Page 15 of The Wrong Bride
He turned her about like she was a child’s doll and started unlacing. It seemed to take too long, and soon he began to grumble.
“Damned wet laces.”
She bit her lip, saying nothing, feeling every tug as if he stroked her skin. She’d never felt like this before, so aware of someone so close to her. No man ever had been. She knew she was not ugly, but Cat was vivacious and cast a long shadow that hid other women when she was about. And then there was Riona’s constant care of Bronwyn, nights when her cousin attended a soiree alone since Riona had to attend her sister.
But now . . . thisHighlanderthought he would marry her. He thought he had the right to put his hands on her, to undress her. Everything inside her wanted to rebel, but it was useless, and tears burnedher eyes. The moment her laces loosened, she fled across the room, holding the bodice in place.
He watched her, hair loose about his shoulders, eyes as smoldering as the peat fire. Bare legs, big strong feet, and callused hands meant for war. He could do anything he wanted to do to her—would she really make things easy by disrobing in front of him?
For a long moment their gazes held, and something hot seemed to uncurl down in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t breathe deeply, couldn’t blink, and only when he turned away did she take a deep breath.
He went to the hearth and sank down in a chair, and without turning his head, said, “Aye, we’ll have a good marriage, my lady. I can already feel what’s between us.”
“Between us,” she echoed with disdain. “You are mistaken. There is hatred and anger inside me, nothing else.”
His head turned now, and she caught his profile, the heavy brows, the strong nose, the firm mouth.
“Your anger lights your eyes with a green fire that I find enthralling. I can mold that fire, my lady, see if I don’t.”
And he turned away again.
She wanted to scream at him, to deny everything he said, but hewantedthat kind of emotion from her, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.Keeping her gaze on his every move, she pulled off her gown and left it in a heap, followed by her petticoats and then her chemise. By now she was trembling, although the room was warm enough. Practically tripping in her haste, she stepped over the edge and sat in the tub, cursing that the water barely covered her breasts, no matter how deeply she sank.
She was naked in the same room with a man who was nearly so, a man who intended to force her into marriage. She grabbed a facecloth, lathered a poor amount of strange-smelling soap, and began to rub her skin. The feel of being warm and clean was glorious—if only she could revel in it. But she felt like a rabbit tiptoeing past a wolf, desperate to finish before she was noticed.
Not caring that she’d already made the water foul with just her skin, she dipped her head back to wet her hair, then began to soap it as well. If given a choice, she’d wash it over and over, but she had no time. Luckily, the maidservants had left one pail of clean water, and she used that to sluice through her hair. When water splashed on the floor, McCallum turned his head, not quite looking her way.
“Waste not the water, lass,” he ordered. “I do plan to use it.”
She winced and could only be grateful he’d allowed her to go first.
At last she felt as clean as possible. At home, herlady’s maid would be standing there with warm, thick towels to wrap her in. It never occurred to her that she’d have to fetch them herself. The towels were on the table, and she’d have to cross the floor, dripping water, to reach them. She huddled in the tub, feeling like the worst kind of fool, frozen with indecision.
His head turned again when she made no more sloshing sounds, and she saw when he focused on the table—and the towels.
“Why didn’t ye say ye needed help,” he grumbled, rising to his feet.
The soap left some bubbles floating on the surface, but not enough to hide her. She drew her knees to her chest, a meager protection, hoping he’d bring her the towels with his eyes averted, like a gentleman.
But he wasn’t a gentleman. He stood above her, towels in hand, and stared down at her. His gray eyes, normally so cold and impassive, seemed to glitter by candlelight.
“I’ve known about ye for a long time, lass,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I did some foolish things in rebellion against our shared fate. There were times I railed against my father for fixing my future without my consent. I was never free to give more of myself to a woman. But now that I’ve met ye . . . I am satisfied with the bargain between our families. More than satisfied. Ye havespirit and intelligence, Lady Riona, things I value highly in a bride. I look forward to our wedding and our future, but right now”—his voice became even deeper, rough—“I most look forward to our wedding night.”
Riona hugged her knees even tighter, feeling a strange mixture of emotion churning inside her, frustration, worry, and a new one, flattery. That last one—how could she feel flattered by the praise and attentions of the man who’d kidnapped her and dragged her north against her will?
But he thought she was his bride, and he was pleased by that. She felt foolish, knowing her confusion was because she’d been allowed so little experience with men. A little flattery, and her insides softened.
“I will not marry you, McCallum,” she insisted, trying to forget she was naked. “I keep telling you, you’ve got the wrong bride, and at some point, you’ll accept the truth.”
For a long moment, he continued staring at her, his expression unreadable, until at last one side of his mouth tilted up. “I should have said ye’re stubborn, too.”
He put the towels on a stool beside her and turned away. Shivering, she wrapped one around her hair, then stood up. She dried her upper body in haste, hopped out, and finished, sliding on the nightshift so quickly it clung to the damp spots she’d missed.But at least she had something to cover her nakedness. If only she had a dressing gown, too.
“I’m finished,” she said, approaching the fire.
He rose up, and she was reminded once again how small and defenseless she was next to him. She wanted to scurry away like a frightened mouse, but didn’t. He’d promised not to force himself upon her until marriage—and she was going to try her best to make sure that never happened. He brushed past her, and she took his place at the fire, taking down her wet hair and beginning to comb it out with her fingers. She didn’t look behind her as she heard the splash of water, and then his groan of satisfaction. That sound made her shiver, but it wasn’t from fear. It was as if her body reacted to him in ways she had no control over, and no understanding either.
He said nothing for a long time, and she found herself almost dozing as the warmth and fresh clothing worked their magic. And then her stomach growled loudly, making her wince.
