This wouldn’t do. She couldn’t keep thinking of the night before without longing…without lusting. There. She could admit it. Annalía Llorente lusted for a ruthless Highland mercenary.
Yet she felt tied to him, too, bound to him by what they shared. Last night, she’d acted blasé about his leaving her behind, but to tell the truth, she hated the thought. She’d actually entertained the idea of keeping the Highlander. Did that mean she loved him? She couldn’t say, but she knew she couldn’t stand the idea of being away from him.
She’d had moments where she anticipated a future of his lovemaking and cajoled half grins, but she didn’t know how she’d accomplish this since she’d never be allowed to marry MacCarrick even if he’d “ruined” her.
Not that MacCarrick wished for marriage to her. He’d made what he wanted clear. “Why have one when you can have many?” he’d asked, which made her angry. She’d rather not have him than have to share him. Where had that thought come from? She felt like a jealous schoolgirl who wouldn’t share her ribbon. She knew better than ever to be proprietary over a man.
Only one thing could keep a man by a woman’s side—she’d seen it in rare couples—and that was love.
When the steamer began docking, and he took her arm, she asked him, “Do you want to know what I was thinking?”
“Anna, every man on board knew what you were thinking about.”
“Oh.” Annalía hated being obvious.
“Every one of them would have taken you up on it.” He sounded furious as he steered her toward a railed gangway.
He was furious? She was the one who had reason to be. She looked back at the ship and in an innocent tone asked, “Were any of them husband material?”
He glowered at her so fiercely any other woman would have quaked in her garters. After that, he said nothing, and his expression defied her to speak to him. Though she decided she wouldn’t give him the pleasure, their next stop was proving unbearable.
He was taking her to London on a train. At the station, she had many questions, and she knew he could provide all the answers. It was like having a book in your hand with knowledge you wanted, but the pages were glued together. Sooner or later you’d want nothing more than to hurl it against the wall.
Then London was a chaotic snarl of noise and wares and food smells to be investigated, but he swiftly got them a hansom, and soon they were away from the city center riding into a charming residential area. Copious townhomes with late summer gardens queued along the brick-paved street. Trees abounded and lawns stretched in front of each with spotless perfection. “Fifteenth from the Throne” hadn’t been lying when she’d said Brits had taste.
They stopped in front of a grand property with a stately red brick house. Large without being overblown, with every detail tasteful, the property bespoke the wealth of the owners. As was fitting.
“We’re here.”
She glanced at him, turned to observe the home once again, then frowned. “Did you give Aleix directions to this place?”
“Aye. He should find it easily enough.”
“Do you know people who work here?”
He looked at her strangely as he opened his door. “Aye. I suppose I do.” Then he was assisting her out and waltzing her up the freshly washed steps, directly to the double doors. The front doors.
“You can’t just knock for entrance here, MacCarrick.” If he had friends who worked here, he’d get them in trouble.
The skin around his eyes tightened as he rapped the huge ornate knocker. “I can.”
Just as she was going to tell him to let her speak for them, one door opened to show a dour-looking butler, whose expression creased into a smile when he saw MacCarrick. “Master Courtland!”
“Erskine, it’s good to see you.”
As Erskine led them in, Annalía frowned at MacCarrick.
“Is this your home?”
“It’s my family’s. My home’s in Scotland.”
“Oh.” And precisely why would the mercenary’s family home be beautiful and luxurious? “Is yours as nice as this one?”
He gave her an unreadable expression. “Do you like me better now that you know I come from money?”
She poked her chin up. The nerve. She wasn’t exactly a pauper. “No, to like you better, I would have had to like you some.” Though her answer was dripping disdain, her words seemed to please him.
“Then no, my home is no’ near to being this nice.”
In the next room hung a large portrait of a woman, clearly the focal point. Annalía inspected it, fascinated with the beautiful redhead. “Who is she?”