Then she saw Angela and Guy strolling in the shadows, dark-blond heads leaned together. Angela’s hand was wrapped around Guy’s forearm. Knowing the spellbinding effect of roses and darkness, not wanting to spoil their chance to be alone, Meg stepped back.
“My lady.”
She whirled. Roderick stood behind her, blocking her return to the house.
She had managed to avoid him all evening, just a word or two and turning away on the excuse of another guest to greet, another detail needing her attention as hostess. Throughout the chatting, dancing, music, and buffet supper shared with many, Matheson had been a dark and lurking presence. She had not forgotten that he expected her answer that evening, which was in part why she had evaded him.
Now his dark eyes seemed hungry and eager. And she had no escape.
“A word in private, madam?” He came toward her, slipping a hand under her elbow. “We’ve had no chance to talk all evening. I wanted to tell you how ravishing you look tonight.”
“Thank you,” she said, noticing then that Guy and Angela had vanished in the garden shadows. Glancing into the house, she saw Dougal chatting with two elderly men; in that moment, he sent a sharp glance toward the conservatory doors, as if he saw her outside with Roderick. But he turned his attention back to his companions.
“A walk in the moonlight,” Roderick said, “is the perfect ending to a pleasant evening.”
“I must return to the house, as my guests are departing.”
“Madam, they are all gone but for a few who cannot seem to stop talking business,” he said. “No one will notice where you are. Indulge me for a few minutes, I beg you, my dear.” As he leaned toward her, the smell of wine on his breath was strong.
“Perhaps we could talk tomorrow,” she said, edging toward the doors.
“Margaret, just a minute of your time. You have ignored me all evening.” He took her hand and folded it over his arm.
She sighed. “Very well. A minute or two.” Turning, she lifted her skirt and moved forward. The garden was dark and fragrant, the breeze soft as she walked with Roderick, his hand over hers. She felt trapped as they walked down an aisle formed by shrubs and tall ferns in pots. From the back of the garden, Angela and Guy were heading back to the house. They murmured polite greetings as Meg and Roderick walked past.
She tried to catch Angela’s eye, wanting to convey her discomfort. But they were gone.
*
The garden wasa quiet moonlit world hemmed in by tall, close houses, though a high fence and a screen of slender trees lent privacy. Distantly, Meg heard the rattle of wheels as vehicles carried guests over cobbled streets.
She turned. “Roderick, I must go inside to say more farewells. I know you wish to speak to me, but let it wait.”
“Grant me a few moments, please, for this wee question of the heart.”
“Heart! Hardly that, and you know it.”
He set a hand to his chest. “Lady, you wound me! I ask again. Please do me the honor of marrying me.” He captured her gloved hands, his fingers strong and overly warm on hers.
Glancing past the back wall, with its tiered flower beds and small espaliered fruit trees, toward the house, she did not answer. She loved this Edinburgh house, and could not imagine Roderick living here, could not imagine marrying him and pretending to care as his wife. And the thought of sharing a bed with him—
“No.” She tried to tug her hands away, but his fingers were hot as iron on her gloves.
“Is that your answer? Consider it carefully.” He drew her closer until the flexible cage of her wide skirt flattened against his legs. “You will,” he muttered, bending toward her. “You have no choice, and you know it. I will tell the world. You will beruined.”
“Stop!” She twisted against his grip.
“I just wish I had been the one to ruin you first,” he growled, and yanked her toward him so fast that her back ached with the hard tug. Planting his mouth on hers in a wet and eager kiss, he ground his lips and teeth against hers. “But I will ruin you last, if that is what you like.”
Repulsed, furious, she shoved hard against his chest, then again. He flew backward, stumbling to the ground with an outraged cry.
Surely she was not that strong! Dazed, she saw Dougal standing in the shadows over Roderick. He came from nowhere—he must have seen them through the glass doors—to fling the man off and away from her.
Hauling Matheson up by the lapels of his coat, he shoved him against the nearby fence, crushing a shrubbery, pinning him there, though Matheson was easily the heavier one.
“You intend to ruin the lady?” Dougal demanded. “Is that what you said?”
“No—that’s not what I meant,” he protested, clawing at Dougal’s wrists.
