Mary opened her eyes and rubbed her head. With a hiss, she snapped her hand away.

I suppose it will be tender for a time.

Placing her palm at her side, her fingers met with hair—velvety soft like spun silk. Before she thought, she threaded the tresses through her fingers, then regarded the person attached to such softness.

Her heart nearly stopped beating. Good Lord, the Baronet of Sleat, seated in a chair beside her, had fallen asleep. Resting on the edge of the bed, he cradled his head in his folded arms, breathing deeply. His face turned away, thick tawny tresses had slipped from the ribbon which rested precariously on his shoulder.

Sir Donald had spent the night at her bedside?

She swirled her hands into the mass of silk and massaged his scalp.

The man moaned—a deep, blood-stirring moan that reminded Mary too much of their kiss in the box bed. If only they could have stayed at the croft—or near the croft—or any place other than Glasgow. This town made Sir Donald so anxious. And the people were so false. Their display of controlled gestures was like watching a play, not real life. Sure, Mary could behave as they wished, but she preferred to be in Castleton with her family where she could just be Mary, lady of the keep. That in itself brought on a world of responsibility and plenty to keep her busy without putting on false airs.

She swirled her fingers again. The only problem with being tucked away at Dunscaith Castle was missing moments such as this—the chance to touch Sir Donald, to be close to him, the look upon his face when he approved of something she did—or even disapproved. At least she had his attention when he disapproved.

Yesterday, when they were riding, she’d convinced herself he didn’t care for her. The kisses they’d shared had meant nothing. But why was he there beside her bed? Could she hope? Goodness gracious, she would put up with all the silly etiquette if it meant spending every night in Sir Donald’s arms.

The big man rolled his shoulders then sat up with sleepy eyes. “You’re awake.”

“Aye.” She drew her fingers to her nose. The musky scent of his hair lingered. If only she could bottle it.

His ribbon dropped to the ground and a lock of hair slid over his eye. “Forgive me. I must have drifted off.”

“Not at all.” She made a point of panning her gaze from his bonny face, shadowed with dark stubble down to—well, she could only see down to his lap, but that was delicious enough. Her tongue slipped out the corner of her mouth. Barbara had taught her the nuances of a lady’s stare. It must have had an effect, because Sir Donald shifted in his chair.

Mary trained her gaze back to his face—something dark filled his eyes, rather dangerous, exciting. She grinned. “I like you a wee bit disheveled.”

He picked up his ribbon. “I’d best go.”

She grasped him by the wrist. “Must you?” Oh no, she wasn’t ready to release him to the wiles of Glasgow. If only he’d kiss her again before he reverted back into a stiff merchant. “As a matter of fact...” She slowly drew the ribbon from his fingers—very seductive of her, even if such a move wasn’t something Barbara had taught. “I like it when things are quiet. When we are alone.”

“Aye?” his voice rasped. He either needed a drink or her antics were having some influence on his sensibilities.

“Yes, in fact, I’ll be honest. I think you’re happier when you’re sailing a galley with bare feet and the wind in your hair.” Mary leaned as close as she could without falling off the bed.

He touched her chin with the crook of his finger, but his gaze didn’t fall to her lips, it strayed to the darned lump on her head. “How are you feeling this morrow?”

She licked her lips. Blast propriety. No one was there to catch them. Must she behave as a lady when the doors were closed? She mightn’t ever have a chance again. “Well enough to be kissed,” she dared to whisper. Her skin burned, but she’d blurted out the words she’d been holding in for sennights. Holy Moses, if Sir Donald didn’t know how much she wanted him to court her, she’d now make sure he knew.

With a low chuckle, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

Curses to a wee peck.

Mary took his stubbly cheeks between her palms and looked him straight in the eyes—two dark, sensuous eyes that could melt a woman’s resolve with a mere blink. “I mean this…”

Dipping her gaze to his lips, she slid her hands over his shoulders, trusting him to prevent her from falling. His big hands skimmed around her waist as their lips connected. Growling soft and low in his throat, he increased the pressure, his kiss as urgent as the blood thrumming beneath her skin. Mary’s entire body ignited with the fire that had been smoldering deep inside her. Taking him deeper into her mouth, she combed her fingers through his soft tresses.

Oh yes, yes, yes how much she’d longed for him to kiss her again. With a pleasurable moan, he inclined her back against the pillows and trailed kisses from her earlobe down to the base of her neck. His hand worked magic as it smoothed its way up and cupped her breast. Lord in heaven, the sensation took her to a level of rapture she never dreamed possible. Her breast grew heavy, tingling with the kneading of his practiced fingers. With her next heaving breath, he captured her nipple between his pincers—taut, drawn to a point, his light touch nearly drew her to the ragged edge of oblivion.

His kisses trailed lower as those deft fingers tugged the neckline of her shift. The linen teased her sensitive skin until he fully exposed her bosom. Hot lips closed over her nipple, sending shudders of pleasure down Mary’s spine. Scarcely able to breathe, she threw back her head and succumbed to the teasing licks of his tongue. Restlessness thrummed through her blood as she arched into his wicked mouth.

A rap came at the door. “Sir Donald?” Mr. Kerr’s voice.

Mary dropped to the pillows and yanked her neckline back in place.

The baronet swiped a hand across his mouth. “Aye?” Holy fairies, he sounded as composed as a lord justice.

“You’ve a message from the Court of Barony.”

“Ballocks,” he swore.

“What is it?” Mary asked. For the love of Moses, could she not enjoy a moment of pure ecstasy with Sir Donald without being interrupted?

“I’ll be needed in Edinburgh for certain.”

“May I go with you?” She’d never been to a big city like Edinburgh.

“I don’t think it wise—I’ll be attending to court business with all the barons and baronets in Scotland—no greater gossips in all the land. With luck, I’ll not be away longer than a sennight.”

“Will you return in time for the ball?”

“Aye, lass. The Duke of Gordon would be very upset if none of the barons attended his fancy-dress event.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t want to practice my fan language on a great hall full of strangers.”

With a spark of ire in his midnight blue eyes, Sir Donald’s expression wasn’t half as composed as his tone.

***

A sennight later, Mary and Barbara strolled along the footpath toward the townhouse while Mr. Kerr carried an armload of parcels behind them.

“Your gown will be stunning,” Barbara said.

Mary bit the inside of her cheek. “Are you certain?” She glanced down to her breasts, which weren’t anywhere near as voluptuous as her friend’s. “I’m not convinced a plunging neckline will suit my form.”

“Oh, my sweeting, you have so much still to learn.” Barbara looped her arm through Mary’s elbow and grinned like a satisfied cat. “Do not forget I am the queen of fashion. You will be ravishing. Not a gentleman within twenty miles will be able to keep his eyes off you.”

Mary knew that wouldn’t be happening in a hundred years—not with her freckles. “You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am. Besides, that’s why God invented stays.” Barbara glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Kerr, then opened her hand and covered her mouth for secrecy. “With Hattie’s strong arms, we’ll have your lassies up for display and looking more radiant than the crown jewels.”

Mary rapped the tart’s arm with her fingers. “You are incorrigible.”

Barbara waggled her shoulders. “I am practical.”

Unconvinced, Mary’s lips twisted. “Well, I’ll say your gown will be the fairest at the ball, and with your fair coloring and blemish-free skin, my wager is all eyes will fall upon you.”

Turning up the stairs to the townhouse, a polite giggle pealed through Barbara’s lips—goodness, she had the whole society charade down to a science. “We both will be perfectly adorned and the envy of all the women who will pale in our shadows. I have no doubt.”

Mary turned the knob and opened the door. Instantly sensing something was different, her gaze shot to Barbara.

She pointed to the table. “There’s a satchel.”

But it wasn’t Sir Donald’s, at least Mary hadn’t seen it before.

“Don’t just stand there, ladies,” said Mr. Kerr from the rear, looking a bit red in the face.

Mary quickly stepped inside, while Barbara flounced ahead with balletic grace. “Please carry our things above stairs.”

“Yes, miss.”

As Mr. Kerr proceeded to the staircase, three men stepped into the entry from the parlor. Miss Barbara’s face lit up like it was Christmas morn. “Sir Coll, where on earth did you come from?”

“Good to see you, too,” said William, pulling his sister from her path toward the Chieftain of Keppoch and embracing her.

“’Tis a relief to see Miss Mary is safe,” said Sir Kennan from the doorway, grinning like a wet-eared lad.

Mary curtseyed. “Sir Donald sent word to my father sennights ago. Did you not hear of my rescue?”

“Ah, no—” Sir Kennan looked to Sir Coll while rubbing his wrists. “We’ve been a bit tied up.”

“Aye.” William took Mary’s hand and gave it a polite peck. “It seems you weren’t the only one who needed rescue.”

“Oh, my. That sounds dreadful.” Barbara’s gaze didn’t stray from Coll MacDonell. “I’ll order some refreshments and you can tell us all about it.”

The Chieftain of Keppoch seemed equally smitten as he took Barbara’s fingers in his palms and watched her eyes as he bowed and plied the back of her hand with a kiss that lasted far too long to be proper. “Miss Barbara, how long has it been?”

She blushed like a red rose. “Six months and five days.” Tapping her fan to her lips, she giggled.

Blinking, Mary drew her hand to her chest with a stifled gasp.

She’s flirting shamelessly.

“Will you be attending the Duke of Gordon’s ball,” Barbara asked.

Mary arched her eyebrows at William and accompanied them into the parlor. So, the love interest Barbara hadn’t told Mary about was Sir Coll MacDonell of Keppoch? She liked it—though Sir Coll was as rugged as the Highlands and Barbara was anything but.

Regardless, the men’s story should prove to be riveting.

Barbara sat beside Sir Coll, though not too close. Mary watched the lassie’s fan for any inappropriate communication while William did most of the talking.

Did Sir Coll and the other gentlemen know fan language? Was Mary the only member of nobility in Scotland who hadn’t the proper education?

William explained about his meeting with Colonel Hill and lodging a formal complaint about the capture of the galley and Miss Mary’s abduction. It seemed the colonel mightn’t have been spurred to action if the lieutenant had only seized the galley—but kidnapping the daughter of a chieftain had set a fire under his antiquated buttocks.

Sir Kennan told tale about their capture when he and Sir Coll had tried to take back the galley in Glenelg.

Barbara affected a sufficiently mortified expression, her fan coming to life and touching her heart. Good heavens, she was still flirting. Sir Coll’s reaction was a subtle rise of his eyebrow and a white-toothed grin plastered from one ear to the other. All the while, Sir Kennan continued on, explaining how William had managed to secure a pardon from the colonel and spring the pair from the “pig’s pen” in Glenelg where they were imprisoned.

The story finished with more antics dealt by the redcoats in Trotternish. Fortunately, through all their adversity, they still managed to arrive with a shipment of packing salt before the ship for the Americas sailed.

And to Barbara’s obvious delight, in time to attend the ball.

“What happened with you, Miss Mary?” asked Sir Kennan. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see your bonny face.”

Mary blinked. Goodness, the lad was smiling at her with unmistakable fondness etched across his features. But he wasn’t yet twenty, was he? “Fortunately, Sir Donald came upon me when he did.”

“Came in firing his musket, did he?” asked Sir Coll.

A fire flared in Mary’s cheeks. “Actually, no. Late at night I slipped out the back of the tent and fled to the river. When I fell, Sir Donald caught my wrist just as I was about to be swept away by a swollen torrent.”

“You escaped?” Kennan’s eyes grew wide and full of awe. Perhaps someone appreciated her perseverance. “I’m impressed.”

If only Sir Donald would be so moved.

“And how long will my brother be away in Edinburgh?” William reached for his cup of peppermint tea.

“Are you aware he was called to the Court of Barony—very untimely if you ask me.” Barbara picked up the plate of cakes and offered it to Sir Coll. “But he promised to return in time for the ball.”

A door slammed and footsteps clomped from the rear entry. Mary’s stomach leapt. Only one person walked the halls of the townhouse with such a bold stride.

Stopping in the doorway, clad in a pair of trews, doublet, bonnet and looking as if he’d ridden like hellfire and brimstone, Sir Donald grinned at her with a smile that sent rays of sunlight streaking throughout the chamber. “Such a relief. Miss Mary is up and well, and the three men I’ve worried about for sennights are all gathered together at once. Good Lord, this sight was well worth spending an entire night riding the Glasgow-Edinburgh Road.”

Mary clasped her hands tight in her lap to keep from springing from her seat, dashing across the floor and making a fool of herself. Breathless, heart hammering, she returned his smile. “Welcome home, Sir Donald. It is ever so good to see you.”

There. Let no one say I am a brash Highland lass without proper manners.

Donald nodded, a glint of approval in his eyes as he crossed the floor, took up her hand and kissed it—hot breath, a hint of spice, gentle lips. “You are looking well, Miss Mary.”

Their gazes locked.

Mary’s mouth grew dry while her breasts swelled taut beneath her stays.

“We’re nearly ready for the royal ball,” said Barbara, breaking the crackle of energy. “You will simply love our gowns.”

Releasing Mary’s hand, Donald regarded his sister. “I trust they will be elegant yet modest.”

Mary’s face grew hot. “I can attest to the elegant part.”