Page 74 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Chapter 20

Shock rippled through Amalie. Her husband had deliberately set her blood on fire, teased and caressed her until she was willing to be his slave. Then he’d dropped her like a sack of flour on her bed and simply walked away.

This was his punishment for the offal she’d served to him? He’d given her a tiny glimpse of heaven, then left her unfulfilled and needy as if he had more important things to do. Scrambling out of bed, Amalie headed for the corridor between their rooms. Valeran had ignited a stark hunger in her that continued to grow with each passing second. She was powerless to ignore it. The base rhythm of it heated her blood with a fire only his touch could extinguish.

The man had deliberately seduced her, then walked away. Well, she wasn’t about to let him get away with it. Not once had Valeran hidden his desire for her. That much was in her favor, and she was a Rockwood. A Rockwood never surrendered until all hope of winning was lost. She would apologize for her misdeed, but she’d be damned if she’d let the man show her a glimpse of heavenly bliss, then walk away from her. If he wanted her to come crawling to him, then she would. She’d crawl to him, begging for forgiveness. She’d do whatever it took to ease this insatiable need for him. She’d do it simply because she loved him.

Stunned, Amalie struggled to breathe as the air was sucked out of her lungs. Dear God, she was in love with her husband. Still fighting for air, her heart clutched tightly in her breast at the revelation. Why hadn’t she realized the truth until now? What a fool she was. Her heart had recognized the truth in a single flash of awareness when her hand had touched his more than two years ago. Unwilling to accept the veracity in that one heartbeat, Amalie had used the an dara sealladh to refute all of it.

Shock collided with the truth, leaving Amalie’s heart battered and bruised. Dizzy, she staggered forward to lean against the doorframe of the corridor between their rooms. All this time, she’d been running from the truth, hiding in the shadows from herself, not Valeran. Forehead pressed into the door frame, Amalie dragged in one ragged breath after another.

Fear. She’d allowed fear to control her. She was a coward. Unwilling to risk her heart, she’d not even tried to win his. Instead, Amalie had denied what her heart had known from that first touch. It had been far too easy to let the an dara sealladh convince her Valeran would break her heart.

Another shudder slammed into her. Tears welled in her eyes. Passion had thrown them into a marriage neither of them had wanted. What chance did she have of winning his heart now? He desired her, but passion was fleeting, especially when what she ached for was his love. Somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, she heard Angus Stewart mocking her.

Then what do ye intend tae do aboot it, lass? Are ye nae a Rockwood? I dinnae countenance cowards, gel. Are ye an eejit of a mouse afraid of her own shadow or are ye so afraid of the cat ye cannae stand up for yourself? Are ye so much a coward ye cannae fight for the lad. Dinnae disappoint me faith in ye, lassie. I dinnae fight at Culloden to have a wee lass bring shame tae me family.

The harsh words were so loud in her head, she could have sworn her ancestor was standing right next to her, scoffing at her cowardly behavior. One hand roughly wiping the tears from her cheeks, she squared her shoulders. Chin tilted upward at a stubborn angle, Amalie accepted Angus’s challenge.

She would fight for Valeran. She would do everything she could to make her husband love her. And even if she failed, she would savor every kiss, touch, and stroke of Valeran’s body against hers. She wouldn’t sob herself to sleep every night with Valeran’s name on her lips. Amalie was going to do whatever it took to make the Earl of Sommerville fall in love with her.

And while she knew Valeran might never care for her as deeply as she loved him, she’d make damn sure it wouldn’t be because she’d not tried to capture her heart. With a low, guttural sound, she stalked down the corridor, then flung Valeran’s door open.

The loud crack it made when it hit the wall filled her with grim satisfaction. He appeared to have been pacing the floor, as he abruptly turned to face her the instant she stormed into the room. Her heart stopped beating for several seconds at the sight of his magnificent body. All she could do was stare at him.

That night at Callendar Abbey, when the moonlight had caressed him, she’d thought him beautiful. But now, the soft glow from the gas light wall sconces exposed every sinewy, beautiful steel cord of his body. He left her breathless, and for a moment, she hesitated.

Was one plump mouse capable of tempting such a glorious cat? Amalie gritted her teeth. That kind of thinking would ensure she met with failure, and she didn’t plan on losing. She wanted his heart, and by the sword and blood of Angus Stewart, she’d have it.

“Is there something you want, Lady Sommerville?”

The icy question made her flinch before she crossed the floor to stand in front of him. Dear God, he wasn’t just seething with fury, he was livid. Rage radiated off of him. She knew he wouldn’t touch her in anger, but if she’d been a man, she’d be on the floor, unconscious from a single punch. Allowing herself to feed off his anger, she glared at him with her hands on her hips. Although he couldn’t see her expression, the man was certain not to miss her defiant posture.

“Aye. I expect ye to finish what ye started, my lord.”

“I don’t recall starting anything.” His harsh words bounced off the wall with the strength of a bull whip cracking the air. “What I recall is my spitfire of a Scottish wife unsheathing her claws and serving me the balls of a bull, making it clear I possessed none.”

“Spitfire?” She sputtered angrily, her mind trying to comprehend how the word hadn’t sounded like an insult. Ignoring the thought, she countered his accusation with one of her own. “Dinnae ye mean your plump country mouse of a wife?”

“No.” Valeran refuted her accusation in a voice dark with rage. “My spitfire of a wife has the most beautiful, lush, deliciously plump curves in all of Great Britain.”

Flabbergasted, Amalie stared at his chiseled expression, noting his skin pulled taut over his cheeks. He thought her…had he just said he thought her deliciously plump? Was that what he’d said? Studying him in dazed bewilderment, Amalie’s hand rose to press her fingertips into her temple.

Why in God’s name would he say that? Especially when he was so furious. No, he was more than furious. The wrath hardening his features made her heart skip a beat with trepidation. Raw and sharply edged, his fury was an almost tangible vibration against her body. Dangerous and barely restrained, his rage flowed off of him like an out-of-control fire that would incinerate her if he unleashed it on her, and the knowledge sent a shiver skimming down her back.

Still reeling from his declaration, she simply stared at him. When she didn’t say anything, her husband drew in an angry hiss of air between clenched teeth. Leaning forward, he hovered over her until she arched backward to try and lessen the impact of his volatile anger on her senses.

“And I’d stake my entire fortune if someone ever asked me to make a wager on two things,” he snarled. “The Countess of Sommerville’s claws are as sharp as her tongue. And at no time has my wife ever acted like a timid country mouse, except when she hid in the shadows better than any mouse could hide from a cat.”

Amalie didn’t know how to react. Nothing about this evening was going the way she’d imagined. First the disastrous meal, Valeran’s anger, kisses, his intimate caresses, and finally dropping her onto the mattress of her bed and walking out of her room. Bewildered and incapable of processing the meaning behind his fiery words, she simply stared at him, speechless. A growl of fury rumbled out of him.

“If you’ve nothing else to add to this conversation, then leave, my lady. I wish to retire.”

Ice crashed off his every word, pounding the space between them as if stalagmites were falling from the sky, barely missing her with each earth-shattering strike. Amalie trembled as uncertainty swept through her. Shuddering, she studied his harsh expression trying to determine what he was thinking. Arrogant and disdainful, a dark eyebrow shot up in a contemptuous look that said he was done arguing with her and was simply waiting for her to leave.

The bastard looked as if he was simply bidding her goodnight before he retired to bed—alone. All while acting as if it were perfectly normal to be standing naked in front of her as he demanded she leave. The image of him dropping her onto her bed and his dismissive demeanor reignited her own anger.

Infuriated, she stalked forward and drove her forefinger so hard into his chest that he grunted with discomfort.