My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(57)



“That’s kind of ye, lass.” He lifts the drink to his lips without breaking eye contact.

You gulp. You have so much to ask. About the parchment. About Constantina. About Scotland. About why those moss-and-wood-colored eyes of his always look so lost when he thinks no one is looking.

And you probably would have asked, had you not been so distracted by the glorious muscles currently within licking distance. Mac drains the last of the cocoa, wipes his mouth with an easy, manly gesture, and hands the mug back to you. You open and close your mouth helplessly, like an extremely aroused fish.

Yet try as you might, you cannot bring yourself to mention Constantina…nor contain your animal desire. You toss the mug aside and grab Mac. He grabs you back, stoking a desire that burns down inhibitions as wholly as the fire consumed the orphanage.

“Och, lass.” Mac’s mouth closes over yours in an exhilarating, punishing kiss. You kiss back with equal fervor, your hands digging into messy ginger hair and not, alas, the truth. Mac throws you both down in the hay and trails a series of blazing hot kisses down your throat and onto your still very exposed bosom. You wail and thrash in ecstasy, arching your back to meet his wicked mouth. “Oh, Mac!” you cry.

“MAC!!”

At the sound of a loud whinny, you look up, horrified to see that you have quite literally scared the horses. What are you doing here with this man you barely know, with his rough, massive hands? A man who by all odds you shouldn’t trust? Too many questions remain unanswered, and you will not get them answered rolling in the hay with the man that is provoking most of them.

“Are ye all right, lass?” Mac asks, his eyes filled with concern. How could you distrust this man? At the same time, how can you trust him?

“I—I have to go!” you gasp finally. “This—this is wrong. This is all wrong!”

And with that you scamper through the pouring rain back to your room, unfulfilled desire throbbing uncomfortably within you. You toss and turn for the rest of the night, your fevered dreams filled with rippling muscles, neighing horses, and bagpipes.





Think about what you’ve done. Turn to this page.





You follow the low keening sound to the orangery. There, whimpering like a much-abused kitten, you find Henrietta.

“Miss Caddington?” you say, but then quickly correct yourself. “I mean Granville! Forgive me.”

The sound of her new name throws Henrietta into a flood of fresh sobs.

Sitting down beside her, you place a sisterly arm around her shoulders. If what Cad says is true, she is a lady now and occupies a station above your own. Still, you cannot help but feel a sense of responsibility toward her. Be it her youth, her general air of bruised innocence, or the fact that she is in danger of flooding the orangery with her tears, you can’t help considering her a delicate and neglected flower. Such a creature needs gentle and skilled encouragement and care, but in this moment there is only you.

“Henrietta,” you say calmly, “your fate has just taken a wild turn for the better, yet you weep as one does for the dead. Forgive me my impudence, but these tears do not look to be shed in joy.”

“Nargh.” Henrietta shakes her head, gurgling most unbecomingly. “I’m so very happy, miss. Honestly, truly. I’m so very glad.” Her voice breaks, and her shoulders wilt even further.

“Tell me what is wrong, child. I matter not a whit to your family and you may consider me an ally as a woman; I am no stranger to sadness myself.” Your voice positively sparkles with authority, and sweet innocent that she is, Henrietta cannot resist you.

“It’s just that I don’t want to be a lady.” She is again wracked with sobs. “Ladies can’t marry farmers, and all I want is my farmer. My sweet, kind, gentle love from Kent. My lovely, true Farmer Sam.”

You suppress a sigh and search the recesses of your memory for some trace of connection between Henrietta and Kent. Evangeline said the girl was sent away for a time to be fostered, and it was perhaps in Kent that Henrietta learned of love as a pure and true thing, unfettered by society gatherings and the lashing tongue of the ton. An illegitimate daughter may well find happiness with a farmer, but a lady? An heir to Manberley? Out of the question.

Still, this whole business makes you highly suspect. Especially because it is not just the fate of the man you detest that hinges on the most recent revelations.

“Tell me, Henrietta,” you say brightly, your voice shining like sunlight on the poor girl’s soul. “Are you quite sure that your brother Cad’s claims are true? He presses his evidence with more flash than forethought. I just wonder if perhaps this proof is a…mistake…on Cad’s part, made in haste? Earnest? Or—”

Henrietta looks up, her reddened eyes now wide with fear.

“Oh, you must not go looking into this, please! I beg of you! Should my brother ask, please say I—I told you nothing!”

“Why, dear child?” you say, your already heightened suspicions climbing further. Henrietta’s voice drops to a whisper.

“He—he said he would hurt me. And he said he would do worse to my darling Sam.” She grabs both of your hands so tightly it causes pain. “And he would as well! You don’t know what he is capable of!”

Before you can tell the poor girl that you already have a hint of the depths to which Cad can sink, she rises to her trembling feet.

Kitty Curran & Laris's Books