Page 3 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Helena whipped her gaze back to his, regretting her rudeness, and made to speak—but for once, she found herself at a loss for words. This close, she realized she had to crane her neck a bit to look up at him. And the eye focused on her was the loveliest color she’d ever seen—a sharp mix of indigo and deep blue. There was intelligence on his face, in his words, and then he smiled.
Her stomach contracted, actually contracted in an involuntary spasm of muscle, and her heart gave another excited jolt. Thatwicked gleam of white revealed in his dark beard, the slow and delightful motion of it.
Helena felt as though she’d be run through with a silver arrow—or as though she’d come down with a fever. Perhaps the exertion had all been a bit much.
“Hmm, I see ye are havin’ second thoughts.”
The man made to step away, but Helena—who’d clearly lost her mind, even if she’d never been a stickler for propriety—reached out a hand to stop him.
“Of course not,” she said and stood up straighter. She could tell this man did not often have words with such tall women. Yet, rather than looking off-put, it seemed to intrigue him. “Of course, I want to dance with you. Who else is tall enough?”
The man stared at her for a moment, and she cursed her unruly tongue. But then he smirked and seized her hand and waist without further ado. She let out a breathless laugh, easily falling into step with him.
Everyone thought her such a graceless, too-tall wallflower, more interested in books than balls—and Helena rather thought such a thing was foolish. Could she not have an interest in both? She may not be the best dancer, but she was fair enough.
“Ye are a lovely dancer,” the man said in a true tone of affability and enjoyment, not out of surprise or condescension—as was thewont of the gentlemen who deigned to dance with her. “One of the best I’ve stepped with, I think.”
If she was meant to stay hidden, this man could not pay her compliments that made her feel as though she were glowing from the inside out.
“Thank you,” Helena said. “You are the loveliest dancer I’ve stepped with as well.”
The man laughed now, and when joy filled his face, Helena thought her heart might stop. Drat him for being so handsome in general, but it became downright unreasonable how good-looking he was when he laughed.
“And the tallest,” he said.
“Oh yes,” Helena agreed.
She couldn’t help it—she smiled at him.
Something flared in his eye, and silence fell between them. Then, the music slowed a bit, and he pulled her close. Her cheeks flamed, and she turned her gaze away, then felt his breath next to her ear. Chills cascaded through her.
“But nae the choice ye would have made if ye werenae runnin’ for yer life, hm, sweetheart?”
Helena shot him a startled look, and he fixed her with an intent gaze, all laughter and joy gone. The stern lines of his face made her question her sanity a bit. This was a brutal warrior who held her and spun her, who she had so foolishly tangled into her affairs.
“Ye are in danger.” He did not phrase it like a question. “Quite a bit if ye sought me arms for safety.”
“I—” Helena hated apologizing, but she suddenly felt compelled to.
He tilted his head to the side as a smile flitted across his face again. “Mind, I’m nae complainin’ about yer techniques, lass,” he all but purred, and Helena both wanted to laugh and kick him. “But I imagine there’s perhaps another way out of this stramash.”
“Kiss me.”
At that, she knew she’d shocked the man again, and he all but stumbled to a halt. To avoid drawing further attention, even though Helena knew there were countless eyes on them, the man pulled them to the side, in an alcove near an arbor with early creeping vines covering it and shadows beyond.
“Say that again,” he said in a low, thrumming tone. “Because I could have sworn?—”
Helena caught the front of his shirt and gave him an imploring look. “Please, Sir, kiss me.” She glanced back, and sure enough, she saw her father’s men shoving through the crowd. “If I’m ruined, they’ll leave me alone. They would not dare?—”
They would not dare return Lord Lovell’s daughter sullied by the wrong Scotsman.
“I beg you,” Helena whispered as the man stared down at her, rigid and unyielding under her hands. “Just one kiss.”
“Ye dinnae have to beg.”
Before Helena could grasp that, he’d pulled back her hood and caught her around the back of the neck while cradling her face in his other hand. Then, there was a soft, teasing brush of a kiss across her lips, surrounded by tickling bristles, and she sucked in a breath.
Wait, I…
