Page 28 of A Rogue in Twilight
“And I am the laird who looks after things here,” he said, amused.
She held her hands before the small flames. James stood, his gaze flickering down her body, lush curves beneath a damp gown, nearly translucent in the firelight. When she looked up at him, he went still, sensing compassion in her eyes.
This girl—who was she? How did she know his past? That had shaken him—shehad shaken him. Nor could he forget those lightning kisses in Edinburgh. Although that had been part of a game of flirtation, he felt its deeper impact come back to him now.
“The first time we met,” she said, echoing his thoughts in that damnable way she had, “we kissed.”
“Part of a merry game.” Only a little fire-warmed space separated them. He could easily lean to kiss her. Was she inviting it? Her mix of innocence, coyness, and perhaps a ruse confounded him. “I must go. I planned to do some work in my study this evening.”
“On the fairy lore? I could help you.”
“Another time, perhaps. The less we are together now, perhaps the better.”
She sighed. “If we are found alone here, it will not matter what we did, or did not do. Others will make assumptions and only we will know the truth.”
“Wewill know. That is more important.”
She watched him. “I have been honest with you, sir. The slightest compromise will do for me, and I will hold you to nothing.”
“It is not in my character to ruin a young woman and abandon her.”
“Only a hint of it will be enough. I do not expect your obligation.”
He huffed. “Few men would see a difference in your request to be ruined.”
“You do.”
“You,” he murmured, “cannot know what I would do.”
“I do know.” Her eyes crinkled in a half-smile.
“You are a blithe and bonny girl.” Impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her, swift and powerful, surprising himself. “There. Do you feel compromised?”
“Not quite.” She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him so that his quick kiss became a slow caress of lips, feeding the flame in him.
Sliding his fingers into the dark silken mass of her hair, he cradled her head; slanting his mouth over hers, he felt her buckle against him, heard her sigh. Her lips opened to his, and he grazed his tongue over her lip. The touch shuddered through him.
He had not intended this. He had meant to kiss her for an instant, a warning of the risk she recklessly invited before he removed himself from the situation. Yet her unique allure, purposeful or not, overwhelmed him, as if he had touched a flame, wanting to be burned. He forced himself to pull away. Her eyes stayed closed, lips rosy, cheeks flushed.
“Lovely,” she said in a dreamy voice. Her eyes opened. They sparkled.
“Oh no, you lass,” he said, hands to her shoulders, pushing her gently away.
“You think I meant to trick you because you are a wealthy man, is that it? You are wrong.”
“You are a charmer, Miss MacArthur. Let this be enough compromise and consequence, aye?” He stepped back. “Something has happened between us, and I admit my role and my guilt. Does that suffice?”
If he married her, it could be to his advantage and hers. He wanted to succumb, pull her back into his arms, wildly, wanting marriage and more.
Instead he stepped back as if he stood on a precipice despite his cautious nature.
Elspeth hopped about on one foot and grabbed a chair for support. “I did not plot to trap you, even if you think it. But the kisses were very nice.”
He blinked. No face-slapping, no huffing or hysterics, no attempt to invite more and entrap him. What was she about? “Nice?”
“Wonderful,” she said softly. “And we are alone. All the elements—but you need not marry me.”
“Not all the elements, to be honest,” he pointed out. “But you said you only wanted the compromise for your own ends, whatever those are? Or will a forced marriage come later, with the fish well and truly caught?”
