Page 11 of To My Scot, With Love
“So much has changed about you since that first time,” she continued, more to herself than him. Her fingertips skimmed up his chest, over the muscles in his neck, until the soft pads found his jawline. She slowly traced it back and forth. Back and forth.
He swallowed, every muscle in his body taut as a tightly coiled stallion. “The f-first time?” he somehow managed, his words as coarse as the rocky crags of Scotland. He was rapidly losing the ability to form coherent thoughts.
“It was my first day here,” she whispered, gaze locked on the torturous glide of her fingers. “I was exploring the estate. I stumbled upon a man bathing. I’d never seen a naked man before. Not even my husband.” Her stare flicked up to meet his. “I’ve still never, really.”
He opened and closed his mouth. He had nae idea what that meant.
Her gaze fell again, her fingers now traveling down the column of his neck to his collarbone. “Anyhow. There was this dark-haired man. Tall, lanky, all lean muscles. And then he turned, and I caught sight of his eyes. He couldn’t see me. But those steely blue eyes—they burned themselves into my memory. Did you know something as simple as a stare can have such a strong effect it causes you to stop breathing?”
Aye. Aye, he did.
“The next day, imagine my surprise when the groom leading my horse to me was none other than the man I had spotted bathing the day before.”
His eyes shot wide. Was she speaking of him? She had seenhimbathing? He didn’t know why she was telling this to him, or what meaning lay beneath her words. Why she was here. Touching him. But he knew what he desperately wanted it all to mean.
“I have been enamored with you for so long, Malcolm.” Her fingers stilled, and she inhaled a shaky breath. “But I had responsibilities to fulfill. As a wife. As a mother.” Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes, her frame rising and falling on a large breath. And when she locked eyes with him again, determination swirled, dark and dire.
“I’m ready now.” She pushed up and pressed a barely there kiss to his jaw.
Malcolm froze, his body turned to marble. An indescribable feeling bloomed deep in his chest, like ice freezing over his insides. Her lips were on his skin. Her words weren’t anything he could misinterpret now. The woman he’d been madly and pathetically in love with for the last eleven years and five months. Wanted him.
A hiccup filled the room, sending her tumbling into his chest. A timely reminder: she was well in her cups and, quite possibly, not thinking clearly. And his insides grew heavy and twisted at that thought.
He took her arms gently in his hands, setting her a safe distance from him. “Lady Bentley. I think it’s best I get ye back to the manor.”
Her face fell. “Oh.”
She took another step backward, shrinking into herself as a mottled blush reddened her nose and spanned over her cheeks.
He forced himself not to go to her. Even though he desperately wanted to reassure her. “Ye’re under the influence, my lady. Not thinking clearly.”
Her blonde brows crashed together. “I’m thinking quite clearly. The clearest.”
She swayed where she stood and stumbled to the side. He hurried to her that time and led her to an armchair, where he gently nudged her to sit. Och, she was more worse for wear than he’d originally thought.
“I meant what I said. I just needed a few snifters to work up the courage to discuss this with you. Thisproposition.”
“I’m not sure exactly what your proposition is, my lady, though I have a few guesses.” He went to his wardrobe and procured a shirt. “And, though I’m flattered, I will save us both a bushel of embarrassment tomorrow by escorting ye home. I dinnae involve myself with married women.” He threw the shirt over his head and then grabbed his cloak, which was hanging on a hook on the wall by the door. He walked back up to her and offered his hand. “Let me take ye home, lass.”
“Freddy won’t care,” she said.
He barely held off his snort. A husband no’ caring if his wife was visiting another man in the middle of the night? Inconceivable. And Malcolm couldn’t risk his position. Though for one night with her… Bloody hell. It’d be worth it—
Nae! Gather your wits, Mal.
He needed to see her safely home. Now.
Lady Bentley—Lydiahe whispered in his mind. Just for himself—stared up at him, eyes wide, beseeching. She looked so bloody young and vulnerable. Even in her thirties, she had an innocence about her. Obviously. She’d gotten toss-pot drunk and showed up at his room saying—in not so many words—she wanted to shag him. If he was a man of lesser morals, he would have taken advantage of such an invitation. Good Lord, that thought chilled the blood in his veins. She could have beenharmedby a lesser man.
It was too easy for the world to be cruel. He saw it all too often with the horses he rescued, beaten and broken by hands that were supposed to care for them. At the tavern, when larger men sought out those smaller, weaker. A bloodthirst for power, for domination. He couldnae bear the thought of that happening to her.
She put her hand in his, and he led her to the door. “‘Tis not safe to do what you did tonight, my lady,” he said quietly. He caught her gaze from the corner of his eye as he ushered her through his door. “Not all men are gentlemen.” He reached behind her and lifted the hood of her cloak over her head, concealing the majority of her from view.
“But you are,” she murmured. “A gentlemen. Safe. I’m always safe with you.”
His heart squeezed. Aye, she was.
“Let’s get you home, lass. I have a feeling yer head will be screaming at you come morning.”
