“Tell me, my dear, how did you meet Lachlan?” Moira asked after Lachlan abruptly left dinner.

Daphne struggled to compose herself lest she betray the truth of her circumstances.

“At a private dinner party hosted by Sir Stirling James. He was very sweet to invite me. I only knew him a little.” Daphne did her best to stick to the broad elements of the truth.

She swallowed hard. “I want to love him, yet I must admit, we are both still strangers in many ways.”

Moira rested one elbow on the table, her dessert plate abandoned. “You still wish to marry him then?”

Using her fork, Daphne carefully played with a bit of bread pudding on her plate as she considered how best to answer. Finally, she looked directly into Moira’s eyes. “Your son rescued me when I needed a friend the most. Our desire to marry was a natural course of action that stemmed from that, and I wish to be worthy of him as a wife and a friend.” Daphne meant every word. He had saved her from life in a brothel. The least she could do was make their marriage a good one, and perhaps banish whatever demons seemed to haunt Lachlan.

“Lachlan never ceases to surprise me.” Moira gave a soft laugh, rich with amusement. “He was the more stubborn of my boys. The lover, the fighter, the one who broke the rules more often than not. I always believed he would wait forever before marrying.” A flash of melancholy crossed her face before she offered Daphne a wry smile. “I assumed William would marry first. He was always so conscious of his duty to the estate.”

“What was his brother like? Lachlan hasn’t spoken of him.” Daphne tried to still her racing heart, but she wanted to know more about Lachlan’s family.

Daphne shook her head.

Moira’s pale blue eyes filled with tears and sorrow tempered her smile.

“William was my firstborn. You never forget your first bairn. I thought my body would break apart when he came into this world. He was such a quiet, wee lad. He was smart and kind, but there was a sadness to him as well. Do you know what I mean?”

Daphne’s throat tightened. “Yes, I do.” She’d had a friend once, a lovely girl from a good family, but no matter how warm the sunshine or how lovely the day, the girl was always…perhaps sad was the wrong word. Maybe, unaffected by the world, for good or ill.

Daphne’s heart raced at the thought of her laugher having that effect on Lachlan. For two months she had felt so helpless, so useless, but now she had a chance to help someone.

“I know he doesn’t seem to care about your trousseau, but I was thinking you might fit into my wedding gown. It’s a bit old in style, but I believe I was about your size when I wore it. We can have the modiste make the necessary alterations, of course.”

Her heart swelled and she had to resist the urge to hug Lachlan’s mother. “Thank you, I would be honored.”

“I think, my dear, it is time I retire for the evening. I’m not so young as I once was.” She smiled again. “You know the way back to your room?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

She and Moira rose from the table and parted ways. For a long moment, Daphne stood in the dim corridor, thinking of Lachlan and his brother. When she began walking again, she sought out the main stairs, but paused at the sight of a portrait she’d missed earlier that day. The morning sunlight had favored the stairs, leaving the walls in shadow and she hadn’t looked closely. Yet now, moonlight basked the portraits on the wall with a milky light. The face staring back at her was unmistakable.

It had to be William. The clothing was modern, and his features were so much like Lachlan’s. Yet she saw an eternal melancholy in his eyes, just as Moira had described.

“He was a good man, my brother.” Lachlan’s slightly slurred voice came from the shadows by the entryway straight ahead of her. Daphne bit her lip to keep from gasping and her stomach churned with a deep uneasiness. Lachlan had an obvious talent for sneaking up on her when she least expected him.

“Your mother told me a little about him,” Daphne admitted.

Lachlan emerged from the shadows, his tall body imposing in the darkness. She had the sudden image of him overpowering her, catching hold of her body and kissing her, uncaring of whether she wished him to or not. His waistcoat was gone and he held a bottle of Scotch in one hand. His cravat was missing and his hair was tousled, as though he had run his hand through it repeatedly.

“And did she tell you how he died?” His voice was soft, but Daphne sensed danger in the question. He turned away from her and she thought for a moment he’d forgotten her, lost in memories.

“Er…no, she didn’t.”

He spun to face her and stepped closer, the contents of his bottle swishing in the silence of the house.

“He took his own life.” Lachlan stood only a few feet away now. She inhaled the heavy perfume of Scotch as it rolled off him. He’d been drinking too much. She shouldn’t stay alone with him, not when he was in such a condition.

“My lord, perhaps I should fetch someone to—”

He caught her arm, firmly but gently, and kept her close to him, caged by his body.

“No need to get anyone. I’ve been deeper in my cups than this.” He chuckled. “Do I frighten you?”

She gazed into his eyes, searching for any aggression or brutality. She saw only sorrow and curiosity.

“Frighten me? No,” she finally replied.

“Good.” He set the bottle down on the foot of the stairs and placed one hand on the banister, trapping her against it. She leaned back, the wood railing pressing into her spine until she could not retreat any farther. He reached for her hip, his fingers curling into the loose fabric of her gown, as he secured a firm hold.

“And now?”

Daphne’s blood pounded in her head and she felt suddenly dizzy. “Only a little.”

She raised her chin as he tilted his head slightly. His lips, so often curved in a frown, twitched as though tempted to smile.

“I’d never hurt you, lass.” He lowered his head, giving her plenty of time to resist, to push him away, but she didn’t want to. Their mouths met in a slow kiss that burned like a warm fire. She tasted the Scotch on his lips and was lost in the headiness it created within her. She had forgotten what it felt like to be warm, to feel a fire obliterate the cold inside of her.

She curled her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more of his touch, and his heat. When he kissed her, she felt like she was falling, breathless and free, into a world where the past no longer mattered. Only this moment existed, the brush of soft lips and sweet sighs...

“What are you doing to me?” he demanded in a panting whisper between kisses.

I’m loving you. The thought rose unbidden to answer him and it startled her. She barely knew Lachlan, but it was true, she wanted to love him, was even at this moment falling in love with him.

He reached up and cupped her face, their eyes meeting briefly before he deepened the kiss once more, and plundered her mouth in the most sinful way. Daphne moaned as ripples of fire stirred throughout her body. She couldn’t resist threading her fingers through his dark hair, tugging on the silken strands. He growled against her lips and used one hand to drag her skirts up to her waist.

He gripped the back of her left thigh and lifted her leg up to crawl around his hip. Daphne didn’t fully understand what he wanted her to do, but her primal instincts took over and she rocked against him. To her delight, she found the hard press of his muscled thigh against the apex of hers, intense and overpowering. Sensations shot through her from the simple but intense friction. Lachlan leaned against the banister, his thigh rubbing harder against her sensitive mound through the thin layers of her underclothes.

“Ride me,” he murmured, showing her the natural rhythm of their bodies moving together.

Once she matched it, it was too much to bear. His tongue played with hers and her breasts ached against her stays as he assaulted her every sense. His taste, the hint of Scotch, the smell of leather and man mixed with his rough caress and the sting of his hand fisting in her hair as he began to kiss her ruthlessly. He was conquering her with every weapon at his disposal and she was more than ready to surrender. If he had wanted to take her there on the stairs, she would have let him.

The building pressure and the dark need for some kind of release became unbearable. She whimpered as he rubbed his thigh over and over against her mound. Then he suddenly changed direction, rolling his hips in a slightly different direction, and the explosive release of a frightening pleasure was unbearable. Daphne cried out against his lips and he pulled away from her with a curse. The abrupt separation made her stumble on the steps. She barely caught herself against the banister before she fell.

Without a word, much less an explanation, Lachlan started up the stairs, leaving her alone, legs shaking and body aching with a loss she didn’t understand. How could he have touched her so intimately, so… She blinked back tears. He’d roused deep feelings within her, not simply passion, and then he’d left her alone, cold and confused. The evening sunset had faded an hour ago, leaving soft purple beams of moonlight painting the walls with a melancholy splash of color.

Daphne stared up at the portrait of Lachlan’s brother and shivered. His pained eyes seem to gaze right through her.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked him in a barely audible whisper.

The handsome, tragic man in the portrait offered no reply, leaving Daphne feeling more alone than she’d ever felt before.

***

“You’re getting married?” Cameron McLeod burst out laughing.

“It’s not amusing,” Lachlan barked. He glared at his best friend. Cameron couldn’t seem to stop grinning and was barely restraining himself. Laughs still escaped as snorts and hisses, which made him sound one gasp away from giggling like a girl.

“For heaven’s sake,” Lachlan punched his shoulder in only a partially playful manner, but Cameron’s good-natured grin didn’t fade. His eyes were alight with mischief.

“Well, don’t go silent on me, Lachlan. Describe this paragon of a girl who has captured your heart.”

“She hasn’t,” he replied. She’d captured his interest, his arousal, but not his heart.

At this, Cameron sobered immediately. “You...you don’t love this lass you’re planning to marry? But you always swore you wouldn’t marry, not unless you fell madly in love.”

Cameron frowned as he and Lachlan strode toward the small stone church. The Kirk of Huntley was a quaint Gothic structure that had been around for hundreds of years and would likely be there long after he was dust. He paused as he reached a heavy oak door and grasped the handle, unable to look his friend in the eye.

“That was before I became an earl. I have a duty to marry and provide for an heir.” The words tasted like poison. Marrying out of duty was bad enough, but marrying for revenge was worse, yet here he was intending to do just that.

Cameron placed his hand on the church door, preventing Lachlan from opening it. “Do you even like your future bride?”

“I like her well enough. She’s fetching and sweet.”

Cameron rolled his eyes, but his gaze was serious when he finally lifted his hand from the door.

“’Marrying for anything other than love is damned foolish.’ Those are your words, Lachlan.”

Lachlan exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Losing William has made me stop thinking like a foolish and unrealistic child. It’s time I settled down with one woman and made the best of it. If you do not approve, you don’t have to witness tomorrow’s wedding.”

“Not come? I wouldn’t miss it. I only want you happy.” Cameron followed him into the church, their voices lowered out of respect as they walked down the aisle. The echo of their boots on the stone floor summoned the vicar, John McKenzie. Lachlan greeted the middle-aged vicar and shook his hand.

“My lord, what service can I do for you?” The vicar’s bright blue eyes appeared amplified behind the spectacles perched on his nose.

“A wedding. I need a wedding tomorrow.”

“Oh? And who’s the lucky man?” John glanced at Cameron and chuckled. “I seem to recall marrying you only last month.”

Cameron laughed and pointed a thumb in Lachlan’s direction. “It’s him, if you can believe it.”

McKenzie blinked in surprise. “You, my Lord?”

“Why is everyone so shocked that I am to be married?”

John smiled. “Hardly a year ago, you said you would never marry, not unless someone made you.” The humor faded from his eyes. “There isn’t a…reason that a ceremony is required in such short time, is there? You know how I—”

“No,” Lachlan couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “The lass still clings to her precious maidenhead. I simply want the wedding to be done quickly.” Lachlan didn’t care for their assumptions, and had grown tired of everyone questioning his motives. That the truth was far worse, didn’t help matters.

The minister pursed his lips and, after exchanging a glance with Cameron, shrugged.

“And what’s the lucky lass’s name? Is she from this area?”

“No. She’s English.”

Both Cameron and McKenzie stared at him.

“You’re bringing a Sassenach to live here? With you?” Cameron started laughing again.

“There’s a bit of a problem with her residency,” McKenzie replied more seriously, “and the banns…”

“Aye, I figured as much.” Lachlan glanced around the church, noting some of the wooden rafters were a bit fractured. “And what of your church? Perhaps a bit of timber could find its way here?”

McKenzie glanced up at the same rotted timbers. “I suppose the banns can be read today three times and…well, we could have the church ready for a ceremony tomorrow at nine in the morning. Does that suit you, my lord?”

“Aye, that does.” Lachlan glanced once more at the stained-glass windows and the kaleidoscope of pale colors cast over the wooden pews.

“And this is to be a private affair?” John asked.

Lachlan finally faced the minister again, expecting more questions. “Yes. Cameron and Eliza will witness.”

“Very well. Is that all you need, my lord?”

“Yes, that is all.” He and Cameron bid the minister farewell and then they exited the church.

“Cameron, why don’t you bring Eliza up to Huntley Castle for a few days? Mother thinks it would cheer Daphne.” He wasn’t too keen on doing anything that would cheer his future wife, but it would cheer him, which was something he desperately needed. The anger he’d clung to for so long was waning and he was filled with an empty loneliness that he couldn’t seem to escape. Having Cameron around for a few days would remind him of the happy man he’d once been, before Willian’s death. He wanted Daphne to see him as he used to be, the man who might have fallen in love with her under different circumstances.

“I’m sure Eliza would be thrilled, and it will give me a chance to meet this woman and see if I can figure out why she has you twisted up in knots.”

“I’m not twisted up in knots.”

“So you say. But never in my life have I seen you so boorish. Growling like a wounded bear one minute and snapping your jaws like a wolf the next.”

“McLeod…” he warned, and inwardly cursed at how the name escaped his lips in a clear growl.

“Ack, now I’ve done it. You’re calling me McLeod.” Cameron feigned distress as they reached their mounts, tied up outside the church yard.

“Be there tonight for dinner,” Lachlan said as he and Cameron climbed into their saddles. His horse shifted and snorted. With a light smack on the gelding’s neck, Lachlan gripped his reins and readied to leave.

“Tonight, it is.” Cameron nodded to him and rode off, his home being only a few miles away.

Lachlan began the quick journey back home, wishing the distance was greater. He wasn’t yet ready to face Daphne. Not after last night. He had groped her like a randy lad and she had purred like a cat in response, something he hadn’t expected. The startled look of pleasure in her eyes told him she had never climaxed before. She wasn’t simply a virgin, she was completely uneducated in the ways of pleasure. He tried to bury the heavy guilt he felt, knowing he would enjoy giving those lessons.

I shouldn’t enjoy her, not anything about her, yet I do. It felt like a betrayal of William’s memory.

For the next half hour, he was lost in thoughts of Daphne as he rode home.

As he approached the castle’s entrance, he spotted a feminine figure kneeling among the rose bushes. There were no buds to admire, though, only frost on the remaining greenery. Intrigued, he rode closer, wondering if one of the maids was out…but then he recognized Daphne.

He took a moment to admire her. She worked a small pair of clippers in her gloved hands to cut a bit of a rosebush, then lifted the stem close to examine it.

“What are you doing?”

“My lord!” She gasped in shock and leapt to her feet before she spun around, her cheeks flushing. “I was retrieving a stem of this rose. I thought I might grow it inside the hothouse I discovered behind the castle.”

“The hothouse? That place hasn’t been tended to in years.” He slid off his horse and patted its flank as he waited for Daphne to join him. She wasn’t wearing a cloak, only a thin shawl, yet she seemed unbothered by the chill.

“Where’s your cloak?” he asked sharply.

Daphne’s face was still red. “I don’t have one.”

“But the modiste came today to bring you clothes.” He had seen to that personally before he’d ridden off to seek out Cameron.

“She gave me plenty of ready-made dresses and other necessary things, but she did not have a completed cloak.”

“Oh…” He felt like a horse’s arse for snapping at her. Lachlan stripped off his great cloak and hung it over her shoulders, noting that it pooled on the ground like a black train. He wanted her unhappy. He didn’t want her catching cold and becoming ill.

“Really, my lord…”

“Lachlan. Please call me Lachlan. As your future husband, I must see to your care. That includes giving you a cloak when you are cold.” He took his time, making sure it fastened securely beneath her chin. She trembled at his touch and clutched the frozen branch to her chest like a talisman.

“I thought you said you did not fear me,” he whispered, stepping forward until their bodies pressed. He couldn’t resist her, not when he thought of last night--the way she felt so perfect in his arms, and the way she reacted to him. The tension between them built as she raised her eyes to his.

“I don’t fear you…” Her admission only deepened the blush staining her cheeks.

He brushed his gloved hands down the pale column of her throat. “Then what do you fear?”

“I fear how you make me feel.” Her brown eyes, the color of a doe’s and just as frightened, glanced away from him.

“You should never be afraid of passion. Sometimes, when all else has been stripped away, it’s the only thing you have left in life,” he murmured, and the truth of the words hit him deep. Passion was all he had left. Love and trust, faith, hope...all of these had perished when William died.

“You have more than that, I’ve seen it in your eyes. Passion is a spark, and a spark dies quickly unless it has fuel to sustain it.” Daphne’s eyes softened and her lips curved in a smile so full of hope that it made his heart bleed for the past.

She reached with her free hand and stroked his cheek, then cupped his face and stood up on tiptoes. She pressed her mouth to his in a way that sent his senses spinning like no chaste kiss should. He took in the fall of her thick dark lashes before he closed his eyes and returned her kiss. He realized with a stunned sense of clarity that this moment was not about passion. It was about them, together, their souls reaching out to one another.

He should’ve stopped it, but he couldn’t. Kissing Daphne was like breathing. He couldn’t do without her.

Lachlan tried not to think about the danger he was putting himself in by caring for the woman he planned to marry out of spite. When she finally broke away from him, she raised a hand to her mouth, touching her slightly swollen lips, which had become a lovely shade of dark pink.

“Lass…” Lachlan choked on the words he didn’t want to say. “We do not have to go through with this.”

She blinked, her gaze still hazy with desire. “What?”

“You don’t have to marry me. I have been thinking about this and it’s not fair for you to marry a stranger. I’ll waive any rights to the money I set up in your trust, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She swallowed and spoke quietly but firmly, “I swear I didn’t agree because of the money.” She blushed and looked at the ground for a second. “I did need security, but after I met you and we arrived here, well, I want this… I want to be a part of your life. Do you wish to cry off? Is it because of something I’ve done?”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “What? No!”

“Then why?”

“I’m not a good man, Daphne. I’m broken.” The honesty shocked him.

“Everyone has something a little broken inside them. Perhaps our pieces fit. Don’t you think we should at least try?” She bit her lip. The hard set of her face told him she wanted to marry him. The poor fool.

I tried to do the right thing. I tried.

“Perhaps we should,” he agreed, fighting the temptation to kiss her again. “Let me escort you back to the house.” He held out his arm and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her arm in his. They walked side by side to the house, her with her rose branch, him leading his horse. He was struck by the strange domestic contentment of her companionship without a word needed between them.

“I met with the vicar today,” he said at last.

“Oh?”

“It seems the church was in need of a bit of repair. I offered to donate timber to the parish, and Mr. McKenzie is overlooking the residency issue since you’re not a resident of the Parish. He shall call out the banns three times today to satisfy the legal requirements, and then we can marry tomorrow.”

“Are you sure that will be legally binding?”

“Yes. Sometimes Scottish law can be looser than English law, but do not worry, you will be the Countess of Huntley.”

“I don’t care about that. Titles never really mattered to me.” She was smiling a little as they walked.

He shot her a sideways glance of disbelief. “Titles don’t matter?”

“Not to me. My mother was the daughter of a duke, but she married down for love. I think I’m more like her than my father, at times. I care little about the ton and it’s love of rank. It always seemed a silly thing to me.”

“Oh?” He stiffened at the mention of the man who had unknowingly brought them together.

“Yes. I love my father, but he was focused on advancing our position in society. I believe he felt he had to earn his place to make up for my mother marrying down, but he became addicted to his social climb. It was very lonely growing up with him after my mother died.”

Her quiet words cut through the anger that usually filled him when that man was mentioned. But to hear about him through her eyes, the rage vanished. She, too, had lost someone she’d loved.

“How old were you when she passed?”

“I was eleven. She was fine one minute and the next, she had a bad headache. She went to sleep after tea and never woke up. It was her heart that failed, according to the doctor.” She looked down at her feet. “I cried for weeks. I still miss her.”

Lachlan pulled her close as he pictured her waiting for her mother to wake up, and how frightened and grief stricken she must have been when she didn’t.

“I...” She hesitated as they reached the steps. She tucked her rose branch under one arm then lifted something from the pocket of her gown and held it out. When she uncurled her fingers, he saw a string of pearls coiled on her palm.

“These were my mother’s. It’s all I could save when the Court took my house to pay the victims of my father’s crimes.” Her voice wavered on the last word, but when she raised her head to look at him, fierce pride gleamed in her eyes.

“You don’t wear them?” he asked, surprised at her humility.

“No. They’re too precious for that. I couldn’t even part with them for food and water when…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

“When you were living on the streets?” There was a time he would have taken a dark pleasure at the idea of her on the streets, cold, hungry, alone and endangered. But now the thought filled him with a hard rage, almost as suffocating as the hatred he bore for her father.

“Wear them tomorrow for the wedding,” he ordered. “I want to see them on you.”

“But—” she started to protest, but he placed a finger to her lips.

“Please. I insist. For your mother’s sake. No doubt she would have wanted you to wear them.”

“They won’t look fetching with my plain white gown.”

Regret prickled his insides, because he’d insisted that he didn’t want her to have a fancy wedding trousseau.

“We could have the modiste return…”

“No,” she replied. “You wanted simple, and simple I shall be.” She tucked the pearls back into her gown pocket. She let go of his arm as he met a groom at the steps of the house. She did not wait for him, nor did she look his way as she entered the house alone, her head held high.

If he ever doubted she was the granddaughter of a Duke, that moment alone would’ve proven him wrong. And damned if the picture didn’t make him smile.