Chapter Eight
Good heavens!
Evelyn stared at the intruder whose broad shoulders filled the doorway. Her eyes went wider than she’d believed possible. Keeping him in her sights, she snatched a towel from the hook by the tub and wrapped it around her body.
MacMasters’ eyes met hers. He rubbed his jaw, scrubbing his palm against the heavy, dark stubble. Confusion flickered over his features, even as a distinctly primal heat infused his gaze. How much had he glimpsed before she’d covered herself with the narrow length of Turkish cotton?
Given the look of masculine appreciation in his eyes, he’d seen considerably more than the shoulders and limbs that remained scandalously bared to him.
Her heart thudded an erratic rhythm. At this rate, it might well pound its way out of her chest, but damned if she’d let him see how his presence—and the subtle temptation he posed— set her pulse to racing. She felt no shame in this moment. She’d done nothing improper. But she did not need a fresh scandal—especially not now, when she was determined to tread the straight and narrow line of respectability, if only for Sally’s sake. She needed him to leave. Sooner, rather than later. But first, she deserved an answer to the questions hammering in her thoughts.
What was the Highlander doing in her bath chamber, of all places?
“I do hope you are enjoying the show, Mr. MacMasters.” She clutched the towel tighter around her and held her chin high. “Why in blazes are you here?”
A sly smile curved his mouth. “I’d be lying if I said I wasnae. I’ve seldom seen a more inviting sight.” He made no effort to avert his attention. “As for your question, I might ask the same of you.”
“The same…of me?” Her fingers dug into the edges of the plush cotton. “Surely you don’t believe this is your chamber.”
“Ye are telling me it is not?”
“That is precisely what I am telling you. Now, do you mind looking away?”
“Do I mind? Now that is a question to ponder.” Mischief flashed in his eyes. With what seemed a great effort, he dropped his focus to the toes of his boots.
“How did you get in here?”
“Now that, lass, is a question I can answer. But I can guarantee ye will not like the answer.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye, I’d stake my Uncle Archie’s pipes on it.” He gave a little shrug, even as he lifted his gaze. “Not that that would be much of a loss. Truth be told, the rest of the family would probably thank me if I put an end to Archie’s serenades. The old man’s up with the sun. It’s blasted—”
A cool draught brushed her skin, triggering an eruption of gooseflesh over her shoulders. Beneath the towel, her nipples pebbled against the cloth. Was that another hint of a smile tugging at the Scot’s full mouth?
“Mr. MacMasters, perhaps we can finish this discussion at a more appropriate time.”
His eyes twinkled. “And take a chance of missing an even more enticing show?”
The man found this amusing, did he? She wanted to throw something at him. Anything. The French milled soap would make an effective projectile. If only she could hurl it at his infuriating face without exposing even more of her body to his eyes.
She reined in the urge. For the moment, at least.
“Rest assured that I would love an explanation as to why you are standing here. But first things first. You need to leave. I trust you know how to let yourself out.”
He faced her with an unreadable expression. “Ye dinnae care to hear my explanation?”
“Not now.” Water glided down her neck as she shook her head for emphasis. “Please. Go.”
“It’s quite an interesting story.” He wasn’t averting his gaze now. No, the rogue wasn’t even pretending to look away. His eyes flashed with mischief.
And undeniable desire.
With a will of its own, her body responded, an if-only-he’d-kiss-me-senseless heat countering every logical argument her mind put forth. A spark of longing kindled deep within her.
Pity she could not convince her rebellious heart to resist the appeal of his slightly crooked grin and smoky topaz eyes. Warmth that had nothing to do with the perfumed water spread over her, rising over her throat, heating her cheeks. Beneath the cloth, her nipples rebelliously sought his touch.
For years, she’d made a game of flirtation. She savored the thrill of the chase, if only in her fantasies. But this was all too real. All too risky. Her traitorous body craved pleasures an unmarried woman should know to keep well out of reach. Even if she did not give a fig about the meager shreds of her own good name, she had to maintain a sense of propriety, if only until the wedding. She could not tarnish her friend’s joy. Such a selfish act would be utterly unforgiveable, even in her own eyes.
Somehow, someway, she would teach MacMasters a lesson. Yes, she certainly would.
But this was not the time.
“Leave, Mr. MacMasters. Now.” She grated out the words.
“Ye’re sure of that?”
“Quite so.” With that, she hurled the wet soap at him.
The bar landed on his chest with a solid thump. He caught it easily and flashed her a grin that was by parts cheeky and too seductive for her own good.
Behind his broad back, a faint knock sounded at the door to the bedchamber, followed by the tell-tale squeak of hinges.
“Lady Evelyn, it’s Millie. I’ve brought a dressing gown for ye,” the housemaid called softly.
Oh my! Evelyn felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. “Thank you,” she replied, as if everything was as it should be and she did not have a Highlander within throwing distance of the tub, in her bathing chamber. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, the young maid would fail to notice the Scot in the room. “Please leave the wrapper on the bed.”
“As ye wish,” the maid replied in a cheerful voice, and then, she made a little gasp, as if she’d muffled the sound with a hand to her open mouth. “Oh, dear.”
Evelyn gave her head a shake. Was she truly a magnet for scandal? It would be bad enough if she’d actually done something to start the tongues wagging—if she’d engaged in some activity that might be considered a bit wicked and decadent and altogether enjoyable. But she’d done nothing beyond bathing in a claw-foot tub. Soaking alone. She hadn’t even engaged in a flirtation with the Scot. Not this time, at least.
And yet, she must appear utterly wanton in the maid’s eyes.
Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Her thoughts echoed Millie’s exclamation, playing like a litany in her head. This was not good. No, Evelyn corrected herself. This was bad. Horribly, unspeakably, irreparably bad.
For his part, MacMasters turned to face the maid. “There seems to have been a mistake,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was told this was to be my room. Obviously, that is incorrect.”
“Yes, sir.” The words seemed to crackle on Millie’s lips. With MacMasters blocking her view, Evelyn couldn’t see the maid’s expression. But she could well imagine her consternation. “That would appear to be the case. Not doubtin’ yer word, sir, but I’d like to check on Lady Evelyn, if ye dinnae mind.”
Well, good for her. Millie certainly had a backbone, standing up to a man who towered over the wisp of a girl by more than a head.
“Millie, I am fine,” Evelyn called. “This is nothing more than a colossal misunderstanding.”
“Thank ye, Lady Evelyn. Ye’ve put my mind at ease. I was about to summon help,” Millie said, standing on her toes to peep past MacMasters’ broad shoulders.
Still holding onto the towel, Evelyn managed a feeble wave. “Thank you. If you would be so kind as to leave my dressing gown on the hook.”
“Aye, that I will, miss.”
MacMasters handed the maid the bar of soap. “Lady Evelyn promptly informed me of the error.” He motioned to the wet spot on his shirt. “As you can see, with a bit more force, her aim might well bring a man to his knees.”
“Yes, sir, I can see that.” Millie sounded as though she’d smothered a giggle. “Might I ask ye to step out of the room? I will see ye to yer quarters…after I’ve had a moment with Lady Evelyn.”
“Good enough.” He shot a grin over his shoulder. “Until we meet again, Lady Evelyn.”
The man was impossible. Unrepentantly impertinent. Did he give a care that he’d shocked the young lady’s maid? By now, the girl must be absolutely mortified.
Evelyn bit back a sigh. “I cannot say that I am looking forward to it.”
“Try to give a smile now and then,” he said as he walked to the door. “At least ye’ll have something more interesting than fancy hats to talk about over supper.”
…
Settling into his chamber, Gerard pulled off his boots and sank upon the edge of the bed. Reclining against the too-soft-for-his-taste feather mattress, he stared at the ceiling, willing his demanding bollocks and cock to give him some peace.
Defiantly, his erection pulsed with need. There was nothing to be done about it. His rebellious cock would find no satisfaction in this cold, overly ornate chamber, damn the luck. No matter that only a sturdy wall and a few steps down the corridor separated him from Evelyn. The English beauty may have flashed him a look of invitation in the garden, but that boldness had not carried over to her private chambers.
She’d regarded him with sapphire-tipped daggers in her eyes after he’d intruded upon her bath.
Despite her vulnerability, she’d maintained her composure. The lass damned well knew how to challenge a man.
Are you enjoying the show, Mr. MacMasters?
Even if he lived to be a very old man like Uncle Archie, roaming about with his bagpipes at all hours of the day and night, Gerard doubted he’d ever forget the velvety notes of Lady Evelyn’s voice as she’d uttered the question. Low and unintentionally sultry, her words had triggered a rush of carnal need straight to his groin. The sight of her, nearly naked, her perfumed skin gleaming as tiny droplets of bathwater glided from her bare shoulders to the rounded curve of her breasts, was a temptation he might’ve conjured in his most wanton dreams.
God above, how badly he’d wanted to touch her. Wanted to explore her silky skin with his fingers…with his mouth…all through the night.
Nearly an hour later, the thought of her spurred his cock’s randy demands. She was a goddess come to life. With her cheeks pinked with shock and a towel drawn around her soft curves to block his gaze, she was more enticing than a practiced seductress. If she’d realized how captivating she’d looked, the swell of her firm breasts peeking over the flimsy shield of cloth, her face would likely have gone completely scarlet and she might’ve plunged back into the bathwater to cover herself.
He wanted her. There was no denying that. He longed to see that sparkle in her eyes, that flash of challenge as she invited him into her bed. His instincts insisted Lady Evelyn was not nearly as worldly as she liked to act, but somehow, that made it all the better. The lass would be an apt pupil. Of that, he had no doubt. He’d glimpsed passion in those sapphire blue eyes. How he’d savor her touch and her kiss.
How he’d savor loving her.
Damnable shame she was off-limits. He was here to protect her. Not to take her to bed, no matter how tempting the proposition.
He had four days to watch over her. Four days to protect her. And, with any luck, four days to corner the assassin who’d evaded justice for years, the assassin who’d taken many a good man to his grave.
If Mrs. Smythe had followed Lady Evelyn to this castle, he would find her.
And he’d eliminate the threat.