Every Rogue's Heart

by Dawn Brower

  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.”
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  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.

  Ewan stood up and grabbed his kilt yanking it on. The lines of his back taut with anger. “I thought you already knew the answer to that.” His clipped tone rigid with anger as he stomped to the window.

  All at once, she realized he had thought she’d actually been compromised. “Ewan,” she gasped. “I was ruined. Just like Fiona would have been. But we never actually… mean I didn’t want to…but of course if we’d married we would have… That is to say, he never inspired the passion that you do. I never imagined in my life to feel the way I do when I am with you.”

  She saw him soften. “I would have done it differently if I had known, and most likely not ‘til we were married.”

  Marriage was a conversation for tomorrow, now she just wanted to touch him, be touched. “We have now. Show me how it can be.” She propped her herself up on one elbow and beckoned for him to return to the bed. Even in the moonlight, she swore his eyes darkened with desire.

  He moved slowly back toward her until he was standing above her, the moonlight at his back. It highlighted how large a man he was. Her body ached again, but with anticipation rather than pain. “Show me,” she repeated.

  His kilt dropped to the floor and now she could see why it hurt so much. He was amazingly large even down there in a way that frightened and excited her. She licked her lips and she heard his soft groan. “I can’t take much more, lass.”

  Then he was on top of her. His hands were everywhere, stroking, rubbing, building her passion. And then his finger slipped inside her and it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was delicious and her hips began a slow rotation to wring every ounce of pleasure from the digit.

  When he removed the finger, she made to protest but he silenced her with a kiss and then the tip of him was slowly, carefully pushing her open. As he inched inside, she stretched, and while there was a small amount of pain, it was tolerable, and to her surprise it mixed with a rather pleasurable pressure that only increased the further he slid inside of her.

  “Are ye all right?” his strained whisper rasped in her ear.

  “Yes, oh yes,” she breathed.

  That was all the encouragement he seemed to need to slide out and then back in. To her immense surprise it was so satisfying that she longed for him to do it again. Which he did, over and over till they were climbing to impossible heights. She held his neck, her nails digging in ‘til she couldn’t stand it and in another second and they were raking down his skin as she fell over the edge.

  Even as she shuddered and moaned, his climax roared through him and his spasms melded with her own.

  Ewan looked down at the woman in his arms. Stunning. How could she have been so passionate and never been with a man? It didn’t matter, he supposed. She’d been with him now and in his mind that meant they were marrying.

  He’d promised Clarissa time to heal and to sort out her feelings and he would try to be patient. It had taken war, and a deep yearning for home, to make him want a family.

  He could see all the signs. She’d been overprotected. Her parents making every decision and now she wanted independence. A chance to make her own choices. Somehow he’d have to figure out a way to make marriage her idea.

  But for now, he was going to secret her away into his bed every chance he got. He’d have to be more careful to keep her from getting pregnant. She needed time, and he’d give her that. Provided he could get rid of Davenport. That man was a plague upon them all.

  How could the man not see what a jewel he might have had if he’d been a little more careful? And he wasn’t talking about her dowry. Now that he’d had her, he didn’t care about the money at all though he’d set out to marry a woman of means. But he’d found something far more valuable. A woman who eased the ache and made him feel alive again. He’d figure out the rest as it came. The important part was he loved her.

  “Clarissa,” he rasped as he moved to the side and pulled her body close to his. She was already falling asleep. “How long do we have ‘til you’ll be missed in your room?”

  “Mmmm,” she roused herself giving him a sleepy smile. “Not for hours.” Then she snuggled closer to him. “Can I stay for a little while?” she asked even as she began drifting to sleep.

  “You can stay forever,” he whispered back. Then he closed his eyes and pressed her closer. He made a vow to himself, he’d do everything in his power to see that she did.

  Chapter 15

  Just before dawn, Clarissa became aware of a rocking motion. She wondered briefly if she was on a ship but then realized Ewan was carrying her down the hall, yet again.

  Somehow, she was in her night rail and robe. He gave her a soft smile as her eyes fluttered open. “Good mornin’, my sleepy little pixie.”

  “Pixie?” she grinned.

  “I guess I only thought it to myself but ye’re magical and always flitting away from me.” His grin spread.

  She had done a fair bit of pushing away. “Were you a hunter before the war?” she whispered.

  “Aye, lass.” His eyebrows raised in question.

  “Then you weren’t put off by having to chase me a little?” She bit her lip to keep the grin from spreading too wide.

  He gave a soft chuckle. “I rather enjoyed it. But now, I find I’d rather have you caught firmly in my bed.”

  Her body heated at the thought of being in his bed again. “Oh, I like that idea.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to kiss the skin just below his ear. She felt him shiver at the touch. “Do you like it enough to come back to Castle Dumfries with me, lass? I can’t be gone for too much longer. My people need me.”

  “How would I do that?” she asked tilting her head back to look at hi
m.

  He gave her a knowing grin. “Let’s see if we can come up with a plan, shall we?”

  She gave a nod and reaching her door, he set her down. Kissing her softly on the lips, he whispered, “I’ll see you in a few hours.” And then he was gone.

  Happiness had her practically floating into her room. She snuggled down into the bed, remembering every touch from the night before.

  He was right. She had to find a way to be with him because she did not want this to end.

  Still grinning, she went to breakfast already planning her escape to Ewan’s room that night. But she stopped, standing stone-still at the top of the stairs. Her parents stood in the entry.

  It was as though she’d been dipped into the cold ocean. At once she realized it hadn’t just been London she’d run from but her father as well. She was angry at him for his part in this and afraid of what he still wanted from her.

  Her father looked up to see her standing atop the stairs. “Clarissa,” he called smoothly.

  Her mother turned and raced up the steps to greet her. “My lamb,” she shouted as she lifted her skirts to clear the steps.

  “Mama,” she choked as the opened her arms to her mother. Her mother stepped into her embrace and wrapped her arms around her. It was at once comforting and disconcerting because her parents’ presence changed both her relationship with Ewan and her interactions with Davenport.

  Her father followed her mother and wrapped his arms around them both. “We’ve missed you while you’ve been away.” The smoothness in his voice was gone, replaced with a rougher quality, almost as though he were near tears.

  “I’ve missed you too,” she replied, then pulled out of the embrace. She loved her parents and she knew they wanted what was best for her. But they were not in agreement as to what that might be. She still ached from their part in her humiliation.