Clover gave up struggling against his firm hold and glared at him. “Thomas was a gentleman. He and I behaved with the utmost decorum. We were always chaperoned. My father was adament about it. ‘Tis most unkind of you to suggest that—”
“Not unkind at all,” he interrupted. “‘Tisnae oftenthat a mon gets himself engaged to a lass but doesnae wed her. Many folk consider a betrothal as good as a wedding. Now, if that lad had ye and left ye with a babe growing, I wouldnae be too inclined to slap my name on it. Nay, but I would help ye get the scoundrel to the altar to wed ye as he should.” Even as he said the words, he was not sure he meant them, and wondered why.
“Well, Thomas hasnotleft me with child.” She wriggled in his hold, but it was clear that he was not going to release her. When he began to lower his mouth toward hers, she gasped. “We are out in public, Mr. MacGregor.”
“Aye, so? Let these folks see how a Kentuckian does his courting.”
Ballard gently pressed his mouth to hers. He teased her lips with his and found her taste very sweet. She clutched at his coat with her dainty hands and trembled slightly as he enfolded her in his arms. Her reaction was encouraging, but he sensed that something was missing. It was a moment before he realized what it was—skill. Clover Sherwood had the warmest, sweetest mouth he had ever had the privilege of tasting, but she had no idea how to use it. He halfway opened one eye and found her staring at him.
“I think that ye and young Thomas were verra weel-behaved indeed,” he murmured. “Ye are supposed to close those bonnie blue eyes when ye kiss a mon, wee Clover.”
“Oh. We should not be doing this,” Clover whispered, but she closed her eyes and made no effort to escape his hold. She was finding his kiss delightful and exhilarating. “Someone might see us.”
“A mon ought to be able to kiss the woman who proposes to him.”
Before Clover could think of a response to that impertinence, Ballard was kissing her again. The soft heat of his mouth against hers clouded her mind and fired her blood. When he gently pushed his tongue against her lips, however, she came out of her passion-induced stupor enough to push weakly against his broad chest and open her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a voice so husky she barely recognized it as her own.
“I am trying to kiss ye, lassie. Doesnae old Thomas have any blood in his veins?”
“Of course he does. He is alive, is he not?”
“I reckon. Now, hush and part those bonnie lips.”
She knew she ought to refuse, to push him away, but she dutifully parted her lips. A small voice in her head pointed out that if he liked kissing her, then he might well accept her proposal. She also decided that it would not hurt to know whether she liked kissing him. So far she had found it almost alarmingly delightful.
When he gently slipped his tongue between her parted lips and stroked the inside of her mouth, Clover decided that she might well like it far more than was good for her. She became so caught up in the rush of feeling his kiss invoked, it took her a moment to realize that he had ended the kiss. It took her a few more moments to sense that he was staring at her. She felt such a surge of embarrassment that she did not want to look at him.
Ballard studied her upturned face. There was a light flush decorating her ivory cheeks, and he savored the feel of her breasts moving against hischest in a quickened rhythm. Her lips glistened with the moisture of his kiss and were still faintly parted, tempting him. She had a very sweet mouth, and Ballard was convinced that he was the first man to taste that sweetness. That knowledge gave him a feeling he found difficult to describe except to say that it was good.
“Ye can open your eyes now, lassie,” he said and caught his breath when she did, for the rich blue was smoky with a lingering passion. He swiftly released her before he answered the invitation he read there. “Weel? What did ye think of your first kiss, wee Clover?”
Clover decided that the man looked far too cocky and she struggled to appear stern and haughty. “My first kiss? Perhaps, Mr. MacGregor, ‘tis not my first, but one of hundreds.”
“Then ye have some powerful poor kissers in Pennsylvania, lass.” He shrugged. “I was just curious.”
“Oh, all right then. It was—well—all right.”
“Only all right, hmmm? Tsk. That could prove to be a problem, kissing and all being such a big part of being married.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, aye, a verra big part.” He struggled to keep his amusement well-hidden.
She grimaced and forced herself to be completely honest, for she knew she could not afford to lose the chance to solve so many of her problems. “Well then, it was pleasant.”
“Only pleasant?”
“I am developing a strong urge to box your ears, Mr. MacGregor.”
He laughed, but his good humor swiftly fled whenhe saw his brother and cousin striding toward them. “What are ye doing back here so soon?” he demanded of them.
Shelton ran his hand through his thick black hair and eyed Ballard warily. “We saw Sarah Marsten walking about with some fancy mon and got to puzzling over what had happened to ye.”
When Clover saw Ballard glance down the road, then stare intently at his nails, clearly hesitant to reply to his brother’s question, she blurted out, “‘Tis all my fault. I wished to speak to your brother and delayed him so long that Miss Marsten decided to turn her attentions elsewhere.”
“Why should she get herself in a tiff just because Ballard was talking to a little girl?” Shelton’s last two words ended in a squeak as he looked Clover over more carefully.
