Fascination -and- Charmed (16 page)

“And these are the words I want you to remember me speaking: I can do again to you what I’ve done tonight. I can do it whenever I please, wherever I please. And, as I did tonight, I can stop when I please and leave you still wanting.”

“You cannot!” The words broke from her lips and she backed away.

“Charming. Such an intoxicating vision. If I had more time, I would indeed lie with you here and now and finish what we have started.”

“You frighten me. Don’t say these things.”

“Oh, but I will. I say to you that whenever you see me, you will know that I am imagining you naked before me, seeing you exactly as you are now. You may be sipping tea with your mother, or chattering stupidly with my ... with Father Struan, or
Calum,
and when you look into my eyes, you will see your reflection and wonder if they can all see you as I do.”

“Stop it!”

“Never. The nature of your kind of woman demands a man’s dominance, and you shall have it. You shall have
mine.
Does that please you, Grace?”

She wanted her gown.

Niall approached the door. “I have other matters to attend.” He bowed low. “Thank you for a most wonderful interlude. Stimulating, my dear.”

Grace snatched up her robe. “Why are you tormenting me? You have changed. I thought we might become friends.”

“We will. The best kind of friends. Friends who learn how best to use one another. In the meantime, there are two more thoughts with which I leave you. I meant it when I said I can have you whenever and wherever I please. That is absolutely true. You will never know when or where I may decide that I want

you just as you are now. No place will afford you safety from me. Not that you would desire safety from me, would you, my pet?”

Bemused, she shook her head.

“I thought not. I have met women like you before, although never with
quite
your magnificent appetite.” With the door open, he pulled on his shirt. “And last of all for tonight;
I
will be the one to decide the nature and frequency of our entertainments. I leave you craving satisfaction. That satisfaction shall not be yours until and unless
I
decide to give it to you.”

Grace could only stare at him.

“Be here tomorrow night.”

He was mad.

“Sleep well.”

S
he had not come to him last night!

She had
not
come.

“Hold hard, Arran!” Calum’s voice came to him on the cool dawn air, and Arran reined Allegro in beside the river.

He did not turn in his saddle.

“What in God’s name ails you?” Calum galloped to his side, his big gray snorting into the mist that still hung in gauzy ribbons above the moorland. “Neither Struan nor I saw you all day yesterday. Neither did McWallop. You’ve banished us all from approaching you in the gallery. Now we receive this bloody rude summons.” He flapped the note Arran had sent via Shanks, who had trembled visibly at being called to Arran’s chamber—something that had never before happened to the butler.

“Arran? Is something wrong?”

“In God’s name, Calum, let me think in peace.”

“Gladly. It was
you
who sent for
me
hours before I might have left my bed. I’ll happily doze here while you make up your mind what it is you want from me.”

“Do that.”

Arran had spent all day yesterday burning from the memory of the previous night’s near ecstacy with Grace. Last night he’d gone to the music room anticipating another delightful interlude. And he’d waited for her until almost dawn—in vain. Then he’d sent word for Calum to meet him at what had been their favorite boyhood fishing spot.

She had not come to him. Unbelievable.

He’d played his game so well. The girl was his to do with as he wished, he’d been certain of it.

Arran was still certain. The little witch had decided to spice the chase even more. She would discover that Arran, Marquess of Stonehaven, had been used once and would never be so again—not by any manipulating female.

“Good morning, brother.”

Arran glared around and saw Struan, elegant despite his hated cleric’s garb and comfortable as always astride a chestnut he’d favored since adolescence. “You’ve not forgotten how to ride, then, Father?”

“I’ve forgotten very little, particularly in the area of your foul temper.”

“Do not waste your priestly condemnations on me.” Arran wheeled Allegro and let the big beast drink from the river. “I told Calum to meet me here, not you.”

“Ah.” Struan’s dark eyes held innocent surprise. “How could I have misunderstood?”

“Why did you tell him to come?” Arran asked Calum.

“He didn’t,” Struan said. “Shanks made such a racket delivering your note to Calum, he woke me. I went to see what all the fuss was about. Poor fellow’s knees were knocking. Really, Arran, I do think you could try coming into the world with the rest of us.”

“I thought you were angling for me not to be of this world at all. I thought you were hoping to groom my poor, black soul for heaven.”

Struan settled his flat-brimmed black hat at a rakish angle over his brow and fixed Arran with one of the “I shall always forgive you” looks he’d perfected. “I am a man of faith. As such, I trust the Lord to show you the way home when it is time.”

Arran looked skyward through the vaporous, gray light. “May your Lord restrain me from knocking you off that horse and leaping upon your holy neck.”

“It’s cold, Arran,” Calum said. “Your note says you’ve matters of desperate importance to discuss.”

“Does it?” He hadn’t planned on Struan’s presence. There were things he didn’t care to speak of in front of his brother.

“Why did it have to be here?” Calum said, winding his cloak more closely about him. He wore no hat, and the damp early morning had scattered glistening moisture in his dark brown hair.

“Because it pleases me to be abroad when others are not.”

“You sound petulant,” Struan remarked. “It does not become you. And we already know your penchant for mystery. When do you plan to stop skulking abroad in the night and hiding in the day?”

“God grant me patience!” Arran pulled on Allegro’s reins and circled him about. “It is day now and I am not hiding.” He set off at a trot, with the two other men in his wake. Only Calum knew how Arran really preferred to spend his days.

“It’s barely dawn,” Struan called. “And I’ve no doubt you’ll soon dash for home and dive into whatever cupboard is your sanctuary. Father should have put a stop to your peculiar ways, brother. You should never have been allowed to develop such unacceptable habits.”

Arran had no patience for this prattle. The work he should have accomplished last night had not been touched. The three hours sleep he required in the early hours of each day had been ignored. He would be in no humor to move among his tenants this day.

“I am an angry man,” he ground out, spurring Allegro into a gallop. “A very angry man!”

“An amazing announcement,” Struan said, lengthening his own mount’s stride. “Don’t you find it amazing to learn that Arran is angry today, Calum?”

“Damn you, Arran,” Calum shouted. “Your capricious ill humor is no laughing matter. I’m a tired man with a great deal to think about. Let’s get to business and I’ll away home to my bed, where I belong.”

“
I
am not laughing,” Arran roared. He gained the brow of a hill and hesitated. Below lay a clutter of tenant cottages, among them the home of Robert and Gael Mercer. He had a visit to pay there, and soon. “What can be making you so tired and thoughtful, Calum?” Allegro pawed at the ground, and Arran swayed in his saddle.

Calum arrived at the top of the hill and said, “You, my lord, are an unpleasant and ungrateful devil. You know full well what occupies my mind presently.”

“Arranging for the attachment of my new ball and chain, no doubt.”

“You cannot possibly be referring to your marriage to that delightful Miss Wren,” Struan said, catching up with his companions. “To be joined to one so lovely will doubtless be a joy indeed—to a man with fleshly desires.”

“
Shut
up,” Arran commanded.

“I, of course, know nothing of such things, but I can imagine that lying with such a desirable female would give a creature such as you great pleasure.”

“
Struan
Nicholas Rossmara, I warn you.”

Struan’s black eyes, so like Arran’s in their expressiveness, gazed dreamily over the land. “Yes, very great pleasure indeed. When did you say the nuptials were to take place?”

“I did not. Calum, in the name of goodness—and for his own safety—take him back to Kirkcaldy.”

“We have hardly spoken since I arrived.” Struan sounded wounded. “I had hoped we could have many brotherly discussions.”

“
That is enough.
That is the very last inane comment I will bear from you.”

“Arran—”

“You may also be silent, Calum. I am a man beset by his responsibilities.” And his burgeoning desire. “I cannot tell you how I long for garters ... I mean peace.”

Silence fell.

“There. I knew it. You have not considered my feelings in this matter for one moment. Marry, you say. Marry now or Mortimer Cuthbert and his simpering wife will be telling you what you should and shouldn’t do with your own estates.” Damn the girl. He would find a way to bring her to heel soon enough. “I shall have my way with her ... I mean, I shall have my way in this ... I shall have my way. Do you hear me?”

“I do indeed,” Calum said, smiling in that infuriatingly knowing way of his.

“Indeed,” Struan echoed, not smiling at all. “Do you not agree that Miss Wren is delightful?”

“He has not seen her,” Calum said quietly.

Struan opened his mouth. And snapped it shut again.

“Arran sent me to London to find him a suitable wife. Then he changed his mind and said he didn’t want one after all—after she was already on her way here.” Calum cast Arran a narrow-eyed glare. “He will not see her. He
knows
he must produce an heir, but continues to behave like a blushing girl over the issue.”

“Have we forgotten that in the area of marriage I

have already had one notable, shall we say,
disaster?
”
Arran made sure his voice conveyed menace.

“How could we forget?” Struan said, frowning. “A sad, sad event. But this is a new start for you, Arran.”

Arran leaned over Allegro’s neck. “If you had not decided to become a priest and take
unnatural
vows, I could have taken as long as I pleased to find another wife—if I ever found one at all.”

“I should have denied my own heart to relieve you of your duty?” Struan straightened broad shoulders inside a black cape. His hands held the reins casually. “Each of us must follow the path that becomes us.”

“How true. I remain here, doing my duty. And you, Struan,
Viscount Hunsingore,
should have taken your place at my side. I have needed you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Calum looked away. Struan met Arran’s eyes, unflinching. “We have need of each other,” he said gently. “We always will and I am here for you, Arran. Believe that I shall never fail you. But it is you who should produce the Rossmara heir, not I.”

Arran felt his anger waver. The cold air made his eyes sting and he blinked. “I envy the church her ownership of you,” he said gruffly. “My bark is sharp, but it is the bark of a dog denied the company of the man he trusts most. And loves most.”

“Dear brother.” Struan brought his horse beside Arran’s. “You and I have shared much. No man will ever be closer to my heart than you. If you ever should need me, send word and I will come.” He rested a hand on Arran’s shoulder and, as quickly, removed it.

Smoke rose in thin coils from the cottage chimneys below the hill. “Our people are stirring,” Arran said, moved by Struan’s words.

“Aye,” Calum agreed. He had an unspoken kinship with the common folk of these parts. “I hear Gael Mercer is well advanced in her ...” He caught Arran’s warning glance and stopped.

“Who is Gael Mercer?” Struan asked.

“Just the wife of a tenant,” Calum said offhandedly. “She’s with child and a delicate thing. Well loved, too. I’ve heard talk about concern over her health among the other tenants.”

He would go down to the Mercers’ tomorrow, Arran decided. There was the matter of a treat for Gael. He’d have to think about that.

They settled, the three of them side by side upon their mounts, relaxed in the saddle, looking out over the blue-green countryside.

Noisy scuffling broke from nearby bushes and a pair of gray-rumped fieldfares flew up,
chack-chack-chack
ing as they fought for possession of a plump worm.

“What does that remind you of Arran chuckled. “We three did our share of fighting over this and that, didn’t we?”

“I sometimes wish we could return to those days,” Struan said.

Arran stirred. “We can never go back.” And he was not abroad at this unkind hour on this dismal morning to mourn the past like a foolish woman. “What I have to say might as well be heard by you, Struan. You may have withdrawn from the world of mere mortals, but I doubt if you would welcome the frequent tramping of our Cuthbert relations’ demanding feet upon Kirkcaldy land.”

“I would not,” Struan agreed.

Calum flipped the reins back and forth across his horse’s neck. “The solution to the problem is within your reach, my lord.”

“I have come to dislike the sound of respectful address upon your lips, Calum. You think what lies ahead is simple. I tell you it is anything but simple—

for me. And I am most uncertain that you have made as good a choice as you should have.”

“Well!” Calum cast back one side of his cloak and splayed a hand on his thigh. “Forgive me for doing as good a job as any man could do. And—since you haven’t as much as set eyes on Grace—how can you presume to judge her suitability to be your wife?”

“Oh, I’ve set more than my eyes upon ...” Damn his tongue.

“I beg your pardon,” Calum said slowly, shifting to face Arran. “What are you saying?”