by Eliza Knight
“Do ye need me to call someone?” she asked sweetly.
“What?”
“Ye seem stuck.”
“Och,” he grimaced, stepping toward the door with a scowl on his face.
“That’s more like it. The beast has returned,” she teased. “I feared for a moment a changeling had replaced ye.”
“I should be insulted,” he said, but a smile played on his lips.
“Then why are ye no’?”
“I have no idea.” He reached for the handle of her door, faltering once more.
She wanted him to stay. Wanted to tell him those people downstairs wouldn’t miss him, but she knew they would. All those lasses brought up from Edinburgh to woo him to the altar—
they could go rot.
“Ye’d best get going before the ninnies come banging on my door, demanding ye return.”
He looked at her; his features pinched as though he were in pain. She wanted to soothe that obvious distress, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers.
“What if I did no’ have to worry about them?” He let go of the handle and turned to face her fully.
Giselle squinted, trying to read his mind, but nothing was forthcoming from him. “What do ye mean?”
“What if I was already spoken for?”
Giselle laughed and clapped. “Ye would make up a pretend bride-to-be? Oh, how devious.”
“Nay, ye misunderstand. I would no’ make her up. She would be verra real.”
Giselle frowned, pursing her lips. “Oh, then where would ye find her on such short notice? I daresay the ladies below stairs are in it for the money but won’t agree until the amount has been negotiated and the ink dried on the contract.” She shook her head. “Anyone else would take a day or more to arrive, but I suppose it could be worth the wait.”
“Ye are quite right about the ladies downstairs, and the timing no’ being ideal. But I was no’ suggesting any of them.”
“A maid then? Good idea. They will be more than willing to agree and probably will no’ even ask for a signed agreement. Though your mother might throw a fit.” She nodded at that thought, imagining the dowager countess’s fury when her son came to her with a servant on his arm. His mother was every cliché listed for an aristocratic woman.
“No’ a maid.” Alec’s voice had taken on a strange tone.
Giselle tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Ye have me at a disadvantage, sir. Give me a clue. Is she here at Slains?”
“Aye,” he drawled out. He seemed to think she’d guess the answer right away.
“Ah, so we are to play a game of clue. I verra much enjoy that one. Is she a lady?”
“Aye.” He made a gesture with his hand for her to keep guessing.
“Have I met her?” She picked up a sandwich and took a tiny bite.
“Aye.”
“Hmm…” Giselle tapped her chin, thinking about every female in the house. This was a conundrum. Were any of the lasses in attendance not downstairs? Perhaps this was a trick question.
Alec let out a long-exaggerated sigh. “For the love of God, woman. I am proposing that ye and I make a match.”
“What?” Giselle dropped her plate of sandwiches.
Alec grimaced. “I see that was a mistake.” He started to turn, but she stopped him.
“Alec, ye have to stop running away.”
“This, coming from ye?” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
Giselle waved away the obvious. “Please do explain, sir. Ye merely surprised me is all.”
“Ye need out of your engagement, and I need into one. I am proposing a business deal.”
A business deal. A transaction. A marriage of convenience.
Giselle had hated so very much that her first engagement was an exchange of her person for a coffer of coins, and yet, for some reason, with Alec’s proposal, it felt as if she had control in the matter. Could a marriage of convenience free them both from their unwanted troubles, or would the arrangement become incredibly inconvenient?
Then again, if she didn’t agree, her parents would eventually find her, and there was still the chance they would force her to wed Sir Joshua. That would be a fate far worse than being tied to Alec. Still, she couldn’t help the rib that came to mind when she imagined walking into the parlor, and the announcement was made that she had won the earl’s hand. For that was what it would be, a game that she’d won.
“Are ye telling me that no’ even Lady Mary could convince ye to become her wife?” She smiled teasingly.
Alec scoffed. “Ye’re jesting. That woman is a menace.”
“Really? She seems so pleasant.”
“Now I know ye’re jesting.”
Giselle laughed. “Well, it appears, my Beast of Errol, that ye’ve saved me twice today.” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers.
“What’s this?” he asked, coming forward and wrapping his fingers around hers. He brought his warm mouth to her knuckles.
A shiver raced from the spot, and for a moment, she forgot her thoughts. “We were to shake upon our agreement. Is that no’ what gentleman do?”
“Ah.” His fingers shifted from hers to grip her palm, and then glided over her wrist where he gripped her foreman. “This is how Highlanders shake.”
Giselle followed suit, gripping his forearm as well, a mischievous smile creeping onto her lips.
“When do we make this scandalous announcement?”
“There is the matter of telling your family,” he hedged.
Giselle frowned. “I am one and twenty. I do no’ need their permission to accept a marriage proposal. Besides, we were alone in that abbey for a very long time. And ye’ve been in my room now long enough for an assignation to occur. I shall simply tell them that ye’ve ruined me.”
Alec slid his hand up to her bicep, and she felt the heat of that tempting touch to her toes. He drew his face close to hers, his luscious green gaze locked to her own.
“Och, my lady, but my assignations always last longer than five minutes.”
Giselle flushed, instinctively understanding the wicked promise in those words.
“And if I’m to be blamed for your ruination,” his gaze shifted to her mouth, “then perhaps ye’d gift me with a kiss?”
Giselle was stunned by the differences between Alec and Sir Joshua. One had taken a kiss without asking, without caring. And this one, the earl she’d agreed to marry, asked for it.
“And if I said nay?”
He held up his hands and backed away. “Then I shall wait until ye’ve given me permission.”
The other difference between Alec and Sir Joshua was she wanted to kiss this man, and he was giving her the opportunity to do that.
Oh, she was hot and tingly at the prospect. Giselle nodded, licking her lower lip. “Aye. A kiss.”
9
This would be her second kiss of the day, and Giselle wanted this experience to erase the first.
“Are ye certain? After everything ye told me about Keith, I feel like a cad for asking.” His gaze flicked from her mouth back to her eyes. “I got carried away in the moment.”
For the briefest instant, the hard mask he wore for everyone else disappeared, revealing the softer, more vulnerable man inside. Then it was gone, replaced by the wicked earl, the beast she wanted to tame.
“There are many differences between ye and Sir Joshua Keith, no’ least of which is that ye, as prone to growling as I’ve found ye, are no’ a true beast at heart.” And she meant that, even when she’d found him in the garden a few years ago, she hadn’t been scared, hadn’t thought him cruel. He was more like a wounded animal. Even now. In search of a balm to the heart.
“I am flattered ye would say so.”
“I am serious.” And she needed to remember that he’d called their marriage a business deal. A transaction. She couldn’t let herself forget that or allow any emotions to play a part.
“Thank ye,” he said softly, swallowing hard enou
gh she could see his throat bob.
Giselle smiled, shimmied her shoulders gently, and said, “Now ye may kiss me and be on your way before Jaime barges in here to witness. Or your mother, for that matter.”
“My mother might bring a small army. Though ’tis likely Jaime would bring Lorne, too.”
“She is a dear friend.”
“And a good one from the sounds of it.”
Giselle nodded, butterflies dancing in her belly. “I’m ready.”
“I’m no’,” Alec murmured, but his actions said otherwise as he leaned toward her.
She watched his face descend and then closed her eyes when his breath fanned over her mouth the second before his lips touched hers. They were soft, tender, and not in the least intrusive. This kiss was the complete opposite of what she’d had with Sir Joshua, and as she’d wished, it erased the horror of before, replacing the memory with the scent of Alec, the melding of their mouths in such a delicious fashion. He tasted the way he smelled, of spice. A hint of cinnamon.
The hair of his beard was not as bristly as she’d expected, tickling her, but not in an irritating way, rather only heightening her senses.
Alec’s face tilted, the tip of his nose brushing her cheek as he deepened the kiss. Lips overlapping and then between. And his tongue... Oh, Giselle gasped, then sighed, as the velvet tip fluttered out to tease her sensitive lips. He tasted the inside, skimming over the plush flesh of her lower lip. On instinct, she touched her tongue to his, then darted it back as waves of pleasure and desire coursed through her. This was...this was... She didn’t know what she could even say about it other than it was pure bliss.
Giselle leaned into him, her fingers curling in the lapel of his frockcoat, wanting to explore more than that. And she noticed then that Alec kept his hands to himself, braced on either side of her. She had the sudden desire for him to misbehave, to discover all of her body the way she wanted to unearth his.
The thought was as frightening as it was exciting. Saints, but she was a wicked lass. But he was to be her husband, so why should she not? However, at the same time, what if tomorrow he changed his mind? What if she was sent back to Sir Joshua Keith? Ruined.
Nay...she couldn’t allow either of those things to happen. Her ruination or her damnation. Whatever she did, she had to make sure that she and Alec made it to the altar. He was her savior, and she was his, although she was certain she got the better end of the bargain.
A knock at the door had them leaping apart.
“My lady?” a maid said from the other side.
Giselle pressed her hand to her pounding heart. “Thank goodness. I thought it was Jaime.”
Alec chuckled. “And I thought it was my mother. Better to be caught by a servant. They can always be paid off.” He stood then, taking all of the warmth and passion with him.
She wanted to send the maid away. To keep kissing, however doing that would invite not only Jaime, but his mother to the door, and judging from their previous encounters, the dowager countess would not be pleased with her.
“Come in,” Giselle called.
Alec straightened, looking as put together as he had when she’d seen him in the parlor, whereas she was not as disheveled as she was upon their first meeting, but his kiss had undone her enough, she felt it in her bones.
The maid opened the door as Alec reached it. He nodded to the servant and made his exit. It took everything within Giselle not to call him back, and even more to will away the blush and secret smile. Thank goodness the maid appeared discreet and pretended not to have noticed a thing.
“I’ve come to help ye undress, my lady.”
“I am grateful for the help.”
Curse it!
Alec’s blood was still running hot, his cock aching to seal the deal with his future bride in a completely different way than a simple kiss.
He’d made sure to keep his hands to himself for more reasons than Joshua Keith’s disgusting behavior. To touch her would have opened up another set of doors he was certain she wasn’t ready for—and neither was he.
The only women he’d made love to since returning from war had been the few widows blind enough not to notice his scar or kind enough not to mention it. And there was a mistress he’d paid heavily, but she did not last long because, after a while, he felt disgusted that he had to compensate a woman to keep him company.
He needed to stop comparing Giselle to other women. In every sense of the word, she was different. Instead of shying away, wheezing in horror when he’d kissed her, there had been gasps of pleasure.
Even still, he couldn’t forget that she’d only agreed to marry him to escape that blackguard, Joshua Keith. Alec had to remember that he was the lesser of two evils. Perhaps that had been her plan all along—to seduce him with her taunts and teases, so he’d offer her marriage and a way out of a fate she couldn’t live with.
That thought soured his mood considerably. He didn’t want to be simply the man she used as a means of escape.
That kiss, though... Lady Giselle’s moods might shift with the wind, but she couldn’t pretend her reaction to him. Nor he to her.
Alec let out a low growl. He needed a stiff drink and a fight.
He stalked down the stairs, intent on returning to the parlor to see which of his friends wanted an impromptu boxing match when the light in his library caught his attention.
Who the hell would have gone in there? It was his private space and not meant for the guests at all. He’d made that clear to his butler, and the message should have been passed along. His library was his sanctuary. And if he was going to be subjected to a weeklong house party, then he required a place he could escape to where guests knew they couldn’t enter.
He pushed open the door, revealing Lady Mary—the sour grape of a woman—
staring at a marble bust of Robert the Bruce.
“What are ye doing in here?” he said, not trying to hide his irritation. Nor did he enter the library fully. There was something predatory about Lady Mary, and he thought it best if he remained on his guard.
“Oh.” She whirled around in what was supposed to be surprise but was not well-executed. “I got lost.” A lame excuse he could see right through. She pointed at the bust. “How old is this?”
“I’m no’ certain.” But he was. It was nearing three hundred years and worth a fortune, which this money hungry lass likely knew. The last thing he cared about when he walked into his library, however, was ancient artifacts. He was much more interested in the gold that lay between the covers of his massive book collection. Volumes of literature, poems, history, science. Anything he could want to know was tucked neatly in rows.
One thing was for certain—this chit didn’t care for the pages between the covers.
“Oh.” She pouted, a move he thought was meant to make him console her, as she took on almost a pitiful look.
Alec found himself feeling rather disgusted instead. Just as she didn’t care for books, he didn’t care for playing coy. “Allow me to escort ye back to the parlor. I believe Miss Maggie is going to play a set on the pianoforte, and it would no’ do for her to be missing some of her audience.”
Lady Mary sulked, but when he made no move, not even a flinch or pinch of his brows, she sighed with disappointment and sulked toward the door.
“I can see myself back,” she said without the use of flirtation, a view of the real woman she was.
“As ye wish.” Alec hid his grin. It was quite interesting that she didn’t want to be seen coming back into the parlor with him—that would be taken as an indication of a possible match.
Clearly, Lady Mary wasn’t ready to go that far yet, even if she was willing to invade his privacy and asking prying questions into his finances. Well, he wasn’t bloody well willing to make the leap with her, either—and he never would be. Not when the woman he’d already asked to marry him was upstairs.
Alec slumped into his leather chair, sliding his hands over the well-worn arms, recalling how as a
lad how he’d come into the library and hop up to sit on these very spots, listening to his father recite from a passage in whatever book he’d been reading at the time.
Then, an idea came to him as he remembered that Giselle had said she loved reading and would much rather be cooped up with a book than at any party. That was a sentiment she’d now given him on both of the occasions they’d met. One he found endearing.
She’d not brought a valise or trunk with her as the other ladies had. Her trunk would have been filled with things to entertain herself while she was cooped up in her room, awaiting the next amusement. Which meant she was in need of a good book.
With a grin, he stood and headed for the shelf he thought she might find pleasure in.
Settled in a nightgown and wrapper before the hearth, Giselle stared into the flames. Not having packed to come to the castle, she had nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs and think about all the ways in which her parents and her former betrothed might try to ruin her life. She’d searched the drawers and shelves of the wardrobe for something, anything. Tripped and caught herself too when her ankle refused to behave.
This room was barren. No books to read, no gossip rags to see what the latest society news was. She’d have even taken old news. At this point in her boredom, she’d even leap at a basket of needlepoint accessories, but alas, she had none of that either. It was as if Lady Errol had put her in the most lackluster room in the castle.
The sun had settled, so at least it was getting close to the time she could go to sleep, except she wasn’t tired, and her stomach had been grumbling for an hour. If not for her injured ankle, she’d have long ago gone exploring through the house.
Every so often, she heard the laughter from below, and while she did not want to be around most of the people down there, she would have loved more time with Jaime. She’d not seen her best friend in so long, and she also wanted to tell someone about what had transpired in her bedroom an hour ago.
Not the kissing part—she would keep that for herself—but the offer of marriage. The offer of solving her problems with Sir Joshua.
