“Aye.”
“And hewilldestroy you if you thwart his plans.”
“Aye. I ken that, as well.”
They stared at one another for a long moment.
Finally, her eyelashes swept down and then up. The tiniest capitulation.
“Here.” She took his hand in hers, the warmth of her soft skin licking a current up his arm. “Let me at least tuck you into bed.”
Allie mentally chidedherself as she led Ethan into his bedchamber.
It was a spare, utilitarian space. A bed and table to the right. A washbasin and wooden chair to the left. A fire burning low in the hearth.
Ethan swayed on his feet, patiently waiting as she lit the candle atop the bedside table.
She shouldn’t be here.
But then, that was more or less what would ultimately be written upon her gravestone.
Here lies Lady Allegra Gilbert
Always found where she shouldn’t be
Granted, if Kendall discovered her in Ethan Penn-Leith’s private bedchamber at one in the morning, that gravestone might be ordered sooner than she would like.
It was merely . . .
For once, being where she shouldn’t felt as right as breathing.
And that both alarmed and comforted her.
Ethan stood in the middle of the room—hair askew, neckcloth hanging loosely around his throat—weaving slightly side-to-side and humming off-key. He looked deliciously rumpled and disheveled.
“Sit.” She pointed at the mattress. “And take off your shoes.”
Ethan shuffled forward and sank onto the bed with anoof. But instead of bending to untie his bluchers, he merely pitched himself onto the pillow and lifted his legs—shoes and all—onto the counterpane.
Of course.
Sighing, Allie perched on the edge of the bed and untied his bluchers, tugging them off one at a time.
“Thank ye,” he muttered.
“I’m sure I’ll devise some diabolical way for you to make this up to me,” she countered breezily.
“I cannae wait.”
She smiled at the rough timbre of his brogue. All the whisky in his veins rendered him a ‘wee bitty more Scottish,’ as he would surely say.
“Here.” Standing, she tugged on his arm and pulled him to sitting. “You will want your coat and neckcloth off, as well. It will take a week to get the wrinkles out otherwise.”
He sat loosely, not moving to help her. Sighing again, Allie nudged one knee between his. She quickly unwound his neckcloth and then proceeded to push the coat off his shoulders. Only then, when she clutched both his coat sleeves in her hands, did she realize the motion had all but pressed her collarbones into his face.
Ethan took ready advantage. He breathed in deeply, his nose touching her neck and sending an electric skitter of goose-flesh down her arms.
“Och, the smell of ye, lass,” he rumbled against her throat.
