Page 72 of Never a Duchess
There’s nae chance of that.
I mean to marry ye long before I’m thirty.
“Based on the way we touch each other, I’d say I’ve already embraced the role.” Aware time was precious, he looked at the basket. “Shall we change into our Highland attire and dine on braised offal?”
Her pretty nose wrinkled. “Offal?”
He couldn’t contain his laughter. “I told Mrs McClintock to keep it a simple bill of fare. We’ve pea soup. A pot of venison. Poached pears and apple tart.”
Her eyes flashed in delight. “And are you playing footman? I like the idea of having you at my beck and call.”
“Mrs McClintock insists on bringing the dishes to the table.” His cook had a firm sense of duty. “Then she plans to visit her sister in Southwark.”
“Did you not tell her you’d cast me aside to dine alone tonight?”
Callan inwardly groaned. He would have seen sense eventually.
“I didnae have the heart after she spent most of the afternoon waiting.” And since returning home, he had done nothing but wallow in misery. Misery of his own making. “Perhaps I always knew ye’d come.”
She swallowed, drawing his gaze to the slender column of her throat. “I couldn’t stay away.”
The need to kiss her, to claim more than her mouth, was like a coil winding tightly in his loins. “Come,” he said before he succumbed to temptation. “Let me escort ye upstairs to change clothes.”
She snatched her basket and linked arms with him as they mounted the grand staircase. “The wooden panelling makes everywhere appear dark, though it gives the house a warm Elizabethan feel.”
Cold marble floors and fancy architraves were fashionable in London. “A man needs things that remind him of home.”
“I’ve never felt connected to a particular place.”
“Ye’ve been running from the past for so long.”
“Yes, and I’ve learnt you cannot escape it.”
As she rarely gave anything away, Callan took that nugget of wisdom and stored it in his treasure box.
Once on the landing, he directed her to what would be the duchess’ suite if they were married. “There’s nae need to rush. I shall wait downstairs in the dining room.”
“You will wear a kilt?”
“Aye. I’m told ye’re desperate to see my knees.”
“I’ve seen them countless times before.”
And tonight, she’d seen a damn sight more.
She lingered on the landing. Watched him open the door to his bedchamber, craning her neck to peek inside. “It might be easier if we change together. I’ve no maid, and yours are away getting sotted at the Bullhead tavern.”
He grinned though his resolve hung by the thinnest thread. Once he laid his hands on her bare skin, he wouldn’t stop until he’d indulged in every wicked pleasure.
The angel on his shoulder prodded him.
Taking her virginity would be a mistake. There would be no more games, no avoiding their future. He would hurl ultimatums, drive a wedge between them, drive her away. Indeed, the time for an honest conversation was nigh—though he’d wait until after they’d dined.
“Ye’re nae wearing a corset.” He’d watched those loose breasts bouncing as she pumped his cock. “I’m sure ye’ll manage well enough. Now, behave and get changed before I throw ye over my shoulder and play the heathen.”
Her gaze softened. “You give me every reason to disobey.”
His imagination ran riot. He was chasing her around the house, throwing her down on the rug before the fire, pushing up her skirts and plunging home.
