Mostly though, his blood rampaged through his body, heating it, feeding the primal hunger he felt for her. To take her from here and take her. Take her, make her his and mark his claim in some fierce, animalistic way. So that everyone looking at her, every man gazing at her, knew she was his.
Mine.
Iain shook himself free of the hold of such emotions and regained his control. The beast within him pushed for freedom from time to time and the only thing Iain could do was recognize the strong passions that existed deep inside him and move on with his well-thought-out plans.
He sat down as soon as it was polite to do so, planning to remain there and not do anything as rash or impulsive as following her outside.
Until he did just that.
Chapter Five
Excusing himself withsome vague reason, he followed her out across the exquisite, marbled foyer and onto the landing outside the door. Her carriage, brought by the efficient servants of the marquess’s household, already approached. He moved quickly down and around her, arriving on the sidewalk before she did and blocking her last step.
“Sir Iain?” The lady tugged on the fingers of her glove, adjusting its fit over her fingers when she stopped. “Do you need something?”
The coachman said... something, but Iain waved him back. The footman ready to assist the lady into the carriage took his meaning and shifted his position to give them a moment of privacy. Lady Clare stood two steps above him and it brought her face level with his. Iain stared at her mouth and his watered in anticipation of discovering the taste and heat of hers.
As quickly as he’d moved to intercept her, he stepped away, feeling his control slip and the need to taste her grow. He could not endanger the longer plan with this short-term attraction. Too much was at stake. But the lady had reached out for him and grabbed at the empty air where he had been, losing her balance and missing the step beneath where she stood. Stumbling, she landed with a cry as soon as her foot landed hard on the sidewalk.
Iain scooped her up into his arms, holding her too close. He knew it. He knew the danger of feeling her body against his, but it did not stop him.
“My ankle!” she moaned out as he gained his balance. “I twisted it.”
He could place her in her carriage. That was what he should have done. Send her home and allow her people to see to her injury. When the footmen opened the front door and the butler stepped out, Iain called out instructions.
“Lady Clare is injured,” he said as he carried her up the stone steps. “Summon Lady Nairn and show me where I can make her comfortable.” The footman and butler went off and soon the dinner’s company appeared in the foyer.
“Here now,” Lady Clare whispered to him. “I am perfectly well and can return to my home.” When their hostess arrived, Iain observed some silent and secret dialogue between the two sisters.
“What happened, Clare?” Lady Nairn asked, breaking their wordless exchange and eschewing the formalities in the emergency. “Did you fall?” Nairn, Heath and the Marlowes stood behind her, watching the scene without comment.
“I stumbled on the steps and Sir Iain kindly caught me. Please put me down now, Sir Iain. Truly, Sister, ’twas more of a startle than an injury.”
The lady still clutched his shoulders, but as he lowered her to her feet, she allowed her hands to slide down his arms. As her feet touched and settled on the floor, she hissed and grabbed hold more firmly.
“Apparently not,” he muttered under his breath as he lifted her once more. “Where can I take Lady Clare so she might be comfortable?”
The quickness in which Lady Nairn’s servants answered the call for action made him envious. Moments later, he was climbing the stairs to the second floor and a well-appointed guest room. The resistance in her body—she held herself stiff and separate—softened only for a moment just before he placed her on the bed there. The soft curves he’d only witnessed through the layers of clothing ladies wore pressed against him and made him want to glide his hands over them. To see if her breasts would be a handful or a mouthful. To taste...
Lady Nairn’s clearing of her throat reminded him that others were present. And, from her knowing expression, he’d allowed his lust to show in his expression. A foolish mistake on his part. He stepped away from Lady Clare who settled herself there on the edge of the bed. The sensation of having her in his arms dissipated with every pace back and his hands itched to have her back once more.
“Thank you, Sir Iain. Quite gallant of you to see to my sister’s safety.”
“If you wrap it tightly and use cold compresses, the swelling should not be too bad, my lady,” he said to Lady Clare. With pain evident in the tightness of her mouth, she nodded at him.
Iain left. He did not miss the brief and quizzical expressions of the other two men in the chamber. Both Nairn and Heath gazed at him in a different way now than before. He recognized it, for he’d studied people and situations with the same intensity, the same intention, himself. He could even name it—avarice. Not for wealth but for what he could do for them.
His rash reaction to the lady’s distress had now placed him in a dangerous situation—that of being a target. The exact elements of his life that he’d worked and given up everything to accomplish his aims—wealth, property, honored by the king—now made others covetous of those things. Bloody hell!
At a pace nearing haste, Iain walked down the stairs and out the door, leaving word to send his carriage after him with the footman.
The always cool Edinburgh night air did not soothe his concerns as it usually did. Walking around the small park in the center of the exclusive square, Iain could not believe his slip. He wanted and needed to do business with the marquess and his extended family but did not wish to get personally involved. Business needed to be handled with a cool, distanced approach and not be bogged down by a pretty woman with a title and wealth.
Not even one who, he would only admit under duress, felt so right in his arms that it terrified him.
So, he walked and walked and walked more, almost until dawn, to escape that realization. He was aware enough of himself to understand that walking, without a destination, alone, usually in the middle of the night, was the other way he dealt with questions or challenges he faced. He fought or fucked or walked. Now, with his new position and success, he tried to avoid the outcomes of those fights in his previous life.
Instead, many of his battles were done with money and power rather than fists but somehow physical blows rained down on an opponent were extremely more satisfying. Which served only to confirm his belief that the brutal, ruthless person he was deep inside would never actually change. It would just find other ways to continue his path to getting whatever he wanted and especially whatever he needed.
