The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,52

but this final consummation was sweeter than honey. Sweeter yet was the moment he went still and groaned in release.

When it was over, he stretched out behind her, holding her in a loose embrace, as they’d lain so often in this bed. She blinked back acid tears and placed her hand over his where it caressed one bare breast. "You’ve given me joy, Brock. Such joy. Just as you promised."

She waited for him to respond, but with a broken sigh, he buried his face in her disheveled hair. His hold tightened, and they lay in silence as their last minutes together ticked away.

***

Brock glanced out the carriage window. "We’re not far from the Blue Wagon."

Yesterday’s break in the weather hadn’t lasted. The sky lowered heavy and gray, and sleet flew in the biting wind. The coachman would be as cold as an icicle and must curse his master for making him drive on such a bitter day.

So far, the roads had remained firm, frozen after the snow, but Selina knew the trip back to London would turn into a muddy nightmare. Even now, the coach showed a dangerous tendency to skid, and they were more than an hour behind the time she said she’d reach the Blue Wagon.

Selina sat up from where she leaned against Brock’s shoulder and smoothed her hair. Compared to the journey to the marshes, this trip had been uneventful. There had been no breathtaking sensual encounters. There hadn’t even been much conversation. Selina couldn’t bear to put the profound experiences of the last week into words, and the idea of discussing forthcoming plans made her feel ill. So she’d rested against Brock, trying to draw strength from the warmth of his arm around her.

He shifted across to the opposite seat. "Your carriage will be waiting?"

He’d asked her this already. She supposed there was some satisfaction in knowing he, too, was on edge about their imminent parting. "I hope so. I assume Kitty will be there, too."

"Gerald comes home from school tomorrow morning."

"Yes."

"That will be nice."

"Yes. Although it’s going to be a busy week."

Brock looked discontented and folded his arms over his chest as he kicked the base of his seat. "Because of the wedding."

"Yes."

The atmosphere between them turned thorny, although what else could she say? They both knew that in a few days, duty necessitated that she became Mrs. Cecil Canley-Smythe. As she drew on her gloves, her hands shook. In her private dictionary, duty had become a synonym for desolation.

Brock went back to staring moodily out the window. After a while, he released a deep sigh and directed his attention to her. "Don’t go back to him, Selina."

Shock struck her motionless. A silence crashed down between them, filled only with the creak of the carriage and the thud of the horses’ hooves.

She struggled to summon a response. "But you know that I…"

One elegant hand sliced the air. Brock was pale, and his jaw was set like iron. The green eyes glittered with furious determination. "Stay with me."

Brock, why are you torturing us both like this? It was difficult enough sticking to her purpose, without having cruel temptation thrown before her.

Her hands clenched in her olive green skirts. "You know that’s impossible."

"Why?"

What was his game? It seemed almost spiteful that he brought this up now. Because he must guess how it tore her apart to leave him. He knew all about women, and she’d done very little to hide her feelings.

So anger edged her tone when she replied. "I have Gerald to consider. I can’t become your mistress. I can’t tar his future with scandal." Her voice softened. "It would be different if I just had myself to consider. I’d stay with you and dare the world to despise me. Any price I paid would be worthwhile."

"Is that true?" He looked startled. "You’d give up everything in return for no guarantees?"

Her lips turned down. "I’d gain more than I ever lost. My good reputation has been a cold companion. You, on the other hand, make me feel as if I live every minute to the fullest."

He leaned forward to seize her hands with an eager desperation that threatened to break her heart. Who knew that a heart could break over and over? Each time the wound cut deeper. How in heaven’s name was she going to survive the years ahead? The thought of Gerald had kept her strong for so long, but even her stalwart love for her son quailed at the barren existence stretching before