Chapter Twenty-four

When she woke the next morning, Hugh was sleeping soundly. She lay staring, fascinated with the man before her.

With his jaw unclenched, his face looked changed, younger even. The gashes on his cheek were healing, giving him a roguish look. That made her smile. Hewas a rogue—a mercenary—but he wasn't arake .

She skimmed the pad of her forefinger over his bottom lip, remembering how he'd kissed her last night—deeply, desperately, like it was the last kiss he'd ever take from her, and he had to make it last.

Everything in her had responded, and she'd let herself go. She shivered just recalling how he'd rocked his massive body over her, sliding his shaft against her sex until he'd brought her twice to orgasm. And then to see him take his pleasure as well, to see him spending over her flesh…wondrous. Though judging by his discomfited reaction last night, she doubted she'd ever be seeing it again.

Which was a problem, as she'd all but decided Hugh MacCarrick had to be her first lover.

If she'd ever needed her cousins' advice, it was now.

Today. Surely, today they would arrive.

When she tenderly brushed a lock of black hair from his forehead, his gorgeous dark eyes eased open. Seeming still half-asleep, he reached his hand up to stroke her cheek. When she smiled, his brows drew together in puzzlement.

Then he shot away from her.

After stabbing his legs into his pants, he paced for long moments, the muscles in his upper body growing more and more tensed. "This should no' have happened, and it canna happen again," he finally said.

His tone implied that they were discussing a tragedy, something akin to a death in the family—not the most mind-boggling pleasure she'd ever imagined. She couldn't help but feel insulted, and sat up, drawing the sheet up to her chest. "Honestly, Hugh, you're making a mountain out of a molehill." She waved her hand dismissively. "We…trifled a bit."

Instead of being grateful as she'd expected—after all, she could have called him a cad and pressed to stay married—he appeared furious. "If we'd 'trifled' an inch lower, there could be dire consequences. Have you forgotten that we both agreed no' to do this? We agreed at the outset. Do you want to get stuck in this marriage?"

"I wish you would stop living in terror that you might get trapped in marriage with me. We didn't make love. Now, it's very simple. We put this behind us and never speak of it again."

"I've never met a woman who could skewer a man's sense of self-worth like you can. Whoever marries you in truth will need to be a better man than me."

She glared up at him. Skewering had never been her intention, but at that moment, she didn't regret the outcome. "You are making too much of this," she insisted. "Why are you so angry when nothing permanent occurred? You're acting like a provincial."

"Maybe you can easily put it behind you, but thattrifling affected me." Suddenly his eyes narrowed as he lunged forward to grab her elbow. "You're no' a virgin, are you?"

She drew back her head in bewilderment. "Why would you askthat question?"

No, no, Hugh. Don't be like this.For ten years, he'd been out sowing his wild oats; yet he probably expected her to have been waiting for a husband. Of course, shewas a virgin, but, as was often the case, right now she wished she weren't.

Such a narrow-minded expectation was galling.

"Answer me."

Her tone cold as ice, she said, "Darling, I've been as celibate asyou have been since we last saw each other."

He released her, but kept his hands raised as he backed away, as if he couldn't believe he'd touched her.

"Why would you care if I bedded a dozen men?" she asked in confusion.

He raked his fingers through his hair. "Because women like you doona get 'easy annulments.' No' based on lack of consummation."

Women like me.

He hit the wall, making her jump, then turned to her with the air of some trapped beast who knew the end was near. He was that averse to having her as his wife?

"How in the hell did you plan to end the marriage?" he demanded. "How?"

"I'm sure my father can manage something—"

"It will no' bloody stop me, Jane. I dinna sign on for more. If our annulment does no' go as planned, I will still leave you."

Her heart went cold. Memories of loneliness and hopelessness washed over her.

He'd left her before without a warning. He would again, this time after telling her to her face that nothing would cleave him to her—even as she sat naked in a bed still warmed from him.

No longer would she open herself up to him. She couldn't.Self-preservation, Janey. Hugh MacCarrick was the only man who could ever make her cry. False smile in place, she said with all honesty, "Of course you will leave me, darling. I never expected anything else from you."

He shot her another disillusioned look, then strode away.

After his behavior the night before, this morning had already been grueling enough. But now to learn that Jane had definitely had at least one man was punishing for him.

He'd suspected she and Bidworth had been lovers, but toknow …

The idea of Bidworth, or another man like him, taking her innocence made Hugh's stomach clench, made him want to roar with fury. He felt this even as he knew he had no right to, no right to hate the fact that she'd welcomed another—or others—into her bed.

He'd said those things to Jane out of jealousy and because he'd been furious with himself—for one foggy moment when he first awakened, he'd been about to start the madness again. Even now, he found himself wishing he'd just gone ahead and taken her last night, or even this morning, when she'd looked so tousled and well-loved.

He'd taken his frustrations out on her, sounding like some inflexible old-guard Tory, and she hadn't deserved it.

Jane was unique and independent, and she couldn't be judged by others' standards. She was twenty-seven and had a very healthy sexual appetite. Even as he understood this, the idea of her appeasing her needs with others maddened him.

Because he was obsessed with her. He wanted her to lavish that desire on him, wanted her all to himself. The idea of Bidworth trying to handle all her passion was laughable. After last night, Hugh knew that he was the man for it—even as he knew he could never allow himself to have her.

He'd given her a few hours to get over her pique, but now they needed to talk about what the hell they were going to do about their annulment. Hugh loped to her room, but found no sign of her. He made his way to the upstairs parlor. After dressing this morning, she'd sat in the window seat there for hours, gazing out at Vinelands as she had for the last two days.

He and his brothers used to do the same constantly. They'd first traveled down to this property at the suggestion of concerned relatives in the clan. Ethan had just received the injury to his face and would be able to heal in a more private setting; Court would have no one to fight….

They'd been there only a week before the Weylands had descended on the area.

From the lofty vantage of Ros Creag, the three brothers had sat and watched the goings-on at Vinelands. Always a huge fire burned outside, peopledanced in the yard, and singing and raucous laughter carried across the water.

Hugh, Ethan, and Court had gawked in confusion. Their existence had been dour, their home in the north of Scotland dark ever since the death of their father. They'd rarely spoken to their mother, Fiona, who couldn't recover from the loss of her beloved husband Leith.

The day he'd died, Fiona had pulled at her hair, screaming at her sons, "I told you no' to read it! How many times did I tell you? It always wins!"