Stranded With The Scottish Earl

Charlotte couldn’t blame him for deriding her formality. After all, not too long ago, she’d stuck her tongue into his mouth. She struggled to bring this discussion back to earth. “I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. But I decided long ago that marriage and I won’t suit.”

He looked interested rather than offended. “I wouldn’t say it’s been wasted. So far it’s been grand entertainment. I’ve a mind to stay on to watch the Easter play. After this intriguing prologue, the performance promises to raise the roof.”

Stung, she rose from where she sat on the bed and regarded him with reviving temper. Temper rooted in shame. “You’re no gentleman to mock my poor behavior.”

“I’m not mocking you, Charlotte.” His smile was wry. “If you’re susceptible to me, I’m equally susceptible to you.”

“Oh,” she said, deflated. “Then that’s a problem.”

“Not if we’re contemplating marriage.” He leaned back on his hands with a casual air that pricked at her.

“We’re not,” she said, even as her stomach lurched into a sickening slide.

All laughter drained from the eyes leveled unwaveringly upon her. His languor hardened into alarming purpose. “I am.”

Chapter Five

* * *

Thank God Lyle wasn’t a vain man, or Charlotte’s horrified expression might have crushed his hopes.

“You’re not,” she snapped. She stood as straight as a ruler and folded her arms beneath those bonny breasts.

He rose from the bed and stepped close enough to tower over her. “Indeed I am, Miss Warren. I think you’d make a bonny wife.”

She regarded him doubtfully. “You don’t look insane. “

“Thank you,” he said and burst out laughing at her disgusted reaction. “I thought I should place my cards on the table.”

“Well, it’s a losing hand,” she retorted. She spread her hands in bewilderment. “You don’t know me.”

He studied her. Her luxuriant hair caught the firelight, glinting gold. Her slender body promised strength and sensuality. Her eyes glittered with temper and intelligence—and wariness. The wariness bolstered his optimism. “Don’t I?”

She frowned, although the color in her cheeks told him she, too, remembered their kisses. “No, and I can’t imagine that what little you do know justifies this mad conclusion.”

She sucked in a breath, and he struggled manfully not to notice how her bosom swelled. Even so, his hands curled at his sides as he recalled shaping his fingers to her flesh. The taste of her still fizzed in his blood.

“I lied to you,” she said with a belligerent edge.

He hid a smile. “I lied to you.”

“I’m domineering and used to getting my own way.”

“I like a woman who knows her own mind.”

“I’m stubborn and opinionated.”

“If I’m contemplating a lifetime with a lassie, I want her to show a bit of spirit.”

“I have no society polish. A countess should be sophisticated, whereas I’ve never had a season. I’ve never even been to London.”

“Aye, you’ll settle into the Highlands well, then. My home is a long journey from the bright lights of Edinburgh—a wee wife who pines for city life would never be happy with me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I kissed you like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Are you trying to convince me for or against?”

Her lips twisted in self-denigration. “I’m clearly a woman of wayward morals.”