The Duke's Scottish Lass (Brethren of Stone 0.50)

She heard his chuckle. “Are you up this early every morning? I’m an early riser but land sakes. Is there tea anywhere?”

It took a moment for Delia to answer. Her head was at war with itself. One side desperately wished to tell him to get the devil out of her kitchen. The other warmed at his presence, with his broad chest and easy speech that made her want to share her darkest secrets. Instead, she sighed. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

The kitchen held a large table that the family often used instead of the formal dining room. It was most unconventional but their family was significantly larger than many within the aristocracy and it served the children well. Those meals were some of Delia’s favorite times. Roderick sat himself at the table nearest her, turning his chair so that he could see her. “You never did finish your story yesterday.”

“Alas, it has no ending…yet.” Did fairy tales ever end with the lady being married off to the aging marquess? Because Roderick would most certainly be the Prince Charming.

Having started the kettle, she picked her bowl back up and continued stirring. Cook walked in and, after giving a brief glance, took herself to the pantry to get ingredients. The older woman knew that Roderick would not be there without Stone’s permission. Her brother was a fair employer, but nothing happened without his knowledge.

“Ahhhh, a work in progress.” Roderick leaned back in his chair as he assessed her.

“You didn’t finish your story either. About the girl you rescued. What did you rescue her from? Will you ever see her again?” Finishing with the meat filling, she began rolling out the pasties. The work soothed her, and as she worked out a rhythm with the roller, she found herself smiling.

“I am certain I will see her, and I rescued her from drowning.” His rich voice flowed over her but her rolling pin stopped.

Squaring her shoulde

rs, she started rolling again. “Drowning? In what? A well? A bog? A pond? I must admit Your Grace, your storytelling skills require some improvement.”

He chuckled low and deep and it rippled through her, making the pit of her stomach near ache with something she didn’t understand. “Call me Roderick. It was a river, and I do believe you are right. My storytelling skills are in need of improvement in general, but this particular story pains me still.”

Her rolling pin paused again. This time she didn’t even try to finish the job, instead she turned toward him with rolling pin in hand. “Of course. I apologize. I can certainly understand why you wouldn’t want to share—“

“Delia,” his eyebrow quirked up as he gave her a cocky grin. “Your compassion is the fourth reason I will make you my wife.” The kettle whistled but she stood with her mouth open, rolling pin still held in the air. He glanced at her. “The kettle is ready.”

“I know that.” She slammed the pin down and grabbed a towel to pick up the hot kettle. But truth be told, he had gotten the upper hand. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what other reasons he had on his list for marrying a woman he had known a day. But her curiosity would look weak. Instead, working quickly, she added her unique mixture of tea and spices to the brew. Finishing it with a touch of honey, she set the pot along with a cup and saucer in front of him. Unable to hold it back, she bit out, “Fourth reason?”

His eyes travelled from her navel, slowly up her body to her face. His piercing green stare met hers, causing the ache, always present in his company, to throb. The strangest sensation of knowing him from somewhere rippled through her as well. His eyes tugging at the back of her mind. Like they had met before yesterday but that couldn’t be.

“Yes, fourth.”

“You have a list? We only just met.” Her breath caught on a short gasps and she tried to slow her racing heart. Why were his words affecting her so?

“I do indeed. Though seeing you yesterday has only lengthened it. You see, I am quite determined.”

“You and Stone.” She grimaced, placing a hand on her hip.

His hand reached up and touched hers on the hip. No man who wasn’t related to her had ever touched her like that. The ache pulsed between her thighs. “We will be a difficult combination to best.” His hand slid higher and rested on her waist. She moved to pull away but he held her firm.

Torn between indignation and a breathless need, she tried to think of something that would push him away. “I’ve heard about you, Your Grace. You’re not serious about marriage?”

“Roderick.” He was pulling her closer. “What have you heard about me?”

She’d always been one to speak her thoughts. But she wasn’t sure she dared to do this. Forcing herself to breathe, she pushed the words out. “That you are a rogue. Isn’t that what they call you? Will you continue your roguish ways after we’ve married?” Her stomach twisted after what she’d just said. But she couldn’t marry him. Her reaction to him was too intimate, too much like happiness. She simply had to push him away.

His other hand moved slowly and gently to her waist as well. He was holding her so close, his hands on her body made the room spin. “I have not been that waste of a man for a long time and I never will be again. There will only be you.”

His statement stole her words and her breath, and she gasped, her knees near buckling, but he held her firm. Instead of being angry, he had given her an honest and compassionate answer. Standing, his hands never left her body. Slowly, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I don’t know what to say.” He was deftly fighting off her attempts to push him away, stripping back each one of her defenses. Between that and her body’s physical reaction to him, he was difficult to fight.

And of course, Stone wasn’t playing fair either, allowing him this time that was unchaperoned. Drat but the two of them were difficult to best. She couldn’t think of a single defense now.

“Say that you will at least consider allowing me to court you.” He whispered close to her ear.

Another throb jolted between her thighs. How could she say no with her body betraying her as it was? “I will consider it, but I make no promises.” She was swaying closer to him, of that she was certain. If only she could press her body against his to see what it might feel like. Traitor, her mind taunted her even as her body threatened betrayal.

“Thank you,” he whispered, removing his hands and sitting back down to drink his tea.