Hero opted for a well-mannered retreat, though her voice was shaky when she spoke. “It has been a long night. I believe I shall retire now. Goodnight, Lord Ayr.”
She executed a whisper of a curtsey and he returned it with a bow, seemingly content to let her leave. Raising a trembling hand to her lips, she turned to walk away, her skirts dragging against the walls since she was too preoccupied to lift them. She had little experience with what had just happened. Robert hadn’t been one for kissing, and certainly not with such fervor. Regret washed over her. She wished she could go back and respond differently, not with such shock but with all the enthusiasm still pulsing within. Perhaps once she was able to gather her wits about her she might be able to vocalize some lucid thought on the subject rather than opting for an abrupt exit.
Of course, she hadn’t been expecting a kiss, she thought defensively. She’d sought only some small assurance that his affections—if he possessed any—were not of a fraternal bent. If they had been, Hero would merely have done all that was in her power to maintain a certain distance with the new marquess, avoiding any flirtation so that they might live in peace at Cuilean together.
She’d have no peace now. His actions, however impulsive, had set her blood pounding and her imagination soaring. She’d not be able to pretend any differently now.
He must think her a ninny for her reaction! Hero flushed in embarrassment as she hurried along, but Ian’s rough brogue broke the silence of the night.
“In case you are still uncertain on the matter, Lady Ayr, a sister might be the very last thing I would consider you.”
She glanced back over her shoulder to find him leaning with a shoulder against the inner wall, arms crossed over his chest. His hot, dark eyes settled on her intently.
Swallowing deeply, Hero was torn by the urge to race back to him and fling herself recklessly into his arms. Years of training on proper deportment held her back, but her eyes flashed. “Thank you for the clarification, Lord Ayr.” She considered him for a moment longer before adding lightly, “Should you be equally uncertain, please know I cannot consider you even the most distant of cousins.”
With a nod, Hero turned away and continued her walk back up the ramparts and through the armory door. Sedately, she made her way through the castle, murmuring goodnights to the staff she passed. It wasn’t until she reached her rooms and closed the door behind her that a wide grin split her lips. Hugging herself, she twirled about the room before flinging herself across the bed.
What an interesting summer it was turning out to be!
While Hero had nearly swooned from the intensity of Ian’s kiss, Mikah’s heart had soared. This was the man who’d lingered at the edges of her dreams for nearly her entire life. The man who had inspired a sense of watchful anticipation over the years. She now knew without a doubt that he was the reason she’d never been able to maintain a long-term relationship with another man, never been able to commit herself. With other men, Mikah always knew something was missing. Her dreamy Highlander had shown her what it was. No one had ever made her feel the way she had in that moment when Ian kissed her, so full of joy, trepidation, and passion.
Certainty.
Uncertainty.
It tugged at her heart, invaded her soul. She was complete in his arms, complete with him. This connection, thisbond, was what she’d waited for. Longed for.
Coma, death… it didn’t matter any longer. If having this hunky Scotsman meant embracing her fantastical link within Hero, then Mikah was good with that. There might never be another lifetime where anything meant so much.
She lay on the bed grinning up at the canopy. She’d left autumn of 2016 behind in exchange for a most interesting summer, indeed!
There was nowhere else she’d rather be.
You don’t find love, it finds you.
It’s got a little bit to do with destiny, fate,
and what’s written in the stars.
? Anais Nin
Chapter Nine
The next morning …
“My lord! I wasn’t certain if you were planning to join us for a walk after all.”
Ian turned to find Hero approaching on her father’s arm, though he could hardly spare a glance for the fellow. His arousal flared to life, recalling that brief passionate moment the previous night, and he found that he couldn’t look away from the woman who had so inflamed him—not only with her body, but with the acknowledgement that she didn’t view him as a close relative any more than he did her.
She was a vision of summer splendor this morning. Her wide hooped skirts belled around her as she walked, almost giving the impression that she was floating toward him. The gown she had chosen was a practical choice, given the unexpected heat of the summer’s day, yet the pale blue muslin skirts wafted about her like a cloud billowing from the tiny, cinched waist. The bodice clung tightly to her torso and breasts, and the sleeves hugged her arms to the wrist. Both sleeves and bodice were detailed with mother-of-pearl buttons. It was a modest gown, yet from the peak of her breasts to her shoulders, the bodice consisted of nothing more than ruched ecru chiffon that formed a deep V at the neckline. So sheer was it that Ian imagined he could see the flesh of her breasts swelling above her corset with each breath she took.
Her blue and ecru lace gloves, bonnet, and parasol all matched the gown, and as she stepped down from the terrace, slippers of the same peeked from beneath her skirts.
Angelic. It was the word that best described her. Her smile, too, was more than heavenly as she beamed down at him, a pretty blush spreading over her cheeks. Ian’s heart leapt and his groin grew heavy when he held out his hand and she placed hers so trustingly in it. He wanted her. Kissing her the night before had been impulsive, originally meant to do little more than stop her from forcing him to acknowledge what, in truth, he already knew. The attraction between them was strong and undeniable. Body and mind, he wanted to know every part of her.
But how to express the force of his hunger without frightening her off? Despite her years of marriage and her provocative parting words the preceding evening, there had been an innocent vulnerability in Hero’s kiss that told him she wasn’t wholly wise in the ways of men. His burst of passion, he was certain, had startled her, though she had responded sweetly in turn.
There must be a courting of sorts, he decided with an inner smile, and perhaps a more subtle seduction than pouncing on her. He’d win her into his bed.
