The Highlander's Choice (Entangled Scandalous) (Marriage Mart Mayhem) Page 6

  Unable to speak, she merely nodded. Slowly his hand crept up to her thigh where he untied her stocking, brushing his fingers over her skin, dragging the garment down. He glanced up at her as he pulled the rest of it off, his eyes darkened, his nostrils flared.

  In a flash he was on his feet and striding to the door. He closed it, then turned the latch. Her heart beat so loud she was sure he could hear it across the room. Like an animal stalking its prey, Liam made his way back to her.

  “Wh-What are you doing?”

  He reached out and pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her waist, keeping her weight off her sore foot. “Ach, lass, you’ve been driving me daft for days now.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “I think ye do. Dinna try to tell me you dinna feel it, too. I have to taste ye. Feel ye warm body against my chest.” Slowly he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers. Gently, softly at first. Sybil grasped his arms, his muscles rippling under her palms as he shifted to take her in a deeper kiss.

  His possession was real. He ravished her mouth, pressing his tongue against her lips until she opened. With a groan, he swept in, tasting, nibbling, sucking. Heat rose in her middle and spread upward. She moved her palms up and encircled his neck, playing with the silky strands of his hair. Her finger eased under the tie at his nape, and she yanked.

  Freed from its bonds, his hair fell forward, touching her face, teasing her skin. He released her lips and scattered kisses over her eyes, nose, jaw, then to the skin under her ear. “Ach, but ye are bewitching me, lass.”

  If anyone was bewitched, surely it must be her. She’d never felt this way before, this need to tear off her clothes and his, so their skin could touch and press against each other. His powerful hands slid to her bottom where they caressed her, massaging, pushing her against the evidence of his desire.

  “Lady Sybil, the laird sent word that you wished me to attend you?” The young maid’s voice came through the locked door, pulling Sybil back to where she was. Standing in her bedchamber, behind a locked door, in the arms of a man not her husband, who had his hands where they should not be. Good heavens, what a scandal this would cause if word leaked to the rest of the party.

  She pulled away from Liam, panic rising in her chest. “You must hide. I will be ruined if you are caught here.”

  He glanced around the room. “’Tis naught places for me to hide. Ye will have to get rid of her.”

  Liam helped her across the room. Patting her hair and taking a deep breath, she gestured for him to stand next to the door so he wouldn’t be seen. Opening the door little more than a foot, she said, “Thank you, but I merely have a sprained ankle and the laird was good enough to bring me cold water and a cloth.” She smiled, then added in a rush, “And then he left. Of course.”

  The maid looked concerned. “If you are sure, my lady.”

  Sybil nodded and began to ease the door closed. “Yes, I will be fine. My foot feels much better.”

  “Then mayhap I can come in and remove the water and cloths if you are through with them.”

  “No!” She smiled again when the woman jumped back. “I’m sorry. It is just that I planned to take a short nap, so please return later.”

  The maid nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

  Sybil closed the door and glared at Liam. “The woman must think I am ready for Bedlam.”

  He strolled toward her as if they hadn’t just been very close to getting caught, his eyes full of desire. “’Tis sorry I am she interrupted us.”

  “I am not. This could have been a disaster.” She pulled herself up. “Please leave before anyone else comes.”

  He winked at her and opened the door, looking each direction before he turned back to her. “As you wish, my lady.” With a naughty grin and a bow, he slipped out, closing the door behind him.

  This wedding can’t come soon enough. I must get away from that man.

  Chapter Six

  Sybil tapped lightly on Margaret’s door. At her beck, she entered the bedchamber to chaos. It was the morning of the wedding, and Margaret was curled up into a ball on the bed weeping her eyes out. Lady Somerville stood wringing her hands while the lady’s maid fluttered around with a glass of water and a cold cloth.

  “My lady, thank you so much for answering my summons,” Lady Somerville said.

  Hurrying over to Margaret, Sybil sat on the bed and gently touched her friend on her shoulder. “Margie?”

  The weeping bride rose on her elbows and wailed, “I don’t want to get married.”

  Sybil gathered the sobbing girl into her arms. “Here now. What do you mean? You’ve been quite happy since we arrived.”

  “Duncan hates me!”

  “What?” Sybil’s eyes darted to Lady Somerville, who appeared ready to swoon.

  “Why do you say that, dear?”

  Margaret slowly rolled to her back and then scooted up so she sat against the headboard of the bed. “Um, it would be better if we could talk in private.”

  After years of friendship, Sybil was aware of the distance between Margaret and her mother. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, but more that Lady Somerville, true to her station in life, had left the rearing of Margaret to nannies and governesses. Her parents had also spent a great deal of time in London and Bath while Margaret had remained in the country with servants. Her lonely life had led her to visits with Sybil for weeks at a time, relishing in their large, noisy, loving family.

  Lady Somerville looked only too happy to leave the melodrama in the room behind. “I will be downstairs, if you need me.” She quickly made her escape.

  “Jane, you can leave us for a bit.” Sybil smiled at the lady’s maid, then turned to Margaret as the door closed. “What happened?”

  Margaret took a shuddering breath. “I offered to do…you know…with Duncan last night.” Her head lowered, she peeked at Sybil from under lowered lashes. “And…and…” She stopped and her face crumbled. “He turned me down!!” Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Wide-eyed, Sybil sat back as her friend blubbered. She offered to do that? And he turned her down? She wasn’t sure which shocked her more, Margaret’s offer or Duncan’s refusal.

  After giving Margaret time to compose herself once more, Sybil reached for her hand. “What made you—um—offer?”

  Margaret wiped her nose on a sodden handkerchief. “We were kissing, and well, I thought maybe if we did it then, I wouldn’t be so nervous today, anticipating it all.”

  Sybil brushed the damp curls from Margaret’s forehead. “And then what happened?”

  “Duncan pulled back and shook his head. I was mortified!” A new round of tears cascaded onto her lap before she was able to continue. “He said we would wait until tonight.”

  “Is that all he said?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “Why then, do you say he hates you?”

  Margaret took an exasperated breath. “Everyone knows men always want to do that.” She climbed off the bed and began to pace. “He probably has a mistress that he does those things with. That is why he doesn’t want me.” She stopped and studied the green countryside outside the bedchamber window. “I have had to fight for my parents’ notice for years. I don’t want to be forced to wrestle my husband’s attention from another woman for the rest of my life.” She turned, red swollen eyes pleading. “Do you understand?”

  This was a mess. Gentlemen did keep mistresses, and many of them even after they married. Sybil had no idea if Duncan was the type to do that, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Men! Why did they have to be so horrible? Her father had never dallied, and frankly, if he had, most likely her unconventional mother would have shot him. And the mistress.

  That was the reason she and her sisters were holding out for love. Mother told them if a man was happy in the bedchamber he would have less reason to look anywhere else for satisfaction. As awkward as it had been to hear her mother say that, it was good advice, a
nd so far, her brother and two older sisters had happy, fulfilling marriages.

  “Margaret, dear, lie down for a bit. I will put a cold cloth over your eyes.” Sybil dipped a handkerchief into the pan of water on the dresser while Margaret climbed back onto the bed. A quick glance at the clock on a small table near the bed informed her that they had only three hours until the wedding. If she didn’t get her friend calmed down, dressed, and downstairs, there would be a scandal that Margaret would never recover from.

  She laid the cloth on her face, and Margaret grabbed her hand. “I need to know if Duncan will keep a mistress. No matter how awful it will be, I need to know now, to protect myself.” She wiped a tear leaking from under the cloth. “I cannot give my heart to a man who will break it.”

  Sybil patted her hand. “I will find out for you.”

  Margaret lifted the cloth and regarded her with wide eyes. “You will? How?”

  “I don’t yet know, but I promise I will find out.” She rose from the bed and pulled the window curtains closed. “Just rest for a little bit. I will be back.”

  …

  Liam flipped through the pages in the book resting on his lap. A small fire in the grate kept the dampness from the library. A whiskey would do just as well, but it was best to keep a clear head since he would be standing up for Duncan in a few hours. Right now, his friend was checking into a problem on his estate. Even on his wedding day, a man still needed to see to his duties.

  He glanced up when there was a scratch on the door before it opened. His heartbeat sped up at the sight of Sybil entering the room. Ach, he always had the same reaction to the lass. ’Twould be a good thing when the wedding was over and he could return to Bedlay. An attraction to an Englishwoman was not a wise thing. He rose to his feet as he greeted her. “Good morning, lass.”

  She had a worried look about her, darting her eyes back and forth as she moved farther into the space. “Is Duncan here?”

  “Nay, he’s out solving some estate matter.” He set the book aside. “Ye seem to be in a bit of a dither. Is there something I can help ye with?”

  “No.” She started to leave the room, then turned back. “Actually, perhaps you can help me.”

  Liam waved to the chair next to him and sat once she settled in. He took note of her demeanor. Tension radiated from her body, apparent in the stiff way she held herself. Her whiskey-colored eyes moved back and forth as if composing her thoughts. Stray curls in the topknot securing her thick locks tumbled around her shoulders. She fussed with her hands in her lap, twisting and turning a knotted handkerchief.

  “What is it, lass?” he said softly.

  “Does Duncan have a mistress?” The words came out rushed and almost a whisper.

  Liam reared back, his eyes wide. Saints! Did the lass just ask him if the man about to be married today had a mistress? Aside from the fact that such information was none of the lass’s business, why would she even know of such things? Of course, in London everyone was debauching everyone else. ’Twas a known fact among his clan. And, he supposed, there were a few in Edinburg doing the same, but here in the Highlands, nay. A man had needs, and would take a willing wench if offered, but to maintain a woman for the sole purpose of sexual pleasure was not something neither he nor Duncan had ever done.

  “Why would ye ask such a thing?”

  She continued to fiddle with the handkerchief in her hands. Her heavy breaths caused her breasts to rise and fall, drawing his eyes to the delectable mounds above her bodice. God’s teeth, he wanted to run his tongue over the smooth, silky skin, move his lips down and tease her nipple until it stiffened. He shifted to accommodate the swelling in his breeches. “Well?”

  “Um, Lady Margaret is…um.” She took in a deep breath. “She is…distraught.”

  He frowned, unable to understand what the woman’s state of mind had to do with the lass’s unusual question. “Aye.”

  Sybil hopped up as if nudged from behind. “She refuses to marry Duncan until she knows if he keeps a mistress.”

  Liam stood. “What nonsense is this? The wedding is set for today. The lass has been here for two weeks. She picks today to insist on such an answer?” He shook his head in disgust. ’Twas no surprise the bride was refusing to do her duty. Another example of the English coddling their women.

  “The betrothal papers have been signed, the priest now sits in the great hall waiting for the ceremony. The castle is full to the battlements with guests. She must do her duty!”

  “Do not shout at me, my laird!” Sybil drew herself up, raising her chin. “Lady Margaret is a gently bred woman who is concerned that she is about to make an unhappy marriage.”

  Liam waved his hand. “Marriage is not meant to be happy. It is meant to provide protection and sustenance to the woman and heirs to the man.”

  Sybil jerked as if slapped. “Not meant to be happy? Of course, men would think that, since they have all the freedom in a marriage. A woman must do as he says, no matter what.” She leaned into him, pointing her wee finger at his chest. He fought to keep from laughing at the determined expression on her face. “No woman should be forced to marry a man she does not want to wed.”

  Liam opened his mouth and closed it several times, both impressed and annoyed at her railing at him. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I will send her mother to her. She will calm the lass.”

  “No. I have just now sent her mother away. She is no help at all.” She slanted him a look. “Why will you simply not answer my question?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “’Tis naught your business.”

  “Then I take that as a yes.” She sniffed and raised her chin.

  Ach, the lass was bonny when she was mad. All fire and wrath. His lower parts tightened at the thought of all that spirit in his bed. Liam growled and grasped her by her arms. “As long as a man is happy in his bedchamber, he has naught reason to take up with another.”

  “That is what my mother always said.” Her eyes grew wide, and her voice came out in a whisper.

  His breathing grew heavy, and he pulled her a bit closer, her heady scent and softened expression wreaking havoc with his blood supply. One minute he wanted to throttle her, the next take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. From the look on her face, her feelings ran along the same lines.

  “’Tis a verra smart woman, your mum.”

  She nodded and licked her lips. “I’ve always thought so.” Her eyelids drooped, and she gazed at his mouth.

  It was all the invitation he needed. He ducked his head and brought his lips to hers. Softly at first, until he felt her slight moan as she sagged in his arms. The warmth where their bodies joined seared him, the beat of his thumping heart drowning out all sound. He cupped the back of her neck and rubbed his thumb over her ear, his other hand on her lower back, tugging her closer to where he wanted them to join.

  He shifted his head to take the kiss deeper, prodding her lips until she opened for him. With a gasp, she wrapped her arms around his waist and stepped closer, her legs nestled between his spread ones. A few flicks of his finger and the rest of the pins in her hair hit the carpet, and he fisted both his hands in her thick locks.

  She was warm honey and sunshine, and smelled of flowers and woman. He devoured her mouth, slid his hands to her waist and lifted, settling her snug against his growing erection. Her increasing excitement spurred him to ease his hand around to the front of her body until he cupped her breast, amazed at the fullness, considering her wee size.

  What was it about this woman that tortured him so? He flicked his thumb over her nipple, which tightened and beaded even through her gown. How he’d like to place his lips there and run his tongue over her engorged tip. To suckle her until she begged for him to take her.

  He’d disliked everything English his entire life, and now he was caught in the web of an English lass. Nothing could come of this, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to stay away from the temptation she offered.

  Slowly,
he pulled away, releasing her so she slid down his aroused body. He cupped her head, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed, her breathing erratic. If ever a lass looked as though she was ready to be carried to the nearest bed, it was the one before him. But he had to rein himself in lest they did something she would surely regret.

  “I have to go back to Margaret.” She stepped back, her breathing more under control.

  He merely nodded, unable to utter the words he wanted to say. Come with me to my bedchamber where I will make love to you for hours, teach you the ways of a man and a woman.

  She continued to back away, her eyes never leaving his. “She is waiting for me.” Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked to the door, a bit unsteady on her feet. She opened it and stopped as he said, “Sybil.”

  Rounding, she gazed at him with raised brows.

  “Duncan has no mistress.”

  Her lips trembled as she gave him a slight smile. “Thank you.”

  In a flash, she was through the door, the latch snapping in the silence of the room. Liam walked to the fireplace and leaned his forearm against the mantel, staring at the dying flames.

  Chapter Seven

  Sybil moved next to a very composed Margaret as they joined Duncan and Liam in front of the priest. Amazingly enough, despite the chaos of the morning, the wedding was taking place on time. After hearing the news that Duncan did not have a mistress, Margaret had risen calmly from her bed and proceeded to prepare for her wedding. Until she’d glanced in the mirror. Hysteria in her voice, she had proclaimed that with her blotchy skin and swollen eyes she would be the ugliest bride ever.

  After numerous pans of cold water and many soft cloths, Sybil had been able to reduce the blotchiness and swelling enough to suit Margaret. The rest of the preparations had gone smoothly, and finally the bride was ready, dressed in a pale blue silk gown with a wreath of tiny Scottish bluebells in her hair.

  Her first glimpse of Liam when she and Margaret arrived at the great hall took her breath away. Both men were dressed in traditional Scottish garb; kilts of their clans, with white lawn shirts, doublets, and sporrans. By Liam’s side hung a sword that she could imagine him swinging on a battlefield. His reddish golden hair was pulled back into a queue and tied with a ribbon.