Page 63 of Romancing the Scot
“This was my father’s cane,” he said. “If it’s too long, we can cut it down to the right size for you.”
“It’s a beautiful stick. I could never allow you to do that. The length is fine as it is.”
“As you wish.” He inspected the carved lion’s head for a moment before continuing. “Do you have any plans for this afternoon, Miss Grace?”
His gaze moved languorously over her, pausing on her lips and then her breasts before moving down along her legs to her wrapped ankle, leaving a wake of delicious chills rippling through her.
“I was planning on doing more reading.”
“Excellent. Hold on to this,” he said, handing her the cane.
She gasped when he lifted her off the chair in one sweep. As she looped one arm around his neck, Grace espied a maid walking past the open door.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
“Where would you like me to take you?” he whispered in her ear.
Grace’s gaze flew to his. Their faces were mere inches apart. She looked into gray eyes that gleamed suggestively as they focused on her lips. She suddenly felt wicked, undone. She’d go anywhere. She would do whatever he asked. She wanted him.
“I’ll take that as a highly favorable response to an unspoken question,” he whispered with the hint of a smile. “But we’ll save that for later. Right now, I’m taking you to my study and putting you to work.”
Chapter 22
“You must stop teasing me,” Grace whispered in Hugh’s ear as he carried her from the library.
If she only knew that in “teasing” her he was torturing himself.
The close proximity of his own rooms made it punishingly tempting. A right turn here, a few steps there, and in moments they could both be stripped of their clothes and embarking on hours of making love.
He wanted her, there was no question of that. She stirred desire in him like no woman in his memory. And he knew she wanted him. She’d made that clear enough in the way she responded each time to his touches. Yes, their attraction was mutual.
But none of that mattered. He wouldn’t bed Grace in these circumstances. He couldn’t. He would not risk damaging her reputation, even though he was certain there wasn’t a person at Baronsford who didn’t know how attached he’d already become to her. Still, a line had to be drawn somewhere. He didn’t want to complicate her life as it stood now. He wouldn’t reduce her to the status of a mistress when he might . . . when he might what? What plans were brewing in the dark recesses of his mind? He would not make love to Grace until he knew exactly what it was he wanted from her. Hugh already sensed that making love to her was not enough.
As he carried her down the stairway, he heard the household staff below them.
“I insist that you allow me to walk on my own two feet.”
“Only if you insist,” he said, trying not to stare at her lips.
“I do. At the bottom of the steps.”
He noted the stubborn set of her jaw, the threatening glare intended to convey that he’d better do what she asked or there’d be hell to pay. He’d seen a glimpse of this look before. The Irish in her.
He smiled. “As long as you come with me to my study.”
“To work?”
“I already know you’re fond of the law. You’ve been enthralled by my mother’s collection of articles, and you told me the first night that you wanted to read my law books.”
“I was delirious with fever at the time, I believe.”
“True, but I can use your help on a particularly tricky case that has come to me.” He’d reached the bottom step and paused before taking the last one. “I’d like you to go through the published decisions of a few thousand cases or so and find a precedent that might clear up a contentious legal point.”
Grace cocked an eyebrow suspiciously, but he could tell he’d aroused her curiosity.
“You have a number of clerks. I’ve seen them coming and going.”
“True,” he admitted. “But not one of them provides anywhere near the pleasure I enjoy in your company. Not one argues with me about how long their stay at Baronsford needs to be. Not one possesses the brilliance or the recall of what they read, as you do. Not one—”
