Lachlan climbed out of his coach the following morning, stretched his legs, and climbed the steps of Stirling’s townhouse. He paused at the door, holding his breath for a moment. The moment he went inside, his life would change forever. He knew that he could turn and run from this, change his mind about his plans, yet he didn’t. Every emotion that had raged the night before was now locked away in a dark corner of his mind. Instead of focusing on his brother’s death and the man responsible, he focused instead on the woman, Daphne, the bastard’s daughter.

When he stood there in the drawing room the night before, as nervous as the other men, he had hated himself for showing such weakness. And then she had entered, a tiny creature with soft curves, dark hair and warm brown eyes. She had been as timid as a dormouse, her eyes as round as saucers as she’d gone through the introductions. Missing was the spoiled hellion he had expected from a man like Sir Richard Westfall.

He wanted to despise her on sight and rally his vengeance, but it hadn’t been easy to hate her. He had managed it, but only just.

Lachlan growled in frustration as he rapped  the knocker of the door. A moment later, a butler answered.

“I’m here for Miss Westfall,” he announced. The butler nodded and opened the door wider, allowing him to step into the vestibule.

“Ahh. There you are, Huntley!” Stirling descended the stairs, Miss Westfall at his side. She wore a soft green carriage gown with a blue satin sash around her waist. The colors emphasized her dark hair and alabaster skin. Lachlan clenched his teeth as his body responded to her subtle beauty. He did not want to desire this woman, but perhaps he could allow himself that one weakness. She would be his wife, after all, and he did plan to beget heirs upon her. It was his duty now, and hers as his wife.

“Stirling,” Lachlan greeted his friend with more warmth than he felt for Miss Westfall.

Her eyes were downcast, her lips parted, and for a brief instant he caught a glimpse of a woman beaten down, her spirit already broken. That was what he had wished for, wasn’t it? A broken woman? Yet he’d wanted to break her himself, not collect the pieces with pity.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked her. “I suppose you have quite a few clothes and other possessions to take with you.”

At this, she raised her eyes and he saw sorrow in their honey brown depths.

“I have none. Even this gown is borrowed.” She plucked at the skirts, revealing two dainty black boots.

“Borrowed?” he echoed with shock. How was it she had no clothes, no possessions? Surely that damned criminal of a father had left her plenty to live on.

“Yes. I… I thought you understood the circumstances I was in, my lord. I would not have agreed to the auction otherwise.”

Lachlan was left speechless, until his friend gave a short cough.

“Er… Huntley, might I have a word with you?” Stirling jerked his head toward the door and released Miss Westfall’s arm so he and Lachlan could talk in private.

“What is the meaning of this? Where are her clothes?” Lachlan growled. He had no desire to buy anything for the woman. His entire plan of revenge called for doing the exact opposite, allowing her barely enough to survive.

“Huntley, I didn’t want to mention this, since it seems to be a delicate matter, but the reason I held the auction was to get the poor woman off the streets.”

“The streets?” Miss Westfall had been selling her body to survive? “You promised me a bride, not a trollop.”

Stirling’s eyes flashed dangerously. “She isn’t one. She was, I suspect, considering the possibility when I came across her. She was standing in an alley, scrambling for coins tossed her way. Do you have any idea what she must have gone through? A gentle born lady left begging for scraps?”

The pain in Stirling’s eyes was genuine, and Lachlan wondered how bad off Miss Westfall really was. He glanced over his shoulder at his future bride, who stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes once more downcast, one hand tucked in the pocket of her gown.

“You must take care of her. I know that William’s death has been hard on you, but perhaps this marriage will heal you--heal you both.”

Heal him? Nothing could mend the bleeding bits of his tattered heart. William’s loss had left a gaping hole inside him, and nothing and no one could ever fill that.

Lachlan turned and walked past Miss Westfall toward the door. “We should be going. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

She looked up at his approach, and for a second he saw hope in her eyes, calling to him, but he smashed down the urge to respond in kind.

“Ready?” he asked coldly.

She nodded and looked at his arm expectantly. He did not offer it.

Stirling called to him as they stepped outside, “Huntley, I meant what I said.”

Lachlan did not reply as he opened the coach door for his acquisition. She climbed inside and he followed, settling back on the seat opposite her.

The coach rattled into motion and for a long while Lachlan wouldn’t look at her. He kept picturing her in a tattered gown, ankle-deep in icy water as carriages and people passed, no one looking her way, no one caring about her. He mentally gave himself a shake.

I will not pity her, I will not let this creature crawl beneath my skin.

She was the daughter of a man who had destroyed many lives, a man in prison for crimes that had led William to take his own life.

Lachlan felt her gaze on him and, at last, looked her way.

“What?” he demanded in irritation.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her head tilting as if in puzzlement.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do what?”

“Bid on me. It’s abundantly clear that you do not like me. Why did you attend the auction? Have you had second thoughts? You had plenty of time after seeing me to walk away. You did not have to write anything down on that paper. I would’ve been happy to go with any of the other gentlemen.”

The thought of her going home with another man, of having his vengeance denied, filled him with quiet rage.

“I wanted you. That’s why I placed my bid.” His growling response would have made any sensible woman know that the discussion was over. But not Daphne. The timidity he’d seen in her the previous night wasn’t there anymore.

“You certainly aren’t acting like a man who wants me.” She seemed to regret what she said. “I don’t mean—”

“Oh, I want you, lass. I have no doubt that I’ll enjoy bedding you.” He managed a sardonic smile that caused her to lean away from him. He chuckled darkly at her reaction.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t touch you until we are properly wed, and only when I’m certain you want me too.”

Her face flushed red and she sucked in a breath. “You mustn’t talk so openly of—”

“Of bedding? Lass, you’d best get used to it. We Scots aren’t so squeamish as you English.”

“I really must insist you do not do that with me.”

“Do what?” he challenged with a wicked grin. The more he teased her, the more that other version of himself seemed to return, the rogue who would take her in his arms and kiss her senseless right here in this coach.

“Please don’t tease me about…”

“Sex? Miss Westfall, I’m a man with appetites, and I plan to teach you to have your own as well.” He couldn’t help it. He moved to the seat beside her and reached up to cup her face. She tensed and tried to withdraw. He may have planned for misery in her married life, but he wasn’t as cold hearted as to make her unhappy in his bed. Even he had limits.

“Stop resisting, lass,” he said, and he loved the way her eyes flashed in open defiance.

“I’m not resisting, nor am I willing.” She growled softly, the sound reminiscent of an angry cat he’d once startled in a barn as a boy. He’d learned then that cats had dangerous claws.

“I said I wouldna do anything to you and I meant it. But damned if you don’t need a kiss to cool that temper of yours.”

She arched a brow and knocked his hand away from her face. Then she moved to the other side of the coach, scowling at him. “I would not have a temper if you would behave like a proper gentleman.”

He let her go, keeping to the promise that he wouldn’t touch her until she was willing. He was a bastard for marrying her for revenge, but he was not a devil and would never force a woman to do anything she didn’t wish to when it came to sex. Still, he saw the flush of color in her cheeks and the way her breath had quickened. She’d been aroused, even if she was angry at him for teasing her. Now he was looking forward to what it would be like to give her pleasure. His body was already humming with the prospect.

I could teach her to want me when I so choose, and leave her without my touch when it suits me.

He would derive some satisfaction knowing he could leave her aching for him whenever he wanted to. She blushed again and glanced out the coach window, clearly determined to avoid him and the subject of sex. There was a fair amount of amusement to provoking her humility and embarrassment and he would take his humor when he could.

She continued to ignore him and he let her. She would panic when she realized that they would not be sleeping in separate rooms tonight. The little chit would squirm because she hadn’t yet realized that she had no maid and he would have to be the one to undress her.

Time passed as the coach continued north. Daphne fidgeted in her seat and tried to sleep against the side of the coach. He had left his more comfortable conveyance back at Huntley Castle. Not that he should be concerned with her comfort, that wasn’t part of his revenge.

She finally settled with a soft sigh, her eyes closing. At first, he’d wanted to crow in triumph, but the expression on her face gave him pause. Her full lips tilted down in an open frown and a little wrinkle of worry creased her sleeping brow. A ripple of guilt disturbed him enough that he continued to stare at her for some time.

When he was convinced she was fast asleep, he reached over and lifted her onto his lap. She tensed. For an instant, he feared he’d woken her, but then she relaxed and burrowed deeper into his arms. His body was taut with arousal, but he suppressed his baser urges and instead focused on her weight and warmth in his arms. She was the daughter of the man who had driven William to suicide, yet here she was, lying in his arms, trusting him not to hurt her, trusting that he would be a good husband.

Will I?

The question had an easy answer.

I would’ve been...before.

But losing William had broken him and his mother. Their original family of four was now two, and here he was bringing home the child of the man who had brought death to their home. He’d kept the truth of William’s involvement in Westfall’s counterfeiting a secret. As far as his mother knew, William had killed himself but left no reason as to why. Lachlan didn’t want his mother filled with the same vengeance that burned inside of him. If his mother ever discovered Daphne’s true identity, she would cast her out. Therefore, Lachlan could not tell her who Daphne was. The burden of losing a child in such a way was torture enough, and he did not want to add to that misery.

Plagued by worries, he leaned his head back and tried to sleep, still cradling Daphne in his arms. When sleep came, dreams consumed him, dreams that made his heart bleed and his throat hoarse with silent screams. Yet buried beneath the nightmares of losing his brother lay a warm softness against him that brought comfort.

 

***

“Sleep in the stables?” Daphne whispered to Lachlan, facing away from the frowning innkeeper. They were a day’s ride from Scotland, and there wasn’t another inn for miles. They couldn’t press on because of the storm that had blown in and still raged.

“’Tis the only space left,” the innkeeper insisted. “The rain, you see. Everyone stopped here. The roads are bad for miles around.”

Lachlan glanced away and she swallowed hard.

“Can you tolerate some hay, lass?” he asked, his tone cool.

She nodded stiffly. They’d woken up in each other’s arms only half an hour before, in a strange and wonderful sort of intimacy that had shocked her. His hold had been protective and gentle, his eyes soft and inviting. Yet here he was, treating her coldly again. What was she supposed to do?

Lachlan slapped down several fat coins on the counter “Then we’ll take the loft, but I’m not paying full price.” The innkeeper collected them and slipped them into his apron pocket.

He led them to a muddy courtyard, where icy rain pelted their skin before they reached the protection of the stables. Over a dozen horses were tucked away in stalls. The warm scents of hay and grain were oddly comforting to Daphne as she kept pace with Lachlan.

“Use this ladder,” the innkeeper said, “and be careful not to roll off the ledge in the night.” The innkeeper retrieved several thick woolen blankets and offered them to Lachlan, who took them under one arm.

Lachlan turned to Daphne. “You go first. I’ll be here to catch you if you slip.” He gave her a gentle nudge. She approached the wooden ladder, a tad apprehensive. Heights were not something she enjoyed.

“Go on, lass,” Lachlan growled and gave her bottom a gentle swat.

“How dare you!” She was torn between mortification and anger, both emotions almost choking her. The innkeeper laughed at her sputter of outrage.

“Climb, or I’ll do it again,” Lachlan warned with a twinkle in his eyes that she didn’t like. The swat hadn’t hurt, of course, not with the layers she wore, but to strike a lady in such an intimate place, especially when they weren’t alone…

Daphne clenched her teeth, used one hand to lift her skirts and the other to climb. She had to go slow. When she reached the top, she toppled over into a mountain of fresh hay. There was space for both her and Lachlan to sleep, but not much more than that. She stilled as she realized that she and Lachlan would be sleeping mere inches apart.

Nerves stormed the inside of her belly and she fought off a little shiver. We’re not married yet.

Lachlan emerged over the edge of the loft and tossed the blankets to her. She caught them and waited until he knelt beside her amid the mountains of hay.

“Make yourself a nest and get some rest. I’ll find some dinner.” He tucked the blankets more fully into her lap before he shifted back toward the loft’s edge. She set the bedding aside and stepped toward him.

“Lachlan—”

He paused, already halfway off the ledge. “Aye?”

Suddenly tongue-tied, Daphne blushed. She wasn’t sure what she’d meant to say, only that she’d wanted to say something.

“Be careful not to fall.”

He answered her warning with an inscrutable expression before dropping from view.

Once he left, she arranged the hay to lay more evenly, then spread one blanket as a bottom sheet and the second as a cover. It would have to do.

She almost laughed. Of course, it would do. It would do very well. This bed was a far better accommodation than she’d had these last two months. There was nothing so dreadful as curling up in the nook of a doorway or huddling beneath bushes in Hyde Park. Those were the places she’d grown accustomed to sleeping. Here she had a roof over her head and warm blankets. By comparison, it would be easy to endure, even if they went hungry tonight. Given the crowds due to the storm, it was possible the inn might run out of food, as well.

She settled back in the hay, curled into a ball and closed her eyes. She listened to the pattering rain on the stable roof and the rustle and occasion snort of the horses below. There was a gentle cadence to it all that exuded a sense of peace. Since her father’s incarceration, she’d carried the weight of his sins squarely upon her shoulders. Yet now, at this moment, that burden was lessened. Daphne inhaled slowly and let her thoughts turn to the future, to Lachlan.

He was a Scottish earl, with a vast estate in Scotland, yet he’d agreed to marry an English woman who Sir James had made clear was in need of financial support. What sort of man agreed to that? Was he desperate for a wife?

The ladder to the loft creaked and Daphne squeaked in surprise, clutching the blanket to her chest, even though she remained fully dressed.

“I dinnae mean to scare you,” Lachlan chuckled as he appeared at the loft edge. He reached up and set down a tray containing covered dishes.

She stared at the fully laden tray in awe. “How did you carry that?”

“It wasn’t hard, a wee bit of balance was all.” He joined her in the makeshift bed and they shared the food in a quaint silence. Lachlan was clearly not a talkative man, which Daphne did regret. She had loved to talk to her father and her friends…before everything had gone wrong.

“Have more travelers arrived?” she asked.

“Aye. There will be no beds, and likely the stables will fill up, as well. We’ll have to stay in the loft unless that distresses your delicate feminine sensibilities.” The sudden coldness in his tone surprised her.

“Oh, no, here’s quite fine,” she rushed to assure him. Perhaps his pride had been pricked by having to sleep above animals in a stable.

“I know you are used to finer things, but let me warn you, sweet bride,” his tone was still cold and she shivered. “There will be no fine clothes or expensive things in Huntley. It is not my way and it won’t be yours.”

Daphne didn’t miss the way he said this. Each word seemed to have a dreadful importance to it, but she couldn’t see why. She was not foolish enough to ask for an explanation.

“I’m quite accustomed to going without,” she murmured.

“Having to borrow a dress or two isn’t going without.” His tone was now angry and a fierce scowl crossed his face. It might have made her flinch, but she was safe and warm and fed for the first time in days, aside from her night spent in Stirling’s home. She wasn’t going to let Lachlan bully her, even with words.

“I have gone without,” she said, her tone as hard as steel. “Did your friend not tell you? He found me begging in the streets, my only gown ripped, my belly empty, and my limbs frozen.”

She paused. Her body practically shook with fury. How dare he assume she was some spoiled child who’d never faced hardship? “For the last two months, I would’ve given anything to have a roof and a dry place to lay my head. I was on the verge of…” She choked on the words, but his silent stare dared her to continue. “I was going that very night to a brothel, my last hope for food and a warm bed.” She drank the last of her wine in a long gulp and stared at him hard. “But Stirling found me. He rescued me before I made that mistake. Do not ever lecture me on going without, Lord Huntley. I have been ripped from my home. My life was destroyed because my father was careless and cavalier when it came to the law. I am paying for his sins. I only hope you, my future husband, will not judge me for them.”

She kept her composure as she turned her back and lay down on the bed she’d made. That tiny distance was the only barrier she could make between them and she hoped he would respect it.

Only then did the tears she’d held back begin to flow. She heard him mutter something that sounded like a curse before he lay down beside her and curled one arm around her waist. He pulled her back a few inches to nestle her into the curve of his body. Of course, he wouldn’t leave her alone. Even now, after all she had said, he wanted to remind her that he owned her. That she was bought and paid for. She tensed and tried to pull away from him, but she was tired and cold.

“I’m sorry, lass.”

The words surprised her, but only half as much as the kiss he placed upon her cheek. The tenderness of it startled her enough that she shifted onto her back to stare at him.

“Why must you be so cruel, Lord Huntley?”

His blue eyes filled with shadows. “I… I am angry. Very angry at someone and it keeps my temper short.” His cryptic response was apologetic, but it was clear he would speak no more on the matter.

“You shouldn’t hold on to anger, my lord. It doesn’t help.” She too had held onto anger for a long time. Anger at her father. But all too soon she realized anger didn’t provide shelter, get her friends back, and didn’t fill her belly.

“When a man’s heart is broken, sometimes anger is all he has left.” Lachlan’s words were hoarse with emotion. Was he speaking of the brother he’d lost? Or was there more? Had he loved a woman and lost her?

“Go to sleep.” His tone was even now. “We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

Daphne was certain there was no way she could sleep, not with the frantic pulse of her thoughts, but somewhere close to dawn, sleep did claim her.

***

Nothing was going according to plan.

Lachlan scowled in the darkness of the loft as he held Daphne close for warmth. They had no proper room to share and neither of them had been able to bathe or change into nightclothes. They slept with animals. He’d wanted to be in control of her misery, to exact revenge on his terms, but the opportunities failed to appear.

Of course, after what she’d just told him, he couldn’t shake the guilt of wanting his revenge. The need to avenge William was as strong as ever, but now there was a compulsion to protect Daphne, to care for her, which warred with his need for vengeance.

How can I protect her from me? He should send her back to London and let Stirling find one of those other love-struck lads who bid on her and give her to one of them. But the thought of giving her away now? He couldn’t. She would be his wife.

The anger which had been a part of him since William’s death usually burned like wildfire, snapping and snarling as it devoured his soul in its greedy flames. But at this moment, that rage had become a single candle flame.

He nuzzled the nape of Daphne’s neck, inhaling her sweet scent and feeling the silken tresses of her hair slide against his cheek. She let out a soft sigh and scooted back against him. One of her hands touched his where he’d wrapped it around her waist, and she laced her fingers through his. She wasn’t awake, or she would not have done that, yet he almost smiled at the thought that she trusted him, at least in sleep.

“Have I made a mistake, lass?” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear. “Because I want to keep you?” He wanted to keep her, yes, but for the wrong reasons.

Daphne slowly turned, still asleep, and wrapped herself around him, her face pressed to his chest, her leg slipping between his as she clung to him. A sharp pain burst close to his heart as he held her. How could he hurt this woman? She was not the spoiled brat he had hoped to torture by denying her material possessions. No, Daphne was a fighter, a survivor, like him.

Had she been anyone else’s daughter, he would have fallen in love with her then and there, but he couldn’t. She was the reminder of everything he’d lost. It would be an insult to William’s memory if Lachlan abandoned his revenge and fell in love with Westfall’s daughter.

So, I am damned either way...