The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)
When his smile warmed, a glow settled in her stomach. “It will to this particular mother-in-law. We’re not precisely a conventional family either. Hamish and Emily are outside the normal run, as you must have noticed. Brody and Elspeth had a rocky courtship. And that was nothing to Diarmid and Fiona’s exploits, before they settled down to respectability and marital bliss. And if you look beyond my immediate family, Fergus and Marina are an unusual couple indeed, given she’s pursued her artistic career with such success. By Jove, if I brought a simpering little miss home, straight out of the schoolroom and ignorant of anything but etiquette, I’d let the side down.”
Tonight Kit had met the couples he’d mentioned. What had struck her about all of them was the contented air that clung about them. It was the same air she noticed with Hamish and Emily. It would be a dream come true, if she and Quentin could develop such trust and affection that strangers immediately saw the bond between them.
She reminded herself that it was early days yet, and she and her husband had made a good start. Perhaps in time, he could come to love her. He was already fond of her. His every action betrayed care and respect. And after last night, it was clear that they shared a mutual desire that she hoped might reinforce the link between them.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, regarding her with an arrested expression.
Heat tinged her cheeks. “Last night. And this morning.” She paused. “And this afternoon.”
He groaned and to her surprise stumbled. Quentin was a graceful dancer. How very interesting that mention of what they did in bed suddenly gave him two left feet. Interesting and gratifying. It seemed Kit had some power over him, too.
A satisfied smile curled her lips. Aye, she and Quentin made an excellent beginning to their marriage.
“Don’t torment me,” he said, his tone gruff. “If I don’t keep you downstairs until at least midnight, Emily will never forgive me.”
Kit surveyed the glamorous crowd adorning this beautiful room with its lush seasonal decorations. Her ears rang with sweet music from Edinburgh’s best dance orchestra. “I’ve never been to a ball before.”
“It would be a pity to drag you away early then, even if I’m nearly mad with wanting you.”
As she met his brilliant eyes, the breath caught in her throat. “I wish you could.”
“Perhaps I can sneak you into a side room and kiss you.”
That was an appealing idea. “As an early birthday present.”
“But let’s not hang about once midnight comes. It’s torture not being able to touch you as I long to do.”
Her smile faded. He didn’t sound like he was joking. “I want to be alone with you, too, Quentin. This has been lovely, but nothing compares to what we do together.”
He groaned again, and his grip on her waist firmed. “If this infernal waltz ever comes to an end, I’ll sweep you away for a few kisses. Then we only have to last an hour or so to preserve appearances.”
Her heart was racing, and not just from the energetic dancing. His hunger for her was exciting and flattering. “Emily and Hamish have been so good to us, we should stay a little longer.”
He looked pained. “I’m beginning to feel like I married the etiquette lady.”
“Do you mind?”
“No.” A sly smile lifted his lips. “Because I’ve discovered that in private, you can be delightfully naughty.”
She laughed, then laughed again with sheer happiness as he twirled her around the floor until she was breathless
Kit was lost in such a haze of private bliss that she didn’t notice when the dancers around them slowed and faltered to a standstill. She only realized something untoward happened when the orchestra faded to silence.
“I seek my stepsister Christabel Urquhart, the Countess of Appin.”
The haughty male voice rang out over the troubled whispers and turned her blood to ice. Kit shrank into Quentin’s body and glanced around the room in instinctive panic. Surely there was some way to escape.
“Kit…” Quentin caught her hand, as the crowd parted to reveal Neil standing in the doorway on the other side of the huge room. Beside him stood the horrid Belmont Sinclair, Earl of Bogle. Half a dozen other men she didn’t know ranged at her stepbrother’s side. All were large and brawny and presented a silent promise of violence with their swords and heavy daggers. One or two were even armed with pistols.
God help her, someone in the glen must have talked. And Neil must have been close enough to finding her that he’d been in a position to listen, curse him.
“Let me go,” she muttered, trying to break away from Quentin, her galloping heart threatening to burst out of her chest.
“Kit, there’s nowhere to run,” Quentin said, firming his grip. “We’ll keep you safe.”
She was so frantic, she hardly heard what he said. Her attention was all on her tormenter. As though he owned the house, Neil strode through the crowd in her direction. He definitely acted as though he owned her.
Feeling like a mouse in front of a snake, she cringed away. The buzz of curiosity around them rose then dropped to expectant silence when Neil spoke again. “Dear Christabel, we’ve all been so worried about you. How could you put us to such trouble? It’s a silly prank that went too far, but now it’s time to take you home to the people who love you.”