Page 28 of No One's Bride
“’Twas the first thing I had to hand. I was about to cut my hair when I heard the rattle of a doorknob downstairs.” She gestured to where she planned to make the first snip.
His eyes widened in horror. “Cut your hair? Whatever for?”
Anyone would think she’d planned to hack off a healthy limb. “Like the Highland winds, it’s wild and has a devil of a temper. It takes Ivy forever to tame it into a tight knot.”
His gaze slipped over her with some disapproval. “There is a less drastic alternative. You could wear it in a softer style, as I suggested. Most women seek to enhance their features. You persist in making yourself appear quite plain.”
“I’m nae most women.”
“No. You’re definitely an original, Miss MacTavish.”
Was that a compliment? She couldn’t tell.
Keen to change the subject, they spent the rest of the journey discussing her issues with More’s version ofUtopia.
“Is that why you persist in making yourself appear unattractive?” he stated, bringing the subject back to her hair. “Because you refuse to objectify yourself? You mean to be no man’s trophy? Is that it?”
Ailsa might have mentioned Mr Ashbury assaulting her at her come-out ball, but the carriage stopped outside Chadwick’s, bringing an abrupt end to their conversation.
The viscount alighted, handing the evil box to his groom.
“Allow me.” Lord Denton offered his hand.
A fluttering in her stomach held her rigid. Knowing what to expect, she braced herself before her palm slipped over his.
It happened again. Heat and excitement rippled through her body. Her stomach twisted in confounding knots, and she couldn’t draw air into her lungs.
Through intense blue eyes, he studied her reaction. “Is something wrong? I heard the hitch in your breath.”
Ailsa shook her head and swallowed hard.
She expected him to release her, but he drew her closer. “You never lie to me, so I must question why you’re not being honest now.” His gaze lingered on her mouth before dropping to their clasped hands. “You feel something, don’t you?”
Oh, she felt something.
Something wonderful and frightening in equal measure.
“Aye,” she dared confess, preparing to weather the storm.
A low hum rumbled in his throat. “Though loath to admit it, I believe it amounts to quite a profound sexual chemistry, madam.”
It couldn’t be.
They barely tolerated each other.
“Such things dinnae just occur. We’ve known each other too long to have a sudden change of heart.”
“This has nothing to do with the heart. Our bodies are communicating in an ancient language. It means nothing more than we’re compatible bedmates.”
She laughed, else she might expire from the sudden panic. “Aye, happen wehavebeen possessed by an ancient language—the devil’s own witchcraft. Were it nae for the spell book, this would never have happened. Rest assured, I’ll nae expect ye to give me a perfect pebble.”
The lord glanced at the box in his groom’s arms. “I’m beginning to believe you may be right. Lust is a powerful thing. We must fight it with every ounce of strength we possess.”
Lust! Now she knew he was possessed by a demon. A man like Lord Denton did not long to bed a plain Scottish lass.
“Aye. ’Tis what I’ve been saying all along. Ye should avoid touching me. Else we’re liable to do something we’ll regret. Something that will cause nae end of problems.”
Mischief flashed in his eyes. “Something?”
