and his home, and still she was surprised to see him there.
“Aye, a truce, mo gràidh. Ye’ll forget about the things I’ve said, and I’ll forget about the things ye’ve said, and we’ll pretend neither of us has a temper hotter than hades.”
She was silent for a moment, weighing his words. “I suppose a truce would not be completely uncalled for.”
“Good then. In honor of our truce, I invite ye to accompany me on horseback for a tour of the grounds.”
“But I’m already familiar with the grounds,” she explained in innocent observation.
“Aye, and ye’re also plenty familiar with horseback riding, I ken, but I didna think ye’d pass up the opportunity to try the new Arabians in the stable,” he dropped the bait, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist the fine horses.
A smile lit up her face, and he felt an odd pleasure at knowing he’d been responsible for putting it there. She shooed him out of the room quickly, but it was only to prepare for the outing, and she joined him in the front foyer just moments later.
“Lachlan?” she queried as he helped her up into the saddle of one of the four new Arabians.
“Aye?”
“What does mo gràidh mean?”
He chuckled lightly as he swung himself up onto his own horse. “It means ‘my love’, lass.”
“Oh.”
She kept her eyes carefully downcast, but he could still see what was going on in that magnificent head of hers. She was trying to figure out why he’d been calling her that. Did he mean anything by the name or was it merely an endearment he used for every woman in close proximity.
At present, he had no intention of telling her that she’d been the only woman he’d ever deemed worthy of the title.
Instead, he dug in his heels and the Arabian beneath him flew at near breakneck speed. If she’d kept up her interest in riding horses, he had no doubt she would catch up to him in no time. And he was quite right. He heard the mare’s hooves against the ground just a second before his bride came into view beside him. She wore the same smile she had when he’d proposed the ride, but there was exhilaration in her expression, too. “It feels like I’m flying,” she’d told him when they ventured out as children. It appeared she’d lost none of that excitement.
They covered quite the distance in a short span of time, but as they approached a heavily forested area of the property, he reined in his horse and she followed suit. It would be too dangerous to take the horses through at such a pace.
“Do ye remember that crotchety mare of your father’s? The one that would sooner stomp on ye than let you sit atop her,” he queried as they navigated the heavy brush.
“I do. My father tried for so long to tame her, but no matter what he did she would have her way or leave you seated
in the dust behind her.”
He’d only meant to bring up a familiar memory, but it seemed a fitting metaphor for the lovely creature who was now his wife.
She laughed. “I rode her once—though I’d never tell my father so. She stomped and snorted angrily, but I managed to make it a full chain before she tossed me from the saddle.”
“Stubborn girl!” he chortled.
“That she is.”
“I was not referring to the horse, lass.”
“Nor was I.”
They both laughed, and some of the easiness of their past relationship emerged for the first time. They continued through the forest at an easy pace in relaxed conversation, not stopping until they came across a stream, tethering the horses there to let them drink.
He helped her down from her saddle and did his best not to notice the way her body swayed toward him when her feet were on the ground. The air seemed charged with electricity. With none of the tension between them that had been there since their wedding day, what else was there bubbled to the surface. And what was there was an undeniable desire that would no longer be held back.
His hands still on her waist, he pulled her to him, knowing now how she would mold herself against him. But this time, instead of standing there passively, her arms wrapped around him and her fingers twined at the back of his neck. Her lips parted easily for him, and her tongue would not be passive either. As he delved in, she was there, her tongue gliding with fervor against his own.
He’d known her body had wanted more than what she had been willing to acknowledge, but he’d never imagined this—this woman who seemed suddenly as desperate for him as he was for her.
His hands began to move, caressing her neck, her shoulders and her arms through her gown. Blast the wretched fabric that hampered what he really wanted! Still, he continued, grazing along her back, following the curve of her hips, her waist, her ribs. And every inch of her he touched seemed to send her higher, careening toward an end he was quite certain she’d never experienced.
And he was not the only one set on exploration; her hands had left his neck, traveling across his shoulders and the broad expanse of his back. Though novice hands, they incited the fiery blaze inside him more than anything he’d ever known. He slipped his hands between them, eager to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands, and they fit perfectly, though her gown prevented him from feeling her soft flesh.
As luck would have it, the gown unfastened down the front of her, and he lunged for the tiny clasps, surprised by the way his fingers trembled. But within a moment he’d accomplished his goal—at least enough to slide the fabric off her shoulders and to her hips. Nothing but her shift stood between him and the soft flesh of her ample breasts, and he slipped his hands beneath it easily, cupping her once again and grazing his fingers back and forth across her nipples. They grew hard instantly as she moaned against his ear, the most stimulating sound he’d ever heard. She pressed herself even harder against him, and her eyes grew wide suddenly, appeasing his male pride greatly. The minx that she was, she didn’t pull away; instead she continued to rub herself against him, fascination and heat in her eyes all the while.
It was him who pulled away, knowing he could not take much more of that without embarrassing himself thoroughly.
“I canna believe ye were meant for Calum,” he whispered aloud to himself, thinking her passion would have frightened the man even more than her temper.
But suddenly, she froze beneath him. She didn’t remain still for long though. Her hands found their way between them and she shoved with all her might. Unprepared, he stumbled back, staring at her in confusion. The difference in her eyes was subtle, but it was there. The fire that blazed in her green orbs was no longer an inferno of passion, but of anger, and something else…something she endeavored to tuck away quickly as she yanked up her dress. Pain? Sadness? What was it?
“So that’s what this was about?” she shrieked. “Lure me out here with false kindness? Exploit the knowledge you have of me, all to try to seduce me? You scoundrel!”
“Scarlett, ye’ve taken leave of your senses, lass. I don’t know what ye’re talking about.”
“Have all your whores abandoned you since you wed? Is that what has reduced you to seeking the affections of your wife? Or has the lady you were meant for cried off, not willing to play mistress even if you never did want me?”
“Never wanted ye? Ye’ve gone daft, mo gràidh, for I’ve never wanted a lady more.”
“Lies! I wasn’t meant for you, remember? You said it yourself!”
He was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what on earth she was talking about. What had sent her into a fit of frenzy? And then some vague recollection came to him, some snippet of a memory. Young Scarlett was doing her damnedest to get out of the betrothal agreement between herself and Calum. She’d even gone so far as to fake a profession of love for him in her plight, right there in front of both their families. And that’s what he’d said to her, knowing she only sought to have her way.
“Six years! Christ almighty, you were a child then!”
“Well, that is still what you said, is it not?” she replied haughtily, but what she’d tried to hide away in her eyes quickly re-emerged, and there was no doubt what he saw—heartache.
She’d been young, too young for such professions. And he hadn’t been certain how he’d felt himself, even if he could have swayed his father’s decision—which he would never have been able to do. She’d been fourteen, and what he’d felt for her had been unclear, or perhaps not unclear. What he’d felt had been inappropriate given that he was four years her senior, and she, still too young to call herself a woman.
But she was no longer a child, nor betrothed to his brother. She was a woman, full grown.
“Aye, it is what I said, Scarlett, and I said it for your own good.”
“My own good? You…you…humiliated me and…you broke my heart!”
“Oh, mo gràidh, that was never my intention.”
“Stop calling me that!”
She dashed to her horse, untethering it quickly and throwing herself up into the saddle unaided, and she rode back the way they’d come, her dress still open and flying at a pace too fast for the uneven terrain beneath her. The foolish woman was going to break her own neck!
Chapter 7
Scarlett slowed her pace when she was certain she was well out of Lachlan’s sight, still listening and ready to set the horse galloping again if she heard any signs of his approach. But she heard nothing. As she emerged from the forest and into the clearing, she stopped altogether, fastening and fixing her dress before she ventured back to the house where there would be servants aplenty to gossip.
Once safely ensconced behind the closed door of her rooms, her veil of her anger fell away and she couldn’t stop what laid beneath from rising to the surface. She’d been so muddled by the fiery heat he evoked in her that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. In truth, if he’d not said what he had and jarred her from the moment, she would have given herself to him right there in the forests of Wendover. And then, she’d been so overwhelmed with emotion she hadn’t been able to stop the words from tumbling from her lips, letting him see the truth behind her anger. She’d swore he would never humiliate her again, and she’d allowed him to do precisely that. What a fool she was!
She paced back and forth across the room, not knowing what else to do with herself. She should leave. She should run away from Wendover. An intelligent woman could certainly find some means of existence. She’d travel to London and seek out work. Yes, that was a plan. And then she’d never have to see Lachlan ever again.
Damn it, but she did want to see him again…and again. But she’d played the fool long enough. She would not remain there as the unwanted wife to a man she had fallen hopelessly in love with years ago, a man who would forever view her as an unwanted burden. It was a rash decision, even for her, and she knew it, but she would hamper him no longer. The truth of it was she still lov
ed him. Even more, she realized right then that she wanted his happiness above her own. And he would be free to seek it once she was no longer there.
Fighting back tears, she spread out a thin linen blanket on the bed and went in search of what she would need. She would not take anything that belonged to Lachlan, only the items that had belonged to her coming into the marriage—like her jewels she could use to barter with for a horse and a warm bed at night until she found herself employment.
But as she was tying the ends of the linen together a knock sounded at the door and panic coursed through her veins. She’d expected to have more time; that he wouldn’t come looking for her until long after she’d departed. Now what was she supposed to do? She debated ignoring the knock, willing him to assume she’d gone somewhere else in the house, but the door flew open a moment later, banishing the hope. She moved quickly, positioning herself in front of the bed and hoping he wouldn’t notice the cloth full of items on it.
“We need to talk, Scarlett,” he told her without preamble. “There are some things ye’ve mistaken sorely and it’s time to put them to rights.”
She didn’t respond—what was she to say?—and he must have taken her silence for agreement.
“Ye were young, mo gràidh, too young…”
“I told you to stop calling me that! I don’t need your lies.” Knowing his words weren’t true, and knowing what she was about to do despite that, made them all the more painful to hear.
“Nay, not a lie,” he whispered as he crossed the room to her. “It is the most truthful thing I’ve ever said to ye.” He looked down at her from no more than a step away, and his eyes held her captive.
She swallowed hard, trying to decipher his purpose. To calm her anger? To seduce her?
“What is this?” he queried suddenly, looking past her. His jaw clenched tight and anger flared in his eyes, but he swallowed it down. She was impressed—she never could rein in her emotions so easily.
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