Page 97 of Midnight Conquest

Her heart pounded like a war drum. He was offering her exactly what she’d wanted—but at a price she wasn’t sure she could afford. Her traitorous body responded to the hunger in his gaze, heat coiling low in her belly, but she shoved the sensation away, locking it behind the fortress of her will.

“And what if I don’t agree to your…terms?” Her voice trembled, despite the steel she tried to lace through it.

Broderick shrugged again, infuriatingly casual, as though her resistance amused him. “I’m sure MacLeod will be thrilled tae have ye under his thumb.”

The name landed like a blow, stealing her breath and churning her stomach. Her fingers curled tighter around the back of the chair, knuckles pale as the memory of MacLeod’s smug face flashed before her mind’s eye.

She wanted to scream. To hurl something at him, to defy the trap he’d laid so carefully around her.

But the fire in his eyes promised a different kind of battle—one she wasn’t sure she could win.

Broderick stepped closer, looming over her. “Or ye can choose me.” His voice soft but no less commanding. “At least this way, ye get tae keep what’s yers.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Choose wisely, Blossom.”

Davina’s jaw tightened, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, even as her hands trembled. “You’re a bastard.”

The deep rumble of his chuckle moved through her, and her nipples tightened in response. “Aye. But I’m the bastard ye need.”

Her chest heaved with each breath, a battle waging inside her between anger and fear, while something even more perilous simmered deep within her under his intense, predatory stare, like a panther that had trapped its prey.

She wanted to fight him. To claw her way out of this trap he’d set for her. But deep down, she knew the truth.

There was no other choice. Broderick would be her husband.

Chapter Seventeen

Davina sat before the looking glass at her vanity, her reflection pale as moonlight. Dark circles shadowed her eyes like bruises of exhaustion. She pinched her cheeks, coaxing a hint of color to her skin, but the pallor clung stubbornly. Her gaze fell to the iron brooch pinned to her bodice, her fingers brushing over the Celtic knotwork etched into its surface.

This was her reminder, her beacon. A fragile ember of hope that flickered with the memory of their first meeting. Broderick had been tender then, thrilling in his pursuit. She had known passion in his arms—heady and wild. But that had been when he had no legal claim on her.

Tonight, he would.

Rising to her feet, she paced the chamber, her skirts rustling like whispers of doubt around her legs. The bodice of her gown constricted with every breath, a vice tightening around her ribs. She dropped onto the settee, bending forward to press her faceinto her hands, pulling in shallow, shaky breaths. Her chest cinched tighter, and she straightened, clenching her hands together until her knuckles gleamed white. Her forearms pressed hard against her thighs, grounding her as her stomach churned. Her breath faltered, her pulse hammering in her ears like the frantic wings of a trapped bird.

Closing her eyes, she mouthed a silent mantra, a fragile spell of fortitude.Steel yourself. Steel yourself.But her heart refused to obey, slamming against her ribs in protest.

A knock startled her. Her breath caught, and she flattened her trembling hands against her stomach, willing calm into her bones. “Come,” she managed, her voice thin.

Rosselyn poked her head into the room, her expression taut with sympathy. “He’s here,” she said gently. “Everyone is waiting in the chapel.”

The room swayed, her vision swimming. The edges of her world drew inward, the walls creeping closer, suffocating her with their closeness. Her chest seized, her breath hitching in ragged gasps as she gripped the cushion of the settee.

“Davina?” Rosselyn’s voice reached her, dulled and distant, as though from beneath a lake’s surface. “Are you alright?”

The chamber tilted precariously. Davina pressed a hand to her chest, her lungs ablaze as she fought to draw air.

“Davina!” Rosselyn’s face sharpened into focus as she crouched before her, gripping her arms. “Look at me.”

Davina nodded and inhaled. “I’m well.” She pressed her cold hands to her face. “Let’s get through this.” She stood, thankful for Rosselyn’s steady hand.

The hallway stretched out before her, long and shadowed. Each step down the stairs felt heavier than the last, her breaths short and uneven. She pressed a hand to her stomach, willingherself not to be sick. Voices drifted up from the foyer—Tammus barking orders, the priest murmuring in hushed tones, and Broderick’s deep, steady cadence cutting through it all like a sword.

By the time she reached the chapel, her legs were leaden. She paused at the threshold, and every gaze turned toward her. The world swam at the edges of her vision until Rosselyn tugged her forward. One foot in front of the other, she progressed down the narrow aisle of the private chapel. When they reached the front, Rosselyn transferred Davina’s trembling hand to Broderick’s waiting grasp.

His skin burned hot against hers, his grip firm and possessive. She hated that she needed his strength to steady herself. Her gaze fixed on the priest’s book as he droned through the solemn rites, each word lashing her heart with dread. With every syllable, it felt as if her remaining freedoms were slipping like sand through her fingers.

Broderick’s predatory glare from the study haunted her mind, chilling her to the bone. Was he truly any different from the other men who had sought to claim her? That ravenous, dangerous glint in his eyes when he’d said he wanted her in his bed echoed in her thoughts. Her fingers drifted to the brooch pinned at her breast, brushing it unconsciously.

Broderick lifted her hand to his lips, his touch unexpectedly gentle. The simple caress banished a measure of the fog clouding her mind, enough for her to meet his gaze fully.

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