Page 8 of The Lady in Pearls
“Oh, Iwantyou, lass. I have no doubt that I’ll enjoy bedding you.” He managed a sardonic smile that caused her to lean away from him. He chuckled darkly at her reaction.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t touch you until we are properly wed, and only when I’m certain you want me too.”
Her face flushed red and she sucked in a breath. “You mustn’t talk so openly of—”
“Of bedding? Lass, you’d best get used to it. We Scots aren’t so squeamish as you English.”
“I really must insist you do not do that with me.”
“Do what?” he challenged with a wicked grin. The more he teased her, the more that other version of himself seemed to return, the rogue who would take her in his arms and kiss her senseless right here in this coach.
“Please don’t tease me about…”
“Sex? Miss Westfall, I’m a man with appetites, and I plan to teach you to have your own as well.” He couldn’t help it. He moved to the seat beside her and reached up to cup her face. She tensed and tried to withdraw. He may have planned for misery in her married life, but he wasn’t as cold hearted as to make her unhappy in his bed. Even he had limits.
“Stop resisting, lass,” he said, and he loved the way her eyes flashed in open defiance.
“I’m not resisting, nor am I willing.” She growled softly, the sound reminiscent of an angry cat he’d once startled in a barn as a boy. He’d learned then that cats had dangerous claws.
“I said I wouldna do anything to you and I meant it. But damned if you don’t need a kiss to cool that temper of yours.”
She arched a brow and knocked his hand away from her face. Then she moved to the other side of the coach, scowling at him. “I would not have a temper if you would behave like a proper gentleman.”
He let her go, keeping to the promise that he wouldn’t touch her until she was willing. He was a bastard for marrying her for revenge, but he was not a devil and would never force a woman to do anything she didn’t wish to when it came to sex. Still, he saw the flush of color in her cheeks and the way her breath had quickened. She’d been aroused, even if she was angry at him for teasing her. Now he was looking forward to what it would be like to give her pleasure. His body was already humming with the prospect.
I could teach her to want me when I so choose, and leave her without my touch when it suits me.
He would derive some satisfaction knowing he could leave her aching for him whenever he wanted to. She blushed again and glanced out the coach window, clearly determined to avoid him and the subject of sex. There was a fair amount of amusement to provoking her humility and embarrassment and he would take his humor when he could.
She continued to ignore him and he let her. She would panic when she realized that they would not be sleeping in separate rooms tonight. The little chit would squirm because she hadn’t yet realized that she had no maid and he would have to be the one to undress her.
Time passed as the coach continued north. Daphne fidgeted in her seat and tried to sleep against the side of the coach. He had left his more comfortable conveyance back at Huntley Castle. Not that he should be concerned with her comfort, that wasn’t part of his revenge.
She finally settled with a soft sigh, her eyes closing. At first, he’d wanted to crow in triumph, but the expression on her face gave him pause. Her full lips tilted down in an open frown and a little wrinkle of worry creased her sleeping brow. A ripple of guilt disturbed him enough that he continued to stare at her for some time.
When he was convinced she was fast asleep, he reached over and lifted her onto his lap. She tensed. For an instant, he feared he’d woken her, but then she relaxed and burrowed deeper into his arms. His body was taut with arousal, but he suppressed his baser urges and instead focused on her weight and warmth in his arms. She was the daughter of the man who had driven William to suicide, yet here she was, lying in his arms, trusting him not to hurt her, trusting that he would be a good husband.
Will I?
The question had an easy answer.
I would’ve been...before.
But losing William had broken him and his mother. Their original family of four was now two, and here he was bringing home the child of the man who had brought death to their home. He’d kept the truth of William’s involvement in Westfall’s counterfeiting a secret. As far as his mother knew, William had killed himself but left no reason as to why. Lachlan didn’t want his mother filled with the same vengeance that burned inside of him. If his mother ever discovered Daphne’s true identity, she would cast her out. Therefore, Lachlan could not tell her who Daphne was. The burden of losing a child in such a way was torture enough, and he did not want to add to that misery.
Plagued by worries, he leaned his head back and tried to sleep, still cradling Daphne in his arms. When sleep came, dreams consumed him, dreams that made his heart bleed and his throat hoarse with silent screams. Yet buried beneath the nightmares of losing his brother lay a warm softness against him that brought comfort.
***
“Sleep in the stables?” Daphne whispered to Lachlan, facing away from the frowning innkeeper. They were a day’s ride from Scotland, and there wasn’t another inn for miles. They couldn’t press on because of the storm that had blown in and still raged.
“’Tis the only space left,” the innkeeper insisted. “The rain, you see. Everyone stopped here. The roads are bad for miles around.”
Lachlan glanced away and she swallowed hard.
“Can you tolerate some hay, lass?” he asked, his tone cool.
She nodded stiffly. They’d woken up in each other’s arms only half an hour before, in a strange and wonderful sort of intimacy that had shocked her. His hold had been protective and gentle, his eyes soft and inviting. Yet here he was, treating her coldly again. What was she supposed to do?
