Page 34 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Oscar lifted his mouth from Ceana’s, and cooler air kissed her lips. His hand slipped from her hip as he slowly pulled away, taking with him the heat of his chest and the hardness that had poked her belly. When his forearm came down from beside her head, space opened around her before she was ready for it.

He could not retreat far. Her fist still held the front of his shirt.

Ceana looked down and found the fabric crushed between her fingers. She had gripped him hard enough to pull the fastening loose, and the wrinkled fabric offered plain evidence of how eagerly she had drawn him closer. Oscar waited without touching her while she forced her fingers to open one at a time.

Once she released him, he stepped back until the width of the passage separated them. His breathing remained too deep for calm, though he straightened his shirt with slow movements and tucked both hands behind his back. He looked her right in the eyes, avoiding her lips such that she became painfully aware they were swollen.

Her body had yet to understand that the kiss was over. Her pulse beat hard beneath her skin, and her knees shook a little. Oscar had already re-assumed the posture of the laird who had negotiated their marriage as though nothing intimate had passed between them.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice still a little rough. “That shouldnae have happened.”

Ceana stared at him.

Was he sorry that he had kissed her, or did he regret discovering how willingly she had kissed him back? She could ask whether their separate lives were meant to exclude every touch, though the answer might leave her feeling more exposed than she did now. His arousal had been unmistakable against her belly. He could not pretend that desire belonged to her alone.

“I will see ye tomorrow, Lady Ceana.”

Lady.

The title put more distance between them than his retreat had tried to.

Ceana drew a breath to say his name, and one foot shifted before pride stopped her from following. She did not yet know whether she wanted an explanation or another kiss. Calling him back while she remained uncertain would place every vulnerable part of the encounter in his hands.

Oscar lowered his head and turned away. His pace remained even as he retreated down the passage, yet his right hand closed tightly at his side before he reached the corner. He released it only when he thought himself out of sight.

He never looked back.

Ceana stepped into her chamber before a servant could pass and find her standing there with loosened hair and swollen lips. After closing the door, she kept her hand on the handle. The metal became warm beneath her hand, and she withdrew from it with immense irritation that she could do nothing about.

Near the fireplace, the mirror showed a woman whose carefully composed appearance had been thoroughly disrupted. She had reddened lips and bright eyes, while the color across her cheeks had yet to fade.

Ceana smoothed down parts of the gown that Oscar had gripped, then removed the pins that were already slipping from her hair.

The ordinary movements should have distracted her thoughts. However, they only reminded her that his fingers had held her with far less care. And she couldn’t tell if she wanted more… and what it would mean for them both.

She poured water into the basin and pressed a damp cloth to her mouth. The coolness soothed the tenderness for a moment, though each pass over her lower lip made her remember when Oscar had caught it between his.

She set the cloth down.

She had wanted him. No part of the kiss could be dismissed as something he had imposed upon her. She had released the handle when she could have entered her chamber, and she had lifted her face after gripping his shirt. When his mouth opened over hers, she had pulled him closer and let him press against her.

He had known exactly what she wanted before he walked away.

She turned away from the mirror and took the book left beside her bed. She sat with it open across her lap, determined to occupy herself until her heartbeat settled. Once she reached the bottom of the first page, she realized that she could not name a single event described there. She began again, only to reach the same line without understanding it.

Closing the book gave her hands little relief, so she picked up the shawl folded at the foot of the bed. She refolded it along the same crease and placed it back where she had found it.

The bargain had seemed easy for some reason when Oscar offered it. Tommy and Paisley needed someone who would value them, while his power would shelter Daphne from any man who meant to force her home.

As Lady MacKane, Ceana would hold a respected place in a household where the children had already begun to seek her company. She could be useful here in ways she had never been useful at home.

That promise had concealed a danger she understood only now. Oscar might entrust his children to her and allow her to govern his household, yet he would still bar her from every part of himself that required trust. Their marriage would leave her surrounded by people who needed her each day, only for night to bring her back to her chamber alone.

Knowing that he wanted her would make that solitude worse. His body had answered hers with a passion that no apology could disguise, and he still had chosen retreat over remaining with her.

Ceana set the shawl down with greater care than it required. She would not abandon the marriage before asking him what his retreat meant, and she would not permit his brief apology to decide the meaning of the kiss for them both. He had participated fully before control reclaimed him.

She prepared for bed while straining her ears. Every faint sound beyond the door drew her attention from the task at hand, and more than once she paused with her fingers on a ribbon. However, no footsteps returned to the corridor. Not then, not later in the night, and definitely not when she fell asleep.