How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 25

  “Seeing tae our safety,” he responded. “You needn’t fret.”

  Her hazel eyes flitted over his handiwork. “Ye think the reivers might try tae get in through the tunnel?”

  He shrugged. “Possibly. ’Tis no secret it exists. Until they’re captured I leave nothing tae chance.”

  She leaned in, pushing her ample breasts into him and covering his forearm with a hand. “It does comfort me, Laird, being under yer protection.” She swayed her breasts side to side.

  He lifted her hand from him and adopted an unyielding tone. “You have duties, no doubt, Sheila.”

  For some reason Annis’s face flashed through his mind and that was peculiar. He wasn’t engaging in anything untoward with Sheila, but he still felt a sense of loyalty to Annis. As though she was the only female allowed to lay hands on him—as though she were the only woman he wanted to touch him. Because she was.

  The mere idea of dallying with anyone other than the female he’d left in his bed sat cold with him. And that was a sobering realization. He shifted uneasily, refusing to examine that too closely right now.

  Sheila jutted out her bottom lip in a pout. “Is it that lass upstairs, then? I can be a fine lady, too. I will be one day. Ye will see.”

  “I’m certain of that, Sheila.”

  “Sheila!” Marie snapped. “Leave the master alone and get back tae yer duties before I box yer ears, ye cheeky lass!”

  She scowled at the cook but did as she was told, backing away from Calder with reproachful eyes.

  He turned, only to pause at the sight of his housekeeper looming in the kitchen doorway. He felt very much like a child caught at mischief.

  “She is too much enamored of ye, Laird.”

  She wanted position, not him. Unlike Annis. What existed between them had nothing to do with his position . . . nothing to do with her angling for anything from him. Despite his earlier suspicions, he now believed that she cared nothing for his title, property, or wealth. Status mattered not at all to her. She wasn’t matrimonially minded, and that very thing set her apart. Ironically, it made her more appealing. What he felt was more than lust. Annis. Annis. For God’s sake, her name made him giddy.

  Mrs. Benfiddy stared at him expectantly.

  “Rest assured, nothing will come of it,” he assured her.

  The old woman stepped aside, allowing him to depart the kitchen.

  Calder took the winding stairs to his bedchamber, passing down the long hallway. He rubbed at the back of his neck, his thoughts drifting to Annis yet again and the night before. She’d blamed the damned shortbread. She thought those foul biscuits were the reason he kissed her. Touched her. Ached for her. Fool girl. He was not under any spell. He was a flesh-and-blood man who responded to a fetching woman pressed against him. Nothing more.

  At least that’s what he had been telling himself all day.

  He pushed open his bedchamber door and immediately froze. He thought for certain she would have changed rooms by now.

  Why was she still here? And why was he glad? Warmth hummed through him to find her here bathing in his tub. Bathing. Suds rolled down the smooth slope of her back. Shining skin peeked out between the bubbles and his mouth instantly dried.

  Her hair was piled atop her head with tiny dark blond tendrils escaping and trailing down her nape. It was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen.

  He must have made a sound because she twisted around and gasped, bringing her knees up to her chest, shielding her breasts from his view.

  Her eyes flared wide, enormous and frightened as any animal caught in a predator’s sights. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded shrilly.

  “Er . . .” He cleared his suddenly tight throat as his gaze dragged over her, feasting on wet flesh. “It’s my chamber. What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be back until later, and I am here against my will,” she promptly replied. “I keep asking to be moved, but Fenella won’t permit me and she prepared a bath for me in here.”

  Fenella. Of course.

  Shrugging, he moved toward a bench positioned near the fireplace. Lowering down onto it, he began tugging off his boots. It gave him something to do besides gawk at her. Something other than looking at all that glistening pink skin. “Actually a bath sounds like a fine idea. Any room in there for me?”

  He grinned at the sound of her sharp intake of breath and the immediate sound of splashing water as she emerged from the tub.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she sputtered. “Haven’t you any decency?”

  He flicked a glance up at her and froze. She’d brought her shift up to cover herself, but the fabric was now wet and very nearly translucent pressed against her body.

  His heart pounded savagely. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe he was under some spell. But not a spell cast by magical biscuits. She had wrought this witchery over him. She alone. He’d compromised her the night before and he was quite happy to do it again. Damn the consequences. He wasn’t without honor. He’d marry her. To have her right now, he’d do just about anything.

  Free of his boots and socks, he stood and stepped closer, advancing in his bare feet over the rug as he contemplated her, this female who had thrust herself into his life, falling from out of nowhere. Quite literally.

  “I rescued you from the imminent descent of brigands. Saved you from certain freezing. I think I’ve passed any measurement for decency.”

  She shook her head and his gaze fixed on all that glorious hair piled atop her head, his fingers craving to touch her there, bury themselves in the mass. Her mouth worked, seeking speech, but no sound came.

  He continued his hungry perusal, subjecting her to a thorough examination, his stare lingering on her poorly hidden breasts. They were a handful, perfect, and his mouth watered. His palms itched. She was the most delectable woman he had ever seen, wet from her bath, her plump flesh exposed like a juicy fruit ready to taste.

  God. He was hard. She need only look down and see the evidence.

  As though she read his mind, her gaze dropped. Bright color fired to life in her face.

  Damnation . . . Perhaps he wasn’t decent. After all, he’d brought this lass here. He’d put a soon-to-be-nun in his bed and he’d done things to her no one should ever do to a virtuous woman with such holy aspirations. She was right. He was not a decent man because he wanted to continue right where they’d left off this morning and corrupt the hell out of her.

  Staring at her like this, he didn’t want to be decent—and that led him to several uncomfortable realities. Yes. He would make her his and even marry her. Because right now she was the epicenter of his universe. She was the only thing he could concentrate on. She and his raging, pulsing cock.

  He advanced.

  Her expression tightened as he neared her and she started to back away. Something sparked in him, a long-buried primitive urge to hunt and claim. To prove to this sharp-tongued lass that she didn’t want a life of abstinence. She wanted him.

  “Perhaps you’re right and I’m no’ good. Perhaps the true reason you haven’t left my room is because you want tae be here. With me. Now. Again.”

  She shook her head, damp tendrils of hair skimming smooth shoulders. “No.”

  “You wanted me tae return.” He gestured at the bath. “Perhaps you staged this entire enticing scene.”

  “Oh!” The red in her cheeks deepened. “I didn’t. I was told you wouldn’t return until this evening. And I told you I’m not after a title. I’m not like my sisters. I’m not trying to trap you—”

  “I know that.” He stopped before her. No. This was more problematic than that. If she were any one of her sisters she would be easy to dismiss. Easy to resist.

  He didn’t think she was trying to trap him into marriage. It was worse. She wasn’t, but he wouldn’t mind it anymore if she were.

  “Then . . .” She shook her head and he caught a whiff of lavender. It only added to the headiness of her nearness. “What’s happening?”
she whispered, and she looked almost childlike in her bewilderment. Part of him wanted to soothe her, but that wasn’t possible when this thing raged between them. Crackling heat, drawing him closer.

  “This,” he said, the word thick in the space between them as he reached down and tugged her shift free. He tossed it aside and she was left bare before him, her body damp and beautifully naked.

  He touched her, starting at her collarbone and coming down between her breasts in one long stroke.

  She trembled under his fingers. His hand was shaking, too. He felt like a green lad with his first woman. Not an experienced man.

  His hand stopped, flattening between the swells of her breasts. Her pulse pounded under his palm.

  She leaned forward slightly, the weight of her body pressing into his palm. She wasn’t running away. It was all he needed. It was all he could bear.

  His hand shifted to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing a nipple. Instantly it beaded, pretty and pink as a raspberry. He released a gust of breath at the sweet weight filling his hand. He cupped her other breast and she cried out, her knees giving out. She buckled forward. He caught her against him, gripping one sweetly rounded cheek as he claimed her lips. She moaned into his mouth, kissing him back.

  He gripped her in both hands then, lifting her high against him, thrusting his hardness against her soft stomach. It was a pale emulation of what he really wanted to be doing.

  He massaged her backside, delighting in the soft little moans and mewls escaping her.

  “Annis,” he growled against her lips.

  “Yes,” she panted.

  The kiss deepened and he half carried, half walked her until he’d backed her against a wall. She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed her breath, taking it deep inside himself just as he wanted to take her and devour her until they were one entity. She appeared to be of like mind.

  Her hands clawed at his shoulders and arms as though they couldn’t get enough of him. As far as he was concerned the only problem was that he was still dressed.

  “Och, pardon me!”

  He whirled around to see Fenella standing in the threshold, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

  Damnation! Did no one knock on doors in this keep ever? Clearly he needed to call a meeting with his staff and cover this simple protocol.

  Annis’s fist beat on his shoulder. “Calder!”

  He turned, mindful to keep his body blocking hers.

  Still grinning, Fenella murmured, “I just came tae see if Miss Ballister needed help finishing her bath. I’m so verra sorry, Laird.” Her smile revealed that she wasn’t the least bit sorry. “I knocked, but no one answered and after Miss Ballister’s condition last night . . .”

  “Understandable. Don’t fash yourself,” he said tightly. “Miss Ballister is fine. Thank you. Would you give us a few moments?”

  “Of course. Take yer time.” Fenella slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  He gave a brief prayer that it would stay shut this time, and turned to face Annis as she slipped out from between him and the wall, moving like a burst of wind. She snatched up the robe on the foot of the bed and pulled it on, unfortunately covering up all her delicious curves.

  “This is madness. I’m not . . .” She gestured vaguely with her hand and shook her head. “N-not this.”

  He nodded slowly. “You are. You’re no’ made tae be a nun. You’re made for this.” For me. The words popped immediately to mind, but he didn’t voice them. She already looked as skittish as a rabbit. He needed her to acclimate to the notion of them together. He himself was still adjusting to the idea, but the certainty was there. He wanted her. Wanted to keep her. Wanted her to want him back.

  He couldn’t articulate why or how he knew this, but he did. Just as for years he had felt certain of his bachelor status, certain that none of the young women in or around Glencrainn were for him, he knew she was. She was for him.

  She held his gaze for a long moment. “That’s not true. Either direct me to a different bedchamber or I’ll find one on my own. This castle is big enough. I’m sure that won’t be too difficult.” Her gaze darted over his shoulder as though judging the distance to the door.

  Did she think to lunge for it? Did she think he would imprison her in this room, in his bed like some kind of Viking marauder of old?

  He stepped aside and gestured at the door. He wasn’t that man and he’d show her even if it killed him. “By all means.”

  She hurried across the room to where her valise sat. She fumbled through it, sneaking him looks over her shoulder. With a handful of garments bundled in her arms she hastened behind the dressing screen. The soft sounds of her movements carried through the thin barrier. He inhaled and tried not to imagine her undressing. He grasped at his restraint. A female such as she would require skilled wooing. He was not confident he had it in him for that, but he would try.

  Minutes later, she emerged, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled skirts.

  His gaze tracked over her. She wore a modest day dress of rich burgundy trimmed in purple piping. She was the perfect London lady. Untouchable. But that did not stop him from seeing her as he’d seen her before with all her naked skin glistening fresh and pink. With his hands on that skin.

  Her cheeks colored brightly as she gathered up her valise and started across the chamber toward the door, no doubt reading his thoughts.

  He stepped in her path, blocking her escape.

  She lifted those guileless eyes to him. How had he ever thought her a conniving title-hungry miss? There was no deception about her. No guile at all.

  He lifted the valise from her fingers. “I’ll escort you.”

  She nodded jerkily. He opened the door, gesturing for her to step out into the corridor. She stared at him uncertainly a moment longer, then passed through ahead of him.

  Chapter Ten

  The duke led Annis to a different chamber without another word. Without another tempting, impossible word. He bowed politely over her hand and left her alone. Which was how she remained all day and into the night, discounting when a maid carried a dinner tray into her room.

  As alone as when her family forgot and left her.

  Melancholy wiggled its way inside her. She knew she shouldn’t feel so . . . abandoned. It was not the same as when her family left her. Sinclair was not her family. Not by a long shot.

  Besides. She wanted solitude. Blessed peace. No shrill, squabbling siblings. No mother who didn’t understand her or care to try. Right now she could be crammed into a carriage, fighting for seat space and enduring her sisters’ high-pitched dramatics as they journeyed home.

  The following morning, a maid brought her breakfast, helped her with her hair and dress, and then left her. She wondered if this was to be how she spent her time here. Hidden. Forgotten. Blast it! She needn’t care. It was for the best.

  She should be grateful that they’d stopped before he’d divested her entirely of her virtue. Gads. He might feel compelled to marry her, then. She could think of no worse fate than being forced into a marriage lacking love and affection and respect simply for propriety’s sake. Married to the Sinclair . . . A strange fluttering took off in her belly.

  Left to her own devices, she availed herself of one of the books stacked atop a side table. She settled on a chaise lounge positioned near the window, draping a thick wool blanket over her legs. The fire in the room cast enough heat to reach her where she sat. The book, a treatise on the significance of the Magna Carta, was one she had not read before, but she had a dreadful time focusing.

  She often lifted her head and stared out the crack in the heavy damask drapes, gazing at the snow-shrouded grounds. Her nose twitched at the scent of nutmeg and cloves. Someone was baking. Maybe she would get to eat the fruits of their labors? She inhaled deeply of the aroma. It smelled like Christmas.

  She reflected on last night, brushing fingers over her lips, imagining Sinclair’s mouth there and how it had felt. The man certainly kne
w how to use those lips.

  You’re not made to be a nun. What if he was right? Shouldn’t she be more certain before entering into a lifelong commitment? She had thought she was certain of her decision. Now she was not so sure.

  She jumped, startled by a knock. Setting her book aside, she marched toward the door. Opening it, she came face-to-face with the duke, his hand poised to knock again.

  “Oh.” She stepped back, her hand fluttering to her throat. “You. Hello.” You. The utterance felt foolish. She felt foolish. All of this was so new and strange. Liking a man—wanting him. Desire.

  “Aye. Me.” He shifted, actually looking nervous, and that would be the first time she had ever seen him nervous. “I thought you might like tae go outside.” He motioned behind him.

  “Outside?”

  “Aye.”

  She glanced back toward the window. She could see snow flurries through the part in the cracked curtains.

  “We won’t be verra long,” he added, running a hand quickly through his hair and sending the dark locks aflutter. “Mrs. Benfiddy claims we need more holly.”

  “Holly?” she echoed as though she had never heard of such a thing.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Are you going tae stand here and repeat everything I say or are you going tae join me outside? We won’t take verra long. It’s still frightfully cold, but we will bundle up.”

  She inhaled a quick breath. He really was handsome—especially when he smiled like that. She considered him, looking him up and down. He was asking her to collect holly with him as though this were an ordinary holiday. As though she were a welcomed guest and not someone foisted upon him. Warmth suffused her.

  She should remember that he didn’t want her here.

  She should refuse and stay put in this room by herself until she remembered that peace and solitude were all she ever wanted. Not go holly picking with a man who made her blood hum faster in her veins.

  Stay put. Indeed, that was what she should do.

  “Very well. I’d be glad to join you.” Right off the cliff . . .