Unwed and Unrepentant. Marguerite Kaye

anything other than a pleasure before. Some more pleasurable than others, but always fun, usually satisfying, in the way that a glass of wine fresh from the cellar was satisfying, or a bowl of fresh pasta eaten in the sunshine, or a walk on hot sand in bare feet.

      Not like this. This was something much more elemental. Before, during, she would have given him anything not to stop. He had invaded her, seen things she did not want anyone to see on her face. Come with me, he had said, and she could not have done anything but what he asked. He hadn’t taken her, she had given herself to him. All of herself, in a way she never had, nor ever thought she would want to. That he had, despite the power he had over her, been so careful of her too, made it somehow much worse. That she had not wanted him to be careful, that she had for one wild, fierce moment, wanted to court the consequences, frightened her.

      It was as if the whole day had been a peeling back of all her layers culminating in this revelation, the core of her, the lonely inner self. Cordelia jumped to her feet, suddenly appalled at what she had done. Her dressing gown was at the top of her trunk. Pale-yellow silk embroidered with flowers, it was masculine in cut, with straight sleeves and a collar. It was one of her favourite pieces of clothing. She tightened the belt, turning to find Iain on his feet, his expression troubled.

      ‘I’m sorry that was so— We got carried away. I am not usually so...’ He shrugged hopelessly. ‘I’m sorry, I thought it was what you wanted.’

      ‘I did,’ she said shortly, unwilling, unable to lie. She had never been the type of woman to take pleasure in making a man feel guilty.

      ‘Then what’s wrong?’

      ‘I’m tired. I have to leave early.’

      ‘Don’t lie to me, Cordelia, and don’t think you have to pander to my ego either. If it didn’t work for you—though if it did not, you’re a bloody good actress.’

      ‘It did.’ Now she was embarrassed. After all that. She would not think of all that. Cordelia began to pick up her clothes.

      Iain was already wearing his trousers, pulling on his shirt. ‘Then what is it? And don’t give me the line about being tired.’

      Don’t give me the line. His accent was rougher, the Lowland gruffness taking front stage. She couldn’t think what to say. I can’t believe I did that, would give him the wrong impression, though it would certainly help get him out the door, and getting him out the door was what she needed more than anything.

      Whatever he read in her face, it made him look grim. Iain picked up his coat and pulled it on, stuffing his stock into the pocket. ‘So you’ve had your bit of rough, and now you want to be alone, is that it?’

      ‘No! What an appalling thing to say.’

      He ignored her, pulling on his shoes.

      ‘Iain, that’s not it.’

      ‘Then what?’

      Fully dressed, he looked intimidating. There was a wild look in his eye that made her think of some of the Highlanders she had seen. Cordelia ran her hand through her tangled hair, coming up with a ball of fluff and a splinter of floorboard. ‘It was too much,’ she admitted.

      ‘Are you sorry?’

      ‘No.’

      The answer was out without needing to think. Iain sighed heavily, but he managed a lopsided smile. ‘I’m not sorry either, but my head’s reeling, if you must know. You’re not the only one to find it all a bit much.’

      His honesty disarmed her. ‘It has been a very strange day,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘Extraordinary.’

      ‘Cordelia.’

      He touched her temple, just as he had on the docks. This time, she had to fight the impulse to pull away, for she was fairly certain he could read her thoughts.

      ‘I hope whichever direction you take, it makes you happier,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, I’m not unhappy.’

      ‘I told you not to lie,’ he said gently. ‘I know you don’t want to hear from me again, but if there should be anything you need me for, here’s where you can find me. You understand, I would not expect you to deal with any consequences alone.’

      He handed her a card.

      ‘Thank you,’ Cordelia said, ‘but I am sure...’

      ‘I mean it.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘That’s something,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, Cordelia.’

      He did not touch her. She felt an absurd, contrary desire that he would kiss her. ‘Goodbye.’ She touched his temple, echoing his own gesture. ‘I hope whichever direction you take, it makes you happier too.’

      He acknowledged this admission of her own state of mind with a nod. Then he turned and walked through the door. She stood where she was. The outer door opened softly, then closed. She went to the window, pulling the curtains to hide her, and looked out. The lamps were lit around the square. He emerged a few minutes later, through the main hotel entrance. She could not imagine what the night porter must have thought, and did not care. She thought he would stop, look up, even though she was careful not to let him see her, but he did not. He pulled his coat around him, and headed across the square, in the direction of the river, without looking back.