“Not rich,” Clarissa shook her head to emphasize her point. “He’s come to grovel, but not because he wants me.” Bitterness like bile filled her mouth. Ruined without even being touched. Now she was acutely aware of how a man who wanted her acted and she knew Davenport never had been interested in her. Only her dowry.
“What do you mean?” Ewan’s voice had an edge that she didn’t understand.
“He’s spent all his money on pretty carriages and lavish parties. Gambling and women too, if the rumors are correct.” She hadn’t looked at Ewan yet, her eyes focused on the carriage and six coming up the drive. But one hand reached for him, as her other hand rested against the glass. She leaned her forehead closer to its rain-spattered surface. She wanted to see him, before he saw her. It would help her face him. “He needs an infusion of coin or he’ll have to start selling all his pretty things.”
“And he’ll get that money by marryin’ you?” Ewan had stepped closer and his hand had come to her waist. She relaxed at his touch, their bond growing stronger with each passing day, though they hadn’t discussed marriage again. They were developing a relationship.
“Yes.” She pressed her cheek to the cool paned surface, watching as a footman jumped down from his seat to open the door.
“I told her to tell ye she had a fat dowry, but she’s stubborn,” Fiona groused good-naturedly.
Agnes leaned over to him, “They whisper among the ton that it’s the biggest in all—”
“Agnes,” Clarissa chastised. Her eyes were glued to the man stepping out of the carriage. Her heart beating wildly, she squeezed Ewan’s hand tighter. It was firm and warm in her grasp.
“Well, they do. Is it? The largest dowry in all of England?”
Clarissa waved her hand dismissively then rested it back on the glass. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t gone around asking all the heiresses in London about their dowries. It just isn’t done.”
“I wish you’d told me sooner, lass,” Ewan’s quiet voice was strained and tight.
She turned then. “Why? Does is change the way you feel about me? Wanting to court me?” In her mind, she screamed, I can’t do this without you. Please don’t leave me to face this alone.
“Of course not.” He pulled her into a rough hug in front of her entire family. “But it changes how we deal with him. I didna realize he’d be so desperate. Perhaps we should have run after all.”
“Too late,” she whispered, her heart more full then she could have imagined possible. With Ewan by her side, she could do anything. Even face Davenport.
The way she was smiling up at him, it made his breath catch like a feckin’ woman. But there was a light shining through her eyes he’d never seen before and it near made his head spin. He knew he was in love with her but when she looked at him like that, he could dare to hope that she loved him too.
Yes, he wanted to help her overcome her past, but it was workin’ on ‘im too. His life had color that had been missin’ for a verra long time.
If Davenport, that feckin’ egit, thought that he was taking Clarissa away from him, well…he was sorely mistaken.
The front door swung open, creaking as it went, and the family rose, knowing it was time to assemble in the entry.
Haggis went first followed by the aunts and then Fiona and her sisters. Clarissa was next and Ewan fell in just behind her with Keiran at the very back. He turned to Keiran and gave him a long stare.
Keiran gave a nod in return to show that he understood. This was war and he’d best be ready to do battle.
The Marquess of Davenport did not have a clue what he was up against but this was Ewan’s home country and that dandy of a lord with his fancy carriage was about to face a soldier who’d just risen from the muck of war.
Squaring his shoulders he fought the urge to grab Clarissa around the waist and carry her off to the nearest church for a weddin’. Only his promise to give her the choice held him back because that primal Scot that lived inside was clawing to take over and take his woman before this man could even look at her.
But he held firm and kept his hands at his sides even as they twitched to wrap around Clarissa’s waist.
Davenport walked through the door, shaking off his riding cloak and handing the wet garment to a valet.
Ewan almost barked with laughter. Slender and fair, the man was almost womanish. Ewan thought he’d be meeting an opponent. One good Scottish wind should blow this horse’s arse back to England. He heard Clarissa swallow, and looking over at her saw that she had paled considerably, her eyes wide with fear. He murmured some inane words of comfort, inching closer so that his shoulder was just behind hers as they stood in line. Davenport’s eyes swung to him, giving him the once over. He stood straighter, looking down on the man who was surely a foot shorter than himself.
Introductions began and Ewan forced himself to remain still as Davenport bent over Clarissa’s gloved hand. “My love,” he murmured, as he made to kiss the gloved skin. Ewan jolted at the endearment. Those were words for him alone to say to Clarissa.
She took a half step back, as though to retreat, and bumped against him.
One corner of his mouth drew up at the contact, a physical reminder of her preference. His hand came to the small of her back to further settle her.
The three of them were mere inches apart and the room crackled with anticipation. Davenport still held her hand, while Ewan kept his fingers and palm on her back.
“What brings you to Scotland?” she asked Davenport, clearing her throat.
“You, of course.” He gave her a wide practiced smile. “I was miserable without you.”
She sniffed. “I was miserable because of you.” Then she withdrew her hand from his. “You’ve come a long way for nothing.” Then her shoulders straightened. “I’m already engaged, to Lord Dumfries.”
Ewan quirked one eyebrow, a happy grin sliding his lips apart. It was his second fake engagement in a fortnight.
Chapter 13
Uncle Haggis paced in front of her. “What possessed you to go and say that?” His voice boomed in its usual way.
Clarissa shrugged. “It just fell from my lips. He looked so smug and I just wanted to wipe that smarmy expression off his face.” She turned to Fiona. “It was so satisfying.”
Fiona winked in return. The family had retreated to the sitting room while Lord Davenport rested from his travels.
Emilia looked less convinced. “But Fiona almost had to marry Ewan so as not to be ruined.”
Clarissa waved her hand. “I’m already ruined. It makes no difference now.”
“Or we could just get married,” Ewan rumbled from the corner.
Excitement swelled in her chest but she pushed it back down and shook her head. “We’re only courting, remember? I won’t marry for my reputation.” She meant it. More and more, she could see that Ewan was her future but she wouldn’t rush the decision for the sake of society.
“But you could be saved,” Agnes pointed out.
Clarissa stood then and crossed back to the window. Her heart was hammering in her chest but it wasn’t fear this time. It was something different entirely. Excitement, power, love. “Saved from what?” She turned to them again. “I don’t care what they think and I’ll likely never go back anyway. And I’m not running anymore.”
Ainsley shrugged. “Then why did you tell him you were engaged? You should have just told him to fe—“
“Ainsley McDougal,” Haggis growled.
Clarissa nodded. “Ainsley’s right. I will tell him that I just don’t want him to know that I’m not actually engaged.” In a way she was running again, but in her defense, she couldn’t get marriage to Ewan out of her mind. She thought his words, running to their future.
Ewan’s voice was low and menacing. “No, lass. Tell him you don’t want him. Tell him you hate the very air he breathes. But also tell that dandy that your very large, very war-hardened fiancé will use every bloody torture maneuver he learned on the battlefield to
break all the bones in his tiny little body if he dares to show his face in Scotland again.”
She grinned. “I thought I was supposed to be standing up for myself.”
“With my help,” he added, his eyebrows raising as though that should have been completely obvious.
Her smile spread wider. The idea had real merit.
That evening’s dinner was significantly less painful than Clarissa thought it might be. Davenport was ridiculously attentive though his eyes kept drifting to Ewan, who stared daggers at the marquess the entire evening.
Clearly, her former fiancé had no idea what to do with a new fiancée and seemed to be ignoring the fact entirely, opting instead to try to make amends with Clarissa.
Though attentive, Davenport had always looked through her rather than at her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much that had undermined her confidence. To always be trying to hold the attention of the man who would be the most important in her life.
By contrast, Ewan was aware of her every move, cushioned every fall. Now it was her turn to barely pay attention to Davenport. Her body hummed with a need she hadn’t thought possible and it was all for her laird.
And her eyes clearly showed where her attention lay, because she could hardly peel them away from Ewan.
“The season has been so dull without you, my love,” Davenport sighed.
“Did London run out of maids?” Fiona asked as she took a bite of her meat pie.
Aunt Rhona gasped, “I’ll send ye to yer room.”
Davenport had the decency to turn a bright shade of red. Too her amazement, Clarissa did not feel the slightest twinge of sadness or shame. Instead she had to hold back a laugh.
But then the marquess straightened his shoulders. She had to give him credit, he knew that her entire family was aware of what he’d done and he still sat at their table. It took some kind of bravery to endure that.
Clearing his throat he looked to Ewan then back at her. “When last I spoke to your father, he wasn’t aware you were engaged again.”
That stilled Clarissa’s fork. At twenty, she still couldn’t marry without his permission. Did she lie again? Give some version of the truth? Ignore him altogether?
But Haggis spoke. “As her next male kin, I’ve agreed to the match by proxy.”
Davenport looked puzzled. “It is his decision to make.”
“It is not. It’s mine.” Clarissa, having managed to untie her tongue, gave him a glare.
“Not by English law—”
“We’re not in England.” Her voice was soft but determined. For many reasons those rules didn’t apply. First, because she didn’t care about them any longer and second because she was fairly certain, as Ewan hadn’t known about her dowry ‘til today, his offer to court was not tied to receiving the coin. In Scotland they were free to marry. Her father’s only play would be to withhold the dowry, but Ewan wouldn’t care about that. Would he?
“Thanks be to God for that,” Ainsley added.
Davenport pursed his lips but remained quiet, for which Clarissa was grateful.
As the party moved to the music room, however, it was clear that he hadn’t given up. As she walked up the stairs, he caught up to her. “Please hear me out,” he whispered frantically. “We could be happy together, Clarissa. I know I made a mistake, but if you could find it in your heart to give me another—” He ended the last word with a whoosh of breath and then stumbled on the steps.
“Excuse me, Lord Davenport,” Ewan’s rough voice sounded anything but sincere.
Davenport smoothed his cravat. “Of course, Lord Dumfries,” his icy voice bit out.
But he remained silent as her cousins entertained them with the pianoforte. But his eyes wondered to her often, try as she might to ignore him.
Ewan was also quiet, but tense as a strung bow. At one point he leaned down and whispered into her ear, “I canna wait to toss him out on his arse.”
The feel of his breath on her ear sent shivers racing down her spine and she leaned closer giving him a glowing smile. “Me either,” she whispered back.
Having an ally had turned this dreaded event to an almost amusing evening. Subtly, she reached over to touch Ewan’s hand and he clasped her fingers. “I won’t let him hurt you, lass. I swear it.”
She believed him. And the protective circle he’d created around her made her desire him all the more.
Chapter 14
Clarissa paced her room, unable to sleep. She’d thought that Lord Davenport’s presence would remind her of all her past hurts. But nothing could be further from the truth. Instead, his visit had amplified her feelings for Ewan.
His strength and protectiveness had wrapped around her like a warm blanket. And the desire, it was a raging inferno that made her ache with longing. Every subtle touch, every protective maneuver stoking the flames.
She bit her lip. She’d agreed to courting, but that could be weeks, even months. Then there was engagement. The season had been about to begin in London and a wedding was to be at the end. It might take a year for her and Ewan to marry, if she agreed to marry him at all.
And, he’d likely have to return home at some point, meaning they’d be separated. Her heart ached at the thought.
She didn’t want to think any more about what might happen or how she might be hurt. She just wanted to feel Ewan’s strong arms about her again.
Putting on her dressing rob, she creaked open her door. Without a real plan in mind, she started down the hall toward Ewan’s room.
Every creak made her jump, afraid she would be caught. But those little thrills made her want to laugh out loud. Finally, if caught, she would be ruined for actually doing something.
She reached Ewan’s door and it was silent within. She bit her lip. What if she knocked and he didn’t answer? What if she woke up someone else?
Screwing up her courage, she gave a tap on the door and then softly called, “Ewan.”
In mere seconds he yanked open the door and pulled her in. He was shirtless and his kilt was twisted around to the side but before she could even ask, his lips were on hers.
Kissing her over and over, his tongue plundered her mouth. She groaned in delight and then snaked her hands around his neck and into his overlong hair. She’d grown quite fond of it, she realized with a giggle.
“What’s so funny?” he asked as his hand brushed open her dressing gown, his hands circling her waist.
“Your hair.” She laughed again. “I thought it was rather rakish, but it turns out, I quite like it.”
“It isn’t rakish,” he growled out. “Davenport’s perfectly trimmed hair is rakish. He spends all his time grooming himself and buying pretty things. I spend my time tilling fields and repairing crofters. I haven’t time to trim me hair.”
“Oh,” she lay her head on his chest. “No wonder I like it so much.” She lifted it again and bit her lip as she looked at him. “So you’re not a rake after all?”
“Only with ye…” he muttered, capturing her lips again. “Ye bring out a side of me I thought long gone.”
“You make me feel things I didn’t even know were possible,” she replied, breathless from the wanting.
Lifting her, he pressed his hand into her behind, holding her up as he massaged the flesh. She wrapped her legs around his waist and immediately the ache between her legs intensified as he pressed his manhood against her sensitive nub.
She groaned again her head tossing back, and his hands ran from her shoulder to her buttocks and back again as though memorizing her curves. How had she become so wanton so quickly?
“Lass.” His ragged voice penetrated her haze of passion. “I don’t think I can stand the wanting again. As glorious as it is to see ye finish.”
Her lips found his and she kissed him with every ounce of her passion and longing. “I want it all.”
He looked tortured as his hand grabbed her derriere and pressed her closer. They both moaned at the contact. “Are ye sure, mo chridhe?”
> “I’m already ruined, Ewan.” She gasped as one of his hands travelled up her side and skimmed her breast.
He gave her a curious look. “What’s strange to me is that there’s no passion between you and Davenport. How did he convince ye to—”
But she didn’t want to talk and so she kissed him to stop his words. She’d explain later.
This time there were no rules about beds or clothes and so he carried her over to the mattress and lay her down, moving with her so their bodies were still pressed together.
“Oh my,” she breathed out. “I’d thought I’d miss standing, but that is so delicious.” He began trailing kisses down her neck, rubbing against her most sensitive flesh and using his hands to slowly lift the hem of her night rail.
Once the fabric cleared her hips, she sat up and he pulled it off in one clean motion. She hadn’t a thing on underneath and now she lay naked before him. She’d wanted this and she wouldn’t be shy now, but part of her was insecure to be so exposed.
His hand trailed lightly down the middle of her chest, running between her breasts. “You’re stunning, mo chridhe. Better than I imagined.”
And then he was on top of her again, his lips pressed to hers, then sliding lower to capture first one breast and then the other. Her breathing was ragged as she arched and moaned and writhed with the need building inside of her. His fingers began to lightly brush her sensitive folds. Pleasure was making her dizzy with desire as she held onto his back, grinding closer. “Please,” she begged for a release she knew he could give.
“With pleasure, mo chridhe.” And then his kilt was gone and his manhood was pressed against her opening. In a swift move, he pushed past her defenses but she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much and she cried out.
Hands that had been holding him close began pushing him away as pain exploded in a tearing, ripping feeling.
“What in the bloody hell.” He grimaced and pulled out of her.
She sighed with relief as the pain subsided. “Is it always like that?” she asked.
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