Page 31 of Laird of Twilight
“Oh!” She sank against him, trembling. He gathered her close as another whip crack of lightning flickered through the windows, brightening the hall. She felt good, too good, in his arms. He smoothed her tousled hair, his heart beating fast. “What is it? You’re scared—”
“I am not,” she protested, though she clung to him like a squirrel on a tree.
“Well, I was bloody frightened,” he admitted. He held her tightly, felt her relax. “I thought you were a ghost leaping at me. What happened?”
“I could not sleep, and came down to find you.”
“It was just lightning, my dear.” He had not meant to say it that way.
“I am not a ninny to be scared of such things. I only thought I might sit and do some reading while you worked in the study.” She clutched the lapels of his waistcoat. He had been working in shirtsleeves for comfort, his coat still drying.
James covered her hand in his own. “Nothing mundane would send you flying down here as if demons were after you. I thought you were the resident banshee when you came down in that floaty white thing—”
“Hush!” Her fingers pressed his lips. “Do not summon theban-sith!”
“It’s only the storm, or creaking hinges, or rain on the roof.”
She took her fingers away, shook her head, clutched his lapel. “It is not that—oh, James, please—”
Then, for no good reason he knew, he was kissing her. Tender and fervent, one kiss melting into another as he tilted his head to hers, caught her face in his hands, pushed his fingers through her hair. She moaned and sank against him, her mouth urgent beneath his, driving him onward when he knew—and surely she knew—this should not happen.
Yet he wanted this so keenly that his mind went foggy. Catching her by the waist, he pulled her hard against him, pressing his body to hers through the thin fabric. The wanting pulsed so hard through him he thought he might go mad with it. He was already a bit lunatic where she was concerned.
Not this way. Stop.The thought sobered him. He took her by the shoulders and put a little distance between them. “Enough, else we both regret it.”
“I do not regret it,” she said, breathless.
“One of us should be practical.”
“Neither of us need be, really.”
“Good God.” He was seriously tempted, but took a quick step away, heart pounding. “If you do not want to stay alone in a thunderstorm, I am working in the study. Sit there if you wish, or in the library. But do cover yourself up, lass, would you,” he added irritably. “I am not that strong a fellow.”
“Oh, but you are,” she said with a little laugh.
He began to answer, stopped. She had a lucent glow, standing there in the dark hallway, her pale oval face, the long whip of her thick black braid, the white billow of his grandmother’s nightrail.His grandmother’s nightdress,he repeated to himself severely. But her eyes, large and luminous as moonlight, entranced him.
“Never look over your shoulder at the fairy ilk,” she said, inexplicably.
“Come along,” he said, and crooked out his elbow. She took his arm and they moved forward. She was barefoot and limping,slap-paton the wooden floor.
“Where in botheration did the dogs go?” he asked, hoping for a distraction. He was keenly aware that Elspeth wore only the nightrail, dragging a plaid blanket. His hands had found the warm curves of her body beneath soft fabric. Grandmother’s gown, he reminded himself. “Blast and damn,” he muttered.
“Lord Struan, please,” she admonished. She sounded amused, relieved.
“We do not need a banshee in the house with you here,” he said. “You’ve cast your own lunatic spell over the laird.”
“Yet he is acting the gentleman.”
“Is he? He should rather desperately beg your pardon, Miss MacArthur.”
She laughed and held his arm as formally as if they entered a ballroom. Both of them were partly clothed and in disarray, alone in the house in a fierce storm. Her lush allure and her delightful willingness, together with the passion and affection gaining equal influence in him—this had the makings of a disaster.
He truly began to wonder if they would get through this night without an obligation of marriage. He felt drawn to her like iron shavings to a magnet. And she did not seem to mind in the least.
The dogs followed them into the library, and James led the girl through to the small study. The place seemed reassuringly ordinary. He sat at his desk, but Elspeth did not relax. She stood with her head cocked, looking wary, as if listening for something. Thunder boomed. She jumped.
“Sit down,” he said. “Read a book.” He gestured toward the volumes stacked on table surfaces, crammed on shelves. Contrary to the restraint and control he liked, he was not particularly tidy in his work. He would put them away when finished.
