Page 66 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“Ye might like it,” he said, smiling. But she didn’t return the smile.
“It matters not whether I do,” she said. “But I’ve weathered worse—far worse—in my life. I’d as sooner do it than not.”
Not the most alluring of requests from a bride.
“Are ye sure?” he asked.
She nodded, her expression showing nothing but raw honesty.
“Then, lass,” he said, tempering the urge to fling her to the ground and rut her into oblivion, “take off yer dress.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alittle pulseof pleasure throbbed in Clara’s center as her husband ordered her to remove her gown.
The laird—her new father-in-law—had called her afilthy whore.
Perhaps she was. No respectable debutante would shiver with a secret thrill as her husband tossed her over his shoulder like a savage, subdued her with his hand, then carried her to his lair.
Maybe she deserved the laird’s insults.
Trembling, she unlaced her gown, then glanced up to see her husband looking directly at her.
The raw lust she’d expected—but not the compassion that shimmered in his eyes.
He approached, hand outstretched.
“There’s no need for ye to do anything ye don’t want, lass,” he said. “I can’t deny that I want yer body—but I want yer consent also.”
Clara fought the urge to bury herself in his arms. Did he think to fool her with fine words and pretty speeches?
She grasped her gown and pulled it over her head. Then she tore off her undergarments, her body tightening at the cold air on her bare skin.
“Lass, I—”
“You’ve nothing to concern yourself with, husband,” she said. “I know exactly what to do.”
After all, she’d seen the dogs on the streets of London, and the pigs on the farms near her home in Pittchester.
Herformerhome.
Gritting her teeth, Clara climbed onto the bed on all fours.
“Lass, I—”
“Just get on with it!” she said.
She heard a deep sigh, followed by the rustling of clothes as he dropped his garments, then silence.
Her breath hitched at the sound of bare feet against stone.
Then a hand touched her thigh, and she flinched.
“H-husband, please…”
“Won’t ye say my name, lass?”
“Murdo.”
