But she couldn’t blame her desire on a mere kiss, no matter how tender it had been. She wanted to equate him with the other men she’d known, the majority of whom had been willing to toss her aside with little provocation. And despite knowing the attraction blooming between them was bound to end, she wanted more of him.
The linen closet on the second floor of the east wing had been Violet’s favorite hiding place when she and her sisters played sardines as girls. The space was small enough for her to pack in with Rose and Fern, sitting with their legs tangled together as they whispered furiously, waiting to be discovered by their governess. On one occasion, a maid had been so startled to discover them she swooned, resulting in a stern lecture by the housekeeper, while her father and the earl sat smirking behind them. Later, her father admitted that he and Valebrook had terrorized the housemaids in the same manner when they were lads.
As she opened the closet two decades later, she realized the manor had either increased their supply of linens or she had grown sufficiently to create it a tighter fit. Stacks of blankets, sheets, and toweling crowded to shelves that stretched high above her, giving the impression and haunting stillness of a library. Even with the door cracked open, the lone electric bulb hung from the ceiling cast barely enough illumination to make the surface of a garment pressing cabinet visible, but did not come close to reaching the floor, leaving everything below her waist in shadows. The scent ofstarch and lavender filled her nose, calming her somewhat as she lay in wait, a docile predator on the hunt for much larger prey.
Her muscles tensed as she heard the heavy footsteps treading up the stairs, the sound of his throat clearing. As soon as she saw Callum turn the corner, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the closet, shutting the door behind him.
His head bounced against a shelf and he cursed, rubbing the spot. “What the hell are ye—”
She shushed him with a hand over his mouth, and she immediately regretted her action. How was his mouth sosoft? Everything about the man was hard, impenetrable, but now she’d cursed herself with the reminder of those soft lips against her flesh. She pulled her hand back and scowled, as though that could counter her salacious thoughts about what those lips might do to other places on her body. “Be quiet,” she hissed, both to Callum and her libido. “People will come down to drinks in a few moments, and we want them to hear us.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed and he shifted on his feet. “Do we have to wait in here?”
Oh lord, she may have misjudged this. The space that could accommodate three young girls was not up to holding an adult woman and a Scottish mountain of a man. With each inhale, his chest brushed against hers. His shoes now bumped her slippers. When he lifted his hand to scrub down his face, his knuckles glanced off her breast.
She pulled her hands behind her and pressed them against the shelf as she tried to put as much space between them as possible. “Yes, we do.”
His dark lashes cast heavy shadows on his cheeks as he shifted again. “Make this quick, then,” he grumbled, his voice carrying an unfamiliar rasp.
“We need to wait until someone is nearby.”
He grumbled low in his throat and his nostrils flared. “Can ye distract me?”
“How?”
“Tell jokes, stories… something.” He tugged on his collar and sniffed.
“I don’t know any jokes—”
“Then tell me about this man ye want to marry. The one ye’re getting ruined for.”
Her heart swelled, just the slightest bit. When was the last time someone had asked her what she wanted instead of deciding for her? “There isn’t one man in particular,” she said. “More of an ideal, a list of qualities.”
“How romantic.”
She swatted his chest in a rebuke, only to catch her breath. It was like hitting warm stone. She cleared her throat. “I want someone who puts me above everything else, then puts our family first. He should be home every night for supper, read our children stories before bed. He should be humble, and care more about his character than his own selfish urges. I’d rather be poor and have my husband by my side than live in luxury and be married to astranger.” She paused, and he was watching her closely, silently, as though trying to make sense of her.
“Character doesnae put food in yer belly.” He delivered the words with finality.
“True, but money cannot buy character.”
“Also true.” His mouth twisted as he considered her. “Do ye think ye can find someone like that?”
She shrugged, although the motion was stiff. It was difficult to be nonchalant when baring your soul to another. “Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t settle for less.”
An idea grabbed hold in her mind and held tight. Callum had proven himself to have more character than any man she’d known, putting his cousin’s and now her needs before his own. He would never be home for supper, but he was a good man. He’d make the right woman happy someday. That thought made her strangely melancholy.
His exhalation was tremulous, his entire chest rising and falling. “I’ll do my best to help ye.” His jaw clenched, and he looked around like he was seeking an exit.
Did he dislike being close to her after what she had said? Had she misinterpreted his attraction to her, or was it the closeness of the closet that bothered him? Either way, she wanted to relieve his discomfort. “Then let’s end this quickly, for your sake. Moan, cry out,something.”
His eyes shot to hers and darkened. “I dinnae want to end this quickly.”
Her breath stuttered. “What?”
“If ye were in here, with me, seeking pleasure…” His gaze danced over her face, down her neck where he could surely see the flush that steadily climbed her throat. “I’d take my time. I dinnae like to rush.”
She shuddered and wished she could slow her pulse, convince her body his words weren’t as exciting as they sounded. “We don’t need to be accurate.”
