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

"You could never look like a fright to me." His eyes roved her ashen face. Her lovely hair fell in a knotted tangle. Her eyes were swollen after her tears, and her bruises made him wish he had killed Cecil after all. He emptied the brandy glass – his nerves weren’t entirely calm either – and set it on the floor beside him. "Although right now, you do look like you’ve had a few adventures."

"The world will view me as an adventuress, once word gets out about my affair with the wicked Lord Bruard." The brandy went some way toward restoring her spirits, he was relieved to see. "Adventuresses have adventures."

"Will you mind so much?"

"I don’t mind losing Cecil. I mind how all this will affect Gerald."

There was a soft knock on the door. Brock crossed to find Kitty outside, holding a linen bag full of ice. "Thank you, Kitty. Can you please go downstairs and help with my injured coachman, and also talk to the landlord about rooms for you and Mrs. Martin’s driver? Use my name."

"Yes, my lord."

He shut the door and carried the ice across to Selina. "Put this on your face. It will help with the bruising."

With unsteady hands, she accepted the bag and pressed it against her jaw. "Thank you."

"Do you feel dizzy? Do you want to lie down?"

Her free hand dismissed his concern. "No. To both questions."

"Do you want more brandy?" He loathed feeling so helpless.

"Stop fussing, Brock. I’m not at death’s door." The wry fondness in her tone eased the roiling turmoil in his gut. "Come and sit beside me."

As he had so often at the house in the marshes, he folded himself on the rug at her feet. He caught her hand and brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

Quiet reigned long enough to allow the churning rage in his gut to ebb. As so often before, Selina’s presence gave him peace. Now word was out about their affair, they faced a hell of a dilemma, but at least they remained together. After a day when he thought he was sure to lose her forever, having her beside him gave him cause for hope.

After a long while, he rose and leaned over her. "How are you feeling?"

Her lips turned down in a smile that looked more convincing. "Like I ran into Cecil’s fist."

He didn’t smile back. "Do you want more ice?"

She shook her head and passed the dripping bag to him. "No."

The bruise darkened already. Brock stifled a renewed surge of hatred for Cecil, as he crossed to the washstand and dropped the bag in the bowl. Selina’s former suitor was lucky he’d made it out of that room alive.

Brock turned to face her. "Shall I ring for dinner? You must be hungry."

She shook her head. "Perhaps later." She paused, and her expression intensified. "Brock, we need to talk."

"No, we don’t. We can talk tomorrow, when you’re feeling better."

Selina linked her hands in her lap with a nervous gesture he’d first noticed at Derwent Hall. "I…I’d like to talk now. Please."

He would have argued further, if not for that final fervent "please." Hunkering down in front of her, he took her hands. He noticed they were shaking. Delayed reaction to Cecil’s attack, or fear about what she meant to say to him?

"What is it, my love?"

Searching brown eyes settled on him. "What happened today has changed everything."

"Aye," he said with a hint of wariness, not sure where she went with this.

A tremulous smile curved her lips, and her next words emerged in a rush. "Now I’m no longer the respectable Widow Martin, I’m free to become a rake’s mistress. That is if the rake will have me."

Shock shuddered through him, and he sat back on his heels. "Selina…"

She frowned and spoke even faster, as if afraid he mightn’t hang about long enough to hear her out. "You said…you said in the carriage that you want me to stay with you."