Flora’s fingers traced her lips where tingles of awareness spiked into her, causing her heart to patter in a way that pleaded with her for more. In another life, she would wish to marry him, to run away, to live with him forever, but as she’d told her sister, life was not a fairy tale. Isaac was not some prince who would save her.
He was a man she’d wronged, and there would be no forgiving that.
Her stomach ached, knowing she could not give him what he wanted. Her brother’s life and her family’s safety meant more than Isaac keeping his sisters and mother adorned in jewels. She’d told him the truth about looking out onto the grounds of this magnificent estate. She typically wanted to see the views, but as soon as she’d opened the door to this room, which was larger than the entirety of Camelot, she’d known it would be too much.
This life was not for her and dreaming such things would only bring heartache.
Yes, she typically did fantasize that she’d been dealt a better lot, but she was also realistic and knew that it was impossible. The attachment she felt for Isaac was too strong after what they’d done last night, and for the first time ever, she yearned for this dream to come true—but it couldn’t. She reminded herself that he was an earl, English gentry. She was a Scottish thief, and by her recent span of luck, a bad one at that. She’d now been discovered by two men, and both of them could, and would, crush her world if she gave them the opportunity.
A knock sounded at the door. When she pulled it open, Isobel stood in the hall, some man beside her, trunks on the ground.
“Come in.” She moved aside to give them entry.
After the Stonehaven servant helped cart the chests into the room and left, Isobel started, “I thought he wouldnae leave, Flora. He has it bad for ye.”
Isobel must have overheard their argument. She’d have to remember that voices echoed in this place. “Nae. He only wishes to have what I took from him.”
Her sister smiled, some dreamy look in her eyes. But Flora thought, this is such a good experience for her. Isobel would be hired as a lady’s maid straight away after this experience. Maybe Flora could make the most out of this weekend and find her sister employment. That would be some solace for the freedom she would give up once she returned home. Surely, Alastair would only require her services for a year, no longer, or at least she would agree to that if he would leave her family be.
Her thoughts turned toward how she would make amends to Isaac after he learned of her betrayal. How was she going to repay him for saving Bran’s life and her family’s home? Maybe when she was done in Edinburgh, if she agreed to be his mistress, he would eventually forgive her debt. She could see many worse options, but after what they’d shared last night, he did appear to be attracted to her, and it was an option. Even if she ended up with child, she would have paid her debt and enjoyed it in the process.
After John, she’d thought herself immune to the charms of men, but now, all she could think about was what Isaac had made her feel and how she wanted that with him again. How her lips still yearned for his to press once again upon hers. Would he be staying the night with her? Her skin heated at the thought.
“Here. Ye should wear this one.” Isobel’s voice startled her.
She’d forgotten her sister was in the room. “That will work, and how great that ye are acquiring some experience. If we’re lucky, mayhap someone here will know of a lady looking for assistance.”
“Aye. I hope so,” Isobel said. “If I could be one less mouth for ye and Will to worry about, I’d jump at the chance.”
“Ye ken we would never turn ye out.”
“Did ye notice Will has seemed darker than normal?”
“Aye.” She’d like to think it was just this thing with Alastair, but his intensified broodiness seemed to be caused by something else weighing him down. Some secret which troubled him enough, he declined to even share it with her, who he trusted with everything.
Either way, Isobel didn’t need to stress over it. She should find a position to be self-sufficient. That had been Flora’s goal with all her brothers and sisters, to be certain they were educated and had the skills that would make life easier for them.
The next little while was spent with Isobel poking and prodding at Flora, pinning up her hair and doing all those things she’d been trained to do to make someone look presentable in high society. When Flora finally turned to look in the mirror over the dressing table, she barely recognized the lass looking back at her.
The front of her hair had been pulled back and twisted into some artful kind of configuration, which left her long tresses cascading down her back in soft, manageable waves. She usually just pulled it back with a tie to secure the thick mass, but this gave her a sense of elegance that she’d never felt, not even in the dress that had been ruined on the day Isaac plucked her from the street.
This current gown had short, poufy sleeves and a high waist. It was sprinkled with embroidered red flowers with green stems woven into an intricate pattern. The neckline was much lower than she was accustomed to, showing the tops of her breasts. “I dinnae think it fits.” She held her hands over the top of her exposed cleavage.
“Dinnae be silly. Ye look bonny.”
A knock sounded at the door, and then it started to open before she called out to the visitor. It was Isaac, but not really. The man who stood before her was Ruffles, wearing a stiff expression as if he’d just tasted a sour fruit.
When his regard met hers, there was a hint of a smile, a glimpse of the man beneath, but it disappeared so quickly she must have been mistaken. “It is time we made an appearance.” The words were monotone and gave her the impression that it was the last thing on earth he wanted to do, but he was the one who had insisted they “join the others for tea.”
His attention moved to the window, and she let her gaze peruse his form while he was distracted. He was impeccably dressed, looking every bit the earl he was, even down to the lace frills in place at his neck.
“I am ready.” Although her fingers shook, she was actually looking forward to this. She’d never had the luxury of stopping in the middle of the afternoon to do nothing but talk and drink tea, and even if she had, some child would have broken into the bliss of such an afternoon, anyway.
In two large strides, Isaac was at her side and threading his arm through hers. He was warm and reassuring and smelled of cinnamon and honey mixed in a potent musk that reminded her of what they’d done last night, and how close she’d been to telling him she wanted more, that she’d wanted to be intimate with him despite her reservations of men. And despite their relationship, she was attracted to him in a way no other had ever interested her.
She heated as her thoughts turned to the evening and what might await her tonight. Would he trust her to sleep alone? Did she want him to? Now she’d confused herself. She wanted him to have faith in her even though she knew she would betray him in the end. But she also wanted him to stay. And she wasn’t sure if those two goals were the same—one led to him being in her bed and one to her being alone.
She leaned toward Isaac’s solid frame as he glanced at her, and she thought she saw longing mirrored in his sapphire eyes. He swallowed and broke the contact as he led her toward the hall.
“How many people do ye think are here?” Flora asked.
“It couldn’t be more than twelve. Although the house is a nice size, I imagine it could only hold upwards of twenty guests.”
Her thoughts drifted to her own home, then the size of the room she’d been given. At least twelve people were living in Camelot at the current moment, sometimes more. As far as she was concerned, all of Aberdeen’s lost children could live in this house and barely see each other. A tremble ran through her as she realized how out of place she would be with the assembled guests.
Notes of a slow melody drifted through the hall, the volume increasing along with her heart rate as they followed the sounds. Isaac’s proximity calmed her nerves, and she was only vaguely aware of gripping his arm tighter. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She paused, glancing up at him, and he looked back, confused.
“Thank ye. If I forget to say it later, ye need to ken that I appreciate what ye have given up to stand by me.”
And she did. Although he’d probably been given everything he’d ever wanted, he was an honorable man and deserved to be treated well. She fought back her guilt. He deserved so much more than to have her interfere with his life. She knew she wasn’t fit to stand by his side, but she hoped that while here, she could pretend to be someone else. While she had to be here, she wanted to be an acceptable companion for him. She was taking his jewels—she didn’t want to take these people’s respect from him as well. So she smiled, straightened her shoulders, and nodded to herself.
I am good enough.
Something swirled in his gaze, and although she didn’t understand it, she did comprehend what he wanted. His head dipped toward hers and took her lips with his gentle, reverent grace as if she were someone to be respected and admired, and, at this moment, she wanted nothing else but to be worthy of his consideration.
A click sounded behind them, and Isaac pulled back. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Isobel scoot down the hall and toward the back stairs. Catching her breath, Flora turned sharply toward the front. She had people to take care of, Isobel being one of them. She couldn’t afford to get lost in a dream that wouldn’t come true.
Isaac’s shoulders moved as he breathed in and out like he’d just run up the steps in front of them. She started to inch forward, hoping he would follow without trying to kiss her again. Getting lost in him wasn’t a good idea, and she couldn’t afford feeling anymore for him than she already did.
Thankfully, he followed without a word. As they rounded the corner and came upon the stairs, she took the time to glance around at her surroundings and take them in because she would certainly never see anything like this again.
The steps were made of a stone she’d not seen before, possibly some kind of marble, but it was almost white and gave the impression that this place was kept as clean as a temple for a god or goddess from one of the myths Bran sometimes told. At least, this was what she imagined those places to look like.
The music slowed, and then came to a stop just before they reached the door of the room Isaac had led her to. Flora scanned the space. He’d been right. There were about ten people here. She recognized Lady Stonehaven right away.
Faces studied them with curiosity. But her gaze landed on one lass in a red gown standing near a window so tall that a person could walk right out of it. She had hair the shade of blonde that was almost brown, pulled up in a style so flattering the woman could have been royalty. And then Flora felt her chin drop, and she was certain her mouth fell open.
“Kate?” She might appear to be an aristocrat, but Flora recognized the sister she hadn’t seen in six months. What was Kate doing here?
Before Isaac could stop her, Flora had pulled free from his arm, held up her skirts, and dashed across the room, straight to a woman he’d never seen before. A lady whose eyes sparked with alarm as her gaze landed on his companion, and for a moment, he thought Flora had done something to give herself away. Following closely behind, hoping to mitigate whatever damage was about to be done, he was amazed when Flora wrapped the woman in her arms and drew her close as if she were a long-lost friend.
They whispered to each other, and although he tried, he couldn’t hear what was said between the pair. A man stood beside the blonde, wearing a kilt and a solemn expression Isaac could only describe as mistrust and calculation. The Highlander with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes analyzed Isaac with the contemplation of a man jaded into thinking the world was against him. He appeared ready to do battle and willing to use any means necessary to win. He was not pleased that Flora had interrupted his time with the beauty named Kate.
Flora finally let go of the woman and pulled back. Her eyes were filled with moisture, and could it be pride?
“Where have ye been? I’ve been so worried.” So his thief knew this woman very well.
Panic reflected in the lass’s gaze just long enough for him to see her enlarged pupils before she squashed it down, and a calm warmth replaced it. “Flora, ’tis so nice to see ye. Let me introduce ye to my new acquaintance.” Kate pulled back, and he noticed she kept her hand in Flora’s, giving it a tight squeeze in some unspoken message to his thief. It was strong enough that Flora winced, and it seemed more a gesture of warning than welcome.
“This is Gavin Davidson. He’s a constable . . .” Kate paused, meeting the man’s gaze and smiling before glancing back to Flora and turning her lips up farther, her eyelids expanding and accentuating the whites of her eyes with the overly enthusiastic announcement. “Here all the way from Glasgow.”
The man’s face tightened, his lips not showing any sign of pleasure at meeting Flora. In fact, his irises had darkened, and he rubbed at the scar that ran across his temple. The constable’s dour mood set his protective instincts in motion. Or was it fear that Flora might turn her attention in the man’s direction?
“Nice to make yer acquaintance, Constable Davidson. I’m Flora.”
She blinked, then her gaze skimmed to him, probably because he’d positioned himself between her and the possible threat. He wasn’t certain if he was trying to protect her from a constable or verify that the other man didn’t think she was available. But wait, he had no claim on her. Still, this man looked dangerous, and he had the odd urge to protect Flora from the authorities—a feeling he would have to analyze later.
He felt his shoulders loosen as Flora’s gaze lingered on him, not returning to the man whose studious regard shifted back and forth between the two lasses.
“And this is Isaac.”
His gaze fell to her at the casual introduction. He liked it. He wanted just to be Isaac, but something about this man made him think there was danger here. He held out his hand. “Isaac Nathaniel Hamilton, Earl of Dunbridge.”
Kate’s soft voice cut in. “So nice to meet you, sir, I hope ye are taking care of my dear Flora.” Her eyes were hazel but almost appeared green. Either way, they were kind, but at the same time held a hint of some resolve, indicating she’d probably produce a dagger and drive it into his side if he weren’t caring for the lass.
“I’m Allison Reid.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Isaac saw Flora’s head tilt as she took in the words. He let his gaze drift around their small group, and he could tell the only one who thought this woman was truly named Allison was the servant, who at that moment walked up and offered them a peek at a tray of biscuits.
Constable Davidson held out his hand. “And Flora, what is yer surname?”
He saw Kate—or was it Allison—shake her head in warning, but Flora didn’t notice as she volunteered, “MacGregor.”
The constable’s countenance darkened further, although Isaac had not thought it possible for the man to look more predatory. “Are ye from close by?”
“Oh, aye. I’m from Aberdeen.” She plucked one of the treats from the tray and took a small bite, oblivious to the constable's subtle questioning.
Constable Davidson stiffened, and Isaac turned to glance at the man whose face clouded with anger. An air of challenge appeared to emanate from the constable’s deepened tone. The dark-haired man gave the impression of being a venomous snake coiled and ready to strike.
“Tell me, Flora, what is it that yer family does in Aberdeen?”
All color drained from Flora’s face as she realized what the man was about, and her casual acceptance of him faltered as she stiffened, so Isaac once again inserted himself between the two. The man knew of her family and had a vendetta against them, or so it appeared, judging by the edge to his tone.
“Ah, so glad you could make it, Nate.” Lady Stonehaven’s voice cut in as she joined the group. The woman was such a confidant of his mother’s that she saw fit to call him by his familiar name. “Nate.”
He blinked as she repeated it, reminding him that he loved hearing his real name on Flora’s lips. “Ah, Lady Stonehaven.” He took her hand and gave a short bow. “We did finally arrive. Thank you for the invitation. You do remember Flora MacGregor?”
“Of course I do, boy. I invited you this weekend, so I could see if your mother would approve of the company you are keeping.” She laughed, high pitched but light at the same time. Something about the sound seemed off.
He sensed his thief tense beside him as she took in the shrill notes, but before he could answer, the blondish-brunette cut in. “Lady Stonehaven, I can vouch for Miss MacGregor. I have had a long acquaintance with her, and I know she comes from a family of good reputation.” The woman paused briefly as her stare darted to Constable Davidson, whose visage darkened further. But then the lass continued, “She is a saint who feeds the poor and shelters the needy. You could have no better guest in your home.”
He was astounded at how the woman—Kate he would call her for now—straddled the lines of truth and fiction. She and Flora obviously were acquainted and knew each other well because everything she’d conveyed had been accurate, but she’d left out parts most people would wish to know.
Another young lady came up to stand beside Lady Stonehaven. Her spine was stiff; she was a proper young English lady. Her hair was a perfect coiffure and her manners impeccable, but suddenly, he felt suffocated by her in the large drawing room.
“Lady Stonehaven, may I have the honor of being introduced to your other guest?” Kate asked, steering the conversation to safer topics.
“Oh, of course, my dear.” Lady Stonehaven ignored the women present and went straight for the men. “Lord Dunbridge, Constable Davidson, this is my niece, Miss Eleanor Clarke. She’ll be having a season in London this year, but I’m sure some lucky gentleman will beat the rest of the ton to her.” The older woman’s green eyes held a bit of mischief, and although Lady Stonehaven studied both of them with interest, her eyebrows seemed to rise in his direction.
He cringed inside, realizing the true reason they’d been invited here for the weekend. Lady Stonehaven had no interest in Flora. This was a trap to set him up with this young chit because of his title. And since Lady Stonehaven knew his mother, she was probably hoping she could slide her relative under his nose and persuade him to take an interest in her—even though most in the ton knew he wasn’t presently looking for a wife and he avoided London unless he needed to be there for business.
Lady Stonehaven finally remembered to introduce the ladies, but he wasn’t listening because he had developed the urge to flee. It was not only to protect Flora from watchful eyes of those who wouldn’t appreciate the real her and were only interested in society's rules. He needed air before he was forced to spend time with Miss Clarke, the girl already having scooted improperly close, coyly batting her lashes at him.
He wouldn’t put it past Lady Stonehaven to force him into a situation where he would appear to have compromised the lass. Not only that, but that constable from Glasgow was staring at Flora as if he’d found the criminal he’d waited years to apprehend and would toss her in prison at any moment.
“I’m sorry. I need some air. We have been trapped in the carriage for almost two days getting here.” Isaac turned to Flora. “Will you allow me to escort you through the gardens? I’m sure you would find them lovely this time of year.” He threaded his arm through Flora’s and pivoted away from the group.
“I’d love to see them.” But her response wouldn’t have mattered because he was already guiding Flora out through the open window and onto the terrace overlooking the manicured gardens with a haste that wouldn’t allow anyone to object. He didn’t even look over his shoulder to see what Lady Stonehaven and her niece thought of his swift departure.
The sun glittered off the white stone, and a hint of some floral scent he didn’t recognize wafted toward them. He breathed it in, relishing the respite from the strictures of being placed back into his mother’s world, a world where he was supposed to be comfortable. A place that, unlike his father, he’d been groomed to belong. His father would never have let society dictate his actions. According to his mother, that was what had destroyed the family’s reputation, even though everyone he’d known had loved his father’s carefree ways.
As he drifted toward the steps, his mind turned to a vision of his father playing ball with him, running in the grass, shirtless and trousers muddy from their play. It was one of his favorite memories, but then the call had come, and they had pivoted to see his mother standing by, glowering and instructing them to dress properly because guests were arriving.
He'd idolized his father as a young boy, although once the man was gone, his mother had started to tear down the pedestal he’d put his father on and told him the truth. Isaac would be responsible for them all and had rules to obey, or his family would be shunned by everyone. The time for games and childhood ended abruptly.
“’Tis lovely.” Flora’s words brought him back.
Isaac hadn’t even realized he’d let his gaze become unfocused as they meandered down a path, straying from the house with no certain destination in mind.
A delighted squeal came from the Highland lass, and he followed her stare out onto the carefully tended lawn. “Look at all the rabbits.”
There had to be at least ten dotting the grass, grazing and hopping along as if they hadn’t a care in the world. A smile broke through as he reveled in her enthusiasm at something he was accustomed to seeing every day back at home. A sight that he took for granted.
Was he becoming like his mother and sisters, not seeing the beauty of the things that surrounded him? The thought sent a stab through his chest, and he pulled Flora nearer, hoping to soak in her appreciation for something so simple.
“Come. Let’s get closer.” Guiding her farther from the house, he studied Flora as her gaze darted around from one thing to the next. He wondered what she would think of his home, and an unfamiliar longing tugged at him as he realized he wanted to take her there. He wished to see his home through her eyes. Maybe then it wouldn’t be such a dreary place.
He shook his head as they continued down the path, tearing his gaze away from the Scottish lass because he’d never envisioned sharing his home with another lady, and as much as he wanted it to be her, it couldn’t be. They weren’t just from two different worlds—more obstacles separated them than he could name. His mother, and society, would never approve.
But that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other’s company. And that was what he intended to do before he left. He’d even sent Fredrick out in search of some form of birth control they could use because the only thing he wanted more than to be inside her were the items she owed him. Why not have both?
“Why are ye no’ married?” the question sent a surge of panic pulsing through him.
“Because I haven’t met the right lady.”
“What about Miss Clarke? She seemed interested in ye.” Flora’s chin tilted, taking in his gaze as he formulated the best response he could.
It wouldn’t be prudent to say, “She reminds me of my sisters and every other lady in England.” But what came to mind was, “She isn’t you.”
“No, although she seems sweet enough, I don’t think she would hold my interest.”
“I thought English nobility didn’t care for attraction in a marriage and ’twas all about obligation and carrying on yer lines.”
He only nodded because she was correct in his family’s case, as with most of society, and because he didn’t want to think about duty right now. He wanted to enjoy this time with his thief.
But he’d never really pondered the question of marriage. What kind of wife was he looking for? The only thing his father had ever done by society’s rules was marrying the daughter of another earl, and they had never seemed happy. Maybe that was what held Isaac back now. His parents’ relationship had been arranged, and they couldn’t have been more miserable, in turn tainting his memories of the two of them together.
After his father’s death, Isaac had spent years coming home to whiny, spoiled sisters and a mother who cared more about what the ton thought of him than how he’d done in his studies. He was in no hurry to saddle himself to another lady just like them.
Shaking his head again, he turned the question on Flora. “And what type of husband is it you seek?”
“None,” she replied, perhaps a little too vehemently. But he heard the sadness in her voice, even as she turned away, avoiding elaborating on the question, or at least attempting to hide her reaction to it.
“Why is that?” They’d come to a row of hedges, and he followed along the outside. The bushes shielded them from the house's view and led them toward a small pond in the distance. He became aware that they were alone, and a surge of need assailed him. They’d been alone before, but there was something about the closeness they were sharing in such an intimate setting, and not holding her against her will in his room, that had given freedom to the desire he’d held in check.
“No one will want me.”
He stiffened. Why would she think such a thing? From what he’d seen, half the men in Aberdeen were already in love with her. Yes, she had a crazy family who would intimidate anyone, but surely, she saw how people viewed her. Hell, if he could have her, he’d take her any day over the options he would be stuck with when he finally decided he had to acquire a spouse.
“I think you are wrong.”
“Nae. I’m no’ good enough to be a wife.” She seemed to shrink in on herself.
“The devil you aren’t.” The anger he felt that someone would make her believe such a thing was physical, and it shocked him with its vehemence.
“’Tis all right.” She straightened, her delicate chin tilting up. “I ken the truth. I have lived on the streets most of my life. My parents didnae care to try verra hard to find me, and my attempt at finding a husband and better life almost turned into making my situation worse. I am better as a caregiver to the kids at Camelot than as a wife.”
They came to the pond. He wanted to shake her and tell her she deserved more, but it wasn’t his place to fill her head with dreams when he’d be returning to England next week. Mercifully, he found a distraction. Rocks lay near the bank, giving him an excuse to remove his hands from her before doing something he would regret. Letting go of Flora, he leaned down to grab one.
He swallowed because he’d been tempted to spin her around, pull her in tight, and tell her there was no one more fit to be a wife and mother than she, that anyone would be lucky to have her, that he wanted her . . . His breath caught in his throat at the thought, but he knew he’d only be setting her up for heartbreak if he confessed such a thing because he couldn’t marry her. He didn’t even known why the absurd thought popped into his head, but now that it was there, he couldn’t squash it down. Tossing the rock, it skipped across the smooth surface.
Flora’s eyes brightened as the corner of her lips turned up. “How’d ye do that?”
“It’s simple. You flick your wrist.” Relief washed over him as her childlike enthusiasm returned. Oh, he shouldn’t care. He couldn’t. But he did. His heart missed a beat.
Leaning down, she picked up a pebble and tossed it toward the water. It plopped into the still water with a gurgle. Her shoulders dipped as her gaze studied the ripples, and she pursed her lips, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.
“I’ll show you.” He picked up another rock. “Watch my wrist.”
He pitched the nugget out and it skipped four times. He tried to stop it, but he was certain he was unsuccessful at hiding the satisfied smirk that must have slid onto his lips.
She kicked off her shoes, as if she were getting serious, and scooted closer to the bank. “I dinnae want to get mud on them.”
Isaac laughed as he thought about her having to put dirty feet back into the slippers if she got them muddy anyway. The ground was still slick, and the bank oozed with moist dirt from the rains of the last couple of days. Grabbing a second pebble, she tried, but it was another splash.
Grinning, he plucked a smooth one from the ground. “It helps if they’re shaped like this. Come here.”
She slid in closer to inspect the rock, her fingers skimming across the surface. Sliding his arm around her waist, he twirled her around so that her back was flush to his chest. It was a mistake. Immediately, his body tensed, and he remembered the pleasure they’d given each other the night before. But it felt so nice to hold her up against him that he let one arm remain coiled around her curves as his other slid down her soft skin to place the stone in her palm. She was a beautiful woman, but more than that, her personality and generosity would shine with a timeless luster long after the loveliness of youth faded.
How could she think no one wanted her?
He stilled as a soft breeze blew the scent of strawberries and lavender toward him, and he wanted the moment to drag on—the innocence of it, the joy he found here, and the sense of peace that he rarely felt with others. The temptation to nuzzle into her hair and inhale deeper was overwhelming, so he closed his eyes and savored the embrace. She seemed to freeze then, sinking into him, trusting and thirsty for his touch, her body rubbing his as she inhaled sharply.
His hand stilled on hers—energy crackled at the smoothness of her soft, ungloved flesh—and some semblance of sanity made itself known. He shook his head, but that only made a strand of her hair brush against his neck, causing gooseflesh to rise on his skin.
“Like this,” he managed. Oh, hell, his voice was low, and he hoped she couldn’t hear the desire that had awoken within him or the pressure that now bulged at her backside. If she knew the effect that she had on him, he’d lose any hope that the threat of turning her over to the authorities or to Alastair would ensure her returning his family fortune. He had to keep his wits.
Drawing her hand back toward her belly, he positioned her fingers to pinch around the pebble, and he shivered as the motion brought them even closer together. His head dipped so incredibly near to her ear. He was tempted to take the lobe into his mouth and suck on it gently, but instead, he whispered, “One smooth movement.”
She trembled, and he wondered if he was affecting her the same way her nearness assaulted his senses. Flinging forward, she released at the right moment and was rewarded with one skip. She squealed and jumped, turning in his arms. The movement caught him off guard, and he slipped. Twisting, he tried to spare her the brunt of his weight as they both collapsed on the sodden earth.
She landed on top of him . . . straddling him . . . with one of his hands clenched onto her side. Her hips swayed, driving him mad with desire as if she knew what she was doing, but it was probably to keep her balance. Her fingers were laced with his in the hand that had been holding the stone. And he ached, oh how he craved, to pull her nearer, to make love to her and claim her as his own.
His free hand reached up and clasped onto the back of her neck. He wanted to taste her again—no, he needed the caress. Her lips landed on his, and when they touched, he felt complete. Felt as if this were where he belonged, and the world around them disappeared.
She opened to him, and he let his tongue swirl into her mouth and dance with hers as her fingers tightened on his, and she sighed, melting into him as if she too couldn’t fight whatever attraction there was between them.
He deepened the embrace, allowing passion to take hold as he clutched on to her, just as he had the blanket his mother had taken from him as a child. Flora was like that blanket covering him now. He felt safe to be himself with her, and that was something he’d not been able to do since he had been a young boy.
A small feminine sigh escaped from her throat, and he felt like growling in satisfaction.
He’d made her do that.
She did want him, too.
Kissing her freed him, like he’d opened the rusted gates to the secret overgrown gardens at the back of his estate—a wonderous and wild place, where roses grew without limits, and everything seemed magical and possible.
Shifting, he rolled to the side, careful to not break the connection and to cradle her in his arm as she came to lay beside him. His hand in her hair drifted down, hugging her curves, then resting on her waist.
She arched into him, rubbing her pelvis against his erection, and driving him over the edge. Drawing back, he gazed into her warm, brown eyes. They called to the most primitive part of him, letting him know with their sole focus on him that she would permit him take this to its conclusion. Not only that, but she also wanted him to do so.
They were both panting as he reached to palm her breast.
Angry voices pealed through the air and brought him back to their surroundings. He jerked back, his regard skimming the landscape searching for the newcomers. He didn’t see anyone.
Oh, good heavens, he’d nearly taken her on the ground out in a public display. As his gaze caught on Flora, he took in her disheveled appearance—her still dilated eyes and the slight blushing around her lips, indicating to anyone coming upon them that he had fully, and wholeheartedly, kissed her senseless. Hoping they had not been seen, he stood, then reached down straight away to heft Flora from the slippery grass.
Letting go, he spun around to shield her from the direction of the still arguing couple. Still, it appeared luck was with them because the quarreling pair was on the other side of the tall triangular shaped hedges they’d passed to get here, and if he weren’t mistaken, it was Flora’s acquaintance Kate and the constable.
He swallowed. “We need to get you back to the house.” Examining the paths, he deliberated which way would take them toward the back of the house, where he could hopefully sneak her in and back up to her room.
She only stared, seemingly confused at his flustered state.
“They will think I have ruined you,” he hissed, trying to impart the urgency of the situation.
“It doesnae matter what any of them think. I willnae see most of them ever again.” She put her hands on her hips.
“It does matter.” His eyes darted back to the path, making certain they were still unseen.
“Why?” Her shoulders lifted just a touch.
He let his hand drift toward her bodice to soothe out a small wrinkle. Well, at least he pretended to. He wasn’t sure that was what it was. It might have been that he just felt the loss of their closeness and wanted something to connect them.
“Because I care.” Perhaps too much, he acknowledged to himself, pulling away with a shudder.
Her eyes went blank at his retreat, and then she stiffened, a spark of anger igniting in her gaze. “That ye’d been caught with a commoner?”
Hell, was that a shimmer of tears in her brown eyes? He didn’t have time to analyze it or address her concerns. He shifted to scan their surroundings while keeping her in his view. “No. Why would you even think that? I want to protect you.”
Her body eased, her gaze softening, and he almost caught a glimmer of a smile, or maybe it was a smirk of disbelief. But she leaned down and retrieved her slippers, easing them back onto her feet. Standing tall once more, she stared at him, an odd look of concentration on her face as if she were trying to find some hidden meaning in his words.
Seeing an opening, he claimed her arm and attempted to look as casual as possible as he escorted her back. Taking large strides across the yard, they both remained silent. She struggled to keep up, but he carefully avoided the drawing room and any guests with his haste and astute perusal of the grounds.
She was stiff but followed without question, apparently mollified for the moment. He found the kitchen entrance, drew her in, and skirted up the back steps with only a few servants witnessing their entrance. He would have to pray they wouldn’t say anything.
Throwing open the door to Flora’s chamber, he swung her in without letting go of her arm, entered, and bolted the door behind them. Wanting one more taste, he pivoted and backed her to the door. He moved in and reclaiming those lips, which tasted of forbidden wine. She was just opening to him when a voice penetrated his ears and broke the spell.
“Och, my!”
He froze and took a breath before he backed from his thief and released her. He couldn’t bear to turn and look at Isobel. His breeches were tight, and he didn’t want to scare the lass by showing her how he’d felt to think he’d been all alone with Flora.
“I’ll be back to escort you to dinner.” He considered asking Isobel to leave, but both women deserved better than that.
She nodded, her gaze dazed and dilated, lips swollen and red from his affections. Flora stepped aside to let him pull open the door.
As he did, the loss of her heat hit him, and he remembered she wasn’t his, and he was a fool to trust her. Turning back, he ordered, “Do not leave this room until I come back for you.” Then, he stepped out into the hall and closed the barrier between them.