Wild Conquest. Hannah Howell
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KISSING THE SCOTSMAN
“I best get back to my work.” She attempted to move away from him, but his hand on her hair held her in place. “I am really quite busy. I am making bread.”
“I hadnae expected ye to be so domesticated, Pleasance Dunstan.”
There was the hint of insult in his words, but she ignored it as she had so many other times. That was not important at the moment. What was important was the fact that she was letting him tug her into his arms. In fact, she thought with additional self-disgust, she was positively melting in his embrace. She did not need the way she trembled as his hand traced her spine, then came to rest at the small of her back to tell her that in his arms was a dangerous place to be. It was dangerous to her heart, to her morals, and, she mused as she stared into his darkening gray eyes, to her very sanity.
Tearlach kissed her forehead, then each cheek, and felt her sigh. She was soft and pliable in his arms. As her eyes turned a rich warm blue and grew heavy lidded, he read desire in them. Her full lips were moist and slightly parted. No man should be expected to resist such temptation…
Books by Hannah Howell
Only for You
My Valiant Knight
Unconquered
Wild Roses
A Taste of Fire
Highland Destiny
Highland Honor
Highland Promise
A Stockingful of Joy
Highland Vow
Highland Knight
Highland Hearts
Highland Bride
Highland Angel
Highland Groom
Highland Warrior
Reckless
Highland Conqueror
Highland Champion
Highland Lover
Highland Vampire
Conqueror’s Kiss
Highland Barbarian
Beauty and the Beast
Highland Savage
Highland Thirst
Highland Wedding
Highland Wolf
Silver Flame
Highland Fire
Nature of the Beast
Highland Captive
Highland Sinner
My Lady Captor
If He’s Wicked
Wild Conquest
If He’s Sinful
Published by Zebra Books
WILD CONQUEST
HANNAH HOWELL
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter One
Worcester, Massachusetts Bay Colony—1769
“I do not wish to marry John Martin,” Letitia whined.
Pleasance watched her pouting younger sister closely, inwardly grimacing at her childish tone. From the moment Pleasance, Letitia, and their parents had sat down at the huge, heavily laden table to eat breakfast, her sister had kept up a steady stream of complaint. Although Pleasance continued to calmly eat her eggs and ham, she felt a tight knot of uneasiness begin to steal her appetite. She did not like the direction the conversation was taking. Whenever Letitia expressed displeasure, it cost someone dearly. And that someone was usually her.
She covertly watched her parents. Thomas Dunstan’s face was flushed, and Pleasance knew he was failing to control his anger with Letitia. He wanted a marriage with the wealthy Martins as a means to increase his own prestige. His wife, Sarah, was fiddling with her heavy lace fichu, a clear indication of her agitation. No doubt she had already been secretly planning an elaborate, ostentatious wedding. Pleasance’s elder brother, Lawrence, was studying with his tutor, and she was glad of it. Lawrence was exactly like their father, and there was already quite enough bombast at the table. Her younger brother, Nathan, was off on some mysterious business—probably eluding customs agents trying to collect unpaid duty on shipments he had made to the other colonies.
“John Martin is a fine young man,” Thomas Dunstan said, tugging his elaborately embroidered waistcoat over his rounding stomach before filling his plate with a second serving of smoked ham and scrambled eggs from the ornate pewter serving dishes. “He has a residence and a profession. He also comes from a family of prominence in the colony. The Martins are well respected in Worcester.”
“I am not concerned with that,” Letitia replied. “You said I could choose my own husband, Father. You promised.”
“And just whom do you think you want if not John Martin?”
“I want the Scotsman.”
A sharp pang ripped through Pleasance. She could feel the blood drain from her cheeks and tried to calm herself before anyone noticed. Her sister’s preference should not have come as such a shock to her, yet it had. She did not want to believe that her sister could be so cruel. The Scotsman, as her family insisted on calling him, was wooing her.
“The Scotsman?” bellowed Thomas. “That backwoods trash? He is not good enough for you. ’Tis bad enough that he is not of reputable English stock, but he is a common trapper besides.”
“You let him court Pleasance,” argued Letitia, carefully arranging her thick blond curls to drape artfully over her right shoulder.
“Pleasance is nearly a spinster. She cannot be as selective.”
“How kind,” Pleasance muttered, hiding her sarcasm by quickly taking a sip of tea.
“Well, you told me that I can be as selective as I want.” Letitia’s usually sweet voice had a distinctive edge. “And I have selected the Scotsman.” She turned to fix her steady gaze on Pleasance, her usually soft blue eyes hard and cold. “After all, if my dear sister finds the Scotsman entertaining, he cannot be so very bad a choice, can he?”
“You might call this man you claim to want so badly by his name,” Pleasance said, praying that for once Letitia’s