Stranded With The Scottish Earl

He trailed a finger down her neck, making her shiver. She’d had no idea that was such a sensitive area until he’d kissed her there. “Now, don’t go all missish on me.”

“As long as you don’t go all rakish on me,” she retorted.

“If you keep squirming, you’ll upset Bill. Not to mention you’re giving me indigestion. Which seems a sad end to a lovely evening.”

“Oh, you’re impossible,” she sighed, even as she leaned her head back on his powerful forearm. Warmth surrounded her, delicious, alluring, subtly threatening to the woman she’d always believed herself to be. She tried to blame the wine, but the fault lay in Lord Lyle’s compelling company, rather than in mere liquor.

“That’s better,” he said with a rumble of satisfaction, stretching his long legs out toward the hearth.

Charlotte waited for him to press his advantage, but he closed his eyes and rested his head back. Never had she seen a man look so contented. She stole the opportunity to study him without having to fend off that bright, interested gaze.

When he’d turned up out of the pouring rain, she’d thought him handsome. No woman with eyes in her head would disagree. These hours in his company had only confirmed his physical appeal. Perhaps because she now knew the taste of that expressive mouth and how readily his lips could curve into a smile. Her fingers clenched into her skirts, much as they’d clenched into the cool silk of his black hair, hair with an endearing propensity to fall over his high forehead.

Her fascinated inspection traced the hard, spare lines of his cheekbones and jaw. Even in a newspaper sketch, his striking good looks had been apparent.

Now she saw so much more. Intelligence. Kindness. Humor.

The thick black lashes shadowing his cheeks lifted, and he turned his head toward her. When she met that dark blue gaze, the world stopped, and an odd, echoing silence surrounded her.

“Seen enough?” he asked softly.

She flushed. Heavens, she’d blushed more since meeting Ewan Macrae than she had in the last year. It was an effort to speak. It was even more of an effort to keep her voice steady. “Best to know your enemy.”

Every time he smiled, her pulses leaped in the most extraordinary way. This time was no different. “Daft lass, I’m not your enemy.”

“Opponent, then,” she conceded.

“Better,” he whispered and leaned forward to brush his lips across hers.

For a dazzling instant, she tasted port and

sweet breath, sinfully familiar after his earlier kisses. Except this was different. The kiss was undemanding and tender, as if he stroked a finger across a budded rose to test the petals’ softness.

Like that rose, she opened to him.

Instead of deepening the kiss—mortifying how keenly she longed for his passion—he lifted his head. “Lover would be even better.”

She stared at him, while her sluggish brain struggled to make sense of what was happening to her. She should be offended. Or frightened. But instead female curiosity kept her silent.

Then Bill gave a yip of canine reproach at all the wriggling and jumped to the Turkey carpet before the fire.

Lyle joined her laughter. “Our chaperone has spoken.”

“I shouldn’t kiss you.” Charlotte slipped free of the sensual net and sat up, smoothing her chignon. “It’s not fair, when I won’t be your wife, and I can’t risk becoming anything else.”

Lyle didn’t have to say a word. She knew he heard and noted that she never denied wanting to be his lover.

His kisses were the most powerful experience of her life. Even in her innocence, she knew he’d give her pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings. But she was a virtuous woman and a virgin, and she cringed at the thought of conceiving a child out of wedlock.

Sometimes she hated being sensible.

“Tell me why you’re so set against marriage, Miss Warren.” He frowned. “Be damned if I’ll call a woman I’ve kissed Miss Warren. Let me call you Charlotte.”

She shook her head. “Formalities are safer.”

His smile told her he thought she was crackbrained. Given her ardent response to his caresses, she had to agree. “Even if I’ve had you half out of your dress?”

Could her cheeks get any hotter? “A gentleman wouldn’t mention that.”