The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)
“Nothing,” she replied in a low voice, knowing she was being absurd. He didn’t owe her anything, let alone eternal fidelity.
Those green eyes were searching. “Are ye sure??
??
“Hamish is watching.”
“Ah.” He spoke more loudly. “Let me help ye onto your mount, Elspeth.”
With easy strength, he tossed her into the saddle and passed her the reins. “Meet me in the library tonight,” he murmured as he checked her stirrups.
Her hands curled hard on the reins. “That’s not a good idea.”
“No, it’s not a good idea.” The brilliant smile he flashed her had her foolish heart turning cartwheels, and that annoyed her, too. “It’s an excellent idea.”
“Brody…”
He caught her gloved hand and pressed it. Those glittering eyes sought and held hers. The breath jammed in her throat, and her head swam with a thousand brazen possibilities. For an instant, he didn’t look like a man who took life’s finer things for granted. He looked like a man stretched to the point of agony on the rack of desire. “Please.”
Her lips flattened, as she struggled to keep a grip on reality. She was reluctant to trust her instincts about Brody. After all, only a few days ago, she hadn’t been sure he even knew her name. “Perhaps.”
“Hurry up, you two,” Hamish snapped. “It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here.”
Elspeth at last had something other than kisses to blame for her blushes. “Hamish!”
He shrugged, unaffected by her scolding. “You’ve heard me say worse.”
“To my regret, I have. And that’s nothing for you to be proud of.”
Brody bent to pick up his flat-crowned beaver hat. Oh, dear. She must have knocked it off when she kissed him. How she hoped that her fiendishly intelligent brother didn’t wonder what necessitated the removal of Brody’s hat. Or resulted in Brody’s hair falling about his face in untidy ebony waves.
She cast a quick glance at her brother’s set face and saw that her hopes were in vain. Heat stung her cheeks, as she made a great show of patting her horse.
“Let’s go.” Hamish’s voice turned as cold as the snow that stretched all around them. Without waiting for Brody to mount, he wheeled around and cantered away. To preserve appearances, however futile the gesture, Elspeth urged her mare to follow.
Chapter 12
It was late when Brody saw Elspeth slip out of the hall. Apart from his, no heads turned to observe her departure. People had been coming and going all night. After dinner, the guests had split into smaller gatherings and scattered throughout the house, aiding his wicked purposes.
Because tomorrow was Christmas Eve, the children stayed up late in the hall, playing games like blind man’s buff and snapdragon under the indulgent eye—and with occasional participation from—their parents. Marina sat on the couch near the fire, sketching and carrying on a desultory conversation with Lady Glen Lyon beside her. Elspeth had fiddled with a few carols at the piano, then retired to an armchair with a book. Fergus, Hamish and Diarmid were in the billiards room. He had no idea where Ugolino and Giulia had disappeared to. Probably some distant corner of the castle, where they whispered sweet Italian nothings to one another.
Wherever they were, they’d have no trouble finding a sprig of mistletoe to encourage their kisses. Before the riding excursion, the whole party had spent a hilarious morning, hanging bits of the plant all over Achnasheen. Ugolino’s gift had provided vast amounts of amusement and copious excuses for high jinks. Fergus had chased a laughing Marina up and down the stairs, waving a cutting, and growling like a stage villain. Charles and Donald had snatched up their wives and demonstrated an ardor that surprised Brody. He’d always dismissed both men as dry sticks.
The mayhem hadn’t bypassed him. So far, he’d been lured and teased and nagged into kissing two little girls, Lady Glen Lyon, Giulia, Marina, Charity, and Prudence. Every female except Elspeth, in fact. He hadn’t trusted himself to kiss his wee wren, without betraying intentions that stretched far beyond the mistletoe’s authority.
All night he’d struggled against staring at Elspeth, although at any given moment, he knew to an inch where she was. If he looked at her, the hunger in his eyes would give the game away. It was bloody difficult battling the temptation to gawk at her like a starving urchin transfixed outside a baker’s window.
She hadn’t done much to help. Tonight the lassie looked bonnier than ever. She wore a bright yellow gown he hadn’t seen before, and her hair was arranged more simply than it had been last night. The loose knot flattered her gentle features, reminding him of a Raphael Madonna.
Now, for discretion’s sake, he reined in his fever of impatience and delayed ten minutes before he followed her. As he shifted, Marina glanced up, and he mimed hitting a ball with a billiard cue. She nodded and smiled and bent over her sketchbook once more.
Thank God, the corridor was empty. Laughter and shrieks of excitement echoed from the hall, but otherwise the old stone castle was quiet.
Brody reflected upon the changes these last few days had worked on him. Marriage had always seemed a distant, unalluring prospect. He’d never expected the idea of cleaving to one woman alone to whip up this lather of excitement.
Until he’d looked at Elspeth and recognized that happiness had hovered at hand for years. He’d just been too blind to see. Tomorrow he’d ask her to be his wife. Hell, he’d been on the verge of proposing on the hillside.
When he opened the library door, anticipation thundered in his blood. Anticipation and a touch of uncertainty. Would Elspeth be waiting? Or had this afternoon’s passion frightened her into retreat? He couldn’t blame her for shrinking from the heat that flared between them. It had shocked him, and he was far from an unsophisticated innocent.