Chapter Eight
Despite his plans to enjoy a wild night and forget he was now a married man, Rory had not ventured far.
He sat in one of the drinking establishments he favored, brooding over his glass while the lively noise swirled around him.
Ironic that he had chosen this place because it offered plenty of entertainment, but instead of joining in, he was choosing to ignore it.
Mrs. Smith was a widow who, discovering herself in dire financial circumstances after her husband died, had chosen to turn her home into a place for the pleasure of gentlemen and ladies alike.
There were gaming tables as well as palatable servings of food, and upstairs were some pretty lassies who he knew would welcome him.
Rory had often enjoyed his evenings here and had certainly made the most of the available attractions, but not tonight.
He wasn’t interested, preferring to sit alone and stare into his whisky.
Why on earth was he being so gloomy? And why did his thoughts keep returning to Grace and the cold, hard fact that he was now a married man, as if it had changed him in some way when he knew it hadn’t. It wouldn’t!
How Callum would laugh when he found out!
Which, Rory sincerely hoped, would not happen soon.
Or ever. When Rory had agreed to the marriage, he had thought that once Grace was safely out of her father’s clutches, he would have done his job and therefore could put her out of his mind.
Yes, she would need somewhere to live, and he was going to make sure of that, and also that she would be safe.
But really, that was all that was required of him—indeed she had told him as much—and he expected that once Grace’s future was dealt with, he could forget he had a wife.
He could carry on living in the same carefree manner he always had.
For some reason it wasn’t turning out to be as simple as he thought.
They had only been married for a day and already he was having problems. For instance, he found himself replaying Grace’s expression as she sat opposite him at the table tonight.
When she first entered the room, she had been anxious, as if she thought she would be made to feel unwelcome.
That had reminded him of the situation he had saved her from, so he had set out to show her things would be different now.
Soon she had been smiling, her eyes alight with something very like happiness, and he was able to tell himself that he had done that. But not everything was congratulatory.
She was wearing a dress that was sadly out of date, although it still suited her far better than the awful pink wedding dress.
He thought that if she were dressed fashionably and in clothing more suited to her coloring, she would be quite stunning.
With her long, elegant neck and her glossy dark hair, she would turn heads.
But he also couldn’t help but notice the area of creamy skin above her bodice, which looked .
. . bare. It would be nice if she had a pendant or necklace to fill in that space, something to draw the eye.
It occurred to him that if this were a proper marriage, he would have given her something like that as a wedding gift, and his mind drifted to what stones would suit her best. He decided upon emeralds.
Which was ridiculous! Why should he be thinking of giving her anything other than what they had already decided upon?
It was certainly not the sort of marriage where he would be showering her with gifts to show his love and appreciation.
And to be fair, she had not asked him for more than he had given, and really, why should she want more?
He had stepped into her life like a storybook hero and saved her from her evil stepfather.
Rory should be pleased and satisfied with that.
Then why did he have the strangest compulsion to give her more?
He shook his head but his thoughts continued to wander, although that may have been the several glasses of whisky he had already imbibed.
What would it be like to cleave to the one woman as Callum was doing?
To never feel curiosity when his gaze rested on another female?
Or even if he did, never to go beyond that curiosity and decide to climb into that female’s bed?
Rory had never thought himself the sort of man who could pass up those sorts of temptations, and that perhaps he was the outlier in his family because Callum, Donal, Maxwell, and Luna were all true to their other halves.
He could not imagine any of them stepping outside their vows, not even Donal who was yet to marry his one true love.
And yet sitting here now, he had begun to wonder if he was so different to the rest of his family after all.
Here he sat, doing a very good job of ignoring the enticements surrounding him at Mrs. Smith’s, and he wasn’t even tempted!
Although, was that through any desire to be true to Grace?
He tried to imagine the expression on her face if he were to suggest they play husband and wife for real, and it made him chuckle.
She would be horrified and rightly so. No, whatever the problem was, it was Rory’s and his alone.
His smile faded as his thoughts strayed to the scoundrel who had caused her ruination.
Bolton Buckingham. It was not a name he knew, but he could make some discreet inquiries.
Although to what end? Did he intend to punish the man for his cowardly behavior?
Did he have any right to do that, and would Grace be grateful or dismayed if he interfered?
As far as Rory knew, she might still be pining for the fellow!
That thought jolted him and stirred something inside him, some emotion he didn’t recognize and was sure he had never felt before.
But instead of examining it further, Rory groaned and stood up.
He needed to go home and sleep, and then perhaps when morning came he would have shaken off this strange, worrying mood and be himself again.
His old self. Carefree and thoughtless Rory MacKenzie who cared only for distraction and dissipation.
*
The Strathmore house was quiet, the servants abed, as were Aunt Jennie and Grace. His wife. Rory stood a moment in the entrance hall, wondering if he should have another glass of whisky before he turned in. Would that make things better or worse?
No, he decided he was tired and what he really needed was sleep. This strange mood of his would be gone in the morning. Bed it was then!
Once in his bedchamber, Rory swiftly undressed, tossing his clothing anywhere.
His mother wasn’t here to tell him he was being thoughtless, and the valet he had borrowed from his absent uncle would pick the garments up in the morning, so why should he bother being tidy?
He climbed into his bed, yawned and stretched, and a moment later he was asleep.
At first he thought he was dreaming. That warm slide of female flesh against his, and the press of soft lips along his jaw, tickling as they moved down his throat.
The woman in his dreams began to lick and suck at his skin, and it felt so good that he made an encouraging sound.
She nestled in closer, and he wrapped his arms around her, aware of how her womanly curves fitted so perfectly against his harder, more muscular shape.
His cock, already erect, pressed into her soft belly.
She gave a womanly gasp and it sounded so real.
As if this weren’t a dream after all. His eyelids strained to open, but before he could shake off the sluggishness of sleep, she was kissing him again, this time his lips, nibbling at the corners and teasing him with her tongue until he was helpless to do anything but open his mouth to her with a surrendering groan.
Their mouths clung, the kisses deep and passionate.
It was a promise of so much more and he wanted to see where this led him.
His hand slid over the satin skin of her back and down over her hip, pulling her in against him so that his cock rested closer to where he wanted to bury it inside her.
She lifted one leg, resting it over his waist so that she was open to him.
He just had to move a little and he could thrust himself into that welcoming heat.
And he wanted to, he wanted to so very much . . .
Her hair was loose and a strand of it was tickling his nose, distracting him from his pleasure, and he reached up to brush it aside. And his fingers snagged on a tangle.
That felt significant. It reminded him of something, and then Rory remembered what it was and froze.
His eyes sprang open and suddenly he was wide awake.
She was still kissing him. But her kisses were more desperate now, as if she knew he was no longer hampered by sleep, and she was trying to keep him wrapped in her spell.
She arched against him and he felt his cock slide inside her, just a little bit, but that made him want to keep going.
Her body, her mouth, her scent were all so perfect that for a brief moment, Rory considered allowing himself to slip back into that dreamlike state so that he could take advantage of her.
Of Grace.
Because he knew now that was who the woman in his arms was.
But he couldn’t do it. He refused to do it.
At no time had their agreement involved actual sexual intercourse, so why she was here in his bed at all needed some explaining, and he couldn’t think straight with her attempts at seduction and his increasing desire fuzzing his mind.