Page 39 of Keeping Kate
Fingers raking through his hair, he stopped and glanced at her. “I suppose that is it. She is a decent lass. No one holds it against her that she got with child before marriage. Highland families can be very tolerant of such missteps. How does your family tolerate your, ah, wild ways, Miss Katie Katherine?”
“Fine, since it was their idea, not mine.” She clapped a hand to her mouth.
“Ah,” he said, “so you admit to a wee bit of mischief.”
“Whatever mischief I committed was mostly with you.” Kate folded her arms. “I can understand how Jean came into her dilemma. Jack MacDonald is a charmer.”
“Is he? I suppose so. What of me?”
“Chaining women is not very engaging. Why does Jack not accept responsibility for the child?”
“He acknowledges it, but Jack and responsibility is another matter.”
“Then how can you trust him to return with the carriage?”
“He will be here. He is reliable in that regard. But in the matter of ladies he can be a fickle soul, and neatly avoids giving his word. As for a bath,” he went on, “you will find a basin and pitcher over there. You can wash up.” He indicated a table that held a large ceramic pitcher and a wide bowl. “It will not be hot water, but there will be fresh water and clean towels, and good soap as well. Jean is good about providing that when I pay ahead for the room.”
Kate went toward the washstand and peered peer into the white pitcher. She nodded approval, picking up a thick chunk of soap that sat in a small dish. A linen towel was folded beside it. Above the washstand, a round, cracked mirror hung on the wall. She glanced there, and lifted a hand to drop back her shawl. Her hair tumbled down in a bronze and golden fall, mussed and curling. Pouring a little water into the bowl, she washed her hands and rinsed her face.
At the simple sight, Alec felt a strong urge rush through his body. Straightforward lust, he realized. She held no real magic over him, he told himself. Just ordinary magic of a woman’s effect on a man.
But when she removed her cloak and tossed it to the bed, when she lifted her modesty kerchief away to pass the dampened linen towel over the tops of her breasts, he felt that magic begin to work sincerely and quickly.
He realized he was staring. He looked away, fiddled with the lantern, slid open the horn plate, lowered it again. The flickering shadows and golden light only made the girl seem more beautiful, more lush and perfect, when he glanced toward her again.
Her gaze caught his eye in the mirror. Her eyes could look like precious silver one moment and storm clouds the next. Stormy at the moment, he saw.
“Captain Fraser, I would like some privacy.”
He turned his back. “I will be just outside the door. There is no other way out of this room, by the way,” he added, and left.
Out in the dark, narrow corridor, he heard further splashing in the bowl. When it finally stopped, after a decent interval, he knocked and entered again.
She stood with her skirts half-hiked, a bare foot propped on the bed while she slid a dampened towel along her calf. Alec glimpsed her slim, shapely limbs—taut and smooth, skin like cream—before she dropped her skirts in a flurry.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, and turned away, heart pounding.
“I am finished,” she said after a moment. He turned.
She was fey and beautiful, scrubbed face glowing, hair in damp tendrils. He felt stunned, though he wanted to think he could resist whatever power she had over men.
She poured the water out of the basin into the slops bowl and then poured fresh water from the pitcher into the bowl. She turned.
“Your turn, sir.” She breezed past him to sit on the bed, rope-sprung mattress creaking even with her slight weight. “Shall I go?”
“Stay,” he growled, and went to the basin, dropping away his red coat and waistcoat to stand in his rumpled shirt and the wrapped and belted plaid, its dark blues and greens hiding the grime of travel. He rinsed his hands and face and splashed his neck, grateful for the cool water. He felt hot enough already, hot to the core of his being. He felt her gaze upon him keenly, and in the clouded mirror above the washstand, he glimpsed her, a lovely creature, fairy-like in the dim glass, leaned back on her hands, watching him openly.
He raked his fingers through his hair and tugged at the queue tied with its black ribbon—he rarely wore even a bagwig, hating the things—and then paused, covering his face with his palms for a moment, gathering himself, breathing slowly.
“Tired, Captain Fraser?”
“No,” he said curtly, though he was. Straightening the banded collar of his shirt, he turned to take up his waistcoat and coat, shrugging them on again.
“Shall we eat now?” she asked, sitting up. She stretched her arms high, as if savoring the moment. Her breasts shifted deliciously under the long, stiff bodice that elegantly defined her slim torso. Standing, she smoothed out her skirts. Though her gown was shabby, she had managed to brush away some of the stains. She looked remarkably presentable. Delectable.
Stop, he told himself, feeling again the sudden, willful burgeoning of his body. He would have to suppress that urge if they were to spend a night together here.
“I am starved.” She walked to the door and took the handle.
