He knew better than to fall for a mystery woman. At that, one reported to be engaged to his cousin Campbell.
“I… you…” Lucy gestured at Arran’s face. “It’s just…”
He tensed.
“You have some flour remnants here.” She drew a finger in the air, gesturing to the area in question. “If I may?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. With an unapologetic boldness, the mysterious young woman, cloth and hand, wiped at his cheek. His chin. All the while, she spoke nearly inaudibly to herself.
“…And here… And here… Some here…”
Arran found himself strangely compelled. He had been touched by women in every way there was to be touched.
Or so he’d believed.
The act Lucy performed was an intimate one. A young lady of polite society would never dare venture. A wicked lady bent on seduction would never bother.
Rather, hers was that of a devoted wi—
He blanched.
Lucy seemed to mistake his response as one directed at her. She dropped her arm and hurriedly stepped aside.
“I believe I have it all.”
She was going to step away and return to doing whatever it was she had been doing when he intruded.
He took in the scene again with weary eyes.
Arran dropped a hip on the edge of the table. Here she was, a stranger who would come into their household, escorting an unconscious Campbell, and, of all places, being here. In the kitchens?
There were no secrets hiding down here.
He looked at the ingredients scattered about.
He eyed Lucy as she set out a fresh ball of dough and proceeded to smooth it out.
“Are you trying to poison us, Lucy?”
He wouldn’t put anything past Culross.
Lucy paused. And then burst out laughing. Her laughter was as radiant as the young woman herself. Like bells inthe churchyard on Christmastide morn. Vibrant and clear and bright.
Hers was a kind of merriment that left her enchantingly full cheeks crimson like the berries of an ivy bush.
The manner of laugh that filled even the darkest corners of a sinner’s soul, like his, with light it had never thought to see or know again.
Lucy’s mirth faded to a final chuckle. She dusted tears from her face, leaving a speck of flour alongside a slight dimple in her cheek. “I’ve certainly never been thought to be the best of cooks, but neither have I been noted to poison anyone either.”
With an amused shake of her head, the young woman returned to the task she had been at prior to his interruption.
“May I join you?” he murmured.
Lucy’s head shot up. Her surprise matched his own.
“It is your residence, Arran. You certainly needn’t ask my permission.”
He frowned.
