Page 9 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“What?”

“Never mind,” he said so abruptly it startled her. “I will not be gainsaid in this, Eve. You have refused Somerset’s offer. Therefore, your marriage to Rushton is a mere technicality.”

“Even the worst scandal does not mean I am obligated to marry him.”

“In fact, it means just that. I have an appointment with Philips after lunch.”

“Your solicitor?” Fury swept through her. “Cast me off into the wilds of Northumberland, for I will not be coerced into signing a marriage contract.”

“Northumberland?” He gave her a deprecating look. “You fail to grasp the situation. Even in Northumberland, a respectable man will not marry a woman with the reputation you will have if you don’t marry. No, I will not leave you to marry a country bumpkin who sires ten children on you while he whittles away your money—or worse, an out and out fortune hunter. You are to appear at a dozen parties tonight.”

“A dozen parties?” she blurted. “I will be out until the sun rises.”

“Not quite,” he said. “This is not London.”

“No one can make that many appearances in one night.”

“And you will dance at each soiree where there is an orchestra.”

She stared. “I will be incapacitated tomorrow. Even Mother and Grace could not keep up.”

“Do not concern yourself with them. You will make it plain that the future Countess of Rushton is not to be toyed with.”

“I am not the—” Her gaze caught on the mound of invitations and she realized her father was right. The future Countess of Rushton must put an end to this miserable business. Eve acquiesced with a cant of her head. “I will make every appearance.”

*****

Erroll’s hotel room door opened in the small salon beyond the bedroom, but he didn’t bother to lift his head from the edge of the tub to call out. He was in no mood to be civil to anyone, not even the maid delivering his dinner. He did shift to ease the ache in his back and the angle of his wounded leg, which hung over the edge of the tub. It had been years since he’d ridden as hard as he had yesterday—or gotten into a damned fist fight as he had with Miss Crenshaw’s father—and he was paying the price. Today, he was paying the price for many a sin.

He picked up a glass of whisky from the table beside the tub and drank the contents in one long swallow. The liquid burned a velvety path down his throat and landed in the pit of his stomach where lay the other two glasses he’d already downed with just as much gusto. Erroll poured another glass from the decanter sitting on the table, then cradled the tumbler on his belly and closed his eyes.

What a grand joke that he should be snared by a woman who didn’t want marriage any more than he did. They would make quite a pair—threesome, he remembered with a groan. The younger Miss Crenshaw was not about to give up the chase without a blood-letting battle.

Erroll had replayed last night’s events over and over in his mind. He had thanked fortune that his accuser stopped before reaching her father’s estate, and he thought himself clever for cornering her alone in her room. But had the wheel on their wagon not broken, he wouldn’t have caught them, and her lie would have been exposed under the scrutiny of evidence that might damn his soul, but not his body. Instead—he downed the whisky, then poured another glass, sloshing half the liquid over the side of the glass before slamming the decanter back onto the table. He wrapped his fingers around the glass as the rest of his body began to loosen.

Too bad he hadn’t actually compromised the elder sister. Even an unrelenting hunter like Miss Grace Crenshaw would relinquish her prey if it mated with her kin. Sliding between Eve Crenshaw’s thighs would be all too easy. Her nipples had pressed against his chest just hard enough to give away her desire. Desire? He chuckled. Her only desire had been to put a bullet in him. And she had, the vixen.

His cock throbbed and began to rise in response to the memory of her body silhouetted by candlelight and the dark patch he’d glimpsed between her legs. Erroll drank the whisky in a flourish, intended to pour another, but the glass slipped from his fingers onto the floor as his eyes closed. His cock would fit snuggly inside her tight warmth. But what how to induce her to wrap her fingers around him beforehand?

He startled, the erotic vision suddenly so real he could feel her delicate hand closing around him. Erroll jammed his eyes more firmly shut and allowed his mind to sink deeper into the murky fantasy. Her fingers tightened and he lifted his hips, then slowly lowered back into the water. Her grip firm, she slid her hand up, then down, pulling his skin so tight he hissed a breath in pleasure.

Her hand pistoned down then up, faster. Erroll gripped the edges of the tub. He could smell her faint fragrance. She slowed the motion and a feathery light caress brushed his bollocks. Erroll shivered. His release was near and he had yet to touch the apparition. Dared he try? Would she vanish if he reached for her? He growled when the hand caressing his bollocks cradled them and gently squeezed. His release rose toward the surface. Soft lips brushed against his.

“Eve,” he rasped against her mouth.

“Eve?”

Erroll snapped open his eyes to find Lady Laura Greenwood’s face a hair’s breadth from his. He jerked his eyes to his groin. Her fingers encircled his thick member. The liquor induced haze evaporated.

Erroll shifted his gaze onto hers. “Seducing a man while he’s sleeping in his tub? You must be desperate, Laura.”

She massaged his cock and pleasure streaked along the sensitive flesh. He couldn’t repress a shudder.

A satisfied smile curved her mouth. “I know what you like.”

The sultry quality he recognized all too well was present in her voice, but he didn’t miss the underlying fury. Memory clicked into place and he realized he’d called out Eve Crenshaw’s name.

He lifted a brow. “I thought you were someone else.”