Page 5 of My Scot, My Surrender
“I can explain.”
“I am glad to hear as much,” he replied. Then after a beat, “I’m waiting, my lady.”
But in the moment of truth, words failed her. How could she explain that she had temporarily lost her mind and initiated the scandalous kiss to get out of marriage to another man? She’dusedhim. It had been dishonorable and desperate. Sorcha knew he deserved an honest answer. Haltingly, she explained, and when she was done, silence reigned.
As the next minute ticked by, Sorcha flicked a worried glance down the hallway. Her ten minutes were almost up.
“Are you…angry?” she asked, uncertain as to what the man might do if she unlocked the cell door. She checked the head of the corridor again, impatient to free him already and be gone.
“You are betrothed to the Marquess of Malvern?” he asked, instead of answering her question.
She nodded miserably. “The betrothal was part of a settlement to Lord Malvern from King George. We thought the marquess had forgotten about the betrothal, but he has sent a missive that he will arrive for me in a sennight.” She fisted her hands into her skirt. “Stupidly, I thought he wouldn’t want me…” Sorcha trailed off, embarrassed to call attention to her disfigurement. “Because of my scarring. But I misjudged his greed.”
“How did you come by them?” he asked. “Those markings?”
Sorcha saw no reason to lie. Mr. Pierce would soon be gone, back to England where he belonged, and most everyone had already heard the tale of the Beast of Maclaren. “When I was nine, I found a wolf den in a hillside cave. The cubs were friendly, though their mother did not take kindly to an intruder. I barely escaped.”
His eyes glinted with surprise. “You fought off a wolf and lived? At nine years old?”
“It was foolish, I know, but I often wandered into the glens, looking for mischief. I was a headstrong girl.”
A rumble of impressed laughter filled the space between them that did absurd things to her senses. “No wonder you weren’t afraid of five paltry men.”
“Craig had it coming.” Sorcha inhaled a determined breath and unlocked the metal door. “Let’s get you out of here while we can, Mr. Pierce. You don’t need to be saddled for a lifetime with the likes of me just for falling for some clot-heided scheme.” She blushed at the recollection of her boldness.
He watched her where she stood, neither of them moving for a long moment. He approached her past the cell’s open gate. His hand rose to graze her scarred cheek, and this time she did not shy away. “You have blood just here.”
Sorcha swallowed, flinching at the tenderness of his touch. “Is that all you see?”
“Yes.”
Embarrassingly, she felt the sting of tears. No man had ever touched her scars before. No man had evernotnoticed them. When she’d met the Marquess of Malvern for the first time, she’d overheard the marquess’s men making cruel remarks that her intended would have to put a sack over her head to bed her. Her own betrothed had laughed and said his solution for a satisfactory bedding would be to flip her over and bury her face into the pillows. She’d fled the hall, her face burning with shame.
The memory of Mr. Pierce’s scorching kiss flitted through her mind, heating her blood. He’d seen her as a woman, not as a monster.
“You need to go,” she whispered. “There’s a door at the end of the hallway past the privy.” She turned on her heel and made to stride down the hallway, but a hand on her arm stalled her.
“Lady Sorcha.”
The sound of her name on his lips, not the tether of his fingers, made her feet grind to a painful halt. Did he want to punish her for the way she’d used him after all? Take his pound of flesh for what he’d suffered? Slowly, she turned back to him. He hadn’t moved from where he stood. Once more, she had the impression of ruthlessly guarded control.
The sound of voices echoed toward them, and Sorcha tugged his arm. “Mr. Pierce—”
“I’d say we are well beyond formality at this point,” he murmured. “Brandt will do.”
She didn’t care what his name was, she wanted him to leave. But Brandt’s stare met hers across the narrow space between them and captured it, driving the breath from her lungs. He still hadn’t released her arm, and the heat of his palm sank through the soft wool of her plaid. His eyes were unfathomable as they bore into hers. Sorcha had never felt so vulnerable…so exposed.
“The gray in the auction paddock, Lochland Toss,” he said after a long pause. “He belongs to you?”
She blinked her surprise. “Lockie?”
“How much do you want for him?”
“He’s not for sale.”
His gaze narrowed. “Everything has a price, my lady. Including me. And that horse is my price to free you from the consequences of your unfortunate advances.”
“Myunfortunate advances?” she spluttered in shock. The man was daft. She was giving him a chance to escape unscathed, and he wanted to purchase herhorse? Her eyes snapped to his in sudden understanding. “Are you saying you want the horse or you won’t go?”
