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

"Aye, that it is." She noticed that here with his kinfolk, the Scots tinge in his voice became more noticeable. This glimpse into the man beneath the rakish veneer thrilled her. She found the rake irresistible, but the man who spoke of his home with such longing threatened to steal her heart away.

His hold firmed on her hand. "I wish I could take you there."

"So do I," she admitted, although that wasn’t the entire truth.

Oh, she’d dearly love to see the landscape he described. But she couldn’t present herself to his clan as his mistress. It was bad enough having Mary, Jock and Erskine knowing what she was to the earl.

She regarded Brock with a faint frown. "What I don’t understand is why if you love it so much, you spend most of your time down here in England."

He spread her fingers over his thigh and began to play with them. The contact was casual, yet she felt the now familiar stirring of sexual interest.

He sighed, and she heard genuine regret in the sound. "When I was a lad, London was like a bright, shiny toy, glittering with fun and novelty."

"And women," she murmured. As if he drew her the way the moon drew the tides, she leaned in closer. Close enough that his tangy scent became the air that she breathed.

Self-derisive humor quirked his lips. "Aye, and women, too." He paused and raised her fingers to his lips. The brief kiss sent heat swirling through her blood. "But lately, I find myself missing Scotland. A man can think in the hills in a way he can’t amid the hurly-burly of Town. Five years ago, I doubt I’d have valued the chance to think. But now…"

"Now the wild whirl has lost its charm."

He glanced at her with an almost diffident expression. "Playing the devilish Lord Bruard becomes wearisome, although don’t mistake me, the devilish Lord Bruard has had a devil of a good time."

She stared down at their joined hands and spoke in a wistful tone. "Our lives have been so different. You’ve done just as you like, and I’ve never had the chance to follow my inclinations. Even when I became a widow, I couldn’t forget that I had to make a secure home for Gerald."

On the far side of the room, Mary had finished u

npacking Selina’s valise. Now she went through to the dressing room. Selina’s low-voiced conversation with Brock would have been only a murmur to her, and they hadn’t broached on particularly personal subjects. Yet Selina felt her tension ease, now that they were alone.

Mary and Jock must know that she was here to share Brock’s bed. There wasn’t even a hint that they’d prepared a separate chamber for him. Yet to her relief, Selina noticed no judgment in their manner.

Displeasure deepened Brock’s voice. "I can’t stomach the thought of a woman as magnificent as you tied to that prosy bore. He’ll order you around without mercy, you know. And he’s completely under his mother’s thumb."

A bleak smile turned Selina’s lips down, although amusement was the last thing she felt. "His mother doesn’t like me."

"Why would she? She’s jealous, and she doesn’t want another woman taking up her son’s attention." His voice developed a somber note. "You’re lining up for an unhappy future, my darling."

She loved it when he called her his darling, although the cynic inside her recognized that he’d had darlings before and he’d have darlings again. But that knowledge didn’t stop her heart leaping with pleasure when he spoke the words. He sounded like he meant them, as if he genuinely cared for her.

"I have a son to worry about. My happiness isn’t important."

He looked unimpressed. "Is there really no alternative? No economies you can make, nobody you can ask for help?"

She shook her head. "I’ve considered every alternative. I can scrape together funds to leave London and live somewhere quietly, but I can’t afford Gerald’s school fees, and he deserves better than genteel poverty. His grandmother, Roderick’s mother, has offered to take him, but she’s always been afraid of her own shadow. She’d remove him from school and wrap him up in flannel and liniment and keep him all to herself. He’s a clever, active boy. He’d hate that. She doesn’t approve of me either, so she’d do her best to keep us apart."

Brock spoke as if he weighed every word. "I could help."

Horrified, she wrenched free and surged to her feet. She felt sick with humiliation. "Oh, no, you think I’m trying to wangle money out of you."

He raised his eyes and responded calmly. "No, I don’t."

"Then why would you make such an offer?"

Rueful amusement lightened his intense features. "Because I hate to see you struggle. Because the idea of you in Cecil’s bed makes me want to smash something. Because I’m a rich man, and I wouldn’t miss the pittance that would make all the difference to you."

Her cheeks hot, she backed away until she bumped into the huge bed that dominated the room. Bitterness soured her tone. "In effect, you’ll pay for my favors as long as you enjoy them. I gather that’s how these arrangements work. If I take money for what I’m willing to give you freely, you know what I become."

Chagrin tightened his features. "I’ve insulted you."

She folded her arms over her bosom. "Yes, you have."