Page 60 of Stealing Sophie
Chapter 16
Parting the drapes to peer out, Sophie saw only darkness and a clear scatter of stars. She yawned—she had slept for a while, but something had woken her. Not a ghostly fiddle this time, but some uneasy sense, as if somehow the fabric of her world had changed, had shifted. She could not help but wonder if Connor was safe. He had been gone the whole of the day and night.
Startled, she jumped at a light knock and the creak of the door as it opened behind her. Whirling, she saw Connor standing there, just when she had been thinking of him. But he was never far from her thoughts.
“Mr. MacPherson,” she said softly, hiding her relief. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shuddered in the chill. She wore only her thin linen shift and a plaid draped over her shoulders, her feet bare. The air was particularly cold by the window.
“Close the drapes, lass,” he said, crossing the room. “You might be seen. It is freezing in here. Did no one light the brazier? Here, you are shivering. Get into bed, then, before you catch your death.” He touched her shoulder, traced to her elbow.
He stood so close, a share of warmth, and smelled so good, like pine and wind, like strength and freedom. Sophie tilted her head, heard his breath, his sigh.
“I did not expect to see you tonight,” she said.
“I came back just now. I did not want to disturb you, but...I just wanted to see you.” His hand flexed on her arm. He leaned closer.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Her heart quickened.
“Nothing. But—Sophie, I—” He lifted a hand, brushed fingertips over her cheek.
Then he murmured something, pulled her to him, and was kissing her, quick and fierce and with such richness and suddenness—she gasped in surprise, slipped her arms around his neck. Kisses renewed, one following another, hungry, certain. Her heart slammed, and she felt as if she was turning to warm honey in his arms.
He slid his hand to the small of her back, and her hips snugged against his. She did not pull away. With just linen and wool between them, she could feel how surely he wanted her. Then he let go and stepped back.
“Lie down, lass.” He turned her by the shoulders toward the bed.
“What?” She looked back, blinking, startled and set off balance, as if she was in a fog—the kisses, the warmth—he had power over her if he wanted it. She was willing to let him have that—stop, she told herself. He had some magic over her, and she had to break through. She found her wits, shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I will not be taken advantage of, just because I–just because...” Breaths heaving, she glared up at him.
He dropped his hands. “What?”
“Just because I cannot seem to resist whenever you touch me,” she whispered, “it does not mean that you should take—”
“Tcha,” he said. She heard fatigue rather than lust. “You are tired, and it is cold. And you are shivering with the chill.” He lifted his hands to show no threat and stepped back to make it clear.
“Oh,” she said, feeling mortified over her assumption moments ago.
“And I am that weary myself,” he went on, “and want some rest. But until you move your feet from that spot, I’ve nowhere for a bed.”
Surprised, she looked down at the wooden floor and the small, thin, patterned carpet just under her bare toes. She backed away, met the foot of the bed. “Where will you sleep?”
“Here on the floor,” he said, tugging at the upper part of his plaid.
“Not—with me?” she whispered.
“Not with you,” he said firmly, loosening the plaid that had swathed his shoulder.
“Because...I am not Kate?”
“That, my girl,” he said, “is hardly the reason.” He knelt, lay down, drew the loose end of the plaid over his shoulders like a blanket. Shifting, he bunched the generous fabric, curling his arm under his head to seek comfort on the floor.
“Oh,” she said again.
“You said you wanted to annul the marriage,” he said in the darkness. “I will respect that. Nothing need happen between us.”
She felt a sharp disappointment at his decision, made without her knowledge in a way. Had she decided that? Climbing into the bed, sliding under the blankets, she settled down, staring up at the embroidered canopy in the dark. She heard him shift around a bit, sigh out.
“Good night, Mr. MacPherson,” she ventured.
