To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

"I don't want—"

"And your brother will marry one day, have a wife and a family. Will she be happy to have you hanging about, running her estate, crowding her responsibilities?"

Alex sneered at him, outraged that he would try to take apart her life. "My brother would never marry a woman who did not welcome me."

"I'm glad you don't mind so limiting his choice of mate."

When she raised a hand to push a stray curl off her fore­head, she was frightened to see how badly it shook. Collin didn't notice. He was staring at the floor now, hard, as if it had gotten him into this mess. His breath jumped out in a great huff and he glanced at her, then away as he moved to grab his boots.

"I need to think."

Staring at him, afraid to speak, she wondered if he was leaving, if he would just resaddle his horse and ride away. As she watched, he tucked in his shirt, fastened his buttons, pulled on his boots and coat. He did not once look at her, did not say a word before he turned and walked out the door, shutting it with a quiet thump.

Alex let her weak knees give and sat down hard on the floor, on the exact spot where she'd just been deflowered. He was so angry. She hadn't thought he'd be so angry.

Weren't men supposed to be honored by being the first? Surely he was just the tiniest bit thrilled.

"Blast!" She fell back onto the rug with a moan. "Stupid, stupid!" This was not going as planned. She'd finally man­aged to get rid of this damned burden of a maidenhead and now she sat alone on the floor, bleeding and sore and teary-eyed. Worst of all, she felt guilty. He hated her now. She had led him astray, tempted him into ignoring his morals. She should have known better. Anyone who'd ever heard the story of Adam and Eve should have known better. The woman is always to blame for sin.

Still, she couldn't pout herself into believing him unrea­sonable. She had misled him, knowing exactly how he'd feel if he knew the truth, knowing he'd be shamed. And it hadn't even been worth it. After that first experience with him months ago, she'd been so impatient to complete the act, had been so sure after that prelude that the finale would be so much more.

She'd even been hopeful he wouldn't notice, had begun to wonder if she was still a virgin after all the fumbling with Damien. And Danielle had assured her that virginity could be faked, so she'd thought it must be a subtle thing, like the difference between one vintage wine and the next.

It had not been subtle at all. She'd felt like a fish squirm­ing on a spear and was surprised there wasn't a pool of blood widening beneath her.

Curious, she eased the wet cloth under her skirt and pressed it between her legs. The cold was shocking and heavenly. When she drew it away, only a few spots of blood stained the white. Utterly undramatic.

Well, she knew now. And all those whispers of a woman's burden and wifely duties were apparently true. The act itself must be strictly for the man's satisfaction. But the before. That was something. Perhaps even worth the after. Certainly no woman would do it otherwise.

Sighing, Alex pushed herself up to her knees and stood with slow care. She'd assumed he would offer marriage if he discovered the truth, but she had planned to explain rea­sonably, gently, that she had no wish to marry. She hadn't expected that he would be so opposed to marrying her. Selfish English bitch, indeed. She was no more selfish than he. He had not saved himself for marriage, had he?

Wondering if he'd abandoned her, she tiptoed to the front door and opened it a crack. Nothing. She stuck her head out in the green-scented air. It was true dark now, and quiet. She waited for her eyes to adjust, hoping Collin wasn't standing a few feet away watching her gawk about like a startled cow. She found the yard empty and peered toward the stable. No light, no sound but the soft snort of a sleepy horse.

Muttering a curse, she crept off the step and snuck across the leaf-strewn grass toward the darker square of the open stable door. A prayer tumbled silently from her lips as she drew closer. If Collin was inside, what would she say? Oh, hello. You 're still here. Just checking. And if he wanted to yell at her for a few more minutes. . . Wouldn't that be fun?

But he wasn't inside, unless he crouched in one of the black corners. No, he wasn't there, but his horse was. He hadn't abandoned her.

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over to leave hot trails across her cheeks. Alex swiped them away with a hard flick of her hand and sniffed loudly, startling Collin's horse into a nicker.

"Sorry," she whispered and hurried out, across the cool grass and back to the warm glow of the house.

Where in the world was he? The closest village was a mile away and it had been almost dark when he'd left. He'd grown up in the country though, free to roam and explore, day or night. Perhaps it was nothing to him to wander on strange roads after dark.

Alex shivered at the thought and closed the door, briefly considered latching it and chose not to. She thought about dinner also, but her stomach roiled with something more sinister than hunger. No dinner then, just bed. And she was tired enough to sleep despite the horrible turn of the day. After extinguishing most of the lamps, she took a candle up the stairs, cringing only occasionally at her soreness.

I should be glad he wants nothing to do with me, she told herself. Better than being impaled again, certainly. Though, God, she would miss the rest of it. And she'd had no time to explore his body. The sad thought made her sigh.

She undressed more slowly and with less climactic results than earlier in the evening. Instead of pressing herself into the warmth of a naked man, she sponged herself off with tepid water and slipped on a linen shift. The bed was cold and unfamiliar and she lay in it alone, alternating between self-pity and worry for Collin. The moon rose bright in the window just before her eyes closed, and she fell asleep to dream of dark hands running over her skin and the pleasure of a hard kiss.

A groan woke him to a dazzling agony of sunlight. Rais­ing his head, Collin rubbed his palms over a scratchy jaw and heard the groan again. His own. Too many pints of ale last night and not a drop of whisky to be found. The memory re­minded him of where he was, what had happened the night before, and he let his head fall back with a thump.

"I've straightened the bedroom, sir. I'd like to start on the kitchen, if you don't mind."

Collin opened one eye against his better judgment, closed it. He didn't have to look to know it wasn't Alex. Aside from the fact she'd never uttered a phrase like that in her life, this woman's voice was noticeably deeper than hers.

"Cup of tea, sir?"

"No," he rasped, then "yes."