Samantha James (9 page)

“How can I play the loving wife when I am not the loving wife? Any more than you are a loving husband.”

There was a flash of something in her eyes, something that made him want to challenge her. To tame her, while wanting to taste her and savor her all at the same time. He’d been right about her. She possessed a will of iron.

But so did he. And he was not to be dissuaded. He would not be dismissed like a green young boy!

“I think you need a reminder,” he said suddenly. “Perhaps it will jog your memory of our first encounter and rekindle your desire. Perhaps it will jog my memory of our union.”

She started to shake her head.

“You appear determined to forget. And I’ve enough experience to know when a woman returns my advances. Which you did, and most ardently. Must I reacquaint you?”

“Your grace—”

“I’ve paid a heavy price for you, Irish. Am I not allowed to enjoy it? Am I not allowed even a kiss?”

“It’s not a kiss you want,” she cried.

And it wasn’t. Her eyes were enormous. The little cheat! Why this sudden reluctance? She had lured him in. With words, with her eyes, with her body. And yes, he’d gone willingly. Through his own fault, he’d paid the price, a heavy one at that—the price of a dukedom. But she had toyed with him once, and he had learned from his experience.

“I make no bones about it,” he stated bluntly. “Is it any wonder? I would like to experience again what continues to escape my memory! I apologize for my drunken state that night. It’s most odd, however, given that too much wine or any other spirits usually renders a man…incapable.”

And by heaven, he was going to make her want him—want him the way he’d wanted her the night of the masquerade. Oh, she pretended now that
she felt nothing, but he knew better. He recalled the softening of her lips, her tempting eagerness. That was branded into his brain. And now, well, perhaps he should give the lass a taste of her own medicine. He would make her pant and writhe and cry out her longing for him. He would bring her to the point of rapture, then deny her completion.

Catching her hand, he brought her to her feet. Her gaze flickered away, then returned. First the coquette. Now the maid.

He was not a man of quick temper. But the chit had managed to spark it, and once roused, it was not easily doused.

Did she truly believe he was such a fool? He’d fallen victim to her ruse once already. He would not do it so easily again. And if she was convinced he was a puppet whose strings she could pull at whim, she was mistaken.

Alec caught her up against him. She lifted her head the same instant his mouth came down on hers. His fingers slid beneath her hair, molding to her nape, even as he molded her lips to his. He would leave her in no doubt that he would not be a pawn. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips. She kept them tightly closed. So she would spurn him, would she, now that she was his wife and had what she wanted?

Something inside him hardened. No, he decided. No.

With a sound low in his throat, he brought her closer still. She was wedded tight against him, her breasts mounded against his chest, slim thighs soft against the tautness of his own. She sucked in a breath, and Alec pounced. His tongue parted her lips, stealing around hers as she sought to tuck it back; he took it into his mouth and sucked hard. In some faraway corner of his mind he registered the faint sound she made. But he was in no mood for more trickery. Why did she persist at playing the innocent?

His arm tightened. The pressure of his mouth was fierce. He kissed her with raw possessiveness, as if to imprint her with his mouth and his will.

He felt the way she twisted against him, trying to free herself. She didn’t want his kiss, his touch.

Finally he released her. He raised his head, but he was not finished. He was going to see what was his. A few swift moves and her robe and gown were on the floor.

She stood before him naked.

When she sought to shield her breasts, he caught her by the wrists—how fine-boned and fragile they were—and held them at her sides.

Some distant part of him registered that she turned her face away. Her bravado was crumbling. No doubt she thought him hard and heartless.

Her skin was alabaster white. She was slender as a reed, her legs long and shapely. Yet even feeling used, he experienced a sharp stab of lust. He envisioned those long legs wrapped around his hips, his rod buried deep and hard.

His regard was long and thoroughly unhurried. Vaguely he registered her distress, for even as he battled the pangs of awareness, his mind was elsewhere.

She was exquisite. Christ, it made no sense. How could he have made love to a woman like this and have no recollection? How? Christ, he must have been feeling the effects of too much liquor more than he thought. Surely he would have remembered beauty such as this.

Doubt crowded his chest. His mind blurred as he struggled to resurrect that night. Perhaps in the dark…clothing pushed aside…

His jaw clamped tight. His breathing was hard. Quick. He fought a scorching battle with red-hot desire that threatened to overcome reason. Releasing her wrists, he stared down at her, deliberately clamping his hand around one breast. She flinched.

His hand fell away. So, she thought him hard and heartless. So much for bringing her to rapture, he thought with a twist of his lips.

Abruptly, he snatched up his coat and shirt. “I’m going to my room, Irish. Come find me if you discover yourself lonely.”

It is a marriage nonetheless…I merely wish to set about the bedding of my bride with husbandly vigor…I promise you, you’ll not be disappointed.

Like the ringing of bells, Maura heard his voice, tolling through her mind.

It cost her much to admit that the encounter had left her nerves scraped raw. Shaken, her heart still pounding violently, she threw on her nightgown and practically leaped into bed.

She didn’t deceive herself. Alec McBride was a formidable presence. He exuded power. Self-confidence. He was not a man one could underestimate, she conceded silently. Not a man one should underestimate.

She was very much afraid she had made a grave miscalculation.

Alec left her in no doubt as to his feelings about this marriage. He resented it. He believed she’d married him for his wealth.

Which was all well and good, she thought shakily. But what if he found out Murdoch had paid the deacon? What if he discovered that Deacon O’Reilly was no deacon at all? Oh, once upon a time he’d been a clergyman. But that was before he was caught pilfering from the church funds and stripped of all privilege.

What if Alec discovered their marriage was a sham?

The thought sent panic tracing through her. When Alec left tonight, she’d never seen eyes so cold and icy. She had only sought to make her way into the house of the Black Scotsman. She hadn’t counted on the man himself.

He was shrewd. She hadn’t expected him to stroll into her room as he had. That, she acknowledged with a faint hint of panic, was a mistake on her part. She’d cautioned herself not to let down her guard. But she certainly hadn’t expected him to strip her naked, the wretch!

It wasn’t wise to provoke him, she scolded herself soundly. She must learn to curb her tongue. But he himself provoked her reaction, with his
goading little speeches. The man was beastly and arrogant! How dare he barge into her room unannounced!

You are the interloper here,
charged a niggling little voice in her mind.

She stared up at the ceiling. She could still hear his voice.

I promised you a night of marital bliss.

She had been lucky tonight. Whether or not he truly intended to follow through, she couldn’t be sure. She thought he didn’t. There had been too much anger in his kiss. Too much angry pride, she acknowledged shakily.

Her emotions were wildly erratic. She was both excited and afraid. At least she was here. In Scotland. Murdoch had warned her, however.
If you dig a grave for others, you might fall into it yourself.

Alec McBride might well prove her downfall. One false move and all would be lost.

Maura didn’t deceive herself as to his behavior. His message tonight had been clear. This was his home and he would do as he pleased. She was his, and he would do as he pleased with her.

It was his way of telling her he would not be manipulated.

But she could not yield, she thought. She must endeavor to stay out of his bed. She had to be
lieve she could. As angry as he’d been over being forced to marry her, he was still a gentleman. A rather wild and wicked one, and there was the rub.

He believed their marriage had been consummated, or he would never have consented to wed her. And now she was charged with the task of keeping him convinced they were truly wed, without arousing suspicion that they were not.

That angry pride might well prove an advantage. A way of keeping him from her bed. But how long would it continue? She must somehow find a balance so she could hunt for the Circle without him knowing it. She must charm him just enough that he would not become suspicious, yet all the while keep him at bay. If he discovered her virtue intact, he would discover the truth.

He would discover her ruse.

An hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her.

How very impossible it seemed!

It didn’t help knowing that all this had occurred as a result of her machinations. She’d thought herself so clever when everything had come off without a hitch in Ireland.

But they were in Scotland now, and she was no longer sure of anything. And one thing was becoming excruciatingly clear.

Alec McBride was no fool.

It was late before Maura finally slipped into the land of dreams. But they were not pleasant dreams. Quite the contrary.

She was racing through the forest, darting between the trees. Shadows loomed all around. Someone was behind her, calling. Giving chase. Her pursuer grew closer. The Black Scotsman, she realized. His image loomed in her mind. He wore his pirate’s garb, a feathered hat over hair that was black as the night. Beneath a dark, heavy moustache, his lips pulled back. Chilling laughter spilled forth, for he was almost upon her now. On his hand—his right hand only—he wore a black leather glove. It snatched at her, that black-gloved hand, yet she eluded him.

Then all at once she saw the Circle of Light. It was small. No larger than the span of her fingers spread wide. It hovered, floating and aglow, slowly turning, the most beautiful myriad of colors reflected on beaten silver. And somehow she knew that she had only to touch it to reach safety.

Almost there. Almost there. With a cry she stretched out her fingertips, just as the black-gloved hand of the Black Scotsman seized hold of her skirt. Then she was falling. Falling a very great distance.

Down into the arms of a wild, wicked Scotsman with eyes like chips of icy blue…

“Wake up, Irish. Wake up.”

She woke with a strangled gasp. Alec sat on the bed beside her, gently shaking her shoulder.

The strangest thought popped into her mind. Alec on the bed was not dangerous.

Alec in the bed was quite dangerous indeed.

He stopped when he realized she was awake. “Good heavens, Irish, you’ve frightened half the staff with your shrieking.”

Maura was still half dazed. “I—I was dreaming.”

“Yes, I gathered that.” His gaze resided on her lips. She felt her face heat up, remembering the way he’d kissed her last night.

The way he’d made her stand naked before him.

And now he regarded her again, this time with his head cocked to the side. “What were you dreaming about?”

She certainly had no wish to tell him.

A finger beneath her jaw, he brought her gaze to his. “What were you dreaming about?”

“A pirate,” she admitted grudgingly. “A pirate was chasing me.”

“A pirate, eh? Why, I wonder why that could be.” A rather wicked gleam flared in his eyes. “Handsome, was he, your pirate?”

Something—a good night’s sleep perhaps?—had lightened his foul mood of the night before.

The lack of a good night’s sleep had soured hers. “No,” she said with acid sweetness. “He was quite the most wretched, ugly pirate you could ever imagine.”

One corner of Alec’s mouth slanted up—a wicked smile without doubt. “And were you rescued from this wretched pirate, Irish?”

Maura frowned. It was discomfiting that he was fully clothed, while she lay beneath the blanket wearing only a nightgown.

“I think not. I fell into the arms of yet another pirate. And I believe he meant to torment me rather than rescue me.”

“Oh, surely not. Let me hazard another guess. This other pirate in your dreams. I’d wager he was indeed quite handsome.”

She compressed her lips.

“Yes,” he said lightly, “I see I am right. I knew I would be, of course.”

What audacity! She fixed him with a glare. “And why would you assume that?”

“Simply because I’m quite familiar with the workings of the female mind.”

“Are you, Scotsman?” It slipped out before she could stop it. “So you are quite familiar with the fairer sex? You know, it’s rude to boast of your
conquests to your wife of but a day.” No doubt he would brag of his prowess again!

One black brow hiked a fraction. “I was speaking of my sister Anne. When she was a child, she and my cousin Caro could be quite melodramatic.”

“Well, I am neither a child nor melodramatic.”

As she spoke, she shifted a little so she could face him. But the movement unwittingly dragged the loose round neck of her nightgown down.

Alec said nothing. His eyes settled on her bare shoulder. Maura dragged the sheet back up to cover it.

Their eyes met.

“Shall I stay and help you with your bath?”

Her look of shock must have pleased him. His devilish half smile widened. “No? Another day, perhaps.” He paused. “You know, Irish, if your dreams are always so noisy, you’ll give me no choice but to have you removed elsewhere.”

At least then he wouldn’t be in the next room. It was her turn to smile. “Wherever you can find room, your grace.”

“On second thought, your grace”—he turned it neatly back around—“perhaps you should simply share mine. Then I would be there to shush you when you are in need of shushing.”

Maura’s smile froze.

“Or to comfort you, Irish, whatever the case might be.”

She turned a look on him designed to blister.

“Indeed, perhaps it’s simply because you had to spend the night alone in a strange place that you had such a horrid dream. That’s easily remedied, don’t you think?”

All of a sudden she wasn’t feeling quite so smug. Oh, the wretch! Surely he didn’t mean it. Oh, surely not!

“Are you always such a slugabed, Irish?”

Maura yanked her eyes from his face to the bedside clock. She was shocked to discover it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning.

“How long before you’re dressed?”

“Not long,” she said quickly. She certainly didn’t want to bring up the subject of baths and bathing again.

“Excellent.”

He rose, started toward the door, then turned back.

Maura froze. She’d started to climb out of bed, and now was terribly afraid that nearly the entire length of one leg was visible.

She knew it for certain when his gaze lingered on her thigh, then traveled leisurely up to her face. “I thought we might go for a drive. Oh, and wear something serviceable for the outdoors. The sun
is out now, but our weather can be a bit unpredictable at times.”

Maura blinked. “Your grace?”

“You aren’t the sort who wails at getting a bit damp, are you, Irish?”

“Certainly not.”

“Do you have a sturdy pair of boots?”

“Yes.” She hid her dismay. She had planned to begin her quest for the Circle this very day. “But there’s no need for you to bother yourself with me. No doubt you must have many other obligations, especially given you’ve only just returned home. So I’m happy to explore for myself—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to go anywhere alone just yet,” he said smoothly. “It’s a lovely day, too lovely to stay indoors.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “If I have breakfast sent up, can you be ready in an hour?”

“Oh, long before that! No later than a quarter of.”

“A woman who does not spend half the morning in her toilette! It seems we shall deal together very well, then.”

Maura glanced at him sharply. Did he mock her? She couldn’t tell. But his mood was definitely improved.

At five minutes before the hour she rushed down the main stairs. Alec stood at the bottom, gazing
up at her, hands behind his back. Both his brows were raised high as he glanced pointedly at the grandfather clock in the entrance hall.

“The house is immense. I took the wrong staircase and lost my way,” she said breathlessly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching when Mrs. Yates showed me upstairs last night.” It was a bald-faced lie. She’d poked her nose into a few of the rooms, that she might gain a feel for where to begin her search for the Circle.

“We can’t have my bride wandering around and around, now, can we? Why, you might starve to death and the authorities would blame me.”

There it was again. She detected mockery—or did she? Alec’s tone was light, and now she couldn’t tell, for he’d tucked her arm into his elbow and was leading her away. “I’ll acquaint you with the house and grounds when we return,” he was saying. “As I said, it looks to be an excellent day for an outing, but one never knows when the occasional rain shower may appear.”

Outside the main entrance, a boy waited with a small gig. Alec climbed on the seat and offered a hand to pull her up. He was right, it seemed. The sun had disappeared beneath a bank of clouds.

Once she was settled on the seat, he snapped the reins. Maura turned and glanced back over her
shoulder. It was amazing how much different his home looked in the daylight, set back within a haze of green, surrounded by trees, with bursts of color everywhere. Deep red fuchsias, hyacinths blushed with pink. There were dozens of mullioned bay windows in the house. She’d been too rattled to notice last night, but the one in her room was particularly inviting, dotted with cushions. Now, she could well imagine sitting there, snug and warm inside, watching while wind and rain whipped the trees.

The horse trotted along the lane. On both sides sheep dotted the pastures. Behind a stone fence, a border collie raced apace with the gig. A pang shot through her. No doubt McDonough Castle had once looked like this—trees, varying shades of green, masses and masses of flowers. But now there was very little green, flowers bloomed but seldom, no matter how much it rained. Here, nature flourished.

On McDonough land, nothing flourished as it should have.

Before long the lane forked to the right. Behind a scattering of trees, water glimmered.

Alec had noticed the direction of her gaze. “That’s the loch closest to Gleneden Hall,” he said. “It’s quite fine in the summer.”

“I can imagine.” The loch looked to be long and narrow, she noted. Despite the clouds that had
begun to gather overhead, she imagined how it might appear in the sun, a sheen of rippling sapphire. Beyond, green hills undulated.

“May we stop here on the way back from wherever it is we’re going?” she asked.

“Perhaps. If we had had an earlier start, there would have been plenty of time.” He slanted her a glance from the corner of his eye.

His meaning was clear. “What!” Maura returned tartly. “Will you drag me from bed each day at the crack of dawn?”

An offhand, lazy smile curled his lips. “My dearest Maura, I would much rather drag you
into
bed.”