Page 11 of A Scottish Lord for Christmas
“You know I am seeking a suitable bride. One who will love my child, and one who can take charge of my vast estate. I believe you would suit me very well.”
Her lips parted and she blinked once. “I…” She swallowed. “Is this a proposal?” Her voice was soft, a little higher than usual.
“Er…yes.” He shook his head and laughed. “I know we’ve really only spent a few hours together, but I trust what I feel and I see how you are with Blair.” When she still said nothing and continued to stare at him in shock, he growled softly. “I’ve made a bloody mess of this. I should be on bended knee, professing my ardent love for you.” That was something he could never do, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that.
“Oh, you mustn’t do that!” She covered her mouth, but not before he saw a shaky smile.
Quinn took one of her hands in his and lifted it to his lips. “Would you consider it? I do not need an answer right away, and I should speak to your father, of course, and—”
“Yes.” The word was so soft he almost thought he’d imagined it. When he met her gaze, tears glinted, deepening the cornflower blue to a rich sapphire.
“Yes?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. I will marry you.”
He was relieved and…excited. “I’ll speak to your father first thing tomorrow, then.”
“Very well.” She bit her lip, cheeks blushing to a rosy red. “Do we seal it with a kiss?”
Such hopefulness, such sweetness…he really couldn’t say no.
“If you wish to.”
“I do.” She stepped closer and he needed no further urging.
Quinn closed the short space between them and curled one arm around her waist, tugging her against him. Her hands settled upon his chest as she tilted her head back. Uncaring of her now-ruined coiffure, he fisted one hand gently in the soft, damp coils of her hair and kissed her. He was no saint, could never profess to be, and she tasted too good to deny. And now that she’d agreed to be his, he couldn’t help but feel possessive of her. This lovely lass, his lass, belonged to him. Slanting his mouth over hers, he deepened the kiss. Her sweet lips parted beneath his and their tongues touched, then dueled, and he wanted to take her there, damn the consequences. His arms banded tighter around her waist, his hunger for her growing. Her curves were soft as she pressed against him, and he had that animal urge to growl again. It did not escape his notice that it would be easy to scoop her up and lay her flat so he could—
Quinn jerked away from Rowena and muttered an apology.
“Is that normal?” She studied him, anxious lines forming on her youthful face.
“Is what?” He ran a hand through his hair, slicking back the wet strands to keep them out of his eyes.
“For a man to pull away. Am I not good at…” The words died upon her tongue and the way her cheeks blossomed with pink sent pangs of regret through him.
He’d been insensitive to her by pulling away. She had no knowledge of men or their proper behavior. She was but eighteen. He’d lived an entire decade longer, had been married, and had lived fully in the world. The wounded expression in her eyes cut him with a surprising sharpness.
“That is my fault. You’re quite good at…er…that.” And there were certainly a few things he could teach her, the wicked way tongues could play, how lips could tease or ravage…An entire world of kisses awaited her.
Clasping her hands together, Rowena glanced down at her little black boots. “Quite good…”
He sensed that still wasn’t enough reassurance for his future bride.
“Rowena.” Her name escaped his lips in a husky whisper. When she glanced up at him, he continued. “I’m attempting to be a gentleman. It isn’t done for us to be alone; surely you know that. If I let my control go, it would overwhelm you. And we’ve only just agreed to an engagement. I am trying my damnedest to behave respectably.” He almost laughed. If she only knew how kissing her frayed his control.
Her eyes brightened. “You feel it too?”
Feel it? He felt something dark and hungry whenever he got too close to her. Ghosts of long-dead passions he had vowed to banish after losing Maura stirred in the wings of closed-off corridors in his mind.
“I do. And until we are married, it makes me a dangerous man. I’m not so polite, nor so controlled as Hampton. You’ve been lucky to see me so well behaved these last few days. It’s the Scot in me, I suppose.” His chuckle was darker than he intended as he reached up to caress her cheek. It was a miracle she did not flee.
“Let me play the part of a gentleman for now. You deserve that, sweet Rowena.” He gazed at her lips, a thirst for more of her sweeping through him.
“Promise me you won’t cry off,” she begged, catching his wrist.
“Why do you think I’d cry off?” He tilted his head.
“Because we’ve only just met and there’s no reason you’d want to marry me…” The dejected look in her eyes stirred things within him he didn’t want to face. But he did wish to reassure her.
