The Laird's Willful Lass

by Anna Campbell

  “Fergus…”

  At last she spoke his name. Nor did he miss the longing his passionate words lit in her expression. Anticipation began to pulse in his gut. Had he convinced her to take him as her lover?

  Chapter Nine

  Marina drew a shaky breath and strove for calmness. It was difficult when Fergus’s kisses—and the lure of more—left her giddy. During those heady minutes in his arms, he’d swept her up into the whirlwind. After an experience like that, it was difficult for a girl to find her feet once she landed back on solid ground.

  She made herself meet his gaze. Never had she imagined gray eyes could burn like that. As he stared at her, the heat seared her skin. Tightening her grip on her knees, she told herself that taking this attraction any further was impossible.

  “This is lunacy. We don’t get along. There’s nothing in the world we agree on.”

  Another half-smile. “We agree on one thing—we want one another.”

  Marina didn’t bother denying it. The lie would be too coy for words. The temptation of being close to him without touching him became too much. She stumbled to her feet and stepped toward the rim of the escarpment. Her eyes registered nothing of the breathtaking view. All she saw was the ferocious intensity of Fergus’s expression, as he proclaimed his desire with a fearlessness that threatened to melt her very bones to syrup.

  “What are ye thinking, lassie?” he asked behind her. She hadn’t heard him rise and approach her. Diavolo, he could move like a ghost when he wanted to.

  She turned to face him, feeling less vulnerable now she was standing. “There was another girl at the art school in Florence. Her name was Rosa Sabattini.”

  Marina waited for him to ask why she told him this, but he folded his arms over that impressive chest and gave her his complete attention. He was the wrong man for her in every way that mattered, but she also liked so much about him. Not least the way he listened to her, despite his conviction that he was always right. And his patience. He was willing to wait for what he wanted.

  Although given she was what he wanted, perhaps that wasn’t an altogether reassuring quality.

  “She was talented. And pretty. A year younger than me.” She swallowed to ease her tight throat. Even after a dozen years, this was hard to talk about. “Then one day, she wasn’t there anymore.”

  Fergus didn’t interrupt, and his eyes were somber as they settled on her. She saw he already guessed where this story ended.

  “They pulled her body out of the Arno.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “She was going to have a baby and couldn’t bear the shame.”

  “What a tragic story,” Fergus said, russet brows lowering over his gray eyes as he assessed what she’d told him. After a pause, he went on. “I’m sorry about your friend, but you’re stronger than that.”

  Although the afternoon wasn’t cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Am I?”

  “You don’t want to conceive my bairn. There are ways of making that unlikely.”

  “I don’t want to lose the career I’ve taken years to build.”

  A crease marked his forehead. “Surely with your other lovers…”

  A painful blush flooded her cheeks. He hadn’t understood as well as she thought he had. “You’re not listening.”

  Shock descended over his features, and he faltered back as if she’d struck him. “You’re saying…”

  She licked dry lips and lowered her arms to her sides, clenching her fists. She’d never had such a discussion in her life. Cavolo, she hoped never to have another. “No other lovers.”

  His frown deepened. “When ye kissed me…”

  Embarrassment had her shifting from one foot to the other. She almost began to wish she’d let his kisses find their inevitable conclusion, to save her from having to talk about this.

  Dio l’aiuti, did that mean she was on the verge of taking this man as her lover?

  She spoke in a rush, wanting to get it over and done with. “I had an adolescent romance with one of the other students at the school. A very nice boy called Paolo Martini. We used to kiss in the Boboli Gardens and talk about what life would be like when we were both famous.”

  “But nothing more.” It wasn’t a question, and she realized Fergus at last pieced together what she’d told him. He didn’t look shocked anymore. Instead he looked thoughtful, almost…calculating. “So all those gentlemen who approached you…”

  “I remained dedicated to my art.” She flinched when she realized she used the past tense.

  “I misunderstood. I assumed you were experienced.”

  “I know.” She cast him a quick glance, then looked away. “Does this change your mind about wanting me as your mistress?”

  When she looked at him again, that half-smile was back. “Dinna be daft, lassie.”

  Was that relief loosening her limbs? It would be easier, safer, if her confidences gave him a distaste for her.

  “When I started gaining a reputation as an artist, there was too much at stake for me to gamble it all on a love affair. It isn’t just Rosa, although she’s example enough of what happens to girls who risk everything for a man’s sake. I need to keep my good name, if only to stop my patrons from becoming my pursuers.”

  “If nobody has you, you remain out of reach as a woman, while you can reign as an artist.”

  He did understand. “I told you, one breath of scandal, and everything I’ve worked for disappears. The world won’t see me as a talented painter, fit to vie with the men. Instead, they’ll dismiss me as one more silly, fallible woman who didn’t know what was good for her.”

  Fergus moved closer and took her hand. Warmth surged up her arm and settled around her heart in a way that warned her how perilously close she was to giving in.

  “So you’re telling me that while you’re tempted, you mean to say no because the dangers are too great.”

  She stared up into his face. She’d never met anyone like him. “We’d be impossible together.”

  “We’d be exciting.”

  “We’d end up wanting to kill one another.”

  “Or each time we tumbled into bed, we’d die of pleasure.”

  Probably both. She didn’t underestimate the physical attraction raging between them. Even now, when he wasn’t doing anything overtly seductive, she wanted to press herself against that tall, lean body and run her hands over his skin. She wanted to kiss him and suck his tongue into her mouth. She wanted to shove him back onto the grass and beg him to show her everything that her nun-like devotion to art had so far denied her.

  The flaring heat in his eyes told her he guessed the trend of her thoughts. And he approved.

  She broke their gaze to stare down to where her hand lay in his. The choice should be clear. Compared to everything she had at stake, what did it matter that the merest sight of Fergus Mackinnon set her heart dancing?

  “Are ye still in love with Paolo?”

  The question was so surprising, her attention jerked back to his face. “Paolo?”

  “The other art student.”

  “Of course not. I was only sixteen.” Was Fergus jealous? How delicious. “He’s married with six children now, anyway.”

  “Good.” Fergus’s grip on her hand tightened. “I don’t want you thinking of any man but me.”

  Frowning, Marina tried without success to withdraw. “Fergus, I’ve told you why I must say no.”

  His expression remained serious. “You’ve told me why you’re careful, and why I must be careful with you.”

  He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. Heat engulfed her. Another warning of the power he’d wield if she broke the rules of a lifetime.

  “Per carità, stop it,” she said, as he kissed her fingers again.

  She couldn’t blame him for ignoring her command. Her protest sounded like a breathy invitation for more.

  “You’ve said you don’t want to risk a bairn. I’ll do my best to see that doesn’t happen.” He lowered her hand but kept hold
of it. “You’ve said ye don’t want gossip to stain your name. Here at Achnasheen, we’re a world away from fashionable society. Who’s going to spread tales to your patrons? You have my vow I’ll never tell another soul that we came together, and I’m credited as a man of my word.”

  She knew he was. She mightn’t agree with him about much, but she respected his integrity. “We’ve only known one another three days,” she said almost despairingly.

  “So ye want time to think?”

  “I’ve told you…” She cringed at her voice’s continuing lack of conviction.

  He raised his free hand to cradle the side of her face. Straight after he kissed her, he’d touched her like this. Glancing little contacts that spoke of affection and tenderness rather than seduction.

  Although they were powerfully seductive, too. And he knew it.

  “Haven’t ye been lonely, Marina? It’s all well and good, living for your art, but brushes and paints and canvas willnae keep you warm at night.”

  She had been lonely. Since meeting Fergus, she’d realized how much. She suspected he’d been lonely, too. There was only room for one at the top of his mountain. She couldn’t dismiss the picture of a brave nine-year-old boy setting aside his grief for his dead father and taking charge of his family and estate.

  “It’s dangerous to listen to you,” she whispered, as the warmth of his palm on her face curled through her like a drift of scented smoke. “It’s dangerous to kiss you.”

  He stepped closer, changing his hold as he angled her up for another kiss. This was gentle, persuasion rather than insistence. Yet the same magic transported her to paradise. His kisses claimed her very essence. It was many years since those adolescent experiments with Paolo, but she didn’t remember such a profound reaction.

  She did however remember the way a passionate kiss made her stomach twist and ache with desire. She remembered how frustrated her sixteen-year-old self had been when Paolo got her all stirred up, and they’d both been too frightened to take the next step.

  That hadn’t changed. In fact, it was worse.

  She leaned into Fergus, seeking more heat, more pressure. But he, il cattivo, kept the contact essentially innocent. She was mad to resent his restraint, given she was the one who placed limits on what they did.

  “Aye, it is dangerous.” Like her, he whispered, although she doubted if there was another person between here and Iceland. “But it’s delightful, too.”

  This time when she tried to break away, Fergus let her go. Perhaps because he knew that, despite her misgivings, she wasn’t ready to forsake this perilous enchantment.

  She raised trembling hands to burning cheeks. “Madonna, my head is spinning.”

  Then came the fatal moment. He smiled at her as he’d smiled just once before. As though she was a treasure he’d unexpectedly found in a field and that he meant to cherish forever.

  For more smiles like that, any risk might be worth it. Perhaps denying herself the chance to know him as only a lover could was the sin, not yielding a chastity that in Fergus’s presence seemed more burden than blessing.

  “I’ll no’ trouble ye with more now.” He paused and tilted an inquiring eyebrow in her direction. “Unless you’ve reached a decision, that is.”

  Marina should give him a categorical refusal. She should stick to the path that gave her success and independence and a future. Especially as a love affair between two such disparate individuals as she and the Mackinnon was sure to be a catastrophe.

  But, cavolo, he was handsome standing before her with that quizzical expression on his face. And he kissed like a dream. This was the first time she’d tasted adult passion, and its power left her astonished.

  She should say no to Fergus’s proposition, but by heaven, she was tempted to say yes.

  With a quaking breath, she buried her trembling hands in her skirts. “No, no decision,” she said in a faint voice, loathing her cowardice.

  Chapter Ten

  When Marina and Fergus joined her father for dinner in his room, she was sure Papa must guess something significant had happened to her today. It was lucky that he was used to her distraction when she was wrapped up in her work.

  Whereas for once in her life, painting was the last thing on her mind.

  Could she become a man’s mistress? For all the reasons she’d given Fergus, she’d long recognized that a woman who wished to pursue a career as an artist must remain chaste.

  Rosa’s death retained its power to inspire nightmares. What Marina hadn’t told him was that she was there when they pulled her friend’s body from the Arno. Ever since, that pale, waterlogged corpse had served as a warning of the price a woman paid for passion.

  But that was before Marina discovered how powerful passion could be. This afternoon’s kisses had swept her into a new and fiery world, radiant with heat and excitement and pleasure.

  And all Fergus had done so far was kiss her. Imagine what else she had to discover.

  If he’d made demands, she’d have no difficulty refusing him. But devil take the Mackinnon, for once he didn’t order her around. He left it to her to decide—and she was far from convinced she had the strength to walk away without sampling more.

  Her mind recognized the wise choice. Her traitorous senses insisted that desire must rule.

  The internal argument continued all evening, as she battled to pretend she was the same independent woman who had set out to paint this morning. The fine dinner stuck in her throat, and she heard hardly a word of the conversation between her father and the man who wanted to be her lover.

  But she watched him. Dio, how she watched him. All her life, her soul had fed on beauty, and the Mackinnon was an extraordinarily beautiful man. On a physical level, she couldn’t choose a more perfect specimen.

  One strong, elegant hand made a slashing gesture, as he described a banquet he’d attended in Edinburgh Castle. Her gaze fastened on that spare, almost austere face with its subtle hints of humor and intelligence. That long, lean, efficient body…

  A shudder ran through her as she imagined lying beneath that body as he pushed inside her. A heavy pulse set up in the secret hollow between her legs, and she gave a surreptitious wiggle in search of relief.

  Most of the night, Fergus had treated her as a casual acquaintance. He seemed happy to talk to her father about places they’d traveled, and the great families in Italy who had opened their homes to Marina in recognition of her talent. Warning enough of how much she risked, if she trusted herself to this man’s honor.

  But while she’d made no sound and the chairs at Achnasheen were far too sturdy to creak, Fergus must have sensed some change in her. When he raised his gray gaze, she had to bite back a gasp.

  At times tonight, his ease had made her wonder if she’d imagined that sizzling encounter on the hillside. But one flickering, incendiary glance told her that he burned, too.

  Every drop of moisture dried from her mouth, and she had to look away or betray herself. To hide her trembling hands, she made a great show of picking up her sketchbook and choosing a pencil.

  But art couldn’t distract her from this dilemma.

  She’d sworn she’d be no man’s mistress. Yet with every breath she took, she wanted Fergus Mackinnon more.

  The mullioned windows behind her opened on hills shrouded in purple twilight. A gentle breeze brushed over the bare skin of her arms and shoulders like a lover’s touch.

  Would she soon know a real lover?

  * * *

  Fergus watched Marina struggle against the impulse to stare at him. He fought the same battle. He knew if he gave in, he’d look too much like a starving dog slavering over a steak.

  An hour ago, Kirsty had come in to light the candles. He’d loved watching the soft light of the gloaming on Marina’s face. Candlelight was just as fascinating. He was bristlingly aware of her every movement, although for discretion’s sake, he’d chosen a chair on the opposite side of the bed from where she sat under the window.

>   Ugolino seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere, but the canny daughter had a canny father. Fergus wouldn’t be at all surprised if Marina’s father was awake to the unspoken tension in the room.

  He was damned glad he’d braved the icy water to get her luggage. The sight of her in the pink silk gown cut low across that enticing bosom made every second in the raging burn worthwhile. A cream lace shawl draped around her bare arms, and she’d twisted that heavy weight of hair into an elaborate arrangement. The style emphasized the noble lines of her jaw and her long neck. She might belong to the middle ranks of society, but right now, concentrating on her drawing, she looked like a queen.

  As deft fingers guided the pencil, light flickered gold on her shining black hair and found fascinating hollows under a cheekbone and in the dip of her collarbone. He itched to free her hair, so it fell like a cape around her naked shoulders. His hands would smooth that silky mass, slide through to explore the thrust of a pale breast…

  Her eyelashes fluttered up, as if she guessed his thoughts. Hell, she probably did. Large black eyes met his for a breathtaking second, and he could swear he saw a longing to match his own.

  Before he could be sure, she snapped her sketchbook shut. “Papa, I’m going to bed. If the weather holds, I’ve got another day of work in the hills tomorrow.”

  Fergus stood and crossed to the window to look out on the stars, bright as fire. The starlit skies above Achnasheen put him in mind of Marina’s eyes. That same air of eternal mystery.

  “Aye, I think we’re in for a spell of sunshine,” he said, although he’d known that before he shifted. He didn’t have to check the sky to predict the weather in this glen.

  But keeping his distance over these last hours had been torture. Now he dared a surreptitious caress down Marina’s neck as he turned back into the room. Craving blasted him, and he was close enough to hear a shaken gasp as she exhaled. She didn’t look at him, but her hand clenched on the sketchbook.