Page 28 of Never a Duchess
“Daventry may be forced to deal with the matter, but we shall see what he advises and take heed.”
Miss Ware nodded and left him to his ablutions.
Only when he dragged his shirt over his head, and the lady’s soft gasp reached his ears, did he realise she had left the door ajar.
Callan couldn’t see her yet knew she stood in the shadows.
He felt her gaze roaming over his bare chest like a forbidden caress. The whispers of a secret only they shared.
Every muscle clenched in response.
For a heartbeat or two, he stared at the narrow gap.
Then he did something so opposed to his current needs.
He strode to the door and closed it gently, shutting her out.
If he had any hope of furthering his relationship with Miss Ware, she had to learn to want him. To ache for him. To toss and turn in bed and crave the feel of his naked body.
ChapterFive
The sound of measured footsteps on the stairs confirmed Lord MacTavish’s health had not taken a drastic turn for the worse. Still, whenever Lillian closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she pictured the lord thrashing about like a trapped animal in his four-poster bed.
Except it wasn’t MacTavish’s face she saw.
Her mind conjured a story of her mother’s missing hours. A horrible middle to a peaceful beginning and end. The mystifying part that came after the warm kiss on her daughter’s forehead and before the cold stillness of death.
Being too painful to contemplate, she forced the images from her mind, leaving her with another disturbing vision. The Duke of Dounreay’s impressive chest.
The sight had stolen her breath and hardened her nipples.
Left her aching in forbidden places.
Even now, her palms grew hot, the need to touch him as compelling as an opium craving. Not that she had ever craved opium. But a strange need lived inside her, pestering her to take the plunge and feed.
Hence the reason she kept Dounreay at arm’s length.
Dangerous men did not need to boast of their sexual prowess.
Dounreay was irresistible even when silent.
Thankfully, a light knock on the door drew her from thoughts of Satan’s servant. Lorna MacTavish opened the door a fraction and peered through the narrow gap. Noticing Lillian was awake, she sighed and slipped into the room.
“Are ye nae exhausted? Ailsa is sleeping like a bairn.”
Lillian sat up and tried to find the words to describe this inner restlessness. “I keep revisiting the day’s events in my head and cannot settle.”
“Aye. I’ve been downstairs and taken a dram of brandy. I suggest ye do the same. It cannae hurt and might calm yer thoughts for a wee while.” Lorna snatched the dressing gown from the chair and held it open. “Come. There’s nae point lying here thinking and worrying yerself half to death.”
Despite the cold nip in the air, Lillian threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
Lorna helped Lillian into the white gown. Like a doting mother, she tied the belt and straightened the frilly collar.
Aware of the growing emptiness in her chest, Lillian sought a distraction. “The duke cares for his lordship very much. He is usually so calm and composed, yet I saw wild panic in his eyes today.”
Lorna tightened the bow securing Lillian’s braid and brushed a stray tendril behind her ear. “Dounreay lost his mother to poison. I imagine he feared losing his closest friend in much the same manner.”
