The Widow Vanishes Read online

  "Take off the bloody veils!"

  Todd hopped off the stool and stalked toward her. He grabbed her arm, his nails biting into her skin. "Begin or McLeod's dead," he hissed.

  He gave her a shove, and she lurched forward to the front of the stage. Lungs pulling for air, she scanned the crowd, trying to affix her eyes on a single spot as the bawd had instructed. Her gaze swept wildly—but there was no safe place, nothing but lewd faces ...

  A downward tug made her stumble backward, away from the grasping hand. Too late: one of the lower veils tore free, baring her legs up to her thighs. The audience roared in approval. She shook from head to toe.

  "Who wants this lovely wench for the evening?" Todd shouted. "Do I have a bid?"

  "Fifty pounds!"

  "One hundred!"

  Bids ricocheted across the room. Her insides cramped with fear.

  "Surely such a prime article is deserving of more," Todd said.

  "Prove it," someone yelled.

  Todd moved behind her and, before she could react, ripped the veils off her upper torso. Cheers erupted as he flung the scarves like streamers into the crowd. Her arms crossed protectively over her naked breasts, a sob lodging in her throat. Only the scarves draped over her face and hips remained.

  A fusillade of offers exploded in the room. Two, three, five hundred pounds ...

  Her eyes stung. Reality suspended, and overwhelming sorrow rolled through her. For what she had lost, what she'd become. I love you, McLeod—and you'll never know how much …

  "Five hundred pounds." Todd's triumphant voice yanked her back. "Going once, twice ... perhaps more enticement is needed?"

  She reacted, spinning away as he grabbed for her.

  He snarled, "Get over here—"

  "Five thousand pounds."

  The crisp, arrogant tones slashed through the melee. For an instant, everything seemed to go quiet and still—even Todd froze, his hand outstretched toward her.

  Annabel found the source of the incredible offer: a tall, dark-haired man standing at the back of the room. The audience parted as he strode forward. He was exquisitely dressed, his sleek, muscular form encased in a smoke grey cutaway and dark trousers. As he came closer, she saw the face of a fallen angel above the flawless cravat: high slanted cheekbones, brooding mouth. His eyes met hers, and she shuddered at the coolness of his celadon gaze.

  Todd hurried forward. "Who am I speaking with, sir?"

  "The Duke of Strathaven," the stranger said.

  Shock battered Annabel's senses. Strathaven ... McLeod's brother?

  Murmurs swirled through the room.

  "Your grace," Todd said, bowing. "Five thousand pounds, you say?"

  "I wish to buy the wench and take her with me." The duke flicked a glance at her. "In the event that she pleases me, I'll want her for more than one night."

  "But the auction was only for the evening," Todd said swiftly.

  "And your highest bid was a tenth of what I'm offering," Strathaven said.

  The cutthroat's eyes moved like a pendulum as he made the calculations. Annabel's breaths puffed against the veil. Was Strathaven friend or foe? From what McLeod had said, his older brother had hurt him time and again, had stolen the woman he'd loved—was that what the duke was doing now? Purchasing her … to punish McLeod?

  Heart hammering, Annabel tried to read the nobleman's cold, impassive visage. Though undoubtedly handsome, he had nothing of McLeod's rugged warmth—in fact, save for their shared height, nothing marked the two as brothers.

  Annabel bit her lip, her eyes flitting between cutthroat and peer of the realm. Who was the more malevolent? Who would cause her and McLeod more harm .... Todd or Strathaven?

  In this instance, better to go with devil she didn't know. Strathaven was related by blood to McLeod—surely he must possess an ounce of the latter's goodness. Annabel decided to take the risk.

  "This wasn't our agreement, Mr. Todd," she said. "If I'm now to become the ... permanent property of this man, I want your word that this will render any debt between us null and void. Your promise that you'll no longer pursue me or McLeod."

  "You have it." Todd waved her impatiently aside, his focus on the greater prize. "Ten thousand and you can take her."

  "Five," Strathaven said in a bored tone. "Take it or leave it."

  "Eight—"

  Panic gripped Annabel when Strathaven turned and began walking away.

  "Fine. Five thousand it is," Todd called after him.

  The duke halted. Pivoted slightly. "My man of business will deliver a bank draft on the morrow."

  "Excellent, your grace." Todd beamed beatifically.

  Strathaven beckoned to her. A casual command.

  Acutely aware of her nakedness, Annabel kept her arms crossed over her chest as she stepped off the stage and approached the duke. His cool gaze lingered on the veil covering her face; with a stab of anxiety, she thought he might make her remove this last layer of protection. Instead, he unbuttoned his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. She clutched the warm superfine close, grateful for its cover.

  "Come along, pet," his grace drawled. "Time to see if you were worth my trouble."

  NINETEEN

  Annabel held her silence until they were out of the club.

  "Your grace," she began.

  "Strathaven."

  "Does McLeod know you're here?" she said in a hushed voice.

  He led the way down the steps and toward the waiting carriage, the painted crest gleaming beneath the streetlamp. "We'll talk inside."

  Biting her lip, she allowed the footman to hand her up and then ...

  "McLeod," she cried.

  She was engulfed in an unyielding embrace, her name whispered hoarsely against her hair. She clung tightly, burrowing against his solid strength, inhaling his familiar scent. All her emotions broke free.

  "I thought ... I thought I'd never see you again," she sobbed.

  "There now, lass. Did you think I'd let you get away from me?" He unhooked her veil, took her jaw in one large hand. His eyes burning into hers, he declared, "Never are you to leave me again, Annabel."

  "I had to. It was the only way Todd would free you from your bargain. I couldn't let you get hurt—" She pulled back with a gasp. "Your wound. Dear God, you've bled through your shirt—"

  "I'm fine, love," he said with a tenderness that made her tears spill over again.

  "I shouldn't worry. Peregrine's made of stern stuff."

  The cool tones made her start. She'd forgotten all about the duke. Hadn't registered until this moment that he sat across from her and McLeod and that the carriage was moving, taking her away from the nightmare. Cuddled in McLeod's lap, she felt her lover go rigid. His arms tightened around her even as his gaze fixed on his brother.

  "Mrs. Foster, this is my brother, the Duke of Strathaven," he said evenly.

  The formality of the introduction struck Annabel as rather ludicrous given that the duke had recently purchased her at a gaming hell auction. His jacket still hid her nakedness.

  "Your grace," she said uncertainly.

  The duke's lips curled. "The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Foster. Indeed, I don't believe I've ever had such a scintillating introduction before."

  Annabel blushed.

  A warning growl emerged from McLeod. "Watch your tongue, brother."

  "Bit possessive over a wench, aren't you?"

  "She's not a wench, damn your eyes. She's my—" McLeod cut off abruptly as one of the duke's eyebrows winged up. "She's none of your business, Strathaven, so keep your nose out of my affairs."

  "Since you're my heir, your affairs have become my business."

  Annabel's gaze swung to McLeod. "You're his heir again?"

  "I'll explain later, lass," he muttered.

  The fact that he didn't deny it blasted through Annabel like an arctic gale. Budding hope withered and died. No matter how warm and fierce his welcome just now, McLeod was entirely out of her reach. He'd been too good for her bef
ore; now he was heir presumptive to a duke ...

  Annabel tried to scoot off McLeod's lap, but he held her firm. "I'm still Will McLeod, the man you've been waking next to this past fortnight." When she remained silent, he crooked a finger beneath her chin, made her look at him. At the strong, handsome face so dear to her that she could see nothing else. "I'm the same man you've laughed with and made happier than he's ever been. The one who damn near lost his mind when he discovered what you'd done for him."

  "You don't owe me anything—the debt was mine to begin with." She strove to keep her voice from trembling. "And during this past fortnight ... we had an understanding. You've never taken advantage of me, nor do you need to feel responsible for my well-being."

  McLeod's brows drew together. "Of course I feel responsible for you. You're mine."

  Impossible longing squeezed her heart. Made her realize how much she'd allowed herself to hope—how she'd fooled herself into believing that life could be lived solely in the moment. That she could love this man without consequences or thought of the future.

  She made herself speak the truth. "I've been your mistress, nothing more."

  "That's untrue. There's far more between us ... everything." His eyes searched hers. "I love you, Annabel."

  Her eyes swam. "Don't." Please don't make it any harder.

  "Why not? Don't you love me, lass, even a little?"

  The vulnerability in his warrior's face was her undoing. "Of course I do," she said in a choked voice. "But you're too good for me. You've always been. And now you're a duke's heir and I'm ..."

  "The bravest, strongest, and most beautiful woman I've ever known." His deep brown eyes held her. "I know your past, Bella. How you've fought for the present. The only question is the future: whether you'll honor me by becoming my wife."

  A sob left her. "I c-can't. I won't do that to you, McLeod. You deserve someone better—"

  "There is no woman better than the one in my arms." He cupped her cheek and tenderly thumbed away the tears. "Ach, Annabel, you're my equal in every way. Steadfast and true, the loveliest lass I could ever hope for."

  His sincerity smoothed like a balm over her heart. "Do you mean that, McLeod?" she said between sniffles. "Truly? You're not saying that because you pity me or feel obligated to—"

  "What sort of an idiot do you take me for?" He chuffed impatiently. "I'll not marry a woman out of pity. I'll make her mine because she's everything I want in my life and in my bed."

  "You don't have to marry me. I—I'll stay with you. For as long as you want me—"

  "Seeing as I'll want you forever, you'd best be my wife. I'll do whatever it takes to give you my name, Bella—you and the beautiful bairns we'll have together." His jaw set with fierce determination.

  A shuddery breath left Annabel, her resistance waning. She couldn't doubt him any longer. Couldn't deny her soul's yearning for this beautiful warrior, the love of her life.

  He must have sensed her weakening, for his eyes suddenly smiled into hers. "Don't leave a man hanging, beauty. Tell me you love me. That you'll be mine forevermore."

  How could she resist such joy?

  "I love you," she said through her tears, "and I'll be yours ... for as long as you'll be mine."

  "Always," he said.

  "But I still think you should consider the matter more carefully," she said in a final effort to be fair to him. "Let us wait and not rush into anything. In a few months' time, we'll see if you still want to marry me."

  He looked as if he might argue. Instead, his lips curved. A wicked, irresistible smile.

  "Make me wait if you must, my love," he murmured. "Know this, however: I will make you my wife."

  He sealed his vow with a kiss so heavenly that the angels burst into song. The blissful chorus rang in her head, her heart ... until the languid tones of a decidedly unwinged creature cut in.

  "As touching as this all is," Strathaven said, "you've overlooked one detail."

  McLeod lifted his head from hers. Glowered at his brother. "What detail?"

  "Technically ... Mrs. Foster belongs to me."

  Alarm shot through Annabel. Surely Strathaven didn't mean to hold her to the auction ...

  "I paid five thousand pounds for her, after all," the duke said.

  McLeod's hold tightened on her. "I'll pay you back every cent."

  "I don't want your money."

  The air stuck in Annabel's throat. Quivering with barely leashed violence, McLeod said, "What do you want?"

  "Merely to give you a wedding gift," Strathaven drawled. "Felicitations to the happy couple, etcetera."

  "That's it?" McLeod's eyes narrowed, his arms caging her as if he feared she'd be snatched away at any moment. "You want nothing else?"

  The door of the carriage opened. Annabel registered that they had stopped outside White's, an exclusive gentlemen's club. The duke stepped down.

  Turning, he said, "I took something from you once. Now I'm giving you something in return. Believe me, brother, between the two of us, you have received the better end of the bargain." The streetlamp cast shadows over his sculpted features, his pale expressionless eyes. "My carriage will see you home."

  He turned to go.

  She heard the whoosh of McLeod's released breath. "Alaric."

  The duke looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

  "I ... thank you," McLeod said gruffly.

  Strathaven gave a curt nod. "Congratulations to you both."

  As the carriage rolled away, Annabel said tentatively, "That was kind of your brother."

  "Strathaven never does a thing without a reason." McLeod brooded out the window a moment longer before returning his gaze to her. "But let's not talk about him. I'd rather focus on our future and how happy we're going to be together."

  A future—with the man she loved and who loved her in return. Joy brimmed over.

  "Is that a promise, McLeod?"

  "One you can count on, lass."

  They smiled at each other. No words could express their happiness. And the kiss that followed proved, as always, that her Scot was a man who kept his word.

  EPILOGUE

  A month later, Will's new wife threw her head back and chanted his name. "McLeod."

  "Don't stop, beauty." He gripped his beloved's hips through the layers of her wedding dress, bringing her down hard against him. His breath hissed through his teeth as her pussy clamped around his cock, holding him deep inside her silken depths. "Ride me until you spend—take us both there."

  Annabel moaned, her knees pressing against his hips as she bounced up and down. His bride's natural talent for riding overwhelmed his senses: his eyes feasted ravenously on her bobbing breasts even as his prick pulsed inside her tight passage. In his haste, he'd managed only to yank down her bodice and corset and toss up her skirts; the garments were now bunched at her waist as she impaled herself upon him.

  Upon bidding farewell to the guests who'd been invited to their small wedding breakfast, Will had given the servants the rest of the day off and promptly swept Bella upstairs. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her that morning—shyly walking down the aisle toward him in a simple, blush-colored gown—he'd been nigh mad with love and want of her.

  Part of the reason for his crazed desire was that he'd resorted to playing dirty in order to convince Bella to marry him. After two weeks of patient waiting, of wooing his stubborn lass with flowers and trinkets, he'd decided that enough was enough. It was as clear as day that they were meant to be together—each passing moment brought more laughter and love than he'd imagined possible. Yet Annabel had still needed convincing that she was his equal in every way, the only wife he would ever want.

  So he'd informed her of his decision to withhold his favors from her until they were married.

  She'd blinked at him. "You're not serious."

  "Aye, lass, I am."

  He'd stuck to his word. Less than a week later, she'd caved.

  He'd gotten a special license, she'd planned
the celebration, and now, with the bluidy guests gone, things were finally as they should be. She rose on her knees and off his turgid member. Before he could protest, she gave a saucy wriggle, the lush lips of her sex kissing the crown of his cock, gliding back and forth, and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

  Aye. Exactly as things should be.

  She plunged down again, taking him to the hilt, grinding with sensual force. Will moaned. By God, his wife was a hot little temptress. Perfect for him in every way.

  "Tease," he said through tattered breaths. "Two can play at that game."

  His thumb combed through her nether curls, finding her tight little bud. He diddled her as he thrust his hips up. The drenching rush of her response sent another wave of heat over him.

  "Mmm, I've missed you," she sighed. "That's so good ..."

  Was it ever. He continued to play with her clit, his eyes on her flushed face as she rode his cock. Her wet, gripping strokes set him afire. When she looked close to coming, he reached up and spread his palms over her shoulder blades, pulling her closer. At this new angle, he drove his hips up repeatedly, drilling against her pearl, into the deep, giving core of her.

  He took her mouth, swallowing her cries, glorying in the rippling sweetness of her climax.

  When she lay limp and boneless against his chest, he rolled them both over. On top once more, he stirred himself in her lush sex, pumping leisurely.

  "I like watching you come, wife," he whispered. "So damned beautiful."

  She gazed up at him with adoring eyes, her hands playing with the hair at his nape. A dimple peeked out. "Then perhaps you'd care for a repeat performance, husband?"

  "What a greedy wench I married," he said, grinning.

  He took her slowly, trying to draw out his pleasure and hers. When her legs wrapped around his hips, however, the animal in him took over. Growling, he drove his prick inside her. Harder and harder and when her fingernails bit into his shoulders and she arched up against him, her face a beacon of ecstasy, he lost control altogether. Her breasts jiggled in rhythm to his savage thrusts. His jaw clenched as fiery desire raged through him.

  "Love you, lass," he gritted out.

  "And I you, my darling," she gasped as the crisis hit her once again.