Page 97 of What a Scot Wants
She knew why he hadn’t let himself release inside of her, and while rationally it made sense…it also filled her with sadness. It was just as he’d said minutes before: there was no future for them. And Imogen knew only too well what kind of complications a baby out of wedlock created. Unlike some of the girls at Haven and Belinda or Lady Beatrice, she’d been lucky, if indeed Silas had been telling the truth. Once more, a dark cloud spread over her, but she refused to let that man color what had just happened…a memory she wanted to treasure.
“Imogen?” he said. She realized she’d been silent too long.
“I… That was…” Her confused mind couldn’t settle on anything. Because it had already kicked back into motion. No future, he’d said. And there wouldn’t be for him, not if Silas came out the victor in tomorrow’s duel. It was why she’d come here tonight. She had to get back to her plan before she lost her nerve. Or her window of opportunity.
She disentangled herself from his arms.
“Where are ye going?” he asked.
“I’m a little thirsty,” she replied, leaving the bed. His robe hung on the back of a chair across the room. Imogen knew she’d been abrupt, and so she took her time walking toward the chair, hoping Ronan would be distracted by the bold display of her naked body.
By the time she wrapped herself in the robe and looked back, she knew it had worked. He stared at her with raw longing.
“Drink?” she proposed.
Hilda’s sleeping draught was waiting in the bottom of his whisky glass. All she had to do was pour in a finger and hand it over.
“Are ye all right, then?” he asked, standing up without a stitch. The attraction went both ways, it seemed. Bolts of desire streaked straight through to her toes. Good God, he was a beautiful man.
“I’m…surprised,” she answered, pouring his whisky. She took another clean glass and poured a finger for herself.
“By what?” He took the proffered whisky but didn’t sip as he waited for her answer.
“How much I already want you again,” she answered honestly. She was about to betray and sedate him, so it was the least she could do. Imogen sipped her whisky and felt sick with guilt as Ronan downed his in one gulp.
He smiled as he set the glass down and reached for her. His arms were heavy with muscle, and they held her firmly, tenderly. “We have all night, love.”
Imogen nodded, even though she knew better. Given his size, she’d doubled the dose Hilda usually administered. When Ronan’s leg gave out, sending him stumbling to the side, Imogen held her breath. He released her, putting a hand to his temple.
“Christ,” he murmured, blinking as he looked around the room and then at her.
“Ronan?”
He squinted, his face screwed up in a confused grimace. “What’s happening?” The words were slurred.
Imogen guided him to the bed, where he all but collapsed onto the satin covering. She peeled back the blankets and sheets and threw them over him, sharp guilt slicing through her. God, she was as awful as Silas, taking Ronan’s free will away. What she was doing was unconscionable.Terrible. She breathed out a ragged breath, doubt filling her. No, it had to be done. Ronan would only get himself killed otherwise, and she had to protect him. And it wasn’t laudanum, only Hilda’s sleeping tincture, which she took herself from time to time.
“You are not Silas,” she whispered to herself.
But a part of her wept that she was.
“I’m sorry, Ronan. I wish there was another way,” she said as his pupils dilated and his eyes drooped closed.
“Imo…what…stop.”
“It’s too late. It has to be done. I have to do this, Ronan.Me.”
She kissed him on his damp brow and turned to put out the light, freezing as a hand closed around her wrist like a manacle. But before too long, it loosened and fell away. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“It will be over before you know it,” she told him as she threw off the robe and slipped back into her clothing, tamping down the panic rising up in waves. In a moment of indecision, she forced herself to climb on the bed and tie his heavy hands to the bed posts with her stockings.Ifby some miracle he awoke, she didn’t want him rushing off to find her. And given her command to Vickers, they would not be disturbed for some time.
Ronan was blissfully asleep as she went for the door, taking one last look back. For all the world, he appeared asleep. When he roused, he would be beyond furious. He’d never forgive her. But she would accept the penance.
At least he would live.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Mother of fu—” Ronan groaned, words failing him.
