Page 50 of Too Scot to Handle
A good brother would stay and monitor the consumption of whatever was in those bottles, for clearly, the ladies were having a genteel drinking party.
Well, let them. A very good brother trusted his sisters to be moderate in their indulgences. “Perhaps we should all adjourn to the library?” Colin suggested. For him to be alone with Anwen under her family’s roof with doors open and relations nearby was one thing, but elsewhere…
“Run along, you two,” Charlotte said, grabbing a bottle by the neck. “We’ll be fine.”
Anwen made for the door, her stride confident—and steady. When they reached the corridor, she took Colin by the hand and pushed him up against the wall.
“I’m about to kiss you,” she said, “unless you object now.”
“I object.”
Russet brows drew down.
Colin brought Anwen’s hand to his lips. “As badly as I’ve missed you all night and all day, as much as I have to discuss with you, and as urgently as I long to wrap my arms around you and whisper sweet indecencies into your ear—”
“Sweet indecencies?”
“For starts. I’ll progress to the bold sort if you allow me to. Regardless, the privilege of initiating this kiss belongs to me.”
Colin didn’t simply initiate the kiss, he gave all his frustrations and longings the order to charge headlong into pleasure he could share with Anwen. The hour was such that servants were belowstairs enjoying a cup of tea, guests would not call, and even the front door was unmanned.
He shifted, so Anwen’s back was to the wall, and he could envelop her in an embrace that included arms, hands, body, mouth, everything. The feel of her clutching at his hair, pressing closer, eased some of the day’s tension, and the taste of her—raspberry, both tart and sweet—drove him to growling.
Arousal joined the conflagration and Colin was glad for it. Money problems, sororal expectations, the situation at the orphanage—those were all messy, tangled, and unappealing. Desire for Anwen Windham was real too, though, and so very lovely.
She subsided against him and patted his chest. “That’s better.”
Better and worse. “I’ve missed ye.” The words of a callow swain, but also the truth. Colin had missed the feel of Anwen in his arms, the sound of her voice, the delicate scent of her lemony perfume, and even the way her hair tickled his cheek.
“You’re upset about something,” she said.
“How can you tell?”
“I can sense it, taste it. Are the boys all right? Don’t protect me from truths you think I’m too delicate to handle, Colin.”
“You’re formidable as hell.” Also precious. To hold Anwen like this did more to bring Colin right than all the hard galloping and harder cursing he’d done throughout the day. “I need your advice.”
He’d never said those words to anybody. In some way, they were more intimate than a kiss.
“I need yours as well. Shall we to the library? Napoleon mounting an invasion wouldn’t part our sisters from the remaining half bottle of cordial.”
“Bless the cordial, then,” he said, leading her to the library three doors down the corridor. The room was modest compared to its Windham counterpart, though what books the MacHughs owned had been read—every page cut—and much appreciated. Hamish had used this room as his estate office, and Colin was doing likewise.
The calculations Maarten had brought remained on the desk, a stack of foolscap weighted with a silver pen tray embossed with the MacHugh crest. A single white rose graced a vase on the windowsill.
“The boys are putting the orphanage grounds to rights this week,” Colin said. “If the weather’s fair. If the weather’s not fair, I was hoping you could teach them to knit.”
“Knitting is easy, needles cost nothing, and I would love to teach them all I know. I’m sure Lady Rosalyn would be willing to help me. The boys are not what troubles you.” Anwen picked up a book of poetry from the desk. “Poetry, Colin?”
“Robert Burns. Hamish favors him. Did you attend finishing school?”
She set the book aside. “Yes, for two years, though the school was only two hours’ ride from the Moreland family seat in Kent. I spent many holidays with my cousins, as did my sisters.”
A pair of straight-backed, utilitarian chairs sat in front of the desk, and a capacious reading chair was angled before the hearth. Colin scooped Anwen up and settled with her in the reading chair.
“This is friendly, Captain Lord MacHugh.”
Colin kissed her nose to help quiet his thoughts. Or something. “I’ve been made the butt of a prank, a very expensive prank.”
