hard-earned money won’t go to waste.”
His words held no malice, but brought forth the truth of the matter. Drew had bought her. The shame she’d thought she’d left at Coal’s flooded through her now. No matter how hard she tried to pretty it up, nothing changed.
She had become his possession the moment he’d paid that outrageous amount to Coal.
Perhaps he hadn’t meant it quite as she’d heard it, but there was no mistaking he was right. He owned her now. He was, in fact, her master.
“I suppose I ought to begin packing as well,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I will send Jameson to purchase a sea chest for you, Heather. That way — ” The words died on his lips and he frowned. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” she replied, ducking her head and turning away. She felt like such a fool, reading far more into Drew’s intentions than she should have. There was no way she could ever tell him that. It sounded mad, even to her. He hardly knew her, never mind care for her. It was purely physical.
He didn’t press the issue. Instead, he shrugged and straightened up, pulling on his frock coat. “I suppose we ought to go down before Mrs. Markham is pounding on the door again.”
“Yes. I suppose we should.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Heather hesitated, but decided it was in her best interest to accept that proffered arm. If a master he wished to be, then she would do her damnedest to make certain to treat him as one.
She couldn’t ignore the warmth seeping into her hand as it rested lightly on his forearm, but resisted the urge to squeeze the dense muscle packed beneath his skin, muscle she could feel even through his clothing. She cast a sidelong glance up at him, but said nothing as they left the room to go down to tea.
Drew sensed her sudden coolness, but couldn’t imagine what the reason could be. She grew quiet, speaking only when spoken to, averting her eyes whenever he happened to look at her. Her brow was furrowed, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Whatever might be troubling her, she kept to herself.
He wondered if it had to do with leaving England. He didn’t know what had possessed him to invite her to go with him, but the words were out before he could stop them.
He did not regret issuing the invitation. He wanted her to go with him, although he wasn’t exactly certain why. He didn’t keep mistresses. His habits were much more short-term. The shorter, the better. That was his motto.
But there was something about Heather, something that pressed him, urged him to keep her close. He couldn’t simply sail off and leave her to fend for herself. Not when he knew where she would most likely end up.
The very thought of her returning to Coal’s fired his blood. Anger coiled within the pit of his stomach any time he thought of another man laying a hand on Heather. He knew possessiveness made up a fair amount of the blood of a McKenzie male, but he couldn’t explain why he should feel it where she was concerned. As she’d pointed out, he’d only just met her. How could he feel possessive toward her in such a short time? It made no sense, but he could not deny it.
Heather said nothing as they went into the drawing room, where Mrs. Markham had set out the tea. She prepared a cup with plenty of sugar and thick cream, and sat back in an elegant red leather wing chair to take a sip. She remained quiet, eyes downcast, as she nibbled at a scone.
He sat across from her, scowling, his biscuit ignored on his plate.
“What’s on your mind, Heather?” he finally asked, shoving his plate away in disgust.
She looked up at him, her wide, dark eyes filled with what appeared to be innocence. “There is nothing on my mind, sir.”
Her eyes were the loveliest he’d ever seen — deep, dark brown, as luminous as moonbeams and as fathomless as the ocean. A man could get lost looking into those pools.
He cleared his throat.
His words held no malice, but brought forth the truth of the matter. Drew had bought her. The shame she’d thought she’d left at Coal’s flooded through her now. No matter how hard she tried to pretty it up, nothing changed.
She had become his possession the moment he’d paid that outrageous amount to Coal.
Perhaps he hadn’t meant it quite as she’d heard it, but there was no mistaking he was right. He owned her now. He was, in fact, her master.
“I suppose I ought to begin packing as well,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I will send Jameson to purchase a sea chest for you, Heather. That way — ” The words died on his lips and he frowned. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” she replied, ducking her head and turning away. She felt like such a fool, reading far more into Drew’s intentions than she should have. There was no way she could ever tell him that. It sounded mad, even to her. He hardly knew her, never mind care for her. It was purely physical.
He didn’t press the issue. Instead, he shrugged and straightened up, pulling on his frock coat. “I suppose we ought to go down before Mrs. Markham is pounding on the door again.”
“Yes. I suppose we should.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Heather hesitated, but decided it was in her best interest to accept that proffered arm. If a master he wished to be, then she would do her damnedest to make certain to treat him as one.
She couldn’t ignore the warmth seeping into her hand as it rested lightly on his forearm, but resisted the urge to squeeze the dense muscle packed beneath his skin, muscle she could feel even through his clothing. She cast a sidelong glance up at him, but said nothing as they left the room to go down to tea.
Drew sensed her sudden coolness, but couldn’t imagine what the reason could be. She grew quiet, speaking only when spoken to, averting her eyes whenever he happened to look at her. Her brow was furrowed, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Whatever might be troubling her, she kept to herself.
He wondered if it had to do with leaving England. He didn’t know what had possessed him to invite her to go with him, but the words were out before he could stop them.
He did not regret issuing the invitation. He wanted her to go with him, although he wasn’t exactly certain why. He didn’t keep mistresses. His habits were much more short-term. The shorter, the better. That was his motto.
But there was something about Heather, something that pressed him, urged him to keep her close. He couldn’t simply sail off and leave her to fend for herself. Not when he knew where she would most likely end up.
The very thought of her returning to Coal’s fired his blood. Anger coiled within the pit of his stomach any time he thought of another man laying a hand on Heather. He knew possessiveness made up a fair amount of the blood of a McKenzie male, but he couldn’t explain why he should feel it where she was concerned. As she’d pointed out, he’d only just met her. How could he feel possessive toward her in such a short time? It made no sense, but he could not deny it.
Heather said nothing as they went into the drawing room, where Mrs. Markham had set out the tea. She prepared a cup with plenty of sugar and thick cream, and sat back in an elegant red leather wing chair to take a sip. She remained quiet, eyes downcast, as she nibbled at a scone.
He sat across from her, scowling, his biscuit ignored on his plate.
“What’s on your mind, Heather?” he finally asked, shoving his plate away in disgust.
She looked up at him, her wide, dark eyes filled with what appeared to be innocence. “There is nothing on my mind, sir.”
Her eyes were the loveliest he’d ever seen — deep, dark brown, as luminous as moonbeams and as fathomless as the ocean. A man could get lost looking into those pools.
He cleared his throat.
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