by Amy Sandas
“Have you any scotch?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect.”
Though surprised by the lady’s choice, Braden poured two glasses of his finest Scottish whisky and brought them to the settee. He first handed one glass to Miss Dunn before sitting in a chair perpendicular to her location and pouring his into his tea.
“What a dreadful thing to do to good whisky,” she noted with horrified disbelief.
“But a wonderful thing to do to dreadful tea,” Braden replied with a wink and the kind of crooked smile that made most women flutter.
Miss Dunn gave a very brief narrowing of her eyes before she lifted her glass.
Confused by her continued lack of response to his usual wiles, Braden watched intently as the amber liquor slid smoothly past her lips. Her lips really were quite lovely; the upper arches were wide and the lower curve nice and lush. When she lowered her glass again, her strange green eyes found his and those beautiful lips pressed into a firm line.
To his surprise, he found her disapproving expression unexpectedly arousing.
Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his foot to rest his ankle across the opposite knee to shield his unbidden physical response from her view. “Now, you mentioned something about a circumvention?”
Chapter Two
Moira Dunn took the time to down another breathless swallow. She usually enjoyed her whisky in slow, savoring sips and only on rare occasions. Though she had to bite her tongue to keep from sucking in a swift gasp to dispense the fumes lingering on her burning tongue, it was exactly what she needed at the moment.
She’d fully expected this interview to be a challenge, but now that she’d come face-to-face with the man Grandda had arranged for her to marry, she wasn’t so convinced of the invulnerability of her plan.
She’d heard plenty about the Duke of Melbourne and his propensity for scandalous behavior and wicked hedonism. She’d expected to encounter a cad and a rake and her first impression of the man had certainly supported that.
Unfortunately, she had not expected to feel so conflicted in his presence.
Moira had been brought up to trust implicitly in her own strengths and capabilities. She was confident and decisive in all aspects of managing her estate and never wavered when faced with a difficult situation.
But nothing in her life to date had prepared her for the way her senses had become heightened from the moment she’d faced him in the hall.
Nor could she have anticipated the moments when he seemed intent on gazing past the stern façade she worked hard to maintain, or that his striking gaze sparked tingling reactions beneath her skin, or the way his flashing dimple made her belly flip in the most ridiculous way.
She’d believed herself made of sterner stuff, but Melbourne was handsome in the extreme and she was not unaffected by him.
Suddenly, the terms she needed him to agree to took on an entirely new depth and significance. Her body tensed.
She had no other choice. There were too many people relying on her to fulfill the duty of her position. And she refused to lose Dunnwood to this reckless hedonist.
She cast a steady gaze over the duke as he lounged so casually in the plush armchair. He looked every bit the rogue she’d heard he was. With his fit, muscled form, his perfectly tousled hair that was neither brown nor blonde but some blending of the two, and his blue-gold eyes that seemed to dance with laughter even when he’d initially been unable to hide his annoyance over her unexpected visit.
Realizing he awaited her response, she cleared her throat. “Perhaps compromise would be the better word for what I’ve got in mind.”
“Do tell, Miss Dunn,” he said with a sparkling grin. “You have my full and rapt attention.”
Moira took a breath and reminded herself there was far more than just her future at stake, though she couldn’t shake the sense she was about to offer herself as sacrifice. Straightening her spine, she asked, “Are you familiar with the practice of handfasting?”
There was a brief flicker in his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, then he replied, “Not personally.”
Moira fought the blush that rose to her cheeks with a clench of her teeth. “The concept, then?”
He nodded. “Though perhaps you should give a short explanation so I can be sure I am following you.”
“Handfasting is an ancient tradition, and though it’s original historical purpose rarely comes up in our modern age, there are some who still make use of the practice. In short, it allows for a couple to commit to a year and a day of living as husband and wife to ensure they’ll suit before going through with a marriage that would bind them for life.”
Moira paused, expecting some sort of reaction to her explanation. But the man simply stared at her with lowered eyelids and a half smile that made her feel as though she amused him somehow.
With a frown, she continued. “We’d be able to fulfill the terms of the contract, which doesna exclude handfasting. At the end of a year, we shall be free to go our separate ways. I’d retain possession of my dowered property and you wouldna have to pay a penalty for reneging.”
There was another latent pause as the duke sipped his whisky tea before lowering the cup to the saucer balanced on his muscled thigh. The smile on his lips shifted to something more intimate—and slightly dangerous—as he finally spoke, “So after a year of living together as man and wife, we can just dissolve the union and say fare thee well?”
“Aye.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
Nearing the end of her endurance, Moira spoke swiftly, “Have your solicitor check over the contract if you must, but what I say is true and, as I see it, the only way to put this wretched betrothal behind us so we can both move forward unfettered.”
That damnable dimple of his flashed at the edge of his smile. “I know why the idea appeals to me, Miss Dunn, but I’m terribly curious why you’d prefer such an arrangement.” Then he chuckled as a knowing glint entered his gaze. “A sweetheart, perhaps?”
Moira gave him a glare of annoyance. “There are plenty of reasons I doona wish to be bound to you for the rest of my days. I doona need another man to be one of them.”
Something unsettling flashed in his eyes, causing an immediate clenching in her stomach. Perhaps she should have allowed him to believe she had a sweetheart after all.
Moira lifted her glass to down the last of the scotch, welcoming the way it warmed her blood and fueled her purpose. Intentionally avoiding another glance in his direction, she leaned forward to set her empty glass on the table, then reached beneath the edge of the sofa to fetch her boots from where she’d tucked them earlier. Slipping her foot into the first one, she began tightening the laces.
“I will give you until the end of this month,” she noted in a clipped tone. “Four weeks should be plenty of time for you to consider my offer and set your affairs in order. If you do not arrive at Dunnwood Castle within the allotted time, I will take that to mean you renege on the agreement and I will have my solicitors begin the process of collecting the penalty.”
She tied off her second boot with a sharp and efficient little tug. Rising swiftly, she shook out the skirts of her traveling dress before she glanced up to see that the duke had also stood.
The look in his eyes was difficult to read and it gave her an odd feeling in her belly, but she did not shift her gaze. Instead, she forced herself to appear resolute even though her insides trembled at the thought of being bound to this man for even a short time.
Finally, he spoke. “I cannot be away from London for an entire year.”
“You doona have to be, but we must at least appear to be honoring the intention of the handfasting.” The ache spreading down her spine from keeping her shoulders strong and her chin raised to meet his gaze was nearly overwhelming, but she couldn’t waver now. “I’m trying to offer a compromise that will suit both our needs, Your Grace. Do we understand each other?”
Instead of replying right a
way, Melbourne took a step toward her. The familiar scent of whisky mingled with a distinctively masculine undertone. Moira would have given anything for the ability to retreat from the smoldering look in his eyes or the casual smile softening his lips.
“I don’t think we do, Miss Dunn. Not yet, anyway.” His voice lowered until the tones were rich and sinful. “Does this handfasting include all aspects of marital relations?”
Moira suffered the blush of discomfort creeping across her chest.
“I only ask because...well, a year is a long time for a man to be celibate.”
Heat spread across her cheeks, which irritated Moira beyond measure considering she’d nearly made it to the end of the encounter without having to think too much on her one considerable misgiving in regard to her plan. And of course, he would wish to discuss that particular aspect.
“No one is saying you must remain celibate, Your Grace,” she replied curtly.
His brows arched in elegant question and the dimple made a brief appearance before he asked, “You’ll welcome me to your bed?”
A tingling sensation danced through her low belly. She would have loved to look away from his too-bold gaze, but she remained steady. “There canna be any children. If a bairn is conceived, a handfasted couple must wed in truth.”
He nodded. “There are ways to address that concern,” he said softly and Moira had to fight her blush once again. “Is fidelity expected in such a union?”
“Of course,” she admitted stiffly, “but—”
“But nothing, Miss Dunn. I do not commit to things lightly”—his lips quirked in humor—“which is exactly why I rarely commit to anything. I can be faithful to my bride, but I will not be celibate. So, I must ask again...will this arrangement encompass all the benefits afforded a married couple, including those that typically take place in the bedchamber?”
There was something in his eyes, something that flickered wickedly within the blue, as he waited for her response. Why was he so intent upon this line of questioning? Could he sense how it distressed her? Did he enjoy her discomfort?
“Aye,” Moira replied with a tongue that felt awkward in her mouth. “The arrangement will include the...activities you’re referring to.”
His laugh was low and rich, like the soft brush of velvet on skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman so desirous to get into my bed,” he noted with a smile, his tone lightly self-mocking. “You’ve come an awful long way for a lover, Miss Dunn.”
Moira endured the tug of embarrassment. She did not have the sophistication necessary to respond to his brazen talk with more of the same. She suspected he was trying to tease her, perhaps to lighten the mood. But even if she wanted to, she simply didn’t know how to respond in kind. “I’ve come a long way for a husband,” she corrected.
His smile turned boldly sensual and his eyes darkened, sending licks of tingling heat through her core. “As long as you understand you’ll be getting both.”
Moira’s knees locked to keep her upright as her muscles went oddly weak. The blush of warmth she’d been resisting since meeting the striking gaze of her intended husband spread down over her belly and inner thighs.
Clenching her teeth, she forcefully restored her equilibrium. After a moment, she managed to give him a tight little smile. “Then I’ll be seeing you at Dunnwood Castle before the end of this month.”
As she turned and strode swiftly from the room, she did her best to appear solidly in command of herself even though every nerve in her body was engaged in an outright rebellion.
***
Braden waited in the library until Albert returned to advise that the young lady had been seen safely back to the inn where she was staying. The butler felt it necessary to point out that Miss Dunn appeared to have traveled without a chaperone or protection of any kind, in an attempt, Braden assumed, to inspire some form of protective response.
But from what Braden had observed during their short interview, she was more than capable of deciding for herself what kind of protection she needed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met a woman so subtly formidable.
And decidedly unexpected.
He chuckled as he recalled his astonishment when she’d raised her skirts to put on her boots and he’d realized she had spent most of their interaction in her stockings. It was shockingly inappropriate to be shoeless in the presence of a man—and in his home, no less—, yet the woman hadn’t sacrifice an ounce of her solid respectability in the act.
She’d also very effectively avoided answering his question about her motives for suggesting the handfasting solution. And he hadn’t missed the tightening of her jaw just before she’d left. Miss Dunn was formidable and more than a bit mysterious and it seemed he would have a whole year to discover her carefully guarded secrets. A long time to tie himself to one woman, but a damned sight better than a lifetime. For that reason, he had little choice but to accept her unexpected compromise.
It was clear his stern-toned betrothed fully expected him to put off the claiming of his bride indefinitely. But the truth was he’d already accepted it was time to make good on the contract. The pointless evasion of his fate had been admittedly selfish. He’d justified it by thinking a few extra years of freedom would hurt no one when he’d end up committing the rest of his life to a woman he’d never met.
Ultimately, he was glad he’d waited, since he’d just been offered an unexpected and wholly welcome alternative.
In exchange for a year of his life, he’d finally be free of the fate he’d been resisting since the day he’d learned of it.
A year versus a lifetime... It was a ridiculously easy call to make.
Chapter Three
Rain hit the carriage in slanted sheets and wind forced the vehicle to sway unnaturally while the wheels jolted along the deep-rutted road. The dark of night made it difficult for Braden to see anything out the windows, but he’d already taken in about as much of the Scottish countryside as he cared to over the last couple weeks of travel.
He would have gotten to Dunnwood Castle days ago if not for one thing after another going wrong on his journey. And now this blasted storm.
The innkeeper at the village where he’d stayed the night before had assured he would reach the castle today. But as the hours passed with the storm continuing to roar around him while they still plodded on, Braden considered finding alternative shelter for the night. He was just about to rap on the carriage roof when they came to a stop.
When the coachman finally opened the carriage door after several minutes, it was with an apologetic, rain-battered visage. “No one is responding to my knock, Your Grace, but I tested the latch and the door is not locked.”
Braden leaned forward to peer through driving rain toward the dark walls of an enormous stone structure rising before him. The castle couldn’t possibly be as large as it appeared to be. The clouds and rain and darkness had to be contributing to the medieval enormity of the place.
Having no intention of staying in the vehicle a moment longer when a warm bed likely awaited him within the forbidding stone edifice, Braden heaved himself through the carriage door and out into the whipping wind and rain. “I’ll just let myself in. I’m sure there is someone inside.”
Keeping his head down, he ascended wide stone steps to the enormous portcullis containing double doors standing at least twelve or thirteen feet tall.
Why the hell was everything so huge?
Grasping the curved iron handle of one door, he gave a shove and was relieved to feel the door give way. He wasted no time escaping the wind and rain.
The heavy door closed behind him with a sound loud enough to wake the dead several generations past. Braden gave a thorough shake of his shoulders in an attempt to dispel the chill that had seeped deep into his bones over the last few hours.
When it didn’t work, he glanced about, hoping to spy a footman or maid who might fetch him a warming brandy or point him toward a toasty fire. But there was not a single soul in sight.
/> The hall—as hugely impressive as he should have expected—boasted a dull grey stone floor covered by an enormous Persian rug and stone walls hung with ancient tapestries. The staircase—also stone—was worn in places from hundreds of years of use and rose before him until it reached a wide landing from which it split to two to continue toward opposite wings. Though the hall contained two fireplaces that he could see—one to his left and one to his right—neither had been lit.
He stopped in the middle of the dark, yawning space, wondering why no one had come to greet him. It couldn’t possibly be so late as to explain the strange stillness and quiet of the castle. The slam of the door had to have alerted someone, yet nothing stirred, not even the flames of the single candelabra that stood sentry on a table near the stairs.
As he stood dripping water onto the floor, debating if he should just start a fire in one of the large stone fireplaces bracketing the stairs, a door opened to his right. A slim figure stood in the doorway, backlit by the dim glow of a warm and welcoming fire.
Awareness seared through him. “Good evening, Miss Dunn.”
There was a pause. “Your Grace,” she muttered huskily. “You’ve come.”
The breathless nature of her voice brushed along his nerves in a disconcerting pattern. “I have, though this is not quite the welcome I’d anticipated.”
“My apologies. The rain and wind concealed the sound of your arrival.” She stepped forward into the hall.
Though her stern tone was as familiar as her reserved manner, her appearance this night was a far cry from when he’d last seen her.
Tonight, the lady’s dark hair was loose and curling about her shoulders, providing an element of softness he wasn’t expecting. She was dressed in a simple dark blue robe that was knotted at her small waist with a matching sash. Braden frowned as he caught the glimpse of her bare feet beneath the plain white ruffle extending beyond the hem of the robe.
