Page 90 of No One's Bride
“Oh!”
Was this something Sebastian did with all his female guests?
During Ailsa’s last visit to the man’s home, Cumpson hadn’t seemed the slightest bit concerned by her presence. But she had entered under cover of darkness and kept her hood raised.
“Do ye make a habit of playing escort to Lord Denton’s friends?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. His lordship never brings ladies home.”
“Never?”
The maid shook her head. “His lordship said if I tell a soul about you, he’ll cut out my tongue and feed it to the poor.” She lowered her voice. “The master said you’re betrothed, which accounts for his odd manner.”
“His odd manner?”
“He was whistling as he mounted the stairs.”
For a gruff man, such behaviour must seem shocking.
The maid sat nodding and moving her lips as if counting the minutes in her head. Eventually, she shuffled forward. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I can escort you inside when you’re ready. People tend to ask fewer questions when they see a maid.”
The girl led Ailsa into the house. “We’ve all been given leave to clean our rooms. We’re below stairs if you need assistance.”
And with that, the girl hurried along the hall.
Sebastian was not in the garden or in the study. Ailsa followed the potent smell of his cologne to the first floor.
He must have heard the pad of footsteps because he opened the door to his bedchamber and beckoned her inside with one finger.
Intrigued, she pushed the door open and entered the masculine space.
Lord help her!
The room was dark and smelled of him. A dominant mix of sandalwood and musk and virile male. The man in question stood near the bed wearing nothing but loose trousers hanging low on his lean hips.
Ailsa might have melted into a puddle had he not stepped forward to show her what he’d hidden behind his back.
“I thought ye had important correspondence to deal with.”
“Something else took precedence.”
“Oh?” She stared at the corded sinew of his shoulders, at the way every muscle in his body clenched as he moved.
He came so close she imagined pressing her mouth to his bronzed skin, drawing her tongue over his small dark nipples. “I want you to have this. It’s a gift.”
She knew what it was before she gripped the spine. That didn’t stop her gasping. “’Tis the Tudor lady’s diary.”
He raised his hands. “I have a confession to make. I wanted the diary just to give you a reason to rail me. I wanted it because it made me think of you.”
Confused, she met his gaze. “Being nice to me might have served ye better.” And yet she loved their petty squabbles, the disagreements that now ended with them kissing.
“But it’s the fire in your eyes I recall when I’m alone at night.” He gestured to the oak canopy bed. “Do you want to know how many times I’ve come with your name on my lips?”
Her cheeks flamed. If this was lewd banter, she definitely approved. “Aye. Tell me.”
“Twice a day since the auction. Fifty times before then.”
“I cannae claim to own quite so many.”
