Chapter Nine

Need coursed through Bryson. He’d almost lost her—three times in one day. God have mercy on his soul. He would never live through this day, much less a lifetime of loving this woman. How did people survive love? His parents made it look so easy. Even their disputes paled in comparison to this upheaval. And the need. He needed her so badly it hurt.

Her mouth was as soft as he’d known it would be. She sighed against his lips and his cock hardened with painful intensity. If not for Hensley lying senseless on the ground, he could toss her into the carriage and make love to her. They were going to marry, after all. She was his. Exhilaration surged through him. He crushed her closer.

She squeaked. Then melted into his embrace. His head swam, then he became aware of the soft press of her breasts against his chest and the way his cock fit against her abdomen. He’d fought arousal ever since they’d climbed out of the river. Her clothes had molded to her perfect form. Her legs were lithe, as he’d known they would be, and, though she wore a heavy petticoat, he was certain he’d glimpsed a hint of the dark patch between her legs. Imagination or no, he’d half considered telling her that moment that they were to marry, then make love to her.

She tilted her head to the side and rose on tiptoes, deepening the kiss. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. She learned quickly. He flicked her lips with his tongue and she opened for him. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. He swept his tongue inside her mouth. Tentatively, she touched her tongue to his. His bollocks tightened. God, he wanted her.

She breathed into his mouth. Did she want him as badly as he wanted her? He pressed her back against the carriage and undulated his cock against her belly. She drew a sharp breath. He grunted with satisfaction and slid his flattened palm upward. The tips of his fingers brushed the underside of her breast, then her breast filled his palm. Her pebbled nipple brushed his flesh.

Desire clouded his brain. Would she let him make love to her inside the carriage? He fought the idea. She was a maiden, his future wife. For her first time, she deserved more than three minutes with him inside a carriage. At this point, that was all he would last. She would want a warm bath and fresh bedsheets. Still… He massaged her breast. Her chest lifted and fell. His head thrummed. Blood pounded loud in his ears.

Something registered in his brain. What—

“I see you have things well in hand.”

Bryson tore from the kiss and whirled, chest heaving, Miss Ramsay hidden behind him. He blinked. Stirling and another man—

“Bishop Burnette?” Bryson swung his gaze onto Stirling as Stirling dismounted. “What are you doing here, Stirling?”

“Sir Stirling?” Miss Ramsay stepped around Bryson as the Bishop dismounted.

“You sent word you were on Hensley’s trail,” Stirling said. 

Bryson frowned. “But how did you know—”

“To follow you here?” Stirling completed his unfinished thought. “I know something of the area. Bishop Burnette is familiar with the parson in Caystoke, and he was concerned Lord Hensley might be able to prevail upon him to perform the marriage.” His gaze shifted to Miss Ramsay. “I am relieved to see you are well, my dear. You are well?”

She nodded. “None the worse for wear, sir. Lord Newhall saved me.”

Stirling’s brow rose. “Indeed?”

“We fell in the river,” she quickly added. “Our clothes are still somewhat damp. Then Lord Newhall stopped Lord Hensley from shooting me.”

“I see Lord Hensley’s hands are tied. I assume that means he is not dead.” Amusement shone in Stirling’s eyes. “I must congratulate you, Newhall. You showed greater restraint than I would have.”

“He swooned when we hit the ground,” Bryson said. “The man is a coward.”

Stirling glanced at Hensley. “I would say he more than swooned, but never mind that. It seems a good thing that you found Miss Ramsay.”

Miss Ramsay’s cheeks pinked.

“You should know, Stirling, that Miss Ramsay and I are to be married,” the viscount said.

“Indeed?” he said, in unison with her, “I never agreed to that.”

“Which is it?” Bishop Burnette asked. “For I feel certain Miss Ramsay must marry someone.”

***

When Lord Newhall handed Kenna into the carriage and said, “The ride back is only two hours. We will stop along the way for your comfort,” she bit back the retort, ‘Comfort would be being home away from this madness.’

When finally they reached home, she started to slip away to her room, but Sir Stirling said, “Miss Ramsay, will you show the bishop and Lord Newhall to the Blue Parlor? I will have tea sent in and will be there presently.”

Frustration twisted through her. She understood too well that she was to wait with the men for Sir Stirling’s return. She’d managed to tie her hair back in a chignon, but she longed for a hot bath, then bed. She wasn’t even hungry.

They reached the Blue Parlor and the bishop seated himself on the divan nearest the hearth while she sat on the other end. Lord Newhall lowered himself into the chair nearest her. Kenna had no idea what to say and wasn’t sure whether or not she should be relieved that neither the bishop nor Lord Newhall spoke. Though, the viscount did send her furtive glances. No doubt, he regretted his marriage proposal. They’d been caught kissing—and more—and now he felt honor bound to marry her. She flushed with the memory of his hand covering her breast. She hadn’t realized how pleasant it could be for a man to touch her like that.

And the kiss. Her stomach did a somersault. How was it possible for a kiss to tempt her to allow such liberties? She hadn’t thought such a thing possible. The man deserved his reputation as a rogue. How many other women had he tempted as he had her? His skill bore testament: many. The thought sent a strange wave of emotion through her. Good Lord, she wasn’t jealous? Another horrible thought struck. Surely, she hadn’t fallen in love with him. She’d known him for two days. In so short a time, she could barely say she liked him. Could she?

She glanced at him. Still, he stared at her. Kenna dropped her gaze onto the large volume sitting on the small table located between the divan and his chair.

Sir Stirling entered the room.

Kenna shot to her feet. “I do not need to marry anyone.”

Sir Stirling halted. The three men stared at her.

“I need to return home,” she said. “That will solve everyone’s problem.”

Lord Newhall stood. “Miss Ramsay…” He grasped her hands. “Kenna, you and I spent several hours alone. Not to mention, Sir Stirling and the Bishop caught us in a compromising position.”

“Sir Stirling will not gossip and, of course, the bishop is above such petty behavior.” She smiled at the bishop. “I was upset, you see, and Lord Newhall was comforting me.”

“Comforting you by touching you intimately?” he said.

Kenna flushed warm. “I will ask God for forgiveness.”

“Miss Ramsay, lest you forget,” Sir Stirling said, “you were kidnapped by Lord Hensley, as well. You have been alone for several hours in the company of not one, but two men, today.”

“No one on Skye will care,” she said.

Lord Newhall squeezed her hands. “Is there no chance you might look favorably upon my suit?”

She pulled her hands free of his grasp. “You do not have to sacrifice yourself. I promise you, I am happy to return to my quiet life on Skye.”

“Sacrifice myself? What in God’s name makes you think I am sacrificing myself?”

“You will one day be an earl. I am a girl born out of wedlock.”

“You are of noble birth,” he said. “You are a Flower of Scotland.”

She rolled her eyes. “Curse the day I learned that.”

“Beware, young lady,” the bishop warned.

She bit her lip. “Forgive me, Bishop.”

Lord Newhall stepped closer. She froze when he placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. Their eyes met.

“Miss Ramsay, while I will admit that being married to you means risking my life on a daily basis, I would not have it any other way.”

She stared. “What?”

He leaned closer. “I want to marry you.”

Kenna narrowed her eyes. “Lord Hensley said the same thing.”

He blinked, then threw back his head and laughed.

“What is so funny?” she demanded. “He did say he wanted to marry me. As you know.”

His laughter vanished and her mouth went dry when his eyes darkened. “I pray he did not kiss you as I did.”

Her mouth fell open. “Of course not. I would have brained him had he tried.”

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that,” he drawled.

“What?”

Silence reigned.

Then she understood the implications of her words.

“Nae, you do no’ understand. I didn’t mean— It is just that—”

The bishop approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Could it be that you have a tenderness for Lord Newhall?”

“Not that kind of tenderness,” she retorted.

Lord Newhall’s brows shot up.

“I mean, you are very nice. But marriage. You cannot want to marry me.” She leaned toward him. “Did you not hear me say that I am a bastard?”

“Not true,” Sir Stirling said.

Kenna threw her hands in the air. “Sir Stirling, I know my own parentage.”

“Then you know your father?”

“Aye, but—”

“Did you know that he and your mother were secretly married before he died?”

“You are making that up,” she cried.

He laughed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you and my aunt are determined to see me married.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Lord Newhall said. “I have compromised you. You must marry me.”

“Are you daft? A rogue doesn’t compromise a woman then demand that she marry him. I am not nobility. I can easily find a man back home who will marry me. That is the end of the matter.”

“You damn well will not,” he gritted out.

Fury swept through her. “Is this what a wife can expect from you? Well, no thank you. I would rather be a spinster.” She whirled.

He seized her arm and swung her back around. Kenna grabbed the volume sitting on the table and swung against his shoulder. He stumbled back two paces and she kicked him in the shin. He blinked at her in surprise.

“Let that be a lesson,” she snapped, and hurried toward the door.

“That went quite well, Newhall,” Sir Stirling said. “Nae, let her go. It is better if you live to fight another day.”

***

The modest ballroom paled in comparison to those Kenna had seen in Inverness, but was packed so tight with guests, it felt as if she were back in Inverness instead of home on Skye. Kenna tore her gaze from the dance floor and nodded at Mrs. Christine Stanton. She hadn’t heard what the young woman said. But, no doubt, Mrs. Stanton and the other four young ladies standing in their circle were nattering on about the same thing Kenna had heard all evening: the supposed string of lovers she’d left behind in Inverness. Oh, they didn’t say that directly—well, most hadn’t. Mrs. Stanton was eighteen years old, newly married to a wealthy merchant, and thrived on gossip. The girl hadn’t yet learned the art of tact.

When Lady Chastity had prevailed upon Sir Stirling to allow Kenna to return to Skye for a visit, she had considered the reprieve a godsend. Now, three days later, she wasn’t so sure. She suspected Lady Chastity had colluded with her Aunt Lydia. The two women sat in the far corner of the modest ballroom chatting like old friends. No doubt, plotting a new strategy for locating potential husbands.

How did Society deal with these scandals without going mad? If she heard one more woman—young or old—ask in hushed tones what it was like to have three virile men make love to her, she would scream. After the fifth woman had winked when Kenna denied the accusation, she’d given up saying anything. The more she denied the gossip, the more the women giggled. One woman had whispered, “No need to worry, my dear, I was quite the hellion in my day, too.” Kenna half wished Lord Newhall had divested her of her virginity. If she was going to be thought loose, she ought to have benefitted from the accusation. 

She stopped breathing. Why did she wish that Lord Newhall had bedded her? Lord Wilshire was just as handsome. Well, almost. He was certainly handsome enough. What was she thinking? She was no better than any other woman at this party. Kenna abruptly realized that the women had gone quiet. They stared at something behind her. Kenna twisted and looked over her shoulder. Then whirled.

Kenna blinked. Was that really—

It couldn’t be.

“Lord Wilshire?” she whispered.

“The Lord Wilshire?” Mrs. Stanton said. “The man who fought a duel in your honor?”

“He did not fight a duel in my honor,” Kenna blurted.

“Oh my,” one of the other girls said.

Giggles followed.

They stepped up beside her.

“He pursued you here,” Mrs. Stanton said. “It is so romantic.”

Kenna fisted her hands at her sides. “He did not pursue me here.”

The ladies exchanged knowing glances.

“Then what is he doing here?” Lady Brenda asked.

“How would I know?” Kenna answered in a peevish tone.

Their brows shot up as one.

She had to escape before he saw her.

Kenna faced the ladies. “Excuse me.”

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Stanton demanded as Kenna started across the room.

“To the ladies retiring room,” she said.

“Oh my, he’s headed this way,” another said.

Kenna quickened pace. She neared the hallway when a familiar male voice said, “What a pleasure to see you, Miss Ramsay.”

Kenna snapped her head up as Lord Wilshire stepped up beside her. “L-Lord Wilshire. What are you doing here?”

His brows rose. “You are not pleased to see me?” He placed a hand over his heart. “I am wounded.”

She ignored the blatant stares of a nearby group of women and halted. “I am sorry, but you must admit, it is strange that you are here.”

“I wouldn’t say strange,” he mused.

“I would. Why are you here?”

He released an exaggerated sigh. “Lady Chastity told me she and Stirling were attending the party. It was an easy deduction that you would be here, as well.” He shrugged. “So, I came, too.”

“Aye, but we are on Skye. That is a long trip just for a party. Are you certain you aren’t avoiding your brother?”

He laughed. “Miss Ramsay, as I have said before, you are a delight. I must admit, Graham was becoming something of a nuisance.”

Two passing women looked their way, knowing smiles on their faces.

“It seems you are quite the thing,” he said.

Kenna shot him a narrow-eyed glare. 

He seemed not to notice—or more likely, simply ignored her frustration, and said, “You look none the worse for wear after your adventure with Hensley.”

A tremor rippled through her at the memory of her adventure with Lord Newhall. She shook her head. “He did not hurt me.”

“I am relieved to hear that. Would you care to take a turn with me in the garden?”

Kenna rolled her eyes. “You know I will not—especially now.”

“Why especially now?” he asked, unruffled.

“I am in no mood to fuel the gossipmongers’ fire,” she muttered.

“On the contrary, fueling the fire is your best course of action.” He leaned close and murmured, “If you are going to pay the price, you might as well enjoy yourself.”

“No walks in the garden,” she said with finality.

He shrugged. “You cannot blame a man for trying.”

“I can,” she said. “It is very annoying.”

“Permit me the opportunity to show you my better side.”

“By walking with you in the garden?”

“That is one way,” he replied.

Ladies’ giggles filtered through the din of voices. Who was staring at them now? Who wasn’t?

“I have to use the ladies retiring room,” she said. “I will return.”

Kenna hurried into the hallway leading to the ladies retiring room, but kept going to the small parlor she knew was located just beyond it. She managed to reach the room and enter without being seen. No fire burned in the hearth. Mrs. Balfour probably hadn’t expected anyone to leave the ballroom. She reached the balcony doors and opened them. Cool night air washed over her. She crossed the balcony and gazed up at the stars. What in God’s name was Lord Wilshire doing here?

She knew the answer before she’d finished the thought. He believed Lord Hensley and Lord Newhall were her lovers and decided he wanted to bed her, too. Worse, his presence at tonight’s party guaranteed her continued popularity. Whatever small hope she’d had for making a love match was gone.

Lord Newhall’s words that last night in Sir Stirling’s parlor returned.

“I want to marry you.”

Why had he said that, and why couldn’t she forget the words? Worse, the kiss they’d shared haunted her. She grasped the railing. She was a foolish woman who wanted to believe that a man like Lord Newhall—or Lord Newhall himself—might actually want to marry a woman like her. Not in her wildest fantasies had she imagined wanting to marry a man she’d known for less than two days. Not to mention, a man who was insane.

But still, the press of his lips on hers lingered.

The smell of him. The warmth of his hand on her breast.

The creak of the door yanked her back to the present. Good Lord, had Lord Wilshire followed her? She would cut off his bollocks if she had. Kenna whirled and started for the room.

“Lord Wilshire, if you care to keep your—” She stepped into the room and halted.

Lord Newhall walked toward her.

“You,” she breathed.

He stopped three paces away.

Her stomach flipped. How was he more handsome than she remembered? Oh, the wretch! He was trying to entice her by wearing a jacket that fit perfectly across his broad shoulders and a snow-white cravat that contrasted his tanned, muscled neck.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He lifted a brow. “I believe I told you, I grew up on Skye.”

“In the north,” she said with emphasis. “You are here to try and convince me to marry you.”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps not.”

She lifted her chin. “As you can see, I am doing well. I have invitations to many parties. My ruination has made me uncommonly desirable to local society.”

“Does that mean you have had other offers of marriage? From Lord Wilshire, perchance?”

“That is no concern of yours.”

He stepped closer, so close she was forced to tilt her head back to make eye contact. “You cannot seduce me into marrying you,” she whispered.

“Then I will have to settle for seducing you.”

“If that is all you want, why offer marriage?”

She started when he lifted a hand and rubbed a tendril of the hair curled at the side of her face. His eyes followed the slide of his fingers. Kenna resisted the urge to rub her cheek against the back of his hand. 

“I want more than seduction,” he murmured. “But I will take anything you are willing to give.” His eyes shifted to her face. “Consent, and I will marry you this moment.”

“Good Lord, why?”

He released her hair. “Would you believe me if I said I loved you?”

Kenna rolled her eyes. “Please.”

“Then will the fact that I want you do?”

She laughed and hoped the sound didn’t sound as sad as she suddenly felt. “You are a rogue. You want many women.”

“True. But I like you.”

She blinked. “You do not like the other women you bedded?”

“Some, a little bit. But I like you better. Is it not wise to marry someone you at least like?”

She believed that love was the best reason to marry, but a man in his position didn’t always have that luxury. She supposed he might consider himself fortunate to like the lady he married.

She narrowed her eyes. “I have no desire to marry.”

His eyes darkened. “Then so be it.” He yanked her to him.

They collided, chest to breast. Kenna seized his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” She cursed the breathless note in her voice.

“You may have no desire to marry, but I know you do have desire.” He stared down at her. “I love Skye. I plan to spend a great deal of time here.”

Kenna willed her pounding heart to slow. “You do?”

He backed her against the wall and pressed his body against hers. His hard length dug into her abdomen. The room spun.

“I do,” he replied, then his mouth found hers.