"That must be why you don’t sound very Scottish."
"Aye. And of course, once I was old enough to chase the lassies…"
She couldn’t stifle a sigh, although this part of his story wasn’t news to her. "They were good to you, too. And women have continued to be good to you."
Had any of it made up for those early years with two unfeeling idiots who had done him such harm? She doubted it.
He lifted his head to stare into her face. "Do you mind?"
Astonished, she met searching green eyes. "It’s not my place to mind."
Something in the gaze he turned up in her direction said that her answer disappointed him. But she did her best not to think of her negligible place in the long list of Lord Bruard’s conquests.
"Forget whether it’s your place, do you mind?"
She frowned down at him. "Do you want me to be jealous of your other lovers?"
"Jealousy is a frightful bore."
"Exactly."
"So it seems mad to want you to be jealous."
Her hand clenched on his shoulder. "I don’t understand."
"I don’t either." He’d looked down so she couldn’t see his face, but he sounded discontented. "Yet I find myself feeling dashed possessive when I think of you. I loathe that you’re leaving me to go to another man’s bed. I was hoping that perhaps you might feel a similar proprietary interest in me."
She lifted her hand away from him. His confession left her confused, troubled…elated. "Brock…"
He tilted his chin and the stare he directed at her burned through to the bone. "I know it’s not fair. I know I have no rights over you, apart from the rights you grant me for the space of this week. I can’t remember being jealous before. It’s a damned nightmare."
She linked shaking hands in her lap. However impossible it might seem, she wasn’t alone in battling to maintain some emotional detachment in this brief love affair. "We’ve only had a day together, and you promised passion with no deeper implications."
"Circumstances make a liar of me, then." His fierce expression didn’t ease. "I find myself more involved than I’ve ever been with a woman."
Her spread hands indicated bewilderment, even as her imbecilic heart gloated over his taut admission. "What does that mean?"
His lips turned down with self-mockery. "For the life of me, I don’t blasted well know. But I do know that if Cecil was standing before me at this minute, I’d happily drive a sword through his gizzards to stop him putting his filthy paws on you."
A guilty thrill ripped through her. At Brock’s words and at the fervent light she read in his eyes. Which was mad. He declared himself a savage. She should rather chide him than revel in his turbulent desire.
"In that case, it’s a good thing he’s not."
&nb
sp; "Aye. It is. Although a touch of murder might soothe my torments."
Her laugh was shocked, even as she struggled to stifle her feminine pleasure at what he said. "You must know you have no reason to envy Cecil."
Disgust flattened that expressive mouth. "Except that after Wednesday, he’ll have you and I won’t."
Unbelievable as it was, it seemed Brock was indeed jealous. She struggled to put the deplorable truth into words. "He’ll never have me the way you’ve had me. One day with you has meant more than a lifetime with Cecil ever will. I’ve never felt like this before either. You’ve had the truest part of me, Brock. There’s nobody who will ever compare with you."
Her ardent declaration didn’t seem to give him any comfort. His stare remained austere. "It’s not enough," he said, as he’d said earlier.
Misery clenched her throat tight. He was right. It wasn’t enough.
She answered just as she had before. "It has to be."