Scandals Bride c-3 Page 7

  Stunned, Catriona looked up; politely, he raised his brows, his eyes like blue flame. "Don't you think?"

  She snapped her mouth shut. "I do not!" Her cheeks burned, she dragged in a breath and looked away, adding through clenched teeth: "I most certainly do not wish you to bed me."

  He studied her profile, even without looking, she knew his brows rose higher "Now who's lying?"

  She straightened, but couldn't meet his eyes. "You're only teasing me."

  "Am I?"

  The soft words set her nerves skittering. And his fingers settled on the sensitive skin of her nape. She lost her wits, lost her breath. His fingers shifted, in the lightest caress-

  She hauled in a breath and whirled to face him. "Stop that!"

  "Why?" His expression unreadable, he studied her frown. "You like it."

  Biting her tongue against another lie, she forced herself to meet his gaze-to ignore the wild sensations crashing through her. "Given that you will not be bedding me, there will be no reason for us to wed, and you will go back to London, and Seamus's fortune will go to the Church. Why won't you admit it?"

  He raised his brows. "I will admit that if I'm involved at all, a wedding will certainly necessitate a bedding. In your case, to my mind, the two are inseparable-the one will beget the other."

  "Very likely." Catriona spoke through gritted teeth. "However, as there will be no wedding-"

  "What's this?"

  Before she could focus, let alone gather her wits, he reached for the fine chain that hung about her throat, visible above the neckline of her gown. Before she could catch his hand, he drew the chain tree, lifting the pendant from its sanctuary in the valley between her breasts.

  And clasped it in his hand, turned it between his long fingers. Catriona froze.

  Squinting at the long crystal, he frowned. "It's carved, like the one on my mother's necklace, only of the other stone."

  Drawing a shaky breath, Catriona lifted the pendant from his grasp. "Rose quartz." She wondered whether her voice sounded as strained as it felt. She dropped the pendant back into its haven-and nearly gasped in shock at its heat. It had been warm from her flesh, but the heat of his hand had raised its temperature much higher. With a herculean effort, she reassembled her scattered defenses, and retreated behind a haughty wall. "And now, if you've quite finished teasing me-"

  The chuckle he gave was the definition of devilish. "Sweet witch, I haven't even started."

  His blue eyes held hers; trapped for one instant too long, Catriona felt the hot flames sear her. And felt…

  "You re a devil." She picked up her skirts. "And very definitely no gentleman!"

  His lips twitched, just a little at the ends. "Naturally not. I'm a bastard."

  He was that-and much more.

  And he will father your children.

  Catriona awoke with a start, with a gasp that hung quivering, in the empty dark. About her, the room lay still and silent the bedcovers lay over her, in tangled disarray. She lay on her back her heart racing to a beat she did not know, but recognized too well. Her arms lay tensed at her sides, her fingers gripping the sheets.

  It took effort to straighten her fingers, to ease her locked muscles. Gradually, the tension holding her decreased, her breathing slowed.

  Leaving behind confusion, consternation-and a compulsion that grew stronger by the day, by the hour. And even more by the night.

  Night-when she need not-could not-hide from herself, when, in her dreams, her deepest yearnings and unvoiced needs held sway. Overridden, as always, by The Lady's will.

  But that was not happening now. Instead, The Lady's will and her own deep yearnings were acting in concert, pushing her forward, into the arms of-

  "A man I can't marry."

  Rolling onto her elbow, Catriona reached for the glass of water on the table by the bed. She sipped, the cool water doused the lingering heat-heat that had flared at the dream of his lips on hers, of the touch of cool marble that incited flame Heat that had spread through her like forest fire in response to the hot hunger in his eyes, in his soul.

  In response to his desire.

  Alone in the night, there was no point in denying that, from the first, she had wanted him. Wanted him with a finality, a certainty, an absolute conviction that stunned her. She wanted him in her bed, wanted him to be the one to fill the empty space beside her, to dispel the private loneliness that was a part of her public persona. But from childhood she'd been taught to put her wants below the needs of her people in this instance, the choice had been clear.

  Or so she had thought.

  She was no longer so sure. Of anything.

  Slumping back in the bed, she focused on the canopy. She had occasionally in the past, in her wild and willful youth, fought The Lady's will; she knew what it felt like. This was what it felt like. A draining combination of uncertainty, dissatisfaction, and an overwhelming confusion, from which, no matter how hard she tried, she could not break tree.

  She was at odds with herself, because she was at odds with fate, with The Lady's will.

  Muting a scream of keen frustration, she thumped her pillow, then turned on her side and snuggled down.

  It had to be impossible. Had the Lady seen him? Did she know what-in this case-she was suggesting? Ordering?

  Did she know what she was getting her senior disciple into?

  Marriage to a masterful bastard.

  The thought froze her mind, she stared, unseeing, into the dark, then shook herself, closed her eyes, and willed herself to sleep-without any more dreams.

  She woke late the next morning-too late for breakfast. After taking tea and toast on a tray, she dressed warmly, dragged on her pelisse, and, avoiding Algaria's watchful eye, set out for a long walk. She needed to clear her head.

  The day was brighter than the one before; only a sprinkling of snow remained on the paths. Pausing on the side steps, Catriona looked around, seeing no one, she walked briskly to the opening of one of the three paths leading downward, and slipped into the shadows beneath the trees.

  Under the spreading branches, cool peace held sway. She swung along, the scrunch of her boots on the crisp, dead leaves the only sound she could hear. The air was fresh and clean; she drew it deep into her lungs. And felt better.

  The path swung sharply, descending into a hollow, she rounded the bend-and saw him waiting, leaning negligently against the bole of a tall tree, his greatcoat protecting him against the light breeze that ruffled his black hair.

  His eyes were on her, his attitude that of a man waiting for his lover at an assignation previously planned.

  As she drew level with him, Catriona was tempted to reach out and lay her hand over his heart, to see if it was beating too quickly. He must have left the house behind her, he must have run down the other path to get here-be here-now. But touching him was out of the question. She raised her brows instead. "Lost again?"

  His eyes held hers steadily. "No." He paused, then added. "I was waiting for you."

  She returned his gaze consideringly, then humphed, and waved an acceptance of his escort. He fell in beside her as she strolled on, his stride a long prowl. He was so much larger, stronger, than she, his presence weighed heavily on her senses. Catriona drew a tight breath; she looked up at the patches of sky framed by the bare branches. "Do the Cynsters live in London?"

  "Yes. Some all of the time, others some of the time."

  "And you?"

  "All of the time, these days " He scanned their surroundings. "But I grew up in Cambridgeshire, at Somersham Place, the ducal seat."

  She threw him a quick glance. "Jamie said your father was a duke."

  "Sebastian Sylvester Cynster, 5th Duke of St. Ives."

  The affection in his tone was easily heard; she glanced at him again "You were brought up within the family?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "And you have an older brother?"

  "Devil." When she raised her brows, he grinned and added: "Sylvester Sebastian to Maman-De
vil to all others."

  "I see."

  "Devil has the title now. He lives at Somersham with his duchess, Honoria, and his heir."

  "Is it a big family?"

  "No, if you mean do I have other brothers and sisters, but yes, if you mean is the clan, as you might call it, large."

  "There are lots of Cynsters?"

  "More than enough, as any fond mama in the ton will tell you."

  "I see." She was too interested to sound suitably reproving. "So you have-what? Lots of cousins?"

  With an ease she hadn't expected, he described them-his uncles and aunts, and their children, led by his four male cousins. After a quick listing of the family's major connections, he enumerated his younger cousins. "Of course," he concluded, "about town, I tend to meet only Amanda and Amelia."

  Catriona located them on the mental tree she'd been constructing. "The twins?"

  "Hmm."

  He frowned and looked down. When he said nothing more, she prompted: "Why are they a worry?"

  He glanced at her. "I was just thinking… both Devil and Vane, who are recently married gentlemen, are unlikely to spend much time in town. And with me up here…" His frown deepened. "There's Demon, of course, but he might have to visit his stud farm, which leaves it all up to Gabriel and Lucifer." He grimaced "I just hope Demon remembers to jog their elbows before he leaves town."

  "But why do they need to be 'jogged?' Surely, with all your relatives and connections, the twins will be closely watched over"

  His expression hardened; he threw her another glance. "There are some dangers extant within the ton which are best dealt with by experts."

  She opened her eyes wide. "I would have thought you rated more as one of the dangers."

  His mask slipped; the warrior showed through. "That's precisely why I-and the others-are the sort of watchers the twins most need."

  She could tell-from his eyes, his expression-that he was deadly serious. Nevertheless… looking ahead, she fought to keep her lips straight-and failed. A gurgle of laughter escaped her.

  He shot her a narrow-eyed glance.

  She waved placatingly. "It's just the thought of it-the vision of you and your cousins creeping around ballrooms keeping surreptitious watch over two young ladies."

  "Cynster young ladies."

  "Indeed." Tilting her head, she met his gaze. "But what if the twins don't want to be watched-what if, indeed, they possess the same inclinations as you? You come from the same stock-such inclinations aren't restricted to males."

  He stopped stock-still and stared at her, then humphed, shook his shoulders, and started to pace once more. Frowning again. "They're too young," he finally stated.

  Lips still not straight, Catriona looked away, across the snowy tops of the foothills. After a moment, she mused: "So the family's large, and you were brought up within it-and that's why you see family as important."

  She did not look at him, but felt the swift touch of his gaze on her face. Although delivered as a statement, that was, in fact, her principal question why did a man like him have such strong feelings about family?

  They strolled on for a full minute before he replied. "Actually, I think it's the other way around."

  Puzzled, she looked up; he trapped her gaze. "The Cynsters are as they are because family is important to us." He looked down and they walked on. She didn't try to disguise her interest; she kept her gaze on his face, her mind on his words.

  He grimaced lightly. "Cynsters are acquisitive by nature-we need possessions-the family motto, after all, is 'To Have and To Hold'. But even long ago, the motto was not-or not only-a material one." He paused; when he spoke again, he spoke slowly, clearly, his frowning gaze fixed on the snow. "We were always a warrior breed, but we don't fight solely for lands and material wealth. There's an understanding, drummed into us all from our earliest years, that success-true success-means capturing and holding something more. That something more is the future-to excel is very well, but one needs to excel and survive. To seize lands is well and good, but we want to hold them for all time. Which means creating and building a family-defending the family that is, and creating the next generation. Because it's the next generation that's our future. Without securing that future, material success is no real success at all."

  It seemed as if he'd forgotten her; Catriona walked silently, careful not to disturb his mood. Then he looked up, squinting a little in the glare, his face exactly as she had seen it in her dreams-the far-sighted warrior.

  "You could say," he murmured, "that a Cynster without a family is a Cynster who's failed."

  They'd reached the end of the ridge, the path turned at the rocky point, which formed a small lookout, then wound back up the slope through the trees. They halted on the point, the wind blew fresh and chill from the white mountaintops before them.

  As one, they viewed the majestic sight; unprompted, Catriona pointed out various peaks and landmarks, naming them, citing their significance. Richard listened attentively, blue eyes narrowed against the wind and glare. As he studied the landscape, Catriona surreptitiously studied him.

  His expression, she had realized, was very rarely spontaneous, even though he sometimes appeared open and easy. He was, in reality, reserved, his feelings kept close behind his mask-that facade he showed to the world. Whatever reactions he displayed were those he wanted to show; even his glib and ready charm was a carefully cultivated skill.

  But when he'd spoken of his family-and of family-his mask had slipped, and she'd seen the man behind, and a little of his vulnerability. The insight had touched her, stirred her-and made her clamp a firm hold over her own reactions before they could carry her away. Richard Cynster, she'd already realized, was temptation incarnate-this morning had added another dimension to his attractiveness.

  Quite the last thing she needed.

  With a half-suppressed sigh, she turned. "We'd better get back."

  Richard turned, and, scanning the path upward, suppressed a sigh of his own. Tightening his grip on his rakish impulses, he gave Catriona his arm up the first section of path, made hazardous by melting snow. Pacing slowly beside her, aware through every pore of her soft warmth, gliding along beside him, and not making any advance whatsoever, had taken considerable effort; speaking of his family, explaining why he felt as he did, while maintaining the distance between them, had required superhuman resolution. But he wasn't yet sure how far he could push her-and he wasn't yet sure if he should.

  As he'd foreseen, she slipped on the path; resigned, he caught her against him, unable to deaden the impact of her soft curves against him, let alone his instant reaction. Luckily, she was engrossed in regaining her footing, but when she tumbled against him again, one ripe breast pressing hard against his chest, one hip and sleek thigh riding against his hip, he had to bite his lip against a groan.

  When they finally reached the place where the path leveled out, he'd given up hiding his scowl. She stopped to catch her breath, he stopped to let his body ease. Innocently, she regarded the scenery; annoyed, irritated, and mightily frustrated, he regarded her. And resumed his impassive mask. "You do understand why Seamus did as he did, don't you?"

  She turned to face him. "Because he was mad?"

  Richard let his lips thin. "No." He hesitated, studying her clear eyes. "You're an attractive proposition, both personally and for your lands. You can't be unaware of it. The offers for your hand have apparently been legion, most from men who would sell your vale from under you and treat you with far less respect than is your due. Seamus, more than anyone, was aware of that, so he tried a last throw, a last attempt to see you safe."

  She half smiled, her expression, her eyes, full of a feminine superiority expressly designed to goad him-or any male. "Seamus was a tyrant in his own family-it would never have occurred to him that I'm well able to take care of myself."

  If she had patted him on the hand and told him not to worry, it would have had the same effect; he didn't bother to suppress his aggravated sigh.
"Catriona, you are incapable of defending yourself against one determined callow youth, let alone a determined man."

  Up went her pert nose. "Rubbish." Green eyes clashed with his. "Besides, The Lady protects me."

  "Oh?"

  "Indeed-men always think they have the winning hand, simply because they're bigger and stronger."

  "And they're wrong?"

  "Completely. The Lady has ways of dealing with importunate suitors-and so do I."

  Richard sighed and looked away-then abruptly swung back and stepped toward her. She half-shrieked and jumped back-plastering herself helpfully against the bole of a tall tree. He splayed one hand on the bole by her side; with his other hand, he trapped and framed her face. The base of the tree was higher than the path, making her relatively taller. Richard tilted her face to his; with her skirts brushing his boots, and a mere inch between them, he looked down into her wide eyes. "Show me."

  Her eyes grew wider as they searched his. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, straining the fabric of her coat-and still she was breathless. "Show you… what?"

  "These ways you and Your Lady have of dealing with importunate suitors." His gaze dropped to her lips; with his thumb, he brushed the lower.

  And felt her quiver. Her heart was racing, and he hadn't even kissed her.

  The thought prompted the deed; bending his head, he brushed his lips tantalizingly over hers, not sure who he was teasing the most.

  "How had you planned to protect yourself against a man who accosts you and kisses you?" He whispered the taunt against her lips, then raised his head-her lips parted fractionally. He sucked in a breath, and went back for more-for a slow, leisurely exploration of her luscious lips, of the soft, warm cavern of her mouth.

  And she melted for him-with no hint of a struggle, she welcomed him in, her tongue tangling tentatively with his.

  He drew back only to drag in a breath, and, his voice deep and grating, ask: "Just how had you planned to stop a man ravishing you?"

  He didn't wait for an answer, but ravished her mouth, taking all she offered, and demanding more. Commanding more. Which she gave.

  Unstintingly.