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

The inn’s servants were already bustling around them. Yet more people to bear witness to her disgrace, she thought bitterly. She heard Erskine’s strangled groan, as they attempted to move him.

"You and I are due a discussion before you go," Cecil said behind her, in a tone that made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

"Cecil, tempers are running too high right now." She struggled to sound in control. A concerned glance from Kitty hinted that she didn’t succeed. While she owed Cecil an explanation, she didn’t want to talk to him while anger rolled off him in waves. "Better you come and see me in London."

The hand that curled around her arm wasn’t half so gentle as Kitty’s. "No, we should sort this out now, Mrs. Martin."

Since she’d agreed to marry him, Cecil had called her Selina. Her change of status in his life was clear. A harrowing future loomed ahead, but she couldn’t contain a surge of relief as she realized that she no longer had to share Cecil Canley-Smythe’s bed. Ever since she’d accepted that marrying him was the only way to keep Gerald, the prospect of Cecil’s hands on her had made her queasy.

Cecil’s grasp was rough on her arm, bruised in the accident, but she refused to quail under his bullying. She straightened away from Kitty and lifted her chin. While she might feel bilious with shame, she refused to cringe as Cecil wanted her to. As they entered the crowded inn, her maid dogged her footsteps.

"This way, sir, madam," the plump landlord said, gesturing down a black-and-white tiled hallway.

Cecil ignored the man and hauled Selina toward the steps. She stiffened and tried to break free. "I’d prefer to remain downstairs," she said, through stiff lips.

Cecil’s disdainful glance made her shrink away. "Your wishes no longer carry weight with me, Mrs. Martin."

"Nonetheless, I…"

"Sir, Lord Derwent has requested a private parlor on the ground floor for the lady," the landlord said in a quavering voice. Selina didn’t blame him for sounding nervous.

"His lordship has no authority over this female," Cecil snapped.

Selina hid a wince at her demotion from lady to mere female. "Cecil, anything you want to say to me, you can say downstairs."

He lowered his voice, until only she could hear him. "I assume you’d prefer to avoid a scene."

"Surely you would, too," she hissed back. "Any scandal will hurt you as well as me."

The cruel smile that curved his mouth shot another jolt of terror through her. This wasn’t a Cecil she’d ever seen. He’d always been overbearing, but now she feared violence. "After the way you’ve played me for a fool, I could do what I like to you, and no man jack here would raise a finger to stop me."

Selina had a horrid feeling he was right. She was the guilty party. In fact, if Cecil gave her a good beating, most men in the world would cheer him on. In desperation, she twisted to see behind him, praying that Brock might stride into view. But no lean, dangerous man prowled through the doors.

She battled to maintain her composure. "You want to hurt me, I understand that."

"Yes, I do, but you’re not worth the effort. I mightn’t be born a gentleman, but that doesn’t mean I lack standards."

She’d fi

nd his reassurance more convincing if at the same time, his hand wasn’t crushing the soft flesh of her upper arm. And if he wasn’t quivering with barely restrained rage.

"I’ll stay with you, Miss Selina," Kitty said staunchly from behind them.

Selina summoned a smile for her. "Thank you, Kitty."

"I’ve reserved a parlor where Mrs. Martin may wait in private," Lord Derwent said, coming through the door and walking toward them.

"I’d like to stay with his lordship," Selina stammered.

"Touting for a new lover already?"

She flinched at Cecil’s spiteful question, but before she could muster a reply, he turned to Derwent. "Mrs. Martin and I have private issues to discuss, my lord. You may rely on my honor."

"I hope so," Derwent said shortly, but despite his promise to Brock, it was clear he wasn’t interested in any further attempt to save her skin.

Again Selina craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the door. No Brock. Her stomach scrunched up into a ball of sour fear. Her head pounded with alarm, but she mounted the first step with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Stay close, Kitty," she muttered, as Cecil climbed the stairs ahead of her at a pace that made her stumble in his wake.