Pleasured (17 page)

“It was mad. So crowded and noisy and dirty, you cannot imagine! But, oh, my, the number of things to do and see . . .”

This safe and nearly inexhaustible subject was easy enough to listen and reply to even though Meg was dis
tracted by the arrival of each new guest. Before long Isobel was pulled away to converse with another friend, and Meg moved over to chat with Elizabeth and Millicent. Meg’s father was there, and soon the fiddles tuned up and began to play.

Meg danced a reel with her brother and another with Gregory, then stood aside and clapped along with everyone else as Isobel took the floor with Jack, who had clearly been tutored in Scottish dances since their wedding celebration. Meg took another quick look around the room. Damon was not there. Well, that was good. Surely he would not arrive this late, and she could stop worrying about what she would do and say if he did. She wondered when the party would be over.

Isobel and Jack came off the dance floor, flushed and laughing, and joined Meg at its edge. While Jack wandered off in search of drinks, Isobel and Meg walked away, finding a cooler spot by the open doors leading out into the garden. Isobel waved her fan as she related in comic detail the afternoon she had spent giving dance lessons to her husband. Suddenly a hush fell over the chattering crowd, and the two women turned. The reason for the sudden silence was immediately obvious: the Earl of Mardoun stood in the wide doorway.

Meg’s heart stumbled, and her hands went cold. She stared at Damon glancing around himself, as beside her Isobel murmured, “Oh, my. Aunt Elizabeth and Millicent did not exaggerate.”

Jack went forward to greet Mardoun, and Damon’s face relaxed just a bit as he nodded. Meg thought he was probably relieved at meeting another English gentleman, some
one of his own kind, and she wondered what Damon would think if he knew that Jack came from the streets and had made his fortune with his wits, adopting the speech and air of a gentleman to ease his way into card games with the wealthy.

As she watched, the two men started across the room toward them. Meg froze. Of course Jack would bring his titled guest to meet Isobel immediately. She cursed herself for not leaving Isobel’s side as soon as she saw Damon. Now if she walked away, it would be far too obvious that she was fleeing. Clasping her hands in front of her, she did her best to appear impassive while inside her thoughts scuttled about, desperately searching for a way out.

“Isobel, my dear,” Jack said as the two men reached the women. “Allow me to present the Earl of Mardoun.”

Isobel held out her hand, inclining her head, Meg was sure, to exactly the correct degree. “My lord.”

“Mrs. Kensington.” Damon bowed over her hand. When Isobel introduced Meg, he gave her a punctilious nod, his face that of a stranger as he said, “Miss Munro and I have met. Good evening, Miss Munro.”

“My lord.” Meg was sure her response was as imperfect as Isobel’s had been polished. For the next few minutes, the other three kept up a polite chat regarding the weather, the Highlands, and London. Meg said nothing, busily working at not looking at Damon. She felt his gaze upon her, but she was not sure if the feeling was real or only in her imagination. Another tune was struck up, this time on the piano. Jack flashed a smile at Isobel.

“I believe you promised me a waltz, my dear.”

“Jack! You never told them to play a waltz, did you? I
shall never hear the end of it from Mrs. Grant.”

He grinned, unrepentant, and extended his arm to her.

Just like that, the other couple were gone, and Meg and Damon were left standing in awkward silence. She glanced up at him, and it gave her some degree of satisfaction to see that a flare of panic lit his eyes, too, at least for an instant, before it was firmly pushed aside. Still, he seemed more ill at ease now than indifferent, which sparked Meg’s courage.

“I hope your daughter has suffered no ill effects from her adventure the other day.”

“No, she seems well enough, though less than happy with me.” He shifted his position, turning outward to gaze across the room, and folded his arms across his chest. He went on in a goaded voice, “Apparently I am a villain not to let her roam free about the countryside.”

“Not to visit me, you mean,” Meg amended crisply. Resentment settled in, making it easier to talk.

“Yes, not to visit you.” His voice took on a grating quality, like the rub of metal against metal.

“I imagine it would be difficult to explain to one’s daughter that she cannot mingle with my sort of woman.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He glanced at her, his brows drawing together sharply.

“It means that an earl’s daughter cannot associate with the earl’s doxy, but ’tis awkward to explain that to your daughter.”

“That is not why!” He whipped back around to face her, his voice rising. He seemed to realize that he had spoken too loudly, for he cast a look toward the nearest guests, then lowered his voice to a hiss. “Do not lay this at my feet. As if I
am being—” He made a vague gesture with his hand.

“Arrogant?” Meg supplied. “Snobbish? Rude?”

“Unreasonable!” he snapped. “As if I disdain you, as if I had mistreated you. Blast it!” He glanced around again, then wrapped his hand around her arm and stepped through the closest door, pulling her with him onto the flagstone path outside, away from the noise and light of the ballroom.

“What are you doing? Let me go.” Meg jerked her arm from his grasp.

He faced her. “What the bloody hell are you playing at with Lynette?”

“Playing at?” Meg’s eyebrows sailed upward, and she planted her fists on her hips. “I found her wandering in the woods, lost, and I brought her home. Oh, and I also committed the unpardonable sin of giving her a cup of tea and a biscuit and the opportunity to sit a bit at my table.”

“I will not have you hurt her. I will not let you win her admiration, her friendship, and then abandon her.”

Meg gaped at him. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“I have no idea! Because you wish to hurt me, to use Lynette against me? Because it amuses you? Because you are utterly mad? I have no idea why you do any of the things you do. I have done naught but think about it for the past week, and I still cannot understand you.” His words tumbled out, his face a study in frustration. “You came to my home and railed at me. Reviled me, with nothing but hatred and fury in your voice. Yet only the night before you were kissing me, wrapping your arms and legs around me as if you could not get close enough.” He came a step closer, his voice lowering. “Melting into me like warmed butter.”

Meg turned her head away, her cheeks flushing with
shame at his description of how easily he had aroused her, how wantonly she had responded to his kisses. Worse, she could feel herself responding even now, her senses reeling at the closeness of him, her blood thrumming with the sensuality of his words. Her knees trembled, a heavy ache forming between her legs. Even knowing his opinion of her, knowing how hard and selfish a man he was, she hungered for him.

He leaned in, wrapping one hand around her wrist. “You wanted me, I will swear you did.”

“I did not! I don’t! Not anymore,” Meg whispered, and even to her own ears her protest sounded feeble. She lifted her chin to glare at him, but she realized immediately that it was a mistake. His dark eyes locked with hers, his gaze so intense she felt as if it reached to her very center.

“I think we both know that is a lie.” He jerked her to him, and his mouth came down on hers, hot, hard, and hungry.

17

D
amon’s kiss proved every word
she had just said false.

Meg wanted to press herself against him, to wrap herself around him and take him into her. The desire she had felt that first night had swept her away, but it had been only a foreshadowing of what she felt now. She knew what lay before her—the sensations his supple fingers could draw from her, the scorching arousal of his kisses. She knew the thundering satisfaction when he filled her and the deep well of pleasure awaiting them. And she wanted, almost unbearably, to have that again.

In another instant she would throw away all scruples and pride; she would shame herself by pulling Damon down to the ground right here and giving herself up to him. A will-less, spineless slave to her desires.

“No!” Meg jerked backward, planting her hands flat on Damon’s chest and shoving him.

His arms fell open, releasing her, and he took a step
backward. His eyes were dark and wild, his chest heaving, his face stamped with heavy desire.

Meg knew that she must look much the same. “Yes, I wanted you,” she snapped. “But that was before I knew what you were! I was weak and foolish. I let myself believe that you were different. I told myself I could not be attracted to a cruel man.”

“Cruel? Bloody hell, in what way have I been cruel to you?”

“Not to me! I do not care only for myself, as you do! I was there at the Keith croft that day. When you had your man MacRae throw them off their land.”

“A croft?” His voice rose in amazement. “Who is Keith and what does some croft have to do with anything? What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter to you! That is the point! Nothing matters to you except your own wishes, your own desires. We are not worthy of your consideration; our birth makes us something less than people to you. Perhaps we are useful to clean your house or cook your food or groom your horses. Or to grace your bed. But our lives mean nothing to you if we interfere with what you want. You want to bed a girl, so you do, then toss her a bauble to silence any chance of scandal.”

“What? That wasn’t—”

“Oh, yes, I know, it was not a mere bauble,” she said, plowing on through his attempt to speak. “I don’t care if it was the crown jewels. I am not something you can buy and sell. But that does not matter to you any more than it matters if the crofters are turned out of their homes, so long as
you can make a profit. People or sheep, they’re all the same to you.”

“That is what you are angry about? You loathe me and my touch because I gave you a present? Because I have moved tenants off my land? Because I wish to raise sheep instead of tilling poor soil?”

“They are not just tenants! They have lived there all their lives. Those crofts have belonged to their families for generations. The Keiths were there long before your family ever married yourselves into Duncally. You may have some fraction of MacKenzie blood in you.” She held up her finger and thumb, measuring the tiny amount. “But you are all English.”

“The devil!” Whatever passion had pulsed in Damon before, Meg could see that now it was nothing but anger. “I own Duncally, and I will do with it as I see fit. Those crofts are
my
property.”

“Aye, but they are their
homes
. What do you think they will do now? Where are they to go?”

Damon looked at her blankly. “I don’t know. Someplace else. They’ll get other employment.”

“Where? Where in the Highlands will they find work? And doing what? They have spent their lives here tending to the land.”

“There are other kinds of work. Factories or the docks or . . . I don’t know. They make a meager enough living here digging peat and raising potatoes amongst the rocks.”

“I see, they can go to Glasgow or Edinburgh or London and live with thousands of other people in wretched houses, never to see the sun or the mists or the heather as they toil inside a factory sixteen hours a day! That is, if they can wrest
the jobs from the men and women and children who already work there. If not, they can, of course, take to begging on the streets.”

“I am responsible for what happens to every soul who lives here? I must see to it that they all have full bellies and places to live? Good God!” he shot back in a goaded voice. “Why don’t they emigrate to Canada or Australia or some such place?”

“Aye, they can leave Scotland forever—if they have sufficient money to do so. But where are poor crofters with only the clothes upon their backs to get money to pay their passage? Some few landowners have enough kindness and fairness to give them some compensation for taking away their homes. But certainly not you.
Your
crofters are lucky if they are given enough time to move out their possessions. And if they are not fast enough, you set fire to the place.”

He stared at her, then grimaced and shifted his position. “Nonsense.”

“Nonsense, is it? I was there; I saw it with my own eyes. I was
in
the Keiths’ cottage when MacRae threw a torch on the roof. We had to grab the children and run before it collapsed on us. Wes Keith’s mother was on her deathbed, and Wes had to carry her out and lay her on the ground.” Meg’s eyes glittered with tears. “The woman is dying, and she would have no place to lay her head but for the charity of relatives. But how are those relatives to feed six extra mouths, and them only scratching out an existence themselves? And what will happen to them when you decide you’d like to have their croft for your sheep as well? You would not treat a dog that way. You are a cold, hard man, Mardoun. There is no heart inside you. And
that
is why I loathe you. ’Tis a good thing
you have your land and your wealth, because you’ll never have love.”

Meg whipped around and ran out into the garden, leaving Damon staring after her.

She took the path that ran behind Baillannan and up to the promontory. There beneath the spreading oak tree was a stone bench where one could sit and gaze out over the loch. Though not much was to be seen at night, it would give her time to settle her nerves and wait for Damon to leave the party.

Meg wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried not to think about Damon. As she had learned over the last few days, not thinking about Damon was no easy thing to do. For twenty-eight years she had never seen the man, had barely known he existed, and now it seemed he intruded upon her every thought. She shivered. The chill of night was creeping in along with the mist.

“Meg?”

Meg turned, startled, and saw Isobel walking up the path toward her. Her friend had been wise enough to throw a wrap around her shoulders, and Meg was glad to see that she carried Meg’s shawl in her hand.

“Isobel.” Meg stood up and took the shawl Isobel handed her. “Thank you. How did you know I was here?”

“I looked for you,” Isobel answered simply. “I could not find you when we left the floor after the waltz. I thought perhaps you’d gone into the garden, and then I saw you sitting up here. I thought you might be cold. Is something wrong? Do you feel unwell?”

“No. I’m fine. I was just . . .” Meg sighed. “I argued with the earl, and I was waiting for him to leave.”

“Mardoun?” Surprise rang in Isobel’s voice.

“Yes. Is he still there?”

“No. He left some time ago. He did not seem angry, just . . . stony. I thought he was probably bored. Or maybe just British.”

The corner of Meg’s mouth quirked up. “No doubt he was.”

“Why on earth did you quarrel with the Earl of Mardoun? Did he say something to offend you?”

“He does not have to say anything.
He
offends me.” Meg sighed. “Oh, Isobel. I slept with him.”

“Mardoun?” Isobel’s voice vaulted up and her jaw dropped so comically that Meg let out a ghost of a laugh.

“Yes, Mardoun. I have been such a fool.” The whole sorry story tumbled out of her, from his insulting invitation delivered by his valet and their later encounter at the beach clear through to the amber necklace he had left upon her bed.

“Oh, Meg!” Isobel reached out to take Meg’s hand. “I am so sorry he came to our party. If I had known—”

“No, do not trouble yourself over that. You couldn’t have ordered him not to come. And I would not have you at odds with the only person of your station close by.”

“My station! As if I care a fig about that. We certainly shall not continue our acquaintance with him.”

“No, pray, do not ostracize him or say anything. Coll cannot know about this; he would be bound to do something foolish, and I will not have my brother transported to Australia over my folly.” She gave a little smile. “Perhaps
Jack can befriend Mardoun and take his money at whist. That will be adequate penalty. Mayhap he will win Duncally as well.”

Isobel chuckled and gave Meg’s hand a squeeze. “Just so.” After a moment Isobel went on, “But, Meg, are you sure he meant an insult with the necklace? It is the way of men, I’ve found, when their affections are engaged. Jack came home every evening in London with something, it seemed—a ring, a cameo, the most amazing sapphire necklace!”

“Jack loves you, that is the difference. He is your husband. But it is also the sort of thing men give their mistresses. A parting gift when the lure of the chase is over and their interest wanes.”

“An amber necklace sounds a rather expensive payment for one night.”

“Mardoun is a wealthy man.” Meg shrugged. “He is very discreet. He would consider my silence worth it, I imagine. And perhaps he did not intend it as a parting gift, but a payment for an ‘arrangement’ throughout his stay here.” Meg turned to her friend. “You don’t understand, Isobel; it isn’t the same if you are not born a lady. None of Andrew’s or Gregory’s friends would have tried to give you a ring or a bracelet or anything like that; they would have considered it an insult to you and to Andrew. But that wet goose Harry Hazelton offered to give me his tiepin if I would slip up to his bedroom with him.”

“You’re joking!”

“No. Worse than that, it was a dog’s head pin!” Meg giggled, and Isobel joined her, their laughter spiraling until they were both holding their sides. When they finally quieted, Meg said with a sigh, “It does not matter, really, whether
Damon meant to insult me or not. I canna give myself to a man who has done what he has to his crofters.”

“ ‘As ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren . . .’ ” Isobel murmured. “Yes, you are right.”

“I hate that I feel this way for a man who is so ruthless. But there was no pity in his face. No regret. All he cared about, all he kept saying, was that it was
his
land,
his
right to do with it as he willed. And it is, I know, but . . .”

“You could not love a man so callous.”

“I do not expect love from a man of his station. But I must have respect and liking, at least. Both for him and from him. Neither are here. Only lust.” Meg sighed. “I cannot rid myself of that, it seems. I didn’t—I never realized what it would be like. To have a man make love to me, I mean.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. It wasn’t that I scorned it. I knew many women enjoyed it. I knew you seemed happy with Jack.”

Isobel’s smile was sensual and secretive. “Yes, I am happy with Jack.”

“I hoped I would feel that way myself someday. But I have always been a realist, I suppose one might say a cynic. I have seen far too much suffering and pain—women bloodied and bruised by their men, tearful brides reluctant to return to their husbands, girls scorned after giving themselves to a man. I could not hold a starry-eyed view of coupling with a man. But with Damon, it was so . . . there was such excitement, such intensity and pleasure and . . . and
closeness.
I had never dreamed I could feel so much, so deeply—not just passion but a sense of joining with another, of completion.” Meg cast an embarrassed glance at her friend.

“Yes, I know what you mean. It
is
rather spectacular.”

“At that moment, I felt we were meant for each other. Perfect.” Meg sighed and shook her head. “I don’t love the man. How could I? I barely know him. And so much of what I know I do not like. But I keep thinking about that night and wishing that it would happen again. I want him still. Tonight, before we had the row, he kissed me, and I didn’t want him to stop. Despite everything that happened, I wanted him. What does that make me?”

“Probably quite human,” Isobel replied drily. “If it were easy to be holy, we all would be.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Meg gave her friend a wry smile. “What am I to do?”

“I don’t know, Meg. Live through it however you can.” Isobel squeezed Meg’s hand. “Whatever you do, it will be the right thing. Whatever the Earl of Mardoun may be,
you
are a good person. You’ll see your way clear.” Isobel put her arm around Meg’s shoulders and hugged her.

Meg leaned her head against Isobel. “Och, I hope you are right.” Meg straightened, drew in a breath, and stood up, extending her hand to her friend. “Come, then, I’d best get to it.”