The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (10 page)

No,
her mind supplied. He was a rogue. His compliments were carefully constructed sentiments meant to ensnare women—and clearly, she was easily charmed.

Stepping forward, she brushed her hands down her skirts and picked up his bucket in one hand and hers in the other. “Shall we go inside?”

He took both buckets from her, not meeting her eyes. “After you.”

The remainder of the morning passed in that way—her making small conversation while he helped her dress, and Matthias answering in single syllables, as though something of great importance weighed upon him.

Late in the afternoon, she went upstairs to lie down. When she woke up, it was evening, nearly nightfall, and it had begun to drizzle outside.

Downstairs, she called out to Matthias, but there was no answer. He wasn’t inside the cottage. Where could he have gone?

Pulling a shawl around her shoulders, she stepped out into the cold in search of him. A quarter of an hour later, she found him behind the barn, splitting wood. He was down to his shirtsleeves, which were now soaked and clung to his muscled chest like a second skin.

She stopped short when she saw him—her heart thundering violently in her chest. Never before had she seen a man like this. He was
beautiful
. So masculine—his muscles flexing as he brought the axe down on the section of wood, splitting it in two.

After several logs had been split, he dropped the axe and looked up at her, lifting his brow—silently prompting her to state her business.

“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death.”

He pulled a hand down his face and shook his head. “I needed space to think.”

“Couldn’t you have done so someplace less…
wet
?”

Indeed, even now it was drizzling, and she herself was getting damp.

“Go back inside,” he commanded.

“I don’t see why I should.”

“Do not toy with me,” he said flatly. “Do as I say.”

“I think not.”

He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, taking her by the arm. Jerking her around, he charged toward the cottage, dragging her along in his wake. Anger rolled off him in sheets. It was as palpable as her own building annoyance. Why this abrupt shift in countenance?

When they were inside, he slammed the door shut and wrenched the damp shawl from her shoulders, tossing it into a pile by the fire. His intent gaze was focused on her, his lips pressed into a harsh line.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked him squarely in the eye. “Why are you so displeased with me? What have I done?”

They had been getting on famously—perhaps
too
famously, come to think of it—but something had clearly shifted.

“Turn around,” he said brusquely, ignoring her question.

She simply blinked at him.

“Turn around,” he repeated, drawing the words out with cold, steely intent.

She turned slowly and faced the bare whitewashed wall, wondering what in heaven’s name he was about. Suddenly, she felt him tug on the tapes at her back—unlacing them with quick, abrupt movements.

“What are you—?”

Before he even had time to finish her question, he was wrenching her gown off her shoulders. She caught it, just as it would have passed over her breasts, exposing her chemise. She whipped around, simultaneously snatching the cloth out of his hands. A loud rending of fabric filled the silence.

“Dear God, what are you doing?” she snapped angrily.

Undaunted by her outburst, he reached out and tugged her bodice the rest of the way down her body, until she was forced to step out of it. He gathered it up off the floor and tossed it away. She stood in nothing but her chemise.

Considering the intimacies they’d already shared, this was nothing—but if her bodice was going to be ripped from her body, she deserved—at the very least—to know
why
…

“Have you no care for your own health?” he snapped back at her.

Was that what this was about—her trailing after him in the rain? Was he anxious for her?

“So asks the man who is standing in the center of the room, dripping wet.”

Her gaze swept over him, and she stepped forward tentatively—not wishing to provoke another outburst—and reached out to touch his chest. It was hard, soaking wet, and cold to the touch.

He watched her hand intently as it moved down, down, gathering the fabric of his shirt as it went. She found the hem and dared to dip her hand beneath. As soon as her hand touched his skin, she felt his body stiffen.

“You’d tempt the very devil with your innocent ministrations,” he said, voice strained.

Boldly, she glanced up at him, her hand continuing its journey upward. “If you are that devil, sir, then I will be very glad to tempt him.”

Matthias was altogether a different man that she had judged him to be. In Town, he was a dissolute rake. But here, in the hidden wilds of Scotland, he was another man entirely—kind and attentive. Worried for
her
health and comfort when he had every reason to be vexed with her.

“You are very bold for a lady who is so inexperienced.”

“How can you be certain I am as inexperienced as you say?”

Indeed she
was
inexperienced. Not out of reserve, but for fear she would say or do something to cast a stain on her family name. Her father had her utterly convinced that she couldn’t hold a reasonable conversation in society without sounding silly or idiotic.

The anger in his eyes returned with a fury. “Someone has touched you.”

Ah, so
that
was it. He was
jealous
. The very idea filled her with bubbly excitement.

“If you are asking for confirmation or denial, then you will be sorely disappointed. A woman never reveals such intimacies.”

The line of his jaw hardened, and a muscle began to throb in his cheek. Not daring to risk his anger again, she laughed to lighten the mood. “I’m only
teasing
. There has been no one, I swear it. Do you really think my morals so low? I am not one of the women you typically associate with, you know.”

Indeed, as a child, so much care and importance had been placed on her virtue that to discard it so rashly would have been unthinkable. But here, it felt like they were in another world. An enchanted world. A world where London was so far away, it might as well be situated on the moon.

“You keep a tally of the women I associate with?” He seemed rather pleased by that realization.

She shrugged. “I’m afraid I only have the gossip rags for my authority. Fortunately for me, you are one of their favorites. And then there is what Evelyn shares with me—and I can assure you, the details are quite shocking.”

Evelyn had told her every sordid detail she was privy to, which, admittedly, wasn’t much—only what she’d observed. Matthias was nearly family to Evelyn and she took great interest in his conquests—because she feared, as most of society did, that he might never marry. He had shown little interest in it, much to the disappointment of every unattached female in London.

“There is some speculation that you don’t wish to marry at all.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Perhaps I don’t wish to marry, but like any man, I must continue my family name. As it happens, I will be getting married shortly.”

Her heart stopped at that—she felt it
actually
hesitate beneath her ribs. “Oh.” The word came out as a sharp, involuntary syllable. “And who”—she cleared her throat— “who is to be your bride? I don’t believe I’ve heard of any candidates.”

If there
were
a lady in the running, surely Evelyn would have revealed her name to Gwen—unless Evelyn knew nothing of the matter. Was it his mistress, perhaps? It was possible the arrangement was made with no mention at all to anyone, except the families of the groom and bride… Men weren’t ones to gossip, after all.

He shrugged, then pulled off his sodden shirt in one fluid motion. “A man in my position must marry eventually. It’s the lot of every titled gentleman, I’m afraid. Marry, set up a household, father an heir, a spare, and half a dozen more, God willing.”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Yes, of course. That is to be expected. But you are young. Surely there is no great hurry…”

He dropped his shirt at his feet and stepped toward her. Instinctively, she took a step back. “There is, in fact.”

It was raining outside, but somehow the room had grown rather hot. Stifling, actually. “Oh?”

“Indeed.” He continued to advance. “The need to marry has become quite urgent, actually.”

One step back, two, then three…She was running out of space to run. “That is quite interesting.” Dear God, what was she saying? It wasn’t interesting in the least. It was...crushing, in fact. Though the less she examined why it was so, the better. “I’m sure you and the lady will be quite happy.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward, into something just short of a real smile. “Can one ever be certain about such things as happiness in marriage?”

“I…haven’t the slightest idea.” She’d never given much thought to happiness in marriage. Marriage was a necessity, and the higher connection one could form, the better. Happiness had little to do with it. “I would avoid the business of marriage entirely if I could.”

And it was the truth. Men ruled and they demanded and they destroyed. But that wasn’t her lot, and she knew it. One day, she would marry and set up a home of her own. She had time—though not much—before she would be considered a spinster. Until then, she would cherish her unmarried status and keep to the shadows.

His eyes narrowed, and he took her chin, tilting it up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “If I were to tell you there is a man who will one day make you happy, would that stretch belief?”

“Indeed, it would.” She swallowed. “I have never known marriage to be a happy endeavor. Have you?”

Her parents, for instance, were only truly happy when they were making the other miserable—and thus, only one parent could be content at any given moment. It was a miserable way to live, especially for the child who took no pleasure in either parent’s torment. Could they not just be still and quiet? Must every day be a new battle?

“No,” he said. “I have not.”

She wondered at that, but she didn’t dare ask him what he meant.

“But what of children?” he asked.

And there it was. The one argument she always lost with herself. She could do without a husband well enough, but children she longed for. She’d always felt she had a maternal turn to her character, and as she had no siblings, the possibility of lavishing her affection on nieces or nephews was out of the question.

When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Surely a woman of your passions
would want a family of her own.”

The word
passions
rolled off his tongue easily, and she stiffened. Was he calling her wanton? What precisely was he trying to say?

And yet, beneath the heat of her anger was the heat of something else entirely. The word
passions
tripped through her insides, reminding her of the intimacies they’d already shared. How did he do that? Cause her to melt with one simply spoken word.

His hand still held her chin in place, preventing her from looking away. “I haven’t thought much about it, to be honest,” she lied.

At her answer, he dropped his hand and laughed faintly. He leaned in, and whispered in her ear, “Perhaps I can provoke your interest.”

A little shot of panic rushed through her as his head lowered and his lips lightly touched hers. His mouth was hot, his breath sweet and heady. His strong hands found her waist, and he pulled her closer to him—her chest pressed against his.

He moaned against her lips, taking the kiss even deeper. His tongue warred with hers, dueling and retreating in a rhythm that stirred her desire. Heat rushed through her, and her heart beat chaotically against her breast.

Air brushed over her backside as Matthias drew the hem of her chemise up, over her hips, gathering the fabric around her waist.

With their lips still connected, he lowered himself onto the settee, pulling her onto his lap—straddling him. His hands cupped her backside as his tongue continued its ministrations. She threaded both hands through his thick hair as she rocked against the hard ridge of his erection through the fabric of his breeches.

Dear God, he feels so good.

He broke the kiss and pressed his mouth the column of her throat—nipping her skin with his teeth. The sharp pain zipped through her, electrifying every cell in her body, and she sighed.

“
Christ,
Gwen,” he hissed against her skin. “You taste like a damn miracle.”

“Mmmmm.” She was drowning in a haze of pleasure.

But somewhere, deep down, she knew this was wrong. How could she reprimand Evelyn for running off with Stephen, when indeed, Gwen was behaving so wantonly herself? Was she not a lady? Was she not taught the value of her own virtue? She thought herself above all the women who’d fallen at Matthias’s feet, and yet here she was doing the very same.

“No,” she said, pulling away and rising to her feet. When she was free of him, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just…” She looked down at him—his features were hard and implacable. What she would give to know what he was thinking. “We can’t do this.”

“Yesterday I would have agreed. But the damage to your reputation has already been done. We are merely delaying the inevitable.”

“And yet, despite…all of this—” She waved her hand helplessly to indicate the cottage, and them, here…
alone
. The things they had already done. “I would not have you believe I am a woman of low morals.”

“Very well,” he said with the hint of a smile. His hungry gaze trailed up the length of her body before finally settling on her face. “I’ve waited this long to have you.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I can wait a few more days.”

* * *

He was weary of fighting against the tide of their attraction. He craved her and he
would
take her—it was as inevitable as the rising sun. The only sensible thing to do was make her his wife.

Though marriage, in general, held little appeal to him, the arrangement would not be without its benefits—she would avoid ruin and he would dodge the meddlesome mamas of the
ton
.