Page 84 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
“A place like this is full of secrets. I am already intrigued.”
The amusement left his gaze. “Tell me, Sophie. What would it take for a man to learn your secrets?”
His question triggered a silent alarm. She’d already revealed far too much. And yet, he did not even know her full name. Revealing that essential truth had been far too risky to consider. In the event she would need to put an ocean between England and herself, she could not chance anyone tracking her down. Even she did not know when she would once again become Sophie Atherton.
She affected a light tone. “I’d say you’ve already learned quite enough. A woman must maintain some element of mystery, if she is to avoid becoming an awful bore.”
“I don’t give a farthing about mystery, Sophie. I want to know you. In and out of my bed.”
Oh, dear. His bold words knocked her ever so slightly off-kilter. She hadn’t seen that coming now, had she? Blast it, had her knees gone wobbly, just a bit?
She pulled in a bracing breath. “That would be unwise. After all, we are not here in search of pleasure.”
His hand curved over hers, large, warm, and powerful. The very recent memory of his fingers exploring her body washed over her. Beneath her starched white blouse, her nipples pebbled, yearning for the tenderness of his touch, as a sweet, molten desire pooled in her core.
He drew nearer, leaning in to her. His warm breath brushed her ear. “Whatever you desire, you’ve only to ask. Remember this, Sophie. If you come to my room tonight, your wish is my command.”
…
Wanting Sophie would drive him mad. Of that, Gavin was bloody certain.
Every time he touched her, his cock overruled what little was left of his logic. The most fleeting contact with her warmth and he wanted to strip her bare and love her tempting body. Every time he thought of her, of her soft, pliant mouth and those breasts that fit his hands so damned perfectly, he went hard as the heavy stone walls of the castle.
The soft curve of her hips and narrow waist attracted his gaze with a magnetic pull he couldn’t will himself to resist. When he held her, he’d never been so close to abandoning all his doubts. Sophie challenged him in a way no woman ever had. The daring glint in her dark eyes intrigued him. She fascinated him. But he knew better than to trust her.
Bloody hell, he still didn’t even know her name. Not with any certainty. He knew what he’d been told, but he’d no reason to believe she had not omitted a detail or two or twenty along the way. When Henry had confronted her with the revelation of S. Adams, her reporter’s pseudonym, she’d nibbled her lower lip. Was that an indication that she’d lied, or at the least, withheld some aspect of the truth?
But when she was in his arms, those confounding doubts evaporated into the ether. When he’d kissed her in his study, she’d melted into him, her softness cradling his erection, teasing and tempting him with the promise to be found in her arms. Their bodies had been made to pleasure the other. He was a logical man. The intense attraction that made him crave her more with each passing day was an inborn hunger that ensured the survival of the species, nothing more. Any connection beyond physical desire was bloody well not meant to be.
Damnable shame he couldn’t entirely convince himself of that fact. If he’d retained a single shred of common sense, he’d keep away from her. In this monstrosity of a fortress, he could conceivably go for days without laying eyes on her.
What was it about the woman that made him want to protect her, even from himself? Whatever the true motives of her quest, he doubted she’d been motivated by greed or self-interest. She’d certainly proved her courage, risking herself to save his life.
If he thought he could bring her some lasting happiness, he’d entertain the fantasy of a life with Sophie. She deserved a man who would give her a stable, peaceful existence, not days and weeks waiting for his return from some dig or another. Someday, when she’d tired of her cloak-and-dagger inquiries, she’d want a man who would love her every night and hold her tenderly until she drifted to sleep in his arms.
Bollocks.At this rate, he’d be reciting Byron and Shelley and penning syrupy verse. How bloody ironic that a man who’d spent the better part of his adult life digging in tombs and carousing with merry widows now stood blindsided by emotions he’d never thought to possess.
He’d been a selfish fool to bring her here. Not that Hunter’s Folly didn’t offer a safe haven. Few outside his inner circle knew of its existence. Fewer still would consider he’d retreat to this place, the cold fortress he’d long despised.
Would it have been better if she’d taken refuge in some hideaway, far from London—far from him? Leaving him behind. Tearing a gash in his soul.
The question was moot. She’d trusted him to shelter her. He would protect her. Or he’d die trying.
And if she came to him tonight, he would deny her nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
So very cold.Sophie briskly rubbed her arms as her heels tapped upon the floor. The unforgiving stone radiated a piercing coolness that penetrated her layers of clothing. Richly woven tapestries on the walls muted a bit of the chill, but the comfortable warmth of her modest room at Mrs. O’Brien’s boardinghouse suddenly took on a new appeal. She had not anticipated how stark and cold it would be within the castle walls. No wonder Gavin’s mother had demonstrated no fondness for this place.
Gavin lit an oil lamp, casting a soft light over the surroundings. He served as a guide to the massive structure, leading Sophie, Rebecca, and the men through the maze of corridors and rooms. Finally, they came to a large dining room with an enormous table that might have comfortably accommodated a dozen hungry men.
A massive brick fireplace filled the far wall. Gavin removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and set about building a fire. Lamplight gleamed against the reddish-brown hair dusting his muscular forearms. Crouching before the hearth, he efficiently went about his task. His shoulders tensed, the sleek muscles flexing as he kindled the first budding flames.
“Each room has a fireplace, though they are not all as substantial as this one. The groundskeeper has done a fine job of stocking each room with an ample supply of seasoned firewood, though I do not anticipate the bedchambers will grow cold before bedding down tonight.”
“Groundskeeper?” Sophie asked. Odd, she’d seen no trace of anyone aside from their party.
“The gent does not live on the premises. He owns a farm a mile to the east, as the crow flies. He’s looked over Hunter’s Folly for years. I expect you’ll make his acquaintance tomorrow. He’s generally quite vigilant and will wish to verify no unwelcome intruders have come upon the place.”
