“I will choose a day for their official betrothal,” the queen stated.
The crowd erupted into a great clamor of exclamations and congratulations.
Brenna heard but a single word. Betrothal. Not to Lord Windham, but to Morgan Grey. She was besieged by conflicting emotions. Relief, that she had been spared the ordeal of marriage to the cruel Windham. Outrage, that her fate had been so callously sealed without regard to her feelings. But deep inside, despite her denials to herself, she felt a thread of excitement that this man, whose very touch thrilled her, would seek to wed her. English or no, he made her burn as no other man ever had.
Morgan stood very still and regarded her reaction.
“A wedding. Cherie, how wonderful.” While the others surged around them, Madeline drew Brenna into her arms and hugged her, then turned to Morgan with a laugh. “How could you have kept such a thing from us during tea? You rogue. How soon will you wed?”
“As soon as I have—” he turned toward the queen with a grave look “—completed a favor for Her Majesty.”
Richard pulled Morgan down in a fierce hug. “Secrets, brother? I thought we told each other everything.”
“I would have told you. If there’d been time.”
“But you gave not a whisper.”
“Aye. Some things are decided quickly.”
“I am happy for you.” Richard glanced at Morgan’s grim features. He threw back his head and laughed before muttering, “Smile, Morgan, else they will think it is a funeral you are planning.”
Morgan forced a grim smile to his lips.
His reaction was not lost on Brenna.
Cordell’s face fell, but only for a moment. Covering his dismay, he kissed Brenna’s hand. “My lady, I am fortunate to be here at such a time in your life. I wish you all happiness.”
“Thank you.” Brenna felt her lips quivering and prayed she would not give in to the tears that threatened.
From the time she had been a young girl, she had dreamed of a romantic courtship and a fine wedding, with her sisters attending her and all the people of their clan surrounding her.
What a foolish child she had been. A lump formed in her throat. What silly, romantic dreams she had spun.
The Frenchman turned to Morgan and offered his hand. “You are most fortunate, Lord Grey. Never have I met a lovelier lady than yours.’’
Morgan could read the sincerity in the young man’s eyes. And though he still considered the callow youth to be offensive, he accepted his handshake.
On Lord Windham’s face was a look of unveiled hatred. For long moments he studied the Scotswoman, then turned toward the man who had won her hand. How many times had he been bested by Grey in the past? He felt a wave of fury. Too many times to count. His need for vengeance was a living, palpable thing. And yet, he cautioned himself, the duel was not yet won.
He carefully composed his features and bowed over Brenna’s hand. “A pity, my lady, that you must be saddled with frayed baggage like Morgan Grey.”
“Frayed baggage?” She seemed puzzled.
“You did not know?” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “Your intended has been wed before.”
Wed before? Morgan had a wife? Brenna felt herself reeling from his statement. But as she turned to Morgan for reassurance, Lord Windham continued, “Arrangements like his are common enough. As he did the last time, Grey now acquires another piece of land, and you acquire an English title. And in a few short months the two of you will feel free to move on to other conquests.” His smile grew. “Other lovers.”
Brenna shuddered at his suggestion.
He turned to Morgan, whose only show of anger was the little muscle that worked in his jaw.
“Congratulations, Grey. I pray this lady remains loyal at least until after the wedding.”
The crowd had grown uncomfortably silent.
“Enough, Windham.” The queen clapped her hands and ordered her musicians to play a tender ballad. “This shall be the lovers’ dance. Morgan, dance with your intended.” Morgan turned to Brenna, whose face had gone pale.
“I fear I am overcome with—emotion, my lord.”
He drew her firmly into his arms. She stiffened at his touch. The queen’s command merely added to her misery. How could she be expected to dance in front of all these people when her whole life had just been forever altered? “Please, my lord. I feel faint.”
His mouth hardened into a grim, tight line. Damn Windham for leaving him no room for explanation. And damn the fates that had forced this awkward situation.
Against her temple he whispered, “You will dance with me. And you will observe protocol. You may not leave until the queen has excused herself from our company. Then, and only then, will we speak of this. When we are alone in our rooms.”
Alone. Her heart nearly stopped. Through gritted teeth she muttered, “Aye. I will play your game, Morgan Grey. Until we are alone.”
He pressed his lips to her temple. Instantly she felt the flame.
“And then what, my lady?”
The hand at her waist tightened perceptibly. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. Even in her anger she felt her body react to him. How was it that this man’s touch could move her?
All eyes in the crowd were upon them. And though she cursed the desire that surfaced, she could not deny it. With each movement she was achingly aware of the thighs that brushed hers, of the strong, sure hand that guided her.
“When we are finally alone, I will show you how a Scot fights.”
He smiled down at her, a rogue’s smile that could melt any woman’s heart, including hers. “And I, my lady, will show you how an Englishman loves.”
~ ~ ~
When the queen had taken her leave, the women fluttered about, their voices a chorus of chattering birds.
“Did you see how Morgan devoured the Scotswoman with his eyes?”
“Aye. And did you see the way they whispered while they danced?”
“Is it a love match?” someone asked Madeline.
“How can it be otherwise, cherie? Are they not a handsome couple?”
“Is she very wealthy?”
“I have heard she commands an entire Scots army.”
“What titles will she acquire upon marrying Morgan Grey?”
“He has received many honors from a grateful queen. His wife will be a titled English lady.”
“There are fabulous jewels in the Grey estate. Will he lavish them upon his wife? Or will he save them for future mistresses?”
“What of his London house? Will the lady see it before the marriage?”
As Brenna stood beside Morgan and bid good-night to their guests, she heard comments. Her head was buzzing with words of congratulations and whispered innuendos.
Wealth. Jewels. Mistresses. Did no one care that all this had been forced upon her against her will?
Richard saw the look on her face and caught her hands, drawing her down for his kiss. “I have always wanted a sister,” he murmured, hoping to ease some of her pain. “I cannot think of a better addition to our family than a wife for Morgan who can cook like an angel and wield a knife like Satan himself.”
His words caused her to smile in spite of herself.
“Rest now, lass. And when you wish to talk, I will be here to listen.”
“Thank you, Richard.”
As a servant wheeled his chair through the doorway, Adrianna’s gaze followed them.
When all their guests had taken their leave, Brenna placed her hand on Morgan’s arm and walked stiffly beside him up the stairs. By the time they reached the sitting chamber, Brenna’s heart was thundering in her chest. So many questions. So many things about this man that she did not know. And yet they were to be wed. Wed. God in heaven. How had her mother felt when she had been betrothed at ten and five? And Meredith. When had she known, truly known, that she loved Brice, her Highland barbarian? Oh, if only she could seek their council. If only she had spent more time learning the ways of men and women.
In the sitting chamber a fire had been started on the grate. Candles added a soft glow. A decanter of wine and two crystal goblets rested on a silver tray on a low table.
Brenna’s room was in darkness. No fire had been laid on the hearth. From the open doorway she stared around her sleeping chamber. The bed linens had been removed, as had her clothing.
“I do not understand.” She turned.
Morgan pointed to his sleeping chamber. “The servants have placed your things in my room, my lady.”
Moving toward the fire, Brenna clutched her arms around herself and shivered. Seeing it, Morgan filled the two goblets and crossed the room to her.
“This will warm you.”
She accepted the goblet and drank, grateful for anything that would ease the chill that seemed to have seeped through to her soul.
“I regret,” Morgan said, staring at the flames, “that you were forced to endure that—public display, my lady. If I could have, I would have prepared you for the ordeal. But there was no time.”
When she said nothing he continued. “As for the shocking news of my previous marriage, it is common knowledge among the London gossips. Of course, you are not privy to such things, and so you did not know.”
Brenna turned to look at him. His gaze was locked on the flames that danced in the fireplace. His mouth was a thin, tight line of anger. “I was but a score when we were wed. In less than a year she was in the grave.”
The look in his eyes was so bleak, Brenna longed to reach out to him, to offer him a measure of comfort. But she did not know how.
“I am sorry, my lord. Even now, your grief is such that it pains you to speak of it.”
“Grief?” He turned to her then and she saw the pain etched on his handsome features. “You mistake bitterness for grief. I cannot grieve over what was never mine.”
She blinked. “What are you saying?”
“The lady loved another. She only used me to make her lover jealous. And to give his child a name.
“Child! You have a child, my lord?”
“Nay.” He drained the goblet and refilled it. “The child died in her womb.”
Without thinking she touched a hand to his sleeve. “I am sorry, my lord.”
He pulled away from her touch, but not before he felt the first stirrings of desire. ‘‘I do not want your pity.”
She watched as he emptied the goblet a second time. There were no words that she could speak. And yet she had to ask the question that burned in her mind.
“Why...” She swallowed and tried again. “Why, when you are so bitter, would you ask for my hand? It is obvious that you do not wish to be wed again.”
Why, indeed? Had he not asked himself this very question? His face became an unreadable mask. “I am, after all, responsible for bringing you to England. When I surmised that Windham would speak for you, I knew that I could not allow you to be placed under his cruel domination.” He shrugged. “I accepted my responsibility.”
“Your responsibility?” In her fury, Brenna’s hand tightened on the stem of the goblet. “Your responsibility?” The temper she had kept under such careful control exploded. She turned on him with all the fury of a wounded tigress. “I will not be wed to a man out of some misguided sense of duty.”
“Would you have me turn you over to Windham?”
“Nay. There is a much simpler solution to the problem. Let me return to my home in Scotland.”
As patiently as if he were explaining to a child he said, “The queen has decreed...”
“Damn the queen! And damn you, Morgan Grey!” With uncharacteristic vengeance she hurled the goblet against the fireplace.
Before she could turn away his hand snaked out, catching her roughly by the shoulder. In his eyes was the barest hint of a smile.
“So. It is as I suspected. Beneath the cool facade the lady does have a temper.”
“I told you I would show you how a Scot fights.” She tried to push away, but the hands holding her were too strong.
He, dragged her firmly against him. “And I told you I would show you how an Englishman loves.”
“No. You cannot...”
He cut off her protest, crushing her mouth with his.
She felt the rush of heat that always seemed to swamp her at his touch. And then she felt the tremors begin as his mouth plundered hers. Wave after wave of feeling poured through her as his mouth moved over hers.
She pounded her fists on his shoulders until she was exhausted from the effort, but he continued to pin her as effortlessly as if she were a small child.
“Has any Scotsman ever kissed you like this?” he muttered against her lips.
He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she gave an involuntary shudder.
He parted her lips and invaded the sweetness of her mouth. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he was too strong. For long moments he stared down at her, seeing the angry flare that darkened her eyes to midnight blue.
With his hands on either side of her face he kissed her slowly, thoroughly, lingering over her lips until the heat flickered, then flared, then burst into an inferno, threatening to sear them.
“Has any Scotsman ever made you burn like this?” His breath was hot against her cheek.
“Damn you.”
“Aye. I am damned,” he rasped, plunging his hands into her tangles of silken hair. She tried to pull away but his hands tightened, holding her head still.
He bent his head and kissed her again and again until she was forced to take in long, shuddering breaths to fill her lungs.
With a knowing smile he brought his hands around her, moving them slowly along her sides until his thumbs encountered the soft swell of her breasts. Instantly her nipples hardened and his excitement grew. “Damned to want what I should never have.”
He felt her trembling response and thrilled to it. “Has any Scotsman ever touched you like this?”
“Stop. You must stop.”
“Aye. I’ll stop.” He bent his lips to hers. This time she did not pull away or try to avoid his touch. “When you tell me you hate the sight of me, the touch of me.” He muttered the words against her lips and took the kiss deeper.
Without realizing it, her hands fell limply at her sides. Her tongue met his, hesitantly at first, then bolder, until she opened her mouth to him and kissed him as he was kissing her.
Her hands rose to his arms, gripping him for support.
Morgan had intended to prove to her that she would respond to him, no matter how angry. Instead, he had just foolishly fallen under her spell. The very things he had so proudly managed to avoid for all these years had just ensnared him. The touch of her, the taste of her, were his undoing. He wanted her. God in heaven. He wanted her.
“Tell me, Brenna. Has any Scotsman ever made your blood run hot?” He kissed her until she was gasping for breath, and still he could not tear his mouth from hers. Against her lips he muttered, “Has any Scotsman ever made your heart thunder like this?” His hand covered her breast and he felt the wild pounding of her heartbeat. Its rhythm matched his own.
He plunged his tongue into her ear again and again, then once more covered her mouth with his. With one arm firmly around her, he lifted his other hand to the dark tangles of her hair and drew her head back. Before she could catch her breath he ran openmouthed kisses along the column of her throat, then lower, to the swell of her breast. Through her gown he felt her nipple harden at his touch. His excitement grew as he felt her trembling response.
She brought her arms around his neck and clung to him, hating him for being so worldly and knowing just how to make her burn with desire. She hated herself for giving in to this need that pulsed through her, robbing her of her will. And she hated this weakness that had taken over her. control.
They dropped to their knees on the floor, entangled in each other’s arms.
“Tell me you do not want this,” he taunted, “and I will walk away.”
He knew it was a lie. At this moment he could not turn away from her even if she pleaded with him. The need for this damnable little woman was stronger than anything he’d ever known.
Brenna lifted her tear-filled eyes to him. The feelings that churned inside her were so new, so frightening, they filled her with terror. She wanted this man. More than anything in the world. Never before had she felt so wild and free. But she feared the feelings that rippled through her, driving her to such wanton behavior.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“I...” Her throat was so dry she could not speak. She swallowed and tried again. But no words would come out. Instead she merely clung to him and offered him her lips.
The thought of her surrender added to his arousal. Desire clawed at him, stripping him of his pride. He would beg, he would crawl, to have her. The need for her drove him to be ruthless.
“You may deny all you want, my lady. But your body tells me the truth.”
Her breath shuddered from between parted lips. His own breathing was ragged and painful.
Her tears spilled over, running in little rivers down her cheeks. Her words tumbled out, frightened, breathless, causing his heart to stop.
“I am so afraid. I have never been with a man before.”
A virgin. God in heaven. Hadn’t he always known? She was as sweet, as untouched, as a rosebud that had not yet come to flower.
Morgan felt a wave of disgust at what he had almost done. He had driven her mad with his own lust. He had nearly taken her here, on the cold, hard floor. Like some tavern slut.
He dropped his hands to his sides.
Brenna felt a sudden chill and wished that he would hold her. But when she looked up she saw that his eyes no longer smoldered. The hint of a smile was wiped from his lips.
In his arms she had come alive for the first time in her life. Though the feelings he aroused in her were terrifying, they were also exciting. And now that he no longer held her, she felt cold and lifeless. Why had no other man ever aroused these emotions? Had they always been there, waiting for this man? For a few minutes it had no longer mattered that he was English and she was Scots. They were a man and a woman who had come together in naked hunger. Without Morgan Grey, she sensed, she would never again be lifted to such heights.
He misunderstood her silence.
“Forgive me, Brenna.” He lifted a hand to her cheek and wiped away her tears. “With you I am like a man possessed. I have never before tried to force my way with a woman. I had no right.”
Though she yearned to tell him that she shared his needs, she could not find the words. These feelings were still too new, her emotions still too raw.
With great effort he stood and helped her to her feet. “The goblet.” For the first time she noticed the shattered glass that littered the hearth.
“Leave it. A servant will clean it on the morrow.”
But who would pick up the pieces of her shattered heart? She chanced another glance at him. His hands were clenched at his sides. His face was grim. “Good night, my lady. You will sleep in my chambers. I will remain here in the sitting chamber.”
“Good night.” She walked to his sleeping chamber. When she closed the door, he was still standing where she had left him. Staring morosely into the flickering flames of the fire.