“What is it, Papa?”
Her father bore the expression of a child who had lost his favorite toy. His cravat was skewed to the side and the rest of his clothing was equally rumpled. “I cannot find my rooms.”
“Oh, Papa,” she sighed, reaching up to straighten his cravat.
The duke’s day nurse, Simms, appeared breathlessly in the hall. “I’m sorry, m’lady. He got away from me.”
“No matter, Simms.” Hero looked back to find Ian lingering in the door of the study. A part of her wanted to remind Simms of the importance of his duties so that she might return to Ian. To see if he would hold onto his promise to kiss her properly right away.
“Who is that?” Beaumont asked, pointing at Ian.
“That’s the marquess, Papa, remember?” Sympathy wiped away the last of the humor in Ian’s expression and Hero knew the moment for flirtation and romance was past.
“Your husband?”
With a disappointed sigh she turned away. “Come, Papa, I’ll show you the way.”
“Do you think I could get a pudding before dinner?”
“Perhaps.”
“And with dinner as well?”
“Papa, really.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hero sucked in a gasp as Mandy tugged at her corset strings, retightening them after the “naptime” her doctor had suggested she indulge in to speed her recovery. Normally she might welcome a nap, but today she’d merely laid on top of her bed linens clad in only a thin chemise that was little compensation to the heat of the day or to the heat mere thoughts of Ian Conagham fired in her.
Just a flash of that lopsided smile was enough to send her heart racing, but when it was accompanied by the brush of his knuckles across her cheek or the touch of his lips against the sensitive skin of her wrist, she felt as if she might truly swoon for the first time in her life. In such moments her head swam deliciously, her breath grew shallow, and her extremities—even her lips—would tingle.
It was desire. Want.
And so very euphoric. Never had she experienced such fascination before.
The past few days had been like Heaven on Earth for Hero. In the mornings, she would walk Ian through some aspect of the estate’s business, explaining everything she knew. They toured the brew house, gashouse, and finally the icehouse on one particularly hot afternoon. After luncheon, they would engage in outdoor activities, making the most of the unusually warm and sunny weather. Often in the company of her father, they would ride through the park or up north of the castle to the home farm. She took him to the orchard and showed him the gothic orangery.
Sometimes they walked about the grounds arm-in-arm. Through the family cemetery or along the ancient viaduct. It didn’t matter to her. She simply enjoyed being in Ian’s company, showing him all the things she loved about Cuilean, and seeing a similar love for the estate growing in him.
He even took her out on the pond in a little rowboat one afternoon, rowing steadily across the length of the calm waters. Away from her father and out of sight, he teased and flirted with her. Always, he would find a moment to steal a kiss, though her father inevitably interrupted those magical moments. Rather than being annoyed, Ian had begun to view it as something of a challenge to find private moments with her, and Hero was happy to assist as she could.
Through her single London Season, she’d never been wooed romantically. Any man who might have been interested in her in such a way either hadn’t been granted her father’s permission or hadn’t the nerve to approach a duke’s daughter. Her beaux had courted her father, had earned his respect and permission. Robert had bargained for her hand without ever once thinking to place a kiss on it.
The idea of being seduced for her person alone was a novel one, and having a man like the new laird of Ayr become her seducer was exhilarating. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, and his eyes burned with desire that even she could recognize. Hero shared his fascination. She couldn’t seem to help reaching out to him. Feeling his warm skin beneath her fingertips. Feeling his fingers curl around hers. With each caress her heart would race and her spirits balloon.
She was falling for him, she knew. Ridiculously fast but she was helpless to stop it.
Hero believed Ian enjoyed a heightened level of appreciation for her as well, though she wasn’t prepared to go so far as to say he felt the same as she. Nevertheless, he seemed to enjoy her humor and their more intellectual conversation. Already they had desire and liking, she hoped they had the potential to share even more than that as time went on.
Perhaps that was why she’d begun to look forward to the evenings as a favored part of her day. After the three of them dined and perhaps played cards, her father would retire to his rooms, leaving her alone, blissfullyalone, with Ian. In his husky brogue, he’d invite her to walk with him on the ramparts. Aware of the curious eyes of the staff on them, Hero would amiably agree and take his arm until they reached the narrow passage. She’d walk ahead of him then, counting to the sixth indentation in the wall, where she’d sat after dinner that first night. And just as it had then, her heart would pound in anticipation.
After maintaining a certain distance throughout the day, after hours of polite conversation, between those two battle-worn walls was the privacy that no room in the castle could provide. There was a shelter away from prying eyes with the beauty of the moon on the waters of the firth, and the glory of Ian’s strong arms around her. Pressing her back against the lower embattlements, he’d kiss her gently, making love to her mouth with his lips and tongue. His lips might wander, nipping at her neck and down to her shoulders.
But his hands never followed.
Eventually, he would break away from her as if he couldn’t bear her touch at all. His normally warm, chocolaty eyes would burn through her like hot black coals full of feverish want.
But he never went further.
