Page 92 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
…
Gavin studied the woman in his arms with a sense of awe. Sophie was so damned beautiful, she threatened to take his breath away. What was it about her that rendered speechless a man who’d had his fair share of women? Was it her lovely eyes—dark and welcoming as a chocolate sweet? The soft curve of her face? The rosy hue of her well-kissed mouth?
Or was it something more—her zest for life, her tremendous sense of conviction? The woman in his arms would fight for what was right. She relished a challenge and didn’t resort to employing her feminine assets when engaged in a feisty debate. Her loveliness had drawn his eye from the first and set his cock into rebellion with wanting—there was no denying that, but her immutable spirit had captured his interest. Therein lay her magnetic pull. He could well imagine himself fifty years in the future, sitting by the hearth with Sophie, firelight reflecting off the polished ebony of his cane. They’d engage in a spirited discussion, or battle wits over a cutthroat game of chess. A woman like Sophie would intrigue him until the end of his days.
Damned shame she deserved better than the likes of him.
He could give her anything she desired. Anything, that is, except a piece of his heart.
He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the cinnamon-freckled bridge of her nose. “Ah, my sweet, clever Sophie.”
When she looked at him like that, her eyes soft and trusting, revealing her inner hunger, her secret desires, he longed to make her his. Not just for a night, or a week, or a blasted year.
For the rest of their lives.
He pushed the thought aside, shoving it into some deep trough in the recesses of his mind. Sophie would expect…no, she would need…more than he had to give.
He would adore her. Cherish her.
But he bloody well could not love her.
Love made a man weak.
Love was not for the likes of him. If he’d learned anything from his father, it was that a man was far better shunning such ridiculous notions.
He would treasure Sophie. He would kill for her. And he would die for her.
Damned shame he could not love her.
…
Sophie plopped onto a comfortably worn wing chair in the library and skimmed through the reference binder she’d obtained from theHerald’s archives. Colton had assigned an operative to track down Beatrice Hathcock, but something about the name nagged at her. Somehow, somewhere, she’d come across that moniker before. But where?
The long-case clock chimed a quarter hour past three. She threw a covert glance over the frayed binding, watching as Rebecca huddled on a small sofa across from her, flipping through page after page in a novel. She sighed, a rather dramatic sound, fiddled with the spectacles perched on her slender nose, then cast the volume atop the rapidly growing stack by her feet.
My, she was restless as a cat dumped into a tub of soapy water.
Behind the lenses of her spectacles, Rebecca’s eyes widened. Had she noticed Sophie watching her?
“Have you found anything of interest?” Sophie asked.
“I cannot say that I have. I would’ve thought a collection of this size might have a novel or two that would appeal to me.” She came to her feet, making a show of smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of her black skirt. Her footsteps were quiet but purposeful as she went to the window and pulled back the curtain. “It is a lovely day. I see no logical reason why we should be shut inside these stone walls.”
Sophie swung her legs over the arm of the chair. “At this juncture, security is of the utmost importance. Colton indicated he would dispatch perimeter guards today.”
“I believe they arrived a short while ago.”
“Are you quite sure? I did not hear any unfamiliar voices downstairs.”
“Of course, I suppose I could be mistaken. I thought I heard voices I did not recognize.” Rebecca leaned against the windowsill, her expression suddenly wistful. “The countryside is glorious. I crave a bit of adventure. Shall we explore the grounds?”
“I don’t think that would be wise…not yet, at least. I will ask Henry to provide an armed escort.”
“Very well.” Rebecca closed the curtain and moved toward Sophie. “What do you know about MacAllister Campbell?”
“Not so much as you, I’d wager.”
“He lets on little about his life outside the office.” Rebecca gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “I do not fear his judgment as you do. This is my first field assignment, and I do not intend to spend it confined like a prisoner.”
