Линси Сэндс - Meant to Be Immortal [calibre]

Shaking the memory of her out of his head, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. “I fear you misunderstood me when I asked if there was anyone who held a special place in your affections,” he told her. “What I meant was, is there any particular man for whom you have feelings?”

The question had her swiveling to peer at him and Hugh found himself once more with a face full of the soft golden strands. Those strands clung lovingly, forcing him to again remove them. They were driving him mad. It wasn’t just the tickling sensation they caused, but the scent, as well. Her hair smelled like sunshine and lemons. Hugh had never before felt any attraction to the scent of lemons and sunshine, but coming from her head, the combination seemed delicious. Almost as delicious as the feel of her backside rubbing against his groin with every step his mount took. Why had he offered to give her a ride back to the cottage, he wondered with disgust. He had thought it a good opportunity to speak with her away from the hag, but he was finding her nearness terribly distracting at a time when he needed his wits about him.

“I am sorry, my lord. I misunderstood.” She turned further to give him a contrite glance. The girl was, apparently, wholly unaware of the fact that the movement pressed her breasts against his chest and arm, and her butt firmly against his now growing manhood.

Hugh let his breath out in resignation. He had been semi-hard since he had first settled her on the saddle. Now he could have been a flag-bearer.

“Aye. Well,” he said gruffly, wondering if she could feel what she was doing to him. “So . . . is there any particular man you have feelings for?”

Much to his relief, she shifted to face front again, easing his discomfort somewhat. Unfortunately, her answer wasn’t quite as pleasing.

“Of course, my lord. You.”

“Me?” Hugh’s upper body went as stiff as his lower. “Surely you jest, girl? You have just met me. How could you claim an affection for me?”

“How could I not?” From the face she turned to him, he guessed that she was surprised by the very question. He puzzled over her answer even as he shifted behind her, vainly trying to put a little space between them. He wished with all his heart that she would simply sit still.

“You are to be my husband,” she reasoned as if it were the simplest of concepts and one he should comprehend without need of explanation. “ ’Tis my duty to love you. Papa explained this when he informed me of our betrothal when I was fifteen.”

Hugh pulled his thoughts from his much-abused lower regions and gaped at her. “When you were fifteen?”

“Aye.” She nodded. “Papa told me when he made his will. He felt ’twas best to inform me that he had made some plans in that regard, and to tell me a bit about you so that I would get used to the idea and understand my duty.”

“I see,” Hugh said shortly. “And I suppose ’twas not important for me to know of these plans? What if I had married in the meantime?”

Much to his relief, she shrugged and turned forward again. “I presume he would have arranged for me to marry someone else.”

Hugh snorted. His uncle would have found it difficult to convince any other nobleman to marry the girl. No doubt his uncle had hoped Hugh would be so grateful to inherit Hillcrest and its estates that he would marry her out of gratitude. The old man had presumed too much.

Hugh, like most men of his station, had been pledged to a lady of equal standing while still in his infancy. It was just his bad luck that his own betrothed had died ere reaching marriageable age, else he would have been wed long ago. It was equally unfortunate that while she had died too young to have married him, she had also died after bad fortune had struck and his father had squandered what little wealth his family had possessed in his search for more. Those circumstances had made it difficult to arrange a second betrothal. Fate had changed matters, however. Hugh was now wealthier than he had ever hoped to be. He could not wait to be pursued by all those women who had let him know that his “circumstances” left him good for little more than stud service. Hugh would enjoy returning the insults they had thoughtlessly dished out over the years. He would turn them down, one and all, explaining that they were not virginal enough, as he was in a position to know firsthand.

The woman before him shifted again and Hugh sighed softly. She was a beautiful little bundle. Her smell was intoxicating, and the way she kept squirming against him was giving him ideas he just shouldn’t have when he did not plan on marrying her. Hugh almost wished she were a lady. He would have married her then. He would have draped her in silks and jewels to accent her glowing beauty, then paraded her at court to flaunt her before all those lords and ladies who had sneered at him over the years. He allowed this fantasy to fill his mind: Escorting her to the table to dine with the king before all of court, presenting her to him, dancing with her, sharing his wine goblet with her, hand-feeding her luscious bits of succulent food. Then he would escort her back to their room where he would strip off all the jewelry and silk, lay her on the bed and proceed to nibble and lick his way from her delicate toes to her—

“Are all saddles this lumpy, my lord?” The question drew Hugh from his daydream to the realization that she was shifting again in an effort to find some comfort. “There appears to be some great hard thing poking me just here.”

He felt something brush his thigh and glanced down. She was reaching between them, trying to find what was poking her. Hugh snatched at her hand with alarm and held it firmly.

“Er . . . saddles are not made for two,” he said in a voice that came out entirely too husky. Realizing that they were nearing the clearing where the cottage was nestled and that he had yet to finish this conversation to his satisfaction, Hugh drew his horse to a halt.

“What are you doing?” Willa asked him with surprise when he dismounted.

“As you find the saddle uncomfortable, I thought we might walk the last little distance,” he prevaricated. A glance over his shoulder showed that Lucan had paused a good distance back. He was waiting patiently.

“Oh.” Smiling uncertainly, Willa allowed him to help her to the ground.

Hugh dallied about the job of tying his mount to a tree as he tried to think how to proceed with this discussion. He had never been much of a conversationalist. Battle had always been his game. There was not much need for eloquence on the field of war. Unfortunately, none of his battle skills would help here. Lacking in diplomacy as he was, Hugh decided he would have to rely on blunt honesty. He gave up fiddling with his horse’s reins and turned to face her. “Is there no one you can think of whom you would desire to marry?”

“I am marrying you . . . am I not?”

Hugh avoided her now uncertain gaze. “Though my uncle wished that to be so, I fear ’tis not the best of ideas.”

“You do not want me?” He could not resist glancing at her then, but immediately wished he had not. She resembled nothing more than a wounded puppy. Feeling guilt assault him, he quickly looked away again.

“ ’Tis not that I do not want you,” he began with discomfort, and nearly rolled his eyes. Wasn’t that the truth? He did want her. Hell, he was still hard as a staff as he stood there. He just didn’t want her to be his wife.

“Nay. You do not want me,” she said unhappily and took a step back from him, looking suddenly pale and miserable.

It was amazing how yellow her face could look under all that golden glory, he thought guiltily. Hugh had never been one to bear up well under culpability. Feeling guilty made him extremely uncomfortable and unhappy and generally roused his anger, as it did now. This was none of his fault. He’d never even heard of the woman until two days ago. His uncle was the one who had gone about making promises he could not possibly keep. Which was probably why the bastard had up and died, leaving the problem in his lap, Hugh decided bitterly.