Perhaps she was. He was so strong, so charming, so larger-than-life. And if his words could be believed, he was just as tempted as she was.
He dipped his head until their mouths were but a few inches apart.
“A few years from now,” he murmured quietly, “some other buck will be cutting a new swath, and my name will be forgotten. You must prize your own values above those that are forced upon you by Society.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “And when a dazzled swain foolishly compares your beauty to that of his dog, just say thank you.”
“Thank you, foolish swain.” She returned his smile without retreating to a safer distance.
One of his hands lifted, coming ever so close to her face, but hesitating before going so far as to touch. Ellie’s body tingled, her every muscle tense with expectation and want. Longing to know how his ungloved hand would feel pressed against her cheek, she tilted her head just a fraction—but that’s all it took.
His hand cradled her face; his thumb gently caressed her cheek. The heat of his gaze never left hers. He lifted his other hand to the back of her neck to tangle in the mass of curls she hadn’t bothered to tame. He splayed his fingers against her nape as if meaning to pull her to him, but there was no need, because she was already tilting forward, eager for his kiss.
His lower lip brushed hers, sending shivers of delight down her spine. She gripped his upper arms for balance. And because she’d been dying to feel the hard muscle beneath his jacket from the first moment she saw him. Impossibly, he felt even bigger than he looked, as if he could lift an entire carriage.
Lips parted, he rubbed his mouth softly against hers, once, twice. The third time, he traced the path with the tip of his tongue, as if yearning to know the taste of her skin, of her mouth. He pressed his body against hers, and this time when their lips touched, she felt—teeth.
On her ankle.
Loud barking filled the small kitchen as the puppy used claws and teeth to drive them apart, attempting to scale them both, as an adventurer would climb a mountain.
Startled, Ellie took a step out of harm’s way just as the puppy all but launched herself into her master’s arms—where Ellie herself had been, just seconds ago. For a precious, incredible moment.
“My apologies,” he managed to get out between dodging effusive puppy kisses. “It would seem Moch-éirigh is a bit jealous. You know how Scottish women can be.”
Ellie shook her head. “What would I know about Scottish women?”
“‘Elspeth’ is as Scottish as Moch-éirigh.” Twisting, he wrangled the puppy out of his hair. “An Elspeth by any other name?—”
“Call me Ellie,” she interrupted before he could mangle Shakespeare further. “Only my mother calls me Elspeth.”
“As you wish, Ellie. You may call me Cain. Not even my laird calls me Mártainn.” He winked, as if waiting for her to catch on to a private joke. When she realized he’d used the puppy’s antics to distract her into them first-naming each other, she burst out laughing.
“You’re shameless.”
“And more.”
The kitchen door burst open and a half dozen scullery maids rushed in. Their wide eyes went from the puppy, to Mr. Macane, to Ellie... and there they stayed. Probably they’d like an explanation for what an unchaperoned young miss was doing alone with one of the dashing male guests. Undoubtedly they hoped for an indication of why this clandestine rendezvous was in the kitchen. With a dog.
Since she hadn’t an explanation for any of it, Ellie simply smiled at the staff, dipped a half curtsey at Cain, and escaped without acknowledging the questioning stares.
When she reached her bedchamber, Ellie crawled back atop the mattress with her stomach full and her mind relentlessly reliving the feel of Cain’s mouth rubbing against hers and the sensation of his tongue tasting her lips. She dozed and awoke feeling strangely flushed.
The sound of her mother moving about the adjoining room indicated Ellie had overslept—and was likely in danger of missing the picnic.
She scrambled out of bed and rang for a maid. Last night, the thought of a picnic had seemed deathly boring, but now she couldn’t wait. She was eager to see how Cain would comport himself in the light of day. Would he be the consummate rake, flirting shamelessly with the other ladies as if no stolen moments had passed between them? Or would things be... different somehow? Ellie wasn’t so silly as to believe a single kiss would convert him from hedonist to lovesick suitor, but she couldn’t stifle the sudden wish that her wardrobe wasn’t so plain and her jewels nonexistent.
A moment’s dalliance with Ellie Ramsay was all well and good when otherwise unengaged in the kitchens, but even in her finest gown, she would look a proper dowd when she stood amongst all the other young ladies.
Ellie groaned. Miss Breckenridge would certainly be present and in her rights to demand news of progress regarding her claim. Ellie had been so busy casting sheep’s eyes at Mr. Macane, she’d completely forgotten she was meant to be investigating his potential undeadness.
There had probably been any number of reflective surfaces in the kitchen, and if she’d had her mind on her pocketbook rather than the taste of his lips, she could’ve proven the myth false in a trice.
In the meantime, however, Ellie meant to make the most of the weekend. Mama might be content to spend every moment sequestered in her bedchamber, but a ton house party was a rare opportunity, and Ellie was damned if she’d let it pass by unenjoyed.
As soon as she put her hair to rights, Ellie headed straight for the hall... only to be waylaid by a voice from her mother’s shadowy bedchamber.
“Elspeth, where are you going at this ungodly hour?” Mama emerged from her chamber, somehow able to pull off an aura of regal hauteur despite being enshrouded in a flowing caftan.
“It’s half two, Mama.” Ellie gestured at the crack of light streaming from the bottom of the still-closed curtains. “There’s to be a picnic and perhaps riding.”
