The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(40)

She nodded. Margaret gave her a long, searching look and left.

The shock of his arrival had dissipated, and the brief pause while the others left was long enough to restore her courage. She straightened her back and turned to face him coolly. “What right do you have—”

She stopped, eyes widening when he tossed something on the bed. The dark green billowed in a silken cloud before landing in a pool on the ivory bedsheets, a stark, damning reminder of what she’d done.

“You forgot something before you ran off last night, Lady Mary.” There it was again, that hard emphasis on her name. “Or should I say, Countess.”

Mary cringed inwardly at the confirmation of her suspicions. He’d learned her identity. She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased when he discovered the truth. But she hadn’t expected this kind of extreme reaction to a little tweak of pride.

He closed the distance between them in a few steps, but she stood her ground, refusing to back away even though every instinct in her body urged her to run. Her heart slammed in her chest. Well over six feet of hard, angry warrior looming over her wasn’t exactly unintimidating.

But he wouldn’t hurt her. Somehow she knew that. For all his fire and quickness of temper, she sensed an undercurrent of control.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me and let me believe you were one of Lady Margaret’s attendants?”

She gave a far more careless shrug than she felt. “It was your assumption. I saw no reason to change it.”

His eyes narrowed. She could tell he didn’t like her attitude. What had he expected? That she would get down on her hands and knees and beg his forgiveness? Probably. It was no doubt what most women of his acquaintance would do. Women who were eager to please him. Well, she wasn’t one of those women.

She had nothing to apologize for. It was he who’d started this with his wickedness in the stable, and then by taunting her with the feelings he’d aroused in her. He’d gotten no more than he’d given—and exactly what he’d asked for.

“Not even when you knew what the king intended? That he has proposed a betrothal between us?”

Her back stiffened. She looked down her nose at him. Unfortunately, as she had a rather small nose it lost some of its dismissive effect, although from the way his fists clenched it was enough. “Especially then. I am not in the market for a husband.”

His eyes flashed like a lightning storm. The fury of his temper was truly something to behold, and she wondered if she’d been too quick to assume she was in no danger.

“But you are in the market for something else?”

She executed a perfect Gallic shrug of indifference that made a muscle jump in his jaw. She knew she was pressing against the limits of that control, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Something about this man brought out every instinct in her to fight. “Why are you acting the aggrieved party? You made an offer, I accepted. It’s something I’ve no doubt you have done many times in the past.”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn away, hauling her up against him. The heat of his body engulfed her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She tried to wrench away, but his grip was like a manacle. Did he have to smell so good? It was confusing her. Reminding her of last night. “It means I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve enjoyed a meaningless liaison with a woman whose name you do not know or can’t remember.”

A hard, angry flush had risen to his cheeks. “So you wanted a tumble in the hay, is that it?”

Mary felt her cheeks heat at the crassness of his language, even if it was the truth. “Is that not what you wanted?”

His clenched mouth came closer to hers, and she couldn’t stop the reflexive shudder that ran through her. Her body didn’t seem to care if he was angry; all it recognized was hot, fiercely aggressive masculinity. “What I wanted? I prefer to be made aware that the woman I’m taking to my bed is going to be my wife.”

Mary stiffened. Perhaps if the word had been uttered with any hint of softness it might have been different. But it wasn’t, and she bristled at both his tone and his assumption. She met his glare with one that was every bit as fierce as his own. It seemed she had a temper as well. “You presume much, my lord. I believe it is still the custom to ask for a lady’s hand before assuming a betrothal.”

His eyes flared at the challenge. “And I believe I did all my asking last night.” He pressed his hard body to hers, reminding her of exactly what he meant. She jolted at the intimate contact. “And you answered. A most enthusiastic ‘yes, please yes’ if I recall correctly.”

His voice was low and mesmerizing, sending a blast of melting dampness to the place that remembered him the most. She shuddered, seeing from the wicked smile that curved his mouth that he knew what he was doing to her.

Big and possessive, his hand slid down her back and over her hip to cup her bottom, bringing her more firmly against him. “Should I ask again, Mary?” he whispered, his mouth only a hair’s breadth from hers.

For one treacherous instant she wanted to say yes. She wanted to lift her lips up to his and take the pleasure he offered. Her body vibrated—pulsed—with a restless energy.

But it wasn’t only pleasure. It was far more. Succumbing to him would mean giving up everything she’d achieved the past few years and losing herself all over again.