Page 14 of The Lady in Pearls
“Are you ready for dinner?” Lachlan’s voice came from the doorway. She jumped yet again. That man had the worst habit of sneaking up on her. She hadn’t even heard the door open.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She tried to smile at him as his cool gaze swept over her.
“You look acceptable.” He crooked his arm and she slid her hand through his arm, relief fluttering through her. Was he finally playing the part of a gentleman now that they were in his home?
“Thank you,” she replied a little stiffly.
She accompanied him down the corridor until they reached the grand staircase. As they descended, she brushed her fingertips over the polished banister. Huntley Castle was lovely, but would it ever feel like home? Daphne vowed at that moment she would do everything in her power to make this place somewhere she could belong. And, if she was lucky, win Lachlan’s heart, as well.
Chapter Five
Lachlan couldn’t get the memory of that kiss out of his head. Daphne had tasted as sweet as strawberries, her soft lips utterly tempting, and her curves made for his hands. It was a miracle he managed to stop. If he hadn’t heard her giggle, he might not have been able to. He would have laid her flat on the bed, her skirts tossed up over her waist and buried himself within her. He’d wanted her to clutch at his shoulders and writhe in ecstasy. The old Lachlan would have reveled in such reactions. Knowing a man could give pleasure to a woman so fully that she lost her control and sense of self had been one of his joys in life.
But that laugh of delight had been a douse of cold water. It shocked him from his haze of lust and, for that, he was grateful. Marrying her wasn’t supposed to be about making her happy or giving her pleasure. It was about justice. It was about revenge. It was aboutWilliam. He could not dishonor his brother’s memory by becoming distracted by her. Oh, he would bed the pretty lass and likely enjoy it, but he was not going to allow her to have a happy life here. Her marriage would be penance for William’s death.
“You’re scowling again,” Daphne whispered as they entered the large dining room.
Lachlan tried to ignore how delectable she looked, even in a simple servant’s day gown and a tartan shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Freshly bathed, her hair smelling sweet and her skin glowing, she looked too innocent, too good to be Richard Westfall’s daughter. If only she wasn’t… If only.
“I’m not scowling,” he muttered.
“You are…” she said in that sweet voice. He was tempted to smile, but his mother waited for them, drawing his attention to other matters. They must have looked like a happily affianced couple, their bodies close as he escorted Daphne to her chair.
“There you are, Lachlan. I wondered if you two had become distracted.”
He forced a smile for her, even though it felt like a grimace.
“Come and sit by me, Miss Westfall.” The Dowager Countess patted the seat beside her.
“Thank you.” Daphne tried to pull free of his arm, but Lachlan escorted her all the way over to his mother and pulled back the chair for her. It gave him another chance to touch her, to brush his fingertips over her shoulders when he pushed her chair closer to the table after she was seated.
“Please, call me Daphne, my Lady.”
“Then you must call me Moira.” His mother beamed at Daphne. She smiled back, and for a moment Lachlan couldn’t remember why he’d brought Daphne here. All thoughts of anger and vengeance were obliterated like shadows beneath a noonday sun. The open joy in her voice as she spoke to his mother was entrancing.
I shouldn’t be captivated, not by her. Anyone but her...The guilt of his brother’s loss prickled like an incurable itch, just out of reach.
“Lachlan, dear, when is the wedding to be?” Moira asked when he sat down across from them.
“The day after tomorrow,” he replied.
His mother’s brow knit with confusion. “So soon? That’s hardly sufficient time to prepare.”
“I need only to meet with the vicar at the Kirk of Huntley and schedule a quick service.”
His mother was openly frowning now. “But your bride needs a proper trousseau.”
“She doesn’t require such fine things.” He smiled at his mother, his tone teasing, yet as he turned to Daphne, he added a bite to his gaze. “Do you?” A spark of fire blazed in her eyes, and her lips parted in protest before she composed herself.
“Quite right. In fact, I insisted that we not make a fuss. It seems so unkind to focus on a wedding whilst the family is still in mourning for William. A quiet, simple wedding is proper.”
“Really Lachlan, you must be willing to spend a little on your bride. This doesn’t happen every day. I know society dictates we stop living while we mourn, but I, for one, think it is wrong. Weddings should be a happy affair and we should act accordingly. We are quite comfortable and can afford to buy her a trousseau.”
He didn’t miss the way Daphne shifted in her chair at the mention of money.
“If you don’t wish for a trousseau for her, fine,” his mother continued. “But we must still invite a few friends to the wedding.”
Lachlan did not want anyone to be there, but a few witnesses would be required.
