Stranded With The Scottish Earl

“Charlotte, I didn’t fall in love with you in a couple of days.” He spoke deliberately, making every word count.

She flinched at his honesty. Although she supposed the truth was kinder in the long run. Even if right now, she felt like he stuck a knife into her. “You don’t have to—”

He raised his hand to silence her. “I fell in love with you at first sight. Before I met you.”

Bewildered, she searched his face for mockery. She liked the sound of him falling in love with her—of course she did—but he wasn’t making any sense. “I don’t understand,” she said unsteadily.

His lips twisted with the self-deprecation that she’d found attractive from the first. “Seeing we’re in the mood for confidences…”

Charlotte’s voice caught in her throat. She’d never felt so defenseless in her life. Should she hope? Or was he just being kind?

Ewan rose from the bed and reached down to his coat, which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. His nakedness didn’t seem to bother him at all.

How she wished she could say it didn’t bother her. But that would be a lie. She was too new to all this not to find the sight of him fascinating. And stirring.

She’d loved what he’d done to her, but now her body felt stretched and achy in unfamiliar places. After that rapturous explosion, she’d imagined she’d exhausted desire, at least for tonight. But the way his muscles rippled over his tall, lean frame turned her breathless and edgy.

Why were they pursuing this pointless conversation? They had better things to do—and only one night to do them in, before he had to ride away to preserve her reputation. She could join Ewan on another flight to heaven—a heaven of piercing physical pleasure and no awkward questions about love.

Charlotte swallowed to moisten a dry mouth, as he pulled something from his pocket and threw the garment over a chair. When he sat on the end of the bed, she couldn’t see what he held. Whatever it was, it was small enough to hide in the palm of his hand.

“What are you up to, Lyle?” she asked in a suspicious tone. She was more certain than ever that he was making fun of her, however straight his face might be.

“Here.” He extended his closed hand. She still couldn’t see what he held, but automatically she reached out to accept the offering.

“This had better not be a spider,” she said darkly.

He gave a short laugh. “You’re such a trusting wee lassie.”

Frowning, she stared down at the small leather case he’d passed her. To her surprise, it was familiar. “This is my father’s.”

“Aye.” Lyle’s voice lowered into seriousness. As ever when he was moved, the Scottish burr strengthened. As ever when he sounded so intriguingly foreign, she shivered with sensual awareness.

“But when did he—”

“At our last meeting in London. When he told me I was the man to make his daughter happy.”

She blushed. “You know you did that tonight.”

His fingers brushed her cheek. “Look inside, Cinderella.”

Even though she knew what she’d find, she held her breath as she opened the exquisite little case with its gold chasing. Her father had commissioned the miniature

portrait of his daughter a couple of years ago as a companion piece to the picture he always carried of his late wife. A charged silence crashed down.

Charlotte raised wondering eyes to Ewan’s face. “Tell me what this means.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t want to misunderstand. It’s too important.”

Slowly Ewan reached out and curled his elegant hand around where she held the portrait. His voice remained grave. “It was a rainy night the first time your father took me to dinner at his club. Because of the weather, we had the dining room to ourselves. We’d met by chance at the horse sale, but as the evening progressed, we found that our immediate mutual liking showed promise of becoming genuine friendship. He’s a charming man, your esteemed papa.”

“Yes,” she said in a faint voice. Her heart pounded so hard that she felt every beat like a blow. “He is.”

“We spoke of one another’s families, as you do when passing a few idle hours with a stranger.”

“And he told you that his daughter was at her last prayers and desperate for a husband?” she asked with a trace of bitterness. Despite the way everything had turned out, it still hurt to think of her father foisting her off onto a man he hardly knew.

Ewan’s smile was gentle. “Not at all. You should know him better than that. He spoke in such flattering terms, in fact, that I was convinced he saw you with the over-generous eyes of a doting father. Yet I must admit I was curious. The daughter he described sounded strong and vibrant and clever—and interesting. Not to mention brave. It takes nerve to handle a Scotsman, I’ll have you know.”

Her eyes narrowed, although his explanation soothed her pique. “This Scotsman in particular. So he showed you my picture, and you set off on this crazy quest.”