Page 40 of Rogue with a Brogue
Crawford’s face turned scarlet. “I will not be manhan—”
Arran pulled the door closed on her comment. “That female is trying my damned patience,” he said darkly.
The idea of being with him was just another fairy tale, Mary told herself. Nothing good could come of her being ruined, and certainly not by a MacLawry. Not even this one. “It’s for the best, Arran,” she returned. “We—you—if we share a bed, then our choices become much more limited.”
Light blue eyes studied hers. “I’ll nae touch ye unless ye wish it,” he finally murmured, lifting his hand to run a finger along her cheek. “Unlessyewish it. I dunnae give a damn what Crawford wishes. This is between ye and me, my bonny lass. So open whichever door pleases ye tonight. If the maid tries to interfere like that again, I’ll tie her to the roof of the bloody coach.”
Serious as his tone was, the image of Crawford squawking on the roof of the shabby old coach made her snort. “She would die of mortification.”
Arran narrowed his eyes. “I’m trying to get ye in my bed, Mary, my lass.”
Oh, my.“Crawford makes a very good point, you know,” she muttered, plucking at his sleeve, “regardless of whether she’s overstepping or n—”
He backed her against the wall and tilted her face up with a hard, hot kiss. Good heavens—though heaven had nothing to do with the way he kissed. That mouth of his was made for sin, and she wanted to be a sinner.
A serving woman topped the stairs. Mary would have shoved Arran away, but he kept her pinned between his hard body and the wall. The woman chuckled and squeezed by them. As she went through a door farther down the hallway, Arran shifted to nibble at Mary’s ear. “We’re married, lass. I’ll kiss ye when I choose.” His mouth drifted to her jawline. “And I choose to kiss ye now.”
Her knees began to feel wobbly. To keep from falling to the floor, she slid her arms around his shoulders.Mm. Every part of her felt… breathless. Tangling her fingers into his thick, black hair, she drew herself closer against him.
The door at her shoulder squeaked open. “This will not do!” Crawford gasped.
Arran freed one hand and pulled the door closed again. “Come to my room with me, Mary,” he murmured.
Oh, this was not the way to make a logical, informed decision about her future. Lust for him had already caused her to do things she would never have imagined previously. And it couldn’t possibly solve any of her troubles now. “I should go in there with Crawford,” she whispered, hearing the reluctance in her own voice.
He tugged down the high neck of her gown to press his lips against the base of her throat. “Ye shouldnae.”
Uttering a half-hysterical giggle she ducked out of his grip, fumbled behind her back for the door handle, and pushed it down. “Good night, Mr. Fox,” she managed, and closed herself in the room before she could change her mind.
Chapter Ten
For a long moment Arran leaned his forehead against the cool stone that lined the hallway. He was a damned Highlander, for God’s sake. A MacLawry. The day a petite lass and a maid could defeat him would be his last.
And yet Mary was there behind her door, and he was still in the hallway. Tonight those circumstances clearly would not change. Even though he’d chosen to risk his own future—and his life—for her. Even though in the space of ten days she’d turned his entire existence on its head. However much he wanted her splayed beneath him, however much he wanted to claim her for his own, tonight he would simply have to be patient.
He glanced down. “Next time,caraid,” he told his cock.
Neither of them seemed to be convinced, but he refused to stand in the hallway with a tent at his crotch. Uttering a last curse and trying to shake himself out of his lust, he took a half-dozen steps and opened the neighboring door. He wasn’t a damned Sasannach, but he could be a gentleman. Whatever else happened, she’d needed assistance. And he would not ask a price for aiding her, whatever the final cost to himself.
“There ye are, m’laird,” Peter said, rising from the chair beneath the window. “I made doon the bed and found ye some clothes fer tomorrow. I’m beginning to think I’d make a fair valet.”
“Thank ye, Peter.” The last two sleepless nights beginning to press down on his shoulders, Arran sank onto the edge of the bed. “I know ye dunnae like any of this. I cannae even explain it to myself. But I willnae see her handed to Charles Calder.”
Peter plunked himself into the chair again. “I’m all fer saving a lass from a dastardly villain,” he said. “But ye said ye mean to marry her, yerself. Yer ownbràthairis likely to murder ye fer that. He says ye’re to wed Lady Deirdre.”
Arran could try to explain his own frustrations with Ranulf, but as of the moment Mary had trusted him enough to step into that coach, this had stopped being about anything but her. “He can marry Deirdre, then.”
“He’ll nae give up Lady Charlotte.”
“And I’ll nae give up Mary. Nae withoot a bloody fight. And he can give murdering me a go if he chooses to do so. But tell me someaught, Peter: have ye ever known me to do a thing withoot first thinking it through?”
The footman shook his head. “Nae. I havenae. And I expect that now ye’ll tell me to trust ye. To which I say, I think ye’ve lost yer bloody mind, and if ye dunnae expect me to tell ye how much trouble ye’re stirring up, ye’ve lost it twice.”
While it would have been nice to have someone agree with him, Arran hadn’t actually expected it. Not from another Highlander who’d spent his entire life hating Campbells. “I cannae argue with that. Just swear to me ye’ll help me keep her safe.” He paused. “Even from me, I suppose. I’ll nae see any harm come to her.”
“That, I can promise ye. As long as ye dunnae expect me to turn my back on ye to do it.”
Arran doubted Ranulf would be as reasonable. “Agreed.”
