The Scot is Hers by Eliza Knight
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 enough 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.”
“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 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.
* * *
Settledin 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 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.
She was fairly certain that Alec had been serious. But he’d made no moves for a plan. Were they to wed tomorrow? Would he follow the English style and shout out the banns for three weeks? She dearly hoped not, for they would receive a knock on the door the very second it was read by Joshua Keith—or her parents—demanding retribution and termination of the proceedings.
Sir Joshua Keith. The vile lunatic. Giselle was quite concerned with what would happen when he found out she was here. The man was mad and mean. Angry, too. It was no wonder that he and Alec had been mortal enemies since childhood. She thought she would be too.
“I’ll run. Again,” she whispered to the empty room.
Perhaps this time she wouldn’t have to run, at least very far, because this time she would have Alec there. Alec, telling her parents that she was going to wed him instead. He didn’t strike her as the type of man to go back on an arrangement. And despite him saying it was to get his mother and the want-to-be brides downstairs off his back, there’d been no mistaking the pleasure of that kiss. The tenderness of it. A man couldn’t fake that, could he? Not the longing look in his eyes. Or the concern he’d shown for her. That was different. She was certain.
She touched her smooth cheek, running in the pattern of his scar, the fault of Sir Joshua Keith on the battlefield. The man seemed to have shown no remorse for his actions. Still he sauntered about Scotland and England as if he were the king’s personally chosen man when in essence, his position in court was moot.
Alec said the War Office knew the truth about what had happened on that fateful day during the Peninsular War, but a lot of good it did when Alec was the one who bore the scar from the debacle, and Joshua appeared not to bear any marks other than empty coffers, which he planned to fill with her parents’ money.
How many others were made to endure similar injury at the hands of a man so callous and selfish?
A knock interrupted her thoughts. Alec?
Giselle called for the door to open, and the maid who’d been kind enough to help her into her dressing gown carried in a platter of food. And something else—a book.
“What’s that?” Giselle asked, sitting up, eager to see what exactly had been placed on her meal tray.
“A book from his lordship. He thought ye might like to read after your supper, my lady.”
“How verra kind of him.” Giselle’s heart warmed all the more, and it took every ounce of willpower not to grab the book off the tray and tear into it right away.
“He is that, my lady. It’s rare anyone from society notices how good a man he is, but all of us know it, and now ye do too. Pardon me for speaking out of turn.”
Giselle shook her head. “I knew he was a good man.”
“He’s no beastie, my lady, pardon me for saying so, and apologies again. I just couldna help overhearing what ye said to your friend.”
“Oh.” Giselle felt heat rush to her face. “I was only jesting. Believe me, I think Lord Errol is the farthest thing from a beast, even if I tease him as such.”
The maid pressed her hand over her heart. “Glad I am to hear ye say it, your ladyship. We’re a bit protective of him here.”
“I adore that. And I’m certain he appreciates it as well.”
The maid smiled. “He does.” She clamped her mouth closed then, as if finally able to control her tongue.
Giselle hadn’t minded, though. She was bored to tears up here, and anyone who wanted to talk about the mysterious man she’d agreed to marry, she was happy to entertain. Even a maid.
“Well, thank ye for bringing my supper and the book.”
“Ye’re welcome, my lady. Have ye need of anything else?”
“No, thank ye.”
“As ye can see, I put a bell on the tray. I know ye canna get up to pull the rope for our attention, so I’m hoping someone might hear ye ringing the bell. I’ll be by in a bit to see if ye’ve finished and would like help to bed.”
As soon as the maid had departed, Giselle grabbed for the book, not caring at all for the bowl of soup that had been given her.
Pride and Prejudice: A Novel by the Author of “Sense and Sensibility.” Volume 1.
Giselle gasped. This was one of the books she’d yet to read, and here it was in her lap. When she’d teased Alec about not reading this type of book, she’d meant it seriously, but here he was, showing her he had a copy. Oh, she hoped he had the other two volumes.
She cracked open the book with pages that had already been turned and a spine that was broken in. How many times had he read it? The first lines drew her in immediately. Every page, she sipped her soup, not wanting it to go cold but also not wanting to put the book down.
The story was so marvelous. A household of sisters—which made her think instantly of Euan Irvine, a mutual friend of Alec and Lorne’s. Giselle had the chance to meet Euan during one of their events, and it was a wonder she’d not run into Alec, though he had said he’d holed himself up in Slains.
The maid came and went, helping Giselle to her bed, but she kept on reading until the candle snuffed out, regrettably when she had one page left. She would either need to chance hurting herself in the dark to find another candle or wait until the sun came out, which could only be a few hours from now, before she found out how the book was going to end.
She set the book on the table beside her bed and lay back upon the silken sheets, forcing her eyes to close. But all she could see behind her eyes was the sisters, their love interests, their society problems—their mother. And it made her think of her mother and how she was ever going to be given a chance to repair their relationship when she’d run away and was now planning to marry a man her mother didn’t even know.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Likely, her mother knew exactly who Alec was. The whole lot of society must.
And then there was Alec, and his heated kiss flitting around in her mind as a caged bird trying to get out. She wanted to kiss him again. To tell him he could touch her hair, her cheek, whatever he might like—if only it afforded her the opportunity to explore the muscles of his shoulders and back.
But all these flights of fancy, these fantasies she was having when she should be sleeping, were going to get her nowhere. Their marriage was convenient. A safety net for them both.
So why did he have to go and give her that delicious book? Doing so only proved that he’d been thinking about her when she wasn’t with him. That he’d been thinking about what she’d like. That he knew what she liked.
That wasn’t simply the actions of a man who wished only to wed for convenience, was it?
