The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,38

this was a domesticated animal she’d caught for herself, however fleetingly.

He shot her a half-smiling glance that cut to the quick. "I’m no hero."

She shrugged. "Perhaps not, but you’re a better man than I think you recognize."

A dismissive grunt greeted that statement. "I doubt it."

She shook her head with a stubborn certainty that emerged from the depths of her being. "I don’t. You might have done a thousand wicked things in your life. In fact, I’ll warrant you have. But at heart, you’re not a wicked man. You’re kind – at least you’ve been kind to me. Nor are you only wrapped up in yourself. You also have some honor. It would be easy to ignore my request not to give me a child. I’m sure it would be more enjoyable for you if you did, and I’ve been in no position to stop you. Yet you stuck to your promise." She made a helpless gesture. "We’ve only been together a day, yet I could give you a hundred examples of your consideration."

He looked taken aback, which made her want to laugh. It seemed praise for his character rather than his physical appearance left him nonplussed. "I’m counted a profligate and a seducer and woefully unreliable. I’ve left a trail of broken hearts all over England."

"I’m sure that’s true." She had a horrid premonition that she’d add her heart to that list, once she left him. "But it’s not the whole truth."

Self-deprecating humor twisted his lips. "If I was as principled as you say, I’d now try to talk you out of that unjustified assessment of my character."

"Don’t bother. You won’t succeed."

He shook his head with more of that fond disbelief that made her ache with yearning. She fast became besotted with Brock Drummond, heaven save her. "You’re an obstinate wee thing. I wonder if Cecil knows."

"I doubt it," she said shortly.

"He doesn’t know you at all, does he?"

The reminder of what awaited once she left this den of sin wasn’t welcome. Dejected, she went back to staring into the fire. "He doesn’t care to. That doesn’t mean I won’t be a good wife to him."

"For Gerald’s sake."

"Yes."

"Because you love your son."

Something in Brock’s tone drew her attention. "You know, for a heartless rake, you talk about love a lot."

She expected him to react to the accusation with horror, but again he surprised her. "I do, don’t I?"

Another silence wrapped around them. Something in this room encouraged intimate revelations. Perhaps because it was warm and enclosed, and outside the world was cold and dangerous and unforgiving.

Brock turned away and kneeled to poke at the fire until it was roaring. When he rose, he leaned an arm on the mantel and watched the flames with a moody expression. God help her, even masculine sulks looked spectacular on him.

When at last he spoke, he didn’t look up. "My mother didn’t love me."

Appalled, Selina stared at him. Everything in her rejected his flat statement. "I don’t believe that."

The gaze Brock settled on her was bleak. "Nevertheless it’s true."

"Then she was a fool," Selina said sharply.

Because while this complicated man might have his faults, however good he’d been to her, he was eminently lovable. Too much so for her peace of mind.

"Gerald is lucky."

She frowned, not following the connection. "I wouldn’t say so. His father gave no thought to his future, and it’s never lucky to lose a parent so young, however feckless that parent might be."

"But he has you." Brock turned his attention back to the fire, she suspected for his pride’s sake. He must know how much this conversation revealed.

"Well, of course."

"Once you pledge your loyalty, you never falter."

Pity flooded her. Because it sounded like his mother had never put her child ahead of her entertainment. "I try to stand by my word."

"And you’d do anything for your son."

"Yes." Although guilt added a rancid taste to the avowal. This affair threatened Gerald’s future, and she couldn’t pretend that she was here for anything other than selfish gratification.

Selina studied the man who had lured her into sin and for once, her hunger for the pleasure he gave her wasn’t paramount. Instead she felt a need to comfort him that was so overwhelming, it was agonizing. Because right now, the man who brooded into the fire wasn’t the emperor of all he surveyed. He wasn’t heartless and invincible and beyond the reach of human frailty. Brock turned out to be vulnerable in a way she’d never imagined possible at the Derwents’ house, when she’d