by Julia London
Her brows rose as if this was somehow news. “Yes,” she agreed. Her grip of her gown tightened.
“We ought to establish some rules, aye?”
“Rules?” she repeated, and now her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Aye. You will keep Killeaven in the manner the wife of a nobleman ought to keep it.”
She began to nod with great enthusiasm. “Of course. I know how—my mother has taught me.”
“I will keep Arrandale.”
Once again, her brow furrowed with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“You donna understand,” he repeated, and pushed away from the door, walking toward her, his arms folded tightly across him. “Then I will make it plain, Miss Kent—”
“Avaline,” she said softly. “Miss Kent sounds so formal, doesn’t it? Please, mightn’t you call me Avaline?”
“I will make it plain, Avaline,” he bit out. “I will keep Arrandale for my mistress.”
Avaline blanched. Her jaw slowly dropped open as the words sank into her wee cake-head, and she clutched her hands together now, the knuckles white with the exertion of it. She was still trembling and staring at him with eyes as wide as tea saucers.
“You ought to know it,” he said gruffly.
“I, ah...” She swallowed. She looked wildly about, as if she was seeking an escape. The lass was utterly shocked and Rabbie felt a twinge of guilt for it. He didn’t mean to harm her. He’d fully expected she would tell him she wouldn’t stand for that arrangement.
“Aye, what then?” he asked impatiently. “Does this displease you?”
Avaline slowly shook her head, which was not what Rabbie expected.
“Of course it displeases you,” he said, annoyed that she didn’t understand what her role was in this. “You may tell your father what I’ve said, I donna care.”
“That—that is not necessary,” she said carefully.
Had she lost her bloody mind? “Aye, it is,” he insisted.
“No, really,” she said. “This news is not...it’s not completely unexpected.”
Now it was Rabbie’s turn to look shocked. He felt almost a brotherly duty to explain to this chit that it was unexpected, and she really ought to expect the exact opposite of him. She ought to expect fidelity above all else. What in God’s name was wrong with the English?
“If that’s what you desire, then as your wife—your future wife—I will do what I must.”
“Diah, Avaline,” he said, and sighed with resignation for what seemed the hundredth time that day. “You should end this engagement for it. I donna care if you do, do you understand? You should no’ accept such rules.”
“Oh, you mustn’t worry over it, Mr. Mackenzie. Or may I call you Rabbie? You may trust me. That is one of my best attributes, really—I am quite loyal and I can be trusted.”
She was making this difficult. “Verra well. If that is your wish,” he said. He moved away from her, eager to be gone.
“What’s her name?”
He paused. He turned back. “Pardon?”
“Your mistress. Have I met her?”
He stared at her, unable to comprehend this conversation. “No,” he said, and opened the door. “Go back, then,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him. “Run back to your ma.”
She hesitated, clearly debating it. But at last she moved and walked out of the salon.
He escorted her back to the great hall, at which point she scurried away from him to her mother’s side. She sat on the dais and pressed a hand to her heart as if she’d sprinted all the way from Killeaven.
It was ridiculous to have believed, if only for a few hopeful moments, there was a way to escape his fate. He should never have listened to Miss Holly, damn her.
Rabbie turned away from the great hall. He’d had his fill of this so-called celebration and began to stride for the corridor that would lead up to the family’s private rooms. But as he neared the staircase, he saw Miss Holly in the shadows, standing by an open window.
He came to an abrupt halt. He looked around them, searching for her companion.
“There is no one here,” she said, reading his thoughts. She placed her hands on the windowsill and leaned out, breathing deeply of the night air.
Rabbie’s frustration boiled over; he grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around. “Your advice,” he said bitterly, “was for naugh’.”
“What?” She gaped at him with surprise. “But surely—”
“Why did you kiss me?” he blurted, suddenly unconcerned with his fiancée.
Miss Holly stared.
“Why?” he demanded. “Did you desire me, lass? Or did you pity me?”
“It wasn’t pity—”
Rabbie caught her head between his hands and kissed her, pushing her up against the wall. It was not the tender kiss she had given him, but one blistering with desire. He nipped at her bottom lip, swept his tongue inside her mouth, moved his lips across hers as he titled her head so that he could kiss her more thoroughly.
She gave a soft whimper—either from pleasure or pain, he wasn’t certain—but it was enough to arouse the beast in him, and it pressed against his ribs and his heart. He in turn pressed his body against hers, his arousal against her belly.
Miss Holly could have ended it. She could have kicked him, hit him, any number of things to make him stop. But her arms slid up his chest and around his neck, and she pressed right back into him. Diah, everything about this woman was unexpected and difficult.
He slid a palm down her arm, to her hand, his fingers tangling with hers before slipping his hand to her waist and around to her hip, squeezing it, pushing her harder into his body. There was fire in his groin, the flames on the verge of surging out of him and engulfing the air around them. He felt hot in his plaid and wanted to rip it from his body. He wanted to put this woman on her back here and now. He had not felt such raging want...ever.
He’d never felt it like this.
Miss Holly fanned those flames. She cupped his face, she stroked his hair. He dropped his hand to her bosom, caressing it with his knuckles, then dug his fingers into her cleavage, pushing deeper, until he was able to free her breast from the low décolletage, and she arched her back, lifting herself to him. He took the tip of her breast in between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it. Miss Holly gasped, jerked her head away from his kiss and looked wildly around them. “What—”
No, it was too late for her to protest. He didn’t allow her to finish, and with one hand around her waist, he easily lifted her off her feet, twirled her about and pushed her deeper into the shadows, into a space between the stairs and the wall. He moved himself down her body, brazenly taking her breast into his mouth, nibbling at the peak, lashing across it with his tongue.
Miss Holly’s breathing turned quick and shallow. She pressed the back of her head against the wall and closed her eyes as she dug her fingers into his shoulders.
Rabbie’s desire had ratcheted to the end of his tether. He was as hard as granite, his cock pulsing with need. It was as if someone had flung open the gates of all the emotions he’d kept caged, and they were stampeding out of him, chewing up the earth, the wall, and the woman before him.
When she slid her leg between his and pressed into his erection, he could bear it no more—it was either end it now, or have all of her. He forced himself to lift his head. He gulped for air as he pinned her to the wall with arms on either side of her and glared down at her like a fire-breathing dragon. “Donna pity me. Never pity me.”
With that, he spun around and stalked away, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, his jaw clenched against the sheer agony of no satisfaction. He didn’t look back at Bernadette Holly because he was that hard-hearted.
And she would never question it again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE WAS IN LOVE.
Avaline had received not the slightest encouragement from Aulay, but she understood that because he was such a gentleman, he would never do something as dishonorable as that to his brother’s fiancée. She’d not received any encouragement from him...but she’d tried with all her might to give him every indication of her interest. She’d sat next to him tonight, had positioned herself in such a way that she was certain he could gaze at her bosom at his leisure. Whether or not he took advantage of her seating, she didn’t know, because she also strove to demonstrate how demure she was.
She’d danced with him, too, and she could say without reservation that Aulay was a far superior dancer to anyone with whom she’d ever been partnered. He was quite light on his feet and was very good in his instruction to her. And oh, how he made her laugh as they dined, teasing Catriona about the silly things she’d done when she was a girl!
Avaline was so in love that she could almost, almost forget the horrible thing Rabbie had said to her.
A mistress!
What a wretched, cheerless, harsh man he was! Avaline didn’t believe for a moment that he meant to take a mistress—she didn’t believe he even had one, quite honestly—for Catriona had told her he’d shown not the slightest interest in any woman since his fiancée disappeared. Why did he say it, then? She didn’t know and she didn’t care.
She thought again of dancing with Aulay and smiled.
Catriona had likewise confessed that Aulay had never seriously pursued an acquaintance with any woman of which she was aware. “Perhaps he has a mistress in every port,” she’d whispered, her eyes dancing devilishly at the look of shock on Avaline’s face.
Well, of course, Avaline had been shocked. No one ever spoke so boldly around her. But she was not entirely naive, and she didn’t believe that of Aulay. Perhaps he’d never felt a particular esteem for anyone because he was waiting for the right woman to come along. She’d heard of love stories like that. Mr. Kessler, their elderly neighbor at Bothing, once told her that he’d not married until he was well into his thirties, because he’d been waiting for Mrs. Kessler to appear. Perhaps all this time Aulay had been waiting for her and never knew it.
Avaline stifled a giggle with her pillow.
She’d danced with Aulay twice, and her mother had told her that was quite enough, that everyone would wonder why she danced so often with the brother of her fiancé and would assume there was bad business there. Avaline didn’t argue with her mother, but she suspected they’d all understand why she did—because Rabbie Mackenzie was haughty and cold and there wasn’t a woman in all of Scotland who would want to dance with him. Certainly not her. She’d been very disappointed when he’d cut in on her dancing with Aulay.
Oh, Aulay—he was everything she’d ever wished for, the perfect man who would make a perfect husband. Her belly filled with butterflies just thinking about him.
She thought of Bernadette, sitting at the far end of the dais, staring off into space. Bernadette had not been herself these last few days. Scotland didn’t seem to agree with her. She seemed quite tense and rather too tart when she spoke to Avaline. Perhaps she was unhappy that Avaline was to marry and she would never marry. Oh, how she wished Bernadette could experience such happiness! Avaline knew that Bernadette had once tried to elope. Or perhaps she had eloped? She really couldn’t recall the details of it now, and Bernadette had never spoken about it, of course, because that would be terribly inappropriate. But Avaline’s mother had confided that no one could offer for Bernadette now—she’d been irreparably ruined by whatever it was she’d done. It was really all very sad, because Avaline loved Bernadette, and she wanted her to know such sheer happiness as she felt in herself tonight.
She wished Aulay would irreparably ruin her. There it was, her truest, most secret desire, a shocking wish, and Avaline didn’t care! She wished Aulay would ruin her as Bernadette had been ruined, and then, Avaline would not have to marry that odious brother of his. She moaned with despair at the thought of marrying him and rolled onto her back.
Her thoughts drifted back to Rabbie. What a silly man he was, thinking he could convince her to end their engagement. It would take more than a mistress to end it. Frankly, the only way this engagement could be ended is if one of them was to die. Avaline was simply too frightened to risk her father’s displeasure, and too determined not to leave Aulay behind in the Highlands.
She wished Rabbie would end their engagement, and then she’d—
Avaline suddenly gasped and sat up, staring into the dark of her room. A thought occurred to her—if she could seduce Aulay into ruining her, then Aulay would have to marry her! Of course there would be quite a lot of commotion and hurt feelings surrounding it, and Rabbie would be very angry...but he wouldn’t be forced to marry her. Aulay would. Her father would still have his alliance with the Mackenzies, and Rabbie could go and hide away at Arrandale for all she cared and leave them all in peace.
Avaline stacked her hands over her heart and pressed against her rapidly beating heart. Could that really happen? She didn’t know the first thing about seduction. Bernadette would know—she’d obviously seduced a man to elope with her. Yes. She would ask Bernadette to teach her.
But Bernadette would be suspicious, and Avaline had to be very careful not to give anything away. She thought hard about that...and then it suddenly struck her—she would simply explain to Bernadette that Rabbie had threatened to keep a mistress, and then implore her to teach her how to seduce her husband so that he would not take a lover.
This was brilliant. Avaline could scarcely believe she’d thought of it all on her own! But she didn’t have very long—she would be standing at the altar with the wrong Mackenzie brother if she didn’t act quickly.
She lowered herself down onto her pillow and tried to sleep, but it was useless. Her thoughts danced with the image of Aulay Mackenzie ruining her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SOMEWHERE IN THE last several days, Bernadette had abandoned all morals and decency and had given in to the raw desires of her flesh.
She was distraught about it. Not because the kiss had happened—because she had been quite moved by it and yearned for more. She wanted more. But she was not that sort of woman, she was not.
Why, then, had her fall been so easy?
Bernadette donned a cloak and her boots, desperate to be out on her morning walk, to be out from under the same roof as Avaline, whom she’d betrayed more than once since they’d arrived in Scotland. She needed to breathe. To think.
Avaline had not yet come down for her breakfast, for which Bernadette was grateful. She had noticed that Avaline had been very quiet last night when they’d journeyed home, her gaze on a window too dark through which to see. While his lordship and his brother had drunkenly reviewed how vastly superior they were to their hosts in their thoughts and actions, or anyone for that matter, Bernadette fretted that Avaline somehow suspected what she and Mackenzie had done in that darkened hall. Was it even possible? Bernadette herself had stumbled into that hall in search of a retiring room. No, no, it was impossible Avaline could know—there’d been no one in that darkened corridor, no one but her and Mackenzie.
But Bernadette also knew that women had a strange intuition when it came to these things. Though Avaline had rarely revealed any intuition at all, it was entirely possible that in this, she might.
No matter what Avaline did or did not know, Bernadette was frantic to be away, to straighten her thoughts, to determine what she did from here. She was walking—nearly sprinting, really—to the door of Killeaven when she heard a sound above her and made the mistake of looking up.
“Good morning, Bernadette,” Avaline said, and yawned. She stood at the top of the stairs in her dressing gown, and then glided down the stairs like a princess, her hand trailing the railing as she went. Sh
e looked ethereal, almost as if she was walking in a dream.
“Good morning,” Bernadette said. God help her—did she sound as nervous as she felt?
“What are you about?” Avaline asked, eying her cloak.
“I, ah, I meant to have my morning walk.”
“You and all that walking,” Avaline said, sighing. “You’ll have legs the size of a man’s if you keep at it.”
Bernadette smiled tightly. “I’ll be along shortly to attend you—”
“Before you go,” Avaline said casually, “I should like a word.”
Bernadette’s gut twisted. She felt a little fuzzy, as if she was about to sink to the ground. “Now?”
“Yes,” Avaline said and continued her glide down the stairs to the ground floor. “Has Renard left any breakfast for me?” she asked as she carried on, past the pockmarked walls that had yet to repaired, down the hall to the dining room.
“Yes,” Bernadette said, and suppressed a sigh as she followed Avaline. She desperately thought how she might explain herself, how to make Avaline understand that sometimes, forces beyond our control could compel a person to act out of character. She would use the moment to convince Avaline to cry off this engagement, to see the folly in it.
In the dining room, Avaline went to the sideboard and helped herself to some toast and fish. She yanked on the bell pull before heading to the table to sit.
Bernadette removed her cloak, but she didn’t sit.
“The fish is cold,” Avaline complained. “I prefer it warmed.”
Renard appeared, carrying a tea service. “Good morning, Miss Kent,” he said cheerfully. “Shall I pour?”
“Yes, please. Bernadette, would you care for tea?”
“No. Thank you,” she said.
“I don’t care for cold fish, Renard,” Avaline said as the butler arranged the tea service around her.
