A Hint of Rapture (38 page)

Clara bobbed a curtsy. "Of course, Major
Marshall." She flashed a reassuring smile at Madeleine, then hurried out,
closing the door quietly behind her.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the clock
ticking on the mantelpiece. Madeleine dropped her gaze and tightly gripped her
goblet, staring into the wine's deep red depths.

She tensed as Garrett's footsteps moved toward her,
Clara's words resounding in her mind. Tonight was her wedding night. Tonight
was her wedding night . . .

She continued to stare blindly at the wine, afraid to
look up, afraid of what she might read in his eyes, and afraid of what he might
find in hers. No matter what she thought of him, she could not slow her racing
pulse or stop the quiver of desire streaking through her.

"Mrs. Merrett said she would prepare a fine meal,
but I had no idea she meant a feast."

Madeleine blinked at the sound of a spoon hitting a
platter and looked up, hazarding a glance in Garrett's direction. He was seated
across from her now, casually filling his plate. He smiled as he dipped the
serving spoon into the rabbit pie.

"You must be hungry, Madeleine. Please don't delay
your supper on my account."

Nonplussed, she watched as he ladled a heaping portion
of every dish onto his plate, then poured himself a goblet of wine. He began to
eat, virtually ignoring her as he savored his food.

"It's wonderful, Madeleine," he said, helping
himself to a cheese tartlet. "You should eat. You'll feel much better, and
it will help you sleep tonight. We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Madeleine gaped at him, thoroughly bewildered. Garrett
seemed so nonchalant, so at ease. Hardly what she would have expected after
everything that had happened that day. But here he was, eating his dinner
calmly, unhurriedly, and urging her to do the same!

She licked her lips, her stomach growling painfully.
The heady aroma of well-prepared food was driving her mad from hunger. She
quickly made up her mind. If Garrett could appear composed and unconcerned,
then so could she. She set her goblet on the table and bean to fill her plate.

'The meat pastries are wonderful, and the roast
chicken." He spooned a few pastries onto her plate, then concentrated on
his own once again.

Madeleine was so famished she immediately stuffed a
pastry into her mouth, the brown gravy dribbling down her chin. Before she
could catch it, Garrett reached over with his own napkin and wiped it away.

"Thank ye," she muttered, swallowing. She ate
ravenously for several moments, then slowed down as the pains in her stomach
subsided. She barely looked up from her plate, unaware Garrett was watching her
until she took a draft of wine. His eyes were lit with amusement.

"What?" she snapped, embarrassed. She
realized she must have made quite a spectacle of herself, gobbling her food
like a pig at a trough. "Ye said to eat," she said defensively.

"So I did," Garrett said, sobering.
"Please . . . go on."

Madeleine set down her fork. Suddenly she did not feel
so hungry, and she sensed if she ate any more of the rich food, she might
become ill. She plopped her napkin on the table.

"I've had enough, thank ye," she said
sullenly, meeting his steady gaze. She tilted her chin defiantly. "How are
my kinsmen? Do they . . . do they know about the . . ." Her voice trailed
off, unable to say the word
wedding
.
"Do they know what has happened?"

"Yes," Garrett answered with a touch of
irritation. "They know we are husband and wife." His tone softened,
though his eyes were hard. "Your kinsmen are well, Maddie, and grateful to
be out of prison. Grateful to you, I should say."

A yawning silence fell between them when Madeleine did
not reply to his cryptic statement. She glanced toward the bedchamber door,
feeling a warmth in her cheeks as he followed her gaze, then looked back at
her.

"Tired?"

Madeleine nodded, a strange feeling of breathlessness
seizing her. She began to tremble, holding her hands tightly so he might not
notice.

"Then I'll leave you," he said quietly.

She was stunned. "Leave?" Her response was
out before she could stop it. She desperately tried to think of something to
cover what she'd said, hoping she hadn't given him the wrong impression. She
spied his half-empty plate. "Ye dinna finish yer supper," she said
lamely.

Garrett rose from the chair, a hint of a smile on his
lips. "Actually, I'm not very hungry tonight," he replied, then
quickly changed the subject. "I'll have Clara come and clear away the
food. She'll wake you in the morning and help you pack. I take it you opened
the packages I sent up." His gaze wandered over her. "That color is
lovely on you, Madeleine. It brings out your eyes as well as I thought it
would."

"Aye, Clara opened them for me," Madeleine
said hotly, his words pricking her temper. "If ye think to bribe me with
yer gifts, Garrett—"

"Not bribes, Madeleine," he interrupted, his
expression clouding. "Necessities. You didn't think you'd be traveling
back to Strathherrick in those filthy black rags, did you?"

"Och, yes, forgive me," she flung at him.
"My raiding clothes would hardly be suitable for the Lady Marshall. I
dinna expect the fine title of lady, Garrett. I thought 'twas yer brother
Gordon who had the title in the family. Or did ye acquire that from the king as
well?"

Garrett seemed to flinch. "I have no title, other
than 'the honorable' before my name," he explained darkly. "It's a
courtesy style, as it is a courtesy for you to be addressed as Lady Marshall.
And you were correct about my brother. Gordon has everything, the title, and
the family—"

"Lands!" she finished for him, her eyes
flashing. "So ye went after mine instead, Garrett Marshall," she
spat, "Master of Farraline. I'll have ye know 'honorable' doesna suit ye
at all. Try bastard, or royal spy! Aye, now that has a fine ring to it!"

It happened so fast, in a blink of an eye. One moment
Madeleine was seated, then the next she was in his arms, his fingers biting
cruelly into her flesh. His eyes were ablaze with fury, burning into hers.
Completely stunned, she could only gape at him.

"You will not call me that again," he grated,
giving her a rude shake. "I'm not the king's spy, Madeleine. Get that
preposterous idea out of your mind."

"Liar! I dinna believe ye," she answered
hoarsely, finding her voice. She winced at the pain in her arms. "Ye're
hurting me, Garrett! Let me go!"

"Maybe you'll believe this, my lady wife," he
said as his mouth suddenly came down hard on her lips.

Madeleine gasped, struggling wildly, but her strength
was no match for his. He crushed her against his chest, devouring her with his
kiss. She quaked from the sheer force of it. Part of her screamed to fight him,
to rake her fingernails down his face, but her reeling senses demanded she
surrender.

She thought no more as she felt his hand slip beneath
her robe and cradle her breast, his fingers circling the hard, sensitive
point—around and around—with maddening slowness until she cried out against his
mouth when he tweaked her gently.

Her arms flew around his neck, and she molded herself
to his powerful body, moaning with desire when his hand slid from her breast to
her bare bottom. His kiss deepened as he cupped her with both hands and lifted
her against the hard swelling beneath his breeches, then he abruptly tore his
mouth away from hers.

"You want me, Maddie. I know you do. If you can
believe in this," he breathed huskily, his hips straining forward
emphatically, "in how much I want you, how much I need you, then why won't
you believe I'm not a spy?

His words pierced her passionate daze, and she froze in
his arms, breathless and flushed. She was astounded her body had betrayed her
so easily. Rage surged within her. Her voice rose shrilly as she tried to break
free of his embrace.

"Ye're a spy, Garrett Marshall, and there's
nothing ye can say or do that will ever change my mind! If ye think yer lust
will sway me, ye'll do well to think again!"

She felt a flicker of fear at his thunderous look and
almost regretted what she had said. God's wounds, she had never seen him so
angry!

Her heart lurched in her chest when he suddenly swept
her into his arms.

"No, Garrett! No! Dinna do this!" she cried,
kicking and fighting him as he carried her into the bedchamber. With a heave,
he tossed her onto the bed amid all the things he had bought her. She
frantically pulled her robe around her exposed body and scrambled to a far
corner, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Don't worry, Madeleine, I'm not going to force
you, if that's what you're thinking," he said, his deep voice laden with
bitterness. "I've never forced a woman before and I'm surely not going to
begin with my wife." He turned and strode from the bedchamber. "We'll
be leaving early in the morning. Get some rest." Then he was gone, the,
sitting room door slamming shut behind him.

Madeleine was so shaken that long moments passed before
she ventured to draw back the covers and settle herself beneath them. She
barely noticed the clothing and slippers tumbling off the bed and hitting the
floor.

She brought the warm covers up to her chin, the
four-poster bed seeming very large around her. She closed her eyes and placed
her hand between her breasts. Her heart was still beating wildly, and her skin
was ablaze from the heat of Garrett's touch.

She stared at the canopy overhead, feeling strangely
alone. It was her last thought before she fell asleep.

***

Garrett shut the door to his bedchamber, his hand
resting on the latch as he stood silently in the darkness. There were no
candles lit in this room, no welcome fire blazing brightly in the hearth. It
suited his black mood perfectly.

What the devil had come over him? He had only gone to
Madeleine's room to see if she was well, not to force himself on her. But
something had snapped inside him when she accused him of being a spy and a
liar. After everything he had done for her, the hell he had gone through
thinking he might be too late to save her, she wanted nothing to do with him.
Even her desire was not enough to sway her!

Garrett drew a ragged breath. Fool! He should have
known she would spurn any overtures he might make. He had seen the nervous
defiance written plainly in those stunning blue eyes when he had first entered
her room.

He had almost turned around at that moment and left,
but something had stopped him. Perhaps because he hadn't seen hatred reflected
there, giving him a glimmer of hope. He had decided merely to share supper with
her, feigning an appetite when he had none, at least not for food.

He was grateful his charade had encouraged her to eat.
He still hadn't gotten over his shock of seeing her emerge from prison so pale
and thin. Yet despite her pinched appearance, her beauty had shone through with
a haunting quality that had taken his breath away.

Garrett sighed heavily, his hand falling away from the
latch. He turned and groped his way in the dark to the mantel, where he found a
tinderbox and a piece of flint.

He lit a single candle, flooding the room with a soft
glow. It reminded him of the night he had spent with Madeleine, the solitary
candle burning brightly as he held her in his arms after the passion they had
shared, spinning his dreams—

"Don't torture yourself, man," he muttered
under his breath, kicking off his boots. Madeleine was his wife now, that much
of his dream had been realized, but it would clearly be a long time before she
was convinced that he loved her more than life itself.

How desperately he had wanted to tell her that he loved
her today, in front of Hawley, during the carriage ride, just now in her rooms.
Each time the words had died in his throat.

Garrett laughed grimly. It was simple. He was terrified
that she would throw his words back in his face, just as she had done when he
insisted he wasn't a spy.

Madeleine wasn't ready to hear the truth now, and
probably wouldn't want to hear it tomorrow. She was entirely convinced he had
obtained her estate and the pardon by becoming a spy for King George. The irony
of it was almost more than he could bear. If he had had even an inkling that
this might happen, he would have told Gordon to forget about including the
title to Mhor Manor in the bargain to free Madeleine!

Garrett stretched out on the bed with his hands behind
his head. He stared at the ceiling, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

Dammit all, what had he expected anyway? That she'd
marry him and they'd live happily ever after, that tonight he'd be making love
to the woman who inflamed him more than any other, the mere sight of whom set
his blood on fire? He was in agony from their brief encounter, his loins aching
with frustrated desire!

He gritted his teeth, forcing his mind from his
discomfort.

He hadn't expected Madeleine to turn down the pardon
outright, saying she couldn't marry him because of her people. Especially after
what he had learned by speaking with her kinsmen. Madeleine knew he hadn't
betrayed her the night Hawley torched Farraline. Angus Ramsay had told him as
much, and had even thanked him for trying to sway Hawley from his cruel
purpose.

Seized by frustration, Garrett banged his fist into the
headboard. If he could have half the love Madeleine reserved for her people, he
would be a happy man. He would settle for a third, even a quarter!

He rolled over and brought himself up on his elbow,
mulling over his last thought.

"Maybe that's it," Garrett said aloud. Maybe
the way to Madeleine's heart was through her people.

She believed only the worst of him now, but it was
clear he had already made some slight inroads with her kinsmen. They were still
wary of him—Allan Fraser looked at him with downright hatred—but given some
time, hard work, and patience, he might just have a chance to earn their
grudging approval and a measure of their trust. Then Madeleine's affection must
surely follow.