The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

"Yes. Although it’s going to be a busy week."

Brock looked discontented and folded his arms over his chest as he kicked the base of his seat. "Because of the wedding."

"Yes."

The atmosphere between them turned thorny, although what else could she say? They both knew that in a few days, duty necessitated that she became Mrs. Cecil Canley-Smythe. As she drew on her gloves, her hands shook. In her private dictionary, duty had become a synonym for desolation.

Brock went back to staring moodily out the window. After a while, he released a deep sigh and directed his attention to her. "Don’t go back to him, Selina."

Shock struck her motionless. A silence crashed down between them, filled only with the creak of the carriage and the thud of the horses’ hooves.

She struggled to summon a response. "But you know that I…"

One elegant hand sliced the air. Brock was pale, and his jaw was set like iron. The green eyes glittered with furious determination. "Stay with me."

Brock, why are you torturing us both like this? It was difficult enough sticking to her purpose, without having cruel temptation thrown before her.

Her hands clenched in her olive green skirts. "You know that’s impossible."

"Why?"

What was his game? It seemed almost spiteful that he brought this up now. Because he must guess how it tore her apart to leave him. He knew all about women, and she’d done very little to hide her feelings.

So anger edged her tone when she replied. "I have Gerald to consider. I can’t become your mistress. I can’t tar his future with scandal." Her voice softened. "It would be different if I just had myself to consider. I’d stay with you and dare the world to despise me. Any price I paid would be worthwhile."

"Is that true?" He looked startled. "You’d give up everything in return for no guarantees?"

Her lips turned down. "I’d gain more than I ever lost. My good reputation has been a cold companion. You, on the other hand, make me feel as if I live every minute to the fullest."

He leaned forward to seize her hands with an eager desperation that threatened to break her heart. Who knew that a heart could break over and over? Each time the wound cut deeper. How in heaven’s name was she going to survive the years ahead? The thought of Gerald had kept her strong for so long, but even her stalwart love for her son quailed at the barren existence stretching before her.

"You would give me that?"

"Gladly." She gripped his hands hard. "But there’s Gerald. You can’t ask me to put what we have above what I owe my son."

"I don’t." He paused. "But hearing those words is something I’ll always treasure."

She blinked back idiotic, useless tears. "So you must see why I can’t stay with you."

His expression remained intent. Over the creak of the carriage, she heard distant shouting, but it couldn’t penetrate the fraught atmosphere inside the vehicle.

"I honor your devotion to your son." She knew he must think back to his own mother. The shouts outside grew louder. "But you’re a woman as well as a mother. What about you and what you need?"

Feeling stupid, she stared at

Brock. "I…"

The sentence ended in a sharp cry, as the carriage slewed to the left. Battling to keep her place on the seat, she heard confused yelling, the screams of frightened horses, and the crack of the whip.

"What the devil!" Brock surged forward to wrap her in his arms so when the coach swerved again and tilted onto its side, she smashed against him and not unforgiving wood.

"Brock?" she screamed, as the world turned topsy-turvy. Her ears rang with the crack of shattering wood.

His body was the one solid thing remaining. She clutched at him, as the carriage tipped even further and came to rest at a drunken angle.

When she caught her breath enough to open her eyes, she and Brock were huddled against the door. Broken glass showered them. Outside, it sounded like utter chaos reigned. Angry voices and neighing horses.

Brock’s embrace tightened. "For God’s sake, Selina, are you all right?"