Chapter Nineteen
The man shouldbe sneaking away. They’d done what he came for, or so she thought, and yet, he was tucked in beside her as if he meant to stay. And Mairi was honest enough to admit that she wanted him to stay, too. She’d heard tales of men who slept directly after their fun was done, and though Connall looked at her with eyes half-closed, it wasn’t because he was sleepy. He was thinking, just as she was, and the two of them were likely ensnared by the same questions.
What would that have been like if they’d done as married couples do? If she’d said yes to marrying him tonight?
It would have been glorious. But what would she think when it was done? Would she feel trapped? Afraid? She didn’t know. And yet, she was reassured when he stretched out beside her on the bed.
Still, she would not feed his pride, so she pushed at his chest.
“Ack, you’re too big.”
“I am perfect, just as you are,” he said. Then he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tighter still. She smelled the scent of his skin, the musk of his passion, and heard the steady beat of his heart. He was a solid man in all the best ways. Strong body, a patient lover, and not one to act without thinking. She admired that in him and knew how rare that was.
“That’s nice,” he said, his voice a rumble beneath her ear. She had no idea what he referred to, but she didn’t argue because it was nice.
She relaxed against him. Her mind was still caught up in the wonder of a quickening with Connall. It had been wonderful, but it was also not enough. Her womb had felt empty as it clutched greedily at his fingers. She had wanted his full cock inside her, and that thought frightened her as much as it interested her.
Obviously, she wanted Connall Aberbeag in her bed, and what a foolish creature she was to desire such a thing. If she gave in to him, what part of her would be left? He defeated her at every turn, so much so that she began to like it.
“Now tell me,” he rumbled beneath her ear. “What bastard taught you to fear a man’s touch?”
“Ach,” she sighed, no restraint on her brogue. “Yer like a dog with a bone. Leave it be.”
“I will not,” he said. “You’ve a fine man in your bed, Mairi MacAdaidh, and he’d like to know why you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, her voice hard.
“I know,” he said. “And that makes it worse.” He stroked his hand down her back, the sheer size of it reassuring as he touched her. “You’re not a timid woman, Mairi, and yet in this—”
“No,” she said, hating that he was pulling her away from sweetness to a place she didn’t want to discuss.
“Mairi—”
“There was no one,” she said. It was the best answer she could give. “I am a woman. That is reason enough to be cautious.”
She felt him struggle with her words and no wonder. Her fear was illogical and mayhaps she’d think of it more in the morning. But for now, she was stretched out beside him. She felt his naked flesh against hers because she’d not bothered to put the nightrail back on. She had no wish to discuss something that was foggy in her own mind.
“Very well then,” he said, giving in with a grumbling discontent. “Let us speak of what you’re doing in London.”
She snorted. “I’m looking for a husband.”
“You have one right here. No need to look anymore.”
She chuckled. “Not an ounce of doubt in yer whole body, is there?”
“Not about this.” He squeezed her as he spoke, and she returned the gesture without thought. And when his arms relaxed, he dropped his chin on the top of her head. “Tell me what men you have seen here that you like. Is it that Mr. Day? The one who begged for a third dance with you last night?”
She rolled her eyes. “I can circle the man’s whole arm with one hand. He’d break the first time I asked him to pick up a pot.”
“I don’t think he plans to help in the kitchen.”
She snorted. “Then he best find a woman with more money than I, because he hasn’t any of his own.” That wasn’t exactly true. There were rumors about his wealth, but none were proven one way or the other. “What of you? You were making eyes at Miss West.”
He groaned. “I was eyeing that dress. So many ruffles. It made her look—”
“I know how it made her look,” she interrupted. It made the woman appear like she had six bosoms and they all were thinner than a dead cat’s teat. “It’s her mother that makes her dress that way. No eye at all for what would help her daughter.”
He grunted. “Marrying that girl will be marrying the mother, and that is something no sane man would do.”