by Diana Bold
After an entire day in such close quarters, she should’ve gotten used to Dylan’s masculine presence. But the constant temptation only made her long for more.
He’d been so sweet this afternoon, and he’d broken through her defenses with astonishing efficiency. Perhaps it was the captain in him. Perhaps she was merely another battle to be won. No matter how cynically she tried to look at the matter, she had to admit he’d done and said all the right things. And this was their wedding night.
Dear God, she needed a little more time.
He returned a few moments later, opened the coach door, and smiled up at her. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, but her entire soul cried, “No!”
She wasn’t ready. She’d never be able to maintain the proper distance. Once he kissed her, she’d be lost.
With every passing moment, she fell more deeply in love with him. When he walked away from her this time, it would be lethal.
Dylan usurped the coachman and helped her down to the ground. He held her against him for just a moment too long, and she shivered at the contact.
Oh, this was a bad, bad idea.
“God, you feel so good.” The soft whisper tickled her ear and then his lips brushed her temple. “I feel as though I’ve waited for this night my entire life.”
She stared up at him, unable to speak. His pale gray eyes held such passion and promise. All Clarice’s advice about lovemaking tumbled to the forefront of her mind. Could she really do such things in an effort to bind him to her forever?
“Come with me,” he urged. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Turning, he led her through the inn’s front door into a raucous common room, where people danced and drank with abandon. The scent of cabbage mingled with ale and sweat. She glanced around in awe. The laughter and music were infectious.
At a corner table, a couple kissed ravenously, unconcerned by their audience. Natalia blushed and hurried to keep up with Dylan’s long-legged strides.
They mounted a few flights of stairs and, on the third floor, Dylan ushered her inside a surprisingly nice suite of rooms. The small sitting room boasted a lovely overstuffed sofa placed near a crackling fireplace. A large bedchamber was visible through an arched doorway.
Natalia glanced at the huge canopy bed, and her heart nearly stopped. Only one bed. Tonight, she would sleep in Dylan’s arms.
Natalia paced while the footman carried up their luggage. When the man had finished, Dylan shut the door. He smiled and looked around in satisfaction. “Basingstoke recommended this place. It’s nice, don’t you think?”
“Yes, very nice. But there’s only one bed.” Natalia blurted out the words before she had a chance to think them through. Then she stood there, dying a thousand deaths as she realized how childish she sounded.
Dylan’s smile faded. “I only meant to have one bed. This is our wedding night, Natalia. And after what you said in the coach, I didn’t think you’d turn me away.”
“I meant what I said. But not tonight. It’s too soon. I need more time.”
“More time?” He sighed in frustration and crossed the room to the sofa. A bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket of ice, and he gave her a pensive look as he picked it up. When he popped the cork, the sharp sound made her flinch. “How much time do you need?”
As he spoke, he poured them both a glass of the bubbly liquid. He offered her one, and she took a few hesitant steps, closing the distance between them. When she reached for the glass, his hand touched hers. His heat stunned her.
“A few weeks. A month perhaps.” She dropped her gaze and brought the glass to her lips.
“That’s too long.” The words exploded out of him.
She stepped back. Had she gone too far? Would he resort to violence? Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, while she waited for whatever he chose to do next.
To her relief, he took a deep breath, as though trying to calm himself. Then he sat down on the edge of the sofa and rolled the stem of the glass back and forth between his long elegant fingers.
She stared at his hands, transfixed. Why postpone what would undoubtedly be the most amazing experience of her life?
“All right, I’ll give you a little time. I understand that you’re still angry with me, and you didn’t really want this marriage. I agree not to exercise my marital rights until after we leave Edinburgh.”
His marital rights. She shuddered at his reminder that she’d vowed to give him unlimited access to her body.
“You said we’d only be there a day or two.”
He brought the champagne glass to his lips and drank deeply before he answered. “It could be longer, though I hope not. In any event, I want us to spend our first night at Aldabaran as husband and wife.”
“We’re already husband and wife,” she reminded him, in growing exasperation.
“No,” he said, his gaze locked with hers. “We’re not.”
She decided not to push the matter any further. At least she’d won one small victory. She wouldn’t have to deal with him tonight, while her emotions were still so bruised and battered. She had a little while to resurrect her defenses. A week at the very least.
“Very well. We’ll consummate our marriage the first night we spend at Aldabaran.”
He relaxed. “Sit down. Finish your drink. I’m not going to attack you.”
She sank down on the edge of the sofa. “Are you going to get another room?”
He shook his head. “I already told the innkeeper this is our wedding night. I’ll be damned if I’ll go back down there and ask for another room now.”
“But where will you sleep?”
“Right bloody here, I imagine.” He patted the sofa.
Men were impossible. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re far too tall. Wouldn’t it be better to just swallow your pride and ask for another room? Why do you care what the innkeeper thinks?”
He downed the rest of the champagne and poured himself another glass. She watched him nervously, wondering if he became volatile when he was intoxicated.
“I’m not getting another room. I do have a little pride.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “Be uncomfortable. I don’t care.”
He leaned toward her, with the pretense of refilling her glass. Her champagne had somehow disappeared during the last few tension-filled minutes. Now only inches separated them.
He stared at her as though he’d like to wring her neck. Or devour her. Or both.
“Don’t you?” He brushed her cheek with his fingertip, the touch feather-light and at odds with his simmering anger.
“Don’t I what?” His nearness made her feel breathless and strange.
“Don’t you care for me, Natalia? Not even a little?” He ran his index finger over her lips, his gaze frighteningly intense.
“Please,” she whispered, but she didn’t know what she was asking for. Did she want him to keep touching her, or did she want him to leave her alone?
He kept stroking her lip, and she felt a growing urge to open her mouth, to kiss the soft little pad of skin on the tip of his finger. The champagne seemed to have inhibited her ability to keep from giving in to her urges, because before she could stop herself, she’d done exactly that.
Eyes widening, he inhaled sharply as she tasted the softness of his skin.
“Yes. Kiss me. At least give me this much. A wedding present. A real kiss, not a dutiful little peck like this morning.”
He wanted to kiss her. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like so very much to ask. It was their wedding night, after all.
She leaned forward, holding his gaze until the very last second. Then she closed her eyes and fell into his embrace.
This time, he was not sweet. He was not gentle. He devoured her mouth and pressed her against the back of the sofa as if he’d like to pin her there for all eternity.
Weak and dizzy with longing, she let him consume her, drowning in the taste of him—man, heat, and sweet champagne. She speared her
hands through his silken hair and pulled him even closer. A maelstrom of passion ignited within her and centered in the pit of her stomach with pulsating urgency. She wanted to press against him until they became one shape, one body.
With a muffled groan, he pulled away. He rested his forehead against hers and his big body trembled as he obviously fought to control his own raging need. “If you don’t want to make love to me, you’d better get the hell out of here.”
She blinked owlishly, blinded by a haze of lust.
“Run away,” he urged sharply, then he gentled. “Or don’t. Stay, love. Let me take off your clothes and touch you. Taste you.” He spread gentle, tender kisses over her brow, and then ran his tongue around the delicate shell of her ear. “Let me come inside you, Natalia. Let me make you my wife.”
She shuddered at the images his words conjured. For a long second, she let herself dangle on that dangerous precipice. Oh, how she wanted to stay. She loved him so much...
She wrenched out of his arms. She couldn’t do this, not now, when everything inside her demanded that he love her in return. She might beg. She might plead. She might say those damning words again.
I love you, Dylan.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she raced for the bedchamber door, slamming it shut and locking it behind her.
Chapter Twenty
The solicitor, Mr. James Byrnes, kept a suite of offices near the Royal Mile, in the very heart of Edinburgh. Dylan went there alone after they arrived in the city, leaving Natalia at the inn where they’d spend the night.
If his finances were as desperate as he thought, he didn’t want her with him. His poverty would only give her more ammunition the next time she wanted to argue about her dowry. It helped to know that no matter what state Aldabaran was in, he’d have the funds to restore it back to its former glory, but he hoped heartily that he could do it on his own, without tapping into the enormous fortune Natalia had brought to their marriage.
The long trek from England had passed pleasantly, for the most part. They talked on and off again in the coach during the day, but at night, he’d taken to procuring separate rooms for them. He kept hoping that as they got to know each other better, she’d realize how ridiculous it was to keep putting off the inevitable, but to his dismay, she’d seemed all too eager each night to take her leave of him.
He’d sent word ahead, and when he arrived, the secretary ushered him directly into the elderly gentleman’s office. Mr. Byrnes was a slim man with spectacles and a friendly smile.
“Captain Blake. So good of you to stop by.”
Dylan returned the smile and shook the old man’s proffered hand. “I hope you have good news for me.”
The old man returned to his place behind his desk and gestured for Dylan to take the leather chair that faced him. “Oh, very good news, young man. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order. The estate has posted a profit for several years now.” Still smiling, he handed Dylan a leather-bound account book.
“A profit?” Dylan’s excitement grew as he glanced through the pages. “Someone has been taking care of the place?”
“Of course.” The old man gave Dylan a disgruntled look. “I knew your mother’s family very well, Captain Blake. The old Laird and I were great friends. I’ve done my utmost to ensure your inheritance.”
“Forgive me. But since I wasn’t even aware I had an inheritance until last week, I had my doubts.”
The old man looked abashed. “I feel terrible about the misunderstanding, but I’ve been sending quarterly reports to the Earl of Warren since you were a child. I had no idea he hadn’t seen fit to inform you the estate was yours.”
Dylan relented. He could hardly blame the old man for not trying to contact him directly. No doubt the earl had told Mr. Byrnes that Dylan was simply too much of a wastrel to want the responsibility.
“And what of the house?” Dylan asked, thinking of Natalia’s promise. “Is it in good order?”
“Oh, yes. I believe so. The rooms might need a good airing out, but the caretaker has assured me many times it could be ready for you immediately if you ever expressed interest in a visit.”
Dylan smiled. “Well, I intend to do more than visit. I brought my new bride. We plan to make Aldabaran our home.”
“That’s wonderful news.” The old man’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Your grandfather would have been so pleased. Would you like me to send word ahead, have them prepare the rooms?”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” Dylan’s mind already raced ahead. “I plan to leave first thing in the morning.”
ALDABARAN SAT UPON a high rocky cliff, overlooking the churning sea. The keep had been built 500 years ago with defense in mind. A sturdy square building, five stories high, the keep’s pale stone walls gleamed in the afternoon light.
Dylan swung out of the coach and took a deep breath of the familiar salty air. His troubles fell away, at least temporarily. Home at last.
Turning, he helped his wife climb down and examined her face as she got her first look at their new home. His intense desire for her to love Aldabaran frightened him.
But she didn’t disappoint him. She took a long slow look around, her green eyes missing nothing. “It’s beautiful. Everything you said it would be.”
Smiling broadly, he took her hand and started toward the gate, sparing the coachman a wink and a wave. “I’ll help you with the bags in a minute, mate. Right now, I need to carry my bride over the threshold.”
The coachman nodded, and Dylan dragged Natalia along behind him, excitement pulsing in his veins. To his utter surprise, the inner courtyard looked exactly as it had twenty years ago. Flowers bloomed, and the stones were meticulously swept.
As they approached the front door, a scowling man strode from the direction of the stables. “What is your business here?” he demanded as he intercepted them.
Dylan gave the stranger an annoyed glance, but on closer examination came recognition.
“Patrick Macpherson!” He changed direction and shook the other man’s hand. “Dear God, it’s good to see you after all these years.”
Long dormant memories flooded him. Patrick, not the earl, had taught Dylan to ride, hunt, and fish. How could he have forgotten, even for a moment?
Patrick hadn’t aged at all. Even though he must be in his fifties, and his dark hair had gone gray around the temples, he was still fit and lean.
“Dylan,” Patrick said, his voice gone hoarse. “Have you really come home at last, lad?”
Dylan smiled, and the tension flowed out of him like water through a sieve. “Aye,” he told Patrick in the brogue that had once been second nature. “It took me a while, but I finally found my way back,”
The older man’s face bore a look of extreme emotion. For a moment, Dylan thought Patrick might embrace him. Then a mask fell over Patrick’s features, and he took a step back. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order, sir. Mother and I have taken good care of the place while you’ve been away.”
Patrick had once been the head groom, but apparently, he now ran the entire estate. By the look of things, he’d done a damn fine job of it.
Remembering his manners, Dylan drew Natalia forward. “Lady Natalia Blake, may I present Patrick Macpherson, a dear old friend. Patrick, this is my wife. We married less than a fortnight ago.”
Patrick gave Natalia a long assessing look then grinned. “You’ll do fine, my lady. Just fine.” Turning to Dylan, he gestured toward the house. “Mum wasn’t expectin’ you, but I’m sure she’ll have the rooms made up in no time at all.”
Room, Dylan thought fiercely. Tonight, they would share the same room, whether Natalia liked it or not.
“Very good,” he said, relieved. “I’m sorry we didn’t send word ahead.”
Patrick shoved his explanations away. “We’re just glad to have you back, lad. This place has been quiet and empty for far too long.”
NATALIA FOLLOWED HER new husband and Mr. Macpherson toward the ke
ep. As the two men spoke of the past, she noticed an eerie resemblance between them, with their dark coloring, startling blue-gray eyes, and animated gestures.
When they reached the massive oak entry, Dylan turned and swept her up in his arms, giving her no chance to protest. He grinned down at her, gray eyes full of mischief. “I told you I’d carry you over the threshold.”
“Yes, you did.” She clung to him, thrilled. His heat and strength surrounded her, a blatant reminder of the night to come.
All too soon, they were inside. He let her slide down his muscled length. But his rueful smile assured her he didn’t want to let her go.
Still flustered, she gazed around at her new home. She’d expected the inside of the keep to be dark and musty, but to her delight, it had been renovated, probably when Dylan was a child.
They stood inside a huge great hall, which stretched the entire length of the building. Bright sunlight filtered through dozens of mullioned windows fitted with sparkling glass, and the dark wood shone with signs of a fresh polish.
On the walls hung a vast assortment of weapons—swords, daggers, and claymores—arranged in such intricate patterns they looked like works of art. Huge fireplaces stood on each side of the hall, both large enough to cook a full-sized boar. The ceiling soared twenty feet overhead and depicted scenes of the mighty Camerons in bloody battle.
A very male room, to be sure, but despite its immense size and bloodthirsty décor, the great hall made her smile. The room suited Dylan, somehow. And the small, rather cozy groupings of upholstered chairs near both fireplaces kept it from being too overwhelming.
Dylan’s face was lit up like a little boy’s. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied honestly. “I like it very much.” Aldabaran seemed like a home, far more so than any of her father’s grandiose estates. Perhaps this was the place she’d been looking for.
Before she could say anything else, a small elderly woman emerged from a door on the far side of the room.
