Scandals Bride c-3

by Stephanie Laurens

  And piled his plate high. He would rather have followed up the threat in that one glance, but there were others present. There was a need for civility-for the cloak of sophisticated behavior he habitually wore. He reminded himself of that-even while he itched to throw the cloak aside.

  He was frustrated to the point of violence.

  Never in his life had he had to cope with this degree of sexual frustration. Of frustrated intent. As for the emotional side of the coin-he couldn't even think of that. Not with out a swirling haze of anger clouding his mind.

  His response was not rational-the realization didn't help in the least. When it came to Catriona Hennessey, witch, his thoughts-his feelings-definitely didn't qualify as rational. They were powerful. Strong. And very close to slipping their leash.

  Plunking his plate down at the place opposite hers, Richard sat. He met her wide gaze with a hard stare and saw her cheery smile waver. Belatedly remembering what the morning held, he gritted his teeth and looked down at his plate. And kept his gaze lowered as he ate.

  She'd fled from him before-he didn't want to look out of the library window and see her carriage rolling down the drive. His plans were otherwise.

  "Miss? They be a-waiting ye in the lib'ry."

  Catriona whirled, straightening, her attention flying from the child she'd been tucking in. "Already?"

  Head poked around the nursery door, the maid nodded, wide-eyed. "Did hear as the s'licitor came early."

  Catriona inwardly cursed. "Very well." Turning to the children's nurse, she gave brisk instructions, patted heads all around, then hurried down the long, cold corridors.

  She stopped in the front hall to check her reflection in the mirror-what she saw did not reassure her. Her hair was neat, but not as lustrous as usual; the curls at her nape hung limp. As for her eyes, they were overlarge and faded. Washed-out-just like she felt. Her morning gown of rich brown, normally a good color for her, did nothing to disguise her pallor. She was tired; she still felt drained. Not, in all honesty, up to handling the inevitable grief when the final blow finally fell and Seamus's maltreated family learned they would have to quit the house. She'd intended to leave this afternoon, but had already revised her plans-she would be needed here for another day at least, to calm Meg and the children most of all.

  With a sigh, she braced herself and headed for the library.

  The butler opened the door for her; she glided through-and was instantly aware of a presence in the air. An unexpected presence. The hair on her nape lifted; she paused just inside the long room and took stock.

  The family-all of them!-she inwardly sighed-were gathered before the fireplace as before. Seated at the desk, the solicitor shuffled papers; he glanced at her fleetingly, then looked away.

  To where Richard stood, looking out one long window, his back to the room.

  Together with the solicitor, Catriona studied that back, elegantly clad in deep blue. Her earlier uneasiness returned-that edgy, nervous feeling that had overtaken her in the breakfast parlor when he'd looked at her so accusingly. As if he had a very large bone to pick with her.

  She didn't know-couldn't guess-what it was.

  Neither his back, straight and tall, nor his hands, clasped behind him, offered any clues.

  And now, on top of that uneasiness, came this other presentiment. A swirling, building sense of impending… something. Something momentous. The energy was strong, all-pervasive in the room; she couldn't discern its focus. On guard, she glided forward and took the empty seat beside Mary.

  In that instant, Richard turned-and looked at her.

  She met his gaze-and instantly understood who was the source of that energy. And who its focus. Suddenly breathless, she glanced at the door, then back at him.

  Prowling forward to stand by the mantelpiece, he gazed at her steadily, his message transparent. He was now ten feet away, the door was thirty. No escape.

  His intention, however, remained unclear.

  Catriona dragged in a breath past the now familiar vise locked about her lungs and let haughtiness infuse her expression. Tilting her chin, she returned his regard, then pointedly switched her gaze to the solicitor. And willed him to get on with his business. To get this over and done with, so Richard Cynster could leave, and she could breathe again.

  The solicitor coughed, sent a shaggy browed look around the room, then peered at the papers in his hand. "As you are all aware…"

  His preamble outlined the situation as they knew it; everyone shifted and shuffled and waited for him to get to the point. Eventually, he cleared his throat and looked directly at Richard. "My purpose here today is to ask you, Richard Melville Cynster, if you accept and agree to fulfill the terms of our client Seamus McEnery's will."

  "I do so accept and agree."

  The words, so unexpected, were uttered so calmly Catriona did not-could not-take them in. Her mind refused to believe her ears.

  Apparently similarly afflicted, the solicitor blinked. He peered at his papers, adjusted his spectacles, drew breath, and looked again at Richard. "You declare that you will marry the late Mr. McEnery's ward?"

  Richard met his gaze levelly, then looked at Catriona. Trapping her gaze, he spoke evenly, deliberately. "Yes. I will wed Catriona Mary Hennessey, ward of the late Seamus McEnery."

  "Good-oh!"

  Malcolm's gleeful shout led the cacophony; the room erupted with exclamations, heartfelt thanks, outpourings of profound relief.

  Catriona barely heard them-her gaze locked with Richard's, she let the tide wash over her and sensed a none-too-subtle shift in the energy around her. Some trap was closing on her-and she couldn't even see what it was.

  Despite Jamie thumping him on the back and pumping his hand, despite the questions of the solicitor, Richard's blue gaze didn't waver. Trapped in that steady beam, Catriona slowly rose, much less steadily, to her feet. Putting out one hand, she gripped the chairback and straightened to her full height, so much less than his; unable to help herself, she tilted her chin defiantly.

  Gradually, the clamor about them died, as the family belatedly sensed the clash of wills occurring beneath their noses.

  Catriona waited until silence reigned, then, in a cool, clear voice, stated: "I, however, will not marry you."

  A shadow passed through his eyes; the planes of his face set. He shifted-the others stepped quickly from between them. He strolled toward her, his stride his customary prowl. While subtly intimidating, there was no overt threat in his approach. He stopped directly before her, looking down at her, still holding her gaze, then he glanced over his shoulder at the others. "If you'll excuse us?"

  He waited for no yea or nay, not from them or her; he grasped her hand-before she could blink he was striding down the long room, towing her with him.

  Catriona stifled a vitriolic curse; she had to pace quickly to keep up. But she reined in her temper-there was a definite advantage in putting distance between themselves and the rest of the company.

  He didn't stop until they reached the other end of the room, hard up against the wall of bookshelves and flanked by two heavy armchairs and a small table. The instant he released her, she swung to face him. "I will not marry you. I've told you why."

  "Indeed."

  The word was a lethal purr. She blinked and found herself pinned by a stare so hard she literally felt stunned.

  "But that was before you came to my bed."

  Her world tilted. She could hear her heart thudding in her throat. She blinked again, slowly. And opened her lips on a denial-the look in his eyes, burning blue, changed her mind. She lifted her chin. "You'll never get anyone to believe that."

  His brows rose. "Oh?"

  To her surprise, he glanced around-Meg's sketchbook and pencil lay on the small table. He picked both up; before her puzzled eyes, he opened the book to a blank page and sketched rapidly, then handed the book to her.

  "And just how do you plan explaining how I know about this?"

  She stared. He'd sketche
d her birthmark. Her world had already tipped; now it reeled.

  He shifted, leaning closer, simultaneously protective and threatening. "I'm sure you can recall the circumstances in which I saw it. You were in my bed, on your knees, totally naked, before me-and I was buried to the hilt in you."

  The words, uttered low, forcefully and succinctly, from less than a foot away, battered at her defenses. Catriona felt them weaken, then crack-and felt the emotion, the sensations, all she'd felt at that moment when she'd been in his bed, seep through. And touch her.

  It took all her will to shut them out and seal up the break in her shields. She stared, unseeing, at the drawing until she'd regained some degree of calm, then, very slowly, lifted her gaze to his face. "You were awake."

  "I was." His face was a mask of hard angles and planes-determination incarnate.

  Catriona mentally girded her loins. "Completely awake?"

  "Wide awake. I didn't touch the whiskey the second night. Or the third."

  She studied his face, his eyes, then grimaced, and looked down.

  He waited. When she said nothing more, he straightened, and took the sketch book from her hands. "So"-he nodded toward the others-"shall we go and tell them the news?"

  She lifted her head. "I haven't changed my mind."

  He looked down at her-then stepped closer, towering over her. "Well, change it."

  He took another step; eyes locked on his, Catriona backed. She glanced up the room and saw the others watching. Immediately, she stiffened her spine; switching her gaze back to her tormentor, she halted, raised her hands and pushed against his chest. "Stop that! You're deliberately trying to frighten me."

  "I'm not trying to frighten you," he growled through clenched teeth. "I'm trying to intimidate you-there's a difference."

  Catriona glowered. "You don't need to intimidate me-just stop and think! You don't want to marry me-you don't want to marry at all. I'm just a woman-just like all the others." She gestured, as if encompassing hordes. "If you just leave, you'll discover I'm like all of the rest of them-you'll forget me within a week."

  "Much you know about it."

  His tone was contemptuous, his eyes bored into hers. He slapped one hand on the bookshelf by her shoulder, half caging her. Catriona felt the shelves at her back, she stiffened her spine and tilted her chin higher. And kept her eyes locked on his.

  Lips compressed, he looked down at her. "Just so you know I generally insist that the ladies I consort with have the good sense not to get under my skin. Some try, I admit, but none succeed. They all stay precisely where I want them-at a safe distance. They don't get into my dreams, interfere with my aspirations, challenge my hopes-or my fears." His eyes narrowed. "You however, are different. You succeeded in getting under my skin without even trying-before I even knew how witchy you were going to be. Now you're there, you're there to stay." His gaze hardened. "I suggest you accustom yourself to your new position."

  Catriona held his gaze. "It sounds as if you'd rather I wasn't there-under your skin, as you put it."

  He hesitated; a long moment passed before he said, "I'll admit that I'm not certain I approve of our particular closeness-and I definitely don't approve of your initiative. However, the plain truth is, having had you beneath me, I'm not about to let you go." He held her gaze steadily. "It's as simple as that."

  Catriona read the truth in his eyes-she frowned and shook her head. "It can't be."

  "It can." Blue eyes held hers. "Fate's offered you to me on a silver platter-I'm not about to pass."

  A fraught moment ensued. Catriona could feel the sensuality that lay between them, a living, vital thing. It radiated heat, almost seemed to have a will of its own-a dangerously compulsive thing. Her eyes locked with his, she drew in a slow, much needed breath-and tried another tack. "You agreed because you're in a temper."

  That, too, she could sense-suppressed rage locked behind his mask. Her own temper flared; she glared at him. "How typically male-you've agreed to marry me, and created goodness knows what legal muddle, all because you're in a foul mood with me over something I've done." She frowned. "I can't imagine what, but it's hardly sufficient reason for creating this much fuss."

  He stiffened. "I'm not angry-I'm frustrated. A result, not of something you have done, but of something you've neglected to do."

  The words, bitten off, issuing through clenched teeth, held enough force-enough intimidation-to make her step back. The look in his eyes had her pressed against the bookshelves. But she refused to cower-she stared belligerently back at him. "What?"

  "You neglected to come to my bed."

  The smile he bent upon her reminded her forcibly of Red Riding Hood's wolf. She studied him in growing bewilderment. "You agreed to marry me just because I didn't succumb to your all but legendary charms? Because I wasn't so mindless that I couldn't resist-"

  "No!" Richard used the tone he'd most recently used to troops at Waterloo. Thankfully, it worked-it cut her off in mid-tirade; he could see where the tirade was headed. His eyes locked warningly on hers, his lips compressed, jaw set he gripped the bookshelf tightly-and waited. Until he could say in mote reasonable tones. "I meant I was sexually frustrated because I wanted you. I'm the one who can't resist. And no, I don't like it that you can."

  She blinked at him, studying his eyes, his face. "Oh."

  Richard held her wide, slightly wary gaze-and hung on to his temper, to the illusion of civility that was all that stood between her and an effective demonstration of the strongest argument impelling him to marriage. If he gave into the urge to demonstrate, he'd shock Jamie and company to their toes. "I do hope," he said, and despite the polite form, his tone was savage, "that we're now clear on that point. I want to marry you because I want you as my wife."

  Catriona nodded; she didn't need any further explanation of that. His feelings-his need-was reaching her in waves. And helping her cause not at all. Clasping her hands before her, she drew a deep breath-and tried desperately to find a chink, some gap, in the wall he was building around her. "But why have you decided to marry me? You wanted me from the first, but you decided on marriage only recently."

  "Because-" Richard stopped and considered her-then shrugged aside caution and continued: "Because you're a damned witch who walks alone. Rides alone. A sweet, helpless witch who has a touching but thoroughly misplaced confidence in the protective capacity of mystical powers." His face hardened. "But you live in a world of men-and with Seamus's death, your protection from them has gone. Evaporated-and, most telling, you don't even realize it. You haven't even recognized the danger."

  She frowned. "What danger?"

  "The danger posed by your neighbors." Briefly, succinctly, he elaborated-drew the folded letters from his pocket and showed her the demands, and the threats, Seamus had received. "Look at the last one from Dougal Douglas." He waited while she found it "You need to read between the lines, but his message is clear enough."

  Catriona read the single sheet, crossed and recrossed, then drew in a tight breath. "He'll bring me to the attention of the authorities-church and state-if I don't marry him?"

  She looked up, something close to fear in her eyes.

  Richard frowned and reclaimed the letters. "Don't worry. There's a simple way to spike his guns."

  "There is?"

  "Marry me "

  "How will that help?"

  "If you marry me, your lands legally become mine, so there's no point pursuing you."

  Catriona glanced at the letters in his hand. "What if he does anyway-out of spite?"

  "If he does, I can guarantee nothing will come of it"

  She looked at his face. "Because you're a Cynster?"

  "Precisely." Richard hestitated, then added. "Seamus knew he needed a certain type of man for you-one of the right sort, with the right degree of power." He considered, then grimaced. "A Cynster fitted the bill to perfection, and he had one-me-on a chain. To wit, my mother's necklace. Above all he knew that if you give land to a Cynster, h
e'll never let it go-'To Have and to Hold' still rules us. Which meant you'd be safe-if it were mine, I could never bring myself to sell the vale."

  He looked into Catriona's eyes and stated what now seemed obvious. "Through all this farce of his will, Seamus had only one true aim: to ensure your continued safety."

  "Hmm." She frowned, then grimaced and looked away.

  When she said no more, Richard ruthlessly pressed his point. "By making it widely known he was your guardian, Seamus drew all the approaches to him, leaving you undisturbed. But Jamie is no Seamus-he won't be able to deflect those three from then goal. While Seamus was alive, you were shielded-now he's gone, it'll be open season-on you, and your vale."

  She glanced at the letters. "I didn't realize. I didn't know."

  "You do know." She looked up; Richard tucked the letters hack in his pocket and trapped her gaze. "You said it the night before last. You need me. You may choose not to acknowledge it consciously but you do know it. You may not accept it but that doesn't alter the reality."

  Her eyes flared spitting gold sparks. "You are not my keeper!"

  He looked down at her he couldn't help his growl. "Where you're concerned, it the cap fits, I'll wear it."

  She glared at him-he gave not an inch. Slowly, her glare faded-she frowned as she studied his eyes.

  He studied hers. "Why did you come to my bed?"

  Her eyes locked with his, Catriona drew a deep breath. He'd been totally honest-totally open-with her. "Because The Lady willed it."

  For one long instant, he stared into her eyes, then his brow rose. "Your Lady told you to come to my bed?"

  "Yes." Briefly she explained.

  Richard heard her out in silence. In genuine surprise. He'd expected the answer to be loneliness-something he understood, something he'd instinctively recognized in her. Divine intervention was a little harder to assimilate. As was the possessive lust that roared through him at the thought of her heavy with his child.

  He was not at all sure how he felt about her reason, but the opportunity was too good not to seize.