Chapter Five

F inlay rolled his eyes, astounded by what had just come out of his brother's mouth. How much alcohol had they imbibed? Granted, they hadn't been married long, under two weeks, but surely, his brother hadn't forgotten.

"My wife. Yvette."

"We've met, ye dolt. I attended your wedding."

"'Twas nice to have ye in attendance, my lord," Yvette drawled.

Fingal scoffed. "Ye need no' call him that. We are all family now."

Finlay pinched the bridge of his nose. What was happening? He forced a smile. "Lovely to see ye, Yvette. Fingal. A word, please?"

His brother pulled his wife to his side and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek.

Trying to keep his composure, Finlay watched the awkward display.

"Anything ye have to say to me can be said in front of Yvette. She is well aware of our sishuashion."

The word he was attempting to say was situation, but he was too deep in his cups to pronounce it properly.

Beside him, Yvette bobbed her head up and down.

Finlay opened his mouth the speak, and then clamped it shut, thinking of how he could delicately tell his brother to get his arse to follow him to another room so they could speak privately.

Apparently, even in her inebriated state, Yvette knew when she needed to take a step back and clumsily ducked out from under Fingal's arm and pushed him toward Finlay. "Go on, love. I shall wait for ye." She waved her hands in the air, essentially shooing him away.

No matter her past history, Finlay applauded her gusto.

"Fine, brother. Let us go to the ssssolar ssssso we can ssssspeak privately," his brother drawled.

Shaking his head, Finlay swept out his arm to indicate he would follow Fingal out the door and down the hall.

In the solar, with the door closed behind them, Finlay spun on his brother. "How much have ye had to drink? Ye stink to high heaven. Why are ye here? 'Tis evident ye've lost your damned mind."

"Those are fighting words, brother. Juss because ye are earl doesna mean I ssssstill willna kick your arssssee."

Finlay pierced him with a bored stare. Even in his most sober times, his brother had never been able to best him. "In your state, ye arena kicking anything. I dinna ken why ye bothered coming here. Go home. Ye're drunk and impossible to have an actual conversation with."

Fingal scoffed as if he had just been slapped with the biggest insult on earth. "Ye need to bite your tongue and watch how ye are sssspeaking to me."

"And ye need to sober up. Gather your wife and go home. We can talk when ye've your wits about ye."

His brother shrugged. "Ye willna remain earl," he stated quietly.

"Pardon?" What the hell did his brother mean? "Ye dinna ken what ye are talking about."

Fingal shook his head, a sneer plastered on his ruddy face. "Ye've alwaysss thought ye were better than me." He waved his finger in the air. "Ye will sssee." He pushed himself from the chair he had unceremoniously dropped into and approached Finlay on unsteady feet.

He was so close that Finlay could feel his brother's breath, the smell of liquor overwhelming, as Fingal jabbed a finger into his chest. "Watch yourssself, brother. I'm the only married one in this family." He gave Finlay a shove as he backed away toward the door, nearly losing his balance in the process. "Firssst to find a wife. Firssst to the title."

Finlay didn't bother pointing out the obvious that he clearly wasn't first to the title seeing how Finlay held it.

He shook his head and threw his hands up in the air. His brother was impossible. "Ye canna be serious."

Fingal slapped his palm above his heart, the force nearly knocking him off-balance. "I needed a wife before our twenty-eighth birthday and now I have one. The title issss mine." He rocked against the doorframe, a stupid look of triumph on his smug face.

Finlay barked out a laugh. "Ye truly are daft, brother. That is no' what father's will states. 'Tis no' who marries first, ye fool."

His brother's eyes darkened as he tried to process the conversation, but his alcohol-addled brain was not having any of it.

Finlay poked his thumb into his chest. "I, I repeat, I," he thumped his fist into his chest again for emphasis, "need to get married before I turn twenty-eight. If I dinna, then the title of earl goes to ye. 'Tis no' who is first to the altar, ye imbecile. Truly, brother, ye must leave the spirits alone for a while. 'Twill give ye time to clear your head and think straight. And no' make any of these idiotic declarations."

He turned on his heel and left the room. "Go home, brother," he called over his shoulder. He had no more time for his brother's antics. Shaking his head, he could not believe that Fingal thought it was as simple as that.

He always knew that his brother would be the downfall of this family, but this? He did not think his brother would stoop so low as to threaten him, as thin as those threats were. Mayhap it was Yvette's doing.

Whatever it was, it was naught more than another ridiculous ploy by his brother to take over the Rosebery title. He entered the study. "Ye and Fingal need to return home. I dinna want to see either one of ye until ye've sobered up and can think straight."

She nodded and stood on wobbly legs.

He shook his head. If Fingal spent as much time planning legitimate endeavors as he did bogus ones, he would be a very successful man.

Having had enough excitement for the night, he retired to his room.

The morrow would prove to be an interesting day. One that could have massive repercussions for the rest of his life. He needed to think of the best way to approach such a proposal. In both senses of the word.

Would Lady Watson accept either one?

He could only hope.

*

Willamina had spent a sleepless night filled with visions of Finlay Primrose running rampant through her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there. His pale blue eyes boring into hers. She swore she could feel his touch. His long fingers caressing her skin. His warm lips brushing across her own, marking a scorching path down her throat, and lower, lower, to the peaks of her breasts.

"Och!" She blew out an exasperated breath. Was this what it was like when two people cared about each other? Was the act of lovemaking pleasant? Her late husband seemed to enjoy his times with his paramours quite a lot.

If the moans of pleasure and sounds of ecstasy escaping his bedchamber were to be believed, then she would say aye.

He had never shown her such tenderness. Nor had he ever cared to lie with her other than their once a month scheduled coupling.

How she hated that the women he brought home seemed to enjoy themselves so much. She was envious of them. For her, the act was mechanical and unpleasant. There were no sweet kisses in the night. Whispered endearments. Passionate caresses. Nay. It was a task. A deed that he needed to complete as part of their marriage pact.

After the first time they had lain together, she would have been perfectly happy if it never happened again. The experience was traumatizing. One that her mother had not prepared her for. At first, she thought that was how it was for everyone. That it was not an act that was supposed to be enjoyed.

But then she heard the other women. He had to be treating them differently. She could not see how they would have such a pleasurable experience with such rough and uncaring treatment.

Willamina had even tried to speak to her mother about it one time, but her mother told her it was uncouth and classless to speak of such things. She needed to do her wifely duty and provide her husband an heir.

A bairn had never manifested, and she could not say she was not happy about that. To bring a wee one in to such a loveless, unfeeling environment was not right. Though she was glad she never became with child, she often wondered what it would have been like to have someone love her unconditionally. To return the love she gave so freely.

She turned under the covers, sinking her head into the soft silken pillow. When she thought about marriage now, all that unpleasantness rushed back to her. Why would she want to submit herself to such cruelty again?

She did not.

Finlay Primrose did not seem the type to be so unfeeling, but when it came to such carnal acts, how could she tell how he would behave? There was a time when Gerard seemed caring. It wasn't until after they married that he'd shown his true self.

It was not something she would open herself up to.

Never again.

For the rest of the night, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, trying to get the horror of her first marriage out of her mind, and her delusional emotions of Lord Primrose out of her dreams.

When Joan knocked on her door the next morning, Willamina welcomed the distraction.

"My lady, good morn. How did ye sleep? I have heard ye already have callers waiting."

Willamina groaned and fell back onto the pile of pillows. Today was going to be a long, exhausting day.

"Would it be possible to tell my cousin I have fallen ill and am unable to see anyone?"

"Ye jest, my lady." She pulled the drapes apart and Willamina groaned at the intrusion of light spilling forth from the large window.

"I am no'. I would gladly waste the day away here in bed than be put on display for a bunch of hungry animals that care naught for me as a person. Instead, they just see me as some prize to win. 'Tis infuriating. I remember when I went through this when I was younger. Going through it at my age is just ridiculous."

Joan ignored her prattling and opened the wardrobe doors, sticking her head inside to see what gown she would choose for Willamina today. Joan could dress her in a barley sack for all she cared. As long it kept the men away from her.

The maid poked her head out and smiled at her. "Lord Primrose is waiting as well." Then smirked at Willamina's reaction.

He had really called again today? He said he would yesterday, of course. But she assumed it was just pleasantries once again so as not to offend her. Especially after what she had revealed of her past.

Well, this indeed made the day slightly better. But it still meant she had to go downstairs and face not only him, but the others as well.

She sighed and slumped into the chair at her vanity. "I suppose ye should work your magic, Joan, and make me as presentable as I am capable of."

"My lady, ye are much too harsh on yourself. Ye are beautiful and wanted. The number of men calling prove that."

Willamina laughed. If only that was what the men downstairs cared about. Nay, she was quite sure there were money signs in their eyes. The hope of deeds in their futures. She was just an afterthought.

Joan continued to brush her hair listening silently while Willamina continued to complain.

By the time Joan had made her presentable, Willamina's throat was scratchy from talking too much.

Ten minutes later she walked into the lion's den. She scanned the room until her eyes clashed with Lord Primrose's. He looked positively dashing in his black waistcoat and tan breeches. His hair swept off his forehead in the style that she found most becoming. She had to stop herself from sighing aloud and embarrassing herself.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a soft smile. All the other callers could leave. She had naught interest in anyone else.

Her feelings clashed with what she wanted and what she needed.

On one hand, she longed for Finlay Primrose. She wanted him. Craved him. Her body had never known pleasure, but for whatever reason, she felt like if pleasure was to be had, he would be the one to give it to her.

On the other hand, her heart said she could not marry him. She would never put herself in that situation of no escape again. But her mind was constantly reminding her that marriage was exactly what she needed.

"Cousin," Gil approached, a tight smile on his face. "Thank ye for blessing us with your presence finally." The men in the room chuckled. Except for Primrose. He shot her cousin an irritated look and once again she found herself intrigued by the man she should not be wanting.