The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

His gaze grew more focused, and she faltered back a step. She should flee, pride or no pride, but it was as if her feet were tacked to the parquetry floor.

"Nor should you think of me, when you’re marrying that ponderous oaf in a fortnight, and you’re obviously a woman who guards her chastity the way a miser guards his gold."

Heat blazed in her cheeks, and she avoided his eyes. How could he make her virtue sound like the worst of sins? "I don’t think of you. I…"

Oh, what was the use? All of a sudden, coyness seemed too shabby to countenance. As he uncoiled and rose to his feet, Selina made a helpless gesture. "I don’t want to think of you," she mumbled.

His soft purr reeked of satisfaction. Selina raised her gaze to his face, expecting smugness, but he stared at her as if he tracked every beat of her heart. Heaven help her, he probably did.

A man this experienced with women must register her terrified fascination. The fact that she’d tried so hard to keep out of his way told its own story to someone who paid close attention. To her astonished dismay, Bruard had paid close attention.

He was tall and all whipcord strength. She wasn’t a small woman, but he towered over her. "That is no doubt true. But sometimes it’s impossible to obey common sense, isn’t it?"

"How would you know?" she asked with a trace of heat. She started to resent feeling like a butterfly caught on a collector’s pin.

"Brava." To her surprise, this time he smiled properly. "I knew there was more to you than, ‘Yes, Cecil.’"

Reminder of her duty forced a guilty gasp from her. "I shouldn’t be talking to you."

Cecil would have a fit if he caught her alone with this debauchee. Even if someone came in and discovered her with Bruard, the story would be sure to reach him.

She turned once more to go, while some heretofore silent corner of her soul pleaded with her to remain. This short, spiky conversation with Lord Bruard counted as the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. And wasn’t that an indictment on a dull, wasted life?

"No, you shouldn’t." He reached out and caught her arm. "But all the same, I’d like you to stay."

Heat sizzled up her arm and down through her middle until it settled in a great molten lump in the pit of her stomach. "Let me go," Selina muttered, cringing to hear how her voice wavered.

"Stay. Please."

Shocked, she stopped in her tracks and stared up at him. "You don’t sound like you say please very often."

Self-derisive humor glinted in his eyes. "I don’t."

He kept hold of her arm. If his touch had been demanding or possessive, she’d have jerked away. But it was gentle as a man’s hand never was when it touched her. She told herself Bruard knew the power of gentleness and he used it against her. But even conceding that, the contact was so sweet, she couldn’t bring herself to pull free.

"I can’t see why I’ve caught your eye," she said in bewilderment.

"Can’t you?" he said in a neutral voice.

"Is it because I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you?"

She’d noticed the ladies at this large house party were inclined to cluster around him. He’d never looked very interested. But then the first thing she’d noticed about him, apart from his spectacular looks, was the air of boredom that hung about him. She suspected too much had come to him too easily, and life lost its flavor.

He was from a great Scottish family. He was rich. Lovers vied to share his bed. He drew women to him, without having to lift the little finger on that elegant hand. No wonder he looked as if the whole wide world was a complete yawn.

Except one of the most unsettling elements of this unsettling encounter was that right now, he didn’t look bored at all. Right now, he bristled with purpose. She’d likened him to a drowsing panther. Now she’d awoken the big cat, and he was on the hunt.

Mad as it seemed, his quarry was frumpy, undistinguished Selina Martin. Of all tonight’s surprises, that had to be the greatest.

"No. I noticed you the moment you set foot in this house." The purposeful look he sent her blasted another bolt of heat from her crown to her toes in their satin slippers. His grip tightened on her arm. "Just as you noticed me."

It was true. They’d gone past the point where she could deny it.

She remained trembling in his grasp, a host of giant grasshoppers leaping around in her stomach.

"Yes." The word was a mere breath.

Selina waited for triumph, for Bruard to sweep her into his arms. Because surely her reckless confession must beggar restraint. She almost wished he would act the way she expected a Lothario to act. All grabby hands and slobbery kisses.