Chapter Fifteen
The need to protect Lady Evelyn weighed heavily on Gerard’s mind. While Harrison rode into the city, he spent hours scouting the grounds, seeking out vulnerabilities the assassin might exploit and mapping out plans with McLeod for defending the main house should they come under attack. Upon Harrison’s return shortly before the sun lowered on the horizon, they’d undertaken a joint surveillance of the estate. Harrison briefed him on the scant few grains of intelligence he’d gleaned from the journey. Graham had drifted in and out of consciousness, his communication limited to disjointed ramblings that offered few clues. At this point, Simon was no closer to determining if Mrs. Smythe was indeed responsible for the attack.
Joining the wedding party in the dining hall for the evening meal, Gerard was seated within touching distance of Lady Evelyn. The light scent of her perfumed bath water wafted to his nose. An image of the lass clad in only a towel flickered in his thoughts. God above, she’d been a temptation, her long legs glistening with moisture from her bath.
She was now dressed in a simple gown in a shade of blue that complemented her coloring, and had swept her hair away from her face. The lively challenge that had danced on her features the day before had not been entirely extinguished, but she seemed reserved and contemplative. He resisted the urge to reach out to her, to touch her hand. Throughout the meal, she remained quiet, joining in the conversation from time to time, only to be polite.
As soon as the meal came to a close and the guests wandered from the chamber to their own pursuits, Evelyn slipped out of his sight.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said to Harrison. “With any luck, she does not intend to wander the garden unaccompanied.”
Leaving the dining hall, he trailed Evelyn to the library. Her legs tucked neatly under her, she relaxed on the settee with an open book she didn’t seem to be reading. She met his gaze.
“Is something troubling ye, lass?”
“I’m quite well, thank you.” The teasing spirit in her eyes had dimmed, as if tamped down by fear. Had the accident at the ancient chimney left her more shaken than she wanted to admit?
Truth be told, the sight of the sizable stone, heavy enough to bash in a skull, resting in a cloud of displaced dirt, had shaken him. If not for Evelyn’s quick thinking, the American lass might’ve been killed. After the women had settled back into their morning activities, he’d returned to the so-called Witch’s Hearth and examined the structure carefully. Finding no sign of foul play, he’d concluded his initial assessment had been correct. Grace Winterborne had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, standing too damned close to a rickety old remnant of a structure that should’ve been torn down long ago.
For her part, Grace had seemed no worse for wear. Relishing the opportunity to play the white knight, Harrison had carried the stunned lass back to the manor house and stayed with her until she’d recovered from her fright, administering strong tea and conversation like a medicine.
It appeared Evelyn had borne the emotional brunt of the incident. Did she fear the event was tied to what she’d encountered at the bookseller’s shop?
“Ye’re sure of that?” he said, taking a seat in a tufted wing chair beside the settee. “What ye did this morning was brave, lass. Such an experience is a shock to the system.”
“Courage had nothing to do with it. Instinct took over. Thank heavens.” She set her book to the side. “I was a bit rattled, as you can imagine. That was rather a close call.”
He leaned closer. His gaze swept over her face, searching for any sign of injury he might’ve missed. “Ye’re positive ye suffered no harm?”
“The only casualty is my dress, it would seem. I doubt the stains can be cleaned from the cloth. I should have brought an additional wardrobe trunk from London.” She smiled—a thin smile, but a smile nonetheless. Good. For reasons he didn’t want to fathom, it troubled him to see the look of apprehension in her eyes.
“A man would not notice the marks on your skirt. His attention would be elsewhere.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye. I’d much prefer to be looking at that sweet mouth of yers. Brings back memories, lass.”
“Memories?” She cocked a finely arched brow. “Only a day has passed since you kissed me.”
“I did not say it was a distant memory.”
Her eyes narrowed in mock vexation. “You do seem to have an uncanny knack for coming upon the scene every time I wind up in the dirt.”
“A skill I never knew I possessed until I met ye.” Reaching for her hand, he covered her fingers with his own. “Ye’re an original, lass.”
She made no attempt to wiggle from his light hold. “Truer words have seldom been spoken.”
“Being with ye, I feel a dilemma. Ye’ve put forth a reasonable case for keeping yer distance from me. Being with ye, even now, creates a risk of scandal. Not that I give a fiddler’s damn. But ye do, lass.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, an undeniable temptation. When she spoke, her words were direct.
“And your dilemma?”
“Despite the soundness of yer logic, I want to kiss ye again. Right here. Right now.”
…
She’d contemplated the same dilemma, but she certainly would not confess that. Especially not to Gerard.
“Allow me to provide an answer to the question—it’s really quite simple. I do not wish to be kissed.”
Warmth danced in his amber eyes. “Ye’re sure of that?”
She did not hesitate. “Quite certain.”
“Ye do know how to wound a man, Lady Evelyn.” The hint of a smile on his lips contradicted his words and set her pulse to thrumming in her ears.
She let out a low breath. This should not be difficult. She had to maintain an air of propriety, if only for Sally’s sake. In the Highlander’s strong arms, she’d attract scandal as readily as fresh blooms lured in a bee.
“It has nothing to do with the kiss itself,” she said matter-of-factly. “Truth be told, as kisses go, it was quite well done.”
A sly grin played on his lips. “Quite well done, eh?”
“Why, yes.” She hiked her chin. Despite the temptation in his smile, she would not cast aside her resolve. It wasn’t as if the man was irresistible. “I’d be lying if I said otherwise.”
“And ye wouldn’t want to do that, would ye?”
“Like you, I am honest…for the most part.”
“So, honest-for-the-most-part Lady Evelyn, I do want to kiss ye again. Ye’ve challenged me, lass—and this kiss will be worthy of more than faint praise. Ye have my vow on that.”
“A vow? How very intriguing.” She curled her fingers against her palms to keep herself from touching him. She had to be strong. “Pity I must decline.”
His hands closed over her shoulders, gentle yet possessive. “Not even a bit curious, Lady Evelyn?”
“Curious? Yes, of course. But that changes nothing.”
He lifted one hand to cup her face. His callused fingertips brushed her jawline. Strong. Powerful. Yet tender. Her heart thumped against her ribs. How she wanted to discard logic and reason and simply indulge herself in this moment. With this man. Here. Now.
But she couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
If only he didn’t look at her like that, with that spark of heat in his eyes that made her want to cast her good intentions into some deep dark dungeon and bar the door against their escape.
If only she didn’t want to surrender to the desire simmering deep within her.
“I could change yer mind,” he whispered against her mouth.
“You would be wasting your time.” If only she believed her own words.
“Any time I’d spent pursuing ye would be time well spent, Evelyn.”
His husky brogue caressed her name. With a sigh, she relaxed against him, drinking in his warmth and strength. A crisp, clean masculine aroma washed over her.
With each indrawn breath, she wanted him more. His kiss. His touch.
Him.
“I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…do this,” she managed, all the while her pulse accelerated and a subtle, oddly pleasant ache infused her bones.
His smile was all too knowing. Had her response been so transparent?
“’Tis only a kiss, love.”
He dipped his head. She thought he’d press a caress to her lips, but he stilled.
“Tell me ye want me to kiss ye, my sweet lass.”
His softly spoken demand crashed into her like a rogue wave. The bold Scot wanted to kiss her…again…despite her well-considered reasons against the proposition—and he expected her to say she wanted him. Ah, the arrogance of the man.
Pity he’d worn trousers this evening. It might’ve been different had he worn a kilt. Then, perhaps, she could justify taking the risk. She might have regarded the experience as an adventure of sorts. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman kissed an exceedingly handsome man in his plaid.
But now, Gerard was just another attractive man in typical British attire.
He would be a very old man before she asked him for so much as a scratch on an itchy spot on her shoulder, let alone a kiss.
His eyes unreadable, he pulled back. With the pad of his thumb, he brushed her bottom lip. Amazing, how such a powerful man’s touch could be as light as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing.
She thought he might speak, but he kept the silence. Heat flared in his eyes. She should break away from him. It was a matter of time before someone came along—before someone spotted them. Anyone who traveled that corridor could witness their embrace.
She sighed. If only she didn’t hunger for the taste of his mouth.
Just once more.
What would be the harm in that?
But if she kissed him, it would be on her own terms.
Leaving his light embrace, she went to the door and closed it. She wouldn’t lock it. No, that would send far too brazen a signal to the Highlander who so intrigued her. After all, if someone came upon them by surprise, the stubborn hinges would provide a moment of warning, surely enough to end the embrace.
“Am I to understand one kiss was not enough?” she said, smiling softly as she returned to him.
He drew his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “Ye’re the kind of lass a man could love all night.”
He certainly was upping the stakes, wasn’t he? From one kiss to all night. The very notion tantalized her. What would it be like to lie in this man’s arms while he loved her until the dawn?
Of course, that could not be. Not here. Not now. But she could indulge in just one kiss.
Just one.
Her arms slid up around his neck, and she wove her fingers through his hair. The dark strands were smooth as silk, while his skin was slightly coarse against hers.
“You do present a tempting offer, Mr. MacMasters,” she murmured against his lips.
This close, she could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. Could hear the low growl of pleasure that escaped his mouth as their bodies met. Could feel the tension in his muscles as she relaxed against the hard planes of his lean, powerful frame.
“I want to kiss ye, Evelyn. I cannae deny that.” The words were low and raw. “I want ye in my arms. I need yer touch. Just a taste.”
“I know.” She brushed her lips over his mouth, a light, teasing caress. Was that a moan against her lips? He hadn’t expected this, had he?
Somehow, that made it all the more enticing.
“Ah, ye’re a temptation, ye are.”
He brought his mouth down on hers. Gently. Almost exquisitely so. Yet, demanding and possessive and wild. Her lips parted for him, and his tongue found hers, stroking and caressing. Intoxicating pleasure melded with a need that grew and pulsed with each mingled breath.
His arms slid around her hips, drawing her to his body. Need filled her, pulsing in each cell, pooling in a sweet, warm ache.
His large hands cupped her bottom, squeezing playfully. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her. Despite the barrier of their clothing, her body cradled him, the feel of his shaft intimate. Sensuous. With a tilt of her hips, she intensified the contact, desperate to feel more of him. More of his kiss. More of his touch.
Desire swept over her like the tides at the full moon. She’d intended this to be playful, deliciously wicked. Yet ultimately, without consequence.
How very wrong she’d been.
There was nothing meaningless about this kiss. Without words, his kiss spoke of desire, and yearning, and passion.
He wanted her, just as she wanted him.
Gerard loosened his hold. A sound that was a cross between a sigh and a groan escaped him as he stepped away, holding her at arm’s length.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more…more of this…more of ye.” His large hands rested lightly on her upper arms. “If ye feel the same, I’ll bolt the door. I’ll—”
“I do want you,” she said, breathless. “But it would be a mistake…”
“The only mistake would be to let ye go when I want ye like I do.” He swept his lips over hers in the sweetest of kisses. “But I’ll walk away if that’s what ye want. I’ll leave ye untouched, beyond this kiss.”
Dragging in a gulp of air, she steeled herself against the need pulsing through her body, against the hunger in her heart that urged her to seize this moment. Gerard was bold and brash, a man unlike any she’d ever known.
A man she could quite possibly fall in love with.
No. No. No.
Never again.
She banished the troublesome notion to the dungeon in her mind. She would never fall in love again. Love would make her weak. Love would leave her vulnerable.
Love had the power to shatter her heart.
All those years ago, she’d vowed—never again.
But this wasn’t love. Was it?
This was desire. This was the heat of his body melding with hers. This was pleasure in its most elemental form.
Passionate and seductive and so very intoxicating.
Could she shield her heart?
“Tell me what ye want me to do, mo cridhe.” His plea was a raw whisper against her mouth.
She firmed her jaw, summoning her courage. Later, she might well regret this.
That was a chance she’d have to take.
With a shrug of her shoulders, she freed herself from his light hold. He stood still and silent, studying her as she turned away.
She felt his gaze trailing her as once again, she went to the door.
With a twist of the latch, she secured the heavy panel.
Pivoting on her heel, she met his eyes. Shades of amber and gold flickered in his brown irises, as primal as a panther on the prowl.
Slowly, she sauntered to where he stood. “Now, Mr. MacMasters—shall we do something scandalous?”