“We have to have a story,” he said quietly.
She tried not to appear restless under his intense stare. “A story?” she echoed.
“Aye. How we met. I meant to discuss this with you in private before we arrived, but I’ve been distracted these last two days. My mother will not approve if she thinks we met at an auction.”
“Oh…yes. I understand.” Daphne relaxed a little. “Perhaps we ought to stick to the truth as close as we can? You met me through Stirling, a mutual friend. You heard I fell on troubled times, you thought marriage might be beneficial to us both.”
Lachlan placed his hands on his hips as his gaze roamed the lovely room, looking anywhere but at her.
“Aye, that might work, but my mother will be surprised I did not marry for love.”
At this Daphne had nothing to say. She too had wanted to marry for love, yet here they were, no love between them.
“Then tell her the truth, that you rescued me from the streets. I can bear the shame of my situation, if it eases your mind.”
He spun to face her. “Why must you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Accept the shame of your condition? You never fight, lass, you simply…” He made a frustrated noise and raked a hand through his hair.
“Never fight?” she whispered. Her body vibrated with anger. “I have fought, Lord Huntley. I fought every day to keep myself clothed and to find a dry place to sleep. I begged every friend for work, I tried to find any employment I could, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“But what?”
“But my father committed a terrible crime, and was punished for it. The reach of his ruination went deep. Not even the street sweepers would take me on.”
A pause filled the air between them, and when Daphne spoke next, it was with a heavy air that almost dragged her to the floor. “I amtired,Lord Huntley. I am tired of fighting. When you rescued me, I thought…I thought perhaps I might have a moment of happiness, that I might have a home. And if not that, then perhaps a little peace. If I have caused you trouble, if I am not the woman you imagined I would be, then why not send me away?”
Daphne began to tug at the gown she wore, desperate to be free of it and everything else that did not belong to her. She’d made a grave mistake in agreeing to marry a stranger. She wasn’t going to stand here and take any more of his judgment when he didn’t know what it was like to starve and beg.
Just then, his hands clasped her face and tilted her head back. She had only a glimpse of the emotions that warred upon his face before he lowered his head and kissed her.
Lachlan’s mouth moved over hers, bruising her with his intensity, yet she welcomed the passion. The blaze of heat that flowed between them left her dizzy and she curled her arms around his neck. She’d never been kissed before, but it felt wonderful, terrifying in a way, but absolutelywonderful. One of his hands fisted in her hair at the nape of her neck and the other gripped her hip possessively as he pulled her closer.
“God, you taste sweet,” he murmured between kisses. Daphne threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands as her body pulsed with a sudden awareness of Lachlan’s strength. He was so much taller. His strong arms could so easily harm her, but they held her gently, firmly, and he kissed her until she felt faint. It made her think of the first time she drank a glass of sherry—the delightful buzz, the warm tingling that flowed through her body, but there was something else, a sharp pain deep in her womb.
She rocked her hips, needing to be closer. “Lachlan, I feel…”
“I know, lass.” He lowered his lips to her neck and nipped her shoulder, which sent fiery tingles down her spine. His fingers played with the buttons of her gown and she couldn’t help but giggle. It was the first time in so long that she’d laughed.
The sound broke through whatever wildness seemed to hold him and his hands dropped from her body. He stepped back and the distance between them became a chasm.
“Apologies. That was presumptuous of me. Dinner is in one hour.” His tone was polite but distant.
She nodded, her heart now aching from his sudden coldness.
“Very good. I’ll fetch you then. I’ll have a maid find you something to wear this evening. The modiste will come tomorrow to fit you for some proper clothes.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke, and his hands were curled into fists at his sides.
Was he angry? Why? What could she have done to upset him? Daphne bit her lip as she watched him leave. She’d never met a man so determined to walk away from her.
She collapsed onto the bed and stroked the blue satin coverlet as she tried not to cry.
He isn’t worth your tears,the voice inside her insisted, but it didn’t prevent the prick of those treacherous tears. She reached into the pocket of her gown and felt for the pearls, relieved as the silken beads slid between her fingers.
For a long moment, she didn’t move as she studied the beautiful blue room and the single tapestry hanging behind the headboard of the bed. A unicorn was encased in a circular fence with maidens dancing around it. The scene of the ladies in the forest with the unicorn teased her imagination and her longing. Her mother had loved to tell her stories about maidens fair and unicorns as pure white as snow. The ache in her heart grew deeper, pulsing like an old wound struck anew.
I don’t deserve to be here, not after what father did.
