Patricia Rice (20 page)

With little or no interest in Mrs. White or rhubarb
tarts, Mac let his gaze drift across the room until it encountered Bea
at the piano. She blushed at his look and hastily turned a page of
music, but he’d caught her. She’d been watching him.

She thought him masculine.

He could have her in his bed, beneath him.

That stunning realization blazed a fiery trail
across his sodden brain. Sometimes it took a little alcohol to make a
man see what was right before his eyes.

She was everything he could want in a woman, and she
was his for the asking. The aunt and the curate and half the town had
agreed to that. And Bea had admitted her admiration. She didn’t think
him awkward or loutish. She thought him masculine.

If Lady Taubee could be believed, with a little
effort he could have full possession of heaven for the rest of his life.
Beneath her proper exterior, Bea possessed a soft and generous heart
that would accept him as he was and let him live his life as he chose.

That rapturous notion so mesmerized Mac that he
scarcely noticed as the Rectors said their farewells. Soft music tinkled
from the piano keys, and he gravitated toward the sound. At just the
right angle, he could see how naturally Bea filled out her bodice. Not a
false plumper anywhere. He loved the way pink colored her cream skin
when he stared at her.

He knew he was bordering on drunk as he took the
bench beside her without any encouragement from her aunt. This close, he
could inhale her delicious scent—lilies tonight. Yes, he could see her
as a tall, voluptuous lily with creamy petals tinged in pink.

He’d lost his sodden mind.

Stiffly, he sat back and tried to arrange his
wayward thoughts. He ought to find an account book or something equally
deadening before he did something rash. Strong emotion apparently
paralyzed his brain.

“Bea has such gentle fingers on the keys, don’t you agree?”

Lady Taubee appeared in his peripheral vision, and
Mac wished her to hell. Tonight she wore a shawl as prismatic as a
peacock’s feathers. Her turban sported a glittering diamond in the
center. She completely destroyed his illusions. Or delusions.

But the idea of Bea’s gentle fingers on him instead
of the keys insinuated itself into his paralyzed brain and wouldn’t be
removed.

“Lovely fingers,” he agreed with a fervor that surprised him.

Lady Taubee dimpled playfully and patted his arm
with her fan. “Dearest Bea, if you don’t want this gentleman, I’ll be
happy to take him. I’ve not seen so ardent a suitor since the sheik and
I...” She laughed. “Well, never mind that.” She yawned delicately. “I
think I shall retire early. Don’t you two stay up too late or do
anything I would do!”

Mac didn’t notice her departure. He was discovering
the advantage of sitting a head taller than Miss Cavendish. If he didn’t
slump, he could see the way her creamy breasts sloped delightfully into
a mysterious valley dotted with faint freckles. He wondered where else
he might find freckles on her, and didn’t think he could bear not
knowing. He was in serious trouble.

“My home is in Virginia.” Even he knew it was an inane thing to say, but she didn’t blink.

“I know.” Her fingers trembled on the piano keys. “Do you think perhaps you shouldn’t sit so close?”

“Depends.” He inhaled deeper of her exotic scent. “Will you slap me if I kiss you?”

The keys crashed, and she looked so startled as she
turned to him that Mac really couldn’t resist. She had lush lips meant
for kissing, but he thought perhaps he was the only man masculine enough
to do so.

Taking her silence for acquiescence, he cautiously lowered his head and sampled the heady moisture of her mouth.

She inhaled in surprise, then inexpertly met his
pressure with a tentative pressure of her own. Mac thought he’d expire
of happiness as their lips met perfectly.

She didn’t slap him.

Steadying her with one hand on her rigidly held
spine, he slowly deepened the kiss. She followed his lead hesitantly,
exploring this wonder with caution.

She tasted of sweet, heady wine, and he couldn’t
drink enough. All too conscious of her breasts a hair’s breadth from his
waistcoat, Mac desperately tried not to rush her, but he needed to know
so much more....

He needed to know if she felt his spiraling heat, if
she tasted of honey beneath her earlobe, if he was the only man who had
ever produced that sensual moan from her throat. He traced her jaw with
his fingertips and wondered at the fragility of it. He caught a
polished curl and wished he could loose them all and draw his fingers
through her hair.

By the time he persuaded her lips to part beneath
his, he knew he’d dived off the cliff of no return. All the logic,
reason, and organization in the world couldn’t save him now. Once he’d
laid claim to the sweet recesses of her mouth, he knew it would never be
enough. She responded so vibrantly, so innocent of his carnal lust,
that he had to protect her—from himself, from other men who would take
advantage of her gentle, giving soul... from life, if he must.

He was the wrong man for her, but from all evidence,
he was the only one available. He savored the trembling touch of her
tongue before reluctantly withdrawing.

Releasing her curls, stroking her soft cheek, and
gently, very gently brushing a knuckle over the side of her breast until
he heard her swift intake of breath, Mac pulled back enough to gaze
down into her wondering eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

From the vast distance of his alcohol-soaked brain,
he heard the whispered question bounce and echo around the cavernous
room, and knew it must have been him who’d said it.

Marry
him?

Perhaps she hadn’t heard right. Beatrice blinked as if that would wake her from the spell this extraordinary man had woven.

Her lips tingled and burned. Her breasts felt full and achy. Her breath had caught in her lungs and couldn’t find release.

She studied the square face above his loosened
neckcloth, but Mac’s expression hadn’t lost its intensity. She thought
she might be in deadly danger of being devoured.

She
wanted
to be devoured.

“Oh.” The air left her lungs, and she turned hastily
away before she did something truly foolish. He’d somehow insinuated
his arm around her waist and drawn her so close that their hips touched.
She could feel the hard length of his thigh even through her layered
petticoats and his elegant trousers. She didn’t think he had a soft
place on him, and her fingers shook with the need to explore and find
out.

He wanted to marry her. He was definitely drunk.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Looking all that was
fashionable and gentlemanly for a change, he stroked her cheek and
tilted her chin until she faced him again. She thought she read
sincerity in the eyes beneath thick, drawn-down brows, but what did she
know about men? He didn’t sound drunk. He sounded confident... and
sincere.

“Why?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Why?” Puzzled, he traced rough fingers over her
lips, and she shivered with the need for his kiss again. She’d felt so
very sure of herself when he’d kissed her. It had been a potent feeling
of joy and triumph and passion.

“Why would you want to marry me?” Her question
forced logic to shred the veil of illusion he’d woven. Her land could be
the only reason for a man to marry her.

Mac studied her sadly, as if amazed she had to ask,
or uncertain of how to answer. “Because you’re a beautiful woman, and I
want you very much. I’m sure there are many logical reasons, but can’t
that one be enough?”

It was. Her lonely heart wept with joy at his
declaration. She knew she had drunk far too much wine and that her head
was spinning as giddily as any schoolgirl’s, but she wasn’t too
befuddled to understand what she’d just been given.

For a blunt man like Lachlan MacTavish to utter the
perfect words at a moment like this was a gift, a miracle beyond
comprehension. Had he said he loved her dearly, she would have laughed
in his face. Had he given her any of those “logical reasons,” she would
have been strong enough to turn him away.

To tell her she was beautiful in the face of all
evidence otherwise, and to admit his desire for her while the proof of
it was still warm upon her lips, shattered all her defenses. Every ounce
of her hungry soul craved to be thought feminine and desirable.

She had absolutely no clue where these needs led,
but for once in her life, she had the courage to find out. “Are you
sure?” she whispered.

He smiled then, and brushed her cheek with his
callused fingers. “Aye, and I’ve never been more certain of anything in
my life. Say yes, then run to the safety of your bed before I ravish you
in an excess of gratitude.”

“You’re drunk.” She said it with a smile of understanding that he’d never say such things had he not imbibed too well.

“Aye, most likely.” He shrugged, but his eyes
sparkled. “But not so befuddled that I don’t know a good bargain when I
see one. I’m not worth the ground you walk on, but if others are too
blind to see your value, I’m man enough to ask for it. It’s up to you to
decide if you’ll accept what little I have to offer.”

He was offering her far more than she’d ever known,
or dreamed. He was offering her a chance to be a woman and a wife. She’d
never thought to see the day.

Before she could voice logical objections, she let
her dreams answer for her. “I accept,” she whispered, not believing her
ears even as she said the words.

Then, heeding his wise advice, she gathered up her skirts and fled the room.

In her hurry, she didn’t see James waiting behind the door, grinning hugely.

***

In the morning, waking with an aching head, Bea had plenty of time to repent. What on earth had she done?

Perhaps her memory was faulty, or the scene she
remembered was a vivid drunken dream. She’d never consumed so much wine
in her life. She could no more imagine a worldly man like Mac offering
her marriage than she could imagine accepting him.

Yet the memory of his kiss still burned across her lips.

Hastily, she rose and dressed in a loose gown
without the aid of a maid. The sun had barely reached the horizon, and
shadows spread across the landscape outside her window, but she needed
to correct any wrong impression immediately. She might have imagined
Mac’s proposal, but she certainly hadn’t imagined that heated kiss.

She had to find out for certain what she had done
and put a halt to it. She wouldn’t have everyone thinking she was a
spinster so desperate for a man that she would accept one who had no
intention of actually living with her.

If she thought about it, a man who wasn’t around to
trample her developing independence would probably be the best sort of
husband, though she couldn’t believe Mac had actually offered that. And
she didn’t wish to be tied to a man who’d acted under the influence.

All her life she’d been told she must marry, that it
was her duty to marry and submit to a husband’s will, as she had
submitted to her father’s for twenty-eight years. Suddenly she had
freedom, and if she hadn’t dreamed it, she’d thrown it away.

Her heart pounded a little harder as she released
the front door latch and escaped into the early morning dew. He’d kissed
her. Not a polite peck on the cheek, but a kiss that scorched her
memory. Had anyone seen what they’d done, they’d be thoroughly
compromised.

This wasn’t
possible
, she
raged as she ran down the drive. She wasn’t a feminine, desirable sort
of woman. She was an Amazon. She drove men away. If she began craving
their touch, she’d lose her mind.

She spotted Mac leaning on the railing of the stable
yard and swerved across the wet grass in his direction. She didn’t
question why he was up at this hour. If he was as confused as she was...

When she leaned against the fence beside him, he
turned to search her face, but she wouldn’t look at him. She didn’t
think he was smiling. He certainly didn’t greet her in a loving fashion.
She didn’t know what to say now that she was here to say it. She was a
little too conscious of his proximity.

“Does your head hurt as much as mine?” was all she could think to say.

“More.” He grunted the word, then offered her the steaming mug in his hand.

It smelled of coffee, and she shook her head.

He sipped his coffee, and she sensed he still
watched her. Goose bumps prickled her skin, and she had a decided need
for his strong arm around her again.

That was a terrible thought, indeed.

“Have you come to take back your acceptance of my proposal?” he finally asked, in a voice completely devoid of expression.

She shot him a startled look. “I should think you would be taking back the
proposal
.”

His smile was slow and awe-inspiring, and she
shivered as he brushed her cheek with his broad fingers. His touch made
her crave more.

“I meant every bit of the proposal,” he said firmly.
“I’ve had naught else to do but think about it these last hours, and I
haven’t changed my mind. If I must marry, you’d be the wife I’d have.”

She offered him a wry smile for his honesty. “I
never thought to marry, so never thought what manner of husband I’d
have. I’ve simply been told that any decent man is better than none at
all. I’m quite certain you’re a decent man.”

He warmed his hands on his mug and shook his head.
“People are fools, but the point is, I belong in Virginia and you belong
here.”

“Well, that’s part of the point,” she conceded. “And
please do not take this personally, since I think you would be a very
good husband, but I really don’t wish to have another man in my life
telling me what I can or cannot do. I’m just starting to discover that
I’m more capable than I thought.”