Chapter Eighteen
Connall slipped throughthe quiet hallway. It had been excruciating to wait until the house settled. He ought to wait even longer. He could still hear whispers from Iseabail and Sadie’s room, but the lure of finally touching Mairi had him rushing his fences. Again. He risked losing her forever if he didn’t control himself.
But the drive to have her was too strong. So he slipped through her cracked door and silently shut it behind him. He saw her then, standing by her window and outlined by moonlight. Her white nightrail was ghostly in the darkness, cut by the dark slash of her arms where she wrapped them around herself. When he shut her door behind him, she tilted her head to the side as if she listened or looked for something. But she didn’t speak.
“Are you afraid, Mairi?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
She didn’t answer. He knew that she did not like declaring one thing or another if she was not sure of herself. But in this, even a fool could see she had doubts. He crossed to stand behind her, then waited a moment. She needed time to accustom herself to his presence and his heat. Then he gently set his hands upon her shoulders.
He felt tension there, a tight stillness to her body. But she did not flinch away.
“This is pleasure, Mairi. Nothing more. I can give you a quickening. Happiness like you have never experienced before, and yet you will ride it. You will see that there is nothing frightening in one’s body.”
He kneaded her shoulders, willing them to soften.
“I know what a quickening is, Connall. I have experienced many.”
He jolted, surprised enough that his hands stilled. “Who did such a thing with you?”
She twisted until she faced him. “I did, you idiot. Do you think a woman cannot know these things by herself? How old were you when you first stroked yourself for pleasure?”
He frowned. “Boys discover it young.”
She shrugged. “Girls may learn of it later, but we do learn.”
She was facing him now and he could see the defiance in her face. So fierce, even when so unsure. “Then you have never had a man…?”
“No.”
He would be her first. That made his cock surge with pride. She noticed. Hard to miss given that he was wearing his kilt and naught else.
“Why are you in your tartan?” she asked.
“Because I should be when I claim my woman.”
Her eyes widened and she shied backwards. “So this is it now? We couple tonight and are wed?”
“That is the Scottish way.”
“Maybe. If we were in Scotland.”
“You and I need no more than that. An agreement between us tonight. We can say our vows back home, and we can be done with all this prancing about London.”
“What if I like prancing about London?”
“Do you? Because you have not so far. Have you met any man worthy of you? I don’t believe so. And I have not seen any woman that can match you.” He cupped her face. “Why do you fight what has always been between us?”
She closed her eyes, nuzzling into his hand. Her body swayed toward him, and he nearly caught her. But she pulled herself back before he could. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And yet, she straightened away from him.
“I will not marry you this night.”
“Mairi,” he said, frustration making his voice gravelly. “Have I not been patient enough with you? Have I not given you time to see what is here in London? Have I not watched in fury while every soul in London picked you apart until you were a shadow of yourself?”
“And who are you to decide when time is enough? It’s been three weeks and much of that was spent in preparation.”
