Page 54 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

“My father is no bastard. He’s a just and upright man who thought he was doing what was best for me.

He had no way of knowing I would…” She faltered, but composed herself quickly.

“That I would find the Earl of Huntly so displeasing.” She tried to sound cheerful.

“I daresay I’m not the first woman to find herself in such a predicament, nor the last, I’ll wager. ”

With a man like this—well, she would always know where she stood.

She felt her determination to resist him melting away.

She had neither the desire nor the motivation to send him on his way, for her betrothal to the Earl of Huntly was motivation enough to throw herself into this man’s arms and let him have his way with her—whatever way that was.

Only last night she had lain in this man’s arms—at least she had done so in her dreams—and within the empty chambers of her unfulfilled heart, deep within the hollow void in her spirit, she had opened and welcomed him, praying that this interest he had shown in her might flourish and grow as perfectly planted seeds into something as strong and sure and fine as the heather that grew upon the moors.

But with the dawn had come the first rays of reality and the cold truth of how her life wasn’t her own to live as she desired but was merely an extension of her father’s fancy.

And so, with the fleeing darkness, all thoughts and hopes that had lingered in fairy-tale proportions vanished with the last fleeting shadows.

She awoke knowing she would see Ross Mackinnon today.

Fate had been kind to her—or was it unkind?

She had difficulty in understanding which.

Kind, she supposed, in bringing his path to cross with hers once more, but most unkind if it had plans to divide them again and send them off to go their separate ways.

She was not so na?ve to think he had come after her, for there was little doubt now that he was one of the men who had stopped by for a few days’ visit, one of the “despoilers of virgins” her aunt Una had spoken so laboriously about—and more than likely it was a well-deserved description.

She almost smiled remembering how Ailie had said the despoilers had to be handsome, for no virgin would want to have her virtue taken by an ugly man.

And how true that was. Bella could think of no handsomer man, no finer specimen of manhood to do the honor of deflowering her, than this beautiful man.

She shuddered in memory of how that honor had been given to Huntly the moment he signed the betrothal contracts.

Yet she told herself, It’s your virginity. Give the honor to whom you please.

Bella fully expected to be struck blind for such blasphemous, disrespectful thoughts she was certain bordered on sacrilege.

But instead of being struck blind, it was as if her eyes were opened.

Suddenly she remembered something Ailie had said, You can’t very well go to the altar if you aren’t a vestal virgin.

And that was that.

This handsome young devil who stood before her had shown a definite interest in her, and she was going to do everything in her power to whet that interest. She reminded herself that she was set to marry that hellhound Huntly.

That was the worst thing that could possibly happen to her.

So what did it hurt, what harm could come from having a go at turning things around?

The worst that could happen if she failed would be marriage to Huntly, and that was already certain.

Once you hit rock bottom, you couldn’t sink any lower.

If she gave herself to this man and let Huntly discover that fact, she might find herself with a null and void betrothal contract.

You might also find yourself a humiliated spinster for the rest of your life.

All right. What was worse? A humiliated wife?

Or a humiliated spinster? She thought about the way Huntly fawned over his King Charles Spaniels, feeding them chocolates and kissing them on the mouth.

For a brief, blurred moment she saw him feeding chocolates to one of those dogs, the face misting and changing shape until it wasn’t the Spaniel he fed at all, but herself.

It was enough to make a body sick. At least a humiliated spinster would be free.

She thought about the possibility that this man standing here engaged in such thoughtful scrutiny of her might—just might—fall in love with her, and that would solve all her problems. But when she studied him, she decided that whatever gentleness she felt in him, whatever kindness or interest he had shown toward her, those were far removed from something as noble as love; in truth, she had not even witnessed anything thus far that suffered to be as ignoble as lust.

What she did see was interest. Waves of dejection washed over her.

He had sought her out today simply because she was here and convenient.

Nothing noble in that. In the mysterious depths of his eyes, along the smiling lines of his lips, there hovered no inkling that it might be difficult for him to turn his back upon her and walk as simply from her life as he had entered it—nothing that spoke of changing the teasing, playful rogue into a devoted lover and helpmeet.

No, this man did not hover on her every word, or tremble at the mere mention of her name, nor was he likely to throw himself prostrate at her feet and beg her to go to the far corners of the earth with him.

A man like this one would toy with a woman as a full cat would tease a mouse—not hungry enough to eat, but content to while away the hours at play for as long as she interested him.

She looked up at him, her face open and honest. “Are you here to seduce me?”

Ross felt as if he had been kicked nine ways from Sunday.

For once in his life he was completely flabbergasted.

“I had thought to take you fishing. I can see now that that would be a great disappointment—or at least a poor second to what you had in mind. While the idea does have merit, you’re safe enough—for today. ”

A deathly paleness settled over Annabella, driving away everything but her humiliating shame. She lifted her small face and stiffened everything from her resolve to her spine. She had bungled this in the worst way.

Fishing? Dear God in heaven, it was too humiliating for words.

Ross watched her warring with herself, fighting for control and winning the fight. She stood before him now, looking every inch the regal yet sad lady that she was, gowned most appropriately in the softest shades of mourning gray.

“I beg your forgiveness for such a coarse and vulgar outburst. I know it must have left you quite speechless,” she said.

“You can say that again. I can say one thing for you, you’re as changeable as the wind.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to be alone.”

“Like hell.”

Annabella lifted her chin higher along with her mounting resolve.

She had left herself open for this kind of shameful abuse by lowering herself to speak as she had.

She had been foolish to think him gentleman enough not to take advantage of it and treat her with contempt. She had been wrong. “Please leave.”

“Not on your sweet life.”

“You shouldn’t be here. I will be in the hottest water imaginable if my uncle learns of this,” she said.

He succeeded in looking quite innocent. “I’m doing no harm.”

“There’s harm enough in just your presence. You are here, uninvited.”

“So, invite me. Then we can be as happy as two hogs with their heads in a slop bucket.”

Her green eyes opened wide. “Two hogs…what?” She felt disoriented—something she felt a lot around him.

She dismissed the whole thing with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, never mind. You talk more strangely than you look.” She pressed her hands to her temples.

“Nothing has been as it should since I left England. Everything is so confusing. I’m not certain of anything anymore. ”

“That makes two of us.”

“You never did tell me why you’re here.”

“I did. I came to take you fishing.”

“I don’t want to go fishing.”

“Why not?”

“I hate fishing.”

“Annabella, have you ever been fishing?”

She looked around as if checking to see if there was anyone else in the room with them who might hear her answer. “No.”

“Then how do you know you hate it?”

“I just know.”

He didn’t answer, but rested his back against the wall and regarded her impassively.

He wore no hat, and his clothes were those same strange things he must have had a particular fondness for—buckskin trousers and a blue shirt, rough, scuffed boots, a wide belt with a gun hanging from it in that odd fashion he seemed to favor.

At last he spoke. “You’re sure you don’t want to go fishing? ”

“Positive. Without a doubt. Absolutely certain.”

“That sure, huh? Well, that’s probably quite wise of you,” he said, grinning as he pushed away from the wall and came to stand in front of her. “I’m not the world’s best fisherman, anyway.”

He cupped her face in one hand. She felt the heat from his palm as he lifted her head until her eyes locked with his.

“Seduce you…hell. Annabella, what in God’s name prompted you to ask me something like that?

What made you think I was here to seduce you?

Surely you don’t think that’s all the value you have—that the pleasure you can give a man in bed is your sole worth?

” He shook his head. “Have I done or said something to make you think I had less than honorable intentions toward you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Well? Have I? Answer me, damn you. I want to know what’s going on behind those tempt-me-with-the-devil eyes of yours. No, don’t turn away. I want some answers, and I want them now . Tell me why.”

“Because I wanted you to take my virginity,” she burst out.

“ What? ”