Page 48 of Rogue with a Brogue
“I mean, even if this did begin because of something absurd, there are actual reasons now for mutual suspicion and anger.”
He shook his head. “Nae between us, lass. Dunnae use that fer an excuse. If ye dunnae want me, just tell me, fer God’s sake. I’ll still see ye safe to the Campbell. I gave ye my word.”
“I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Arran, because I do. I’m merely not certain we—”
“Stop talking,” he ordered, moving them to the edge of the dance floor, firming his grip on her hand, and walking quickly for the nearest door.
“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”
“Ye say ye want to chat with me, so we chat. Ye say ye want to dance with me, and so we dance.” He pulled open the door and led the way into the cool darkness outside. “Ye say ye want me, and so we’re going back to the inn, and ye’ll have me.”
She made a sound that might have been excitement or trepidation. And he was being a damned fool to drag her off like a lunatic when it was his patience that had gotten them this far. Arran stopped at the edge of the cemetery.
“Ye can change yer mind if ye want, my bonny lass,” he made himself say. “If ye mean to turn me away, though, do it now, fer Saint Bridget’s sake. Because once I get ye into that room with me, I’ll nae let ye go.”
Mary kept her grip on his hand. “Let’s go, then. But don’t trample any dead villagers on the way. We don’t need that ill luck.”
No, they didn’t. Detouring around the church yard, they continued up the lane to the Fox and Grapes. If he recollected his classical literature, the tale of the fox and grapes was from Aesop, something about the fox being tantalized and unable to sate his hunger. Well, tonight he wasn’t going to be that particular fox.
They walked in through the side door and slipped as quietly as they could up the stairs. He, at least, had no intention of allowing the maid to come between them, even given the fact that she’d been surprisingly effective at it so far. Best not to awaken the old battle-axe at all.
Silently he pushed open his door, and Mary brushed past him, her silk skirts tangling around his legs as she tiptoed. His cock twitched, but then the single-minded fellow had been on alert all night. The moment he crossed the threshold Arran closed the door, turned the lock, and then shoved a chair beneath the door handle.
“Heavens,” Mary whispered with a chuckle. “She’s not a bear.”
“Nae. She’s worse. Ye can shoot a bear when it charges ye. Her, ye have to give a seat in yer coach.”
“It was important that she come.”
“Only if ye want yer old life back.”
Mary lifted her shoulders. “You’re the one who upended my old life.”
Arran stayed where he was in front of the door. This wasn’t the argument he wanted or the time he would choose to have it, but it needed to be said. “Aye, I am. And ye wanted it upended, or ye never would have danced with me.”
“Stop disagreeing with me,” she demanded.
“Stop trying to hold on to everything and decide what ye want to let go of,” he shot back, sending up a quick prayer that it wouldn’t be him. Had he earned enough of her trust, though? Was he pushing her into a situation she truly did not want? He didn’t think so. “Yer family tried to shackle ye first to a dullard and then to a bloodthirsty lunatic in the space of one day. And mine wanted me to marry a pretty potato because she has family in London. Do we still owe them someaught?”
She eyed him for a long moment. Then she strode up to him. Arran braced himself on the chance she meant to punch him. Instead, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. “You gave me a chance to change my life,” she mumbled against his mouth.
Splaying his hands around her waist, he lifted her so he could meet her mouth more squarely. All he’d done was try to keep her from having to marry a man he knew to be cruel and unpleasant. And at the same time he’d taken her for himself. “And ye’ve changed mine.”
When she pushed at his shoulders, he set her back on the floor and shrugged out of his old, patched coat. Half convinced she would change her mind if he gave her a single second to think, he kept his mouth on hers, teasing at her with tongue and teeth until she groaned. Tangling tongues, hands frantically pulling at clothes, the crack of the sputtering fire in the small, drafty hearth—the sensations planted themselves in his mind so he would never forget.
He swung her up into his arms again, carrying her to the bed and sinking down over her. “Pull off my shirt, ye lovely lass,” he managed, reaching for every ounce of patience and willpower he possessed.
Laughing excitedly against his mouth, she lowered her hands to pull his shirttail free of his trousers. Arran lifted his hands over his head, parting from her until the rough cotton slid over his head and she dropped it off the side of the bed.
“Sit up,” she ordered, shoving both hands against his chest. “I want to see you.”
Narrowing one eye in a half grimace, he complied. She might as well have been a butterfly beating her wings at him, but he’d become helpless to deny anything she requested. Straddling her thighs, he settled upright onto his knees. Mary lay flat on her back beneath him, her autumn-colored hair coming loose from its pins and her face flushed.
“Surely ye’ve seen a man’s bare chest before,” he drawled.
“I haven’t seen yours.” Her hand shaking a little, she ran her fingers from his throat, down his sternum and past his belly to where his trousers cut off the view. “You have scars.”
“I have two brothers. And I spent a time fighting the Frenchies.” He shrugged. “Nae anything to slow me doon. And now it’s my turn to take a look at ye, Mary.”
