"I did not wish to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather."
"Understandable. And Kormad?"
"Him I detest beyond anything."
Lachlan nodded. "What of Philippe? Did he give you pleasure?"
She remained silent, staring into the fire.
"I didn't think he had."
"He did."
Och! Another lie. "Indeed? Then I deserve a chance to wipe him from your memory."
"You cannot. I shall never forget Philippe."
What the hell did she see in the cowardly laddie? Likely, that was another lie to keep Lachlan at bay. "A kiss, Angelique. 'Tis all I'm asking. If you'd married Chatsworth or Kormad, either of them would've already forced you into bed. But I wouldn't do that. I ask you to come of your own free will."
The fire crackled in the long silence.
Stomach aching, Angelique clenched her sweaty hands, unable to forget the pain and humiliation she'd suffered at Girard's hands... and body. The way he forced his erect member inside her, like a battering ram, making her flesh bleed, even as he slapped her and hit her. Tears stung her eyes. She turned away from Lachlan, hoping he would not see.
Lachlan was not Girard, not a rapist, nor was he angry. Everything about him was different from Girard, but he was still a man who wished to take her body, control her life. Sex was a dangerous instrument, whether done violently or gently, it was meant to bring her under his command. Bend her to his will. And clearly, he intended to be in charge, marching into her chamber whenever he pleased.
For one brief moment, she allowed herself the truth. Lachlan appealed to her in a most frightening way. His charm drew her in, against her will. It wasn't only his masculine physical appeal and the raw male beauty of his defined muscles, but the heated look in his eyes, the spellbinding sound of his deep, rich voice. She could not control the rhythm of her own breathing when he was near, observing her closely.
What if she coupled with Lachlan and all the pain and terror of Girard came rushing back to her, in her mind. As if it were happening again now. What would she do? The memory might be too real, too much to endure.
"One wee peck on the cheek," Lachlan said, his tone light, such a contrast to her inner turmoil.
"Very well." Get it over with and go! She could abide this pressure no longer.
Slowly, he approached her, each step closer quickening her heart rate.
She glanced into his dark gold eyes and turned her cheek to him. Please, let him be quick.
Drawing near, he pressed his nose to her hair and inhaled. The release of his warm breath caressed her temple and her ear. She shivered at the tickle and waited.
His breath, softer this time, touched her cheek. She had never felt anything so bewitching. And he smelled appealingly male. What fragrance of soap did he use?
He brushed smooth lips over her cheek, but his rough masculine stubble called to everything in her that was feminine. Immobilizing tingles spread down her neck, across her chest, peaking her nipples. He exhaled against her—hot, sensual, subtle—without touching her.
Disturbing carnal sensations raced over her and her eyes drifted closed. "Go away," she whispered.
"That is what you desire, in truth?" he murmured against her ear, but continued with the seduction. He drew her earlobe into his mouth. The erotic overload drove a shaft of terror through her and she shoved at his chest.
He grasped her wrists and pushed them above her head. Trapped.
Panic seized her. "Arrêtez! Bâtard!" She tried to yank herself from his firm grip.
He paused, restraining her against the wall and staring into her eyes at short distance. "Oui. Je suis un bête. Non? Goujat?" he asked. "A stupid beast, a lout, a bastard?"
Iciness drifted down through her. "Vous ne parlez pas la Francaise."
"Oui, madame, I do speak French. I was in France for more than a year."
"You lied."
"Non." The anger in his expression gave her chills.
"You pretended ignorance."
"I have been called a canny lad. I ken what you have called me when you thought I couldn't understand. How would you like it if I said things about you in Gaelic?"
He did talk about her to his friends, but in English and behind her back. Damn him.
"I wouldn't call you degrading names in Gaelic, neither to your face nor behind your back. I am not as much a bastard as you think."
"Pardonnez-moi." She lowered her gaze, submitting, praying he would release her and not force her. She might go insane and try to kill him if he did.
"I forgive you." His lips quirked and a long moment later, he brushed them against the corner of her mouth—persuasive, determined, fervent. He nipped at her lips, flicked his tongue against the seam. Unwanted arousal shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Such power and control he wielded with his practiced seduction. He used his magic on her as he had many other women.
Her throat closed off. Gasping, she turned her head away and tried to twist from his hold. "Release me!"
"Not until you kiss me properly as a wife should kiss her husband."
"Bastard!"
"I was born well within wedlock. As our bairns will be."
She shook her head. "Do not touch me. You have been with hundreds of women. I do not want a disease." There, good reason. And Mère de Dieu, what if it were true? She had not considered it until this moment.
Eyes narrowed, he stepped back, releasing her at last. "I have no disease, madame," he said firmly.
"How do you know?" She inched away from him.
"I have no symptoms of any sort. I am always most careful. I have never bedded whores or barmaids."
"Ladies have been known to carry diseases."
"Aye, but word gets around."
"Or maybe debauching virgins is your specialty."
He shrugged. "If they asked nicely. But that is all in the past. My body is yours alone now."
Ha. Did he honestly think she believed that? "Prove you do not have a disease. Have a physician come."
He glowered. "You jest."
"Non. I mean it. I wish a physician to inspect your... member and see that it is healthy."
Chapter Seven
Lachlan laughed, but this shifted to a perplexed scowl. "I assure you, m'lady, my 'member' is healthy."
"I do not know that," Angelique said. A libertine such as him had been with too many women to count. She was glad she had thought of this before it was too late.
"If I am examined and found healthy, I am welcome in your bed, aye? Every night."
Parbleu. She had not considered what would happen afterward. "I shall think about it."
"No thinking. I want your word." His eyes had become those of a hardened warrior again. "A signed contract."
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Nay. 'Tis only fair. I meet your demands; you meet mine. And to sweeten the deal, I will allow you to accompany me as I meet with some of the clan chiefs we have alliances with in the surrounding area, and their wives, within the next few days."