Scandals Bride

'Am I right in assuming we'll be departing on the heels of the solicitor, sir?'

'Hmm,' Richard answered around a portion of roast beet.

'I must say,' Worboys persisted, 'that it's been a most instructive stay. Makes one appreciate the little joys of London.'

Sunk in the armchair before the fire, Richard didn't reply.

'I take it we'll be returning to the capital directly? Or do you intend visiting in Leicestershire?'

'I haven't the faintest notion.'

Worboys sniffed, clearly disapproving of such aimlessness. He opened the wardrobe door. While he shuffled coats and straightened sleeves, Richard munched steadily, his gaze on the flames.

And pondered the fate of one witch.

Some part of his mind-the Cynster part of his mind-had, from the first moment he'd set eyes on her, been considering making her his. Ever since the reading of the will, he'd been toying with the prospect. Trying to decide, one way or the other, whether he should seize the opportunity Seamus had created, bow to fate and take a wife- or drive away and leave her behind.

Such had been his state before she'd come to his bed.

Now long fingers tightening about the chased goblet, Richard stared at the leaping flames.

'Are you ready to dress for dinner sir?'

Richard looked up, his features set. 'I am indeed'

Motive. She had to have some reason for coming to his bed.

Crossing the threshold of the drawing room, Richard instantly located Catriona, and strolled, apparently languid, in reality with fell intent, toward her.

She welcomed him with an open smile; he returned it with a wholly deceptive smile of his own.

His memories of their first night were incomplete, yet he was prepared to swear she'd been a virgin. An enthusiastic, eager ready-to-be-wanton virgin, but a virgin nonetheless. She'd never lain with any man before him.

Which raised one very large question: Why him?

Or was that: Why now?

'I was wondering,' he said, as he claimed his now customary place beside her, 'where you intend going after we settle this business of the will.'

She turned and met his eyes. 'Why, to the vale, of course. I never stay away for long-usually not for more than a day.'

'You never travel to Edinburgh or Glasgow?'

'Not even Carlisle, and that's closer.'

'But you order things-you mentioned you did.'

'I have agents call at the vale ' She shrugged. 'It seems wiser not to flaunt my existence-or that of the vale. We do very well in our anonymity.'

'Hmmm.' Richard studied her face. 'Are there many other families of standing in the vale?'

'Standing?'

'Independent. Not your tenants.'

She shook her head. 'No-I own the whole vale.' Fleetingly, she raised her brows. 'We don't even have a curate, because there's no church, of course.'

Richard humphed. 'How did you escape that? Or did the initial incumbents simply disappear?'

She tried to straighten her lips, but didn't succeed. 'The Lady doesn't approve of violence. But the answer to your question is geography. The vale is isolated-indeed, if you don't know it's there, it's not easy to find.'

'You must at least have neighbors-the surrounding landowners.'

She nodded. 'But in the Hills the population is widely scattered.' She looked up at him. 'It's a lonely existence.'

He had the impression she'd intended that last sentence one way, but it had come out another. She held his gaze for an instant, then seemed to draw back. She blinked and looked away, smiling quickly as she reached for one of the cups Mary carried.

Richard perforce smiled at Mary, too, and relieved her of the second cup.

'My deal, I can't thank you enough.' Mary looked at Catriona with gratitude in her eyes 'I don't know how we would have coped if you hadn't been here-the children would have driven us all insane. Instead, they listened to your stones for the whole afternoon-I don't know how you do it. You're so good with them, even the little ones.'

Catriona smiled one of her 'lady of the vale' smiles. 'It's just part of the healer's art.'

Behind his teacup, Richard raised a skeptical brow. The healers he knew often took delight in scaring children, and treated them as patients only grudgingly. Not all healers, any more than all adults, had the patience to bear with children's capriciousness.

'Whatever,' Mary said, 'we most sincerely appreciate your efforts.' She looked hopefully at Catriona. 'Are you sure you won't stay?' A shadow passed over her face, then she grimaced. 'I don't know where we'll be, after next week'-she shot an apologetic glance at Richard-'but you'll always be welcome wherever we are.'

Catriona squeezed her hand. 'I know-and don't worry. Things will sort themselves out. But I must return to the vale-I've already been away far longer than I'd expected.'

A slight frown, a shadow of concern, momentarily clouded her eyes. Richard noted it. Draining his cup, he inwardly reflected that, whatever else, Catriona Hennessey took her role as lady of the vale seriously.

Perhaps too seriously.

He wanted to know why she'd done it-put some potion in his whiskey, then climbed into his bed And given herself to him.

Was it simply for experience-or was there more to it than that?

Lying in his bed with the bed curtains drawn, Richard stared into the blackness and listened to the clock on the stairs announce the quarter hours.

And waited for her to come to him.

He didn't know what he felt-his reactions, even after a whole day on horseback in an empty world, were still too violently tangled for him to be sure of them, much less consider them. On the one hand, he felt honored she'd chosen him for whatever reason; on the other, he was furious that she'd dared. And there were other feelings that surged through him whenever he thought of her-and their nocturnal couplings-that went far beyond any rational response. Any response he could understand.

He wanted to know-needed to know-why.

He could, of course, ask-simply wait for her to appear, then put a simple question. If he did, he doubted he'd get an answer. He doubted she'd stay to spend the rest of the night in his arms, either.

On both the previous nights, she'd thought him asleep-drugged. Capable physically, but not compos mentis. On the first night, that had indeed been the case. He still couldn't remember all of it-snippets were crystal clear, while other parts were a phantasmagoria of remembered sensation, drowning out all other recollections. He knew he'd spoken, and she'd replied-which was why she hadn't reacted last night, when he'd spoken again. She'd thought he was speaking in his dreams.

And that, after a whole day of planning, was the only avenue he could see that might get him the answer he wanted. If he put the question to her while she was in his arms, and thought him asleep, she would be far less inhibited in answering. She might even tell him the truth.

Not straight away, perhaps, but…

One thing he did remember from that first night was the way he'd teased her-parts of that burned, beacon bright, in his brain. She'd crumpled very quickly. Which, now he knew her in the biblical sense, wasn't a surprise. She'd bottled up all her hot heat for too long-new to the game, she didn't have the ability to stave off completion for long, to hold back all that suppressed energy.

He'd only just started to torture her-there was a lot more he could do in that vein. And he'd enjoy the doing. As long as she thought him asleep, she'd talk-eventually, he was sure of that. And the longer she resisted, the more he'd enjoy it. And so would she.

Tonight, he'd have his answer. Which was why the bed curtains were drawn.

And why he didn't hear her enter, why he didn't know she was there until the curtains parted. He'd left a