Page 20 of The Lady in Pearls
“She gave me plenty of ready-made dresses and other necessary things, but she did not have a completed cloak.”
“Oh…” He felt like a horse’s arse for snapping at her. Lachlan stripped off his great cloak and hung it over her shoulders, noting that it pooled on the ground like a black train. He wanted her unhappy. He didn’t want her catching cold and becoming ill.
“Really, my lord…”
“Lachlan. Please call me Lachlan. As your future husband, I must see to your care. That includes giving you a cloak when you are cold.” He took his time, making sure it fastened securely beneath her chin. She trembled at his touch and clutched the frozen branch to her chest like a talisman.
“I thought you said you did not fear me,” he whispered, stepping forward until their bodies pressed. He couldn’t resist her, not when he thought of last night--the way she felt so perfect in his arms, and the way she reacted to him. The tension between them built as she raised her eyes to his.
“I don’t fearyou…” Her admission only deepened the blush staining her cheeks.
He brushed his gloved hands down the pale column of her throat. “Then what do you fear?”
“I fear how you make me feel.” Her brown eyes, the color of a doe’s and just as frightened, glanced away from him.
“You should never be afraid of passion. Sometimes, when all else has been stripped away, it’s the only thing you have left in life,” he murmured, and the truth of the words hit him deep. Passion was all he had left. Love and trust, faith, hope...all of these had perished when William died.
“You have more than that, I’ve seen it in your eyes. Passion is a spark, and a spark dies quickly unless it has fuel to sustain it.” Daphne’s eyes softened and her lips curved in a smile so full of hope that it made his heart bleed for the past.
She reached with her free hand and stroked his cheek, then cupped his face and stood up on tiptoes. She pressed her mouth to his in a way that sent his senses spinning like no chaste kiss should. He took in the fall of her thick dark lashes before he closed his eyes and returned her kiss. He realized with a stunned sense of clarity that this moment was not about passion. It was aboutthem, together, their souls reaching out to one another.
He should’ve stopped it, but he couldn’t. Kissing Daphne was like breathing. He couldn’t do without her.
Lachlan tried not to think about the danger he was putting himself in by caring for the woman he planned to marry out of spite. When she finally broke away from him, she raised a hand to her mouth, touching her slightly swollen lips, which had become a lovely shade of dark pink.
“Lass…” Lachlan choked on the words he didn’t want to say. “We do not have to go through with this.”
She blinked, her gaze still hazy with desire. “What?”
“You don’t have to marry me. I have been thinking about this and it’s not fair for you to marry a stranger. I’ll waive any rights to the money I set up in your trust, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She swallowed and spoke quietly but firmly, “I swear I didn’t agree because of the money.” She blushed and looked at the ground for a second. “I did need security, but after I met you and we arrived here, well, I wantthis… I want to be a part of your life. Do you wish to cry off? Is it because of something I’ve done?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “What? No!”
“Then why?”
“I’m not a good man, Daphne. I’m broken.” The honesty shocked him.
“Everyone has something a little broken inside them. Perhaps our pieces fit. Don’t you think we should at least try?” She bit her lip. The hard set of her face told him she wanted to marry him. The poor fool.
I tried to do the right thing. I tried.
“Perhaps we should,” he agreed, fighting the temptation to kiss her again. “Let me escort you back to the house.” He held out his arm and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her arm in his. They walked side by side to the house, her with her rose branch, him leading his horse. He was struck by the strange domestic contentment of her companionship without a word needed between them.
“I met with the vicar today,” he said at last.
“Oh?”
“It seems the church was in need of a bit of repair. I offered to donate timber to the parish, and Mr. McKenzie is overlooking the residency issue since you’re not a resident of the Parish. He shall call out the banns three times today to satisfy the legal requirements, and then we can marry tomorrow.”
“Are you sure that will be legally binding?”
“Yes. Sometimes Scottish law can be looser than English law, but do not worry, you will be the Countess of Huntley.”
“I don’t care about that. Titles never really mattered to me.” She was smiling a little as they walked.
He shot her a sideways glance of disbelief. “Titles don’t matter?”
