Page 31 of Romancing the Scot
Sitting in his study after the guests had gone, he realized it was not just tonight. Not that he hadn’t paid attention to her before, but this afternoon her beauty had caught him off guard. To be sure, he enjoyed her wit and their conversation, but there was something else—the hint of her smile, the arch of her eyebrow, the graceful ease with which she moved. And her eyes, clear and blue as a sapphire sky. No wonder he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
And he’d offered to take her ballooning.
Hugh couldn’t help but wonder if she’d really join him on his next flight. Maybe she’d only said yes to be polite. Perhaps she never expected to be held to her promise. No one in his family, and no one close enough to be called a friend, had ever agreed to join him.
Finally giving up on his effort to do any work, Hugh took a candle and started off for the west wing. A good night’s sleep would help clear his mind.
There was no denying it, he was fascinated with her, drawn to her. The mystery of where she came from or what was to become of her was no longer the source of this attraction. They talked about ballooning, but his mind was now drawn to a different sport. One that involved a bed and skin and her long legs . . . and a few luxurious hours of giving and receiving pleasure.
He pulled at his cravat and felt the crotch area of his trousers grow tighter.
If they’d met under different circumstances, somewhere other than Baronsford, Grace was exactly the kind of woman he’d have enjoyed having an affair with.
Moments later, striding along the gallery in the west wing, Hugh paused before a portrait he’d gazed at a thousand times. Holding his candle high, he looked into the eyes of Amelia and his son.
As if someone had emptied a bucket of cold water on him, clarity returned. He was at Baronsford. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Guilt reinforced the thought.
No, he couldn’t go riding with them tomorrow. It was impossible. Even with Jo along, spending time with Grace would only inflame desire that he should not allow.
Turning away, he made his way to the end of the gallery and started down the winding hallways toward his room. He made up his mind. He’d let Jo know in the morning that he wasn’t joining them.
The sound of a crash coming from one of the rooms down the hallway stopped Hugh dead.
Chapter 10
The gilt-lettered volume was higher than she could reach. Rolling the library ladder along a wall filled with colorful editions of Ovid and Horace, Burney and Scott, Pope and Burns, Grace breathed in the comforting smell of leather and paper. She climbed to the third step, and the book she wanted was tucked under her arm when she looked down. The floor immediately tilted crazily, and spots of color danced before her eyes.
“Oh, no,” she murmured, grabbing for the ladder’s side rail. She missed it.
The book dropped with a bang as she flailed for anything within reach. Her body swung around like a loose shutter in the wind. Her back struck the shelves, and her clutching fingers found the tops of a row of volumes that immediately took flight.
With a sharp cry, Grace followed.
She crashed to the floor amid falling books, striking her head on the leg of a nearby table. Like a flock of wounded birds, volumes lay scattered around her and beneath her. One particularly sharp corner was sticking into her ribs.
Her elbow had taken the brunt of the rough landing, and her skin burned from the rug. Groaning, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the empty section of shelves.
“Not good. Not good at all.”
She needed to get these volumes back on the shelves. And that meant she’d have to go up on that ladder again. Heights had never been a problem before. The lightheadedness had to be a result of not yet having recovered completely. Mrs. Henson was right; she needed to make herself eat more.
By the time Grace heard the sound of rushing footsteps, she hadn’t enough time to save her dignity. Viscount Greysteil’s voice came from the doorway.
“Good God! What happened to you? Are you hurt?”
As she pushed herself into a sitting position, the subject of her hours of study dropped onto one knee beside her. He was still dressed in dinner attire. But the cravat was half undone, and his hair had signs of his fingers running through it.
She flexed her arm and felt her heart racing, but it wasn’t from the fall. He took hold of her elbow and gently ran his thumb over it. A shock of heat ran up her arm and into her belly.
“You’re injured.”
His voice had a huskier sound to it than she’d already become accustomed to. Grace followed the direction of his gaze. Her breasts were spilling out of the low neckline of her dress, one of the four the seamstress delivered to her room this afternoon.
Feeling herself blushing, she adjusted the garment and glanced over at the shawl lying on the back of a chair.
“I’ll send for Dr. Namby.”
“No, please don’t send for anyone,” she assured him. “I’ll be fine in a moment. I simply overdid it today.”
