Amanda Scott (41 page)

“Nor any woman. It is not the manner I would have chosen, but I have become accustomed to seeing you each day, to watching for your smile and listening for your voice. I won’t willingly give up those pleasures now. As to what we have in common, I believe there are many things. We can laugh and love together—”

“Aye, I know you like that last bit, but it is not enough.”

“There is much more,” he said. “I have never been tempted to propose marriage to any woman before, for I found most of them manipulative and greedy, wanting only to marry my wealth and position. But you don’t care for either one, and although you too frequently speak without even a moment’s thought, I admire your honesty and your courage, and—”

“And my temper, sir? Do you enjoy that as well?”

“Not so much, and it is that of which we will speak next.”

“Will we, Edward? I daresay you want only to speak of what I did to anger you, not of what you did to anger me. What if I do not wish to listen to you?”

“It is still my right to command you, sweetheart.” She had not moved from her stool, and he stepped toward her now, watching to see how she would react. “You must learn to obey.”

Her eyes widened, and she said quickly, “I never vowed obedience, not to you or to any man.”

“Stand up, sweetheart,” he said gently, standing very near her now, towering over her. “Let us measure our length and breadth, one against the other, and see which of us has the greater likelihood of enforcing a command.”

“Don’t be nonsensical,” she snapped. “I know you are bigger than I am, and I don’t doubt that you can force me to bend to your will, but Papa was right, so if you would sleep safe at night, you had best recall his warning.”

Rothwell shook his head reprovingly. “I’ve told you before that I don’t respond well to threats, sweetheart, certainly not to idle ones, and I’ve already said I do not fear you. Do you really expect me to believe you would attack me in my sleep? Come now, look me in the eye and tell me that is something I need fear. You are not one of the murderous Campbells, Maggie, and this is not Glencoe, so I am as safe from you beneath this roof as Goodall or anyone else who seeks shelter here.”

She gasped and went white with shock. “How dare you!”

“Is the comparison not an apt one?”

“You
know
it is not.”

“You must forgive me then. I thought you were the one who suggested it. Perhaps I misunderstood you.”

There were tears in her eyes now, and he was sorry to see them there, but he would not apologize for his words, nor would he make this easier for her. She had been allowed for far too long to speak her mind without thinking first of consequences.

She was silent for a moment, gathering herself. Then she said through a small sob, “I hate being likened to a Campbell, but I suppose I deserved it, and much more, for even suggesting such a terrible threat. I will do whatever you ask of me.”

His lips twitched, and though he controlled his amusement before it could become evident to her, he knew better than to believe she had submitted so tamely. For the moment she might believe he had the upper hand, but it would not be long before she began to plot ways and means of being even with him. Nor did he want that part of her to change altogether. He wanted only for her to learn to think before she blurted out the first thing that entered her head. He said provocatively, “First I want you to stand up as I asked you to do sometime ago, Maggie.”

She looked uncertain, but when he did not smile or speak, she got slowly to her feet. “Rothwell, I—”

“Edward.”

“Yes, of course. Edward, if you mean to punish me, I—”

“You defied me earlier, did you not?”

“Defied you?” She would have stepped back but the stool prevented her. “I am sure I never actually—”

“You declared that you would sleep alone, and you said it after I commanded you to sleep with me. Defiance, surely.”

“It was but a difference of opinion, sir.”

“It is not right for a woman’s opinion to differ from her husband’s, little wife. Surely your father explained that fact to you at one time or another.”

“He did not.”

“Well, he ought to have done so. We would not have suffered through such an unpleasant dispute this morning if he had.”

“This morning?” Her eyes flashed, and he could see that her recovery would be swift. “Do you dare to insist that I agree with your stupid plan to uproot our people and send them off to live in the lowlands, or by the sea?”

“Your disagreement did not displease me so much as the manner you chose to express it,” he said, suppressing a surge of annoyance even now at her choice of words. “You have been rude, defiant, and disobedient. Do you deny any of those things?”

She opened her mouth instantly with the clear intention of doing just that, but he caught her eye and was satisfied to see her swallow the words that had leapt to her tongue.

“Very wise,” he said. “You are indeed an honest woman, I believe. Now, answer my question, and do so in a civil manner.”

He could almost hear her teeth grate together. She said, “I suppose I am all the things you just said, so I cannot imagine why you insist you no longer want annulment.”

“Perhaps it is because I have come to believe that you have other attributes a man looks for in a good wife,” he said. “A saucy tongue can easily be mastered.”

“I doubt you can do it, sir, any more than James will teach Kate to behave like a butter-tongued Englishwoman.”

“The cases are different, sweetheart. James has no legal right to command Kate’s obedience. But you,” he added, “will soon learn that I mean to command yours.”

Again she tried to step back, slipping sideways to avoid the stool, but he caught her arm, hoping it no longer hurt her, and held her tightly.

“Let me go, Rothwell.”

“Look at me.” He could read her thoughts more easily when he could see her eyes. “Are you afraid to look at me, Maggie?”

Her chin came up, and there was defiance in her eyes, and something more, a challenge, provocation. “I do not fear you, Rothwell,” she muttered.

“Edward,” he reminded her. “You keep forgetting. But perhaps you do it on purpose to annoy me. Ah, yes, I see by the look in your eyes that is just what you do. Naughty wench, I believe you deserve a lesson in how to please a husband.”

Her lips parted again, and though he could tell by her expression that he had not frightened her, there was tension between them now, an electricity that was nearly palpable. It was all he could do not to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the bed. It required a will of iron to resist the temptation, but he had other plans in mind for tonight.

He eased his grip, pleased when she did not pull away. He was learning to read her well, and he knew that curiosity was now uppermost in her mind, that she was waiting to see what he would do. With his free hand he touched her cheek and, hearing her quick intake of breath, drew his finger to the delicate line of her jaw and along to her chin. She was very still, watching him, her gaze not wary anymore but sensual, her reason suspended. Her little pink tongue darted out, damping her lips invitingly, but again he resisted temptation, wanting to arouse her more, to teach her a lesson they would both enjoy.

He felt the soft material of her mantle beneath his hand, and soft though it was, it was an impediment. Gently, slowly, his other hand still at her chin, he eased the mantle from her shoulder, feeling her tremble when the air, barely warmed by the fire, touched her bared skin. The mantle slid to the floor.

Her right hand touched his waistcoat, then drew back again, and he said, “Ah now, that was good, sweetheart. You await my permission, as a good wife should.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I did no such thing!”

“Then why draw back, if not because you knew you ought to await my command?”

“I don’t even know why I touched … That is, it was no more than an impulsive gesture. I don’t want to touch you!”

He sighed. “And to think that not ten minutes ago I commended you for your truthfulness. Maggie, Maggie, what am I to do with you?”

“Nothing!”

“Very well.” He released her.

“Oh!” She raised her hand, instantly thought better of it, and let it fall again, glaring at him.

He nodded. “You are learning to think before you act, sweetheart. There is hope for you yet.”

This time when her hand flew up, he caught it and pulled her hard against him. “Kiss me, little witch. I was but testing you. This lesson has scarcely begun.” Her lips were hard beneath his at first, defensive, unyielding, but when his hand moved to her breast, she moaned softly against his mouth and her mouth became more compliant. It was all he could do not to take her then, but he wanted more from her, and he was determined to get it.

His hands were swift, adept, and when her fingers moved to his waistcoat buttons again, he helped her. Soon their clothes lay scattered on the floor, yet despite the chill of the room, Maggie’s soft skin was hot to his touch. She sighed when he lifted her into his arms and, with her head against his shoulder, breathing softly, her warm breath tickling his ear, she said, “Do you really think you can tame me, Edward? I must tell you that so far your notion of punishment does not march with mine.”

“We’ll see, little wife, we’ll see.” He lay down beside her on the bed and caught one of her nipples between his teeth.

Maggie gasped when she realized how easily he might hurt her, but the sensation passed in an instant, replaced by another, more stimulating one. He was skilled at igniting responses from her body, and she wanted him to take her quickly. She had expected him to give her orders again, had even looked forward to the experience, for deny it though she did—and frequently—she enjoyed the feelings his dominance aroused in her. But when he gave her no orders, she could scarcely protest. Nor could she wait for him now. She stirred impatiently.

He kissed her breasts and her stomach, his kisses light and teasing, tracing patterns on her skin, drifting lower; but when she moved beneath him, urging him to be more ardent, he soothed her instead, moving his hand up to stroke her right breast, kissing her there again. The heat between her legs increased, flaming, till she thought it would consume her. Slowly, his hands moved lower again, stroking, caressing, playing with her body until it began to respond to every move he made with a will of its own. And when she tried to reciprocate, to tease him the way he was teasing her, he caught her hand and said gently, “Not yet, sweetheart. It is still your turn.”

“Edward, please.” The words came with a gasp before she knew she was going to speak them.

“What?”

“God in Heaven, don’t stop! You’re tormenting me.

“What do you want me to do, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I … I don’t know the right words. I thought you would just do what you’ve done before. I can’t bear it when you tease me like this.”

“The more your body wants mine, the more pleasure there will be for both of us. Of course,” he added provocatively, “if you were to beg me to do certain things, specific things, you might convince me to speed this up a bit.”

“I will never beg you for anything,” she said between gritted teeth. But before he let her sleep that night, she did beg, and she knew then that he was punishing her just as he had promised he would. But by then, she did not care a whit.

She slept deeply, stirring only once when her foot encountered a chilly spot where Rothwell ought to have been. Thinking he had gone, she struggled to waken, only to feel the bed shift with his weight, and then she was in his arms again. Snuggling against him, she drifted back into deep sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, she slipped carefully out of bed, trying not to waken him and thinking that in his sleep he looked rather more like an unruly boy than an English earl. The thought brought a smile to her lips as she scrambled into her dress. Taking time only to brush her hair into a twist and pin her kertch in place, and to don her mantle against the chilly stone halls, she slipped out of the room, meaning to go to the kitchen to be sure that a lavish breakfast was being prepared for the men who had taken too much drink the previous night.

Passing her old bedchamber, she heard the latch click and slowed, thinking Mr. Goodall might want her to summon a servant to aid him in dressing. The door was flung wide, and Goodall stumbled from the room, his face white with shock. “Outside,” he gasped, his teeth chattering together. “Look out the window! Someone’s hanged a man out there!”

G
OODALL WAS HOLDING HIS
head, and he looked extremely ill.

Maggie said, “There can be no one out there, sir. It must be a figment of your imagination.”

“That is no figment, I tell you!”

“But it must be.”

From behind her, Rothwell said in the bored tone she had heard so frequently in London, “Dear me, my lady. Pray, forgive her, Goodall. These Highlanders, you know, are rather callous about human life.”

“Edward!” Maggie whirled, but her anger was forgotten in her astonishment to see him garbed in a brilliant red brocaded dressing gown and holding a long-handled, gold-rimmed eyeglass. He had not used one for weeks.

He went on blandly as if she had not spoken, “So many deaths, you know, since the Uprising. I think they simply take them in stride now and that is how she has come to forget so quickly the fate of one of Fergus Campbell’s tame excisemen who chanced to wander into Glen Drumin. It was an unfortunate accident, of course, or so I was told.”

Goodall shook his head. “My lord, you cannot have seen what I saw from yonder window! ’Tis a corpse a-swinging from the branch of a tree not fifty yards away!”

“Indeed.” Rothwell lifted his eyeglass and peered through it at Goodall. “But no doubt, after last night, your vision is not as clear as it might be. I was told the man had stumbled and caught his neck in a vine. Dreadful, but scarcely actionable.”

“But they haven’t taken him down!”

“An oversight, I’m sure. Perhaps you would like to do so. I daresay it will be good practice for you, you know. In your new position, you are likely to encounter a body or two, are you not? And this one should not be too bad. Not much worse than venison that’s been properly hung, when all is said and done.”